Salted Nuts

While we’re on the subject of Martha Stewart, I want to share something I discovered about Martha.

I know many people out there hate her—actively. Like people hate/hated Barney the Dinosaur, and Kathy Lee Gifford, and Corin “Corky” Nemic. I am not here to treat upon your hatred. You may hate her as you wish. But did you ever stop to think about WHY she is the way she is, which in turn makes you hate her so? Because it’s the way she is which makes you hate her, right? I mean, you don’t automatically hate ALL eerily robotic women who perpetuate their own dreamstates with bric-a-brac and notions, do you? Okay then, maybe you do.

But I realised something tonight when I saw Martha in a commercial touting her all-encompassing vision of the American home (and hey, isn’t all of America really just a backyard in the Hamptons, awaiting the arrival of guests named Trip and Muffy, adorned with handicrafts and home-grown goodies? Yes, that’s what I thought, too!), and that is that she is at heart a little girl of, perhaps, shall we say, age 9?

There she was, a-waking to a gloriously sunny morning (and all of Martha’s mornings are gloriously sunny ones, that is, unless mayhap she put hot cocoa and ladyfingers on the day’s menu, at which point a soothing drizzle of heavenly rain gently washes clean this nation we call “Connecticut”) and she looked for all the world like a little girl anticipating a day spent arranging her overpriced doll’s house. Think of how these girls are—they control everything! Every detail. Nothing is left to chance. They are gods, you see. They order the universe just so, and the universe is a 3-story Colonial estate in a New York suburb or a beach-front mansion in Newport. It always is. It is decorated with nary a trace of the stench of men…it is frilly and it has many shelves to hold not only antiques handed down from grandmothers, but hand-made pottery fired in the backyard kiln…it is the scene of quaint yet precisely scripted tea parties where stuffed teddy bears hang on every word of the mistress of the house…

Even Veruca Salt could be charming for a moment, couldn’t she? And did we truly hate her for wanting the world, the whole world? I know we remember Veruca as a terrible brat who is spoilt by her father (Damn him and his salted nuts!) but if you see her clearly you know that, brat she may be, but my god what an high class and tasteful brat the world has rarely seen! You see, for all the terrible things we hear about how evil Martha is (I am not here to pass judgement upon her evil or lack of evil), really she is just Veruca Salt. She wants the world. She wants the whole world. Presents, and prizes, and sweets, and surprises…but Martha, being aged nine, leaves nothing to chance…she has her own way of ordering the universe…

She is God, after all.

AND VERUCA SALT SINGS…

I want a feast

I want a bean feast,

Cream buns and doughnuts and fruitcake with no nuts so good you could go nuts.

No, now!

I want a ball

I want a party

Pink macaroons and a million balloons and performing baboons

and..give it to me..

Now.

I want the world

I want the whole world

I want to lock it all up in my pocket

It's my bar of chocolate

Give it to me now!

I want today

I want tomorrow

I want to wear'em like braids in my hair and I don't want to share 'em!!

I want a party with roomfulls of laughter

Ten thousand tons of ice cream

And if I don't get the things I am after

I'm going to scream!!!!!!

I want the works

I want the whole works

Presents and prizes, and sweets and suprises of all shapes and sizes

And now!!

Don't care how I want it now

Don't care how I want it

NOW!!!!!

One step above the mule

I must confess, I’m befuddled by soft-core porn. You know the kind I mean—it populates Cinemax and Showtime and it has names such as “Illicit Desires,” “Illicit Passions,” “Passionate Desires,” or “Bad Things Which Happen When You Give In To Your Illicit, Desirous Passions.”

Now, one thing I’ll say for these movies is that they manage to have fairly good-looking people in them. I’ve drawn the conclusion that it must be easier to get attractive people to simulate the sex act than to actually perform it. However, these more attractive people are not any more gifted in the field of acting. So you wonder, is there then a food chain of porn acting, and where upon this chain fall the soft-core folks? Do they make more money than the hard-core folk? Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much.

I watch a lot of these flicks. Mainly because I stay up very late, they’re always on, and they are one of the few mediums which can be entertaining, titillating, and amusing, all at the same time. It’s nice to see women undress and act slutty…come on, don’t deny it! And it’s instructional to see the consequences of relenting to your illicit passions and passionate desires (the consequences usually involve that you will have lots of sex with beautiful women and feel a tinge of remorse about that).

So, let us salute the purveyors of this art form, this “soft-core,” if you will. Thank you, one and all, for taking me through my late-night groin jazz landscape with just a little more zing than Mexican infomercials.

Hey, speaking of which, why did Gabriella Spanic do that one about the fat wrap? I’m pretty sure it’s Gabby. You know her, of course, from her legendary performance as Paola and Paolina Bracho from the magnificent “Usurpadora” novella. I adore her. She shouldn’t be shilling fat wrap. That’s just my theory.

Hope is for Losers, Sucker!

There is still hope for mankind. How do I know this?

ABC has considered adding two shows to the fall lineup—one about Wutan warriors fighting evil; one about a group of solar-panel salesmen. Now, I have no idea how these things might be executed, but there is no doubt that the very idea that they could see the light of day is very, very LOONEY.

New York is pretty…awesome. I realised something while I was there last week—if there’s anything you want, you can get it in New York. How’s that for quality? And you’re not supposed to get anything you could want, but you can there…and gettin’ laid is more trouble than it’s worth…

If you get the chance to see Joe Strummer live, and you like him, then go to see him. And make sure you can get some tasty chicken enchiladas at the rice bar.

London calling…May 2^nd…

Politics are not funny

I have no idea what I’m doing here with this writing cure, Jack Daniels. Can you forgive a moment of self-indulgence?

I am about to tell the old lady that I’m headed to the Big Apple to take a bite of a Joe Strummer concert this week. That ought to go over well. Then, to add a bit of whipped cream to my baked apple, I’m going to tell her that I’m going to London to watch a game of EPL football. Multiply part one by 470, and you’ll get the detriment to my health which follows.

Peace in our bloody time was never achieved. Neville Chamberlain thought it could be but he was wrong. Take what’s about to happen as WWIII, America v. China in a war of the wills. I went to see the shrink and we tried to sort some things out and yet I know what’s coming.

I bet, and I could be wrong, that there will be some gnosh consumed tonight at the hands of your humbled author.

And in all this, I’ve said goodbye to Erika…not formally, but in some way. Tell us the truth now, when you say fare thee well to a 17 year-old hot piece of tail, doesn’t it make you weep?