Archive for February, 2013

Family: Part I

Wednesday, February 27th, 2013

My dad had seven children with three wives. I am still getting to know the younger ones, who live in another county. One was an athlete in college, and she was the apple of daddy’s eye. He had always wanted a tennis  player and with her, he got one.

Years after graduating from college, she wondered what to do with her life. She lived with her dad until his health took a drastic turn. She loved him so much that she hastened to move out, leaving the duties of caring for him to my brother, who took a three month sabbatical from his job in a city up north.

Sometimes when I was visiting my dad, she would arrive for a visit. She would prance around for him like a palace courtesan before a king. As she explained to the other exhausted siblings, “I give him joy!”

When our dad got weaker and needed help paying his bills. she conducted whispered meetings with him at his bedside, accusing various family members of stealing from his wallet and even stealing his medication. Poor girl. That’s what love is, isn’t it? She was just trying to protect him!

Now that my dad is gone, I still don’t know what makes this girl tick. I like how she manages to avoid getting a job, because that has been my lifelong dream as well. (See Office Space.)

I love her blog, which is a tribute to hippies, many of them nude in a forest or commune or something. You can scroll and scroll, losing yourself in peace signs, long stringy hair and little proverbs about karma and creativity.

Creativity: I wish I had more, don’t you? Then no one would know that I’ve removed the camera-shy siblings from the photo above. Maybe my dad wouldn’t mind the extra hands and feet in this photo. I know he would criticize my hair. If only he’d lived long enough to see my silky keratin treatment.

Anyway, now she has assumed control of our dad’s trust.  It’s nice to know it’s in such competent hands. Stay tuned for Part II.


Academy Award Exegesis 2013

Monday, February 25th, 2013

This year, I can honestly say that I got what I wanted.  My choice for best picture, best actor and best actress came through, somebody fell, Adele was a goddess, and David O. Russell didn’t get to gloat over his importance.

Let’s review the fashions. Halle Berry wore a hideous striped dress from Ross 4 Less and her hair was dreadful. In the bad hair category, she was outdone by Jen Aniston, whose short broken ends stood up in the light, guaranteeing the death of Chris McMillan. Jane Fonda looked hideous in a yellow gown from “Dallas“, and Shirley Bassey, at 100 years old, was majestic in gold sequins as she belted out the theme to “Goldfinger“. I tried to remember an old scandal about her involving one of the British Royals but failed to retrieve it.

Seth MacFarlane was alternately funny and crass, but who could resist his crack about Kardashian facial hair?

Barbara Streisand looked like an old wizard from Harry Potter, Anne Hathaway overdid her boy-in-a-dress schtick, and Jessica Chastain, as always, was a flawless porcelain doll. Several older men had long silky white hair, outclassing the clean-cut youngsters.

Reese Witherspoon wore an ugly blue thing and grew her chin since last year. Renee Zellweger reappeared out of retirement with the exact same grimace we know and love her for.

Christopher Waltz was a charming Oscar winner, generously quoting Quentin Tarantino, who exuded coke from every pore as he manically thanked the Academy.

Daniel Day Lewis was a witty dreamboat, revealing that he was originally signed to portray Margaret Thatcher. Ben Affleck was emotionally affecting as he alluded to some grudge he had given up but clearly hadn’t, and I still managed to watch “Shameless” even though I missed the first 8 minutes.

What did I forget?

I Can’t Tell You Why

Friday, February 22nd, 2013

For the last two nights, we have been watching a new documentary about the Eagles. I have tested my husband’s patience by repeatedly asking “Which one is that?” I still can’t tell them apart. I always thought Don Henley was the other guy, Glen Frey.

The sound of the Eagles triggers a cascade of uncomfortable emotions. As an entity, they make me sick.  The “laid-back” sound, ugh,  awful. The song “Tequila Sunrise” represents everything painful about the 70’s. The mustaches and bad hair, the bandannas, the glowering expressions, the very idea of the Eagles is just lame. The 70’s marked a divisive era in rock music and I was repelled by the “Southern California Sound.”  I recall being contemptuous of my upstairs neighbors who loved The Doobie Brothers.

Remember being young and taking music so seriously that it could be a deal-breaker if a new person in your life turned out to have bad taste? An awful record collection was nearly impossible to forgive. If someone owned an obscure record that I loved, I probably slept with them. Actually, I slept with them, regardless, but that’s a whole other topic.

The Eagles wrote such catchy songs that when I hear them I can’t help singing along. But familiarity is no measure of quality. The Eagles evoke nostalgia without being exciting or satisfying. It’s just elevator music. I don’t care if they’ve sold a billion records. I wouldn’t take one to a desert island even if was my only choice.

