tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61975813095369904572024-03-12T21:31:45.937-05:00FirePhrasejust some stuff i think aboutFirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.comBlogger1025125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-40015166297984973822012-02-15T10:23:00.001-06:002012-02-15T10:23:40.985-06:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:targetscreensize>1024x768</o:TargetScreenSize> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">talk turkey</b> – idiomatic phrase (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Am. English</i>):<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>to seriously discuss a difficult problem with the intention of solving it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">You can always tell when a cowboy is ready to talk turkey.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The first thing he does is set his hat on the back of his head.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So that he can see his eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And there’s a look that says, “I’m willing not to win, if you’re willing not to win.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s the moment in a fight where you realize that if, even if you do win, you’ll have lost just as much.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And realizing your opponent is in the same spot.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Americans may have invented that phrase.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But we sure have lost the ability to do it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Is it that we’ve come to enjoy the fight more than the peace?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Have we lost the mental strength to cope with a vision of the world that isn’t just the way we think it ought to be?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And it’s politically and personally both.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We have politicians that enjoy saber rattling more than deal brokering.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We have relationships that end in because people can’t see their way clear to a truce.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Friends, family, marriages. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Broken.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, there’s only two options.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>One is to live with people who are exactly like you, so that you never have anything to argue about.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That doesn’t sound like much of a relationship to me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And it doesn’t sound like the America that I believe in either.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Or we learn to talk turkey again.</p>FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-88584387155777593812012-02-13T12:16:00.001-06:002012-02-13T12:18:27.743-06:00WhitneyThe death of Whitney Houston pretty much defines the idea of “shocking, but not surprising.” How could you be surprised? The rawness of her damage was visible. From the years of rumors, to the Enquirer pictures of “Whitney’s Crack Den,” to the recovered-yet-not-whole spectacle of Being Bobby Brown, to the voice that was in ruins. She’d give one more loopy interview that denied any current state of addiction, and make you hope against what was only too evident. Whitney just never could get right. And you’d sigh over the loss of such a gift, and add a sad “poor Bobbi Kristina.”<br /><br />And really, it’s one of those addiction stories you never can quite comprehend. Her wealth gave her the two things that most addicts don’t have: access to the very best medical help and time. If you have a substance abuse problem, you’re really lucky to get 90 days in a decent program. Whitney could have schedule day after day of any and all kinds of help (8:00 am: yoga, 9:00 am: group, 10:00 am: dialectical therapy, 11:00 am: biofeedback, noon: lunch, 1:00 pm Freudian analysis, 2:00 pm: horse therapy . . .). She could have whiled away hours (days, years) in every treatment known to science, religion and Dr. Drew. For as long as she needed it. Hell, the Scientologists would have LOVED to help her. Whatever it takes. She had world enough and time.<br /><br />And she had every reason. A family that loved her. Fans who loved her. A daughter who needed her. A faith in a higher power. And a talent that was a true gift. Not many people get that kind of a talent. And yes, I’m kind of mad at her for pissing it away. On top of that, she was beautiful. A decent actress, whose magnetism made up for any technical shortcomings. Really, she had everything. When you have everything, have been <span style="font-style:italic;">given </span>everything, is it easy to just not value it?<br /><br />When Whitney sang, she sounded like a warrior. Shocking that in the end, it doesn’t matter how much armor you have, but how willing you are to fight.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-64624977879457448032012-02-09T12:39:00.001-06:002012-02-09T12:39:13.483-06:00Butter.I’ve waited a bit to say anything about the Paula Deen thing. The fact that she has Type 2 diabetes. I just found the whole situation pretty disturbing. <br /><br />Full disclosure: I come from a family with weight problems. Like most Americans, really. Not the super-sized weight problems. But the every-day, your doctor wants you to lose some weight kind of problems. The kind that can lead to diabetes. And in some cases, already have. I’ve known this for a lot of years.<br /><br />I also come from a family that eats not far from the kinds of food that Paula Deen cooks. As a kid, I was completely unaware that it was possible to serve vegetables without butter. Chicken-fried steak is a sacrament. Biscuits and gravy aren’t just for breakfast. In some ways, eating healthy disconnects me from family tradition.<br /><br />And watching the health problems that my family has gone through also has given me a very clear window into what the consequences can be of “everything is better with butter” lifestyle. For myself, I decided that eating healthier was the better option. Because I’ve also seen what the drug intervention route can do. Too many medications, for too many problems that have one major contributing factor - bad eating habits. I’ve seen older members of my family swallowing handfuls of pills for “my heart, my cholesterol, my sugar.” Doing pretty much everything but cleaning up their diet. And also seeing the number of times that drug interactions have created even worse issues. I can’t do it.<br /><br />But I also can’t condemn Paula or anyone else for going the other route. Food is a powerful thing. It is nourishment, it is cultural, it is pleasure. And I can’t completely walk away from those foods that are so closely related to my history. A little butter makes life worth living. I just have to balance it with making my life livable.