I used to have an attention span. Really, I did. As a child I could spend hours reading a book, or playing cards, or backgammon or whatever. Now, there is absolutely no question that I have ADHD. Or ADD. Or, quite simply, JWTFiGoH (Just WTF is Going on Here)?
I no longer seem to be able to go from Point A to Point B in one straight line. Either physically or mentally. My last 15 minutes have been as follows: I should really write a post about something. I think I'll nuke some broccoli. Type in the name of the post and part of the first paragraph. Go to iTunes, download a song. Think about downloading some more. Nope, let me go back to writing the post. WTF am I watching on TV at the moment? Comment on someone's post on facebook. Type a bit more. Oh, I should take my empty broccoli bowl to the kitchen. Get up (or slide down, my bed is a bit higher than standard but then again, I am a bit shorter than standard) and let loose with the usual string of invectives that accompany any movement made once all of my joints have frozen up from sitting for all of 6 minutes. Return from the kitchen with some pistachio nuts. It's the lowest fat nut you know. Seriously, what is on my TV? Scroll through the channel channel. Switch over to "Little Miss Sunshine". Oh shucks, man - why isn't this one of the High Def channels? Crap, now I need a fresh Diet Coke. Exchange empty can for full one. Alright then, what was I writing about?
Oh yes, then there are the times I find myself in a room but have no idea why I am there. The small lounge off of my bedroom is a room that I refer to as "The Room of French Farce". It is maybe 8 x 10 but there are five (yeah, I said it, FIVE) doors off of this room - so when I come to the inevitable halt in that room and ask myself what in the fresh hell is it that I was going to do, this room is of no help whatsoever. It is merely a portal to several other places. Am I doing laundry? Was I getting something from the kitchen? From the bathroom? From the cupboard? From the back fridge? Am I leaving the house? It often just ends up with me back in my bedroom trying to remember what it was I was trying to accomplish in the first place.
Oh, sorry I'm back again, just went over to fb for a minute.
Hey, look - the guy from "Breaking Bad" is in "Little Miss Sunshine".
Right, the attention span thing - I blame it on the whole "multi-tasking" movement. What the hell happened to just tasking?
Why do we need to move faster? Why do we have to have everything right now? Patience used to be a virtue - now the three minutes it takes to boil a cup of water for tea just seems WAY too long. As foretold in the book of Eagle: "Life in the fast lane - surely makes you lose your mind. Life in the fast lane - everything - all the time".
I believe that the philosopher, West, summed it up nicely when he said:
Work it, make it, do it, makes us
Harder, better, faster,
stronger
N-n-now that that don't kill
me
Can only make me stronger
I need you to hurry up now
Cause I can't wait much longer
I have already wandered aimlessly for over a half a mile in a very small space today.
I have also just gone back to iTunes and downloaded that Kanye song. Now I am listening to it, dancing from the waist up and typing...
Nope, wait here - full dance break!
I have the attention span of a hummingbird - if only my metabolism matched my attention span...
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Bite Me!
Oh Yay! It's almost November - one of the three sweeps periods of the year. Every show pulls out all the stops competing for the biggest audience. Or, technically, the most number of viewers.
For reasons I cannot fathom, for talk and entertainment shows this means - let's dust off the fat suit again and dress some unbelievably tiny woman in it and send her out into the world. Goody!
After watching her attempt to maneuver her way through life (through the miracle of at least 25 pounds of hidden camera equipment built into the suit), we then get to listen to the once again wee woman weep her way through the narration of the video. The taunting, the cruelty, the shame, the pity, the agony, the agony, blah, blah. Fun!
I believe you could improve your viewership even further if you could put someone, like say, me, into the suit of a woman who weighs less than a load of wet laundry. Now, THAT would be something to see. Magic!
Americans are getting bigger - it's a fact. A sad one, but a truth nonetheless. I question the wisdom then, of pissing off such a large demographic. And yes, I mean it both figuratively as well as literally.
And what if someone, (and again, I will be the example) were able to whip my big brethren into a frenzy - we would be a force to behold! While I can be very persuasive, I prefer to use my powers for good. It's just lucky for you that I am lazy as well (but the jolly and light on my feet bits have held me in good stead my whole life. It's not all doom and gloom, you know).
And so, to all of you air-brushed, impossibly thin "reporters" and "anchors" (all of whom I could probably snap like a twig just by looking at you real hard - but again, I'll be the, uh, bigger person), on behalf of a movement I prefer to call "More Of Us To Love" (or maybe, "Large & In Charge" - I don't know, can't decide) may I say:
Bite me!
