I really can’t believe I’m going to admit to the following, but I was recently inspired by my doppleganger crew at Pajiba, who came up with yet another hysterical random list of their Top Guilty Movie Pleasures for 2009.  Well, I’ve got plenty of those too, but since this here is (ahem) supposedly a music site – although admittedly not a lot of music of late – I figured I too would be brave and come out of the Sucky Song Closet. 

Dustin, TK, Stacey (I’m thinking that butterfly sweatshirt), Nicole…it’s all your faults:

10. Taylor Swift’s “Should’ve Said No.”

Fuck it, YOU try living with a tween and a wanna-be tween who play this on a continuous loop and see if you don’t start humming along in spite yourself.  It’s catchy as hell.

9. Owl City’s “Fireflies” – Shit, The Whole Godamn CD.

Just when you thought Minnesota could be cool (think home base to Prince and independent magazine, Utne Reader) here comes Adam Young with his mop head and lap top ruining it all.  He’s cheerful and bouncy and just-so-godamn-glad-to-meet-ya! – and I like it all in spite of myself.  What can I say? It help offset the Seasonal Affective Disorder.

8. Kris Allen’s “Heartless”

I can’t stand American Idol and I personally thought that Adam Lambert was robbed by not winning this year.  That said, I thought Kris Allen’s live version of Kayne West’s “Heartless” was a killer.  Unfortunately, the version sold through iTunes was this orchestra-laden sap track. It didn’t have half the heart and soul of the one I saw on the show. And for me to say that anything coming out of Idol had a pulse is as close as I’m ever going to get with dancing with the corporate devil.

7. Katy Perry’s “Hot n Cold”

She’s just so friggin adorable, I can’t stand it.  And you can dance to her music too.  I can see what Russell Brand sees in her. Fur sure

6. Colbie Caillat’s “Fallin’ for You”

I know, I know…she’s like the Jennifer Aniston of the music business.  Sweet and light and oh-so-vanilla.  But what the hell, sometimes I like a little extra saccarine in my coffee.

5.  John Mayer’s “Who Says”

Oy, what a douche bag.  But it’s oh so true when I say I hate myself for loving you. Or at least your music. God help me.

4.  Susan Boyle’s “I Dreamed a Dream”

Yeah, yeah…she’s fucking hideous, which frankly made her rendition of this song all the more effective. Think about it. The song’s about a washed up single mom who has been beaten down by life. You look at her singing that song and damn it, you believe every word outta that bitch’s mouth!

3.  Any Song Off the TV Show “Glee”

This show not only made loving musical theater hip, but actually transformed such guilty pleasures of the past – like Journey’s “Don’t Stop Belivin’” – into a 2009 Top Ten hit.  That’s some powerful stuff – plus they feature original Broadway cast member, Lea Michaels, from “Spring Awakening” as the Jewess temptress. And I luv that.

2. All Music from Both the “Twilight” and “New Moon” Soundtracks

The movie was as hypnotic as a 10-car pile up, and the books – I hear – aren’t worthy of gracing one’s bathroom throne.  But color me in sparkles because I love the music featured on both soundtracks.  It’s kick-ass emo for a new generation of sop-heads. Go figure.

1. Miley Cyrus’ “The Climb”

I can’t believe…let me repeat….I can’t BA-LEEVE….I’m admitting to this, but when I had to take my Sweet Pea to see that God-forsaken Hannah Montana movie – which sucked – the one part that got to me was her singing this song. I actually got a lil’ misty.  And folks, I have no earthly good explanation for it.  Maybe I was premenstrual.  Perhaps I was caught up in my daughter’s excitement. I don’t know. But it’s obvious I need serious help.

Seriously.

Yes, I’ll admit it.  I’m addicted to Facebook.  I check in too many times a day, and use it way too often as an alternate form of communication with just about…well…everyone. It’s also a lifesaver for people like me who hate the phone. 

That said, for those of us who troll Facebook more than we should, it’s natural for there to be a growing list of annoyances which result from frequenting a virtual establishment more than any place in reality.

