ClothMother_old


You don't feel you could love me, but I feel you could...


Monday, April 28, 2003

"Anyone else feel like the last feisty wife in Stepford?"
Lorne, on Angel


This is apropos of many things, especially our recent national mindset that "war objection=treason," and I can't fucking believe that there isn't more vocal outrage about this, but mostly I just laughed and laughed when I watched this tape of Angel the other night. If you are avoiding television these days, you have good reason to, but there is humor out there coming from sources other than our national leaders or the Iraqi misinformation minister (see below).


There is more horrible news on my personal homefront which I am too exhausted to go into here, but it is taking everything I have to keep the brain cells firing today. Trying to grease the skids with a blog episode or two.


Britney Spears is like so five minutes ago...

This I learned from V this weekend. I had already gotten inklings of this earlier this year, when she and her fellow 9-10 year old friends informed me that, collectively, they liked her music (their term, not mine) but didn't like her. Yesterday, in response to one her songs coming up on Radio Disney (Music Your Way!) I was reminded of this fact. And the reason (you won't believe this):

"She's had too much plastic surgery."

Now, my heart did a little gladdened leap at this, because for the moment anyway it suggests to me that V has internalized an important lesson about appearance and personal value and all of the things about which I am frankly quite concerned, since members of her family place such a high priority on how "pretty" she is. And she's very much a Barbie-doll enthusiast, so there has always been (for me, anyway) a closet fear that she would start to idealize that sort of appearance. Hearing your five year old worry that she is getting too fat as she looks in the full length mirror is cause for alarm, people. Now that she's older, the pressures are greater. So Britney has plastic surgery, and that's bad. Hooray!

"What kind of surgery do you think she had?" (I ask questions for a living, remember).

"Well," she says, "she did her boobs..."

I nearly drove off the road.