For reasons I cannot fathom, for talk and entertainment shows this means - let's dust off the fat suit again and dress some unbelievably tiny woman in it and send her out into the world. Goody!
After watching her attempt to maneuver her way through life (through the miracle of at least 25 pounds of hidden camera equipment built into the suit), we then get to listen to the once again wee woman weep her way through the narration of the video. The taunting, the cruelty, the shame, the pity, the agony, the agony, blah, blah. Fun!
I believe you could improve your viewership even further if you could put someone, like say, me, into the suit of a woman who weighs less than a load of wet laundry. Now, THAT would be something to see. Magic!
Americans are getting bigger - it's a fact. A sad one, but a truth nonetheless. I question the wisdom then, of pissing off such a large demographic. And yes, I mean it both figuratively as well as literally.
And what if someone, (and again, I will be the example) were able to whip my big brethren into a frenzy - we would be a force to behold! While I can be very persuasive, I prefer to use my powers for good. It's just lucky for you that I am lazy as well (but the jolly and light on my feet bits have held me in good stead my whole life. It's not all doom and gloom, you know).
And so, to all of you air-brushed, impossibly thin "reporters" and "anchors" (all of whom I could probably snap like a twig just by looking at you real hard - but again, I'll be the, uh, bigger person), on behalf of a movement I prefer to call "More Of Us To Love" (or maybe, "Large & In Charge" - I don't know, can't decide) may I say:
Bite me!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Don't Forget The Glitter.
It recently occurred to me that Keith Morrison of NBC's Dateline has a propensity for making everything he says sound creepy. He could be reading fairy tales or nursery rhymes and all you could hope was that Chris Hansen would arrive imminently with his hidden camera crew to find out just WTF was going on here.
Upon further reflection I wondered just WTF was going on here and who decided that these generally horrifying stories should be read to small children? And just before bed? Some ye Olde Association of Therapists? The only "fairy tales" that had truth in advertising were those by the Brothers Grimm. Today they seem more appropriate to be episodes of, I don't know, "Law & Order".
For example, I'm pretty sure that Child Protective Services should've been called in for both the cases of Hansel & Gretel v. Stepmother as well as the old lady who lived in a shoe with so many children she...what's that? Oh, her name is Nadya Suleman, the shoe is a stucco house and CPS has already been called. Alright then, good to know.
Or Bambi? Really? Bambi, Thumper and Flower frolicking about the forest then BOOM, "Sorry, Bambi, your mother is dead". I can still remember becoming almost inconsolable listening to this story on the record player (the VCR/DVR of the 50's & 60's). If I had even ever seen a deer at that point, it would've been in the Central Park Zoo but it was the principle of the thing.
And Little Miss Muffet? Bitch, please - really not as innocent as it seems. Particularly to the arachnophobic child. If this goddamn spider is so big that it actually "sits" beside her then get Chris Hansen in here STAT because the odds that the local exterminator has released a gross of pregnant spiders from Three Mile Island to drum up business are pretty high. Especially in this economy.
So, after enduring wolves blowing down houses (and when they can't get work blowing down the houses then they are out wilding in the forest and stalking a young girl in a red hoodie who is just trying to get to her grandma's house) or hearing about a little blonde girl who had not just one but THREE bears break into her house (and again, where are that child's parents? ) this is then generally followed by "Well then, good night, dear. Sleep tight."
Sleep tight my ass! Didn't you hear the story you just read to me? Oh please, won't you read me "In Cold Blood" or "Frankenstein" tomorrow night? My sole consolation for many of these stories was the distinct lack of wildlife on the island of Manhattan however my stress levels elevated anytime we left "town" and went to "the country".
Quite frankly, I would like to suggest that the term "fairy tale" be retired altogether unless it can be said with the proper reverence. This is a complete misnomer anyway - at least for those of us who know that a true Fairy Tale would have better lighting, more musical numbers and witty repartee. Oh, and glitter. AND it would win Tonys, Emmys and Oscars. And even the straightest dudes would be heard whistling the tunes - days later.
These stories of horror should henceforth be known as "Here's a little ditty that should start you well on your way down the yellow brick road of life-long insomnia".
