A Case for Raunch

Sarah Silverman's movie

A Case Against Raunch?

Has anyone read this book, Ariel Levy, Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture (Free Press, 2005)? It looks pretty juicy.

My Land, You Guys!

The Thanksgiving visit to Memphis was fantastic. That city is climbing higher on my list of favorite places. The Sun Studios tour was cool. They even have an adjoining cafe with all the hipsters you can eat. I even enjoyed attending church services on Sunday. Still, I'm too much of a Yankee to handle pokey pace and hokey charms of the South for more than a week or so. I nearly lost it when one of my aunts let yet another party cut ahead of us. Then, I accidentally said, "Oh my god!" in front of my cousin. I'm sure she's forgiven me. Isn't that what Jesus would do? I love y'all in Memphis, but you guys will never get me to say "My Land!" with a straight face.

Where You Been So Long?

What with cleaning out my desk and avoiding a truthful financial reckoning, I've neglected my blog.

Yes, I started my new job last week. But the big news is that I'm going to see Grandma for Thanksgiving. Since she's incredibly old, I figure I ought to interview her. She's not sure about all this interview stuff. Perhaps she's right and not just falsely modest. Just because you've lived for nearly a century doesn't mean you have anything to say. Still, I have to give it a try.

This weekend, Addie and Yoko taught me how to knit. I may not have the patience for it in the long run, but I've enjoyed it the last few days.

I also learned to enjoy whiskey. I used to associate the aroma of whiskey with the kind of old men who'd ask you to sit on their laps so they could show you a card trick, but this weekend I learned that Jack Daniels blends miraculously with lemonade and Trader Joe's sparkling blueberry juice. Move over, vodka.

Well, it's out into the rain for me.

In Touch with my Inner Celebrity From Hell

Maybe Shirley MacLain would say that in my past life I must have been some diva who snapped at her/his dresser once too often and became reincarnated as an administrative assistant.

I was the diva of administrative assistants-- capricious, proud, tempermental, too dependent on rave reviews, ashamed of my flops, but occasionally brilliant and doggedly devoted to my public, even when I wanted nothing more than to be alone.
I'd bark, "Where the hell is the caterer?" and "Who do I have to screw to get a decent stapler?" And throwing would be too good for the Malaise era phones I've had to work with. Sometimes all I could do was breakdown and sob "What more do they want from me?"

Yet, it was a decent life. It wasn't about the perks, like taking home tea bags left over from catered meetings. It was about the love, waves and waves of it coming over my desk.

I'm glad to be moving on. But I have to say it weren't all in vain for nothin'.

Help, I'm still cleaning out my desk!

When people clean out their desks in the movies (which exemplify life as it should be), the contents --including the sad little philodendron-- all fit neatly into a banker's box.

After filling half a recycling bin, I've managed to pare my stuff down to about 2 and a half banker's boxes full. That would be okay, but for the little voice inside me that squeals "No way are we putting that shit in our house!" Don't worry, little shreiker. Some of it will go into my next office space. More will be recycled. I may not get the load down to a glamourous banker's box sized package, but I will not clutter up my home with more nonsense than is necessary.

The trickiest bit will be making sure I've scrubbed every crag and crevice of my computer of anything embarrassing. It's not that I spent hours surfing the web for digital nasties. It's just that back when I was a temp, I would frequently work on the computers of people who recently moved on or gone on leave, and from the stuff they left on their machines practically out in the open, I'd learn more about them than if I'd actually worked at their side for years. Like I really wanted to know the details of a stranger's penchant for the drudge report or girl on girl action. Honest, I didn't.

Most of the people in my office know my quirks and fascinations well enough already.

Look out, Bill & Melinda Gates!

While cleaning out my desk, I found $13.25 worth of change. And that's not including the 12 ounce cup full of pennies and the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Autority token. (The SEPTA token that I found is worthless for now.)

Bum-bada Bum-bada Bum Bonanza!