That's what a friend of mine named the mullets that are soft and curly and cascade down over a redneck's shoulders. The redneck waterfall.
After mentioning mullets in a previous entry, I decided that it had been far too long since I'd visited mulletsgalore.com. So I went ahead and indulged. It's annoying when things become too kitschy, but I can't resist the glee that I derive from looking at pictures and commentary of the most white trash, living out the stereotype, sleezy, scary, fashion victim folks around.
I remember when I moved to New York three years ago, if I mentioned the word "mullet" I would get this weird look and people would go "huh? what's that?" Now there's a freaking show called "The Mullets" which I haven't watched and I probably never will because the very concept irritates me. I won't go into why, because It'll just turn into a huge tangent. I remember at least eight years ago, living in Oregon and witnessing far too many mullets for anyone to comprehend unless they themselves have been to Oregon, and I remember saying "there ought to be a law against that, little signs that they post in hair salons and barber shops with a mullet sillouhette and a big red X over it to let people know that it is a crime against humanity to sport a SOTLOB." (short on top, long on bottom).
My friends Darcie and Jenni and I developed an obsession with mullets about five years ago, where we felt compelled to snap a photo of one at every given opportunity. One night at a club in Ashland we were shooting a game of pool when we acquainted ourselves with three women who all worked in a mill together and all had matching perfectly feathered mullets. I was about two heads taller than them, but I slung my arms over their shoulders and we took a picture. It turned out so funny. Brings to mind the phrase "one of these things is not like the others..." Another time, in Bend, Oregon, we were leaving a club in a taxi cab when we noticed that our driver had a redneck waterfall. A really long, soft, luxurious one. We asked him if we could take a picture of it. We took a few pictures and he seemed to enjoy the attention. We mooned him as he drove off. Give me a break, we were very drunk. The memories will last a lifetime and the pictures are still deeply cherished.
My all time favorite mullet belongs to a character in the movie "Ghost World." If you visit the movie website you can see some shots of him in the flash intro. He does some crazy and hilarious antics in that movie. That's a total "Crank Mullet" or "Methamphetamine Mullet" or if you are native to Southern Oregon, a "White City Mullet" (White City is where most of the meth labs are at and the entire population probably has 25 teeth, collectively). Ghost World mulletman has the stache to match the mullet (which has lines shaved in the sides) and he's wearing cop sunglasses, no shirt (crazy farmers tan), tight jean shorts, and of course, hightop sneakers, which as we've established, go together with mullets like frik and frak.
My friend, an associate who works here in my office, asked for my assistance on a bunch of letters and attachments that she's sending out to apply for judicial clerkships in various different places throughout the U.S. This is an email exchange we had this morning:
A: Hello Maria, do you think that I will be able to get my packets out on Wednesday or do you think that that is unrealistic? Thanks, A.
Moi: I don't think there will be a problem getting them out on Wed. I'll work on it today.
A: Thanks Maria. You really are saving me here. If I get a job in Kansas you can come with me.
Moi: Yippee! Kansas! I've been aspiring my whole life to move there.
A: I know. There is just something about you that screams Kansas.
Moi: It's that "where am I and what am I doing here" expression that I wear so often. Or perhaps it is the ruffled dresses and shiny black shoes.
A: No, it really is the attitude. I think Kansas needs some of your ball kicking and cursing.
(I told her a true story once about a road rage incident where I was slightly speeding and a man tailgated me in a menacing manner all the way to my destination, at which point I got out of my car and confronted him. When he called me a fucking bitch repeatedly I kicked him in the nuts and got back in my car and drove off. Apparently, this story stayed with her. I'm sure Kansas has plenty of trash talking shit kickers. They probably don't need another one with a NY attitude to boot.)
VOTE FOR DEAN 2004!!!!
Dean declares war on "King George"
Presidential candidate Howard Dean calls upon today's Sons of Liberty to overthrow a government that is "of, by and for the special interests."
Excerpts:
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Sept. 24, 2003 | We're here today to talk about what's at stake in this election. Ten months from today, we'll be coming back to Boston, not just to decide who will be the Democratic nominee, but to determine the future of our democracy.
Two hundred and thirty years ago, right here in Boston, 50 dedicated patriots known as the Sons of Liberty boarded three ships in Boston Harbor to protest a government more concerned with moneyed interests than its own people. Those 50 patriots believed that they had the power and the duty to change their government.
