The Prescience of the XANAX

I am now in the updated land of blogginghood. Blog, blah, blog away. That kind of suits my mood at present, because it is colder than that alleged stepmother's tit and I have pretty much had it with everything. Breathe, little camper, breathe. That is my mantra today, along with my newfound friend. My newfound friend's name is Xanax, and thank God, because I have been having panic attacks (the really bad kind) for a few weeks now. They have abated somewhat, and those of you prone to these fun little things will appreciate my prescription. I used to decry the use of drugs beyond the occasional popping of an aspirin tablet, but now strongly agree that some of us do require medication. It's not that I suggest abusing said products, simply using them judiciously to help control symptoms that might be causing you major, horrible distress. I seem to fall into this category but whoever said life was fun, dear Virginia? FUN, with all caps. I think I need some, soon, lest I fall into that black land of despair. A hole it is, but there are other holes I can think of that would be nice. Like ones filled with chocolate truffles, all wrapped in nice shiny silver paper. That would be a great hole to fall into for awhile. Eventually, of course, I'd want to get out, but that's another story for another time, my sweets.

What else is there to say? Gawker.com is my latest rancid website of choice, and I mean that in the best possible way. Rancidly funny, hilariously lacking in all compassion, yet with an eye towards the absurd that makes me think that the writers are probably not all that bad. We live in a rude crude age, where people confuse comedy with shock value, and where true wit, elegance, and style has gone the way of annoying technological devices, a seemingly anything goes mentality, and the Oprahizing of America. But I will take her, even with that Dr. Phil creature, over George W. Bush any day. The man has, simply stated, ruined this country, and funny, most of us like living here because there are no dictators about. Except for him and the CEO's of companies sucking up profits through their underpaid minions and giving themselves generous Christmas bonuses. My friend said that the CEO of Home Depot paid himself 250 million sweet ones. 250. Hmm. Are you sure that was enough, sir/ma'am? I mean, it would not allow you to buy that many third world countries and install your own dictator. One with a well-built home, naturally.

Geez. I'll stop the pissy ranting in a moment, rest assured. Today, you must know, I drank coffee at our local Cosi's and listened to the insanely loud chatter of about 15 well-fed and dressed children sucking down food of some kind. I would never think to bring kids (maybe sixth graders, as I could tell) to a place like Cosi's. What happened to Chucky Cheese?? That was good enough in my days, kids! But now children demand lattes and cellphones at increasingly young ages, and will soon have their own stockbrokers into the bargain. Starting at the age of 12, or maybe even younger. Whatever allows them to have the appropriately keen investment portfolio by the time they retire with a Mercedes Benz rusting away in a garage somewhere. You know, these values are important. That, and plenty of Cable channels. I lied about the pissy stuff!

Yes, the world is a strange, sad place these days, but not devoid of its amusements. A recent AP article made me laugh because it stated that a guy dressed up as Chewbacca was apparently "head-butting" tourists in Hollywood. Something to do with harrassing Japanese tourists. In the past, the guy dressed up as the "Scream" character (the baddie) has also had issues with harrassing innocent people. There is something about this that strikes me as insanely hilarious. Soon they will be joined by the Little Mermaid and the entire cast of the Incredibles. That was a nice little movie by the creative folks at Pixar. Pixar sounds like something you'd name your goldfish, the one that can't get along with the other fish in your well-lighted aquarium. I now descend into the black hole, the one not lined with chocolate truffles. Xanax, anyone?

So I sat in Cosi's and wrote a poem and ate a banana, which I dragged as obscurely as possible out of my leather purse. There is something about the obvious phallic imagery here that makes me wince, oversexed and underfucked thirty-something that I am. Sorry about the underfucked thing, Sister Margaret Mary. My first grade CCD teacher haunts me still. It's hard to be a recovering Catholic.

Lately, with that in mind, I've been attending a Universalist/Unitarian church. I really like it, although all churches give me the heebie-jeebies. So, I attend basically when I feel like it, which probably pisses off God but allows me to function at a vaguely credible level. The kind that does not involve jumping out of windows like Richard, the sad AIDS-ridden poet in The Hours. I just finished that book and found it quite moving, although not the wunderkin thing the critics said it was, I'm afraid. It's not that I don't trust critics, although I guess I really don't, since hyperbole is probably what they are paid to dispense by major publishing companies. Still, it was a very fine book, and I could do no better. The movie was good as well, although I am starting to feel like Meryl Streep is far too pristine an actress (that is, perfect in all her thespian executions) for me to feel very hospitable towards her any longer. She's so good you feel somehow mediocre in comparison. It's like she's the third grade teacher you desperately wanted to like you, but knew, somehow was far too detached to ever really like you. She has a lot of reserve, Ms. Streep does, but I guess that's because she's always channelling brilliance. Great actresses are like that!

I saw a great play last night, incidentally, entitled Fences by August Wilson. I had seen it done before at a community theater, but never by professional actors. The community theater version was actually outstanding, on par with this one. I cried at the end, because it's the kind of theater that is so powerful you feel riveted to every word. What an amazing playwright. I definitely recommend seeing it if you ever get the chance. A staggering accomplishment, and a very sad one in many ways, as well.

Well, I am beginning to tire now. I wish you adieu, and plenty of rest. Remember: prescription pills equal good! In moderation, my dears. In moderation.