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name: will baker blogrollin' other sites: |
a menagerie of bitchery
I survived my first day of my shiny new smoke-free life. It�s turning out to be less �shiny� than �spiky� and �angry�, though. Reasonable authorities assure me that this is but a stage. Here�s hoping. I ate about 16 lbs. of hard candy yesterday. The bowl on my desk is well-stocked with �candy salad� � a choice blend of sweet-tarts, gobstoppers, runts, hot tamales, zours, and sour patch kids. It keeps me from killing people. It would be unfortunate, however, if I went to all the trouble of quitting smoking only to end up a 500-pound mouth-breather with a mouth full of blackened nubs. Massive candy intake just can�t be that good for your teeth. Or stomach. Or waistline. All the �literature� that came with the nicotine patches assures me not to worry about such things. It�s full of soothing reassurances like �A small temporary weight gain in a small price to pay for becoming a non-smoker.� �Loosing all your teeth is a small price to pay for becoming a non-smoker.� �Loosing all your friends is a small price to pay for becoming a non-smoker.� �Being convicted of murder in the first degree is a small price to pay for becoming a non-smoker.� True to the philosophy of the public scolds of the antismoking movement, this literature flattens the complexities of human life into a single issue. �Becoming a non-smoker� becomes the meaning and telos of existence. Speaking of the anti-smoking movement, Lewis Lapham devotes his �Notebook� column in this month�s Harper�s to New York City�s new antismoking ordinance. It�s brilliant, as always. Anyway. I went to dinner with a friend last night. We ate at this �new Asian� place called �Pacific Moon�. It was tasty, but I wanted to kill our mouth-breathing suburban-girl waitress, Jules. Perhaps that was the withdrawal speaking, but when I ordered an appetizer of pan-fried dumplings, she gushed �Oh wow those are my favorite!!� And so it went for the rest of evening�very Chatty Cathy. I hate the trend toward interactive wait-staff. I didn�t ask what she likes, nor did I care. I�m sure that George W. Bush, Abercrombie and Fitch, and giant SUVs are also among her �favorites, bad taste being endemic among white suburbanites. Fortunately, I don�t look to servers to shape my taste in food (which is right up there with my taste in doctrines about God in terms of how personal and carefully guarded it is for me). I look to my server to bring my food and take away my spent dishes. In the immortal words of one of my former employers, �less talk, more work!� I slept well last night, other than a series of extremely vivid dreams about living in some crappy hotel in a run-down neighborhood of Paris where no one knew English (as opposed to the real Paris, where everyone can speak English, but won�t). In other news� My brother and his girlfriend (who are my roommates, Gentle Reader) have basically taken to their room. They got a new TV and now they never come out. I�m not sure what that�s all about. They may just be cocooning and having sex all the time, but I have this sneaking suspicion that they�re contemplating a move. I know that Irene wants to have her daughter live with them. Of course, Elden never told me that when he talked to me about Irene moving in. And I doubt he ever made it clear to her that that would most definitely NOT be okay with me. Her daughter is a nice kid, and I like kids in general. Like. Not �have,� but �like�. She�s a nice kid, but she�s not my kid. So I think I�m justified in not wanting to watch cartoons all evening, or be unable to kiss my boyfriend outside of my bedroom. There are distinct advantages to being unmarried and childless (and un-hetero, but that�s another story). It is not purely contingency and chance (and gayness) that have left me unmarried and childless. It is choice. At this point in my life, I like being able to watch South Park without worrying about damaging the morals of a tender 8-year-old girl. I like being able to bring home someone without having to append a child�s grasp of �where babies come from� to include an explanation of �why some boys like other boys�. Of course, if Irene was really that concerned about the tender morals of the fruit of her loins, she might think about the long-term consequences of having her daughter live with her and a man to whom she is not married. But that, again, is a whole other rant. My more immediate concern is that Elden might be under the impression that I would be the one to move out, if he and Irene should so desire. I�m afraid that time and circumstances may have clouded his memory of certain facts. Like whose name is on the lease, and whose name is on the utility bill. The apartment may suck, but it�s my sucky apartment. Ideally, we can all live together. Living with a couple of drama queens like Elden and Irene is not my ideal situation, but the economics of the arrangement are compelling. It�s really, really cheap. However, if they should decide on a parting of ways, they�re going to need to understand that they can stay or go, but I�m not going anywhere. From the Hilarious European Statesmen Desk, Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi (who is rapidly becoming my favorite head of state for comic relief) made a royal jackass out of himself in the European Parliament on Tuesday. During a speech in which he set out his plans for Italy�s presidency of the EU, he responded to a heckling German MEP by suggesting that the MEP would be perfect for the role of a Kapo in a film about Nazi concentration camps. To a German MEP. In the European Parliament. From a Prime Minister who is currently under investigation for criminal corruption, and who would, himself, be perfect for the role of a dirty wop mob boss in a gangster flick. Oooh, did I just type that? Oh, and one last thing. Events in Iraq are spinning totally out of control. Good morning, Viet Nam! And thanks, George. Thanks a whole fucking lot.
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