I WAS running the other day, wearing a wifebeater and Old Navy knockoffs of Lululemon capris, soaked in unearned perspiration. And this Orthodox Jewgirl is walking toward me. (Her Orthodox Jewgirl status was made conveniently evident by both her attire and the fact that she was heading right for a synagogue.) As she got closer, I realized that not only was she averting her gaze from the impurity that was sweaty, meagerly-clothed Me, she was actually shielding her eyes with her hand! Lest the sin corrupt her holy soul.
It didn't help my case in the courtroom of my self-loathing mind that I was, at that moment, listening to Pitbull, he who says things like:
I party like a rockstar
Look like a movie star
Play like an all-star
Fuck like a porn star
IN RECENT YEARS I have tried to trod a path of embracing whatever personal hotness I may possess, having prior pursued a path of sweats and misery. And shouldn't it be thus? For surely the world is better when we're all doing our best selves. In looks, and all things.
The danger of course is that hotness suggests a dearth of other qualities. It somehow signals that one cannot be, for example, serious or tender-hearted. This is true for women, especially. I'd venture to say, too, that to look good in a certain way--non-dainty, and without Tina Fey glasses--is particularly damning. Genetic fate decreed the variety of attractiveness available to me to be (in Mad Men terms) less pretty Peggy, more jiggly Joan. With implications.
Hotness also connotes invincibility. Which can be a useful trick.
I HOPE I sound smart, and that if I sound smart you won't suppose I look bad. And I further hope that if you believe I look good, after a jiggly fashion, you won't disbelieve me a decent person.
I never knew why I didn't have access to interoffice IM (everybody else did) and now I don't know why I do. My work chum Miss SHao speculates that the IT guy likes to play God. Steve giveth and Steve taketh away.Miss SHao and I were talking, like literal in-person style. But when I told her I (finally) had Messenger, she scurried back to her desk so we could IM. And it was SO MUCH MORE FUN 
When I need to talk to the homies Back East, I don't want to *call* them. I prefer to schedule a heart-to-heart G-chat date. And sometimes, if I log on Gmail at just the right time, there is a little green dot next to the name of my sister in Tel Aviv. And when words from her pop up on the screen--about everyday things, her husband walking in the door--I flip out.
Why is that so amazing to me? The technology has existed for ages that would allow me to hear her voice.
Does the charm lie in the comfortably casual nature of the instant message? The fact that it employs written words, which are my favorite kind? The balance it strikes between intimacy and remove? Because talking on the phone can make me nervous. (Why do you work as a receptionist then? Huh. Good question.)Maybe it's just an extra-fun medium, combining speech-like rapidity and use of the written word; it rewards cleverness (and I like to think that I'm clev-aaah, like Badu.) And you can abruptly say a link, like, http://www.mypetchicken.com/catalog/Day-Old-Baby-Chicks/Wyandotte-Standard-Silver-Laced-p235.aspx. Which you can't do in talking life.
Why am I so weird that I stopped thinking about Mr. Forty-Fourth President Barack Obama for like eight months? Why do I do that?
The election was so overwhelming that truly I had to return to my own life once it was over. And then too the country was such a mess. I wanted to let him clean up whilst I took the liberty of looking away from the icky scrubdown process. Now things are tidied enough that I can stand to pay attention.
I expected that after the inauguration I would wake up each morning with a song in my heart and continuous CSPAN on my TV. But I never did watch CSPAN, not until recently, when I flipped to what turned out to be that town hall about health care, the unfortunate one in Colorado, when he started hedging on the public option.
This ought to have been a particularly painful viewing experience for me, because when it comes to this shit, I am finally one of what Chris Matthews calls 'people with needs.' As in, I need health care. I work part time and don't get health insurance. (Plog ≠ work.) So, you know, I actually personally need a public option.
And yet: I can't stay mad at him. No, scratch that. I can't even so much as get mad at him for one second. I'm not one of those practical lefty people who get all *disappointed* when he lets the climate change bill get watered down. Because he is so much a personal hero, and I am such a dork. All I can do is listen in rapt admiration when he speaks, savoring that favorite debunking construction of his: the notion that somehow. When he breaks that out, you know it's time to gleefully tear down some criticism or other.
As:
"The notion that somehow just by having a public option you have the entire private marketplace destroyed is just not borne out by the facts."
Or the oldie but favoritie:"The notion that somehow not talking to countries is punishment to them -- which has been the guiding diplomatic principle of this administration -- is ridiculous."
