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On the heels of his New York Times bestselling Stories I Only Tell My Friends, Rob Lowe is back with an entertaining collection that “invites readers into his world with easy charm and disarming frankness” (Kirkus Reviews).
After the incredible response to his acclaimed bestseller, Stories I Only Tell My Friends, Rob Lowe was convinced to mine his experiences for even more stories. The result is Love Life, a memoir about men and women, actors and producers, art and commerce, fathers and sons, movies and TV, addiction and recovery, sex and love. Among the adventures he describes in these pages are:
· His visit, as a young man, to Hugh Hefner’s Playboy Mansion, where the naïve actor made a surprising discovery in the hot tub.
· The time, as a boy growing up in Malibu, he discovered a vibrator belonging to his best friend’s mother.
· What it’s like to be the star and producer of a flop TV show.
· How an actor prepares, for Californification, Parks and Recreation, and numerous other roles.
· His hilarious account of coaching a kid’s basketball team dominated by helicopter parents.
· How his great, great, great, great, great grandfather may have inspired everything from his love of The West Wing to his taste in classic American architecture.
· His first visit to college, with his son, who is going to receive the education his father never got.
· The time a major movie star stole his girlfriend.
Linked by common themes and his philosophical perspective on love—and life—Lowe’s writing “is loaded with showbiz anecdotes, self-deprecating tales, and has a general sweetness” (New York Post).
stunned, like she’d been slapped but didn’t want anyone to know it hurt. But the camera saw everything, as always. She was in a big “Warner Bros. haircut”–style close-up, so as she lost the battle for composure and dignity, the glacier cracked wide open and she sobbed. The trick opened her up. It’s the best scene in the movie. Ad libs, in my experience, are either great, out-of-this-world additions or horrific, borderline-embarrassing utterances that send a scene to the bottom of the ocean.
mansion with Hef and Mel Brooks. Brooks clearly didn’t understand the dress code. Wish Sandwich My youngest son, Johnowen, was born with asthma and some serious allergies. Although he’s outgrown them now, when he was a little boy it was a serious issue for us. The battery of daily medications made him small for his age at the time and although he loved sports, he was never the strongest or biggest on his teams. Nevertheless, he played with a passion and enjoyed flag football, baseball and
them. “Um, yeah, I’m fine,” said the brute. “He ran me over!” “Looks like it!” I said, heading toward my son. “Good play,” I told him, and patted his back as casually as I could. “Thanks, Dad!” he said, smiling. We didn’t win that day. But on the ride home, you’d never have known. That night, it occurred to me that if little Johnny could literally throw himself into the game and through his fear, if my tiny team of boys could remain excited and get pumped for the next game after having lost
I’m now certain that Sheryl was right as usual and Clinton had a laugh about it with Streisand and moved on to things of slightly more importance, like Iranian nukes. But that evening was a good lesson that performances on a big stage can quickly go awry and that there is sometimes no true way to quantify how far an actor will go to win over a crowd. It’s also a happy reminder that if you are lucky, over many years as a performer you will have developed many abilities and wonderful tools to use
roll, but they showed me something, too. From them I learned (or relearned) how important adolescent friendships are, how impressionable young boys can be and how much male, adult attention means to their development. I learned that they rise to a challenge, crave it and desperately want a responsibility they can meet. I saw their humble appreciation of being recognized for a job well done. And I realized that maybe that’s all anyone really wants, including me. * * * When Matthew finally