Once I fell for Olive Oil I had to announce it on Facebook. First, I posted "Popeye is in a relationship". I got a flow of congratulatory responses.
We flooded FB with hundreds of photos of us doing everyday things, hugging, at the beach, jet skiing. Olive got a snake tattoo on her skinny arm, which I love. No one could be happier.
Then, one day I scrolled down and was stunned to see this: "Bluto is in a relationship." Turns out he was seeing Betty Boop. I love Olive, but, c'mon, this was Betty Boop. Bluto was uncouth and a slob; Boop was all class. Didn't make sense. Their photos mirrored our photos.
Then I came across this post: "Wimpy is in a relationship". What the hell? The guy couldn't afford a burger. I looked closer and read it was with Steve Canyon. Who knew?
Dondi has just sent a Friend request. We have nothing in common, but I don't want to hurt the kid's feelings.
Between you and me, Olive's voice is getting on my nerves.
Monday, February 18, 2013
History Lesson
After finally watching Dr.Zhivago I cannot believe how dreary Russian cities are compared to the country. Why would anyone want Stalingrad, let alone create a 900 day siege? No Taco Bell, no multiplex, no In and Out Burger joints. No heat or fresh fruit.
Nobody trusts anyone. The Bolsheviks are battling the White Brigade, whatever that means. And Rod Steiger had no business forcing himself on Julie Christie, whose eyes are beyond luminous.
If the Nazis had conquered Stalingrad, what then? On to Moscow or Peters burg through nine feet of snow? If the Germans had ignored Russia, Omar Sharif and Christie would have gotten together much sooner. I also think Geraldine Chaplin was a hot number, but her marriage to Omar never stood a chance. Russians certainly do a lot of drinking and shouting.
Well, that's today's history lesson, as I try to intellectualize this blog. Next: Betsy Ross--Crime Stopper.
Nobody trusts anyone. The Bolsheviks are battling the White Brigade, whatever that means. And Rod Steiger had no business forcing himself on Julie Christie, whose eyes are beyond luminous.
If the Nazis had conquered Stalingrad, what then? On to Moscow or Peters burg through nine feet of snow? If the Germans had ignored Russia, Omar Sharif and Christie would have gotten together much sooner. I also think Geraldine Chaplin was a hot number, but her marriage to Omar never stood a chance. Russians certainly do a lot of drinking and shouting.
Well, that's today's history lesson, as I try to intellectualize this blog. Next: Betsy Ross--Crime Stopper.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Beaten Down by Happiness
Facebook has beaten me down. I scroll down the page and find more and more happiness. People are announcing relationships, engagements, marriages, kids, more kids, grand kids, beloved pets, exotic trips, great restaurants, photos of all of it to provide definitive proof, post after post.
I feel overwhelmed by all this joyousness.
Rants still pop up from time to time, but mostly it's all good, all healthy emotional equilibrium.
Depressing.
I spent four years in competitive high school hell. This is worse because it seems endless.
As a favor to me, someone please crash their bike. Or get into an argument. What happened to all the riveting toxic relationships?
Where is the pain, the frustration, the anguish? I need people to pitch in and help here. I can only provide so much suffering. The happiness quotient is way out of proportion.
And stop posting exquisite photos of yourself, not a hair out of place. Your perfect lives are proof God has lost interest.
I feel overwhelmed by all this joyousness.
Rants still pop up from time to time, but mostly it's all good, all healthy emotional equilibrium.
Depressing.
I spent four years in competitive high school hell. This is worse because it seems endless.
As a favor to me, someone please crash their bike. Or get into an argument. What happened to all the riveting toxic relationships?
Where is the pain, the frustration, the anguish? I need people to pitch in and help here. I can only provide so much suffering. The happiness quotient is way out of proportion.
And stop posting exquisite photos of yourself, not a hair out of place. Your perfect lives are proof God has lost interest.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Run Down
I was in NYC for the first time in weeks, striding up Eighth Avenue on my way to Lincoln Center to photograph the creatures that appear twice a year for Fashion Week. These humanoids do not dress or look like the rest of us and boy do they know it.
About halfway there, out of the corner of my eye, I saw an older man get knocked down by a cyclist who had veered off the sidewalk and onto the street. There was no howling in pain. I guess the poor guy was in shock. The cyclist said nothing. I whispered 'that's actionable' and kept moving.
This is how we act in the city. You stop and get involved, police arrive, there are questions, reports, a crowd. You can easily lose two hours. Most likely the guy was helped up, brushed himself off, mumbled a few curses and both men went on with their day.
Before pointing fingers, ask yourself how many times do you get to see actual fashion models in person? Yes, I felt a twinge of guilt, right up until the first skyscraper model appeared striding toward the tent, so young, so tall, so unwrinkled.
About halfway there, out of the corner of my eye, I saw an older man get knocked down by a cyclist who had veered off the sidewalk and onto the street. There was no howling in pain. I guess the poor guy was in shock. The cyclist said nothing. I whispered 'that's actionable' and kept moving.
