Yesterday, while dpr was in the dentist's chair and I was in the waiting room, I read People Magazine. No, not really. I didn't read it, I looked at the pictures. I haven't read a popular magazine in years, so I felt a little bit like an alien looking at a new type of human that I had not seen before.
What I noticed was that all the women looked the same. The actresses, models, singers. Someone named Lindsay Lohan is the same person as Jessica Simpson who is the same as those anorexic twins. Right? Don't they all star in something called the OC and date Ashton Kutcher?
Their bodies are all the same. Their skinny arms hang down from bony shoulders. Their tanned faces all have the same dimensions. There is a spooky characterlessness about it. They look like a Lamarckian experiment-- as if they believe they will pass down these marvelous acquired characteristics to their offspring who will be named Poet, Apple, and Lourdes. Children as an affectation, but who are bound disappoint because they will be born with real genes, in the beginning.
Nobody looked healthily, lustily, or sanely beautiful to me. The results of too much coveted emptiness, too much mirror, too many hours in cars on southern california freeways.
Then we came home. Saw some news of the president in New Orleans. One shot was of him in some open-air convoy. He was standing in the back flanked by Governor Blanco and Mayor Nagin. Bush look for all the world like he was some shrimpy disrobed pope in a camouflage pope mobile.
Word advice to the president-- No more New Orleans photo ops. You look silly, and it's always going to be seen for what it is-- a public relation's ploy. We all know that you stayed on vacation, you didn't send in assistance, and you let the city drown. Now stay home and practice duct taping the White House.
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