Let's eschew (bless me) old school fairy tales and break the chain of reading stories about cannibalism, bear, wolf and atomic-size spider attacks and general death and dying to our children. There's plenty of time for them to find out that life isn't fair. And that there are days when that is the best that can be said. Also, they really need their sleep.
Let's read the stories with the better lighting that show that all anybody wants is to be treated kindly or that being different is to be celebrated.
Let's teach them happy and empowering songs and not something like, say, "Ring Around the Rosie" - 'cause really, nothing says "Yay, it's great to be alive" better than a song about The Plague. Instead, teach them to lipsync to Miss Gloria Gaynor's, "I Will Survive" or, "And I Am Telling You" and perhaps for good measure, throw in "R.E.S.P.E.C.T". There are several valuable life lessons to be learned in these songs.
Children should know that sticks and stones may indeed break their bones but that a witty comeback is often the best revenge. Develop an extensive vocabulary. Words good.
Oh, and don't forget the glitter...
Upon further reflection I wondered just WTF was going on here and who decided that these generally horrifying stories should be read to small children? And just before bed? Some ye Olde Association of Therapists? The only "fairy tales" that had truth in advertising were those by the Brothers Grimm. Today they seem more appropriate to be episodes of, I don't know, "Law & Order".
For example, I'm pretty sure that Child Protective Services should've been called in for both the cases of Hansel & Gretel v. Stepmother as well as the old lady who lived in a shoe with so many children she...what's that? Oh, her name is Nadya Suleman, the shoe is a stucco house and CPS has already been called. Alright then, good to know.
Or Bambi? Really? Bambi, Thumper and Flower frolicking about the forest then BOOM, "Sorry, Bambi, your mother is dead". I can still remember becoming almost inconsolable listening to this story on the record player (the VCR/DVR of the 50's & 60's). If I had even ever seen a deer at that point, it would've been in the Central Park Zoo but it was the principle of the thing.
And Little Miss Muffet? Bitch, please - really not as innocent as it seems. Particularly to the arachnophobic child. If this goddamn spider is so big that it actually "sits" beside her then get Chris Hansen in here STAT because the odds that the local exterminator has released a gross of pregnant spiders from Three Mile Island to drum up business are pretty high. Especially in this economy.
So, after enduring wolves blowing down houses (and when they can't get work blowing down the houses then they are out wilding in the forest and stalking a young girl in a red hoodie who is just trying to get to her grandma's house) or hearing about a little blonde girl who had not just one but THREE bears break into her house (and again, where are that child's parents? ) this is then generally followed by "Well then, good night, dear. Sleep tight."
Sleep tight my ass! Didn't you hear the story you just read to me? Oh please, won't you read me "In Cold Blood" or "Frankenstein" tomorrow night? My sole consolation for many of these stories was the distinct lack of wildlife on the island of Manhattan however my stress levels elevated anytime we left "town" and went to "the country".
Quite frankly, I would like to suggest that the term "fairy tale" be retired altogether unless it can be said with the proper reverence. This is a complete misnomer anyway - at least for those of us who know that a true Fairy Tale would have better lighting, more musical numbers and witty repartee. Oh, and glitter. AND it would win Tonys, Emmys and Oscars. And even the straightest dudes would be heard whistling the tunes - days later.
These stories of horror should henceforth be known as "Here's a little ditty that should start you well on your way down the yellow brick road of life-long insomnia".
Let's eschew (bless me) old school fairy tales and break the chain of reading stories about cannibalism, bear, wolf and atomic-size spider attacks and general death and dying to our children. There's plenty of time for them to find out that life isn't fair. And that there are days when that is the best that can be said. Also, they really need their sleep.
Let's read the stories with the better lighting that show that all anybody wants is to be treated kindly or that being different is to be celebrated.
Let's teach them happy and empowering songs and not something like, say, "Ring Around the Rosie" - 'cause really, nothing says "Yay, it's great to be alive" better than a song about The Plague. Instead, teach them to lipsync to Miss Gloria Gaynor's, "I Will Survive" or, "And I Am Telling You" and perhaps for good measure, throw in "R.E.S.P.E.C.T". There are several valuable life lessons to be learned in these songs.
Children should know that sticks and stones may indeed break their bones but that a witty comeback is often the best revenge. Develop an extensive vocabulary. Words good.
Oh, and don't forget the glitter...
Sunday, October 16, 2011
For What It's Worth...
This past week I was honoured to be taken as "Show & Tell" to the pre-school of my second tiniest bff, Margot. Music is a big part of their curriculum (which I find most laudable as well as awesome!) so I went there to sing Loudon Wainwright III's, "The Swimming Song". This is a song that I have been singing to Margot since she was a baby.
