Bigmouth Strikes Again...

My daughter, Brenna, who is 12 years old and is completely unimpressed with anything and rolls her beautiful eyes so much that I swear they are going to stick looking up at her brain and she will look like one of the lobotomized humans from Planet of the Apes, said the nicest thing to me the other day..."Mom, when I grow up I'm going to be a cool mom just like you." Isn't that sweet? I think she said it on our way home from dropping her friends off at their homes after attending a Bible Study I lead for 7th and 8th grade girls. Brenna and four of her friends got in the car and I immediately turned on Justin Timberlake. No, no, no...not "SexyBack". That would be wrong. I turned on "Damn Girl" and the lyrics to that song are:

Damn Girl, Damn Girl, Damn Girl, Damn Girl, Damn....

The girls thought it was hilarious, except for one. She was not happy. She did not approve. So, I talked about how, as Christians, we don't judge because only God has the right to do that. We can gently try to guide our friends to see a more Christian perspective, but judging is not our place. Then I went off on the religious right banning books and how in my last Bible Study some judgemental, righteous holier-than-thou type told me I was a sinner because I watched MTV and read People magazine. I said that, as Christians, we needn't feel guilty that we listen to Justin Timberlake or Fergie...and that "Damn Girl" isn't a bad song. He's actually complimenting a girl. (He could have just called her foxy though. That's a good one.)

The funny thing about that stupid Justin Timberlake disc is that, when I bought it, I actually got the censored version so that all the swear words were muted out. I figured it was going to be inappropriate enough that my 6 year old was going to go around singing, "I'm bringing sexy back--yeah" and I didn't need to introduce any more colorful phrases into her vocabulary. Well, then I listened to "SexyBack" a few times. In the first chorus Justin asserts that, "Them other boys don't know how to act" which is cute and catchy. Well, in the second chorus the lyric went, "Them other (mumble) don't know how to act," and in the third it went, "You mother (mumble) watch how I attack." Okay, well...if you know me you know that my favorite swear word in the whole world is mother-fucker. It just sounds so satisfying when you call someone you can't stand a "mother-fucker". Or, when you stub your toe on the corner of the coffee table there's nothing like a good "Mother Fucker!" to make you feel better. Anyway, it was pretty obvious to me that Justin was saying my favorite swear word in SexyBack and I became obsessed with hearing the original version. Well, of course, they play the censored version on the radio so I wasn't going to hear it there and I didn't know anyone my own age who might actually own the Justin Timberlake disc. I really wanted to go out and buy the uncensored disc, just in case he sang "mother-fucker" in any of the other songs too, but I just couldn't justify (Ha!) spending another thirteen bucks on a lame, totally age-inappropriate, pseudo-dance disc for myself. Well, as luck would have it, one night we were driving home Brenna's oldest friend who I love as much as I love my own kids and she said, "Brenna, you're so lucky to have this disc. I wish I had it." So, being the fabulous pretend-aunt that I am I gave her the disc. The next day I went to Best Buy and bought the uncensored version so that I could hear the word "mother-fucker".

My darling daughter Brenna, however, didn't even roll her eyes when I gave her friend the disc. Honestly, she is the least selfish kid I have ever met. Plus, she probably figured that I would go out and buy another one. I listen to that stupid disc all the time.

Anyway, Brenna's friend was just livid that I would play that song and that the rest of the girls would actually enjoy it. She, obviously didn't hear me talk about intolerance, etc...but I don't really care. I'm the mom and I will play whatever I want in my own car. If I had a recording of Justin Timberlake and that Adam guy from Saturday Night Live doing "Dick In A Box" I would play that the next time she was in my car. (Well, probably not, but I sure would be tempted. By the way, if I you haven't seen "Dick In A Box" then you really need to click here and watch it. It's hilarious.)

In any case, now I find myself using questionable language when I am in this child's presence...like "crap" and "what the....(Hell is implied)" and "dammit". It's only a matter of time before she isn't allowed to hang out with Brenna any more. Oh well, no big loss.

The Queen is dead, boys...

Holy crap! Dumbledore is gay?! That's it! I am going to throw away all of my Harry Potter books because my pristine pretend magical world has been sullied by the knowledge that the beloved Dumbledore is a pansy. Begin the book burning!

