To Do the Laundry and Clean Up My Room

I find this to be appalling. In this day and age, it is truly offensive to me that we are still looking to the future first lady for a cookie recipe. And somehow the success of their respective husbands hangs in the balance until the winner of the cookie recipe is determined. The idea that wives belong in the kitchen and that said wives are judged, not on their character or abilities, but on whether or not they can follow a cookie recipe is outdated and dangerous.

Stay in the kitchen! Make me some cookies! But, don't eat them yourself.

Average is Underrated. Fo' Shizzle.

Man, the celebrity life has to blow. Just like the next sucker, I get drawn into these outrageous tabloid stories. I love a good train-wreck. It makes me feel grateful for this thing we called anonymity. It's nice to have privacy. I take great comfort in the fact that I can schlep to the laundromat in my Target yoga pants and Bikini Kill t-shirt - unshowered - and no one gives a damn. Do you think any of these celebs wish, just for a day, that they could blend into the crowd? I'll bet some of them do.

You can argue that it's all worth it somehow because the money makes up for it. What if, though, you could attach a real price tag to anonymity? Say that a person's anonymity is worth $50 million, tax free. That's a lot of money. It could even be more. Imagine how much money a celebrity doles out for security, private rooms, special covert services, etc. It's an ongoing expense. The bigger the star, the more expensive it is. And the paparazzi still manage to squeeze into their private moments and snap pictures of their disgusting, flabby butts on the beach. If you miss a spot shaving, people all over the globe are going to know about it.

And what about trust? Most of us have a few shifty people in our lives. It's unavoidable. But, the majority of the people we know and interact with are pretty honest and relatively trust-worthy. Because you can't offer them much except for the same treatment in return, most people are, "real." On the other hand, if you were an A-lister, there's a lot that the average person might want from you. Money, opportunities, exploitation. They aren't interested in the person as much as what the person can do for them. Pretty soon, you don't know who you can trust. You don't know who is going to stab you in the back next. You don't know which writer is going to tear your album or movie to shreds. It's no wonder these people all turn to drugs!

If you are a woman of average height, you'd better not weigh more than 95 pounds. If you are a man, you'd better start making some lady friends - fast! You don't want the media to start wondering about you.

There are so many problems and stresses with this kind of life, I don't think I could ever live it. I like my $50 million tax-free anonymity. I keep it in a perfectly-lit display case, right next to my Charlie Card and pictures of my friends, family and pets. Ah, to be average.

Money, Money, Money, Money .... MONEY

Not long ago, I was listening to this Christian talk show on the AM dial. Why? Because, over time, it seems that I have become terrifically bored with FM stations that aren't NPR. The Emerson College station is pretty hip and enjoyable, but I've developed a complete and utter lack of patience for popular music. Don't ask me how or when this happened! I can't tell you the answer. All I can say is that I would rather sit in the car and rage at some right-winged smoke blower on talk radio than tap my foot along to an overplayed classic rock song or a tired, old "alternative" hit. I love the Ramones, but I'd rather be sedated than listen to "I Wanna Be Sedated" for the 12 millionth time. Right, so, I was listening to this pre-recorded program of this minister talking to a group of people about marriage and finances. Oh, did this guy frost my behind! He first went on about how when you get married, the money becomes "our money" not "my money." Forget about your past relationship with money, he preaches, you are one with another person now. Metaphorically, I guess this is what you are supposed to believe with marriage, but I have more problems with this idea that I can shake a stick at. While marriage unites two people in many regards, your souls don't meld into one all of a sudden. You don't instantaneously lose your identity. That's ridiculous! Decisions become joint and there's a lot more compromise in your life, but I think it's dangerous to think of "former" self as something of a ghost.

