Stop making me hate people I love, please.

First it was Rosie O'Donnell.
Then it was Tom Cruise.

Now, with Mel Gibson, I'm putting my foot down.

I don't want to know anything more about these people other than that they are enjoyable to watch on my favorite movies and programs. I don't care if Rosie O'Donnell is an angry lesbian and she's rude to adults and won't give them autographs. I don't care if Tom Cruise is a crazy Scientologist weirdo who wouldn't allow his wife to scream during labor. I don't CARE if Mel Gibson beats his wife, how many children he has, or if he's racist.

What I care about is, did they entertain me in the media form for which I plunked down my hard-earned cash and provide me with the escape, amusement, knowledge, or whatever I was requesting at the time.

That sound harsh, I know. I SHOULD care if Mel Gibson is a violent bigot. And I do--to one level--the same level with which I read about abusers in the paper and think "man, I really wish they wouldn't do that." The difference is, I'm not emotionally tied to those folks in the paper. Rosie, Mel, Tom and I all shared a lot of good memories together (and other celebrities too...I'll just use these three as examples), and the most upsetting part of this whole situation with Mel Gibson is that I can't ever watch a movie with him in it without feeling a) guilty that I'm supporting him, or b) thinking about his violent outbursts.

Do I blame him? Sure. But, the fact is, if he is a violent bigot, he probably always has been. And Hollywood (and all of us) have supported him smiling and nodding the whole way through. But now, because the media has this compelling need to tell me every disgusting detail about every single person who has ever crossed the threshold of Hollywood, now I can't just simply enjoy those celebrities. Mel Gibson shouldn't beat his wife. He shouldn't threaten to hit her with a baseball bat. BUT, we live in an age where there is zero privacy--and that's not okay. A private argument between two people--however combative it may get-- does not need to end up on CNN. Even if it's Mel Gibson. Even if it's Tom Cruise freaking out. Even if it's Heath Ledger screaming at a grip. We all have moments when we lose our shit. And this attitude that the DJ on KDWB knows jack about Mel Gibson's personal life because he heard a snippet of an illegally recorded phone conversation is complete BS. And yes, they are (and should be) held to a higher standard--I teach high schoolers who look up to these celebrities and no one wants the celebs to be good role models more than me. But, the media has to play fair. They have to give people a chance to make mistakes, to pay for them, to listen to all sides before condemnation.

And, you may say, "just don't watch/listen to it." Believe me, I've tried. I can't turn left in my own bathroom without hearing some trash about some celebrity or another.

So, though I turn it off whenever I can, I'm sad that I can't watch 'Signs' and that tragic scene where Graham Hess finds his wife pinned to the tree and knows he has to say goodbye without hearing Mel's latest rant in my head. I'm sad I can't watch Top Gun without thinking "man...too bad he went crazy...".

Can't we leave just a little bit of fantasy in the world? Not to ignore or deny bad behavior...but do we need to seek out the bad behavior? Magnify and glorify it? I don't think so....and I'm irritated.

Wow

Snot, of Puke and Snot, is dead.

I'm totally stunned.

I last saw their show up in Grand Marais back in...probably 2004. Over the 4th of July. They were there totally unexpectedly, and I was up there on a retreat getting a guy out of my system. I've seen them many, many times over the years, the first time being in 1990 when I was a freshman in high school.

I'm really bummed about this. Mark Sieve, Puke, says that he will continue the show, that Penn Gillette of Penn and Teller said that's what he should do, and it'll be a totally awesome way to remember Joe Kudla. I'm really glad that "the show will go on" because it should--but it won't ever be quite the same. The Renn Fest opens in three days...I hope the turnout to Sieve's first show without Kudla is enormous--a real tribute to a man who brought laughs to hundreds of thousands of people over the course of the last 35 years.

RIP, Snot.

The one where she gets all political...

