Mary louise parker dating weeds

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So there's this bird up at Mary-Louise Parker's farmhouse in upstate New York. "This cow just died on my lawn," she said, out of nowhere. Funny, heartbreaking, and profound, they're little character sketches through which the author's personality gradually emerges, like a lost-wax casting.

"And it keeps flying into the same fucking spot in the window," the actress says on a summer afternoon at her apartment in Brooklyn, planting her feet in the plush rug and gazing out the wall of windows, as though expecting the bird to be out there now, circling her penthouse aerie.! Which led to the subject of the window-smashing bird, and a sad story about the miniature dwarf goats she'd gotten on the advice of John Malkovich, one of which died of a brain tumor last year. The idea grew out of a piece Parker wrote for a few years ago, her advice about how to be a better man.

We sat on the couch, where an assistant had laid out iced coffees and snacks. In an industry that produces replicas, there is no one else quite like Mary-Louise Parker., out this month, is a series of letters to men Parker has encountered during her life.

"She has a lot on her mind," the actress said, in her deadpan, can't-quite-tell-if-it's-a-joke way. But it's the weirdness, running through her like an animated current, that really separates her from the pack: the distracted drawl, the crooked Mona Lisa smile that suggests her mind is elsewhere, maybe on something naughty.

There are passing references to a designer friend scaring up a last-minute dress for the Emmys, and the chapter "Dear Abraham" tells the touching story of her first meeting with her longtime accountant.

Which brings us back to men, and the bird and the window, and the metaphor.

"'Cause, sorry, I kind of think that women have it bad in the .

"Surrounded by every rejected neighborhood freak, I was free to be myself," she writes.

Maybe it's because even though she eventually found her niche in the industry—in thinking women's movies of the '90s like —she still doesn't feel like a Hollywood person. She seems to feel about the industry the way she felt about high school: half resents it, half wants to be a part of it.

"You know, you can sell yourself as a product and make yourself superattractive, but I'm not a good salesperson," she says. I never had that beauty or that kind of charm, or that kind of willingness to forfeit my real feelings in the moment." doesn't address Parker's career, it does assume you know something about it.

Her depiction of the theater-student milieu is as vivid and true as any that has ever been committed to paper: "I was wearing opera gloves to breakfast and holding my unitard together with safety pins.

My friend Ken and I would roll on the ground, having pretend breakdowns in the cafeteria just for laughs." There's no similar recounting of what happened after college, when Parker moved to New York and joined the real adult theater world, getting her first big break, opposite Timothy Hutton, in , what the writer of the former once called "an incredible injustice." Maybe this is because that would be too celebrity memoir-ish.

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