I did not however, as I had threatened on facebook two nights before, conclude the program with "Peace Out. L'il MoFos" and then, gangsta that I am, a mic-drop. I just thanked them and said that they were the most sober audience for whom I had ever played - leaving off that this included the fact that I used to have to play at Sunday morning Mass (flipping Vatican II, damn your folk masses) as well as Mass at school all the way through middle and high schools. Jesus wept.
Since I had behaved (which I can only imagine is a sign of aging - not sure I like it), apparently the teachers want me to come back again. I am delighted but quite frankly my repertoire is built on a foundation of songs about drinking, life's regrets, love (both lost and unrequited), some drug-taking and often include swear words - you know, the set-list of any bar singer - it occurs that I need to have a think about what else I might be able to learn and play for them.
I haven't quite figured that out yet since my lack of attention span then had me hop on facebook, see that one of my bro's had posted a Peter Gabriel song and then think, "I totally need some Peter Gabriel on my iPod" so, I downloaded "SO" and mentally wandered off, thinking about how finally, FINALLY, the masses are mad as hell and won't take it anymore. Here. In America.
Our Federal government has done fuck-all because no one will listen to anyone else and on local levels with the stripping of Union rights, making voter registration requirements almost impossible and these little GOP fiefdoms popping up all over the goddamn place - the kettle has finally whistled.
Yet, I was still on iTunes (RIP Steve Jobs - that you came up with a concept that allows me to sit at home, and think, "I really like that song, X" and then in a true act of instant gratification allows me to own that song two minutes later and be able to play it at high volume in my headphones is, to me, the best invention. Ever!). These protests, national and international, made me think of all of the music of my youth, songs of protest, yet songs of peace. Songs that implored us to make our voices heard. Anthems and hymns that made us want to in fact, get up, stand up, stand up for our rights. Not that we are completely without that now, "Sing" by My Chemical Romance is a brilliant example.
The song that then came to my mind (and I'm afraid I don't know the path that got me there, so let's just move along) first came out when I was just beginning to play the guitar. It was not a song I played at that time since the list of songs that I could sing convincingly, given the fact that I was 10 and growing up on the Upper East Side, was limited. WTF did I know? There was really no trouble I had seen, whether anyone knew it or not. Maybe that's why that little girl who sings in that fat-old-opera-diva-lady voice creeps me out so. My set-list was mostly The Monkees and those songs suitable for folk masses - some Jesus-y and then others like "Blowing In The Wind".
This song, I now realize, has only three chords and so, on this cold, gray, wet Montana fall day, I am going to memorize the words so that I can play it and invite those who know it to sing along (no, you wouldn't have to know the words exactly, that's my worry) and dedicate it to those who will now take up the mantle (as we have been there, done that and the mantle is a little heavier than many of us should be reasonably expected to lift at this point).
And so, in the words of the philosopher, Stills:
I think it's time, we stop, children - what's that sound?
Everybody look what's going down.
'Course I also think that Jay-Z/Alicia Keys' "Empire State of Mind" should replace "New York, New York" as the state song.
For what it's worth....
I did not however, as I had threatened on facebook two nights before, conclude the program with "Peace Out. L'il MoFos" and then, gangsta that I am, a mic-drop. I just thanked them and said that they were the most sober audience for whom I had ever played - leaving off that this included the fact that I used to have to play at Sunday morning Mass (flipping Vatican II, damn your folk masses) as well as Mass at school all the way through middle and high schools. Jesus wept.
Since I had behaved (which I can only imagine is a sign of aging - not sure I like it), apparently the teachers want me to come back again. I am delighted but quite frankly my repertoire is built on a foundation of songs about drinking, life's regrets, love (both lost and unrequited), some drug-taking and often include swear words - you know, the set-list of any bar singer - it occurs that I need to have a think about what else I might be able to learn and play for them.
I haven't quite figured that out yet since my lack of attention span then had me hop on facebook, see that one of my bro's had posted a Peter Gabriel song and then think, "I totally need some Peter Gabriel on my iPod" so, I downloaded "SO" and mentally wandered off, thinking about how finally, FINALLY, the masses are mad as hell and won't take it anymore. Here. In America.
