lessons from contractors - one sentence

"You will pay twice as much for any fixture different than the one I [haven't yet] spec'd- because that's an upgrade - and you will receive half as much as credit for the value of the unspecified item that was allegedly specified as the actual value you could ever hope to purchase it for."

Resistance is futile.

sigh.

taking offense

Who is Kathy Griffin and why is she everywhere all of a sudden?

OK - so she appears to have won an Emmy - this, in advance of it actually being broadcast on television. . . . They tape their award show?!

Anyway - she is reputed to have said in her acceptance speech that "a lot of people come up here and thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus."

You know you're in trouble when Ellen DeGeneres attempts a 'make-nice' intervention. DeGeneres worked on getting this Griffin lady to say nice things about people and gave her the opportunity to practice by holding up various flash-card pictures of people for her to say nice things about.

Somehow I kept expecting Ellen to flash a picture of Jesus, though, along with the pictures of Britney, Olsen twins, and: what's-her-name from the idol show?

And she let Griffin give up without even trying to find something nice to say about Dick Cheney. (That was Cheney, wasn't it?) I don't know a lot of people who would put him in the same category as Jesus. . . .

me and emma

More and more I think I look like Emma Peel. A little older maybe. Shorter hair.

A lot of people would probably say that's good. She's cool. You should only be so lucky to look half that good! But it's not so good if your ideal of feminine beauty was Audrey Hepburn.

I confess: I'm a gamine fan. Or was.

I have a lot to be grateful to Emma for. She saved me from the other extreme of unrealistic body expectations: the gamine-waif look.

One day in New York City (many moons ago) I saw an Emma Peel wannabe - extra lean version - approaching on Fifth Avenue. Black leather cat suit; boots; immaculate coif & cool sunglasses. My first thought was: I'm that thin. I could wear that.

My second thought was a surprise to me: That is NOT attractive!

Then and there I decided to stop all the nonsense that had me down to a size 1 or 3 and to stop worrying about carrying some flesh on my bones. Maybe even not to mind being strong and somewhat capable. . . . maybe even kick-ass like Emma! Maybe be like how I found myself to be, rather than trying to make myself over into someone else. (altho a little exercise never hurts and I really do need to cut down on the chips. . . . for health reasons, if nothing else)

I also decided, though, that I did not care to look like a walking you-know-what kind of toy! Emma walks a fine line.

These days, I'm amazed at the number of people who are saying they wouldn't mind looking like Britney Spears. Somehow I don't think that's what they really mean. I hope what they really mean is that they wish their babies or their years didn't show on their hips, ass and bellies. . . . so they could wear normal clothes without feeling fat. Not so they could squeeze into sequined bikinis and lurch around national television with stringy hair-extensions. But then there's the other side, who see Britney as "fat", when clearly. . . . well, I guess they'll need an epiphany like I had.

Really, when you look at it, one extreme is just as bad as the other. It's like the proverbial drunk man who falls off one side of his horse, clambers up again, only to fall off the other side. (and I think that's from C.S. Lewis)

In the mean time, me and Emma are friends. Maybe I should let my hair grow a little longer. . . . and I just love those boots!

what I'm not watching

Non-Essential Equipment has posted a new Britney video and asks a reasonable question:

Why, with all the other things that are wrong with this performance, are people focusing on her belly 'flab' and the fact that she doesn't have the same body she did when she was 17?

Good question, N.e.e.

But first, I have a confession to make. After listing all the sensationalist stuff I don't like to see, I actually watched a clip of this "trainwreck" - I think they're calling it - before seeing it at Nee's place. . . . (I see now that I hadn't included drunken or drugged starlets on stage where they don't actually fall off, so that's a small comfort. Britney did not fall off the stage. . . .)

But back to the question. Why focus on her body as a target for critique instead of the other glaring embarrassments?

Hmmm. I realize that I'm on dangerous ground here. I approach the she's-asking-for-it rationale, and I am definitely not comfortable with that. But let's take a look at this. We have here a woman who - as Nee points out - has relatively recently given birth to two children. That'll change you!

She chose to "perform" in a sequined bikini. That'll expose you!

Presumably she has a mirror in her home. If not, surely she has "advisors". I therefore assume that she wore this outfit on purpose, hard as that might be for me to imagine. And as the "purpose" of the outfit appears to be to cover just what has to be covered, I think we might infer that she meant to expose the rest.

And it's the display of that "rest" that invites critique, commentary, and comparison. Sorry!

I do agree with Nee, though. Let's not just leave this at the 'no-longer-17' dismissal point. The fact of the matter is that maybe the most embarrassing part of this fiasco is that Britney doesn't seem to get it that she's no longer 17. Britney, honey, this is not attractive and you can't get away with acting like that any more because you're supposed to be a big girl now! This is not about belly flab or whether or not you're in shape, or even whether you're high, stoned, or lip-synching out of time. It's not even about the costume or whether or not you're 'out-of-it' because you've gotten older or had children.