The 70’s were the decade of my young adulthood. I had a baby, in the happiest moment of my life. I also had a bad marriage,  a two-pack a day cigarette habit, and little capacity for self-examination. Music was the background for everything. Elvis Costello, Patti Smith, and Townes Van Zandt were the rays of light in the bleak cloud of my domestic life. Bands like the Eagles remind me of anomie and macrame.

Some punk band wrote a song called “Don Henley Must Die” and I still admire the sentiment. even if I can’t tell him apart from Glen Frey or those other guys. Now that I’ve seen the documentary, I hate the Eagles with a deeper sense of their awfulness as people who can’t stop arguing about money and their own importance.

Eagles fans or detractors, jump in!


I Told You He Was a Cunt!

Monday, February 18th, 2013

It’s about time that cunt resigned. I can’t believe he’ll get immunity.

2013 Grammy Awards Exegesis

Monday, February 11th, 2013

What a boring and lamentable gathering of untalented performers! Katy Perry‘s boobs were a magnificent distraction.

The show’s most exciting moments were the arguments between me and my husband over Taylor Swift. He continues to defend her, which is obviously maddening. I was so worried that she might win the award presented by Prince and thus get the chance to kiss Him that I shouted out the oath: “If Taylor Swift wins this, I will stab myself in the heart!” Every time I see her I think  “STD.”

The bands ‘Fun‘ and ‘The Lumineers‘ were particularly egregious. Young people, what the hell is wrong with you?!? Thank god the Black Keys were recognized for their work after a million years. A cute little guy called Miguel was a great Soul singer whose dynamic performance was spoiled by a rapper whose name I forgot. Rap isn’t music. Take it away.

Frank Ocean glared when he didn’t win and went on to sing the worst song of the evening, something about Forrest Gump. Ellen Degeneris ogled Beyonce, while I ogled Rihanna, whose red lipstick was perfection. Chris Brown was her date, no doubt proud of himself for not slugging her.

Adele chewed gum throughout the show and looked like a massive floral couch. I wondered what she thought of Kelly Clarkson. Jack White easily outclassed the homeless-looking Johnny Depp in a resplendent Nudie’s suit. His set was a welcome blast of real Rock music.

Prince looked suitably mysterious and intimidating in a black hoodie and sunglasses, wisely refraining from participating in a gratingly awful version of The Weight. Prince is nobody’s fool.

In an evening of horrifying missteps, Elton John took the prize by giving a non sequitur shout-out to the Sandy Hook victims. What an imbecile. Mumford and Sons won a lot of awards and were less repugnant than Fun. Justin Timberlake’s comeback was an over-hyped bore but his seasoned charisma underscored how lacking it was in nearly every other ‘artist.’

There it is. Remember, I did this for you, just like Christ on the cross.


Tuesday, February 5th, 2013

J Brand has started naming its pieces after famous people, offering an “Angelina Jumpsuit” and a “Halle Top.” But I’m only interested in the Bergman Leather Shorts.

Obviously, these shorts are problematic. The length is awful and who wants to spend $575 for a cheap-looking elastic waistband?

I just wish I knew which Bergman J Brand has in mind!

Ingmar Bergman? I can sort of imagine Death wearing leather shorts.

Or Ingrid Bergman? Why pick on her? She always dressed so beautifully!

What is your guess?


Sandy Hook Happy Meal

Sunday, February 3rd, 2013

When I told [a family member] that 26 kids from Sandy Hook elementary school were going to sing at the Super Bowl, he was surprised and disgusted. I asked rhetorically why the survivors from the Aurora movie theater hadn’t been invited. He answered, “Because they’re not cute, and it would be harder to exploit a large group of them.”

He really gets it. Why don’t all Americans get it?

I’m tired of Sandy Hook grief porn. I don’t want to wait around for the Sandy Hook lego set and the Sandy Hook Happy Meal.  I have always been in favor of gun regulations and I’ve signed a million petitions urging legislators to stand up to the NRA. I didn’t allow my kids to have toy guns and and I have no regrets about it.

I wish that people could think about gun crime in America without needing to invoke a specific incident that then eclipses the real every dayness of homicide and suicide death by guns. You could fill the Super Dome with the people killed by guns in Chicago alone.

There were an average of 85 gun deaths each day in 2010, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, including two accidents, 53 suicides and 30 homicides.

If Americans needed a good cry before the Super Bowl, they should have been forced to look at some paralyzed veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan. Maybe the lights went out during the game because god is disgusted, too.

While I’m at it, I’d like to thank our media for showing us only that one photoshopped picture of Adam Lanza with the huge chin and the bugged-out eyes, instead of the one above that depicts a regular human boy with bad skin and a sad little smile.