So, without further adieu, here we go…

10.  People Who Don’t Get the Real Purpose of the Facebook Status

Listen up, dipshits. The point of the Facebook status is NOT to tell us that you’re waiting in line at the dry cleaners or to give us your New Agey one liner pep talks.  Do I really need to hear one more time that “today is precious – that’s why it’s called the ‘present’?”

Please. 

Facebook status updates are either to entertain people with a little funny – or to vent your frustrations (frankly, also meant to entertain).  Occasionally, you can send a shout out about an important event in your life – both good or bad – in order to save yourself the trouble of having to call a million people.  I don’t recommend, however, you break up with a person via Facebook status.  While highly entertaining, it’s still a shitty thing to do, which leads me to my next annoyance…

9. People Using Their Relationship Status to Signal to Their Significant Others There’s Trouble in Paradise.

I can’t believe I even have to say this, but don’t – I repeat – DON’T use your FB relationship status to let your baby know you’re pissed with them.  I have actually heard from friends of mine, telling me they thought everything was fine between them and their girlfriend or boyfriend only to see their status change from “in a relationship” to “it’s complicated.” Can you be anymore high school than that? You’ve got a problem with your man, work it out at home and IN PERSON.  I have even heard of one married couple who were going through some problems, only to have the wife change her status from “married” to “single” before letting her husband know it was over. That’s just beyond tacky. You don’t have the nerve to break up with the person IN PERSON, then at least do it one-on-one over the phone and not through the Facebook community.  Made me feel like the kid at the dinner table watching their parents fight and not being allowed to leave.

8. Conversely, It’s Annoying When One Partner is Way Into Facebook and the Other is, Well, Really Not…

I usually don’t care that my man isn’t into Facebook. Frankly, his disinterest perfected aligns with his personality, so no biggie.  That said, I don’t know…I guess deep down I’m a fucking twelve-year-old girl because I’d like my man to write the occasional lovey message on my wall…it’s like getting a big, bad and beautiful gawdy bouquet of flowers sent to your work on Valentine’s Day. It makes you feel loved and you get to show off to the other gals how lovingly awesome your man really is.  I know, I’m pathetic, but there it is.

7. People Believing that By Simply Joining a Facebook Group, They’re Going to Cure All the World’s Ills.

I really hate being asked to join any of these groups, but I will occasionally do it if:

(1) I know the person sending me the join link is really involved in the cause outside of FB, and it’s my way of showing him or her support and

(2) it’s a cause I really believe in and one I put skin in the game outside my computer.

So for those of you who send me the link or app to cure cancer or save the friggin’ whales who have nothing to do with such causes, stop it.  It’s really annoying. And even worse, that silly FB group eschews any real progress made on that cause’s behalf.  Do your cause – and your FB friends – a big fucking favor and instead of spending your valuable time sending links for “Save Darfur” or “Stop Chopping Trees in the Amazon” take a measely $10 or $20 and donate them directly through the organization’s websites (NOT through Facebook). And shut the fuck up.

6. Stop Alerting Me Everytime Your Cow Takes a Dump on ‘Farmville’ or Your Virtual Vampire Bites Into Something.

For those of you who are lucky enough to be unaware of this, on Facebook there are applications which let you play a variety of games online.  Some let you lead virtual lives on a farm, or running a restaurant, or become a wiseguy in your own lil’ ‘Mafia Wars’ (one of my former favorites).  I too was once caught up in the fever of earning points for extra jobs and sending out notices on my news feed for help.  Then, one day, I realized I had a life. A pretty good one, actually.  And I walked away, cold turkey. Haven’t missed it since.

Now, I don’t expect for you all to stop doing something which gives you pleasure.  But do I really need to know everytime you move up another level or buy yourself a new virtual weapon? No, I don’t think so. Moreover, I know that those apps give you the OPTION of publishing that kind of info or not. Choose not to, ok?  It’s fine if you need the occasional help on a job…but otherwise stop with the FB bragging. You’re dirtying up my news feed and boring us to tears.  Seriously.