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-35923747845596980462012-02-06T13:47:00.001-06:002012-02-06T13:47:17.657-06:00SmashingOkay, so the tv show Smash. I didn’t watch it. I’m trying to decide if I should. I mean really. Given that we’re talking about me, it’s a little on-the-nose, don’t you think? It’s show tunes. It’s not Glee (which I’m so over). It has Angelica Houston (we-re-not-worthy). Contrarily, I’m being chary with my favor.<br /><br />Really, it’s got 2 things going against it. First, it’s episodic. And I’m just not sure if I’m up for another show to keep up with. Plus, I’ve got what-happens-next burnout. Cliffhanging just has lost some of its appeal.<br /><br />Second, behind the scenes in musical theater. I really just am not sure I want to know how the sausage gets made. If it’s at all realistic, I don’t want to know how the magic happens. Nothing can quite sweep me away like a musical. I’d just prefer that the Wizard stay behind his curtain.<br /><br />But.<br /><br />On the undeniably enticing side is Jack Davenport. Who evidently plays the narcissistic bad boy director. Yumma. At least his voice. To me, his voice is like I’m a Twix cookie and he’s the caramel enrobing machine. Just lay back and be layered in rich, chewy goodness. Don’t know where he’s from, but the accent is killah on top of a really nice voice. Okay, he looks kind of like a junior high science teacher. But if he’d read sonnets to me, I could so get over that.<br /><br />Is that enough? I mean, he’s not going to be talking the entire show. And if you just fast forward to the moments where your sex bomb of the moment is, shows just really don’t make any sense. Don’t ask me how I know that.<br /><br />Meh. Probably will just end up flipping a coin.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-2310247179451077852012-02-01T15:56:00.000-06:002012-02-01T15:57:28.514-06:00WWZDD?Well, so far the “Yes” resolution has been my easiest one to keep – ever. Score. So far, the only things I’ve had to give my okey-doke on have been going to see the ballet Dracula in Fort Worth (outside my usual Zone of Entertainment, but not exactly painful) and buying a dress.<br /><br />Okay, saying yes to the dress is slightly more difficult than it sounds. Not that it was a dress, per se, more the style of it. I picked it up at a flea market and said, “I like it, but I don’t think I’m “that girl.”” Because this dress is definitely a certain kind of person. The cute girl. The quirky girl. The girly girl. And, most particularly, a younger girl. This dress is Zooey Deschanel’s dress. I’m not that girl.<br /><br />Okay, to be specific about the dress, it’s got a slightly retro look. Light gray muslin top, with puffy cap sleeves and a lace-edged mandarin collar. The skirt is an ever-so-slightly orangey red corduroy, pleated front, offset pockets, knee length. There’s nothing specific about it that makes it age inappropriate*, other than it just reads young. Like 23-ish. A hipster 23-ish.<br /><br />I really liked the dress. And it was my size. But I doubt that even when I was 23 that I would have attempted this one. I’m not cute, quirky or girly. Add on the mutton-dressed-as-lamb fashion issue that I fear like hardly any other, and I’d probably back on the rack with the slightest touch of wist.<br /><br />But, I said it out loud. “I like it, but I don’t think I’m “that girl.”” The woman next to me, who was rocking some age appropriate quirk said, “You could be that girl.” And the woman who was selling the dress said, “I’ll let you have it for $10.”<br /><br />Ooo, boy. So, I was caught. In my self-defined parameters of “Yes.” Within my morals and within the realm of possibility. Dear Reader, I bought it.<br /><br />And I plan to wear it on February 24th. To the ballet. Two birds. Now I just have to figure out shoes. What would Zooey Deschanel do?<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">* And just a brief side-note on specific things that make clothing age inappropriate. More specifically still, mini-skirts. Yes, adding a pair of tights can make a slightly short skirt acceptable on a woman over 30. But they aren’t a time machine. At a certain point – no, ma’am. I’m still working on a formula. Like [skirt length – age in years + dark tights = number of inches past your cooch that your hem must be]. I was an English major, though, so I haven’t quite got the numbers right. So for now, if you have any questions, just send me a picture and I’ll tell you whether you’re allowed to go outside.</span>FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-50279922017759855832012-01-26T16:25:00.001-06:002012-01-26T16:27:47.855-06:00It's Jesus. And he brought snacks!I’m sitting here eating a few saltine crackers as an afternoon snack. Like many people who grew up Protestant, I have a . . . weird relationship with saltines. Don’t get me wrong, I love saltines. I’m enjoying the hell of out my snack. But they will also always be associated in my mind with Communion.<br /><br />I know some churches have special wafers. And some use honest to God wine. But at the Church of Christ we had crackers and grape juice passed as the “unleavened bread and wine,” this is my body, this is my blood. (Is it any wonder that I love the vampire and zombie stuff? Holy Communion is pretty lurid.) I now know that my church actually used kosher matzo crackers. But to me, it looked like they were passing around saltines. I was a southern WASP. What did I know from Manischewitz? <br /><br />Of course, my church is one that believes in the “age of reason” and you can’t get baptized, and therefore can’t participate in Communion, until you’re at least an adolescent. So, Communion was one of those things that were definitely “not for kids.” And what do kids love? Crackers and grape juice. Not only do they pass them around, they put them on special fancy Communion plates. And you could hear the snap of the cracker as the person who dragged you to church broke off their bite, and then the redolent tang of grape juice (wine never tastes as good as grape juice smells). Insult. Grievous injury. None for you. Awwwwww. Of course, we’d imitate the ritual on our own. Raiding the pantry for saltines to put on paper, and Hi C to put in Dixie cups snatched from the bathroom. Profane little monkeys. But at church, the plates would be held high, away from any little hands that might be looking for a sacrilegious treat.<br /><br />Fine. Didn’t want any anyways. I’ll just grow up and buy my own. And so a lifetime of heresy begins.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-43352951549372245122012-01-23T14:53:00.001-06:002012-01-23T14:55:53.596-06:00Mini MeI got to spend the morning baby-sitting my nephew, D. Of all the kids, D is the one most like me. Funnily enough, because he looks just like my brother did at that age, and my brother is my sibling least like me. <br /><br />There are moments when I’ll just look down at his little two-year old self and see me so clearly reflected. He has Aunt Julie’s sugar jones (sorry, kid). He has my tendency to pick at something until he has it figured out. We both have storm cloud temperaments – the negative emotions are fast and hard, but the sun comes out pretty quickly again. Bossy, of course ("Clap, Dulie, clap! No, like this!"). And if something isn’t working the way he thinks it should, he’ll just whack on it until it does. Don’t know where on earth the kid got that.