Our Federal government has done fuck-all because no one will listen to anyone else and on local levels with the stripping of Union rights, making voter registration requirements almost impossible and these little GOP fiefdoms popping up all over the goddamn place - the kettle has finally whistled.
Yet, I was still on iTunes (RIP Steve Jobs - that you came up with a concept that allows me to sit at home, and think, "I really like that song, X" and then in a true act of instant gratification allows me to own that song two minutes later and be able to play it at high volume in my headphones is, to me, the best invention. Ever!). These protests, national and international, made me think of all of the music of my youth, songs of protest, yet songs of peace. Songs that implored us to make our voices heard. Anthems and hymns that made us want to in fact, get up, stand up, stand up for our rights. Not that we are completely without that now, "Sing" by My Chemical Romance is a brilliant example.
The song that then came to my mind (and I'm afraid I don't know the path that got me there, so let's just move along) first came out when I was just beginning to play the guitar. It was not a song I played at that time since the list of songs that I could sing convincingly, given the fact that I was 10 and growing up on the Upper East Side, was limited. WTF did I know? There was really no trouble I had seen, whether anyone knew it or not. Maybe that's why that little girl who sings in that fat-old-opera-diva-lady voice creeps me out so. My set-list was mostly The Monkees and those songs suitable for folk masses - some Jesus-y and then others like "Blowing In The Wind".
This song, I now realize, has only three chords and so, on this cold, gray, wet Montana fall day, I am going to memorize the words so that I can play it and invite those who know it to sing along (no, you wouldn't have to know the words exactly, that's my worry) and dedicate it to those who will now take up the mantle (as we have been there, done that and the mantle is a little heavier than many of us should be reasonably expected to lift at this point).
And so, in the words of the philosopher, Stills:
I think it's time, we stop, children - what's that sound?
Everybody look what's going down.
'Course I also think that Jay-Z/Alicia Keys' "Empire State of Mind" should replace "New York, New York" as the state song.
For what it's worth....
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Andy Warhol Is Not The Boss Of You
Where in the fresh hell have manners and consideration for one's fellow human gone? When did we start rewarding aberrant behaviour with fame and fortune? I like to think that I still take peoples' feelings into account, when possible, before speaking or acting. While it pains me to say it, I will admit that the thank you note has always been my bête noire. I will also admit that just earlier, this very day, I posted on my facebook page that I thought the GOP should consider moving from the Debate/Town Hall format to Cage Matches of Death. I have properly excoriated myself and mea culpa-ed all about the place and given myself 3 Bloody Marys. What's that you say? Oh no, I'm Irish Catholic - Hail Marys, Bloody Marys - all quite the same, I can assure you.
This, I believe, is the result of the marriage of Reality TV and Mainstream Media. Hey, I'd be lying if I didn't cop to the occasional "Real Housewives" monkey on my back. It's the accident from which one can not turn away. Many is the time I find that I have been dragged into one of these scream-fests during some innocent channel-surfing on my part. I then realize, about 10 minutes in, that the clicker is still in my hand and my jaw is beginning to ache since it has been agape the whole time. Who in their right flipping mind would hang around people who treated each other this way?
Then there is that group of ne'er–do–wells from Jersey Shore. How hideously behaved must one be to have the entire country of Italy say, "Grazie, no" when asked if the show could film there? Remember, this is the same country whose Prime Minister, Silvio Berlusconi, appears to be the love child of Fatty Arbuckle and Larry Flint.
The scariest of all, because they are showing themselves now, in great number, are the people who possess the Lynch Mob mentality. It was indeed at a Republican Debate earlier this month when Rick Perry's record of 234 executions was applauded! WTF?
You know, America, repeating the same mistake over and over again is a sign of insanity. Who decided Governor of Texas is the stepping stone to the Presidency? Look what happened last time we had a Texas Governor as POTUS. Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ - under Perry, Texas was talking about secession just two years ago. So, what we basically have here is a serial killer who doesn't even bloody well want to be part of the United States of America. Delightful.
And so, to the Mainstream Media, both those considered legitimate and credible and well, ya know, FOX - please, please, stop giving notoriety to the poorly behaved. Yes, I understand that Andy Warhol once said that "In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes" but A) y'all are taking this way too literally and 2) Andy Warhol is dead and not the boss of you.
This, I believe, is the result of the marriage of Reality TV and Mainstream Media. Hey, I'd be lying if I didn't cop to the occasional "Real Housewives" monkey on my back. It's the accident from which one can not turn away. Many is the time I find that I have been dragged into one of these scream-fests during some innocent channel-surfing on my part. I then realize, about 10 minutes in, that the clicker is still in my hand and my jaw is beginning to ache since it has been agape the whole time. Who in their right flipping mind would hang around people who treated each other this way?
