I just finished watching the new video for Kelly Clarkson’s “My Life Would Suck Without You”. The song itself is okay, but the video? It isn’t what I expected. I’d read it was “cute” and “fun”, which sounds like the real Kelly Clarkson. The Kelly in this video? Not so much. What might have been an attempt to portray the “fun” of a dysfunctional relationship ended up being a disturbing glimpse at two people who shouldn’t be together. It’s more like “My Life Is Guaranteed to Suck With You In It”.
The Kelly in this video is an immature mess straight out of reality tv. (A “Beautiful Disaster” perhaps?) It seems whenever the Kelly in this video gets upset she basically drops her boyfriend’s belongings in the toilet or out a window for kicks and then laughs in his face about it. Sure, Video Boyfriend tries fighting fire with fire by throwing some of her clothes out the window. But CrazyVideoKelly is more than up to the challenge and ready to up the ante by sending a goldfish bowl sailing out the window. But not before the timely intervention of Video Boyfriend, who stops the damagefest only long enough to scoop the little fish out of the bowl and into a glass of water. That is, I think it’s water. Maybe it’s vodka. If not, he’ll probably be chugging the stuff regularly in order to cope with this emotional child’s tantrums.
I can see this guy at the next tenants meeting. “I’m sorry for those of you who slipped on the broken glass and aquarium gravel in front of the building last week, but my girlfriend was having a really bad case of the Mondays.” And the tenants would say, “Actually this meeting is an intervention. Dude, you’ve got to get out of this relationship!”
Seriously, I was hoping the younger version of Kelly at the beginning of the video would show up during the fight in the apartment much like in the “Because of You” video and show Kelly how unhealthy her outbursts are, and there are better ways to resolve conflicts.
But, heck, all the near-fatal car accident at the end seemed to do was get her turned on.
I kept asking myself what had the guy in this video done to deserve this treatment. The men in other Clarkson videos like “Low”, “Never Again” and “Since You’ve Been Gone” deserved some retribution. But this guy?
Would he be thinking his life would suck without Kelly? What song would sum up his feelings? The Offspring’s “Self Esteem”? Perhaps there’s a song out there titled, “Stop Treating My Soul Like Toilet Paper”.
I also thought about the trashing of personal property in this video and “Since You’ve Been Gone”, and it made me see the latter video in a whole different light. What if the relationship Kelly had had with the ex in “Since You’ve Been Gone” had been much like the relationship shown in “My Life Would Suck Without You.” Suddenly, Kelly isn’t a woman scorned as much as a hot mess that had been dumped because the guy found a more stable woman to be with; and Kelly just couldn’t resist trashing the guy’s stuff one last time.
When the guy comes home to a trashed apartment, he isn’t so surprised. He just thinks, “Oh, Kelly’s been here. I hope the goldfish managed to survive this time.”
This happens to me a lot when I’m grocery shopping, usually when I’m approaching the check out lanes: I remember forgetting something essential. No, not a shopping list item, but my shopping tote. I’ve either left it at home or in the trunk of my car.
And I tell myself that I have to get in the habit of remembering my tote bag. Must remember tote bag…must remember tote bag….tote bag…must remember….
But today it happened again. This time at Trader Joe’s. I was standing in line, holding my five items, when I noticed the woman in front of me putting her purchases in a Hello Kitty tote bag.
By the time I got to the register and saw the checkout guy peeling off a plastic bag, he might as well have been whipping out a penalty flag.
Why is there this continued lapse in my eco-consciousness? I recycle. I compost. I strive for energy efficiency. Heck, I’ve even had an tote bag made from the denim of my old worn blue jeans. But if I shop organic, the purchases usually go into a white plastic bag. Or maybe I should call it what it is: a non-degradable pouch of petroleum-based shame.
And that’s why I believe there should be a word like “eco-nesia,” to define moments when you forget the green habits that you normally (or at least intend to) practice. For instance, accidentally tossing something that’s recyclable in a trash bin, or forgetting to turn off the plug-in electronics and appliances you’re not using would both be moments of eco-nesia.