<br /><br />It’s funny to look down and see all the little impulses I’ve been operating with for 40-odd years being acted out by a tiny human being. And, of course those 40 years have given me a perspective on those impulses (if I didn’t at least have some insight by now, I’d be in sorry shape). The temptation is to try to give him a life crib sheet. Do this, look at it this way, go that direction. Give the little guy a leg up on all the stuff I’ve figured out. But you can’t do that. First, half of life’s fun is figuring it out. Can’t rob him of that. Second, I think D is just a little bit smarter than I am. He may get to those answers faster than I did. And come up with some better ones too, if I don’t get in his way.<br /><br />What I can do for him is empathize. I told my Mom, “Poor, D. Nobody is ever going to understand him the way his Aunt Julie does.” But, really, that’s not such a bad thing. At least one person should be able to see things the way you do. I think I would have liked that when I was growing up.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-1674999290609961752012-01-20T12:00:00.002-06:002012-01-20T12:04:10.493-06:00A Lizard by Any Other NameYou know, I know that everybody is getting their panties in a bunch about Newt Gingrich and the “open marriage” stuff that’s coming out from his second ex-wife. Personally, the misuse of SuperPAC funds that got him fired from public office 15 years ago would be plenty to take him off the menu for me. <br /><br />And frankly, I don’t think marital shenanigans are any of the voters’ business. Politics and a wandering eye go together like peas and carrots. Being able to keep one's pants on really doesn’t make me any never mind as to whether a candidate can do the job. I don’t really see any correlation historically between good Presidents and good husbands. So, what goes on between a candidate and any other consenting adult on a planet isn’t really my business.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Except in one very specific arena</span>: if you run on a family values/good Christian/holier than thou platform, <span style="font-weight:bold;">live it</span>. If you have an extensive history of running around, shut up about other people’s morals. The ability compartmentalize one’s morals and still preach decency to others smacks of a level of hypocrisy that I would find absolutely disqualifying for any elected office. In fact, I’d say Jesus would be with me on this. Remember that thing about pointing out the speck of dust in other people’s eyes when you’ve got a log in your own? <br /><br />So, if Newt is able to dismiss his own moral turpitude by saying he and God talked it out, I think he should assume that other people are having their own conversations with God about their failings. And by the way, if you asked God for forgiveness for lying to him in a marriage ceremony, I think he may have said, “Dude, talk to your ex-wife. I’m out of this one.”<br /><br />You know what, I’ll say one thing for George W. Bush. He talked the conservative Christian line, but he also lived it. The man stuck by his wife. It may not have made him a great President. But at least he wasn’t a hypocrite.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-87920403660513244532012-01-11T15:33:00.002-06:002012-01-11T15:37:03.383-06:00YesWell, so. I’ve been fumbling. I’m trying to come up with New Year Resolution 2012. Nothing’s really coming. I mean, nothing. I had trouble last year. But I eventually came up with the 5 fruits/vegetables a day thing (pretty successful, by the way, happy with the way it turned out, thumbs up). But this year, the new smell is pretty much off of 2012, and I got nothing.<br /><br />Usually, that means I’m avoiding something. Like it’s something I know I should do, but don’t really want to. Like the time I gave up TV for Lent (ugh, I still get the willies off of that one). Didn’t want to, hated every minute of it, but it needed to be done. This year, I don’t even think there’s anything I really don’t want to do (e.g, <span style="font-style: italic;">should </span>do).<br /><br />Obviously, there’s stuff that I should be doing. I’m a mess. There’s always something I should be doing. But I’m not feeling, you know, <span style="font-style: italic;">compelled </span>this year.<br /><br />So, just to get this off the list, I’m going to steal a page from the book of someone wiser than myself – William Shatner. A friend read his book, and was pretty much surprised about how much she ended up just liking the guy. And one of the big things she was impressed with was his philosophy of saying “yes” to things. Pretty much “yes” to everything. If someone asks him if he wants to do something, he says “yes.” The most compelling reason he has for doing something is that somebody asks him. It’s kind of a Zen way to live your life, no? Accepting what comes to you. Trusting that there is a universal gestalt and that you are offered opportunities for reasons you may not immediately understand. Not rejecting on the basis of the intellectual process of what you do know. Geez, that’s a terrifying.<br /><br />Not that I could say “yes” to everything. Okay, that’s hedging and I admit it. I don’t have that much trust in the Universe. How about say “yes” to more things? Okay, now I sound like total pussy. That’s it. “Yes” to every opportunity that’s offered. If somebody asks me if I want to do something, I’ll say “okey-dokey, artichokey”. Now I’m worried. How much stuff do I get offered to do? Not that much, right? Surely.<br /><br />I really don’t know what I’m getting myself into here. And, yes, if you’re wondering if I sometimes just make this stuff up as I go – indeed I do. And here’s where I’m going. To a place of “yes.” One year. What can it hurt? Yeah, I know. Famous last words.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-83515482067326743732012-01-06T11:40:00.002-06:002012-01-06T12:18:24.919-06:00It's a good lookhttp://www.cnn.com/2012/01/06/living/fashion-tips-look-younger-rs/index.html?hpt=hp_bn8<br /><br />You know, I pretty much disagree with everything on this list. Frankly it’s what I think is an “old fashioned” view of fashion. One that is based on the idea that if you’re fashionable then you’re “correct,” no one can make fun of you. Fear-based fashion. Which is certainly one way to go. Not everyone can or wants to be unique. But if you do – break every one of these rules. With glee.