I haven’t written a lot in the past few weeks. I’m sorry.
And you’re welcome because you know what? Sometimes I just don’t have anything
to say. I think it’s important for me to shut the fuck up when I don’t have
anything to say. It’s something I’ve been working on my entire life, and I
think I may just be getting ever so slightly better at it.
But see now I have a bunch of things to say and they’re, as
usual, unrelated. So this is one of those rambling-type posts. Oh no.
Let’s start with this cover from US Weekly:
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| Why wouldn't I buy this magazine? |
This pretty much says everything I love about US Weekly.
Here we have a cover that gets right to the (embellished) point and almost makes it seem as
though Lindsey Vonn has been quoted as saying, “I’m in love with a sex addict!”
Which, as far as I know, she’s never said. But I like how US Weekly has no
scruples
(PAUSE: I think my downstairs neighbor has recently taken up
weed smoking. It wafts into my apartment in the afternoons and then, about an
hour later, I hear him playing the very first line of chords from “Fly Like an
Eagle” over and over and over again. You would have to be high to not be bored
by just the first few chords, right? But who am I to keep a person from
learning an instrument?)
about making the cover all about Lindsey Vonn and her
penchant for sex addicts. They just know how to sell a magazine. And they don’t
care if any of the things they write have to do with anything. And that’s why
it’s fun in much the same way as comic books or psychic friends networks. Because it can’t possibly be real. And even if it were real, none of
the stories in the magazine matter in the real world. But I have to read it every week anyway. And that’s why I call it the news: because
it’s all the news I can handle (aside from my intense and sad efforts to read the WSJ). (Sort of like how this guy I once went out with
told me he liked to pretend The West Wing
was the news. He probably had a better case than I do.)
And then there’s this magazine called Real Simple that is so
amazing: all the articles are about organizing and cleaning and getting your
finances in order and cooking recipes with only 3 ingredients. The fact that I
love this magazine makes me feel at turns both mature and unbelievably lame. For
instance, this month’s cover is a picture of cleaning products, which I may not
have found exciting in past times but these days it’s like porn. I can’t wait
for them to tell me how to clean my floor with bacon grease and Epsom salts. I
can’t wait for them to instruct me on which documents to keep and which to
throw away. I really can’t wait for them to tell me what delicious meal I can
make from the three items that are always in my fridge (eggs,
pickles, and string cheese, in my case). I really get on board with this magazine.
And last night, they helped me figure out how to put one of my deeper concerns
to rest:
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| I'm jealous of everyone on Facebook. |
I DO have Facebook envy. Everyone else on FB is always doing
fun stuff and traveling places and I’m never doing anything! But now I know
it’s because people only put good things on Facebook. People don’t brag on FB
about how they skipped class Tuesday and made deviled eggs and watched the
entirety of Burning Love Seasons One and Two. Because why would you tell anyone
about that unless you were mild-to-moderately insane? Quit bragging about your
baby or your job promotion! I painted my toenails green and refilled my water
filter!
And one more thing: and get ready, because this is one of
those things where I try to put my life into some kind of manageable perspective
by pointing out the adversity that others go through while I can’t tolerate
waiting in line at the grocery store.
Yesterday I took two of the kiddos to the Third Street
Promenade to visit the Apple Store. We had some questions about a computer. We
waited a while, and nobody came. While we waited, I pointed out the fellow that
I hoped would wait on us. He was across the room, but you could see him from a
mile away. He had short, wavy black hair and star-spangled skinny jeans and
bright red lipstick. But he was helping another customer.
We eventually talked to the “host” (William) at the front of
the store who told us he would send someone over momentarily.
Within moments (well done, William!), William brought over
the very man I’d hoped we’d get. William introduced him as Dickie and explained
that Dickie was deaf so he would have to type all of his responses.
What he didn’t mention, but what Dickie soon explained, was
that we’d have to type our responses as well. Dickie was very funny and very
helpful. He typed the way you know he would’ve spoken, if he spoke. He wrote
things like, “Totes. 8 GB is completely sufficient for photo editing.” And “No
worries. You probably just need an external HD for storage.” And he didn’t make
fun of my typos or my inability to articulate anything that has to do with
anything technological.
And here’s how Dickie’s life relates to me (because
everything does, right?): I had this outfit all planned for the next day that I
wasn’t sure I could pull off. The outfit involved different patterns and a
slightly out-of-the-norm color palette. And I really wanted to wear it, but I
wasn’t sure if I could make it happen without feeling silly. I haven’t been
fashionably adventurous since I was a teenager.
But Dickie, the deaf guy with red, star-patterned skinny
jeans and bright red lipstick who went and got a job at the ENORMOUS Apple
Store on 3rd Street Promenade, made me feel stupid for worrying
about it. Of course I could wear my outfit. And then I started getting all
deep, a few hours later, thinking about how we only live once and all that and
what if, one day when I’m 80, I regret not wearing more often the things I felt
like wearing? What a sad, avoidable regret. So I wore my neat, fun outfit today
and I felt really good about it, and I’d like to give Dickie a mental
high-five. He is getting it done.
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| Dickie's patterns + my patterns = America. Coincidence? I think not. |
That’s all I’ve got for now.
*The quote is from Jerry Seinfeld.
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