Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Quote of the Week

"Not every idea that is good for the country is a profit-making idea for some company."

--Rachel Maddow

I'm blogging from my phone, which is uber tedious, but sometime soon I'll elaborate on this quote from Smarty McSmart Maddow, jackwagon candidates, and how the fact that I'm getting dumber can be documented.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Magneto von Bulow Part II

Last time, I wrote about how one late night had nearly turned me into a shut-in.  Clarity washed over me as urine through a soiled catheter (sorry, that sounded funnier in my head), and I quickly spanked myself into gear.

I've lost the steam to go into lots of detail (readers, rejoice!), but the gist is that in spite of my best efforts to get outside, a storm wrecked my groove.  I went from a dark, viciously air-conditioned apartment watching The Flying Nun to a dark, viciously air-conditioned cinema watching X-Men: First Class (which is really just a cooler, more intense Flying Nun, no?  She's clearly a mutant.  I wonder if Professor X ever saw her flying around while using Cerebro?). 

Being in public and clean seemed an improvement, though, and I did learn a few things from the X-Men film:
  1. Kevin Bacon is responsible for the Cuban missile crisis.
  2. The most effective use of one's power is found at the mid-point between serenity and rage.  Too much serenity and you're wearing sunglasses indoors while eating a sundae from bone china before entering a decades-long coma.  That's too much.  That's Sunny von Bulow.  Too much rage, and you're turning the iron in someone's blood into tiny bullets shooting out of his or her torso.  That's too much.  That's Magneto.  Balance lies in having enough serenity to walk peaceably through life and enough rage to get behind a cause (or two, or more) and make a change for the better.  That's just enough of both.  That's Magneto von Bulow. 
The last lesson is this:  I need a mutation and a mutant name.  Catha-terra?  She can internally filter, process and rehydrate herself with her own urine, never having to go to the bathroom.  Or reuse catheters.  (That advert really did a number on me). 

I don't know, there's got to be something better.  I really like the name Blue Marilyn for a mutant, but that's just because it's a Will & Grace reference that makes me laugh.*  I'm not sure what Blue Marilyn would do...and there are already loads of blue mutants.

Maybe she could just have a freakish ability to make the perfect Blue Marilyn. 

*Will's mother Marilyn, played by Blythe Danner:  "Karen, try my famous holiday cocktail, the Blue Marilyn. I started drinking them to prevent thoughts of suicide. But now, they're just fun!"

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Magneto von Bulow, Part I

After a rough Friday (up for 22 hours straight--don't ask), Saturday started out pretty roughly. The following scenario may sound like chemicals were involved, but seriously this is only to do with being in my mid-thirties and unable to cope with not enough sleep.

I had a lie in until 10:30 and stayed in my pjs until 2. This is not normal behavior for me. Even in my exhausted state, I realized that I was a pink-quilted bed jacket and an insulin injection away from being Sunny von Bulow. To add to my pukey-feeling lethargy, breakfast had been two bites of cold casserole straight from the crock pot, which I could barely lift to get back into the fridge. This was getting grim. 

It only got worse when I found myself on the couch watching The Flying Nun. Just viewing her be-robed sky acrobatics gave me motion sickness. It was bright outside, and I wanted to put on sunglasses.

Sunglasses. Indoors. I pulled the blinds.  I sat there in my dark, aggressively air-conditioned flat.

That's when it happened. An advert came on the television, featuring a woman not so much older than I. She started chatting about the high cost of health care and medical supplies. Then she got to the crux of the commercial by unloading her secret shame. She had been reusing her catheters.

Usually the advertising that bombards my senses does so on a weeknight during programs about hip, smarty gay lawyers or hip, smarty gay show choir members.  The products are something like paper-thin one dollar flip-flops from Old Navy or hybrid fruit drinks from McDonald's which could be classified as diabetes in a cup.  You know, high quality, health promoting items that are brightly colored and and dangled in my face by attractive out-of-work actors.  Normal stuff!  For normal people!

But ad executives know that anyone watching telly on a sunny June weekend afternoon are penniless and can't make it to the bathroom.  People watching The Flying Nun.  People like me.