Give me a break. Who cares if the made-up headmaster (a title that has all new meaning for me now that I know about Dumbledore's proclivities) of a fictional school for wizards is gay? Hello!!! It's a book! Besides the fact that JK Rowling can think and say anything about Dumbledore (or Harry or Hermione or Ron, etc.) that she wants--she invented them! To suggest that she said Dumbledore was a gay man to sell more books (because that really seems to be a problem for the Potter series...dismal sales) or to stick it to the religious right is retarded. In the throes of creating such a rich and faceted fantasy world it is naive to think that JK didn't imagine lives outside the pages for all of her characters. C'mon! He's here! He's queer! Get used to it! If you're pissed off that JK "outed" Dumbledore (a fictional character, I remind you) then be comforted by the fact that HE DIES! Guess she showed that queer who's boss!

And, as far as pissing off the religious right goes...why would she even care? It's not like all their bitching and pulling of Harry Potter novels off library shelves hurt the sales of her book any. Is she, perhaps, dismayed (as an artist) at being so misunderstood? I doubt it, but I could be wrong. (It reminds me of a class I took in college called "In Print, In Person" in which we-the class- read a book and then the actual author came in and told us what he really meant. Well, we spent the better part of a semester reading "Slaughterhouse 5" by Kurt Vonnegut and trying to decide what imagery he was using and what various symbols in the book stood for, only to have Kurt come in and say, "For Christ's sake! I made it up. It doesn't mean anything!") Besides, has it occurred to anyone that she has finished the Harry Potter series? I mean, it's not like this huge revelation is going to affect the next book (Dumbledore gets his freak on with the headmaster of Durmstrang, saves the memory in the Penseive and Harry stumbles across it like a boy finding his dad's Playboy mags under the marital bed...) because she finished the series, kids!! Anything that Dumbledore has done can only be conjured up in your filthy little minds! Besides, if JK were to continue writing and cover the years after the big battle at the end of Book 7 and the (lame-ass) epilogue who knows what would have happened? Harry would have been screwing groupies like a crazed Steven Tyler in the 70's driving poor Ginny to drink herself into a series of rehabs. Ron would have gotten hopped up on some super magical steroids so he could play Quidditch professionally and then he would have gone into some sort of 'roid rage and beat the shit out of Hermione one night when she was getting all pious on his ass. Luna Lovegood would become a stripper (with a name like that what else could she become?). Yikes! I would rather have some tender man-on-man action starring Dumbledore than all that crap.

Bottom line is...the fact that Dumbledore is gay was just an incidental part of his character which is why JK didn't include it in the books. Doesn't change my opinion of him at all, but it does explain his incredible flair! Plus, the fact that he was so in touch with his feminine side was what made him so tender towards Harry, if you ask me. (Now don't go turning that into some sick-o pedophile reference. His tenderness towards Harry was loving and motherly, not sexual. That's why Harry adored him.) Besides, why am I talking about a fictional character like he is a real person? Unless he "got gay" on the pages of one of the seven books then this information is superfluous and just something that JK used to create a wonderful character. For all those idiots who are going to pitch a fit and not let their kids read HP because JK said Dumbledore is gay (which is never even implied in the books) then they are only teaching their children bigotry and intolerance. I don't even have the time to address how stupid those people are. Maybe Dumbledore can help us out here....

In other news, did you know that JK Rowling is a huge Morrissey fan?

Moz Possee

I don't even know where to begin. Luckily I have friends like Jim who told me that I should start with what we wore to the concert... Well, I wore my Viva Hate t-shirt (see my last post for a picture of it) with a lovely cream colored long sleeve JJill pucker tee underneath. I had on my favorite black pants and my black wing-tip Docs. I had a 30 minute inner debate about whether I should wear my contacts or glasses, because I like the androgynous vibe I give off when I wear my black garb and my rectangular Prada glasses with the rhinestones on the sides, but I finally ended up with the contacts because I didn't want to have to worry about keeping my glasses clean all night. (I'm really anal about having my glasses crystal clean all the time. Hard to imagine, I'm sure...) Tony had on my "Your Arsenal" tee shirt (which is the one I really wanted to wear because the pic of Morrissey on the front is so sexy. However, since we were going to be in the front row and Tony has always attracted the attention of gay men, I thought Morrissey might really dig him if he wore the "Your Arsenal" tee.) and a pair of jeans. I really am not one of those rabid fans who live and breathe for the object of my admiration. However, last night, standing at the feet of Morrissey while he performed was one of the absolutely most incredible experiences of my life. I didn't cry or pass out or flip out and scream...that is SOOOOO not my style. But I cried when the concert was over and we were safely back in the Durango. It was overwhelming.
Yes, I know I sound retarded and like some stupid high school girl talking about The Backstreet Boys but I just can't help myself.

