M-aliens

December 27, 2009

Yes, girls can seem emotional and, oftentimes, clingy.

We don’t mean to be.

We form attachments way too quickly. We hang on to any last shred of hope that he will call. We make outrageous excuses: He meant to call but his phone fell in a mud puddle. He had to suddenly leave the country. His dog needed emergency surgery, and he’s been too distracted to call.

If boys could simply be reminded that communication is a beautiful thing.

With that ingredient, most of the world’s problems could have been avoided.

If the Japanese had communicated their anger toward America and we, our disinterest in entering World War II, the tragedy of Pearl Harbor could have been entirely bypassed.

If the financial giants of Wall Street had communicated their economic fears earlier, the world could have banded together and solved it without our baby-boomers losing their life savings.

And if Tiger had come out with his secrets at the beginning of his public relations nightmare, his career could have been salvaged and his public image unscathed. Lest we all forget Britney Spears? If she can come back from Crazytown, anything’s possible.

But instead of reading the many tutorials and just spending time with women, men are more content whining and complaining about our inability to coexist. That we will never be understood. When in actuality, it’s far from rocket science.

Kind of like the elementary steps in math: 2+2=4.

For the majority of females, the answer to our equation is love.

We need to feel needed. Bring us flowers on our anniversary. Say, “I love you.”

Don’t spend two weeks flattering, texting and kissing us, and then disappear. I don’t think that’s even human.

I don’t care what your excuse is: “It’s easier this way,” “I’m not strong enough to tell her,” “I can’t handle confrontation.” Or my personal favorite, “What did I do to make her so attached? Why does she think I like her?”

Really? Because you just spent two whole weeks telling me you can’t live without me.

But then again, as hard as it feels in that moment, I remind myself–and my poor suffering girlfriends–that I don’t want a whack job for my boyfriend. I’ll take beautiful, serene, alone time any day.

Just give me my dog and a book. They’ll never let me down.

Advertisements

Singing can cause injury

December 24, 2009

Famous people have it rough.

Constant criticism of every fashion choice, every bad decision, every failure. No private life. Slave to the changing winds of popular opinion, carrying them here and there.

The minute they take one wrong step, the whole world turns to watch.

And yet, no one shows them much sympathy.

In a court of law, if individuals of influence and prominence sue based on privacy infringement, most often, they lose. Why? Because when they signed up for the fame gig, they agreed to the terms. Which includes signing away their privacy.

Famous people may deal with a substantial amount of unfairness being rich and privileged, but they get a lot of sweet deals too.

So for that, I am not ashamed to jump on the bashing bandwagon:

Most of these people have egos.

Celebrities don’t get where they are without at least a slight overly-modest belief in their greatness.

And once fame hits, the growing cannot be contained. No human ego can withstand the excessive amount of petting, complimenting and showering of awards without growing to the extraordinary size that most singers specifically, such as Celine Dion and Mariah Carey, find themselves.

These individuals surround themselves with adoration.

They spend every moment with assistants, stylists and publicists whose sole job is to keep them happy. The last thing they want to do is tell their client that their performance was less than blow-your-mind fantastic. That their hands need to stay glued to the microphone instead of flailing in the air a little more often. That every time they contort their face during a high note, they look as if their lunch is returning at a highly inopportune time.

Fact: some singers are not performers.

Some are successful live. Some make a good effort. Others cause their viewers pain.

It’s not that they can’t sing; it’s that when I watch them sing, I feel impelled to shut my eyes. Quickly.

I saw Carrie Underwood perform on Ellen today.

I had to change the channel.

I can understand moving like that in order to distract from her singing, but she’s a good singer. No twitching arms and disturbing facial expressions necessary.

Beyonce was on Oprah a while back.

How any self-respecting woman can get on stage and shake like that and still smile into the camera is beyond me.

Tyra’s always telling her proteges to model in a mirror; learn how to hold their head; find what expressions and angles look best with their facial features.

Tyra’s crazy–sure–but she knows her stuff. Carrie and her fellow gargoyles would do well to take note.

Another sign that Hollywood’s ideas machine is creeping to a stop:

In the current television landscape of reality stars and slapstick, nauseating entertainment, which call for zero need for talent of any kind, the category of “celebrity” has grown to encompass every person and their dog that just happen to reside in Hollywood.

Let’s reflect for example on the new reality show about Giuliana DePandi-Rancic, host of E! News. I’m sure she’s a nice lady, but now we’re airing shows about the lives of people who are already on tv giving us celebrity gossip?? Who came up with that idea? And of course, Jessica Simpson also comes to mind who, although having some semblance of a talent, could hardly get her fame off the ground until she signed a reality deal displaying her inability to operate a dishwasher or to understand where tuna comes from.

Hollywood has always been about the money, that’s nothing new. But there was a time when being an actor meant something. It was a special club that a person had to work long and hard to gain admitance to. It may not have always been fair, but being in “the club” stood for something. It meant you had enormous talent.

Not that we don’t have high-caliber actors today. But really, what need do we have for a lot of extraordinary actors? Actors who want to stretch beyond their limits.

What movies even require that? The Hangover? Not unless you count faking drunkenness as talent.

Why is the movie landscape so depressing? Because even with the advent of the Internet, handheld supercomputers and new scientific discoveries, humans are digressing. Technology is moving forward; humans are stepping backwards.