My eyes went as big as dinner plates, or hubcaps, or Amanda Seyfried's eyes.  I sprang to action.  Showered with a fury.  Every pore felt violated by pomegranate and mango.  I picked out the cutest outfit that was left on a hanger (Must do laundry--dammit!  Together people who are up and not reusing catheters have their laundry done) and punctuated it with irreverent, dirty, purple Converse sneakers...shoes that ALIVE people wear. 

Out I went, and lapped my neighborhood a few million times, I had that much energy.  I saw two LDS mishies.  In my mind I french kissed both of them and donated my next paycheck to the Relief Society, but in reality just smiled and waved.  Still good.

No more will I let myself be lulled into a coma by fictionalized popery and my own lack of planning and poor diet.  Visions of a soiled-catheter-future had set me free. 

A storm rolled in, and it splits this story in two.  Next time I end up seated back in the dark and in aggressive air conditioning, but this time I smell good and am in public.  This part was more von Bulow, but the next part is more Magneto. 

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Isn't it a Bummer?

I'm one of those assholes who, upon hearing the song Ironic, will loudly proclaim, "There is nothing ironic about this song.  There's not an example of irony in it.  Not one!  The question should be, Isn't it a bummer?  That's all those things are.  A bummer," to any poor sap who might be around, because, you know, this is all so important. 

Here is a real example of irony.  Visual irony, anyway.  I about choked when I saw this on an advert...

I realize that It's like a well-known fast food chain logo made by arranging colorful healthy items, like apples for example, instead of fatty items that contribute to obesity is not as pithy as It's like rain on your wedding day.

Not my problem.

Saturday, June 4, 2011


At the time I'm typing this, the column to the right indicates books and movies that I'm currently reading and have recently watched, respectively.  A few of the items featured there at the moment (A History of God by Karen Armstrong, and Letting Go of God, an autobiographical one-woman show performed by Julia Sweeney) might indicate that a.) I'm undiagnosed bipolar and/or b.) I'm waxing particularly spiritual these days.  Really I'm not, any more or less than usual, but in the spirit of those items over there, here are a few thoughts running through my mind...

A number of times last week I broached the subject of Oprah's departure with members of various social circles, or they with me.  For the most part, this was a perfectly natural line of conversation met with some sadness and often general talk of that lady's intelligence and humanitarianism.  However, more than once, my mentioning the O-word brought an awkward pause at least and an angry tirade at worst.  At times like this I remembered, "Oh...right.  She prays to the wrong god.  Encourages book-learnin'.  She votes for Democrats, which is the same as urinating on a flag.  Worst of all, she does it all while being black." 

I'm currently at a public library, and a homeschooling session is taking place at a table next to me. The mother is teaching a twelve-ish year old boy science from the Old Testament. I realize that this resembles a joke once used on 30 Rock, but I am not kidding. This is really happening. Right now.

Speaking of that show, I just finished Tina Fey's book, Bossypants.  I know I don't have to tell anyone how hysterically funny it is, but seriously while reading it--a few times I thought I was gonna die.  It's all equally dizzying, no one chapter better than the other, but I'll mention her "Mother's Prayer for Its Child," simply because it fits the category of this post.  (Prayer...get it?).  So, to quote from Bossypants, among the things she asks for: 
  • No tattoos.  May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
  • Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. 
  • May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
  • O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

Obviously, all of this theological pondering can be summed up by that church chorus that has (plagued) bouyed congregations since the eighties...
Our Fey is an awesome Fey. 

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Nanny McMe

In another life, I was nanny to this boy, who is now practically a man.  Here he is at his graduation party cutting into a colossal cake (at the bottom of the picture, you see a mountain of chocolate-covered strawberries.  Yumm-o).  It's disturbing how fast he has grown. 

[Perhaps even more disturbing is the macabre aberration of a baby head that seems to be growing on his shoulder.  I swear I only saw one baby at the party, a little girl with lots of curly brown hair.  I've looked through all of the pictures I took on my phone, and no one is standing back there in any of the others, holding a baby or no.  This particular baby head makes me think of the Divine Enigma that is Ruby Tuby, but She is a story for another day.  I digress...]

When he introduced me to a few people, he said, "This is Michelle.  She used to watch out for me."  He said it with the affection you might have for an older sister, and it was the best compliment I could have asked for. 

Now he watches out for himself, and I know he's ready.