5. People Who Only Show Pictures of Their Kids (and Never Themselves) on Facebook.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy to look at pictures of lil’ Ashley and Madison. Sure, why not? But some of you ONLY show me your kids. Don’t you realize the whole point of Facebook is to avoid having to go to the school reunions and see how people turned out?  So what if you’ve gained some weight since school. Guess what, so have I pumpkin.  And while I’m not sporting a bikini online anytime soon, I’ll still show off my chub mug for you all to see and judge. Big deal. We’re older. Some of us need to lose a few pounds or need a little face work done.  Show yourselves and be proud!

Hey, there’s always Photoshop if you really have THAT many issues.

4. Hey Scumbags, Stop Hitting on Me and/or Our Spouses via Facebook.

If I had a dollar everytime either an ex-boyfriend or an old college “friend” started in with me via Facebook, I could take you all out to dinner.  A nice dinner.  Listen, I get that we all have those in our past that we wish we could’ve had – or there are the ones who got away. Hey, we’re all human, right? But there’s a fine line between catching up and seeing how you’re doing to trying to look under someone’s hood and ask  in Joey Tribbiani-style “howa YOU doin’?” You know the difference, so don’t act as if you don’t.  Light flirting is fine…wanting to start sexting and asking how my marriage is doing is not.

3. Facebook is a Social Networking Site – Not a Replacement for a Photo Album.

Throwing on a few pictures from last Thanksgiving is fine.  Uploading more than 100 photos from your Family Grand Canyon trip is just excessive.  No one’s gonna look through all that crap, so cut it out.

2. Speaking of Photos, Stop Tagging  Me with Pixs From My My Embarassing Youth.

It’s just not nice to scan and tag those curled yellowed photos of me with feathered back hair and pre-nose job.  It’s not good form to show the world what I looked like with metallic blue eye liner on. Stop with the tagging!!! Please!!

1. Hanging Out on Facebook May Be Kinda Lame, But it Sure-as-Hell Beats The Geek Squad Who Squat Over at World of Warcraft.

I know it’s not my man’s birthday or Valentine’s Day. It’s just the Sunday after Thanksgiving, but I’m having a particularly un-Mix & Bitch moment…meaning, I’m feeling the love. The sentimental.  In other words, the stuff that makes most of you roll your eyes. Too fucking bad, because I think it’s, like, trés important to express the love you have for people.

So in that spirit, I’m going to, like, totally rip off something another blogger friend of mine did for the love of his life.  Enjoy the schmaltz…

The Reasons Why I Love You…

I love that you bring me coffee in bed every morning…even though I dig the cologne you wear (I picked it out) I actually prefer the smell of your skin – there’s nothing else in the world like it…the way you smile with your eyes more than your mouth…your strong hands…how the best traits in our kids are thanks to you…your blue eyes…the bunny fuzz on your ears…I dig the gray hair, even though you hate it…how you used to put on a new piece of Miami Dolphins clothing everytime they started playing badly because you thought it would give the team good mojo (I miss that you don’t believe in that magic anymore)…I am unduly amused by your slightly overprotective nature…your love for bad 80s movies…the fact you were born in the wrong century…your geeky sword collection…how you love Southern rock…the way you wrestle with the girls…your ever-growing verbal talents and social skills…your dislike of people in general, but your kindness with people you know…how you taught me the benefit of the doubt and the beauty of optimism…your need for symmetry…your mad mad math skills…your ability to fix anything…your ass in jeans…the look of love in your eyes when I’ve fed you…how you make me feel like the hottest woman in the room even when I’m not…your irrational affection for all things carbohydrate in nature…the way you shake your head when you sing…your Al Gore-style of dancing…that you try so hard…the way your mind works…that you’re more of a snuggler than I am…how you taught me the value of action over words…that you honestly don’t give a shit if people like you or not…the fact that you always put the seat down…your salmon recipe…how you always keep your promises…the pride you have in your metal sculpture “art”…your trusting nature and patience…showing me what unconditional love looks like in the everyday…I love you.  Always.

I’m not a fan of award shows for their designated purpose per se, of giving the entertainment industry a ‘pat on the back’ for every semi-creative hiccup that comes out of their mouths.  But they’re great if you need to expunge the snarky within.  Because they’re so over-the-top these days, the opportunity to let out the inner bitchy critic is just too easy to resist.  So without further adieu, here I go…

I’m a fan of Kate Hudson. I think she channels the adorable and quirky just as good as her mama, Goldie Hawn ever did.  And I really do get that she’s a thin girl with little on top.  But man o man, take a look at this shot from the AMAs…

I mean – MY GOD – there’s nothing there!  Not even two little training bra bumps. Jesus, Kate…eat some sandwiches with extra mayo and grow a pair.  We’ve seen you with them before.  Remember when?