Then there is that group of ne'er–do–wells from Jersey Shore. How hideously behaved must one be to have the entire country of Italy say, "Grazie, no" when asked if the show could film there? Remember, this is the same country whose Prime Minister, Silvio Berlusconi, appears to be the love child of Fatty Arbuckle and Larry Flint.
The scariest of all, because they are showing themselves now, in great number, are the people who possess the Lynch Mob mentality. It was indeed at a Republican Debate earlier this month when Rick Perry's record of 234 executions was applauded! WTF?
You know, America, repeating the same mistake over and over again is a sign of insanity. Who decided Governor of Texas is the stepping stone to the Presidency? Look what happened last time we had a Texas Governor as POTUS. Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ - under Perry, Texas was talking about secession just two years ago. So, what we basically have here is a serial killer who doesn't even bloody well want to be part of the United States of America. Delightful.
And so, to the Mainstream Media, both those considered legitimate and credible and well, ya know, FOX - please, please, stop giving notoriety to the poorly behaved. Yes, I understand that Andy Warhol once said that "In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes" but A) y'all are taking this way too literally and 2) Andy Warhol is dead and not the boss of you.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Quit Changing Shit.
I am not so sensitive to smells that I cannot bear any & all scents but I would say that I am a 7 out of 10. It is not out of the realm of possibility that I might have to bathe again upon return from a party before I go to bed. We all have many people in our lives of whom we are most fond but sadly suffer from LSS (Loud Scent Syndrome). I particuarly noticed this when I lived in the West Indies but we are not immune at home. Between the "Hellos" and "Good-byes", by the time I get home I feel as though I have run the gauntlet through the perfume department at Bloomingdale's.
There are also smells which, when found in nature, are a delight to the senses but when made into something artificial are quasi nausea inducing (to me). Roses? In nature, divine! Body Lotion? Gag! The scent of lilacs on an early Montana summer evening is intoxicating. Air "freshener" = "Where the hell is that smell coming from and what is it?".
"That smell" in fact, is what seems to have become the universal scent of so many, many things (irrespective for the most part, of the fruits, flowers and/or herbs listed on the bottle): green goddamn apple. If it's not that, then the smell of whatever it is, is way too much! Who voted on this? The few smells of which I was tolerant have either been discontinued or the scent I loved is now gone and replaced with green flipping apple. Gone is my beloved, dark green, piney Herbal Essence Shampoo. Baby Shampoo is now green mofo apple, which is just simply wrong. I don't know what the scent of Finesse is or I guess was - haven't seen it in a while - just know I liked it and Head & Shoulders, which used to smell like clean laundry now smells vaguely like cedar and makes me think of hamsters.
Did no one learn from the "New Coke" fiasco of the 1980's?
Where in the fresh hell have all the good oxford cloth shirts gone? Now they're all "Easy-care!", "Wrinkle-free!". I hate them. Oh, they say the shirts are 100% cotton but they feel shiny which kinda creeps me out. I've been a loyal cotton wearer for as long as I can remember (perhaps I was recruited and pledged a life-long allegiance to the fabric outside of Best & Company as a small child?) and I want it to look AND feel like cotton, damn it. Cotton wrinkles. Linen wrinkles. I wrinkle.
Do not, however, for one minute think that this means that I wish to actually iron the shirts (or even care enough to bring them to someone else to iron) - but I have developed a brilliant, "oh, it almost looks ironed" technique: first, I've rarely seen the need to un-button my button-downs - waste of time, but I do unroll the sleeves and unbutton the collar before the washer. I let the shirts tumble in the dryer for about 10 minutes and then I pull them out, put them on hangers and kinda tug the rest of the wrinkles out then let dry. I would say that when finished, my shirts and I are about the same amount of wrinkled. More than some, less than others. But WHO decided everyone wants wrinkle resistant shirts? I'm talking to you, Eddie Bauer, BroBro, LL Bean.
Seriously, just who the hell are the THEY that decide things like the green apple conspiracy, or that the word "free" in the National Anthem should now be sung using a vocal run of no less than 37 notes? I know lots of people and none of them are "they" and they don't know anyone who is (are?) "they" so just who then is, "they" anyway and why are they fucking with us?