I rarely talk about my stance on politics, but this whole John Edwards thing has gotten to the point where I can no longer remain silent. I'm sick and tired of watching "breaking news" on this ridiculousness every other minute.

Let me just say first off that I don't condone adultery. I'm a total believer in the sanctity of marriage, and I think the morals in this country are seriously lacking and I'm appalled by it on a daily...hell, you all know me...HOURLY basis. That being said, John Edwards cheating on his wife is not the greatest scandal to ever hit the American people. It's not a tragedy, it's not a betrayal (to anyone but Elizabeth Edwards and their children). It's a guy who cheated on his wife. Period. I'm on a list-serv of teachers from around the country, and some of them are treating this situation as if John Edwards cheated on them personally.

If you take the number of people in this country and stand that up against the number of people who are infuriated by this situation, the odds are a reasonable percentage of these morally outraged folks were watching the events unfold from their mistress's bed (or their boyfriend's bed...whatever you call the guy of a cheating girl). I know, I know, John Edwards is held to a higher standard because he's a public official. Bullshit. He should do the right thing, definitely. But so should we all, whether we're constantly in the public eye or not. And he's a human being, who made a mistake. Yeah, a biggie. I've made big mistakes too. So have you.

And for that percentage of folks out there who feel personally betrayed by this, ask yourself why. How did Edwards betray you? Because you believed that he was infallible? Because we've fucked things up so badly in this country that he seemed like a white steed coming in to rescue us all and turned out to be twinged with gray? Or because you just forgot that he was a man who has as equal a chance as any other man of fucking up his relationship?

When all is said and done, all John Edwards is still the same guy who shook hands and kissed babies and smiled and won us all over...he was a little glossier than others, a little more hope-bearing than most. But, really, when you take all the dressing off and the loaded words and the "scandal" and the "horror" and the "lurid detail" what you're left with is a politician who didn't tell the truth.

Hm. Imagine that.

I want to believe the truth is out there...

Let me say that if I have to point out a single piece of American culture that molded me and shaped me into the person I am today, it was The X-Files. Hands down. It's hard for me to talk about it, though I do tend to joke quite ab it about it as I "come out" to people close to me about my X-Files fetish. I own all of the seasons. I own 90% of the trading cards. I know the most obscure trivia. In short, I am an X-Files fan. To the core.

I expected to go to X-Files I Want To Believe by myself, but fortunately good friends Josh and Michelle humored me and agreed to see XF rather than Batman. The movie was, initially, a disappointment. I sat there while the credits rolled shaking my head and saying "what?". And for two minutes, I hated it. Then, walking out of the theater, I said "It just wasn't what I expected." Because, you see, there are no aliens. Not a one. There's no CSM, no cornfields, no bees, no space ships, and no black oil. Instead, the movie features a psychic pedophile priest and Amanda Peet.

Not what I expected.

And yet...

As I walked to my car, I got nervous. There was a man walking in the next aisle over, no doubt toward his car, yet I got nervous. I watched him, and he watched me (probably thinking 'what the fuck is that girl staring at me for?') and when I got into my car I locked the doors. Because, you see, rather than use aliens to frighten us, this time the X-Files addressed not the fears we do have, but the fears we *should* have. The monsters that are not of other worlds but from this one. Terminal illness, stem cell research, religion and faith, animal experimentation, illegal organ donation, even car accidents on snowy roads were the featured monsters of this movie and they worked. They worked on a level that only Chris Carter could produce.

We got a good dose of Scully and Mulder's relationship, and some excellent name drops from the series. Gillian Anderson, David Duchovney, and Mitch Pileggi, the three "most important" characters from the series appeared and, though they were older and wiser, the movie grew with them.

So, though the movie was not what I thought it was going to be, I think it actually ended up being more than what I wanted. It left me thinking about issues that are very real and combined that with my absolutely favorite group of characters. All in all, not too bad for eight bucks.

"I may not remember what it feels like, but I sure as hell remember what it looks like!"

