LaurieWrites

Scrambling for a Demographic, Any Demographic

I guess I can see why overspending on bathrooms is news, sort of. But front page news (which is where it was this morning before they moved it)? I'm all for a break in the constant flow of bad news, but it's a little weird to put people getting out of their showers on the front page of a major city newspaper. And I know the point is that there's this nouveau riche (or maybe just "nouveau bourgeois") "I deserve a solid gold bathroom" mentality that is newsworthy-if-certainly-not-new-news, but when there are SO many people in this region who cannot afford to even pay their water bills, it seems ridiculous to present it as the status quo.

Maybe I'm just questioning the need to print photographs of upper-middle class people wrapped in towels, exiting their showers, in the newspaper. The woman is a lawyer for the FTC (odd contrast there) and the man is a consultant, and now they can forever say, "I was on the front page of the Post, wrapped in a towel."

Sample text, from some man who sells $300 faucets, I think:

"There's some kooky, weird thing going on right now with relaxation," Goldberg said. "We just suck it up. I think, as a society, we seem to be focused on getting out of our woes and emulating someone else's life. You know, 'Jessica Simpson has a beautiful bathroom. Gee, she must really relax in there. I want one.' "

Because right, when I see all these ridiculous photos of Jessica and her hairdresser flitting around on my computer screen, "relaxed" is the first thing I think. No. In fact, I think, "God, what a wreck, but what cute shoes, which I too would buy if I looked like her and could parlay that into bilking people out of millions of dollars." But maybe that's just me. And it's very important to note that I'm not at all opposed to baths. In fact, when I tried to buy a house a few years ago, the first thing I did was get in the mega-bathtub in this place (clothed. Hey, you need to test these things!), and when I didn't get the house, the bathroom was a big reason I was really, really sorry. When I stayed at Caesar's Palace in Vegas last fall, I took a picture of the bathtub, and in fact spent several hours in it, reading, on a couple of the nights I was there. I believe fully in relaxation, and in hydrotherapy, and in all things bath-related, because it's been cheap therapy for me on countless occasions. Still, I just don't think it's big news. And when it comes down to printing only one side of the Washington area economic story, it's a bit tacky too.

Overheard

I went to a diner by the university today to get some very late lunch and try to get my head together about this wreck of a Dixie Chicks paper before I had to go to class. Today was a strange day, which I feel like I've been saying quite a bit lately but I don't know...It's raining so much that it's like there's this oppressive cloud over everything. Because, well, duh. There is. (And I call myself a writer...) I bought some cds to try to counteract this general cloudiness (any excuse for retail therapy, these days.) I got the Nanci Griffiths with the London Symphony Orchestra cd for 1.99, which was cool, and an old YoYo Ma cd because I'm perpetually in love with the cello and with YoYo by association (this guy is a recording, cello-playing MA-CHINE), and another copy of Tift Merritt's Bramble Rose, because I can't find mine and I want to take her on vacation with me. Oh, and I got a Nickel Creek cd and another one that's called "Mutual Admiration Society" which is Nickel Creek along with Glen Phillips from Toad the Wet Sprocket. The last one is a really chill record. I've been having so much trouble sleeping that I think I'm going to play it when I go to bed. It's not that Glen Phillips's voice is that stupefying...it's just very familiar, for lack of a better term, and on this record, he doesn't so much sing the songs as he does think them aloud, if that makes any sense. Which it probably doesn't, because the way I hear things is sometimes oddly abstract. Anyway, I love anything Toad, since that witch Dawn played "Fear" in the UD office over and over and over. And now I'm thinking about the Gin Blossoms, and I shall have to download "Until I Fall Away"...February, 1994, baby. Some music is a time capsule.

All of this musical purchasing was hours after I asked "How are you?" for the first time today, and the person said, "My soul is well with God." This was kind of trippy, but what else could I say to that but, "Well, I guess it doesn't get much better than that." And it was also after my new doctor was all, "So, you're having a (whisper) pelvic exam today?" And I said, "Uhhhh....I wasn't aware of that." And she said, "Let's go ahead and take care of that for you." And she did. So from now on I'm highly recommending that these exercises in weirdness and humiliation come as a surprise, because having two minutes to think about the sucker vs. like, two weeks, was awesome. I mean, not really awesome at all. I can't even believe I thought of the word "awesome" in that context...It was still awkward and weird, although if you think for a minute that MY comedy schtick STOPS during this ridiculous enterprise, you've got another think coming.

Me to her: "The joys of being a woman are neverending. Although, I guess from what I've heard of the prostate situation, we get off easy.

Her: Oh, I don't know, at least they've just got ONE orifice."

ROCK! My new doctor can hang! My new doctor has a sense of humor! So, I now highly recommend the...surprise factor of such intrusions, to be all Victorian about it. (And I can't apologize for T.M.I., because, well, I can't. If Katie Couric can bring this stuff to light on the network news, I can surely yap about it on my tiny little offramp on the information superhighway. Be strong and know that I doubt I'll bring it up again for...oh, at least another year. ; ) )

Anyway, wow, I didn't mean to write about that. And if I wasn't fundamentally opposed to erasing stuff that I write on here, I'd probably get rid of it...

