Even More Reasons Why I Should Be Living Alone on a Mountaintop

Today I was getting a pedicure, and they sat me next to two blonde mid 30-somethings with gigantic purses in yoga pants who sipped their fat free lattes and contstantly said "Yah!" to each other.

I silently cursed myself for not having my iPod with me.

"So, basically, I go to meetings ALL day. I have meetings with Marketing, and... everybody else. I'm just CONSTANTLY on the computer. He says, 'Lisa, your job is to just move the dial bit by bit', you know?"

(Wide eyed "I'm listening" sip from friend): "Yah!"

Lisa, "moving the dial bit by bit" isn't putting money in anyone's pocket. He's keeping you around because your completely round, tan, symmetrical plastic tits are nice to look at, albeit a little bit too close together in the front - remember, it's called "cleavage", as in "cleaving" or "splitting"... you know what, never mind.

When Lisa's nails were done, they moved her over to the drying table, and she turned around and kept blathering on to her friend about her big jobby job. I had a feeling you could stick her head in a fish tank and she'd keep talking until she inhaled tank gravel and died.

Then I headed over to the supermarket. Picked up my coffee, heroin, and family-size box of tampons, and got on line. The woman in front of me had a cart overflowing with crap, but put it all on the register with one hand. Slowly. As she talked on her cell phone, she carefully regarded her purchases as if each can of Spaghetti-o's were a hand-stitched Italian shoe. It took her seven full minutes. I know, because I counted to 426.

There should be horns on the fronts of shopping carts. Or sharp steel spikes.

People of the world, there are people around you. And behind you. And in listening range.

Shut up and get moving.

That is all.

Weird Things My Kid Said Today

"Tell me what crucifixion means RIGHT NOW!"

"What's a comedian?" It's someone who's job it is to tell jokes. "Knock knock." Who's there? "Comedian."

"You're the best mom in the whole world. You know how I know?" No, how? "Because I just said so. You wanna try again?"

Working from home used to seem like it would be so much fun.

My Wish for the Children of the Economic Downturn? Less Shitty Music.

Woo fuckin' hoo, the economy's in the crapper! You know what that means, don'tcha, kids?

BETTER MUSIC. And I for one, am thrilled to bits.

The blues, ska, early rap (back when it meant more than gold teef and a spot on MTV Cribs), Vietnam-era rock, punk... hard times makes for great creativity. I, for one, have had enough of Miley Cyrus and her foot-stankin' Uggs, and am ready to revel in the sounds of being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

PAIN! GIMME PAIN AND SUFFERING!!!

I have no idea who the Jonas Brothers are, and I intend to keep it that way. Until, of course, the Hollywood capitalist regime is overthrown by the masses and their severed heads wind up on sharpened sticks as a warning to other talentless pretty boys with expensive haircuts and a blinding lack of life experience.

I can hear the battle drums thundering dimly in the distance, and I giggle to myself in anticipation of the bloodshed.

I can't even keep track of subversive music anymore. Hard rock is way too stylized for me these days. No one's saying that James Hetfield couldn't have used a haircut, but ever since Metallica got extreme makeovers in 1996, I've had a bad taste in my mouth. Everyone's overly marketed, instantly accessible via Twitter, and churning out mp3's based on graph trends. At least Amy Winehouse is still drunk and disorderly. She's like the mujahid of the entertainment industry, dynamite strapped to her chest and willing to fatally OD, because THAT'S A CREATIVE AND SUFFERING ARTIST, MAN.

Do teenagers with razor blades to their wrists listening to some kind of music that matters even exist anymore? I don't just mean Gothopotamus. Purple ponytails in Dayton, Ohio and a strong love of Cheetos doesn't translate into anything meaningful for me. OK, so you like eyeliner, safety pins, and the color black - you've taken something truly beautiful and turned it into the tasteless flavor now known as "Goth", displayed by cutesy Japanese teenagers who also have pink Swarovski-encrusted cell phones and throw up chirpy peace signs like Paris Hilton's still looking for a new BFF.

You should all die.

Wake me up when the revolution comes.

Old Lady has spoken.


Over and out.