The money thing. Having learned the hard way that pooling money together is futile, I can honestly say that I strongly suggest keeping your money separate. In theory, putting it together seems like the perfect thing to do, right? You put yours in, I'll put mine in, great! Wrong. You will never stop fighting about it. This is exactly why money is a problem for so many couples. Remember when you had roommates and everyone paid a certain amount for the rent and other expenses? You divide things up in about 5 minutes. You pay the phone bill, I'll pay the gas and electric, whatever. No fights. You just go about your life. Why does this need to change when you get married? I guess if a woman wants to take time off to raise children, then this model doesn't apply, but more and more households require 2 incomes. I say, like that overplayed alternative hit from 1994, keep 'em separated! If your spouse doesn't hold up their end of the financial burden, then you married the wrong person and chances are, they'll disappoint you in a million other ways.

The Ghosts of Saturday Night

In my opinion, this is one of the best written songs I've ever heard. Every time I hear it, I feel like I'm in it. I don't know if it's the scratchiness of Tom Waits' voice or the lazy pace of his fingers on the keys, or what, but he creates perfect picture with these words.

A cab combs the snake,
Tryin' to rake in that last night's fare,
And a solitary sailor
Who spends the facts of his life
like small change on strangers...

Paws his inside P-coat pocket
for a welcome twenty-five cents,
And the last bent butt from a package of Kents,
As he dreams of a waitress with Maxwell House eyes
And marmalade thighs with scrambled yellow hair.

Her rhinestone-studded moniker says, "Irene"
As she wipes the wisps of dishwater blonde from her eyes

And the Texaco beacon burns on,
The steel-belted attendant with a 'Ring and Valve Special'...
Cryin' "Fill'er up and check that oil"
"You know it could be a distributor and it could be a coil."

The early mornin' final edition's on the stands,
And that town cryer's cryin' there with nickels in his hands.
Pigs in a blanket sixty-nine cents,
Eggs - roll 'em over and a package of Kents,
Adam and Eve on a log, you can sink 'em damn straight,
Hash browns, hash browns, you know I can't be late.

And the early dawn cracks out a carpet of diamond
Across a cash crop car lot
filled with twilight Coupe Devilles,
Leaving the town in a-keeping
Of the one who is sweeping
Up the ghost of Saturday night...

Beast - i - e

So, I hear that the B Boys are releasin' a new one this summer. I, for one, am skeptical.

Let me start by saying that I've been a HUGE Beastie Boys fan for as long as I can remember. I've seen them twice (once at Lollapalooza, once during the Hello Nasty tour). I've grown older with them (though they will always be slightly older than me), I've experienced the evolution of their sound and appreciated all of it. Until. To. The. 5. Burroughs. "Crappy" is not a descriptive enough word. It was simple and repetitive and boring as all hell.

I love these guys dearly. I support their political causes (though I do question the appropriateness in which they've presented their ideas), I think they've got a fine sense of humor, and I especially like the fact that they've the defied the odds. No one thought that 3 silly white kids from New York would sustain themselves as rap artists for 20 years. I've got nothing but respect for them. Truly. But, I'm frightened to sample the new album. I probably won't.

Please B Boys, don't turn into the Red Hot Chili Peppers. For the love of all things that don't suck, take my advice!

Being Pro-Choice

In the spirit of activism, I am doing my part to support a woman's right to choose. Happy Blog for Choice Day.

The one thing that has always disturbed me about the pro-life stance is that it never addresses the quality of the potential life. In fact, the same people who tend to hold up pictures of aborted fetuses outside clinics are usually the types who line up to "flip the switch" when an inmate is executed. Generally, these folks vote against programs to help fund education and other community outreach initiatives. So, the general message is: After we "save your life," you're on your own! In my opinion, if a woman decides to terminate a pregnancy because of her economic situation, she is being responsible. And if the pro-lifer types (who typically object to welfare and the raising of taxes) were honest with themselves, they would agree with this.

Pro-lifers believe that pro-choicers feel that human life is disposable. I think of it in just the opposite way. A human life is an investment. If that life doesn't have a responsible, dedicated parent or set of parents supporting it, then the odds are not in the child's favor. This feels more disposable to me.

