UNLISTENABLE

At some point in their lives, every woman will say to a guy, "Will you listen to yourself?" --

"I have it tougher than you!"

and not because he's suddenly stumbled into a profound thought. No, it tends be in response to a statement that is either indefensible or, more likely, just wacky. 

The usual suspect for such behavior is Alec Baldwin -- who, when he isn't arguing with cops, punching out strangers, or engaging in homophobic speech, is intent on reminding us how hard it is to be Alec Baldwin. In his latest self-pitying rant, Baldwin confesses that, like many people, he hates his job. But unlike your average nine-to-fiver, he has to work Saturday nights. For five minutes. At $1400 a pop.

His nightmare of a life is better known as doing a so-so impersonation of Donald Trump on Saturday Night Live every week. As Baldwin told former SNL star Kevin Nealon, he is "so done" with his job, adding "I can't imagine doing it again" -- just like he promised last year. 

Hey all you coalminers, toilet-scrubbers, and garbagemen, you don't know how easy you've got it. Alec Baldwin goes through real hell for 300 seconds a week. 

You might be wondering if Lorne Michaels forcing this guy at gunpoint to appear on SNL week after week. Nope, it's the fault of his fans. According to Baldwin, the only reason he keeps returning is that whenever he goes to a restaurant, "50 people say something positive" about his Trump routine -- which makes him sound exactly like Trump. Alec, would you listen to yourself, if only so we don't have to?

No thanks, too much floor to wax.

Women aren't immune to this behavior, as is the case with Bette Midler. Midler, like me, lives on the Upper East Side with her family. Unlike us, however, when her home is for sale, the New York Times considers it newsworthy. 

Perhaps it's the classic American success story: girl goes from singing Andrews Sisters covers in gay bathhouses to living in a 7,000-square foot, 14-room penthouse on 5th Avenue (with, as noted in the official listing, "a six burner Garland stove with grill, Sub Zero refrigerator and Miele dishwasher". Naturally.) 

But wait, there's more! Like 3,000 square feet of "landscaped terraces" (as opposed to our fire escape where we put two plants when it rains), a rooftop garden, views of Central Park, and a private elevator. You know, the kind of joint featured in every Nancy Meyers movie where we're supposed to feel sorry for Meryl Streep when she sighs, "If only I had more room!"

If I lived there, I'd never leave. For Midler and her hubby, though, it's the usual story -- their kid has grown up and moved out, so what are they going to do with all that room? Make a big fat profit, that's what, as the asking price is $50-million. Or as she told the Times, "It's time for another family to enjoy it." 

I don't know how I was accepted into
 college without owning this.

Hey, Bette, how 'bout my family? My kid's moved out, but in a place like that, if she came back, we'd go for weeks without seeing her -- except when she asks us to pick up some more tumeric for her home-brewed kambucha tea. Sure it's a little out of our price range, but think of it as payback for all the times I heard your first album blaring out of every other room in the dorm back in the day. 

Or you know who else would really enjoy it? Any family who lives in New York's crappy public housing with the mold, broken pipes, iffy electricity, and lively rodent population. Or a homeless family currently living in their car. Man, would they love a Sub Zero fridge stocked with food! And a place with four bathrooms, rather than the toilet at the McDonald's down the block that they're currently used to.

It's time for another family to enjoy it. Good Lord, Bette, would you listen to yourself? You're not selling your home (one of many you doubtlessly own) to do some deserving family a favor. In fact, if Donald Trump came to you with 50 million one-dollar bills, you'd take it faster than you can you sing Oh you gotta have frieeeeeeeeeends -- even if he is the guy who called you a "washed up psycho." Just come out and say it: We're looking for one of our fellow one-percenters to take this off our hands so we can buy a castle in the South of France.

And what will my wife's response be when she reads my brilliant observations? "Will you listen to yourself?!" 

No way. That's her job.

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