I’ve been perusing The Hairpin, and Kelly Conaboy’s scented candle reviews are truly excellent. I have written my own scented candle nonsense, but it got me thinking about my actual candle-related expectations. You’d think having only ever bought maybe five candles ever, and at least two because I thought Mr. Squish would like them, that I wouldn’t have strong feelings about this.
Ohmygod that was so beautiful and the world is full of breathless mystery and I swear I’ll never eat meat again and I’ll hug a dog and look into its huge, warm eyes like Krishna’s mother seeing the world in his mouth and I’ll bike everywhere like a Communist to save the Earth.
When I’m confronted with actual nature, that is, in real life without a score, it looks more like this:
My heart’s in the right place, kind of, but I have no idea what the hell is going on. Then I have an Italian beef or something and drive three blocks somewhere.
Perhaps there’s a message here about the difference between eliciting emotion and eliciting action, or perhaps it’s more evidence that sometimes I’m just kind of a crappy person.
My mother told me that she didn’t care if I ever give her grandchildren in much the same way she told me that I didn’t have to become a doctor: sincerely with an undercurrent of disappointment. I remember the home movies she took of my tantrums, all snot and rage and throwing shoes out of the shoe rank. Watching the old VHS tapes with images of my fits popping up between piano recitals and birthday parties, I knew that if I ever had a child I’d be cursed with one like myself.
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There’s been so much crap going on in the world, and, honestly, I just don’t have the wherewithal to talk about it. I thought about bloggin’ about it, but no dice. So today, I will ramble about the ancient film “What Women Want” and what it got wrong. Pretty much all the women are terrible caricatures with no interiority despite literal access to their innermost thoughts, but there are some pretty grievous errors. Continue reading What Women Want
The haiku is a subtle, elegant art form. The spareness of words makes each one fecund with meaning. They are shorter than a tweet, yet evoke scenery, emotion, and the passing of time. The following are not haikus, in that fashion. They are silly “poems” that follow the 5-7-5 syllable scheme and are prompted by free stock photos (and one hilarious photo of the family dog.)
As long as we believe that the sole purpose of salads is for women to laugh alone with them, there’s going to be a lot of macho men avoiding vegetables to keep their cojones intact. An understandable reaction, I daresay!
But I want to be part of the solution, dear readers. Men should be able to enjoy vegetables with gusto! Not only because they’re good for you (depending upon medication and whatnot), but because they’re delicious! Alas, vegetables cannot win over a population just because they’re awesome. If there’s anything I learned about getting people to do stuff, it’s that you need to speak to your audience about their values, in this case, cojones integrity.