Paul,
I am a bit of a 90s connoisseur, so I think I can say with some authority that you, with your wry observations about upper-middle class relationships, are as quintessentially of that decade as Ethan Hawke's hair in Reality Bites or using the phrase, "It's the 90s" to denote a social paradigm shift. During the 90s you were practically meta-90s (See Bye, Bye Love; Mad About You; the light wash of your high-waisted, slim-fit, tapered-leg jeans). Having said this, I hate you. I love the 90s but hate you. How is this possible? After spending many long seconds puzzling over this paradox I've finally arrived at an answer: You're lame.
OK, so I'll give you My Two Dads, a show that made me want to (a) live in a loft, (b) have a family court judge at my beck and call, and of course, (c) be the precocious daughter of two dads who are polar opposites--one neurotic, one with an acid wash jean jacket.
But you lose any cred that you may have garnered there with this:
The cover of your book Babyhood (the follow-up to Couplehood and harbinger of Familyhood) is the single creepiest and most baffling thing I've seen all day. What is that baby gripping your ear supposed to symbolize? Or maybe it isn't supposed to symbolize anything. Maybe a large bulk of being a parent is literally just sitting around with your head slightly tilted to the right as a baby holds onto your ear with one of its hands and offers sweet consolation with the other.
You, Paul Reiser, are my least favorite 90s artifact. I hope this doesn't offend you. It's just the simple truth.
Mad about you in the sense that I hate you and not in the sense that I'm crazy for you,
Amber
