MTheads

There Are No Idiots.

I've been chastised for calling Amy Winehouse an idiot.   I'm heartless.  I don't know her.  She had problems.  I'll admit she was pathetic in a forgivable way, mainly due to how much I've enjoyed her music.  And perhaps she wasn't properly succored by those around her.  Regardless, I wouldn't put her on any list of clever people in any category.

If she was not an idiot, what was she, I ask?  Depressed, addicted, and exploited.  I don't think the dead famous can be anything else.  Why do we excuse famous people for their actions?  Are they so different from the rest of us?  Apparently, yes.  According to a celebrity psychologist often on TV, studies suggest that people who seek fame are different from the rest of us and more likely to be the sorts of people who do dumb stuff.   A rather paradoxical statement.

So, in order to have a heart, I have to hold celebrities to lower standards than I hold cashiers, bus drivers, pilots, and pretty much everyone else.   Idiots are only people who annoy us and are not famous.  Your non-famous neighbor who drinks too much and leaves beer bottles all over the yard, he's an idiot.  No reason to cut him some slack because he has trouble saying no to yet another beer.  The plain jane who gets piercings and skips school to take drugs -- she's an idiot rather than a girl having trouble dealing with her banal middle-class existence.  The bitter woman at the counter who gives us a hassle at the end of a long line at the airport -- idiot.  We're certainly not going to consider she's been suffering from low grade depression since she was a teenager and forgive her her rudeness.  Nope, idiots all the way through.

I'd like to see the people who think I'm callous for calling Amy Winehouse an idiot apply their sanctimonious standards to all the annoying and idiotic non-famous people they come across.  Perhaps there are no idiots at all, only the misunderstood.  Instead of the finger, give that idiot who cuts you in line a hug next time.  He needs it.  He's just more fragile than the rest of us waiting our turns.

 

Underestimated No More!

I had no idea how funny Charlie Sheen was.  I haven't paid much attention to his show and had just assumed it wasn't my cup of debauchery.  But after being forced to hear his diatribe over and over on every news program, radio and television, you can call me a fan.  While ironically enjoying the juxtapositioning of the two protest movements monopolizing the news - Libya and Wisconsin -  I read this hilarious bit on the news thread.

Charlie Sheen: "I'm tired of pretending I'm not special"

My son said so was he.  Aren't we all?  I think Charlie is still not being honest.  He has a way to go before he completely strips the lies and falsehoods imprisoning his pure, true self.  

I'll speed things up.  What he means is he's tired of pretending he's not better than everyone else.

O.K., that's kind of mean.  It's not like I know the guy.  I feel like I do, after this weekend.  I kind of feel like his porn friend, only I don't have to touch his special parts.

 

I have to admit, he's looking pretty special.  Thank God he has his t-shirt slogan career to fall back on.

Paul Bunyan Called. He Wants His Stove Top Percolator Back.

My son claimed the preceding picture didn't fully show the freakishly gargantuan size of the big bialetti.  Just saying it was the size of an ox wasn't enough, I guess.  Well, maybe this picture shows the contrast.  It is difficult to pour.  I usually have to get several neighbors to help.