Estelle Getty, best known as Sophia Petrillo on The Golden Girls, passed away on July 22nd. I watch The Golden Girls generally between 2-3 times a day. It's on early in the morning and I catch it while I'm getting ready for class. It's on from 12-1am as well, and as I'm drifting off to sleep or reading, those four crazy ladies who I always thought were "elderly" (seems they're all, you know, my mom's age) are cracking me up.

Estelle Getty was one of those women akin to Gilda Radner--trailblazing women comediannes who weren't afraid of jokes, timing, and going beyond their sexuality to be funny. I wish that she had been discovered earlier and had a longer career--wish that she had not been afflicted with dementia at a young age. She and others like her paved the way for Julia Louis-Dreyfus, for Ellen Degeneres, for the women of my generation to be who they are and be funny not because they have breasts and periods, but because they're intelligent people who know the world around them.

RIP Estelle--thanks for leaving Sophia here for us.

Dear Tom Petty,

Thank you so much for providing a Superbowl halftime show full of good ol' American vim and vigor and free of breasts and malfunction.

Thank you for playing all of my favorite songs of yours, in order, and for modifying your voice to age-appropriate levels.

Thank you for being short, sweet, and to the point: providing us with good music, without explosions, half-naked female "back up singers" or boys' choirs from any of our country's impoverished areas.

In short, Mr. Petty, thank you for giving me exactly what I expected from you with no more and no less. You will not make the headlines tomorrow for flashing your penis to millions of viewers worldwide, but I'm guessing you're okay with that. Maybe someone will write a nice article about how awesome you were, with a picture that doesn't need fuzziness or black dots over it, and I can hang it on my wall as a reminder that it's still possible for someone not named Justin or Britney or Janet to have a fantastic Superbowl halftime show.

Love,
Me

Heath Ledger

Face down,
face up,
in bed,
on the floor,
naked,
clothed,
a "bottle of pills on the nightstand",
"sleeping pills strewn about the room",

blah blah blah.

The rumors and semantics of it all abound, but one fact remains constant: Heath Ledger is dead. There's a great shot of his body being wheeled out of the building (great in the sense that it shows how ghoulish we are as a culture--hundreds of people gathered to see the body bag get carted out on the stretcher).

Overheard in biology lab tonight: "Hey, did you hear that gay guy died? The one from the cowboy movie?" (Yeah, this is the level of intelligence I'm studying with.)

A great quote from Ledger: “People always feel compelled to sum you up, to presume that they have you and describe you,” Mr. Ledger told The New York Times in an interview last year. “But there are many stories inside of me and a lot I want to achieve outside of one flat note.”

Considering most 28 year olds I know are still reaching to achieve "one flat note", I'd say he was successful. Great movies, a beautiful daughter, too bad his life was cut as short as it was; he was on his way to a symphony.

Tillie Olsen

Myfanwy reported on her blog the death of Tillie Olsen, an amazing woman writer who, even at age 94, died before her time.

What I learned from her is this: the stoies won't write themselves, and there's no excuse not to sit down and write them.

But Olsen's theme - and her fear - was silence, the dream only dreamed. Olsen knew this firsthand. After beginning a novel in the 1930s about a migrant family, her writing career was delayed 20 years for sheer lack of time. She never stopped regretting all the stories never told.
"Well, I'm going to be one of those unhappy people who dies with the sense of what never got written, or never got finished," she said. Article.

Why do I want to devote two hours a day to writing this year? Why is it a resolution? Because I want to be able to say when I died that I DID write, that I said what I needed to, and that nothing has been left unfinished. Easier said than done. Olsen had children to raise, a house to keep.

I have to believe that there is a reason I'm not married. A reason I don't have children. Is that reason because I wouldn't be able to handle both with writing? Is my contribution destined to be greater in the writing world than with offspring? If so, I'd better not waste my time watching tv and doing other passive activities. Sacrifices are being made...I need to contribute.