Ok, granted… you were pregnant in this picture.  But sans the baby bump, you probably had an extra fifteen to twenty pounds on ya.  Get what kitten…they look good on you.

Speaking of growing a pair, seems now that Adam Lambert’s out of the American Idol box, he wants to get his freak on, like, ten fold…

Here, he’s alerting the crowd that, yes, he does have a penis.

And here, he’s making sure we’re all painfully aware of what he likes done to his penis.

And that he doesn’t want any girl cooties near his magic mike…

“Eew! Don’t touch it! It’ll shrinky-dink back to its original size!”

Ahh….that’s better….

Boy meets boy….boy mauls boy. A classic love story.

Speaking of bro-mances…look who 50 cent brought to the AMAs as his date…

Wow, it’s the former hottie – now puffy -Val Kilmer.  It breaks my heart to see how badly he’s aged….

Anyway, a lot of boy love at the AMA’s this year, which is – ya know – fine.  But leave it to Rhianna to remind us what a woman looks like…

Mind you, a bullet-touting, S & M bondage loving, hospital tape-wearing woman. Takes a lot of something to have the balls to wear this…which incidentally makes Rhianna the one sporting the biggest dick at the AMAs this year.

Take that Chris Brown, 50 cent, Lambert and your Merry Men…

So the whole Mix & Bitch gang was supposed to go to my mom and stepdad’s house in North Carolina for the Thanksgiving holiday.  And while I know plenty of you dread the idea of having to see the people unfortunately related to you, I was really looking forward to going this year.  For one thing, they built themselves quite the rustic palace – and I only say rustic because of its location, not it’s amenities.  With 10,000 square feet and air and heating systems for every wing, it’s not exactly winning any green earth awards anytime soon either.  But my mom really goes all out with the decorations and my stepdad cooks a mean bird.  And thank God my mom loves her box of wine just as much as Kathy Griffin’s mom because she gets more charming by the glass (a trait I too share).  We spend the weekend doing North Carolina mountainy thingys like fishing and hiking the trails and roasting marshmallows at the open fire pit…sigh, it’s just good country fun.

Anyway, the reason why we’re not going is because Queen Mama Bitch (she’s not a music fan at all, hence why no ‘Mix” in her title) is having some unusually bad acid reflux and thinks she’s going to die.  Or that she has a tumor growing on her gall bladder. Or maybe she’s really been having a heart attack the whole time.  In other words, she’s a fucking hypochondriac.  And I wish I could tell you this happens with aging parents, but she’s been this way since I was eight years old.  So she wants to stay down in South Florida, where the “good” doctors are and get this resolved before trekking back to the boonies of Carolina. 

I know I sound selfish. I am, btw.  And I do get it that it’s scary to have pain that doesn’t go away.  I promise you all, I am much more understanding with her on the phone.  But between you and me, the whole jumping to the worse conclusion deal has gotten way old with me.  She’s had a particularly stressful couple of weeks down in Florida (for reasons I can’t get into) and hence, her upper GI tract is inflamed.  Doesn’t take an MD to see the stress is getting to her.  I’ve really been missing her and wanted to see her…so I’m pouting via blogging. I told you all I was a spoiled brat.

The good news is that some very cool Mix & Bitch friends are hosting Thanksgiving and have invited us – there’s also going to be an after-Thanksgiving shin dig on Friday I had wanted to attend.  So that works    I just hate feeling like the third wheel for someone else’s Norman Rockwellian Thanksgiving Day parade.  I have really stank memories of Thanksgiving with my parents – either it being just the three of us barely talking to each other, or getting the pity invite from someone and feeling like I was looking at happy family functioning through the looking-glass.  I would always end up feeling lonelier than ever.