Interestingly, the New York Times noted that even in a recession, this year proved more profitable than previous years for the movie industry. So, many thanks goes out for a year of sequels and used ideas, drunken revelries and violence glorification. Here’s to another great year.

I realize the holidays have become synonymous with winter. Someone says “turkey,” people think of Thanksgiving dinner, even if they’re presently eating a snowcone in the middle of July. Another says “egg nog,” the person’s eyes light up with thoughts of white Christmases.

I am not bitter toward the holiday season. I’m really not. It’s a beautiful time of year. The crispness of the air. Steaming hot chocolate. Everyone claiming to be at one with all mankind. It’s sweet really.

The forthcoming comments do not spring from my abstinence from the holidays.

But, are the 30,000 snow globes littered across a front lawn really necessary?

We get it. You like Christmas. Maybe you even live for it just a little bit . . .

A few holiday lights say the same thing.

Still, the recent explosion of holiday decorations consisting of moving Santas, reindeer, baby Jesus’, penguins (?) and, again, the snowy snow globe has truly left no remotely-winter item untouched.

And yet, home owners are not content with one or two of these decorations. No, they are determined to completely inundate every centimeter of grass seen with the naked eye.

In addition, I have to ask, with the many brilliant men walking this earth, creating scientific equations to explain the body’s DNA and searching for an AIDS cure, could no one unearth a better solution for storing the inflatable penguins than having them disintegrate into a ball of pathetic-ness at three in the morning? This way, children can wake up, get ready for school, and, in the meantime, cry about the dead penguin next door–if they aren’t already crying out of fear of the creepy, electronically-rotating Santa that keeps staring at them from across the street.

my sin

December 16, 2009

his gaze fixed steadily on mine
his trust in me
swimming in his yellow-brown eyes

my sweaty palms and shaking fingers
mirror the ache growing inside me
not now, just one more day
my mind racing vainly for a solution that
i could not
would not
find

i never ever thought i would do this
i stammered
his brow began to furrow as i grasped for words
any words to somehow
soften the blow
doubt: something i’ve never seen in his face before
appeared like accumulating raindrops

i swore i wouldn’t cry until i got it all out
no use
the tears came quicker than my words

but he didn’t need to hear any more
he knew
and what i saw on his face

i couldn’t turn away

i expected anger
instead i saw sadness
disbelief
surprise
turning to hurt

my apologies couldn’t erase
the pain
apologies will never erase
my sin

crime scene fanaticism

December 12, 2009

Does anyone else find it mildly alarming the number of television shows there are about grotesque states of the human body?

We’ve got CSI and its 20 spin-offs, NCIS, Law & Order, Bones, House, Mercy, Grey’s Anatomy. All going into some level of detail of the countless ways people can die and the way they look 48 hours later.

I just recently heard of an episode where a person was found burned to a crisp in a restaurant grease trap. How’s that for appetizing?

Once again, I contemplate, what does the success of these “entertainment” juggernauts say about us? Why do we need 30 different shows displaying flying human organs and mutilated body parts?

Is it because we are just simply fascinated with gore? No wonder we have desensitized killers walking around with shotguns. Of course they’re unaffected by death–we all are. On a daily basis we are exposed to more televised acts of violence and bloody pools of decaying human beings than our grandparents saw in their lifetime–and that’s just on the evening news.

And let’s not forget the seemingly “mild” shows where a person is simply shot to death and when the investigators finally nail the killer, they find he killed for–gasp!–money. Didn’t see that coming.

My guess is that as the television landscape becomes more and more traveled, plots and storylines will become as commonplace as an unbroken, happy family. That is to say, extinct. Violence and bloodshed will utterly replace depth and thinking ability. Just keep our eyes moving and we’ll be too busy or have become too stupid to notice the unintelligent jargon or the predictable villain.

People of influence–be it sports stars, singers, political figures or actors–have over the years built up a permanent residence in a fictitious town filled with carbon copies of themselves: egotistical, self-serving, limelight-loving narcisists. So forgive me if I, once again, am not shocked by the rumors of Josh Duhamel or, much more recently, Tiger Woods cheating on their beautiful, seemingly loving wives.

I can’t help but question what these men were thinking. They use technology like the rest of us–probably more so. They are not dumb. They are not ignorant 12 year olds. Yet, they don’t acknowledge the fact that everything they do can be tracked. Phone calls, e-mails, text messages and not to mention their every move, thanks to the sniveling men who make their livelihood on feeding the growing population that gains sustenance from the daily goings-on of celebrities: what they wore to dinner, their struggle to lose their baby weight, or how they felt when their mother died.

Did it not dawn on 33-year-old Tiger Woods, father of 2, winner of over 12 national titles, that text messages, although able to be erased from a phone, are never truly erased? They are called records for a reason. There are supercomputers that track and permanently record every phone call, every text conversation. And don’t you think that Elin, famous supermodel and wife to arguably one of the most powerful men in sports, can more so than most of us be assured of gaining access to that super-secret data?

Question is, does Hollywood and public figures everywhere assume that they are so powerful, so all-knowing, so god-like that they are immune to the consequences of their actions? That they are so beloved and worshipped that people won’t probe into their private lives, regardless of how juicy or damaging the story may be. They must surely live in a constant dreamlike state that tells them that they and their money rule the world. And, regretfully, previous life experience has taught them that.

But money does not rule all. And loyalties run very shallow in a world looking for the next dollar and the next story. Where people are just waiting for those to fall from their lofty throne.

Tiger Woods is now reaping the rewards of his tumble.