This is how we act in the city. You stop and get involved, police arrive, there are questions, reports, a crowd. You can easily lose two hours. Most likely the guy was helped up, brushed himself off, mumbled a few curses and both men went on with their day.
Before pointing fingers, ask yourself how many times do you get to see actual fashion models in person? Yes, I felt a twinge of guilt, right up until the first skyscraper model appeared striding toward the tent, so young, so tall, so unwrinkled.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Handling Valentine's Day
If you're not part of a couple, Valentine's Day can be brutal. Here are suggestions how to keep from leaping off something or plunging into a despair that carries over into March when the bagpipes from all the St. Patrick's Day parades will raise your spirits.
1. Think of all the money you've saved not buying VDay gifts.
2. Think of all the money you've saved by not going on exotic vacations with your partner.
3. Add up all the farts the other person would have released while you were alone.
4. Remember all the successful single people who did not crumble over this day, like Ed Koch.
5. Career is always important.
6. You can pick up extra money babysitting for couples.
7. Think of all the losers who were married, like Sadaam Hussein and Stalin.
8. Stay positive. Spend that evening practicing kissing on your arm.
9. Do not go on Facebook, where every person you've ever wanted will post photos of themselves with their partner displaying smiles that declare, we're having sex tonight.
10. Play recorded bagpipe music until you fall asleep.
1. Think of all the money you've saved not buying VDay gifts.
2. Think of all the money you've saved by not going on exotic vacations with your partner.
3. Add up all the farts the other person would have released while you were alone.
4. Remember all the successful single people who did not crumble over this day, like Ed Koch.
5. Career is always important.
6. You can pick up extra money babysitting for couples.
7. Think of all the losers who were married, like Sadaam Hussein and Stalin.
8. Stay positive. Spend that evening practicing kissing on your arm.
9. Do not go on Facebook, where every person you've ever wanted will post photos of themselves with their partner displaying smiles that declare, we're having sex tonight.
10. Play recorded bagpipe music until you fall asleep.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Lost
I've lost my moral compass, my ethical center. I may have left it at a Quick Check. I've looked under furniture, behind bookcases, in the medicine cabinet, the fridge, the stove, in all my drawers and closets. I even checked my garage and the dumpster. No luck.
This is worse than running low on gas during a blizzard. I make decisions based on my morality. I base my diet and exercise schedule on strict ethical rules. I always wipe down the equipment afterwards, That one is easy to remember. But other boundaries are too complicated for memorization.
Without my compass I'm dizzy, directionless, nervous, fidgety, frustrated, even panicky. I fear I may do something at odds with my basic goodness.
This one impulse is growing, intensifying. The impulse to invade a country. If it weren't for this cursed storm I could go out and get waffle fries. It would give me time to calm myself and ask what would Socrates do in this situation? Does it snow in Greece?
This is worse than running low on gas during a blizzard. I make decisions based on my morality. I base my diet and exercise schedule on strict ethical rules. I always wipe down the equipment afterwards, That one is easy to remember. But other boundaries are too complicated for memorization.
Without my compass I'm dizzy, directionless, nervous, fidgety, frustrated, even panicky. I fear I may do something at odds with my basic goodness.
This one impulse is growing, intensifying. The impulse to invade a country. If it weren't for this cursed storm I could go out and get waffle fries. It would give me time to calm myself and ask what would Socrates do in this situation? Does it snow in Greece?
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
The Power of Plaid
Whenever I wear my plaid shirts I feel all powerful. I can lead meetings, take control if someone spills something in a supermarket aisle, switch channels with impunity. I will walk up behind wheelchair bound people and start pushing without permission.
There is something Americana about plaid. Guys raised on farms and around mines wear it. I've never driven a pickup truck, but wearing plaid gives me the impulse to do so. My voice is deeper and my profile stronger. Insulated plaid shirts attract normally standoffish women, imbuing me with a stern father figure aura.
Try it. Sit at a table full of type A folks, fold your arms across your chest and say nothing. Guaranteed at some point the focus will turn to you. Grasp it and hold tight. It's sure as hell certain someone will ask you to change their oil. And you'll do it, first stripping off your magic shirt, revealing a manly paunch and tufts of chest hair underneath a slightly stained t-shirt.
Let them take all the phone camera shots they want. People need something to live for.
There is something Americana about plaid. Guys raised on farms and around mines wear it. I've never driven a pickup truck, but wearing plaid gives me the impulse to do so. My voice is deeper and my profile stronger. Insulated plaid shirts attract normally standoffish women, imbuing me with a stern father figure aura.
Try it. Sit at a table full of type A folks, fold your arms across your chest and say nothing. Guaranteed at some point the focus will turn to you. Grasp it and hold tight. It's sure as hell certain someone will ask you to change their oil. And you'll do it, first stripping off your magic shirt, revealing a manly paunch and tufts of chest hair underneath a slightly stained t-shirt.
Let them take all the phone camera shots they want. People need something to live for.
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