I have so much to say today I'm not sure where to begin. I've been saving things up all week for Saturday, when I could give everything a proper airing.
Words
To begin, I had a realization about my job this week. My part-time job. Have I mentioned I'm part time now? I've suspended work on the tunnel. Rather than escaping, I pinned my job to the mat, made it cry out for mercy, and won some important concessions i.e. I only have to work three days a week. (Non sequitor alert! A woman just walked by my window wearing a white trenchcoat and with her platinum blonde hair pulled back in such a tight ponytail that at first glance I thought she was Truman Capote.)
My realization about my job (remember? that's where this all started, before wrasslin' and Truman Capote got into the mix) was that I care about words, even if they are only filling in the spaces between graphs; even if they are describing very dull things; even if they have been arranged and organized by very dull people with only a passing familiarity with my language; even if they are intended for even duller people.
Even, although this is a stretch and I don't always care about them in this circumstance, when the majority are combinations like enterprise software planning, customer relationship management, and voice over internet protocol - groups that make cameo appearances at the beginning of a text then send their acronyms to represent them for the next 150 pages. Like Bush and Condoleeza Rice.
15 minutes of...
I was reading about the former Mr. Britney Spears this week and it struck me that becoming famous isn't so difficult anymore. (And I know what you're thinking, if it's so easy, why haven't I done it? Well, I've been busy.) I am beginning to think Warhol was wrong, and that, in future, we can all look forward to our 15 minutes of anonymity. (And since I have anonymity to spare, I'd be willing to donate some to people like the afore-mentioned Mr. Britney Spears.)
Salon Blues
Is there any place in the world more intimidating than an expensive hair salon? (Do you know the two places that immediately came into my head? Abu Ghraib and Lubyanka. Prisons. And not just any prisons, not the Cape Breton County Correctional Center, for example, which my grade 12 law teacher assured me was a place of spa-like opulence. No, the prisons of totalitarian regimes.)
I'm not even going to write any more about this because I'm guaranteed to end up sounding like Erma Bombeck, and I don't ever want to sound like Erma Bombeck. Suffice it to say, I got my hair cut in an expensive salon recently and I'm still reeling at my own inadequacy as a woman.
Get this: I went in lugging Harold Bloom's The Western Canon in my bag. I had to wait a bit for my "stylist" (who was in the back with the other off-duty stylists watching us through one-way glass and laughing, don't argue with me on this) and was about to haul out the Bloom when I realized I might as well write "UNKEMPT PSEUDO-INTELLECTUAL" on my forehead. So I flipped through a Vogue with Angelina Jolie on the cover. She might not have as much insight into Shakespeare's Falstaff, but she's got great hair. As a juxtaposition, this works well: Bloom loves Falstaff for his "perpetual gaity." And Falstaff may, indeed, be merry but hair, you must realize, is serious.
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5 comments:
we laugh at dumb people, dumb people laugh at how we look.
that is how it goes.
this is like the dogs wanting to be the last to mark the turf, even if you spent half your life at Maureens waxology these chicks would have the capacity to make you feel like a half chewed sandwich, THAT IS HOW THEY STAY IN BUSINESS.
it is all in Sacher Masoch, in a certain form. He was, incidentally, part ukrainian.
you pack a lot of wisdom into a small space, chihuahua lady! thank you for that.
from chihuahua lady..."we laugh at dumb people, dumb people laugh at how we look.
that is how it goes."
Not true! I always look fantastic and dumb people admire me. Even when I cut my own hair. In fact, I started cutting my own hair because people admired me too much. In fact, I stopped going out altogether for that same reason. Now I just sit in my room and rewrite the past in my head.
i rewrite the past in my blog.
reply to kevin:
i have also been cutting my own hair for some time because i am super-not-dumb and this is the only way to level out the playing field for the less endowed. i sit in my room and live out alternative haircuts in my head
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