A lot of that changed once my parents split for good and my stepdad came into my mother’s life.  King Stepdad Bitch (he is also not a fan of music, hence why he shares in my mother’s title) can be a real piece of work, but for all his craziness (and trust me, he’s packaging a full load of the crazies) he brought a genuine sense of joy and – dare I say – merriment back into the holidays for me and my mom.  He’s a trip and then some, and he kinda looks like a Jewishy Santa Claus so he just screams holiday friggin’ cheer.  It’s a good time, and I’m going to miss it. So there’s that.

So, eldest spawn, Sweet Pea, is a member of the Girl Scouts.  Next year, Drama Queen wants to join, and I myself am a former Scout as well.  I used to also be a member of a (wink) Spiritually Vacuous, Dememted and EnTitled Greek organization best known for its perfection of the eye-roll and hair flip simultaneously. And after many other tried-and-failed attempts, I slowly came to the realization that I’m not a joiner.  I’m not comfy in big cliques, and I’m not a fan of the group-think.  That doesn’t make me any better or worse than the rest of you…it just means I know my limits, and if you ask me to join your club – no matter how much I like you – I’m not going. No way. No how.

Ironic because I’m not a loner by nature.  In small doses, I actually like people.  Need then, to be brutally honest.  But I think most of us lose some of our minds and natural common sense and decency when we’re part of a collective.  This is also ironic because when studying for my history masters degree, my sub-specialization was the roles of women in utopian communities.  And my recent favorite documentary is called “Commune.”  I love the idea of groups coming together to better the world, to shed the individual skin in order to experience the spiritual ecstasies often found in collectives. It just never works out that way.  And I am becoming, admittedly, more particular and fussy with age and don’t like people in my space for too long of a time anymore.  Besides, after studying the roles of women in communes, cults, collectives, kibbutzes - what have you – you know what I found out? Even in the most democratically organized of them, most of the women ended up caring for the kids, cooking and cleaning up after everyone else. Oh, and of course, being sexually available to every man on the compound, or otherwise being considered too bourgeoisie and uppity for their own good. 

Yeah…my thoughts exactly.

Anyway, don’t ask me how I got on this rant when thinking about my little ones in Girl Scouts.  I know it’s an innocuous organization…even if they do push those cookies harder than Frank Lewis did his Blue Magic heroin in the 70s…I just get a bit uneasy when they ask to join anything.  Color me suspicious. You wouldn’t be the first, and that’s just how I roll over here. 

Just be lucky you don’t have to live with me. I’d probably end up flushing your toothbrush down the toilet.

Oh for Christ’s sake, will this guy just SHUT THE HELL UP???

Whew…I’ve been wanting to say that for way too long.  Before I grind my axe on that ridiculous lemonhead of his, I will say this: I actually like his music.  In fact, his break-out album, “Room for Squares,” was the only (and I do mean the only) CD that would calm down my youngest daughter while driving in the car – an activity she hated as a baby. 

So why am I picking on someone who I think has a lot of talent? Because he acts like a tool…so much so that I know more people than not who won’t admit to liking his music because he acts like such a fool.  The thing is…I don’t think John is stupid. Really.  I just think that fame came too hard and fast at too young an age, elevating every young person’s douche bag potential up to critical mass levels. John, at this point in your life, you’re so code red.

So think of me as big sista here who’s gonna set you straight and tell you what all your “yes” people won’t do to your face…

5.  Stop looking so annoyed when the press asks you if your new CD, “Battle Studies” is about Jennifer Aniston. 

What the fuck did you expect, asswipe? You haven’t shut up about her – for better and for worse – for two years.  Oh course the press is going to assume that some of the CD is about her.  Why are you looking so shocked, as if you can’t fathom the connection? If you’re going to play in their sandbox, expect to play all nine innings. Oh and one more thing…after all the lip flapping you did about her, the least you can do for Jen is immortalize her a bit and say she inspired a track or two. What? That would be such a big deal? I didn’t think so…

4. You may not be stupid John, but your women sure are…

Listen John, you’re not the first guy to fall for a pretty face. Hell, we’ve all been there.  But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph do you have to go for the most vacuous women in Hollywood?  I am astounded that each choice of yours gets even worse than the last.  Like who, you ask? Jennifer Love Hewitt? Jessica Simpson (and none of us believe her daddy’s story that she has a 160 IQ.)? And on and off again with the battiest chick in Hollywood, Jennifer Aniston? I have close friends of mine who work in the industry and in a town filled with insecure, flakey, and stupid actors, she’s known as the Queen Bee of the Dingbats.  My God, she makes Megan Fox look like a member of Mensa.