But whatever. What I was really going to write about was how when I was sitting there in the diner, a little girl at the table across from me said to the waiter:

"ARE YOU A LADY OR A MAN PERSON?"

And the waiter, who was probably about 19, and had the moppy Beatle hair that ALL THE KIDS ARE SPORTING these days ( ; ) ) said,

"Me, oh. I am a man. A YOUNG MAN."

It was funny, and sweet, because he had to think about the whole "man" thing there for a minute, and I actually saw the options flit across his face before he settled, very resolutely, on "YOUNG MAN."

Random thoughts I thought today

I need to mention first of all that the situation with North Korea firing the missiles has me pondering global annihilation this evening and that tends to demote other issues and relatively minor concerns. We had a discussion in class on Monday night about Jon Stewart and The Daily Show, and a girl went on about how she didn't see the point of that type of political humor, because "didn't people realize that an eloquent letter would get their point across faster than laughing about serious issues?"

I got a little fired up about this, I admit. I did. I said that I believed that humor is necessary for some people in order to cope with constant stress and bad news. It may not be everyone's preference, but just like there are times when I want to read People Magazine to get away from the Post and Time Magazine for a while, sometimes I want Jon Stewart or Colbert to turn something on its ear for me so I can relax about it all for a minute. She didn't go for it, but that's what keeps things interesting, I guess.

*I have to write a paper and it's not going so well.

*It's so bad when what is babbling from my mouth and what I'm really thinking are so wildly divergent. It's a terrible farce and depressing, actually. And, less dramatically, it's kind of tiring. I've been in that situation a few times in the past couple of days and I hate it. I know that social controls are important and there are just some things that aren't helpful to blurt out...some sins of omission that are necessary, I suppose. But still - it can be tiring.

*"Flout" is my new favorite word. It's a lingustics term that typically means to "show contempt for" but in this sense it's restricted to breaking "conversational rules" in order to get a different meaning across...Like, if I ask you how old you are, and you say "227" (hello, Marla Gibbs. I totally didn't do that on purpose.) you are...shall we say, flouting me, because clearly you are NOT 227, and this means you want me to MYOB, but instead of telling me this, you make up an outlandishly large number. Either that or you're like 90 percent of the people I know and you just want to screw with my head and make me work a little until you actually answer the question. Another "flout" is if you say, "Wow, I'll really miss Dexter and Annie," and I say, (because I'm a little bitch, right?) "Well, we'll certainly miss ANNIE." Cause, you know, I really want you to get that I hate Dexter's guts and hope to never lay eyes on him again in my natural life. Anyway, yes...flouting. My favorite new insult which no one hears, generally, is "FLOUTER!" The term comes from the Middle English "flouten" - `to play the flute' - which I've never found to be a particularly contemptuous activity, but whatever...damned woodwinds.

*When I saw my friend online the other night, this is how it went:

ME: I can't take any more of your lies.

Him: Dammit, woman, what NOW?

ME: I just felt like typing that.

Him: Yeah. That was pretty great.

*I had a terrible dream this morning in which I discovered that I hadn't completed all of my high school requirements, and had to go back to my sister's high school to do so. I woke up in the middle of the part where they were moving me into an apartment next to the school, to a splitting headache and a racing heartbeat. I'm not sure what this confluence of events is all about, exactly, but I decided that it meant my health is going to hell so I'd better take advantage of the rare day off and go to the gym for real. Besides, I see a new doctor tomorrow, so this way when she asks me if I exercise, I can tell her "yes" without exactly lying...just looking a little bit shifty-eyed when I say it.

This is a playlist that kicks ass for that first dreadful day back on the elliptical trainer, by the way:

I Love the Nightlife - Alicia Bridges

Sister Golden Hair - America

Dancing Queen - Abba

Missionary Man - Annie Lennox

House That Jack Built - Aretha Franklin - (A way better song than "Respect", if you've never heard it.)

I Want it That Way - Backstreet Boys

Coming Home - Cinderella

Fire Woman - The Cult

Whenever You're on My Mind - Marshall Crenshaw

Stuck in the Middle With You - Stealer's Wheel

You'll Never Find - Lou Rawls

Shadows on Your Side - Duran Duran

On the Air - Girlyman

Really, I highly recommend these tunes for exercising. They helped to counteract the typically bad accidental tv viewing that always occurs at the gym. I never watch daytime television, because I'm never home (and I always forget to tape Ellen, which is the only show I'm really interested in seeing anyway.) It's too bad I have a job, because from just my hour in front of the tvs at my gym, it appears that there are approximately 297 shows that involve judges and courtrooms on during the day. At the same time. I saw about fifteen minutes of a particularly distressing episode of Divorce Court, in which Christina and Travis come before Judge Mablean Ephriam for no other apparent reason (besides whatever money they get for this freak show) than to swear and scream at each other. Christina has "psychobitch" tattoed on her neck, which is accurate self-promotion as far as I can tell. The judge went over the list of "rules" that Christina gave the clearly challenged Travis, which included "Do not dress or smell good if you're leaving the house without me", "Do not talk to any other females for any reason, except for those in your own family," "Do not root for any football team besides my favorite," "Call me every hour, no matter where you are or what you're doing," and my personal favorite, "Do not defy me." (Maybe I'll try that on my next victim...but I'm sure, given my track record, he'll laugh and continue engaging in whatever activity he typically engages in.)