It’s either that or start calling these brain farts “mental greenhouse emissions.”
A lot has been said about Sarah Palin’s resemblance to Tina Fey. But ever since the Republican Convention in Minnesota, I’ve looked at the Republican ticket and members of the party as a bizarre version of the Mary Tyler Moore Show with Sarah Palin as an evangelical, right wing version of Mary Richards.
Seriously, next time you’re watching a news channel and there’s lots of Sarah Palin footage of her on the campaign trail, put the sound on mute and sing this song:
(to the tune of “Love is All Around”:)
Who’s the hockey mom from way up north
Who can take a nothing race
And suddenly make the right seem reformed
Well, it’s you gov, and polls reflect it
With church groups and every PUMA voter connected
Numbers upward bound
No need to vet you
Press will snoop around
But we’ll protect you
You’re just one heartbeat from it all
You’re just one heartbeat from it all
Just imagine Republican Party Headquarters instead of the WJM newsroom.
Of course, John McCain would be Lou Grant. That one time he met with Sarah Palin, when he still wanted Lieberman as his running mate? Something right out of the pilot episode. (“Hey, you’ve got spunk. I HATE spunk!”)
Joe Lieberman would be Ted Baxter.
Rudy Giuliani would be Murry.
Cindy McCain would be Sue Anne Niven.
And Rhoda? I’m thinking Sean Hannity.
Of course, I’m hoping this won’t be a long running sitcom and by November they’ll all be huddled close together, shuffling over as a group and reaching for box of kleenex.
Now that I’ve become a fulltime student again and spend most of my time sitting at a desk studying instead of running around keeping up with an assembly line like I used to, I’ve had to be more careful about snacking and what I eat. It’s easier to fall into the clutches of the freshman fifteen when you’re a fortysomething student. But to be honest, it started after the layoff as an “unemployment eight”. Or maybe as a “Thanksgiving three”
No matter when the Battle of the Belt Notch began I knew I’d gained too much weight when last month I was reluctant to wash my jeans because of how much they might shrink in the dryer.
And though I hate the feeling of carrying around extra pounds, what’s been more uncomfortable has been returning to a classroom and realizing I’ve accumulated some brain cellulite too. I’m getting good grades, but I’ve sprained some concentration and thought muscles these last eight weeks, especially the first two.
What frustrates me most is my slow reading speed nowadays. Words per minute-wise, I want to be the long distance runner I once was; but I’ve been stumbling over paragraphs and feeling more like a speedwalker at the mall. Some of it has to do with the courses I’m talking Although I’ve enjoyed my economics class discussions about current issues such as the mortgage crisis and the recession, my textbook is not exactly a hot page turner. (“Oh boy! Graphs and ATC curves! And what’s this about disequilibrium wages in a competitive market diminishing the marginal physical product!? I’m at the edge of my seat!”)
But even with subjects I do enjoy and want to learn more about such as computers and sustainability, I’m not reading as fast as I should. It’s frustrating because I have this two year opportunity to make up for ten years of financial and personal adversity. I need to rediscover my third and fourth reading gear.
How did I get to be more cere-belly than cerebellum?
Perhaps over the years I’ve fed my mind too many oversized portions of pop culture and message board media snark, and convinced myself it was more than a distraction. It’s sort of like saying, “I’m eating this because it’s nutritious. That’s why they call it gourmet ice cream.”
Was it challenging my mind to get into lengthy discussions about the psychological motivations of reality show contestants? Was I really debating when I took a pro-Julia Larrabee stance during the Jack amnesia storyline on As the World Turns? Honestly, what did I learn, other than to quit watching As the World Turns? All those television and movie critiques and dissecting fanboy rants? Maybe that’s why I’ve discovered my thought process sitting around in sweat pants.
