After watching “Star Trek” and reading about the Bill Clinton profile and his indecisive rage fits in the New York Times magazine on Sunday, I realize that we realized Spock for president — cool-headed, logical, analytical. Awesome.
When Yanni and Linda Evans were dating? Wasnâ€™t that just a gift to the world? Major hair-off.
I donâ€™t have a point. Just saying.
This kid, dressed here in character as Edward Cullen in the Twilight series, is insanely popular right now. Whereever he goes, he gets mobbed by 12-year-olds and their moms.
My only thought is if he wanted to kill the furor he could announce he was gay. He’d still be able to work, but I think these fan clubs would die, b/c it would disrupt the fantasy life of a lot of ladies. There was an interview with a 12-year-old girl slumber party and when asked what you would ask him if you got to meet him, they all shouted “MARRY ME!”
Before last weekend, Husband never actually saw a Good Humor truck or man. (He worked a Bat Mitzvah on L.I. where the host brought in the truck for the 60 kids attending. Nice.)
But it reminded me of the Good Humor man who came every day in the summer when I lived in Staten Island in the third grade. He had like a gimpy arm (which I’m sure is not a polite term — educate me. What do I say?) or two — like he only had an arm up to his elbow and fingers of some sort on each end, so he was up and using both limbs like crazy. I think he liked kids, because I remember him as friendly.
I used to save up my allowance and spend it on buying everyone on the block ice cream.
What a dummy.
Snakes on a plane = Babies on a plane = No good.
You know I love a good baby, but on a plane? Ay caramba.
Because our rental car in Costa Rica only had a CD player and I’m one of the last people who still listen to CDs, Husband was subjected to my music for a week. Here’s what I brought:
Black Celebration by Depeche Mode
Louder Than Bombs by The Smiths
Sam’s Town by The Killers
The Best of The Jesus and Mary Chain
Some random, German, New Age album
Of the collection, he preferred Depeche Mode the most, and we listened to Black Celebration over and over again. Initially, it was good. Like he perked up and commented “That Martin Gore sings well,” setting me up to say with a lot of attitude, “Oh honey, that’s not Martin Gore, it’s David Gahan.” We played it till the point where he was reduced to “Please, I can’t. I can’t bear to one more minute of Depeche Mode. Play something else, anything else.”
That’s when German New Age album got a whirl.
I love Trader Joe’s. It’s awesome because it’s cheap and their prepared foods are delish, but what creeps me out is how everyone buys their stuff. Like one lunch at my folks, my dad served Caesar salad from a TJ’s bag with TJ’s chips and like TJ’s soda, and what was weird is that it was an identical meal to what I eat all the time. When everything tastes the same, doesn’t it give you the willies? Like we’re being programmed and we’re all eating Dharma Initiative food?
Me and Mom standing in front of the flower I gave her on the Mother’s Day.
ME: Oh my god, you killed it. You couldn’t keep it alive one day?
MOM: It came like that. [suddenly yelling] You gave me the most cheap flower for Mother’s Day in elementary school! Gold, gold, something.
MOM: Yeah! That’s it.
ME: Wrong, carnations are the cheapest flowers.
MOM: No, they’re not.
ME: Yes, they are.
MOM: No, they’re not. You gave me a corsage once too. But I still remember the [suddenly yelling] cheap flower!
ME: Uh, yeah, I didn’t have a job in elementary school.
MOM: Well, you got money from somewhere. Don’t get me flowers any more.
I spent a buck fifty on the flower, probably less than what I spent in the first grade. But she got an above-the-oven microwave from me this year, so don’t worry about her. (Worry about me. Ha.) Even her co-worker commented that she’s really working me over.
How come everyone who graduated from Tufts manages to slip that fact into conversation every time you talk to them? Are they that insecure about it? Is Tufts like a boot camp?
Okay, by everyone, I mean two people, and one of them Husband acted with and that person could not complete a sentence without mentioning it, the other was a stranger I spoke with, but for me — two people are enough to justify a theory. Discuss.
Every Sunday, my weight-lifting teacher plays “A diva is a version of a female hustler” by Beyonce. The song is damn catchy (if laughable) and stays in your head for hours. I sing it at work, but the idea of Beyonce being the female version of a hustler reminds me of like Michael Jackson impersonating a gang member in the video for “Beat It.” Like isn’t she from New Jersey or something? She’s very wholesome despite her sex kitten moves.
And not to Beyonce bash too much, but I have a little bit more to talk about. When she got overclempt singing “At Last” kind of blandly at the Obama inauguration this year, I was like really? Have you been waiting a long time? For what? Because hasn’t she been an extraordinary success, selling a kabillion records since the first day out of the womb? Please, someone get Etta James stat! I suppose it just gets on my nerves, the same way that Kate Winslet and Leo DeCaprio portrayed suburbanites who have abandoned their dreams for mediocrity in “Revolutionary Road.” Really? Didn’t both of them like get Oscars at age two? Is that mediocre in some universe?
But whatevs, no point in bashing Beyonce! I like when she’s fun! When I compare her to Lindsay Lohan, of course, I feel a great deal of respect. She’s a celeb, but she works extremely hard and she shows up for her job. She has not had a meltdown in maelstrom of drugs, adolescent angst, and inappropriate-stage-mom victimization. It’s just that…when she says she’s a female version of a hustler, I get a little giggly.