This morning I awoke to new facebook settings - d'oh! I did then feel the need to point out in a post on facebook that the fastest growing group of people who are using the "internets" and electronics are we - the old, the tired, the loopy. We, the holders of the AARP card. We, the old dogs who are just fine with most of our tricks, thanks and who, as the Baby Boomer Generation, represent an ass-load (standard unit of measurement) of people and really no entity wants to piss us off since we're already cranky. In all honesty though, this is a change that I'll hate until I love it and forget what the last one looked like.
But for the rest of it, I am not a fan of change so please just quit changing shit.
There are also smells which, when found in nature, are a delight to the senses but when made into something artificial are quasi nausea inducing (to me). Roses? In nature, divine! Body Lotion? Gag! The scent of lilacs on an early Montana summer evening is intoxicating. Air "freshener" = "Where the hell is that smell coming from and what is it?".
"That smell" in fact, is what seems to have become the universal scent of so many, many things (irrespective for the most part, of the fruits, flowers and/or herbs listed on the bottle): green goddamn apple. If it's not that, then the smell of whatever it is, is way too much! Who voted on this? The few smells of which I was tolerant have either been discontinued or the scent I loved is now gone and replaced with green flipping apple. Gone is my beloved, dark green, piney Herbal Essence Shampoo. Baby Shampoo is now green mofo apple, which is just simply wrong. I don't know what the scent of Finesse is or I guess was - haven't seen it in a while - just know I liked it and Head & Shoulders, which used to smell like clean laundry now smells vaguely like cedar and makes me think of hamsters.
Did no one learn from the "New Coke" fiasco of the 1980's?
Where in the fresh hell have all the good oxford cloth shirts gone? Now they're all "Easy-care!", "Wrinkle-free!". I hate them. Oh, they say the shirts are 100% cotton but they feel shiny which kinda creeps me out. I've been a loyal cotton wearer for as long as I can remember (perhaps I was recruited and pledged a life-long allegiance to the fabric outside of Best & Company as a small child?) and I want it to look AND feel like cotton, damn it. Cotton wrinkles. Linen wrinkles. I wrinkle.
Do not, however, for one minute think that this means that I wish to actually iron the shirts (or even care enough to bring them to someone else to iron) - but I have developed a brilliant, "oh, it almost looks ironed" technique: first, I've rarely seen the need to un-button my button-downs - waste of time, but I do unroll the sleeves and unbutton the collar before the washer. I let the shirts tumble in the dryer for about 10 minutes and then I pull them out, put them on hangers and kinda tug the rest of the wrinkles out then let dry. I would say that when finished, my shirts and I are about the same amount of wrinkled. More than some, less than others. But WHO decided everyone wants wrinkle resistant shirts? I'm talking to you, Eddie Bauer, BroBro, LL Bean.
Seriously, just who the hell are the THEY that decide things like the green apple conspiracy, or that the word "free" in the National Anthem should now be sung using a vocal run of no less than 37 notes? I know lots of people and none of them are "they" and they don't know anyone who is (are?) "they" so just who then is, "they" anyway and why are they fucking with us?
This morning I awoke to new facebook settings - d'oh! I did then feel the need to point out in a post on facebook that the fastest growing group of people who are using the "internets" and electronics are we - the old, the tired, the loopy. We, the holders of the AARP card. We, the old dogs who are just fine with most of our tricks, thanks and who, as the Baby Boomer Generation, represent an ass-load (standard unit of measurement) of people and really no entity wants to piss us off since we're already cranky. In all honesty though, this is a change that I'll hate until I love it and forget what the last one looked like.
But for the rest of it, I am not a fan of change so please just quit changing shit.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
I Can Scratch Glaucoma Off The List
I believe that I can say with some authority, based on empirical evidence gathered over several decades, that Marijuana is not now, nor has it ever been, a "gateway" drug. I will tell you what is a gateway to a myriad, a panoply, a veritable pu pu platter, if you will, of drugs: aging.
As do many of us of a certain age, after first making sure we have woken up that day, part of my morning ritual is the handful of pills that I apparently now need to continue waking up in the daily fashion of which I have become so fond. First of all, some of the damn pills are so impossibly tiny that I can't believe they are really doing anything anyway and if, God forbid, I drop one, I find myself wondering if that was a really important one. Does the 5 second rule apply to pills or can it wait until the next time I need to bend down? Wait, was that one of the very tiny almost square ones or one of the also very tiny somewhat round ones? Alright, just start again from the beginning - Focus!