Obviously I was paying rapt attention, which frightens me, although I spent most of the time pondering whether this dreck was real or made up. I'm sorry to report that I do think at least the core issues are, and these people are just encouraged to put on their not-so-nice-face for the camera. Since their nice face must not be that nice to begin with, what transpires is pretty ugly.

Judge Hatchett, another terrible program, was on directly beforehand, and I only saw enough of that one to gather that two women had banded together to force DNA testing of the "defendant", a lump of a man who they claimed (correctly, according to the judge) had fathered BOTH of their children. My personal favorite quote from this episode was from one of the women, who said, "I think it's funny, because he has a small penis, and can't have ANY children, and he had TWO. Haha!"

This escaped me as a laugh riot, although its defiance of logic was captivating. Still, I guess when you want to point out the diminutive nature of the anatomy of the dude who done you wrong (which just seems so pointless at that point, really, no? You were hanging out with him, so ultimately that anatomical joke is on YOU) you'll sneak it in however you can. "He drives a STUPID CAR, and you know what else? He's LITTLE." Sure. So?

Glenda Hatchett, the lady in charge, went to Mt. Holyoke and got a law degree from Emory University. Whatever.

And did I mention that Adam Chandler is STILL on All My Children? STILL?

In good news, I go back to work tomorrow.

Sunday in the Circle With George

I saw a few of these on the sidewalks in Dupont Circle. Blahblah. Blah.

Visiting

Picture time.

These are from my grandmother's room and out in the garden at her assisted living facility. This is a good time to note that my grandma is a champ. She's one of the most difficult and most interesting people I've ever met, although she has no great interest in any intellectual topics and hasn't really been to that many places. Her personality is just...interesting, and her currency is people, with a particular interest in younger ones. I grew up partially in her charge, and because of that I got two major gifts: I had a daycare provider/relative who read to me constantly and encouraged me to do it on my own, and I was loved unconditionally and I somehow knew it, without being grossly spoiled. Given that life has thrown me the curves that it throws at all of us sooner or later, this base has been really useful and I could never begin to thank her adequately.

So I do tiny, relatively inconsequential things. I was on Depends detail this weekend and got there just in time to for her to start complaining about her dinner. So, I told everyone at her table, including her nurse, that she hadn't liked a meal since the last one she cooked, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. They were being served chicken "tenderloins" and soup, which her tablemate, a very sweet priest, referred to as "cream of something" and Andrew, her other neighbor, said, "Eh, with cream soups you just throw in whatever you got."

My grandmother sneered at her plate, and when I  mentioned the bit about her not eating since she cooked, she smiled and shook her fist at me, and said, "I USED TO LIKE YOU." (Affection in my family is interestingly expressed and must simply be rolled with.) Father told us how he had to cook when he was a kid because his mother died, so he had to pitch in and cook for his younger siblings. This got my grandmother off the subject of what crap the food was, because she's a very compassionate person (unless you trash talk the Orioles or Maryland basketball, in which case, she'll take your ass out.) as well as a professional food critic. Her mental state is such that she needs just a little bit of direction, otherwise left to her own devices she obsesses for an hour about how much she hates the chicken. She typically offers me some in the middle of these diatribes: "This chicken is a disgrace. A disaster. Are you hungry?" To which I respond, "If it's terrible, why are you trying to pawn it off on me?" I need to stop by more during dinner, I guess.

We also talked a little about my grandfather, which is unusual any more. I tattled to her friends that he was more into cooking than she was, and was definitely the baker (except for yellow cakes, thanks), and although she agreed with me on that, she trotted out the "used to like you" line again when I needled her that if it wasn't cooked in a vat of Crisco or bacon grease, it didn't come out of her kitchen.

When I was getting ready to leave, she gave me the usual speech about how I shouldn't work so hard, and I work too hard, and I've always just workedworkedworked, and I was probably going somewhere to work right that second and that was just crazy and I was going to wind up sick and I'd be sorry. And I told her yeah, I was going to work on a paper, and I had some stuff to do. And she said, "Do you want some chicken?" And I said no, that I'd pick something up, and she said, "All by yourself? You're going to eat all by yourself?" And I said it was fine, I'd just grab a snack or something. And as I was going out the door, I heard her behind me, saying, "My granddaughter. She works so hard, she's always got her mind to something," and as I walked out into a waning, humid afternoon, her words hit me square in the middle of so many memories that I was really glad she couldn't see me cry.

TLove

I've been meaning to post these for a long time because I love to out myself as a cell phone camera ho...

I saw this cute punk rock couple on the T in Boston and I snuck a couple of shots, mostly because the way he was looking at her was so sweet. He's in looooooovvvvvvveeeeeeeeee. I can't tell if she is. But I hope she is.