Britney Spears is 'out-of-it' because she's out of it! I mean: I don't think there's anyone home. Maybe there never was anyone home, but we didn't notice because hey! she was 17 and so many thought she was cute - or hot - or whatever. Anyway, I don't know where she went - but she sure ain't there now and unless there's a person to see I'd rather not watch. It has nothing to do with how young or old she looks, or how much she works out. In a way, older women at home in their bodies are a whole lot more interesting as far as I'm concerned. But hey - they also don't usually appear on national television wearing sequined bikinis.

There's a reason for this.

sensationalism? I hope not. . . .

What is it makes someone look at an article? Or a news piece? Or a 'how to avoid common make-up blunders' pictorial?

Yet another Paris Hilton tidbit?

She's suing Hallmark now, apparently. I don't know why. I haven't clicked there yet. But I'm wondering. And I might go there. One day. If it's not too late.

Turns out I was too late for the famous - now INfamous, I guess I should say - no-undies-shot of Britney Spears. When I finally decided "OK. . . . let's see what all the hoopla is about. . . . [said with the proper tone of above-it-all bored disinterest even while noting some level of interest, anyway] - I couldn't find it. There were several places where the picture appeared, with a blurry bit where the fuzzy bit would have been. . . . but that's it.

So here I am, doing my bit of writing, and wondering what would make anyone want to read it. Which leads me to wonder about what I tend to look at; to read; to respond to.

They study this stuff, did ya know? We try not to think about it, but they do. I read somewhere that, although the "GENERAL PUBLIC" claims to want good programming and serious news articles, what they actually spend time with is stuff on Paris, Britney and other serious-news misnomers. AOL, for example, knows this for a fact because I think they see everywhere we go, internet-wise, anyway. Google is probably the same, only "better" - depending on how you define "better" (i.e., "better" at tracking, or "better" at preserving privacy).

Maybe the really interesting bits are the places you decide not to go, once you've figured this out.

I don't like stories or movies about adultery, for example. I hate the impending betrayal and I hate that it can be made out to be "inevitable" or "natural" in any way. I hate the very thought of 'normalizing' adultery. And isn't that what happens when it seems "everyone's doing it"?

Yeah - maybe more years in therapy would help. Clearly, my father never loved me. . . .

Here's some more stuff I don't like:

- stories about how much money somebody made - or makes.
- how so-and-so fell off the stage.
- anything about rappers, their jewelry, women, money, or "cribs" (oh yuck!)
- super expensive cars
- high profile adoptions
- movie actors with agendas
- cat fights between starlets
- potty-mouth tirades against the current political-correctness offender
- stupid polemics
- posturing politicians and other photo ops

Oh - and of course: drunken or drugged stars and starlets in court, in jail, with prostitutes, at parties, at home, or pretty much anywhere, with anyone, doing anything. Although I confess I did wonder about Paris. I had this hope that maybe jail would do her some good. She's been kind of quiet lately, don't you think? I still have high hopes for her. . . .

Meanwhile, the king is preparing dinner and I hope I won't have to confess that I've been thinking about what I really shouldn't want to click on on google, or aol, or yahoo, or any other 'newsy' place. I'm supposed to be wrapping up the final chapter of the dissertation. Hmmm. I wonder if this is relevant in any way? Probably not. I still think it's interesting, though.

the one year rule

It sounds easy enough of application:

If you haven't worn it in a year, get rid of it.

Right. My first amendment was to increase the year to three. Time goes by so quickly these days. Three years is up before you know it.

My second amendment is the exception for expensive things. The reasoning should be self-evident, but I'll spell it out: I paid a LOT OF MONEY for this [or I would have paid a lot of money for this had I bought it, but I didn't because it was given to me or it was a deal but if I ever wanted to buy it it would cost BIG BUCKS] and I'm not just giving it away like that! Maybe I can find someone who will appreciate it. . . or sell it on Ebay? Hmmm. I'll have to think about that. Maybe I will wear it, after all. It was only that one time when I really was a little heavy that that dress made me look like a hippo in heat. But it's a Chanel, fer cryin' out loud! How bad could it look?! I'll wear it when I lose 10 more pounds.

While leads to three: I'm sure I'll weigh that weight again. One day.

Four follows function: you can't have too many basic black belts. Or little black dresses. Or simple flats. One more man-tailored shirt. . . I might need that coverup for the beach and there's a lot of wear left in those pants that were my favorites 5 years ago. For painting, maybe.

Five? Favorites. Enough said.

