Rosie-Colored Glasses:Available Only In Black And White

I am sick to DEATH of bullies. Especially Hollywood bullies. Especially Hollywood bullies who think that their Hollywood abilities make them unequivocal political experts. ESPECIALLY Hollywood bullies who think that their "expertise" shrouds them in an invisible forcefield of omniscient wonder.

Yes, I am talking about Rosie O'Donnell. And I almost hate that I am talking about Rosie O'Donnell and/or politics. I try to avoid that overall, mainly because I am fully aware that there are people out there much more qualified to discuss politics than freaking me.

But I do know more than I might seem, and I DO know this: Free speech is free speech. Don't herald free speech under the guise of political objectivity, then not allow others to speak. It's hypocritical and also makes you look really stupid. And also like a bully.

Believe what you believe, but don't toot your own horn as the most open-minded person in the world...while not letting other people open their own minds as well.

Seriously, I just watched that "View" nonsense, and good grief. That whole thing, where someone shouts in the other's FACE, while going "YES OR NO, YES OR NO" -- that is right up there with hanging up on someone, in that it is a total dick move. The only time you are allowed to do that and not be a complete asshole is if you are a lawyer. Which, question sufficiently begged har har.

Go ahead, throw rocks at me if you'd like, I stand by this. And no, I don't think Elisabeth Hasselbeck is always right. And no, I don't think Rosie O'Donnell is always wrong. That's the thing. We can form our own opinions. When was it written that in order to be a politically viable member of society, we had to paint ourselves all one color, go out there and freaking wave the battle flag and tow the party line?

I am constantly disappointing and frustrating people. Because I believe one thing, many people automatically assume that I will subscribe to each of their beliefs, each of their causes. Don't think for yourself; don't question. You believe a, you must believe b, c, and d, or better yet e, a blanket trust in All Of The Above.

But sometimes I believe in a, but not b, c, or d. Or maybe just a and c! Or you know what? Sometimes I just might believe in a, b, c, AND d, but will NOT pick e, just because. My mind belongs to me and only me. I am a truth seeker, and even love learning that I'm wrong sometimes, but God help me on the day that I hand my mind over to someone else to fill in and color according to his or her own agenda.

Times have possibly never been in greater upheaval, but the thing about upheaval is that within it can often lie extremely powerful opportunities -- for change, for growth, for a greater awareness, even if that awareness comes posthumously in the stories that are told. What do we want our story to tell? That with all the information we had at our fingertips, the best we could still do was "WAR BAD"/"WAR GOOD"? If that's the case, then maybe that "Cavemen" pilot is a lot more insidiously brilliant than I'd thought.

Seriously. Let's take a moment. Breathe and look in the mirror. Are you God? No? Am I God? No. Excellent. Now we're getting somewhere.





©2007

Magic Mirrors, Magic Mushroom Kids

In August 1980, when I was almost five years old, I was on "Romper Room" for a week. Not the Miss Molly one, the Miss Mary Anne one. She was I think, the second host(ess) of the show? Either way, she was the REAL "Romper Room" host, before Miss Molly just made the whole thing about singing every week to her freaky puppets. Miss Mary Anne interacted with the children.

And she really liked me, Miss Mary Anne did, in the way that most subsequent teachers would. I was polite, intelligent, and smarter than most kids my age, which I would feel more braggarty about saying, were it not for the fact that I can barely afford my rent at age 31.

But so yeah, teachers and I always had that weird relationship, where they'd love me and be drawn to my precociousness until they got unnerved by my strange, freaky little brain that just didn't follow a very linear path.

Case in point:

A big theme of "Romper Room" the week I was on was preparing us for school, since we were all entering kindergarten. In one segment, Miss Mary Anne and the kids sat around a mat that had all different school supplies, like paper, pencils, scissors, etc.

The task before us was to pick two different school supplies that could ostensibly be used together. Obviously, you want like, a pencil with paper, or crayons with a coloring book. But I was with a particularly dull little group of children, and they were like, picking up two crayons with a glaze over their eyes. I think maybe they were sedated.

So then I raise my hand, and Miss Mary Anne looks at me all relieved, like, "Judith will have the answer." And many times when teachers called on me, I did have a good answer.

But then other times, my brain would spin off into SunshineLand, and this was one of those times. Miss Mary Anne's face fell as I enthusiastically picked up...two pieces of paper.

Miss Mary Anne: (inaudible sigh) Okay, Judith picked up...two pieces of paper. Judith? (last glimmer of hope) How could you use these pieces of paper together?

Me: (performance anxiety silence)

Miss Mary Anne: ...

Me: You could...keep one...and give one to another person!

Miss Mary Anne: Oh, well that's very nice, but we're looking for a way to use them together...

Me: (crestfallen)

Miss Mary Anne: ("DIDN'T YOU USED TO BE SMART!")

Me: (losing my religion)

Miss Mary Anne: Well...maybe...maybe you could fold them!

