Welcome To My World (Far From Egypt)

February 1, 2011: Is something happening in Egypt? Honestly, I don't know ... Nor do I want to.

You see, I learned -- taught myself, perhaps -- after the awful anxiety that stirred after 9/11 -- that I had nothing to gain by following the news. It's ironic, because at the time I was writing the news. Still, it made no sense to let my fragile, feather-like emotions (and please understand, they are feather-like) be swayed and slapped and sometimes throttled by the roller coaster rides that are -- at least for me -- prompted by current events.

Today at work -- (Yes, I work! Why is that so funny?! Not all of us have George Clooney's money, even if we're blessed with his brand of dashing good looks) -- a woman was innocently (and honestly) professing to know nothing about what was happening there (in Egypt), but certainly alarmed by all the media attention. She kept looking at me, as if I had some answer, and even the woman who soundly, succinctly summarized the situation for her, then looked to me and said, "Is that about right?" (I merely shrugged and tried to look more like George Clooney; then I spent the rest of the time ruminating on what awful traits I project that make people think I'm authoritative.)

To my credit, I listened to her intelligent explanation and I still don't know what's going on. Nor do I see any good in finding out. When all is said and done, my only real concerns (at least insofar as news information can provide relief or guidance) involve swarms of Arabs (or Egyptians -- honestly, I'm not even sure anymore if they're the same thing!) mounting some kind of offensive that targets my house. If this is the case -- if a large group (or even a small group, really) of Egyptians come riding up my street on Arabian horses wielding those big Ali Baba-type of cutlasses, then I want to know before it happens -- hopefully at least an hour before -- and then I'll take action (which will mostly involve fleeing, with perhaps a bit of screaming).

People will -- and probably often do, behind my back (My god, they do everything behind my back) -- say that I'm neglecting my responsibilities, or ignoring "reality" (and see, I put it in quotes, to emphasize its subjective nature), ... but the truth is I'm merely keeping myself happy, and rest assured, that is no small task, as anyone who's modestly acquainted with me can attest. You see, my fragile psyche is already overstuffed with terrible thoughts and terrors that constantly compete to get the upper hand in depressing me or working me into one lather or another. I don't need any outside help to make the situation (meaning my brain) more turbulent. It does just fine without media input.

Finally, on a related note, from no direct connection I don't think, several times this week I've found myself singing "Walk Like An Egyptian" in the shower. And I sound great, really. I'm even doing the back-up vocals at the same time, and that's not easy.

So don't tell me I'm not involved with world affairs.

Who Cuts The Hair of the Right Wing?

January 10, 2011: Yes, happy new year, and another entry to stir your imagination, fire your cauldron, ease your temperament, and temper your easement.

The fact is, I'm disheartened with America right now. And who can blame me?! Doesn't the behavior of fascistic Right Wing fanatics simply make you want to scream. (If I were a fascistic Right Winger, of course, the line would have included something about going on a rampage and shooting them, but you see, we artist-types aren't like that, and that's why we're so much better! Yes, soooooooooo much better!!!)

Anyway, as this is a satirical column, despite my trouble with the spelling of words like satirical, I wanted to focus on the levity. And what could possibly be of stronger humor than the haircuts and hairstyles of those very Right Wingers we so detest and fear and yet tolerate (largely because we fear they'll start shooting if we don't try and appease them). No joke -- (and you see here I get very, very serious) -- why do Right Wing Republicans (or whatever the hell they are!) have just the worst hairstyles in America. The men all look like traveling tent preachers, or college football coaches, or 1970s country singers, and the women all look like Middle American Waffle House waitresses, or 1930s telephone operators, or 1970s country singers ...

You'd think the brain trusters who create their cantankerous (and you see, here I can't spell that either) and vitriolic (I think that one's right) media blitzes would devote at least a portion of their think-tanking to hair. Don't these people know how ridiculous they look? And that's how they're so easy to spot! One doesn't have to be subjected to their churlish brand of fear-based hysterics to know that this or that person in that element is a bona fide lunatic. All you have to do is see that hair!