Six, sentiment. My mother gave me that skirt. It belonged to her mother. It's lace. Handmade. Nope, I don't think I've ever worn it. Look at that! There's no waist fastener. Maybe it's never been worn! How long have I had it? Well. . . . ah. . . .you see. . . . ten years? At least?

And I think I'll stop at seven, just because I'm getting depressed, realizing I could go on. . . and on. . . .

Seven is The Special Function I-might-need-that-one-day exception. Under this exception, I have a Bob Fosse beaded gown that I've never worn (see also exception 2, above), a Rennaisance festival cape and waist-cincher belt (hmmm that might look nice with the antique lace skirt. . . .), a vintage Irene suit, perfect for the film noir casting call, a student gown from Ireland, lawyer's wig, evil queen costume, thigh-high boots, Beduoin robe, and an assortment of black velvet formal wear. You can never have too much black velvet, as far as I'm concerned, and I see I've inadvertently strayed into Exception Eight: black velvet.

. . . and can somebody tell me

what logical connection there might be between "Patchouli" and the songs "Incense Peppermint" and "Crimson & Clover"?

Cause they're linked indelibly in my mind.

There are other songs I know that feature growing things that don't come to mind. . . . and clover isn't aromatic, altho I guess incense & peppermint are.

Maybe it's just a 60's/70's thing.

still going. . . .

I'm not quite the eveready bunny, here, but I am SO tired of the same old thing. Banging the same drum. Sitting at the same table. Wrestling the same demons.

On top of the mental pressure, there is now the new challenge of the physical to overcome. It seems no matter what chair I sit in, my legs start to fall asleep. And if not asleep, then a sort of sciatica pain in the left leg. And at night, I swear there's a mosquito that lives under the table and comes out to feast. . . . All this is new. Not welcome.

But hey! The king is still for me and I got a goodly portion of new chapter 4 done last night (having scrapped plan A) and this will be what it will be.

And it's a new day.

milk AND lemon. . . .

I was probably 12 when I learned that, although milk and lemon were almost always on hand when tea was on offer, there was a reason I was always asked "Milk or lemon?"

It was a church reception of some sort. I ended up with no adult supervision at the tea table when faced with the choice.

"Why not have both?" I thought to myself, reasonably.

I quickly learned why not. Horrified at the curdled mess that resulted, I slunk into the kitchen and hid the evidence.

Now - would the same thing happen, do you think, if you put milk in tea that has lemon verbena in it?

I'll let you know. . . .

Meanwhile, I'm drinking Lapsang Souchong - no milk OR lemon - which I affected a liking for soon after that experience. It was in a novel I was reading at the time: Smoky, the Cow Pony - or something like that. The cowboy with Smoky was partial to Lapsang Souchong. "Smoky-tasting", he called it. Somehow I never once thought he meant it tasted horsey. . . .

I was all grown up by the time I finally came across to real honest-to-goodness Lapsang Souchong. . . . and he was right. It is smoky-tasting!

big nuts

Is it just me? Or is this the biggest acorn you've ever seen?

The king wouldn't say. He was amazed at the colour.

I think this looks like a feast-for-two in squirrel land. No wonder the squirrels around here are so chubby!


I like the top, too. Looks like a beret. . . .

WAY too serious

It's hard not to be serious when you've got a deadline of a mountain by the end of the week and your dissertation topic involves not only law, but also philosophy and theology and uses words like deontology and teleology as major players in the thesis.

Words most people probably don't know - hell, I didn't know 'em till about 5 years ago! - and it took me a good 3 years before I didn't have to stop and think before being able to use either one of them with any degree of certainty. I still get insecure about it, sometimes.

CONFESSION: when a lawyer says "Objection, your Honor!" and the Judge says "Sustained." or even "Overruled." I still have to stop and figure out whether that means the witness can answer the question or the piece of evidence is admitted.

It's like double negatives. Sort of. "I didn't NOT write" still doesn't mean that I wrote. . . .

See what I mean?! WAY too serious. . . .

I have no sense of humour any more. I can't remember a single joke - ok, maybe one, but it's not funny - I do remember laughing almost to the point of tears with my husband this weekend, but it was over nothing and I think it was more just a release than anything else! Himself got to laughing because I was laughing and it fed on itself. That, and the random phrases thrown in that were either funny or hysterically not-funny.

"Why are you laughing?!" he. . . he. . . he. . . .

"I don't know - why are YOU laughing!!!" HEHEHEHE. . . .HE!

"That's so funny. . . . .!!!! You . . . . ha!. . . ha!. . . ha!. . . ."

Felt good.

For today - the mountain ignored yesterday is threatening to crash on me today. But maybe I can see the humour in waiting till the last week and a half now in which to think to wrap up a doctoral dissertation. And write two of the chapters?! And start a blog to blow off steam. And stay up half the night reading other blogs instead either working or getting some sleep.

Surely there's something funny in all that?

I didn't think so either.