It's too Late to Apologize

I don't have an apology for my lack of material lately. Only excuses. Excuse #1 www.jezebel.com they have taken any and all topics that I could criticize and criticizes it with double the witty and bitch-slapping humor that I could ever hope to have. Excuse #2 is moving to Chicago, starting a new job, and temporarily having roommates that couldn't afford to pay for the internet. So there. But lucky for both of us, I had a bit of inspiration to start writing again (and we got the internet). This blog is my best effort at showing my talent to the world. Or my friends, who are the only ones who read this. Thanks for making me feel special guys.

So what to write about now? I need a good topic to reinstate my place in the Blog-o-sphere. Living in this city is still a novelty to me so I will share a story, saturated with my editorial.

I was on the train yesterday, heading downtown to watch the lighting of the Christmas lights down Michigan Ave. At some Lincoln Park stop, five mid-50's women clamber on with their fur coats and Botox-inated smiles, smelling like too much hairspray and too many glasses of White Zinfandel. They settled stiffly into seats around me and some Columbia students and a club rep (we all got free passes to some party sponsored by Camel with free boxes of cigarettes. I could almost hear the raspy-voiced hipster next to me singing "I'VE GOT A GOLDEN TICKET") We could tell these women had not been on the Red Line since 1980. Conversation ensued. There was talk of cute servers at the wine bar with a hint of potential mid-life crisis and divorce. One women was harassed shamelessly for putting lipstick on. "Are you planning on making out with someone tonight??" the heckler spat. I couldn't take my mind off their hair. The amount of product used in their hair collectively would give Al Gore no other reason for the break down of the ozone. Stiff and big; proving my theory that they hadn't been out of their suburban boxes since the 80's for a Duran Duran concert. Their conversation veered towards the rumored relationship between Ashley Olsen and Lance Armstrong. "She's a baby!" "Ugh makes me sick. what do they have in common?" "He fought cancer! He is a champion athlete and what has she done? Coke?" The underlying hostility towards Gen Y is hard to miss (I wake up every morning hoping that a higher power has turned me into an Olsen.) After the train hits their stop and they stumble off. The Golden Ticket holder next to me can hold it in no longer "Sweet Jesus I hope I never talk that much when I'm old" "Did you see that woman's face? She looking like a parrot with all the make up" I threw in my observation "Did you see how much shit was in their hair??" We group of random 20 somethings laughed to the next stop over the desperation of those women. I got off the train with yet another reason to love being young and wild and relentless and having no reason to NOT believe that Gen Y is the shit.

The ever opinion-raging pop culture

I realize its early and this could be tough for a first post, but I want to take a stab at our current pop culture with a picture that my friend sent me at work this morning.

Ok so I can't seem to get the picture in here but I hope you can visualize it or go to people.com and see for yourself. Britney shaved her head (you can imagine the kind of start my day got when I saw this at 7:30am) after checking into rehab for ONE day. I could say that blah blah she's supposed to be a role model yadda yadda yadda. But what I'm more worried about it the fact that she is scum, yet the media keeps feeding her to us, along with many other wash-up celebrities. Paparazzi create a flip book of young celebs which I have finally passed up in age (which makes me feel older, wiser, and more pulled together) as America widdles them down to nothing with their comments and opinions. I find it fascinating that, somewhere along the way as the US grew up, we turned actors and musicians into our country's equivalent to the Pope, Gandhi, Hitler. We follow their every action, whether it be leggings or botox, and hang on to their guidance of make millions, spend millions, divorce, cheat, look sexy. And the worst part is that I can't sit here and say that glamour and style are dead, because they are very much alive. There are plenty of classy ladies out there. But the bulk of our media-frenzied lives are focused on these superficial beings. The only upturn that I see in Britney's new hair, in the obscene weight-lose of Hollywood teens (see Nicole Richie, MK Olsen, etc.), Anna Nicole's not-so sudden-or-mysterious death is that I believe people are finally seeing the not-so fabulous life that these people lead. They are like us, they mess up. Great. So why are the spotlights still on them and not us? Why are they still held up as being what people want to be? I say we look to the underrated and even non-famous beings that have graced our country if we really want to try for something more than barefoot bathroom trips or drug induced weight lose diets. America Ferrera (whom I cannot say enough about. She is giving my generation a clean slate and a peak at what normal, beautiful women there still are out there), Kate Winslet (Who actually makes being a mom someday seem nice, homely, fun, and puts to shame the myth that actresses are SO overworked and have SUCH a hard job that they have no time for anything but mirror-posing-perfection and sunless tanning. She also shows me that maybe there are some actresses out there that are intelligent and have some worthwhile advice for me.)

My new epiphany, as my jealousy grows for countries that have philosophical leaders with spiritual awareness that they want to share with their community, is that maybe America goes beyond the superstars. There are intelligent people around every corner. Why am I upset that advice Hillary Swank gave to Vogue just isn't good enough for me? Why not see that I can learn from more than just your average pretty face? I mean, they are just like us.