Back to Moz...when Tony and I got to the theater the first thing we saw was the merch booth, so of course I had to stand there for 15 minutes to decide what t-shirt to get. (I got 2) then we went into the actual theater. This is a photo of the inside of the actual theater.(from the stage, obviously)Well, we took a look down the aisle toward the front and saw that they had set up two rows of chairs in front of the front row. Tony said, "Shit! There's going to be people in front of us," which had me VERY disappointed and I was sad as we were led to our seats. But-wait! No, no, no, no...look up sad girl!! the usher led us right to the first row of chairs and took us to the two that were in the exact middle of the front row. We were, literally a foot away from the stage. Needless to say my ass didn't hit the chair from the second Morrissey appeared. The stage was about 4 and a half feet off the floor (I'm totally guessing...I am really, really bad at measurements, but let me tell you this, it was about 3 inches above my belly button--not quite boob height) and I stood there the entire concert with my arms on the stage leaning towards Morrissey. When Moz sang I seriously could have counted his teeth. I didn't, because I think everyone has 32, if you count wisdom teeth, and I was too busy trying to think of something to say to him if he asked me a question. However, the one question he did ask everyone in the front row was the identity of the person on his backdrop...and Tony said it was Marlon Brando so I went with it because I thought he was right. However, it was a young Richard Burton so I felt like a total idiot. Damn! My one opportunity to impress Morrissey and I blew it!

Anyway...Morrissey had on brown trousers, lovely brown square toed lace up shoes, which couldn't have been leather because he is such an animal-loving vegan (listen to "Meat is Murder" if you have a question about that)but they sure were fabulous, and a brown button down dress shirt. His eyes are so blue...they are as blue as Bronte's eyes. Okay, you can't really tell how blue Bronte's eyes are in that picture, but she's so freakin' cute I had to include it.
Anyway, he opened with "Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before" and it was just unbelievable from that moment on. At one point Morrissey left while the band was playing and changed his shirt. He came back wearing a gorgeous yellow shirt which he sweat through quickly. So, right in the middle of "How Soon Is Now" he (in dramatic rock-star style) ripped the shirt off---buttons flying everywhere---screaming fans in a frenzy---and wadded it up and threw it (I shit you not) right at Tony. (It was his sassy tee shirt, I tell you) Well, some asshole fuck-wad from way left came leaping out of nowhere and grabbed the shirt while it was in Tony's hands and started yelling, "I got it! Let go!" After about 15 seconds of fighting with this dick-head for the shirt, Tony looks at me and says, "How bad do you want it?" I said, "I want it," and Tony says, "Grab it and pull." So I am pulling, Tony is pulling and the asshole is pulling. The guy behind Tony says, "Hey man, I got your back," to Tony and I finally get a good look at the rabid fan who Tony is trying to get the shirt from. He was big and bald with a fuzzy orangish goatee and suddenly I realize that it's just a shirt and I am missing the show. I let go.
In the meantime, Tony realizes that this commotion is pissing me and Morrissey off and he thinks to himself, "Hey man, Morrissey is a pacifist," and he lets go too.

Let me just tell you something, though...that shirt smelled beautiful. I could still smell it on my hands before I fell asleep last night. It was a combination of clean sweat and patchouli. As much as I wish I had the shirt, I wouldn't trade the experience of that concert (and the knowledge that my husband loves me so much he almost threw an elbow at the guy's nose to get the buttonless, fragrant shirt) for anything. I hope the asshole that got it is allergic to patchouli and gets an itchy, red rash on his dick after masturbating with the thing all night. (You know that's what he did. He was crazy.)
The best part of the night came during "I Like You" during the part when Morrissey sings,
"You're not right in the head and nor am I
And this is why
You're not right in the head and nor am I
And this is why
This is why I like you, I like you, I like you
This is why I like you, I like you, I like you
Because you're not right in the head, and nor am I
And this is why, You're not right in the head, and nor am I
And this is why, This is why I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you
This is why I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you"
He came right up to the edge of the stage where Tony and I were, and he looked right at Tony and sang and shook his hand and then did the same to me. A real handshake too...not some wimpy "I'll grab your hand because you've got it sticking out" bullshit. It was a real-live "nice to meet you, aren't you impressed with my really firm and possibly slightly too long" handshake. Okay, maybe it was slightly too long because I wouldn't let go, but WHATEVER!! I shook the man's hand.