<br /><br />But you know what I think ages women more than anything? Worrying whether someone else thinks you look alright. Worrying about being “alright.” Uhgh. If you like matchy, matchy jewelry, wear it! Because it’s what you like, you’ll be better at pulling together a matchy, matchy look than anyone else. It’s called “style,” and it belongs to you. But nothing is more retrograde and aging than putting on something that you don’t like or apologizing for something that you do like because it’s not what the world likes. <br /><br />If what you like is something that would pass without comment, great! Go for it. But if it’s not what you like, if it’s not what you feel good in, if that still small voice inside tells you that you should be wearing harem pants with stilettos, lucky you! Never apologize, never explain. If you like overalls with poet shirts, that’s good too. Be true to yourself. Listen to your own voice. Confidence is your best accessory. Believe it.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-56452474895248662282012-01-03T14:51:00.000-06:002012-01-03T14:52:18.961-06:00Tough CookiesMan. It takes some time to get over the holidays. I’m sitting here wanting a cookie sooooo bad. <br /><br />You know, anywhere between Thanksgiving and New Years, a cookie is totally appropriate. If not obligatory. I mean, it’s the holidays. Have a cookie. Have two. If there’s an assortment, you should probably try to have one of each. Just so you have a basis for comparison. Ginger snap, chocolate cherry chunk or straight up sugar cookie? You need to be able to offer an informed opinion.<br /><br />But, then January 2. The cookie train comes to an end. Not only are they not as available (blast!), it’s just not appropriate to punctuate every meal with a cookie (oatmeal cookies are breakfast food, right?). So, there’s a grieving process. You just look at your empty hand and think, “Damn, I wish there was a cookie there.”<br /><br />Well. You just have to be strong. And wait for Valentine’s day.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-81914751345854758652011-12-28T11:10:00.000-06:002011-12-28T11:11:43.825-06:00On behalf of God and myself, thank youOkay, I realize I’m speaking as an agnostic here. But I did do my time in Sunday school. I have explored a variety of belief systems. I find much to admire in many of them. And I have a fairly well-developed notion of who I think God would be if such an entity does indeed exist.<br /><br />Seeing that Awards season and the playoffs are just around the bend - here’s what I’d like to say:<br /><br />God does not care if you won a football game. God does not have a stake in any professional contest (Super Bowl, Grammy, Oscar, Webby, MTV Moon Man, Plumber of the Year; okay, possibly the Tony. But <span style="font-style: italic;">only </span>if Harry Connick, Jr. and Hugh Jackman both get nominated this year).<br /><br />God cares that you play fair. God cares that you use the gifts that you have been given in a positive way (that is to say, to the benefit of your fellow children of God, not to buy a Bentley). God will help you show courage of your convictions. God may even send you inspiration when your creative well runs dry (but not if you are writing a song in which you praise smoking weed and abusing “bitches”). God is proud if you use your belief to help you be the best person that you can be, on the field, on the stage, in the recording studio, or under someone’s sink removing the Lego that fell down the drain.<br /><br />So, quit thanking God. God does not give a rat’s ass.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-7287075308861288462011-12-21T10:27:00.004-06:002011-12-21T10:30:09.542-06:00The Phantom Ain't the Only One with a Nice ChandelierWell, long threatening has come at last. I finally have seen Les Miserables. Yes, I know. What can I tell you. I’ve still never seen Cats or the Phantom either. But Les Mis can now get a little check in the Yes column.<br /><br />Here’s what I decided somewhere in the second act (and a 3-hour show? Really, people? Butt numbing.), I’ll call it the Whitney/Dolly Transversal. I Will Always Love You is a terrific song – classic even. Dolly Parton is a helluva songwriter. Whitney Houston’s performance of this song is EPIC. Her vocal range and power is irrefutable. She could blow the paint off of a Buick when she hits that last chorus. I still prefer Dolly’s rendition. And it’s not about a country/R&B thing (I dig both). It’s a scale thing. Dolly’s version is fragile, and comes from a broken heart that still loves. Whitney’s is bombastic. It’s the same level that she put into the National Anthem. Too big. At least for me. I never really connect. (Come to think of it, now that Miss Whitney’s voice is showing a little wear and tear, I’d love to see her revisit this.) And I’d say 90% of Les Mis is at the Whitney end of the spectrum. I was just fatigued by the time the show ended. And not in a good way.<br /><br />But, I know I’m in the minority on this one. And it was definitely not the production; they do what they do and they do it well. People just loved the show last night. Happy faces all around. And that’s really what’s important. They don’t program the Performing Arts Center just for me (if they did, they’d be running a production of White Christmas starring Hugh Jackman and Harry Connick Jr. – from my blog to God’s ears).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-alNjCBuSD8Q/TvIJU_b5Y8I/AAAAAAAAAak/CYnp0r51oD8/s1600/winspear.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-alNjCBuSD8Q/TvIJU_b5Y8I/AAAAAAAAAak/CYnp0r51oD8/s200/winspear.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688619535552832450" border="0" /></a><br />The best moment of the night for me was when the actors were doing their run-through of the fight scene. No costumes, just t-shirts and sweats. Then the Winspear techs brought down the chandelier like they do before nearly every show so that it’s lit when the guests come in. And they all just turned to watch the lights come down – “Hey, there it goes!” All their faces turned up to the blue light. Pulling out their cell phones to take pictures. This is a touring cast that has been in theaters all over the country. And they stopped to watch our chandelier. Even applauded. I love that. Happens nearly every time. When you work at the center, you get kind of used to what is actually a pretty glamorous venue. It’s nice when visitors remind you.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-84007681210495317342011-12-16T09:40:00.001-06:002011-12-16T09:42:02.506-06:00Broccoli and CupcakesI have a friend who is completely unreliable on the quality of desserts. If she says the cupcake is just okay – I pay her no attention. She knows not of what she speaks. She is actually a person who when offered the choice between a bowl of broccoli and a red velvet whoopee pie, she’d pick the broccoli. No lie. Frankly, I start to suspect that she damaged her taste buds in a freak Fudgesicle accident as a child.<br /><br />The funny thing is that she still wants to make things like cookies and cakes, because she knows other people like them. But she’ll be watching you to see what your reaction is, because she just can’t tell if what she made is any good or not. Now on the other side of the coin, if I want to make a dessert that she enjoys, it’s pretty easy. Lowball the sugar, and it’s virtually impossible to over-spice. If the cookie recipe calls for ¼ teaspoon of clove, double it and throw in some ginger too. Cayenne doesn’t hurt either.