What they did that night became known as the Boston Tea Party. It marked the beginning of the first great grassroots campaign in our history. Their action -- which they took together -- set this country on the path to freedom and democracy. And a King named George -- who had forgotten his own people in favor of special interests -- was replaced by a government of, by and for the people.
The people who boarded those ships in Boston Harbor joined together in common action to create a free society based on individual liberties. And through that action, they changed the course of history.
Democracy and freedom, forged through action. That is the story of America.
It is also our hope for the future.
Today, once again, we stand here in Boston as patriots -- and we stand with more than 410,000 other patriots across this nation who have joined our campaign, and countless millions more who share our values.
We stand here as Americans, once again willing to take action to restore a government of the people.
We stand here as Americans who are no longer willing to allow the further depletion of our nation's treasury through tax cuts for this administration's wealthiest contributors.
We stand here as Americans who are no longer willing to accept an administration whose handouts to industry are squandering our most precious natural resources and causing irreparable harm to our environment.
We stand here as Americans who are no longer willing to accept the partisan squabbling in Washington by both political parties, while 41 million Americans live without health insurance.
And we stand here as Americans who are no longer willing to accept an administration lying to the American people about the reasons for sending our sons and daughters and brothers and sisters to die in a foreign land.
We stand at a critical moment in American history. Either we come together and take action now to restore a politics of participation and a politics of the people, or we allow the Washington insiders and the special interests to continue to make the back room deals that are destroying people's faith in our government.
Democracy itself is at stake in this election. The extreme right wing of the Republican Party has shown nothing but contempt for democracy. From the impeachment of a sitting President, to the recount in Florida, to opportunistic redistricting efforts in Colorado and Texas, and now in the recall effort in California, a narrow band of right-wing ideologues have subverted the democratic process whenever they haven't liked the outcome.
And making a joke out of our system of checks and balances, this administration has sought to expand the powers of executive privilege to such an extent that they've created a presidency that believes it answers to nobody.
But we are going to make them answer to us.
Our democracy is our strongest institution. Yet it is also our most fragile.
Two hundred and sixteen years ago this September, our founders laid out their vision and purpose for America in the Preamble to our Constitution. But at every turn, the Bush Administration has turned our Constitution on its head.
The Constitution seeks to form a perfect union -- but this administration has divided us by race, gender, income, religion, and sexual orientation.
The Constitution seeks to establish Justice -- but this administration has appointed radical ideologues to the courts.
The Constitution seeks to insure Domestic tranquility -- but this administration has capitalized on domestic fears of terrorism for political gain.
The Constitution seeks to provide for the Common Defense -- but this administration has underfunded homeland security and done nothing to protect our ports and harbors.
The Constitution seeks to promote the general welfare -- but this administration has cut funding for child care and education.
The Constitution seeks to secure the blessings of liberty for posterity -- but this administration has shackled our children and grand children with the largest deficit in the history of our nation through reckless tax cuts.
Americans who today aren't even old enough to vote will be the ones who will bear the full cost.
The ideal of democracy is more powerful than money; yet today our democracy is threatened by a flood of special interest money pouring into our nation's capital.
Our founders understood that threat. James Madison and Thomas Jefferson spoke of the fear that economic power would one day seize political power.
That fear has been realized with the Bush administration.
Under the Bush Administration, the largest corporations and the wealthiest individuals benefit from tax-cuts that are bankrupting the states and starving Social Security, Medicare, and our public schools.
These tax cuts reward the largest political contributors at the expense of today's middle class, whose property taxes are skyrocketing.
The flood of special interest money into Washington has transformed the system of American government from a government participated in by all to a government accessible to only a few.
The oil companies write our energy policy; big pharmaceutical companies draft Medicare reform without price controls; and in Iraq, Halliburton is awarded a $1.7 billion no-bid contract.
It is a government of, by and for the special interests. The only way the American people are included in the process is that we are left to pay the bills. And the cost is high -- to our economy, our environment, our children's schools, and our health care.
But the problem extends beyond this Administration, as bad as they are. Today, there are 33 lobbyists for every member of Congress.
Only you have the power to right these wrongs. Only you have the power to send those lobbyists home.
The special interests can only win if the American people continue to drop out of political participation.
But we are going to defeat this President by bringing millions of people back into the political process.
And we are going to defeat the special interests through the hard work and individual contributions of millions of Americans...
This administration has forgotten the lessons of history. The Berlin Wall fell not only because we were strong militarily, but also because we showed those living on the other side that America was a place of hope. Through their admiration for our government, they demanded change within their own country...
