Banishing the Corporate Cupid

"This year I encountered something close to Truth in Advertising. The De Beers people used to say, "Diamonds are Forever." But now their ad says, "Diamonds Will Render Her Speechless." Why don’t they just come out and say, "Diamonds--That'll Shut Her Up!" ... Comedian Ron White, "Blue Collar Comedy Tour" ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Looking back over some of my past musings, I’ve noticed that a number of them are inspired by holidays. With Valentine’s Day inching ever closer, I figure I'd better get a move on if I want to impart any thoughts on it.... and, contrary to what readers may have come to expect, I’m about to side with the men on this one, ladies. Surprised? Let me preface this by saying that I am not one of my gender that anticipates this day for weeks or months on end. I don’t expect expensive gifts. I’m happy with a card but would prefer something handwritten. Write it on a napkin or the flap of an empty cereal box, I don’t care. At the very least, write it on toilet paper. You spend enough time in there to compose at least a few years' worth of poems at a time - well, at least you could if there were enough toilet paper on the roll, right? DON’T say you weren’t warned. Anyway, an honest conveying of some true sentiment is all I really want. Men, however, cannot understand this. They are conditioned from birth to believe that the more debt they incur, the more they love us. Ummm.... wrong! I really don’t get the warm fuzzies from a year of minimum payments. I’ve become aware that society, in general, is of no help to men when it comes to Valentine’s Day. This day seems to rack up more contradictions than I can count - and women are partly responsible for at least a few. We spend ridiculous amounts of time counting calories, doing the “bathroom scale bunny hop” and staring at our butts in the mirror as if those visual daggers we’re throwing might slice off actual inches here and there. We’ve all heard the “honey, do I look fat in these jeans?” jokes. Yet, along comes Valentine’s Day and the universal bitching of “He can’t even buy me a lousy heart-shaped box of chocolates???” Then, when he gives the very confused - yet very honest - “but sweetie... you just told me last week that you want to be down a few sizes by bathing suit weather”, he gets slammed with the logic that we only wanted the pretty box as a souvenir. We were going to use it to store all the toilet paper tributes we were sure to be receiving over the rest of the year. We weren’t going to actually eat the chocolates! *gasp* Of COURSE not. They would just gradually disappear over a few days and we would have no choice but to blame the kids. Magazines, commercials, radio and tv shows all bombard men with the “true picture” of “what she really wants” this Valentine’s Day. From what I can tell, we’ll all be basking in the comfort of our luxurious hotel rooms, perhaps languishing in the in-room Jacuzzi, while drinking perfectly chilled wine from the best crystal, inhaling the soothing scents of aromatherapy candles and occasionally peeling off wet rose petals that insist on gluing themselves to our skin. Waiting on the crisp bed linens, loving dusted with honey powder, a beautifully wrapped box cuddling the perfect piece of jewellery. In the kitchenette, he will be capably preparing a sensuous meal, balancing just the right number of aphrodisiac ingredients with the correct amount of dark chocolate....... *knock, knock* HI YA! :) Welcome back to the real world. Glad you could join me. What this woman really wants for Valentine’s Day is to finish work early so she can spend a relaxing evening with the most important man in her life. A little take-out food (“no cooking” is always a gift in itself), a few drinks and maybe a romantic movie on tv. Men, contrary to what they may say any other time, are always good sports about chick flicks on Valentine’s Day. Last year, doing my very best, I miraculously finished work on schedule, he took care of picking up food, drinks were available and all we had to do was find that perfect something on TV. What, to my dismay, did network nitwits offer as the best programming choice to help men everywhere create the ambiance for the special evening? A two-hour special of “COPS” on the thoroughly loving and appropriate subject of domestic violence. Poor boys, poor boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when we mess it up for you? Dangle a carrot in front of a rabbit and what is guaranteed to happen? He watched the show, I took a bath - sans swirly water, bubbles, candles or rose petals. Not because he insisted. I did.... because it was Valentine’s Day and he’d had enough stress as it was. I got the hand-made card. I got the e-card with a personal message that made me cry. So, he got the TV. For my part, I’ll keep trying to make it easy on him - and just make sure we’re stocked up on toilet paper straight through every February 14th.

To-may-toe, To-mah-toe?