<br /><br />And I get it. I’m no judge of vegetables, really. You’ll never hear me say, “man, those are some really good green beans.” One, because I wouldn’t know. Two, because somebody might offer me more. <span style="font-style: italic;"> Shudder</span>.<br /><br />On the other hand, she could live quite healthily not ever having another cupcake in her entire life. There is no Recommended Daily Allowance for dessert (no matter how many letters I write to the FDA). Vegetables, however, are pretty much a must. I’m doing pretty well on my mission to up my vegetable consumption. I’m averaging 4.5 a day. Not my 5-a-day goal. But better than most Americans. And I can acknowledge that I do actually feel healthier. I think if I stick with it another year that it will actually be a habit. Not a pleasure, but a good habit.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-21558706506307387872011-12-14T11:43:00.002-06:002011-12-14T11:46:58.836-06:00Scaring the Dickens out of meSo, I’ve done a few shows of A Christmas Carol over at the Performing Arts Center this holiday season. It’s a <span style="font-style: italic;">tradition</span>. And like many other activities that people enjoy but I don’t really “get” (watching Survivor, marshmallows on sweet potatoes (why?), church), I take it with a dose of “I’m happy that <span style="font-style: italic;">you’re</span> happy.” And really, it’s the audiences that make ACC. It puts the jolly in their holly and the jingle in their kringle. Some shows you have some people who are really grouchy about being dragged to the theater. With the Carol, you almost never see a grinchy face.<br /><br />The more I see that show though, the more I’m convinced I would make a lousy Scrooge. Not that I have all that much to repent for. But if I did - ghosts? Really? That’s what’s supposed to make me regret my wicked ways? What are you going to do? <span style="font-style: italic;"> Howl </span>at me? Bring it, spooky. Doesn’t work when my 5-year old nephew tries it either. Then you make me review my past mistakes? In detail? I call that a Tuesday night. What’s your big guns? Death. Yeah, I’m shaking. We all gotta go sometime, bubba. Turning all nicey-nicey ain't gonna stop that train.<br /><br />Luckily for us all, my wicked ways in no way hinder my Christmas spirit. In point of fact, some of my wicked ways <span style="font-style: italic;">are </span>Christmas spirits (mulled wine, anyone?). I feel for ol’ Scrooge. I’ve been in a holiday funk a time or two. But there’s not a darned thing anyone else can do about it when it happens. You get yourself out of the slough and into the spirit. Though mulled wine can help.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-3471870578348098562011-12-07T09:48:00.001-06:002011-12-07T09:51:25.933-06:00Bridging the GAPI miss the dominance of the GAP. You know about 6 or 7 years ago when they kind of had the keys to the kingdom? Everybody shopped there. People actually paid attention to the new GAP ads. What I really miss about them though was that they were Garanimals for grown folks. They’d have the entire set: t-shirt, sweater, jacket, scarf, skirt, pants, hat, gloves. In two, maybe three, color palettes. And you could pick what you needed and jam out a good looking outfit in 10 minutes. Jacket tailored to go with the pants. Sweater cut to go with the t-shirt. No worries about proportions or color matching. People looked so nice.<br /><br />Not everybody needs grownup Garanimals. But some people do. <span style="font-style: italic;">A lot</span> of people do. I’ve had far too many moments lately of walking past someone in public and thinking “Sweet Jesus, what are you wearing on your feet?” Yes, there are exceptions. Rules are made to be broken. Tilda Swinton, Nicki Minaj, Lady Gaga, HBC. They are breaking all sorts of rules. I ain’t mad at them. But, most people don’t have that kind of eye. And, frankly, I don’t have the time to be schooling everyone I see. Lessons like – if you have a full posterior*, pleated and tapered crop pants with, lord-help-me, ankle booties? No. And I mean this <span style="font-style: italic;">most </span>emphatically. No. Don’t make me come over there.<br /><br />Anyone can learn. It’s about those things like proportion, knowing your body, working with color, adding the unexpected, harmony and dissonance. But not everyone has the time or inclination to explore the mysteries. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with just looking presentable. Classic is classic for a reason. The GAP was able to make people look just slightly more interesting that flat out boring. It was a gift. I miss it.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />* True story. My eyes are still quivering in the back of my head and afraid to come out.</span>FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-81790251120163551962011-12-05T18:02:00.001-06:002011-12-05T18:04:07.315-06:00The other jingle all the wayYou know, I feel for the OWS and the Tea Party both in a certain way. The truth is that we’re all kind of feeling like we’re getting screwed. It’s just that nobody really knows who’s holding the screwdriver. I mean, everybody has a guess. But nobody really knows. And so everybody makes a guess and demonizes the person that they feel is responsible.<br /><br />I may be old school, but my guess is one person or persons responsible is whoever is profiting from the out-of-control consumer culture. That’s one con that everybody seems to have bought in to. And none of us is better for it. And I have a pretty simple, non-legislative, easy to operate plan. Start really thinking about shit before you buy it. How does this benefit me? What <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span> am I paying for?<br /><br />Like a purse. You know what the difference between a $50 purse is and a $950 purse is? The $950 purse will hold your crap. The $50 purse will also hold your crap. And the $900 you saved. Yeah, I know. $900 is heavy. But you can do it. Yes, I absolutely agree that the $900 purse will still be holding up 20 years from now. But you don’t know if you’ll be alive 20 years from now, much less whether you’ll still like that damn purse. Trust me, that $50 purse will work just fine. And if you’re still around in a year, buy another purse. Go nuts. Spend another 50 bucks. Or don’t. Maybe by then you’ll have decided that you’ll see how a $30 purse will do. Or you’ll make your own purse or buy one at a resale shop. There’s a world of possibilities out there that don’t cost <span style="font-weight:bold;">NINE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS</span>. But by then you’ll have experienced the joys of compound interest on that $900. And the even greater joy of having told the person who tried to sell you that over-priced bag to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. Sticking it to the man? Priceless.