Even though abortion is still safe and legal in this country, this right is is always threatened. It is highly unlikely that it will ever be overturned, but it makes me uneasy knowing that there are plenty of politicians and corporations who try to chisel away at it. If Roe vs. Wade is ever reversed, I can guarantee that back alley abortions will take the lives of desperate girls everywhere. Do you want this to happen to your daughter?

Lastly, I object to the taboo and stigma that abortion attaches to the women who obtain them. Women not only have to make the difficult decision, but women are also the ones who are left with this karmic "stain" on their souls. I wish there wasn't such judgment and scrutiny cast upon these women. While I certainly understand those special cases in which women use the practice as a means of birth control, these instances are rare by comparison. Yet, all women who get abortions, despite their reasons, are treated the same way. Doesn't seem fair.

Bradolina or AngePitt or Whatever the F*** You People Call It

I know that I'm not supposed to hate Brad and Angelina, but I do. It's not supposed to engage me in the way that it does, but I am engaged. I'm supposed to shrug it off - it's Hollywood, right? But I don't. There is something so sinister about this couple.

Angelina. Every woman's worst nightmare.
Brad. Nitwit. Admired by hoards of women around the world, though I haven't a clue why.

They have obviously tried to snuff out the scandal surrounding their union by volunteering their time to humane causes. This makes them all the more annoying. This morning, I saw them all decked out in their Golden Globe crap, posing like statues, and I just wanted to vomit.

Like Dr. Werner Klopek said in The 'Burbs: You may have fooled the others, but you don't fool me.

What was the point of this post?

Like Pee Wee Herman said in Pee Wee's Big Adventure: I DON'T KNOW!

G.W. Poophead

Part of me really wants to hear Bush's speech tonight. It's supposed to be one of those "jig is up" type deals. Honest but still hopeful about "victory" in Iraq (whatever that's supposed to mean). I am curious about the new strategy, though I know that it involves an increase in the number of troops (or surge, the latest buzzword) followed by a lot of finger crossing. He is supposedly going to present several benchmarks.

*Yawn*

The truth is, I can't stand the sound of his voice, so I will need to hear analysis on NPR tomorrow. And hopefully, they'll keep the sound clips to a minimum.

I just see the Iraq "war" as an oozing, pus-filled, self-inflicted wound that won't respond to antibiotics. There aren't any quick fixes. And as much as I would love to see our troops begin to pull out, we're in a unique position of being damned either way. Worse, we did it to ourselves. I could go on and on, but I won't. Suffice it to say, I am pessimistic and skeptical about it. I predict another 5-10 years of occupation. I mean, seriously, the skeletal Iraq government is on super shaky paws. Not only do they have their hands full with keeping the violence to a minimum, but they're expected to yank a working democratic plan off the shelf, then enforce it? Come on!

Alright, this is me shutting up.

I Want It Back

Like, 2 blogs ago, I stated that I missed the old Onion-style Boston rag called The Weekly Week. Well, guess what? I still miss it. How can I get these people to start this publication back up? What can one person do to make a difference? How can I effect positive change? Together, we can!

It's the Apocalypse

This is the strangest day. I want to celebrate the 70 degree weather. Really. But, truth be told, it freaks me out. I don't live here in New England to pack a beach towel and lay out in the sun in early January. It's sunny, to boot. I was wearing a long sleeve pullover with a wool vest, however, it wasn't long before the vest needed to come off. I just don't know what to say. I am experiencing "staying inside on a hot day guilt" and I ought not to this early in the year. I made a winter stew last night, not realizing just how ridiculous it would taste on a day like this. Mercifully, I didn't drop the storm windows down in my bedroom because I actually NEEDED to open them.

Bizarre.

Twilight Zone Marathon

I am disappointed that SciFi's Twilight Zone marathon has come to an end. I was traveling back from NYC during much of it. One of my favorites is Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up. It's packed with suspense. [Yes, the TZ folks did not put a question mark at the end of the title.]



I am (very) seriously considering buying the whole damn series on DVD.