At one point, for almost two years, I was on a heart drug that was pretty shockingly expensive (relative to all of the others). I did question the wisdom of prescribing this sort of medication to someone who clearly has some sort of heart issue and then presenting them with the charge slip so that suddenly one becomes Fred Sanford, grabbing at one's chest and yelling, "I'm coming to join you, Elizabeth!". I will accept drug company conspiracy and/or Darwinian theories as the correct response.
Then, there are the colourful warnings on the bottles of the impossibly tiny pills that only bring out the anarchist in me; "Avoid grapefruit", "Do not chew". Well, goddammit, I had no intention of doing either until you mentioned it. Grapefruit had never really been a big part of my life anyway (and only a very small and rare part of my cocktail life) but I occasionally find myself either in the produce section or the juice aisle having to avert my eyes, dramatically, as though I am in my own telenovela, crying out, "¡No, mi pequeño toronjo, nosotros nunca podemos ser juntos!" It's only a problem if I don't use my inside (my head) voice.
I am fortunate enough to live in a state in which I am currently legally allowed to purchase and use marijuana as one of my medications (although Conservatives are trying to muck this up too). I have now used it for more than 35 years for both pain management and yes, recreationally as well. I absolutely believe that cannabis should be legalized and taxed but that would make far too much sense.
Quite frankly, I'd rather stick with an herb than one of those new drugs featured in the oh, so very many advertisements that require 52 of the 60 seconds to list (as read by a world-class speed talker) the side-effects - one of which is often: Death. Maybe it's just me but I believe that Death is rather more than a side effect.
At worst, pot has been responsible for some very unusual food combinations. It has also been responsible for creative epiphanies, a higher love and the reason SNL is still on the air.
While none of us can really tell the future (yes, Miss Cleo, I'm talking to you), I think that I can say with a fair amount of certainty that whatever other health issues may have to be faced in the future, at least I can scratch glaucoma off the list.
As do many of us of a certain age, after first making sure we have woken up that day, part of my morning ritual is the handful of pills that I apparently now need to continue waking up in the daily fashion of which I have become so fond. First of all, some of the damn pills are so impossibly tiny that I can't believe they are really doing anything anyway and if, God forbid, I drop one, I find myself wondering if that was a really important one. Does the 5 second rule apply to pills or can it wait until the next time I need to bend down? Wait, was that one of the very tiny almost square ones or one of the also very tiny somewhat round ones? Alright, just start again from the beginning - Focus!
At one point, for almost two years, I was on a heart drug that was pretty shockingly expensive (relative to all of the others). I did question the wisdom of prescribing this sort of medication to someone who clearly has some sort of heart issue and then presenting them with the charge slip so that suddenly one becomes Fred Sanford, grabbing at one's chest and yelling, "I'm coming to join you, Elizabeth!". I will accept drug company conspiracy and/or Darwinian theories as the correct response.
Then, there are the colourful warnings on the bottles of the impossibly tiny pills that only bring out the anarchist in me; "Avoid grapefruit", "Do not chew". Well, goddammit, I had no intention of doing either until you mentioned it. Grapefruit had never really been a big part of my life anyway (and only a very small and rare part of my cocktail life) but I occasionally find myself either in the produce section or the juice aisle having to avert my eyes, dramatically, as though I am in my own telenovela, crying out, "¡No, mi pequeño toronjo, nosotros nunca podemos ser juntos!" It's only a problem if I don't use my inside (my head) voice.
I am fortunate enough to live in a state in which I am currently legally allowed to purchase and use marijuana as one of my medications (although Conservatives are trying to muck this up too). I have now used it for more than 35 years for both pain management and yes, recreationally as well. I absolutely believe that cannabis should be legalized and taxed but that would make far too much sense.
Quite frankly, I'd rather stick with an herb than one of those new drugs featured in the oh, so very many advertisements that require 52 of the 60 seconds to list (as read by a world-class speed talker) the side-effects - one of which is often: Death. Maybe it's just me but I believe that Death is rather more than a side effect.
At worst, pot has been responsible for some very unusual food combinations. It has also been responsible for creative epiphanies, a higher love and the reason SNL is still on the air.
While none of us can really tell the future (yes, Miss Cleo, I'm talking to you), I think that I can say with a fair amount of certainty that whatever other health issues may have to be faced in the future, at least I can scratch glaucoma off the list.
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