Getting Off My Ass

Today I’ll be out putting the last coat of stripper on the kitchen island. Then I’ll have to hoist myself up into the attic above the garage (an unfinished room, actually, and really cool. If we buy this house, it will be made into a bigger and better room for Nathan) and drag down the wood stain that was used in the kitchen (country pecan) and the leftover granite tiles that were stowed up there. Wish my digital camera wasn’t all fuckered up.

My goal is to have this project done this weekend, weather allowing. Can’t forget, however, to say Happy Birthday to a great man whose spiritual presence I will never cease to miss.


One Less Great Man

The world lost one of its last great men yesterday. Playwright Arthur Miller died at his home in Connecticut at the age of 89...


Is There a Diva in the House?

On Saturday afternoon I complained to Lynette that I miss our friends, all of whom live in other states and other countries. I miss our impromptu get-togethers with George and Noelle, I miss “doing the weirds” with Debra, and I just generally miss having time with other adults, doing adult things, talking about adult things...


Just Freakin' Cut It!

I should know better than to stop flipping through the channels when I come across one of those inbred talk shows like Jerry Springer or Maury Povich. This morning, while working the crossword and enjoying a cup of Earl Gray, I happened to stop on the Maury show. Today’s angst-filled subject was long, crazy hair. Well, hey, I’m an old hippie and this was up my alley — I thought. Except that the longhairs on the show weren’t old hippies, just people from Ohio who were missing teeth, couldn’t walk entirely erect, and who were whining about how their long, crazy hair has proved traumatic for them, stunted their personal growth, and has held them back their entire lives.


Just when I think Americans can’t get any more ridiculous and pathetic, I have to see this.
Come on people. It’s hair. Just Freakin’ cut it! It’s not like you have three eyes. It’s not like you were a thalidomide baby. It’s not even like you have only two brain cells that have never come close to colliding. I have a crack in my butt, but it hasn’t held me back.

I couldn’t help but think of our Lauren, a 16-year old who also happens to have struggled with Cerebral Palsy her entire life. She drives, she maintains a straight A grade level. She works a job and is saving money to go to Paris this summer. She plays the trumpet like an ace and is in a local jazz ensemble. She swims, rides a bike, and is considering a career in politics. Nothing holds this young lady back. Hell, she even types faster with one hand than I do with two.

One woman was certifiable, I believe. Even after she got her make-over she was unhappy — more so than before. It showed in her face.

“How can I be happy now that I have nothing to blame for my being a loser? How can I be happy if I’m not miserable? Maury, you’ve ruined my life! Get me back to my trailer. I need a cigarette and a bottle of J.D.”

Have we really gotten so pathetic that we blame our meaningless, hollow lives on the fact that we haven’t cut our hair in thirty years and can’t do anything with it? Don’t be helpless. Just Freakin’ cut it!