I know that none of my readers are that middle-aged guy who attacked Zac Efron, star of High School Musical 3 (and also, reportedly, 1 and 2). I’m sure that you would never do anything like that, no matter how badly you might want to.
All of you know that beating up rich, famous young people is wrong, no matter how annoying they may be. Yes, even when they totally deserve it, even when they out and out provoke you, like Kenley has been doing every freaking Wednesday night on Project Runway for how many weeks now? I mean, that voice! Those hair baubles! That whine! Could you just strangle her, or what?
Whew. Calm down, Pam. Deep breathing. She doesn’t deserve to die, just because she feels so totally sorry for herself even though she’s young and thin and pretty and is going to Bryant Park instead of much more talented and deserving contestants such as Jerrell. But if she wins next week, I may not be able to keep myself from lunging at the screen.
In case you’re yearning for a masochistic fix, check out Kenley’s audition video.
I’m sitting here watching the Republican National Convention feeling all proud of my own badass self. Jeez, I would never wear a dorky yellow cowboy hat like that, I think, or one of those tacky red blazers. I am waaaaaaay thinner than nearly everybody there except Sarah Palin, Cindy McCain, and Anderson Cooper. And I can outdance anybody in that stadium, young or old — crank that, baby!
And then I remember: Oh right, they’re Republicans. Really devoted Republicans, in Minnesota. And what’s more shameful, I’m using them.
That’s right, I admit it, I have absolutely no interest in Mike Huckabee’s speech. I do want to see Sarah Palin, and I’m hoping to get a glimpse of the hot baby-daddy, but I don’t know whether I’ll be able to stay awake that long. My real agenda here is using the Republicans as a coolness crutch.
The really embarrassing thing is that I’m enjoying this more than most television shows I’ve watched lately. Tonight’s Project Runway, last night’s 90210, Monday’s Gossip Girl, Mad Men on Sunday: I love them, and yet they all make me feel old and ugly and fat and out of it.
Not the Republicans. Watching the Republicans makes me feel as stylish as Rachel Zoe, as hot as Gisele Bunchen, as cosmopolitan as Amy Sacco, as cutting edge as Amy Winehouse. And that’s just wrong. Delicious, but wrong.
In many couples, of whatever age, one person’s the Lucy and the other person is the Ricky. One person is the Homer, and the other person is the Marge. One person is Han Solo, and the other person is Princess Leia. One person acts young, in other words: wacky, fun-loving, charmingly irresponsible. And the other person gets stuck with acting old.
(For those of you born after 1980, think Gaby and Carlos. Or Paula and Simon. Or all the contestants on Project Runway and Tim Gunn.)
How do you become the Ricky in your relationship? Here’s how it starts: You want to take care of your Lucy. S/he makes you feel so important, so intelligent, so capable. And then, as time goes on, someone’s got to pay the bills. Organize the taxes. Discipline the children. Excuse me a sec: WOULD YOU PUT AWAY THAT ICE CREAM BEFORE THERE ARE ANTS ALL OVER THE COUNTER?
Phew, where was I? Oh right: The next thing you know, you’re the Ricky. You’re yelling and screaming and cursing and threatening. You’re managing the money and blowing your top when the credit card is overlimit and the cell phone minutes are through the roof.
Meanwhile, your Lucy, your Homer, your Han is wandering around in a daze, buying yellow shoes and auditioning for Broadway shows and befriending Wookies. So tell me, who do you want to be, the screaming check-writer or the starry-eyed golden-footed Wookie-lover?
I rest my heavy case.