Okay I'll admit it. I stole a poster of Tina Fey once. I actually stole it right out of the display in the newstand at Philadelphia's 30 Street Station. Fey was on the cover of Philadelphia Magazine, featured in a feature called “celebs on how our city shaped their lives and atty-toods (the Philly was of saying attitudes if that's not 100 percent clear). I walked up, to the display and acted like it was my job to remove the sign, rolled it up, put it under my arm, and walked off. It graces my wall to this day.That's how much I admire Tina Fey, so I wasn't destined to hate this book written by someone who took the Boys' Club at Saturday Night Live and –with writing and will power alone and maybe some kind of weird super-power—made it into someone New Yorkers actually loved again.
Still, I was impressed with the book in ways I hadn't expected to be. I really enjoyed Fey's candor and humor, especially her self deprecating humor. Well, it's not exactly self-deprecating at least not in the same (annoying) way Fey's Liz Lemon character is self-deprecating. She makes a lot of fun of The Indrustry in the book, and more importantly and more funnily (is that even a word) she makes fun of the way human nature interactions with the excesses of television and celebrity. She also takes on Lorne Michaels, which it seems like no one else wants to do; she's not critical but she's certain very candid, and it's charming. I also appreciated her tales of adolescense, which I've recommended to teenager friends who stayed in the awkward stage longer than they'd like. It's hope in a hardback. Well, and probably in a softcover as well eventually, but the alliteration isn't as satisfying.