This morning, I was putting my oatmeal on the stove and the baby was supposed to be getting his shoes and jacket on. When I came out of the kitchen, he was reading a book. “BLAFGGHHHAHAH!” I shouted. We made it to the bus stop just as the bus was pulling up to the light. The bus driver actually said to me, “You know, you almost missed the bus,” to which I replied, “Hehehe,” which is what I say when someone has just said something so thoroughly annoying and obnoxious and unnecessary and I need to prevent myself from saying, “ALMOST DOESN’T COUNT AND ALSO I ALMOST HATE YOU EVERY OTHER MORNING WHEN I STAND HERE FOR 15 MINUTES WAITING BECAUSE I GET HERE AT THE PRESCRIBED TIME.” I don’t like to provoke the people commandeering large vehicles containing my child. I’m overprotective.
Anyway, this past weekend, I consumed like a good American.
Yawn. Very pretty-looking period drama about the Duchess of Devonshire, but I get so bored with heavy-handed, “You’ve come a long way, baby,” pearl-clutchers in which women are overtly oppressed in such a way that we’re supposed to go, “My, it’s so good that sexism is all gone now.”
The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia
I can’t remember why, but in one of my short story classes in college we watched The Dancing Outlaw, about the wild mountain dancer Jesco White. He was a character and not always likable but entertaining enough. It never occurred to me what kind of cloth he was cut from. But someone went back to Boone County, WV and made a documentary about his family, including matriarchs Bertie Mae and Mamie, Kirk, and of course Sue Bob, aka The Pretty One.
I admire their loyalty to each other and their determination to live exactly the way they want to. But it was undeniably fucked up to watch Kirk snort crushed up pills in her hospital room while her newborn daughter slept nearby and to know that even if they do get sober, the only real option they have is to break their backs working for a coal company and still be more or less broke. Blargh.
The Glories of Big Box Commerce:
We went to Teh Wal-Mart to procure groceries. Most of the time this is a purely robotic venture. We march up and down the aisles, grabbing stuff on our list and try to make it out of there expeditiously so that we can get on with our lives. But sometimes if you really look at the stuff that’s available to purchase, it all seems kind of surreal.
Chocolate-covered Froot Loops. You can tell from the startled expressions on the faces of the banana, orange, and cherries that this was an unexpected development. I’m not really opposed to chocolate-covered anything and really if you’re eating Froot Loops, why the hell not dip them in chocolate at that point?
It’s never encouraging when your food barfs before you even eat it. “Ugh, I’m nauseating.”
This is very clever product placement. Next to the condoms, you have both the Gatorade Prime, for the pre-game, and the Gatorade Recover. It’s got electrolytes.
Doo-do-doo, I’m strolling through the hair care aisle. The last thing I’ll run into is pla–
I had heard of placenta treatments for hair, I just never imagined seeing them in Wal-Mart.
Charlie Sheen and Ronald Reagan. A double dose of “I just can’t bring myself to give a shit,” and “Thanks for the legacy, a-hole.”