The house was freezing and once again I hibernated, this time until two in the afternoon. (Actually one o’clock, but it’s DST now.) Yeah, I’m going to be soooo ready for class tomorrow morning. The surface temperature of the house must be drawing heat from the air because it felt like an icebox inside, but it felt warmer when I went outside to shovel the driveway.
While I was shoveling a car cut through the parking lot across the street, but she misjudged the slight snowbank in front of the exit and got stuck. I came to her aid and shoveled out the passenger side and then started on the driver side, pushed from the back, but with no luck.
I started to shovel out more of the driver side again, but when I paused a guy came up and said, “Here, let me see the shovel.” He dug farther underneath the car and made quick work of it too. It turned out that the front driver side wheel was elevated and he began instructing the woman which way she should turn the steering wheel and asked the kid he was with to help him push the car.
Uh, hello, I’m standing here! Me, the first guy on the scene with the shovel!
The kid didn’t want to push. He was only nine or ten. He was content just to stand by and hold my shovel; but the guy told him to help push. I told the kid he could just drop my shovel off to the side. For some reason it felt good to give someone some instruction, even if it was just a casual suggestion.
It took a few pushes but soon the car was over the hump and back on the street. The guy and the kid immediately ran across the street in her direction. Maybe thinking she might possibly stop and tip them, but she didn’t. I went back to shoveling my driveway.
I don’t know why the situation irked me, but it did. And also I’m a little irked that I can get so irked. I wasn’t trying to impress the woman or planned to ask her for her phone number. I was just being a good samaritan, but then again maybe I was expecting to be the sole samaritan, the alpha samaritan.
Yeah, he dug the car out sooner. But it was my shovel. And he needed my help pushing the car.
I stopped into Barnes and Noble this evening to have a vanilla latte and browse around. I was looking for this book that is supposed to help a person determine what careers would best suit their personality and abilities.
After awhile I had to use the restroom. I chose the handicapped accessible stall like I always do because it’s so roomy. Unfortunately, there was no paper seat cover dispenser. I don’t consider myself a germaphobe, but years of using a nasty workplace restroom has made me cautious when it comes to toilet seats. I myself use two layers when seat covers are available. When there aren’t any, I take out three segments of toilet paper and cover the seat with that.
Unfortunately, whoever the dummy was who changed the roll didn’t lock the clear plastic cover back up. And because the roll is commercial grade toilet paper it will easily tear. And for a makeshift seat cover you need at least two long side pieces. You just do. Of course, the loose plastic cover dropped down whenever I attempted to move the roll, so I had to hold it up with one hand while using my other to pull down some paper.
With commercial grade toilet paper, to get any more than two squares at a time, two hands are best because you can use the slow hand-over-hand technique to get a long strip. Looking back now, because the cover was unlocked I could have taken the roll off and wound as much toilet paper as I wanted around my hand (make it look sort of like a mummy hand if I wanted to), unwound that into three pieces and laid them across the seat. But, dopey me, when I pulled down my third and final strip, I pulled down on the roll a little too hard; and because the roll cover was not entirely up in place, the roll came off the roller and bounced into the toilet—Ker-ploosh! I reached in quickly and grabbed it, but not before half the roll got soaked.
To make a long story short, I used the dry half. But I couldn’t leave a half-soaked roll in the stall. I had to get rid of it. Meanwhile, someone else entered to use the sink, so I sort of waited to exit the stall until they left so I could dump this half-soaked wheel of toilet tissue in the trash can by the door. I didn’t want to explain to a stranger why I had it in my hand.
But I wanted to find an employee and tell them the handicapped stall was out of toilet paper. I approached the information booth, but I stopped because a female employee was the only one there. Part of my reason was that if I told a male employee directly, he could most likely go right into the men’s restroom during business hours and correct the problem. However, another part is that suddenly I was an adolescent and didn’t want use the word toilet paper in front of a girl. I don’t understand it, but I finally found the one male employee in the entire store up front at the register. I had to wait in line, but I did tell him the handicapped stall was out of toilet paper.
