Thursday, March 15, 2007

I, Curmudgeon

Middle age rocks. Or is that an oxymoron? Maybe it is, but let me tell you, being an old broad is liberating. I get to be as crabby as I want. I get to be uninterested in stuff that bores me. Which I always was, but now I let it show. And I love it. Because maybe I don't get enough sleep, but some things just don't seem worth the bother:

1. That whole coffee-house, espresso, latte, cappucino thing. I'll stick to a cup of coffee. American style.

2. Trying to do a decent job styling my hair. From now on, when I really need to look good, I'll let the professionals handle it. The rest of the time, I'll look like dog vomit. This is bad news for all of you out there--as well as local property values--but I don't care. I'll just avert my eyes whenever I pass a mirror.

3. Eating food I don't like. For example, I hate food that used to be alive when it's served cooked, but very, very rare. This especially applies to duck. From now on, I won't eat it. I won't even pretend to try to eat it. If the waiter wants to know why I'm ignoring the pulpy lump of protein on my plate, I'll tell him, "My gorge just rose."

4. Mass culture. "Bah, humbug" to movies, best-selling books, and popular music. If anyone asks me whether I've seen any good movies lately, I'll answer, "No, thank God." OK, my doctoral dissertation was about film, but it was silent film. I could talk your heads off about D. W. Griffith, but I couldn't care less about anything playing in the movie theaters now. Or what's on television. Or popular music. No, I didn't watch the Academy Awards. Or the Grammies. (I don't mean to hurt your feelings, Blackbird, and your posts about Survivor, but I don't know what you're talking about.) Admittedly, it makes it difficult to navigate the average conversation. For example, when I'm at the salon getting my hair done (see number 2) I find it hard to converse with the woman wielding the hair-dryer. I solved this by finding a hair-dryer-wielder who doesn't try to make conversation. Because--to be frank--I find myself far more interesting than the average hair-dryer-wielder.

5. Local politics. There is some kind of school budget referendum on the horizon. I've decided to ask my pal Fiddledeedee what it's about, and then vote accordingly.

6. My blog numbers are down. Way down. I DON'T CARE. Come here and read about my petty little problems or don't. I'm too grumpy to be funny for you people. Why am I grumpy? Today I have even more volunteer bullshit to do. I have to go downtown and get my picture taken, and I don't have time to get my hair done, so it will look like shit. Then I have a lunch meeting where I'll probably be served some sort of undercooked protein on that annoying baby lettuce (sorry, forgot to add that to my list) and the meeting promises to be boring beyond belief. Although people will probably not be talking about television programs. So there's that.


  1. It takes a lot of work to organize events, it's what I do for a living. In the end, the feeling of accomplishment is great, but during. It sort of sucks. Like herding cats. Also? I envy you.

  2. That baby lettuce is bullshit.

    You know what's nice? A wedge of iceberg with blue cheese dressing.

  3. Three cheers on the "mass culture" thing. Who needs it? After "Wings", what was good? NOTHING!

    Bah squared, then.

  4. Madolyn ChowdahMarch 15, 2007 8:11 PM

    I LOVE a good wedge salad. When I think of a steakhouse, the idea of a wedge salad excites me more than steak. Baby lettuce and mesclun greens can go fuck themselves, too -- it gets all soggy and reminds me of grass clippings. It's hearts of romaine, baby -- or a wedge of iceberg slathered in blue cheese, chopped eggs, and bacon.

    Hi Poppy! :o)

  5. I enjoyed your honesty and completely agree with you, especially number one!

  6. Just this last Saturday I choked down some food that didn't look dead enough to suit me. It was the birthday dinner of my now 14-year-old, who is embarrassed by my very existence, so I did not further embarrass him by asking them to take my food back to the kitchen and hold it closer to the stove.

    But I'm not going back there, either.

  7. Please me a seat next to you at the crabby table.

    Thanks in advance,

  8. I stopped reading blogs for most of a month and lost nine pounds, I sweah!

    Er, not that you care.



Gentle Readers:

For the time being, I've turned off comment moderation. Please don't spam; it's not nice.

xxx, Poppy.