<br /><br />Okay, this kind of decision making process won’t always opt for the cheaper thing. Fresh baked bread is more expensive than a Twinkie. No doubt. Healthier too. So you may have to pony up sometimes. But you know what? I’ve been drinking jug wine from Gallo lately. Pretty damn tasty, my friends. Tastes even better when I’m jingling the coins I saved in my pocket and I’m doing my evil leprechaun dance.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-27964707183623106332011-12-05T16:50:00.001-06:002011-12-05T16:51:28.072-06:00I hear that twang a comin'I should be embarrassed. I mean really. It’s the purest form of chicanery. But, dammit, it works.<br /><br />If I need people to like me (yes, I’m that manipulative, judge away), lately I’ve been busting out the Texas drawl. You know, those moments when you just need that extra drop of goodwill out of somebody, so you just slide ‘em a little sugar. Or darlin’. Darlin’ works too. Hon will do it in a pinch. You just hit your short vowels little longer. Slide some of your long vowels around the side door. And drop those endin’ gees at will.<br /><br />Generally speaking it doesn’t matter where the person is from. Alpine, Texas or Secaucus, New Jersey. If it’s somebody from around here, they’ll think you’re one of “us”, and of course you’re just a good ol’ gal at heart. And if they’re a Yankee, it doesn’t matter if they also think you’re dumb as a box of rocks to go with it. They’ll only mean it in the nicest way possible. Hell, it worked for W for at least 5 years. Course they may have caught on since it doesn’t seem to be doing Rick Perry any favors (good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise. Stay smart, America).<br /><br />Most of the time it takes something less than a Sherlock Holmes level of sleuthing to catch my roots showing (“I deduce from the way that you pronounce “cement” that you’ve spent at least part of your childhood in coastal Texas. South of Houston if I’m not very much mistaken.”). And usually I have the good grace not to slop sugar on people just to get on their good side. But lately, I don’t know. I’ve been just hauling it out just to see if I can maybe get around somebody with it. Just for the heck of it really. I should be ashamed. And I am. I am. And if I was an honest sort, I’d keep my ersatz Western charms to myself and my intimates (who are very much on to me and ignore my bull crap). But it’s kind of like having a high IQ or blonde hair and big boobs. Just seems like a shame to let it go to waste.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-16496090437904148872011-11-29T10:14:00.004-06:002011-11-29T13:24:01.349-06:00A Lady in the Streethttp://advancedstyle.blogspot.com/2011/11/glamorous-advanced-style-ladieswomen.html<br /><br />Saw this on the Advanced Style blog. AS is one of my favorite pick-me-ups. I love that the women in the pictures are vibrant and expressing themselves with fashion and, most important, getting out there and mixing it up in their 70s, 80, 90s, and on into the century mark. It gives me a kick in the pants to at least <span style="font-style:italic;">try</span>, ya know?<br /><br />I went to the part of the review that Ari mentions about calling him out on using the word “ladies” to describe the women he photographs. Geez Louise. Some women really look for things to get their knickers in a twist about. Who uses the word ladies anymore? Me. I also say women, chicks, girls, gals, broads, babes, bitches, hoochies, squirrels (last one I picked up from someone else – and she’s right. Call your girls your squirrel friends and you’ll laugh every time). It’s all about context. There’s a big difference between somebody jabbing a finger in my face and saying “Listen, lady!” and a smiling person walking up and saying, “Hey, lady!” The same way there’s a difference between someone muttering “bitch” under their breath and someone laughing as they say “Wassup, bitch?” <br /><br />What’s the difference between lady and woman? Woman is biological. It’s a particular configuration of body parts and chemical reactions. Not insignificant, of course, but not particular either. Lady is conduct. It is behavior. Specifically, good behavior. A lady is polite, a lady dresses appropriately, a lady considers the comfort of others. It doesn’t convey moral character. There are good ladies and bad ladies. But we all know what is expected of a lady. On Friday night I was ushering at A Christmas Carol, and 2 little girls ran past me. A little excitement on a night at the big people’s theater is expected, no? But not terribly safe when it leads to running. All I had to say, in my firm, adult voice, was “Ladies.” Heads go up. Shoulders go back. Running stops. At 6, they knew exactly what was expected. That’s the thing. You know.<br /><br />And I get the idea of it being retrograde and a relic of an era when a woman could be put in her place by the threat of <span style="font-style:italic;">not </span>being a true lady. Oh, my. The tyranny of being a “good little girl” and a “lady”. But the only way to deal with the past is to pick up the things you want and leave the rest behind. There are wonderful things about being a lady. Madeleine Albright is a lady. And one tough broad too.* All in context. I have contexts too. Sometimes I’m a bitch. Sometimes I’m one of the girls. And yes, even I can be a lady. I drink my beer with a pinky firmly out.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">* If you've never heard her talk about sending messages to heads of state using her broaches, go look it up. Well, played, Madame Albright. Well played.</span>FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-56221888582216323332011-11-18T14:14:00.000-06:002011-11-18T14:15:21.048-06:00Sparky and MeSo, I bought the Kindle Fire. I’ve named him. I may have petted him. I haven’t whispered “I love you yet.” But really, that’s where this relationship is going.<br /><br />I resisted the tablet thing for awhile. I mean, I have a laptop and a phone. The iPad and its competitors looked fun, sure. But frankly, maybe too much fun. Ya know what I’m saying? You see those people just staring at their digital device. Poking at those angry birds, or scrolling through their 3 or 4 hundred closes friends on Facebook. Looking a little . . . disconnected, in a weird way. I mean, it connects you in the cyber way. But it really puts you inside a bubble in the real world. I’m not making judgments. Connected is connected. But I live inside my head too much already. I don’t need something that turns me even more socially challenged.<br /><br />But I’d see the people on the train or at the airport – reading books. Oh, books. Oh, books. Especially the big giant books that I love, but don’t have the upper body strength or spare wheelbarrow to carry. I mean, The Passage is almost 800 pages in hardback. I don’t mind committing the time. It’s the risk of back injury that I’m concerned about. <br /><br />So, the Kindle Fire comes out in color. I can load my knitting patterns on it from Ravelry (High Tech Gadget, meet my Low Tech Hobby). I could check my email if I was so inclined. Music and movies can be had. And books, oh, books. I downloaded Pride and Prejudice, The Secret Garden and The Wasteland all for free. I have them with me right now. It’s kind of a giddy feeling.