I hadn’t intended to write anything else about “Brokeback Mountain”… and yet I must. As was widely reported, well-known film critic Gene Shalit wrote a negative (and many perceive, hateful) review of the film. He drew sharp criticism from GLAAD for calling one of the characters a “sexual predator” who tracked down the other for trysts. It seems that Mr. Shalit has now apologized for his statements. In his letter of apology to GLAAD, he says: "In describing the behavior of Jack, I used words ('sexual predator') that I now discover have angered, agitated and hurt many people… I did not intend to use a word that many in the gay community consider incendiary...I certainly had no intention of casting aspersions on anyone in the gay community or on the community itself…" Back the hell up. In what community and in what conceivable context is the term “sexual predator” NOT INCENDIARY?! If Mr. Shalit called your father, your brother, your son, a “sexual predator,” would you politely ask him not to “cast aspersions”? Not bloody likely. Mr. Shalit’s gay son, in his own letter to GLAAD, wrote: "Agreed, he didn't particularly seem to like Brokeback Mountain, and he found the character of Jack unsympathetic. But his negative response to a particular character is not 'defamation' and had nothing to do with the sexual orientation of the character." I disagree. He didn't call the character of Jack uncaring, unconcerned, detrimental, or any other polite terms that could be construed as "unsympathetic" -- he clearly and succinctly chose "sexual predator." Infer what you will. GLAAD is pleased with the apology. Me, I’d make one last suggestion – recommend that the elder Mr. Shalit trim a whole lot of weight off that damn moustache of his. It’s apparently gotten so heavy that it’s dragging down his eyelids to the point that he can’t see the forest for the trees. Now I’m done.

Giddyup!

By now, those of you who regularly visit, know that things tend to roll around and ferment in my head for awhile – until they finish rising and burst forth from under the tea towel like so much bread dough. *shrug* Beats me – I must be hungry this morning. Anyway… In the category of “so much FRIGGIN’ ado about nothing,” I’m compelled to saddle up and trot head on into gay cowboy country. I’ve heard tell it’s called “Brokeback Mountain.” No, I’m not gay. No, I’m not a cowboy… cowgirl… cowperson… is there a PC word for this now, too? My relationship with horses actually came to an abrupt halt during a riding lesson that found me an unwilling participant in the tumbling routine of an improperly shod horse. Looking up to see hundreds of pounds of equine equilibrium lost and free falling towards your now-in-a-fetal-position-praying-like-hell body is a frightening thing. Having a breast so bruised and crushed that you’re actually hoping for a mammogram to get a little relief is excruciating. But, to cast an ear towards the squawking currently heard ‘round the world, NOTHING is as scary or unbearable as… wait for it… a relationship between two men. Who kiss. One of my jobs puts me in regular reading contact with a large gay community – male, female and everything in between. I’m not in their midst to judge them, nor would I ever do so anyway. They aren’t pulling up chairs at the foot of my relationship bed to critique what I do. I have no inclination to subject them to such scrutiny either. I am a permanent camper in the “Whatever Floats Yer Boat” park. Every single person on this planet deserves to be happy. Who the hell am I to tell them where that happiness should come from? Back to our feature presentation. “Brokeback Mountain” – described on the Internet Movie Data Base as, “An epic love story set against the sweeping vistas of Wyoming and Texas, Brokeback Mountain tells the story of two young men - a ranch-hand and a rodeo cowboy - who meet in the summer of 1963, and unexpectedly forge a lifelong connection, one whose complications, joys and tragedies provide a testament to the endurance and power of love.” Based on a short story, written by a Pulitzer Prize winning author, E. Annie Proulx. Directed by Academy Award nominee Ang Lee. And people see nothing redeeming or valuable in any of this. Why? Let me repeat… “NOTHING is as scary or unbearable as… wait for it… a relationship between two men. Who kiss.” I’ve heard plenty of men, in recent days, make comments like, “HELL NO I’m not seein’ that movie. WHY would I?” – with such disgust that one is made to believe it’s an affront to their manhood to even suggest such a thing. Honey, no one’s going to think you’re gay because you go to the movies. Is this what we’ve become? As a society? Because I know them, I can say with almost complete confidence that, if you offered these same men a movie with two women who kiss… oh, let’s say something as easy as “Wild Things”, “Poison Ivy” or “Gia”, they’d be fast-forwarding at lightening speed to watch Neve or Drew or Angelina because “two women kissing is hot.” In spite of the sound of minds slamming shut so fast that it’s deafening, others applaud “Brokeback Mountain.” The movie. The love story. The people that bring the story to life. Have I seen it yet? No. Do I want to? Absolutely. I could care less if men love, touch - or kiss - in it. I mentioned it to my husband and he said he’d like to see it too. I was pleased to see my very cinematically-aware brother-in-law praise the film on his website The Wide World of Aaron. Then, I went to work… People, for crying out loud. If you want to hate something, you’re entitled. I realize that. I don’t have to agree with you. You don’t have to agree with me. We have those freedoms. But don’t… and I very strongly mean DON’T… enter a place where you know you’re far outnumbered and begin to quote chapter and verse about how this movie encourages immorality, adultery, and all those other big words you like to toss around. Don’t be so homophobic as to honestly believe that a movie is going to “make someone gay” or that it “makes a mockery of marriage.” There’s enough argument going on about that topic as it is. Don’t think you’re sooo funny, quirky or original that you’re the only one who calls it “Bareback Mountain.” Trust me. It’s been done. Ad nauseum. You don’t have to trivialize or poke fun at things that bother you, just to quell your uneasiness. If you don’t support the film, don’t see it. No one’s going to come into your home and drag you kicking and screaming to the theatre. I wish I knew how to teach you tolerance. I wish I knew how to teach you to simply respect another human being. Most days, though, “I wish I knew how to quit you.”

