Oh My Stars!

On the CBS Early Show this morning, I heard a “reporter” start his “report” thusly: “After revelations that her husband fathered a love child, Maria Shriver has not gone into hiding.”

That hussy! How dare she attempt to lead her life and continue to appear in public? I mean, clearly, if she had been performing her wifely duties, Arnie wouldn’t have been forced to look elsewhere to satisfy his needs. What alternative did he have? Really, Maria, if you had any self-respect, you’d just take the veil and withdraw to a nunnery.

Yeesh – the breathtaking coverage of this non-story is horrible. First there’s the fact that it is not actually news. Two public figures who are married are getting a divorce because one of them couldn’t keep his dick in his pants (or wear a condom). So what?

Beyond that is the tone of the reports – both prudish and salacious simultaneously. I mean, Jesus – “love child”?  Who says that outside of a Douglas Sirk movie? Though I suppose I ought to be grateful that the kid isn’t being referred to as the “bastard son”.

Other highly important news of the day included “Queen Declines Pint of Guiness” and “Oprah Saluted By Cavalcade of Stars.” I guess maybe the rapture really is coming this Saturday…

The Oscars

So, what did I think of last night’s Oscar telecast? I’ll let Helena Bonham Carter speak for me. As Michael K on Dlisted rightly points out, she’s got her “quick, pass the flask” face on.

from Dlisted

He is adorable, yes…

But, honestly, the histrionics can be trying – particularly given the fact that he’s barely digested his earlier meal. But, yeah, I love him anyhow – how could you not? Just look at that face! Plus he likes me to carry him around like a baby – and I do!

Well, today sure sucked!

What a long and annoying day… Actually, the day wasn’t too bad, other than being long. Frustrating, yes, as I had lots to do but had to also squeeze in a four-and-a-half-hour meeting. Got out of work rather later than I care to, but what’re you gonna do?

Ordinarily, I’d just head right home (well, maybe a pit stop for a bottle of wine) and skip the gym, but since I have dinner plans tomorrow evening that would mean three days with no exercise, i.e. I’d have to start wearing caftans. So, against my better judgment, off I went to the Y.

And it was horrible. The locker reeked of past-its-prime-broccoli-beef and farts; the guy two lockers down was performing his après-shower routine of slathering himself with baby oil – the scent of which provided a nice top note to the lingering aroma of stir-fry; he also apparently had a bit of cramp in his leg, so he stretched his leg up to about shoulder height against the locker – while nude, of course.

My plan was just to get in a little cardio – but no dice, since all the machines were occupied. So, I gritted my teeth and decided to do my pathetic weight-lifting regimen. And I was foiled at every turn – benches being hogged, newbies invading my space, pervs giving me elevator eyes. Ugh.

Bike ride home uneventful and I was looking forward to a burrito from down the street. So after arriving home, feeding my little lion, taking out the recycling (“Um, why yes all those empty bottles are from my big Super Bowl party!”) and cracking a beer, I headed down to the taqueria – where a couple of drunks were having an altercation with a couple of crazy crackies in the doorway… and then took the festivities right inside. Sigh…  I stood across the street for ten minutes waiting for things to calm down, all the while just lamenting to myself, “All I wanted was a burrito… Is that really so much to ask?”

But eventually I got my dinner (and was neither menaced nor stabbed while doing so) and parked myself on the sofa for an episode of “The Family Guy.” And I’m happy to report, the burrito was perfectly prepared and delicious. Plus I discovered a forgotten Milky Way Midnight in the pantry. Things are looking up!