Lord knows there need to be people riding his ass about everything he's doing wrong. It's just not gonna be me. I'm about the unconditional presidential love.
I'm reading Austen again, with predictable results. Here I was at the day job:Miss Thompson called on her early that afternoon to indicate she would henceforth be out and the development caused Emma some not undue agitation. It was always mildly distressing for Miss Thompson to be indisposed, as the duties of that lady included corresponding with the many impertinent individuals on whose contributions of modest sums the financial solvency of the organisation relied, and in her absence Emma might be forced to handle such correspondence, simultaneously dull and delicate, herself. But Miss Thompson was reassuring, 'Her compatriot would handle majority of correspondence, &c.' and smiled sweetly as she took her leave.
A quiet hour followed and Emma indulged the pleasures of an easy afternoon, the sun streaming through the tall windows as she read a novel and attended the peripheral duties the place of employ required. After an interval, Mr. Leonard visited her station and she enquired after the plans for his coming nuptials. He responded that they were advancing according to schedule, and that both families were equally eager for such an advantageous connexion to be finalised.
'You have heard, of course, the regrettable business about Miss Fassluke?' Emma proceeded to ask.
'Ah! she is to remove to Michigan. An atrocious development indeed for we have so cherished her companionship here.'
'So we have.'
At that moment, as if summoned, Miss Fassluke herself entered. Her hair was fixed according to the latest fashion, presenting her youthful face in an especially pleasing manner, and she appeared in excellent spirits--surely, Emma remarked, not as affected by her own impending removal as were her friends. Miss Fassluke called herself flattered to find them put so out of sorts by her planned departure and Emma bore the teazing admirably.
'You will be attending, then, the ball in Miss Fassluke's honor?' she asked Mr. Leonard.
'I shan't be, regrettably. But you have my best wishes nonetheless, Miss Fassluke.'
'And am I to believe your cordial wishes sincere, Mr. Leonard, when you prove unwilling to upend prior engagements in order to attend my ball?' Laughter accompanied this remark.
'Ah but you remain ignorant, Miss Fassluke, of my excuse! It is excellent, and once you give it audience, I assure you my decision to absent myself will become quite easily understood. You see, on the very day of the ball, I turn two and thirty, and therefore have celebrations to attend at which my presence would be yet more sorely missed!'
The two ladies laughed in complete understanding and the party then disbanded, each member returning, with a degree of reluctance, to their respective tasks. Unfortunately, the previous quiet was not to be replicated and soon Emma found herself in a most grievous communication with one of the individuals contributing modest sums, who explained at length her previous ardent support for the organisation, being a person who cared a great deal for animals, and wolves especially, and who had, over the course of many years, contributed sums to a great number of organisations whose missions reflected her earnest values, &c. She further explained that she had received a recent communication explicitly requesting additional financial tidings and that, due to the misery of the current economic situation, both in the country as a whole and in her own home, she was unable to abide the request and that in fact she wished to receive no such communications whatsoever in future. Emma sighed. This, then, was the object, and could have been reached without the preceding speech.
The afternoon waned without further event, save for the welcome return of Miss Thompson at half past three, and it was soon time to board a carriage bound for home.
Just hoppin down off the roost, gotta thank God
I don't know but today seems kinda odd
Hit the feeder hard
Ate chard
And got let out into the full yard
Found grubs to grub on
But didn't pig out
Finally flew up in this flower bed I wanna dig out
Crop fulla greens and I'm peckin more
Thinkin will I live another twenty-fo
I gotta hide cause I got me a wormpop
And if I bite the head
I can make that wrigglin stop
Do a little preening in the sunlight
Checkin out my feathers, not a single red mite
And everything is alright
The Lady's comin out the house, and she gives treats on sight
Squawked to the coopmates and I'm askin em
Which box, are y'all layin eggies in?