Honestly, I spent the night at the feet of a legend. He's a genius and I love him.

Sickness Be Damned!!

I have been sick for the past couple of days. Nothing too tragic, just a cold gone nova. However, even if I were really sick I would still be in the front row for Morrissey tonight. Even if I had to come in with an I.V. I would be there in my pajama bottoms and my 'Viva Hate' t-shirt.
I am so excited, I can't stand it. I am going to play Morrissey all day today at my stupid-ass job (As Morrissey would say, "I was looking for a job, and then I found a job...and Heaven knows I'm miserable now,") and when people ask me who I am listening to I will spit out, "Morrissey, of course," and then look at them with derision.
I will let you know tomorrow how absolutely fabulous the concert was.

My husband rocks!

Tony got us front row seats to see Morrissey next Wednesday night. He can (officially) do no wrong. I have spent the last four or so weeks complaining about my stupid-ass job...but I will stop now because I am going to see Morrissey. In the front row. Center.

Party on Garth!

I hate pumping gas. What happened to the good old days when some high school kid came sauntering out of the gas station and pumped your damn gas for you while you sat in your car wondering if he was going to clean the windshield? When I lived in Arizona there was only one gas station in the entire Phoenix/Paradise Valley area that had attendants. It was WAAAYYY over-priced and totally inconveniently located but I went out of my way to have someone pump my gas in 110 degree heat. I even tipped.

Well, I was on my way home from my stupid-ass job the other day and my stupid-ass "go get some gas, dumb shit" light and dinger went off. Now, this was a banner day for me already because I wore my favorite Ann Taylor Loft black skirt and a little flirty black twin set and heels. Yes, heels on the girl who thinks Doc Martens are appropriate footwear with anything. (They pretty much are, though. I love all my Docs because the soles are totally disaster proof. According to the bottom of my shoes I could even walk through ACID and come out completely unscathed. What a comfort! Ever since I saw "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" I have been convinced that I am secretly a "toon" and it's only a matter of time before Judge Doom finds me and throws a bucket of dip at me. I bet my Docs could walk through a puddle of dip and I would be just fine.)
Ok, anyway, I decide I better stop at the Citgo and get some gas which I know I have to pump myself and that just pisses me off. So, I do what I always do when I am pissed off...I find a way to blame Tony. So, while I am pumping one billion dollars worth of gas into my Durango I am thinking to myself that if Tony REALLY loved me he would have assumed that I was running low on petrol and gassed up the Durango the night before. After all, I cook, I clean, I do his stupid laundry...the least he could do is pump my gas! Geez!
So, in the middle of my mental tirade this 20-something year old walks out of the gas station. I give him a cursory glance because he and I are the only people there. He is headed toward his 1983 Nissan or whatever and he slows down, looks me up and down, smiles and nods his head and says, "Foxy!" (or, as my friend P spelled it for me, "Faaahxy") Then he gets in his car, looks at me again, nods his head and drives away.
Honestly, I almost died laughing. I felt like I was in the middle of a "Wayne's World" movie. Who the hell says, "Foxy" anymore? Of course, I was secretly pleased that some (probably) unemployed drunken 20 something year old driving a shitty 20 year old car thought I was foxy...but I did see the humor in the moment.
As soon as I was done pumping my gas I got in the car and called my friend L who is my old college room mate. I told her the story and she said, "Holy shit! Did you die laughing?" Hey! Wait a minute! It occurred to me that, although I did want her to think it was a funny little incident, I didn't want her to sound so incredulous! What the hell? I am foxy, right??? So I blew her off and called P who is also a college friend, but he's a guy and I thought he might back up the "foxy" thing. Well, when he stopped laughing and I point-blank asked him if I was, indeed, "foxy" he told me that I was, of course. Hey...that's all I wanted to hear.