Nutty Blind Squirrels

There is not much going on here in the Lou. A whole lot of teeth gritting and waiting for Spring. The cold makes me feel like my brain is wrapped in cotton; it’s all I can do to formulate a coherent thought.

I comfort myself with knowledge that most people don’t even try to form coherent thoughts. So, whatever. I’m still ahead of the curve.

I’ve been kicking around various things to write about. Various rants about love and desire in the face of the approaching High Holy Day of Hallmark Mush, but whatever. I don’t feel like going there right now and besides, romance will still be stupid and glorious later in the month or year or whenever I’ve had a decent night’s sleep.

Plus, I should be trying to learn lines. I will be appearing in The Vagina Monologues on February 17, nine days from today. I’ve got nine days to figure out two characters that have nothing to do with me at all. One is a lesbian dominatrix. The other? A woman in a workshop who worries she’ll never find her clitoris. As someone who found and befriended mine at about 19 and has been taking it out drinking and buying it nice dinners on its birthday ever since, I’m having a hard time relating.

It’s so cool. I don’t remember the last time I did something that was hard, but didn’t suck really bad. To borrow (steal) from Mandy . . . Bring it.

Let’s see, what else is going on?

In an unanticipated turn of eventsPresident Retread actually has a good idea. Actually, he is espousing the good idea of others, but I’ll take it. He has proposed strengthening the CAFE (Corporate Average Fuel Economy) Standards. An environmentally thoughtful policy that, at the same time, allows market forces to pay a part. Sweet god, Retread and I found something on which we actually agree. Never thought it would be happen, but mea culpa. As much as I usually hate to be wrong, I’ll embrace it this time.

Of course, I still don’t trust him. I still think that he might actually be a moron who watches television in a hotdog suit, or possibly just truly and sickeningly evil, but hey. . . even a blind squirrel gets a nut once in awhile.

Speaking of nuts, Anna Nicole Smith's death just got splattered all over the news. I find myself with this real sense of pity. I'm broke, and in debt, and freezing, and more than a little wacky, but at least I have some idea who I am. She always just seemed so sad to me. I mean, she was undoubtedly not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I don't believe for a second she started out as dumb as she acted (although later she might have killed off enough gray matter that she became that dumb).

No, instead she was just some blond girl who learned too-well the lesson that women are rewarded for playing stupid and being pretty. Apparently, she lacked whatever steel-rod spine is necessary to resist the garbage, instead embracing wholeheartedly the idea that "dumb blond" was an admirable career path.