Goofy Googling

Happy New Year Everyone! Did you have a great celebration? If you’re here, you survived New Year’s Eve, so good on ya! We had fun in our house. We nibbled our way through a New Year’s Eve movie marathon with the kids. Sounds boring, I guess. Well, in some homes it might be – but we’re slightly less than traditional. The movie marathon included “American Pie I and II” and “The 40 Year Old Virgin.” Oh, stop it. Chins up off the floor now. As the 12 year old assured us, “For heaven’s sake, I hear worse stuff than this on the BUS!” While that’s not particularly comforting to me as a Mom (in fact, it’s downright ookie), we had fun. Mindless, predictable, non-cinematic-award-worthy fun… with alcohol (adults only – I’m not THAT openminded). Then, today, I came here to clean up a bit around the ol’ blog. You know… start fresh for the new year. I thought, “what better way to move forward than by first looking back?” I decided to take a look through some of the search terms that helped people to find Thoughts2Page in 2005. What an education. Evidently, I’m quite the hit with the Hooter Hunters! Jeez people… walk your dog, bake a cake, put on some music and dance. At least some of the time. THEN, come back here and google yourself some mammaries. For your amusement – and mine! – here are some of the avenues that lead to what I now have the impression is the cesspool in my head: “like big boobs cannot lie” (judging by these statistics, you are NOT alone!) “Quebec 40DD” (awww crap… so close) “mom makes 11 year old daughter lick her” (ACKKKK!!! what the HELL?!? How does this lead HERE? Oh wait… I had an “11 year old daughter” last year… never have I been SO grateful for birthdays!) “the song go ask alice by the who” (whoooooo are you? Who who who who? I really wanna knowwwwww!) “how to renovate my basement myself” (if I honestly knew, would I be paying so much damn money to contractors?!) “29 and holding” (that’s your hangup sweetheart, not mine… I’m solidly 41… nothing on the ‘net is going to help you stave off the aging process, no matter what the spam says) “Norman Chumley” (hey! He’s the “Joy of Weight Loss” guy I wrote about back in April 2005… sadly, I’m still not feelin’ the joy, Norm) “bad moon rising bathroom right” (wow… you have a harder time with those lyrics than I do!) “I like big boobs and I cannot lie” (that’s #2 and counting!) “oversized tshirt pool” (not sure if this is a quirky wet tshirt “thing” or the “weight loss at work” gals!) “I like big boobs and I cannot lie lyrics” (#’s 3, 4 and 5!) “40DD” (jeez… must be a popular size) “baby barf” (hrmmm… too much time spent on the 40DD’s, I’d say. Pregnancy sure does have its benefits, though!) “listen to larry the cable guys Christmas carols” (sorry… not Larry – but hope you found the link you needed! GIT-R-DONE!) “idiot renovations” (man, I really hope this isn’t my contractor!) “elaine bobbitt” (her name was Lorena, for crying out loud – I’d never throw anything that useful out of my car window!) “get r done Christmas carol” (wow… good year for Larry!) “santa comes but once each year” (I know… I lamented for the poor guy too) “elaine’s cleavage” (this is in there twice! Guess I needed a pay site instead of blogging for free!) “I like big boobs” (#6!) “rigor mortis penis” (I said LORENA! Someone find me her number!!) “pudding balloons” and “drag pudding balloons” (3 searches, different countries… people everywhere are skimping on silicone) “old Russian man grows penis on arm” (must be one of Lorena’s exes… I bet this guy has her number!) …and, last but not least, one of my favorites… “my butt jiggles when I walk”. Have you met the oversized tshirt pool? Meetings are Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at noon.