<br /><br />I’m still saying no to those Angry Birds, though.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-11287130255461022852011-11-16T09:41:00.001-06:002011-11-16T09:44:45.835-06:00Oh, quit clutching your pearls, AmericaOkay, I haven’t blogged in awhile. But bless the Kardashians, I just can’t resist. And it’s not the 72 Day Marriage. It’s everyone’s reaction to the 72 Day Marriage.<br /><br />It appears that there are people who feel so snookered by this one that they are now set on destroying Kim Kardashian’s career. Wait. Is that “career”? I’m not sure. Anyway.<br /><br />Evidently there are Facebook pages and petitions to get Kim K. off the E! network, and to get her out of Tyler Perry’s movie. Because she might destroy the <span style="font-style:italic;">high artistic integrity</span> of those two endeavors. I’m going to leave Tyler Perry alone (other than to give you a topic – Tyler Perry’s Madea is to southern black people as Vickie Lawrence’s Mama Harper is to southern white people. Talk amongst yourselves.) But let’s face it, E! is the network that finds it appropriate to do the True Hollywood story of Justin Bieber’s rise to fame (and made an hour out of it) and has a successful spin-off based on a long running show about Hugh Hefner’s “girlfriends”. The Kardashians are by no means the bottom of that barrel.<br /><br />But really, it’s more about people getting offended by the 72DM. Come on guys. Let’s review the record.<br /><br />1: Kim Kardashian is not the first person to parlay notoriety into Hollywood success. Or at least a Playboy spread. <br />2: She’s not the first person in Hollywood to have a blink and you’ll miss it marriage. In fact, Americans, in general, suck at marriage. She’s just more efficient at it.<br />3: And I think this is most important. Kimmie did not waltz into your house and turn the TV on for you, pop your popcorn and sit you down to watch the 4 hour wedding extravaganza. If you lost that 4 hours of your life, that’s on you. She didn’t suddenly become a vapid, shallow, self-centered, conniving hustler when the ring came off. And in fact, isn’t that really what you loved about her in the first place?<br /><br />Oh, I’m not saying that she should still be on TV. Ignore her and she WILL go away. That’s network TV. They’re ratings whores, plain and simple. And maybe if they get rid of her Ross Matthews will finally get his own show (I’m hoping for you, Rossie!). But there are just so many other reasons to stop her from sucking all the air out of the zeitgeist. The lack of talent, the slightly crossed eyes, the fact that you have to take her whole bat-sh** crazy family with her, the mean streak. Take your pick.<br /><br />But getting all huffy and “Well, I never!” because her reality TV wedding/3-ring circus was, shall we say, disingenuous? Come on now.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-45607441487163682612011-08-31T13:32:00.002-05:002011-08-31T14:06:22.037-05:00Billy Goat's Gruffhttp://glutenfreegirl.com/warm-brown-rice-and-grilled-vegetable-salad/
<br />
<br />I’ve read Gluten-Free Girl’s blog at different times. Sometimes. Because, though I do cook gluten-free fairly regularly for a friend, I find that most recipes that are jeririgged to be sans-gluten, often leave me just wishing that it really was what it’s pretending to be. And if you have gluten problems you pretty much have no choice but to love the one your with, as an only occasional consumer of gluten-free products, I’ve never really developed the taste for them. So I tend to go toward recipes that are not now, nor were they ever intended to be, made with gluten. Stick rice pudding or grilled veggies skirt the gluten issue quite effectively.
<br />
<br />But I saw a couple of blogs referencing Gluten-Free Girl’s post about internet trolls, and I had to go take a look. I’ve been kind of curious about trolls for awhile now. I mean, who are they? If you ever look at comments sections on public sites out there, you really need to brace yourself. There appears to be a large contingent of people out there who read internet posts, then uncap a bottle of Haterade and just start chugging. And I only say large contingent because going by the number of places they turn up and the sheer volume of comments, it’s gotta be more than just one guy sitting in a bunker in Idaho with nothing but a can of pork and beans and an internet connection.
<br />
<br />And they will strike at anything. You’re stupid, a bad writer, entitled, over-priveleged, elitist, fat, ugly, too young, too old, a bad parent, a bad American, the long-lost grandchild of Adolf Hitler, a redneck, a hippie, a monster, and basically what’s-wrong-with-the-world-today. Wow. And that’s not including the ad hominem comments that are simply racist or sexist. And the general tone is fantastically dismissive, and generally questioning of the original writer’s right to put something up for the rest of the world to see. Or breathe.
<br />
<br />And it can range from misspelled, barely literate, rage-filled, profanity-laced blurts, to mini essays full of erudition and distain (also rage-filled). I can’t really get a picture in my head about what your typical troll would be like. Other than the fact that they all seem to have a need to get it out. So who are they in the real world? I don’t think I know anyone who I’d think is out there hurling word grenades at random bloggers. Are they getting out their hate in a fairly safe environment? Sort of like free therapy. Are they just the people who never seem to say much, and they just save it for the comments section? What did they do before they had an anonymous outlet for their inner troll? Maybe editors of newspapers from the old days have a better perspective on this. Maybe they had a bag of poison pen epistles that they had to plow through every week.
<br />
<br />I’m not sure what I’d do if I ever picked up a troll here on this blog. I’m not sure I’d be willing to be someone’s punching bag. Luckily, I’ve been very fortunate to be pretty much a tiny voice in a very big choir. There’s a Roger Clyne & the Peacemakers song about how we’re all floating out in the middle of the ocean in leaky little boats, calling out to the other leaky little boats out there on the horizon. It would be nice if what we called wasn’t “You’re fat, you’re stupid, you’re ugly!”, but “Hi! How are you? I hope you’re doing well.”
<br />
<br />Oh, and that warm rice salad looks hella good. I'm making me some of that.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-5882086126481366562011-08-25T09:58:00.000-05:002011-08-25T09:59:10.971-05:00Beauty and The Beasthttp://www.salon.com/life/feature/2011/08/25/pickup/index.html
<br />
<br />It seems so obvious. A forest for the trees sort of thing. But really, this is one of those scientific studies where I say “Yes! Thank you! That explains it.” Basically, the idea is that hardsell pickup lines work because they’re sexist. And they work to pickup women who are sexist too. Bam! The old matching theory at work. Like peanut butter and jelly. Like masochists and sadists. Actually, a lot like masochists and sadists.