There are brilliant, beautiful women everywhere. Find one. And once you do, do us another favor and…

3. Stop with the kiss and tell. It makes you look like an ass and no one respects that guy.

I’m sure the gossip pages luv, luv, luv that you give all the juicy details on why you broke up with Jessica or why you had enough of Jen. But to the rest of us, you look like a prick. A prick with a big mouth. Shut it, already, and show some class.

2. Stop talking about every new tattoo you get.

Hey don’t get me wrong. I may not be an ink seeker myself, but I get the excitement of sporting a new tat.  But in every other interview I’ve seen of you, you rambling on and on about them.  Makes you look like a poser, dude.  Oh and here’s an FYI…I know you think that the Japanese drawing on your arm is oh-so-special and that the tattoo artist made you, like, beg for the honor of wearing that oh-so-rare design…but truth is kitten, I think you got played. Yeah, your art is nice and all, but I’m also sure he jacked up the price ten-fold and only made you squirm in order for you to think you were getting some high honor.  It’s called playing hard-to-get.  So enjoy your tats when you’re staring at yourself in your hotel mirror and shut up about it already, k?

1. You Tweet more than a 12-year-old girl, and your content is just as mature.

John, I’m all about artists reaching out to your public.  Hell, you’ve got over two million followers, so obviously people want to hear what you have to say.  But dammit Janet, I’d bet your iTunes sales that at least half of them plug into you because you have the worse diarrhea of the mouth I’ve ever seen on a grown (ahem) man. 

Do I really need to hear such philosophical musings like “I don’t belong to anyone and no one belongs to me,” and “tears make the saddest lube?” Are ya kidding me with that crap?  I bet you sign your name with little peace signs too, don’t ya buddy?

Ok, that’s it. I have vented.

Dear Ms. Mix & Bitch,

My wife and I have been married for 4 wonderful years. For two of  those years, we were intercoursing like rabbits. We were having sex everyday and sometimes 3 times in a day on weekends. At that time, I had a good job that was a half hour away on a bad day.

After our daughter was born, her needs cut into our sex lives but we would still be able to find time to do it every other day. After I got laid off, I found a new job that was an hour away by train. I have to get up at
4:30am to get ready for work and don’t get home until 5pm. Because of this, I try to stay on a strict sleep schedule so I can at least get 6 hours of sleep. The downside is that it’s cut into our sex lives by a lot. Now we are lucky to do it once a week. It’s very frustrating to my wife since everytime she tries to wake me up I’m either completely out or I’m in a mid sleep stupor and I tell her to leave me alone (I don’t remember any of it but she makes sure to let me know). What I’ve noticed is that my lack of sleep has killed my sex drive. Whereas before the mere sight of her made me want to jump on her like a hungry lion on a gazelle, now it takes a concentrated effort on my part to get aroused. All this leads to a very frustrated and, at times, angry wife. I love her more now than ever before and would like to please her as much as she desires but it’s become so difficult due to work. I’ve tried to explain to her that it’s not that I don’t love her, it’s just that losing even an hour of sleep can wreck the rest of the day. I’m not sure what else I can tell her to keep her from getting mad. I can’t leave this job since it’s tough finding a new one these days and also because I like working there. What else can I tell her to keep her from getting mad or should I just give in and lose some more sleep to fulfill her needs?
 
Signed,

Sleepless in the Midwest

Dear Sleepless,

First of all, I don’t know why you’re calling yourself “sleepless” or saying how lack of sleep is killing your sex drive ‘cuz here from the cheap seats, it sounds as if you’re making sure you’re getting plenty of beauty rest.

Listen, I get that a long commute and new baby’s gonna crank into your “intercoursing” time (never call it that again, ok? It’s just…creepy), and it sounds to me that all this extra responsibility is what’s ruining your “lion” lust.  Guys have a lot of pressure on them these days. Understood.  But dude, listen here and listen good….

