Columnist Marks 10 Years With New Book ‘Diary Of A Diva, Behind The Lipstick’
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Aired 8/21/14 on KPBS Midday Edition.
Columnist Marks 10 Years With New Book "Diary Of A Diva, Behind The Lipstick"
Barbarella Fokos, author of "Diary of a Diva, Behind the Lipstick"
After 10 years of writing her popular weekly column and keeping her finger on the pulse of San Diego's arts, entertainment, and pop culture, columnist Barbarella Fokos is out with a book.
"Diary of a Diva, Behind the Lipstick" is a compilation of some of her best Diary of A Diva columns in the San Diego Reader, plus behind-the-scenes additions from Barbarella and her partner-in-everything, husband David Fokos.
Barbarella produced and hosted Art Pulse TV, which recently won a regional Emmy Award.
She's also been a frequent guest on KPBS Midday Edition — talking about cultural events and the occasional Fig Fest.
Book Launch Party
Tuesday, Aug. 26, 6-8 p.m. | Solare in Liberty Station
$20 admission includes a signed copy of the book, drinks and food!
Excerpt From "Diary Of A Diva, Behind The Lipstick"
It was during my CIA-esque scoping of the store (Operation Surgical Strike) that I detected her profile, half hidden by a wisp of hair, and then the matching profile of the little girl in her cart. The kid was the clincher.
Like a clairvoyant, I saw the potential conversation unfold before me in a vision: “Wow, Rose, is that you? No way, how have you been?” Listen to superficial answer, nod and smile. Must acknowledge the child. “Is she yours? That’s what I thought, she looks just like you!” Force enthusiasm over the kid’s cuteness, then engage kid directly — make a crazy exaggerated grin and hope she smiles back because if she cries at that freaky face, you’re obligated to stick around until she’s been soothed into silence. Then, eyes back to the mother. “What’s her name? Oh, that’s a beautiful name.”
She’d ask me what I’ve been up to, and I’d have to decide what to share. “Not much” would be rudely vague, but anything positive or negative could be perceived as bragging or complaining. I’d settle on “You know, working, having fun, same old.” She’d ask if I had kids, and I’d have to select a mother-friendly explanation for why I don’t — something like “They’re great, just not for me.” The whole time, I’d be worrying about our respective perishables, calculating how long each item could survive without refrigeration. She’d say we should hang out, and I’d think, Why, but I’d say, “Totally.” And so on. Time would crawl.
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