<br />
<br />But there’s also a corollary I think they missed. These books like The Game are written specifically to pickup beautiful women. That’s the limiter that make the whole thing work. One side of that would be, of course men want to pickup beautiful women. Why pickup ugly chicks? Granted.
<br />
<br />But the other side of the coin is that, to a great extent, picking up beautiful women is like shooting fish in a barrel. They are easy marks. Especially for the notorious tactic of “negging”. That’s where a guy either gives a deliberately backhanded compliment or out-and-out criticizes a woman. Basically, it softens up her self-esteem so that she’s more open to being approached. The thing is, beautiful women have no resilience in this department. Me, you tell me that “Hey, I really like that you have the confidence to wear an ugly outfit” or “You know the natural look works for you. You can get away with not looking perfect,” and my little defenses go straight up. Zap! Zap! Jerk comments just bounce off like Wonder Woman’s bracelets. Beautiful women? They’re defenseless. They’ve never been attacked about their looks in their entire lives. They’ve never had to have a great personality.
<br />
<br />Beautiful girls are also a lot easier to separate from their packs. When they get together, basically their selling point is all the same. So once their out, the further they get from the comparison set, the better off they are. When average girls go out, they usually go out with women they actually like. If I end up talking to a guy who turns out to be a jerkwad, I just go back to my crowd where I know I’m going to have a good time. AND I’ll have a new 5 minutes of material to regale my friends about the jerkwad who just tried to pick me up.
<br />
<br />And lastly, beauty is malleable. Most men will accept what they are presented as beauty. They aren’t looking to see if someone is genetically beautiful. Flat ironed hair, tons of makeup, short skirt, breast implants, 6-inch heels. They’re done. A beautiful facade is plenty. Especially for a one-night hookup. And any woman who is willing to subject themselves to the kind of torture it takes to be club worthy is probably just masochistic enough to take whatever what of these bozos dish out.
<br />
<br />So, I’m going to submit that “beautiful” is another self-selecting quality here. It is probably way easier to pick those girls up than one that’s just average. And if they were actually able to pickup pretty girls (naturally good looking, yet not acculturated to submit to the patriarchal ideal – see, researcher guys? I can use big words too), then I’d actually be impressed.FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-2089925517931038262011-08-24T15:43:00.002-05:002011-08-24T15:47:37.678-05:00An Appointment in Delhihttp://lightbox.time.com/2011/08/24/same-same-but-different-tourism-in-southeast-asia/#3
<br />
<br />Oh, my god. It’s one of the “me”s.* I’ve always said I have one of those faces. People are always telling me I look like someone they know. Their cousin. Their college roommate. The girl who works in Building 1. Even my own family has seen these people, and almost walked up to one of them to start talking before they realized it wasn’t me. My own mother saw “me” in Amsterdam and was about 2 seconds from walking up and asking what the hell I was doing there.
<br />
<br />And now I’ve seen one. It’s a “me.” Picture 3 of this photo essay (hopefully the link will take you straight there). Same coloring. Similar build. About the right haircut. And I’ll even be damned if I don’t own that outfit. Me. And if I was in Delhi, I’d probably be carrying that same travel book.
<br />
<br />It’s kind of fucking with my sense of identity. I really prefer to think of myself as unique (aren’t we all?). I’m just contrary enough that I’ll head straight for red if everyone else is picking green. I <span style="font-weight: bold;">LIVE </span>for the words “only you would do that”. And that was just a bald and unattractive admission, so please don’t tell anyone else. It’s true enough though. An overweening, singular and slightly silly need to be different. Sad but true.
<br />
<br />And there she is. Wearing my . . . me! I feel slightly peeved. <span style="font-style:italic;">Missy</span>. I’ll admit that I fall in the general area of average female of mixed European descent. But really. Get your own face. Thank heavens for the skootch of Native American that gave me a bold nose, otherwise I’d be as interesting as a pile of potatoes. But still. There she is. But for the schnoz, my doppelganger. I’m perturbed. I admit it. Quite perturbed. I wonder if she knows about the rest of us.
<br />
<br />* And I have to say, I have no idea how to appropriately punctuate that. Plural, with quotes, and an awkward 2 letter word that ends in a vowel. Punctuation nightmare. Just go with it.
<br />FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197581309536990457.post-11312738884383972852011-08-23T10:59:00.001-05:002011-08-23T11:00:53.066-05:00Dazed and ConfusedI’m really annoyed about the argument that people don’t want gay marriage or families addressed publicly because “it might confuse the kids”. Oh, come on. You’ll have to do better than that. Shoelaces confuse kids. In fact, growing up could be described as the process by which one goes from confused by, well, pretty much everything to a state of being unconfused. Well, not completely unconfused. But you know. Pretty much having a handle on the basics.
<br />
<br />I think my entire childhood was pretty much one long confusion. One more thing to be befuddled about would have been no big deal. Which pretty much describes the way the only child I’ve ever seen actually go through the explanation of “Annie has two daddies”. He went through about 30 seconds of “What? Really? You’re kidding me? That’s funny. Okay. Whatever.” At 5, he had way more trouble figuring out the ketchup bottle (he’d never encountered one that wasn’t squeezable - hilarious). And a whole lot more interest in the outcome.
<br />
<br />So, unless you’re going to eliminate all of the “confusing” things in the world like shoelaces and glass ketchup bottles, parents are just going to have to add two adults who love each other very much to the list of things they’ll need to explain. For the most part, kids brains are still mushy enough that they can take in all sorts of new things, no problem. It’s only adults who seem to have a hard time with it. And, if you really run into a kid who just doesn’t get it, you can always fall back on my Mom’s all-purpose phrase for making awkward parent/child conversations go way: “It’s none of your business.”FirePhrasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07461093040715853173noreply@blogger.com0