Me: (huge, beaming, desperately grateful smile, nods head effusively)

Miss Mary Anne: (sits in fearful anticipation for the rest of the show)



***LATER THAT EPISODE***


"Romper Room" would do a lot of human interest/cultural awareness stuff, and on this day, they had a representative from the local ASPCA on the show. He brought with him two identical kittens. They were so cute!!! I always loved kittens and cats, and wished I could have one myself. So I was mesmerized, for the approximately seven minutes that the kittens were on the set.

Fast forward to wayyyy later in the day, and we were going over school traffic safety, reviewing various signs and their meanings. Miss Mary Anne went over them with us, AND we watched an entire long, boring movie about signs and safety.

Afterwards, Miss Mary Anne quizzed us. "Now," she said, pointing to a "STOP" sign, or something equally obvious, "What does this mean, when we see this."

I raised my hand very seriously.

"Yes! Judith," Miss Mary Anne said, obviously hoping I would redeem myself for the Two Papers Fiasco.

"Those...those kittens looked like twins!"

Ba-DUNK!

Seriously, it was amazing. Miss Mary Anne was an improv pro, but she got all visibly thrown, like "What the hell is WRONG with this child!" but also fascinated, because, like, "What the hell was WRONG with this child," you know?

"Well...yes," she stuttered, quickly regaining her footing. "Yes, they were probably from the same litter...and SPEAKING of pets, well -- maybe -- what are some ways we can keep PETS safe outside, using our school traffic safety laws!"

Awesome.

And no, even my memory is not so psychotic that I remember all of this in detail, but for years, I had a videotape of my week on the show. It's since gone missing, which breaks my heart, but I'm very glad to have gotten to watch it. If for no other reason than nowadays when I get that very same exact giant facial question mark from people, I can laugh it off as a "Those kittens look like twins" look. And I get very, very many of those.





©2007

And There It Was, This Old Song...A Stranger To My Ears

So I am watching "Girlfriends" (as you do), and there is this exchange between a Lenny and a Lynne, wherein they discover they have like, everything in common. So they're all going, "Me too!" "Me TOO!" and as the Whoa Factor hits its peak, Lynne goes, "Oh my God, you're killing me softly with your song!"

Confusion sets in, because the audience all laughs, but I am given pause, because I always thought it was a BAD thing, to be killed softly with his song. I have always, always loved that song, both Roberta Flack and The Fugees (and seriously, The Fugees is a pretty amazing band in general, but especially for the fact that they do fantastic remakes of already-great songs).

So I do KNOW this song! By heart! And I've sung it at karaoke multiple times! But how could an entire "Girlfriends" audience be wrong? So I reread the lyrics, and sure enough, I realize that it's actually a story about a beautiful musical-life experience.

So thank you, "Girlfriends," for opening up my world. Who knows what other cultural mysteries you shall unravel for me as time goes on.

Days of Our 9 Lives

Chip: (Putter putter putter.)

Dr. von Rockenstein: (Putter putter putter!)

Chip: (ZOOM!)

Doc: (ZOOM!)

Chip/Doc: I WANT THE CATNIP BAG!

Chip: I always get my way, and you know it!

Doc: But what YOU don't seem to understand, is that every bit of my passive energy is saved for CATNIP ACQUISITION!

Chip: (BAM!)

Doc: (KA-POW!)

Chip: (Full Nelson!)

Doc: (Rapid bunny-feet kicks to FACE!)

Chip: WHY AREN'T YOU BACKING DOWN!

Doc: It's CATNIP, son!

Chip: (Frantic, yet unspired, flailing about.)

Doc: (Three nice, solid SMACKS to Chip's face!)

Chip: I am MALE, and also INSANE, and do you ACTUALLY want to deal with me! Am I REALLY worth ALL THAT!

Doc: ...No. You know what? No. Fuck you.

Chip: That's RIGHT, bitch!

Doc: (Leaves.)


Chip: ....

Chip: (Frantically molests bag of catnip as if in one-night stand of ersatz passion.)

Chip: ...

Chip: Ummm...

Chip: (Leaves.)


Doc: (Sadly walks over, witnesses carrion that was once her True Great Love, the ironically-named "50-pound" burlap bag o' catnip.)

Doc: (Looks at bag lovingly, but it has been ravaged by Chip, and the relationship is over.)

Doc: (Lies down, gazes longingly at virtual past laying on bathroom floor.)


Chip: (Trots back over.)

Chip: HA! That's...right.

Doc: :(

Chip: 's cool, Baby. You know how it is, rockin' and rollin', and what not.

Doc: How DARE you try to tired pop culture me out of my grief.

Chip: I know! I know. You um...wanna go get something to eat?

Doc: I guess I could eat.


Chip/Doc: (Move sadly towards kitchen, not looking, not touching.)

Chip: (Munch munch munch.)

Doc: (Munch...munch...munch...)

Chip: Half done, wanna trade?

Doc: (Sad, yearning smile.)

Doc: (Finally feeling full weight of situation, turns away, walks slowly into bedroom.)

Chip: (Sits in kitchen, disinterested in food. Ponders what he has done.)