On Relaxation

A student told me today, "Whatever it is you do to relax, Mrs. Anderson, please do it." I gave a flip response, but his comment has been bugging me. I just finished watching The Devil Wears Prada, a film I've resisted watching because, frankly, I've lived it. I used to live a life that lent itself to relaxation: go to a coffee shop, read the NYT Magazine, then cocktails, then dinner at the "now" NYC or SF spot, then more cocktails and pithy exchanges... Those days are gone, and I can't decide whether or not I miss them. I made a conscious choice to give them up in favor of the life that I have now - a life with meaning, no doubt - but there are some evenings, after a glass of wine and the announcement of a former Columbia floormate having won the Booker prize or the Pulitzer, that I wonder what meaning is really most significant?

Hatin' on Orphans

You think you're better than me.

The Scab Eater

So, for a while now, I've been taking responsibility for all manner of other people's problems. Maybe "taking" is the wrong word. People have been very generous to me, gifting me with one onus to shoulder after another. I appreciate these gifts, but I'm also a practical gal. I've got mouths to feed. So I'm going to start charging. Think of the service as selling Indulgences but probably a lot more economical. I'll take just about anything. Does male pattern baldness run in your family? I'll take it. Is your teenager alienated and distant? I'll take that, too. Awww, does your girlfriend think you're an insensitive asshole? Probably my fault. What's that you say, your cousin Ricky is incontinent and you can't figure out why because there's no history of this in your family? Gimme. I can't get enough of it, and I'm embarrassed with a wealth, so why shouldn't I turn a profit? To that end, I've made up a preliminary price list:
Sibling Rivalry: $.50 per incident
Traumatic Breakups: One-time flat rate of $20, or buy a year's subscription for $75 (if you're a real emo loser, this is definitely the better deal.)
Adolescent Malaise: Due to the chronic nature of this blame-generator, the cost is a flat $500 (if your kid is a total emo loser, this will cost far less than your weekly therapy encounters, and will make you feel way better.)
Newfound Awareness of Alternative Sexuality: $Market Price
The Peace of Mind That Comes From Knowing Nothing is Your Fault: Priceless

A Solution: Revised

The 5,000 people responsible for outselling the "Handpainted Oil Portrait of a Shih-Tzu on a Cushion in Ornate Gold Frame" on HSN gave up their personal information and, therefore, their right to privacy. They must be individually tracked - each and every one of them - and their voter registrations must be revoked.* This is not the painting I saw on TV

** I realize it's a Pekingese

*** I thought it evoked the same gestalt as the Shih Tzu on Pillow one

The Sea Pig

Pig left his pen
Somewhere south of here
A life in the slop
Was ordinary
He longed to look at moving waters.
"A brine bath," he thought."Sounds fine."
A trotter he dredged through the shallows.
The current carried him out to sea
He'd never felt so light
So free
It may have been days
He didn't wear a watch
He longed to dive to the floor
But he absorbed the watery life around him
His swelling hide, it
Buoyed him up
To his annoyance.
The pig resolved:
"Before my next jount to the sea
AloneI'll fill my pockets upWith stones."

My Thirties

At this point, it's really about maintenance and avoidance.
It's been a main priority to avoid any emotion stronger than peevishhness. Drama is soooo mid-to-late twenties.
Also important to stand up straight all the time. Crack a joke to put others at ease.
Forget about the really deep cuts. You had your time to mourn, and frankly, others find it tedious. (See above re: mid-to-late twenties.)
Tedium is your fault.
Listen to Nick Drake about all the things you could've been. Like a clock.
Contemplate your tenth college reunion. Then throw out the invitation.

An Ideal World

In my ideal world, all newborn boys would be named "Waylon." Newborn girls would be called, "Marfa."
In my ideal world, David Lee Roth and Tom Jones would record an album of duets entitled, "These Pants Ain't Too Tight for Two."
In my ideal world, the national bird of the United States would not be the Eagle. In fact, there would be no national bird. It would be a dog, and it would be a Lhasa Apso.
In my ideal world, a person's voter registration would be revoked upon a third purchase from the Home Shopping Network.
In my ideal world, emails would not suffice as Thank-You notes.
In my ideal world, individuals would be required to submit Letters of Intent to the National Science Foundation, The National Endowment for the Arts, and The ASPCA before receiving approval to reproduce. This requirement would be limited to humans.
In my ideal world, cats would finally be acknowledged as the original purveyors of ancient knowledge.
In my ideal world, Simon Cowel would not be nationally regarded as a member of the intelligentsia.