MAN UP!!

That means you’ve got to lose an extra hour or two of sleep during the week in order to rock the casbah, so to speak, then do it.  You get cranky without your 6-8 hours a night? Guess what….you’ll get used to it. New mothers do this all the time and their bodies adjust after a few weeks.  So can your Princely Primadonna Ass.  Catch up on your sleep with a nap or two over the weekend.  Jesus Christ…give me a REAL problem dude…you’ve got a hot wife who turns you on and just wants to bang you all the time. Poor you, boo hoo.

Write me when you think she’s banging the out-of-work actor next door, k?

No mix today – my computer’s down (on my daughters) and I have no access to all my music. Yep. That’s right. It doesn’t just come off the top of my head. Usually.

My version of porn these days…cheeses and exotic mushrooms….oooohhhh…..

I’m a big fan of The Huffington Post, not only for its often salient, punch-ya-in-the-gut take on the world, but also for the audacity of former Republican Arrianna Huffington’s balls…how she expouses the liberal creed like a native yet essentially runs a feudal lordship online ‘cuz she doesn’t pay 95% of the people who write for her publication.  That’s just craftiness I can get behind. You go girl!

Another outfit which I love in spite of myself is Whole Foods – often lovingly referred to in my household as Whole Paycheck.  I don’t go there on a regular basis (Trader Joe’s offer much of the same kind of  organic, sustainable growth fair for a quarter of the price), but I do visit on two occassions: when I want the good artisan cheese for company and when I get homesick for San Francisco.  Because no matter which Whole Foods you walk into, you may as well have landed yourself in Northern California. It’s just that self-righteous and crunchy  

Anyhoo, Chris Holt wrote a hysterical piece about Whole Foods for Huff Post and I had to share it with you…a piece I’m sure he will never get a dime out of Ms. Arianna for, btw:

The Huffington Post:  Chris Holt:  Dispatches from The Whole Foods Produce Aisle.

I have to admit that on most Veterans/Memorial Days, I let them come and go without much thought.  Even though my dad served during the Vietnam War and my mother’s father in World War II, I don’t feel like I come from a military family per se.  Probably because my dad never talked about his time in the service and my grandpa was dead and gone before I had a chance to ask him anything.

As I was growing up and learned more about Vietnam, I thought (perhaps) the war was the reason why my dad was such a taciturn, quick-to-anger character.  I had a whole explanation in my head that he must have had to drop bombs on little Asian babies (he was in the Air Force) or witnessed the torching of entire villages.  That would explain why he was so distant, so gruff towards me while I was little. 

By the time I was twelve, I had the nerve to ask him about his military service, and he just laughed it off, saying to me, “No, I never actually went over to Vietnam.  I was stationed in northern California and Greenland – hardly anything to cry over.”  There went my theory.  He wasn’t suffering from PTSD.  He was just an asshole.

 Years went by, and my father and I grew further apart before we eventually called a truce and found something as close to common ground as we’re ever going to come.  One of the moments that brought us there came in a South Florida movie theater.  We went together to see the film, “Saving Private Ryan.”  The first few minutes of the film are pretty gruesome, showing the soliders storming the beaches of Normandy, sea water foaming red from the blood spilled.  But that’s not what got to him.  It was the scene where the soldiers come to Private Ryan’s home, and his mother collapses on the front porch. I look over to see my own dad, sitting next to me in a wheelchair (crippled by multiple sclerosis), silently crying with his shoulders shaking.  I was stunned, not even being able to remember a time I saw my father so upset.  I asked him what was wrong and he told me, “That was my job during the war, to alert the next of kin when their son or father or brother had been killed. It was…absolutely horrible.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about that?” I asked him.

He wiped his eyes and sighed. “I don’t know.  I guess I just didn’t want to remember.”

Then I put my arm around him and squeezed his hand, and the best part about it was that he let me.  He allowed me to see him at his most vulnerable, and he let me comfort him. 

So that’s what I will remember today on Veteran’s Day…not just the soliders who fought and lost their lives, but the ones who had the luck and burden of being left behind.