Get me in the nest and I'm trouble
Last week fucked around and laid a triple double
Sonnin all these lazy layers like Hennessy
I can't believe
Today was a good day
Headed out front, walked straight into the kitties
They ran the other way, left me sittin pretty
Cause just yesterday them fools tried to scratch me
Saw a mean dog and it strolled right past me
No flexin, didn't even look in a henny's direction
and I just kept on peckin
Found a perfect dusting spot, and the dirt felt wet just right
Get my feathers lookin tight
Shake em up, shake em up, shake em up, shake em
Roll those parasites in a bath of dirt and watch me break em
And it's heaven heaven for hens and heaven for hens
Heaven with with my back in the cool soil
My dusting hole's dug low
Eye on the bugs, found me a poli roll
Plus no poultry I know got slaughtered in Oakland, CA
Today was a good day
CBT came out again late
With some oyster shell, replace calcium from the eggs I laid
Did our bit, my crop was full, she had the grit
Now I can really grind this shit
She reached under Betsy's big fat fanny
Pulled out the eggies, fixed em with toast and jammy
And my eggs taste sweet, so sweet
So sweet make the humans peep
Cased a bed border
Ain't no doubt I'm on top the pecking order
Snuck into that raised bed and I'm coastin
Took a sip of water-garden potion, hit the two-leg motion
I was glad everything had worked out
Jumped in CBT's lap and then chirped out
Today was like one of those fly dreams
Didn't even see a possum stalkin those high beams
No raccoon lookin for a murder
Eight in the evening got the Scratchburger
Even saw the lights of the Goodyear Blimp
And it read 'Three Hens is pimps'
Crop fulla scratch but no throwing up
Almost to the roost and my clucker still blowing up
Didn't hear anybody call straw 'hay'
I got to say it was a good day
© 2009 Three Hens
Polwick Farms Productions
THE TRUTH is this title is a sham. But you wouldn't have clicked on 'Some Mild Observations About Facebook.' And you probably wouldn't be here at all if I hadn't posted this on Facebook. So that's my first observation:
1) It's not totally worthless. I admit I kind of wanted it to be. But then protests in Iran were organized with online social networks. Sonnafabitch. And (more importantly) without Facebook, no one would read Clebilicious. With it, two do. (Thanks, you two!) Also it reminds me about birthdays.2) People have different personalities on Facebook than they do in real life. In real life I'm a ceaseless chatterbox. But on Facebook I am sly and morose. And I can think of at least one individual who, while subdued in real life, is a yammering Yenta on Facebook.
3) Facebook interaction is less daunting than real life interaction, with implications. Which of course is true of online interaction in general. This could be good, when, for example, it allows a shy person to venture out of her shell. Or it could be bad.
4) People like to have little rules with Facebook. Like they only will be friends with people they don't often see in real life. Or they never do status updates. Or they only do status updates. The rules seem intended to grant the illusion of control.
5) Facebook usership passes through three distinct phases: Thrill, Thrill-seeking and Practical Resignation. First you get a genuine kick out of it. (Person A! I haven't thought of her in years! And Person B! I knew he had a crush on me in high school! And Person C I hardly recognized! They all like me! What wealth! what extensive connection! all gathered here in this shining, ephemeral place!) As the kick fades, you try and fail to recapture it. Finally, you accept that Facebook is boring, abandon hope and try to make some mundane use of the thing.
6) You can learn fascinating facts about people from Facebook, but it's unclear how much you are supposed to acknowledge the possession of these facts in real life. If a Ffriend writes in her status update that her new nickname is 'Sexy Legs,' would one be remiss in referring to her thusly at work? And if the answer be clearly yes, then: what? What strange world do we live in if we walk about knowing things and not acknowledging them?
7) It might be more pathetic to have too many Facebook friends than not enough.
8) Facebook can be an effective way of entering other people's worlds. (Especially those with a tendency to overshare.) I can better imagine now what it's like to be a lunatic-distance runner, or a nurse hankering for a drink at the end of a long hospital shift, or a former pro football player launching a tentative new career. (Yeah I'm Ffriends with a former pro football player. Maybe he had a crush on me in high school; are you so surprised?) Because seeing people's little daily updates gives you the nosehair view of their lives. Even when trying to uphold grandiosity, the more people update, the more they unintentionally reveal. Whether we should know so much about every acquaintance is debatable, but the debate never quite happened and the reality has arrived. This will have big implications for human interaction in the 21st century--unless we all just get bored and stop updating.
I shrink and languish when the days are short. Unfurl before the sun's rays like a large-leafed plant extra open on a hot day. I thrive in the desert. When I lived under dim Northeastern light I was miserable. I figured it out: I'm photosynthetic.
Think about it. You might be too.
I totally fall for the notion of a healthy tan. I don't want to be a leathery old broad, but I find it hard to fear the *sun's damaging rays* of the Coppertone propaganda. Maybe the stereotypes linking darker skin to the possession of more soul predate James Brown. Maybe the soul is photosynthetic.
Good then that the longest days are here and I'm set for a beach week some four hundred miles closer to the equator. Photovoltaic cells ready. Chik-chik-chik-aaah.
