PRESCRIPTION FOR DISASTER
Timing, they say, is everything, and I had it all figured out. It would have to be a Tuesday. Tuesday is trash day, and I could toss everything – the porn mags and movies, the sex toys, the size 13 women’s shoes in various styles and colors, anything that might embarrass the family. I’d pitch it all Monday night, then call out sick from work the next day (It wouldn’t be a lie), and by the time anyone was the wiser I’d be gone, leaving an oddly decorated but essentially innocent apartment.
BE GONE WITH YOU!
“Look! Up on that ledge! It’s a pigeon!”
“It’s a gargoyle!”
“No! It’s - - Man-Repellent Man!”
Yes, I have finally discovered my secret super hero ability. I may appear to be a mere retail wage-slave, but I have the power to send a man hundreds of miles away, or to keep him away if he’s already there, simply by taking a liking to him.
It never fails. I meet a man, we get on like a house afire, and then it turns out he lives in Nashville at the very nearest.
Give It a Rest
I’m toying with the idea of celibacy. It’s not such a stretch, really. Celibacy toys with me constantly, so if I do give up sex, I won’t be giving up much, alas. A lot more of my time goes into pursuing it than goes into having it, so I’d be eliminating a lot of frustration, too. But it’s not for my sake that I’m considering abstaining; it’s for the sake of sex itself.
Sex comes in for a lot of abuse, if you think about it. It’s so bathed and saturated with drugs these days that no number of interventions or meetings will ever get it sobered up.
Snake Oil, Anyone?
It’s the End Times! It’s Ripley’s Believe It or Not come to life! It’s an all-you-can-eat freak-out buffet! I’m not sure what it is, but it certainly is getting weird out there. A champion hang-glider had her kite shredded and her head pecked in mid-air by a pair of eagles. A group of sharks worked away for four days and finally succeeded in sinking a shrimp boat. A NASA astronaut drove 900 miles, clad in a trench coat and a diaper to terrify a rival in love.
I like Snickers bars. Most people, in this context, would say, “I love Snickers bars,” but I try to reserve the over-used word “love” for the real thing. Perhaps if Snickers were made with dark chocolate rather than milk, or if they cleaned my apartment and paid my bills, I could love them. As it is, they will just have to settle for my fond friendship.
I also really liked their much-reviled commercial. It made me laugh.
UNDER LOCK AND KEY
New Links on the Ol’ Ball and Chain
Marriage may be just a bowl of cherries, but if you throw in a requirement to be fruitful, it can be the pits. If a group of Washington state activists has its way, not bearing fruit within three years would be the end of the marriage.
The Best Medicine
Oh, where to begin? Let’s start with Ann Curry on the Today Show. She usually irks me with her pity and concern over the more tragic news stories. Maybe she actually feels pity and concern (As well she should; she’s reporting on a mess of a world.), but her furrowed brow and disbelieving head-shakes just look phony.
Put Her Out to Pasture
Hate speech seems to be very much the fashion right now, or possibly (if you’ll accept a neologism) the fascion. Mel Gibson started the craze with his drunken Jew rant. Since then we’ve had the Grey’s Anatomy broo-ha-ha, Tim Hardaway’s sermonette (both gay-bashings), and Paris Hilton comparing herself to a “nigger,” which is just so Outer Limits. I mean, is there anyone whiter than Paris Hilton?
From the Dubious Honors Department: Mere hours after its publication in Southern Voice, my column on Coulter garnered an email response from none other than Jeff Guckert/Gannon. I’m perversely pleased to be taken notice of by a hypocrite of such magnitude.
Guckert/Gannon took me to task for concentrating part of my column on Coulter’s appearance, rather than on substantive issues.