Two hundred and two Septembers after the creation of our Bill of Rights, Attorney General John Ashcroft drafted a document that has eroded our Constitutional rights and broken down the mutual trust between the American people and their government -- and between Americans and each other -- by making suspects out of all of us.
That is not the act of a patriot.
A true Patriot Act is not born out of fear, but out of trust; it is not born out of division, but out of community; it is not born out of suspicion, but out of faith in each of us.
We need to remind this administration what a Patriot Act is.
A neighbor lends a hand to a friend in need -- that is a Patriot Act.
A mother struggles for her children's future -- that is a Patriot Act.
An immigrant becomes a member of our American family -- that is a Patriot Act.
Men and women risk life and limb on behalf of our country through our armed services -- that is a Patriot Act.
Americans come together as a community and as a country to declare their values, their rights, and their very independence. That is a Patriot Act, as it was in 1776 and as it is over two hundred years later, and as it will be, through our actions, over two hundred years from now...
We believe that together we can create a force strong enough to change history and take back our country.
We're meeting up. We're organizing. We're putting out flyers and knocking on doors. We're writing letters to one another, and talking about how we can shape the future of our country. Some come together through Meetup.com and deanforamerica.com, and others find each other through word-of-mouth and involvement with their community.
And while the President is amassing a war chest bundled in $100,000 and $200,000 increments by those he calls Rangers and Pioneers, Americans from across the country are redefining campaign finance reform through their $50 contributions...
With mouse pads, shoe leather and hope, we are building an American community strong enough to take on the power of money in politics and deliver the White House to its rightful owners -- We the People.
This September will go down in history -- as the month when the people stood up and believed they could take their country back.
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Copyright 2003 Salon.com
I finished reading "The Devil Wears Prada" a couple of days ago.
"Andrea Sachs, a small-town girl fresh out of college, lands the job "a million girls would die for." Hired as the assistant to Miranda Priestly, the high-profile, fabulously successful editor of Runway magazine, Andrea finds herself in an office that shouts Prada! Armani! Versace! at every turn, a world populated by impossibly thin, heart-wrenchingly stylish women and beautiful men clad in fine-ribbed turtlenecks and tight leather pants that show off their lifelong dedication to the gym. With breathtaking ease, Miranda can turn each and every one of these hip sophisticates into a scared, whimpering child."
I have to say it was definitely the worst book I've read this year (and I've read a lot). An endless, somewhat banal, narrative of a year in the life of a young girl who gets her first job in New York as the go-fer of an infamous fashion editor. If David Sedaris had written it and it was gut wrenchingly funny, it would have been a whole different book. But it wasn't.
It wasn't funny. Not even a little bit. All it did was get me into a fashion-mania phase where I can't stop browsing shoes and handbags on the internet and bore the daylights out of me with the constant letdowns that the book presented. Every time you thought something might happen in this book, it didn't. Every opportunity the author had to create an interesting twist or make you identify with the main character a little bit more, she bypassed it. I was so irritated with the main character and her whining, bumbling, unchanging personality, that by the time I reached the last page I wanted to throttle her with everything I had. And this is a character I was supposed to sympathize with? No cigar.
And at the end (I'm not afraid to ruin it, because I'm not recommending the book), all she has left to show for a year of neglecting her friends, family, any kind of peace of mind or normal life she might have had and being a slave to this demanding megalomaniac of a woman the entire time, is masses of couture and beautiful Louis Vuitton luggage. And you know what the dumbass did? She sold it all! ALL OF IT. If I ever had the opportunity to amass a fortune of expensive clothes and shoes and luggage FOR FREE (as she did in the book by working at the fashion magazine), I wouldn't sell a single thing that I liked until I'd spent my last penny and I was about to be living on the street. Then, and only then, would I give up all that stuff. But then, I guess I'm kind of materialistic when it comes to clothes and shoes. And that luggage! At least if I could have related to her and liked her throughout the book, maybe I could have seen her renouncement of all that stuff as a somewhat humble and meaningful act of selflessness, but I just saw it as one more stupid move on her part after a series of annoying antics and scenarios that played out through the book. One message to the writer: Lauren, you're not funny. And until you get really, really witty and entertaining, don't write another book that possesses no plot whatsoever. If you're going to write a book with with no plot, at least wait until you learn to write with some depth and intensity or you wake up one day and find out that you have suddenly been bestowed with a fabulous sense of humor. Neither of which is very likely to happen.
I shouldn't be criticizing because nobody is buying millions of copies of my book, which I still have not written, but all the same, as a reader who started the book with a completely open mind and even a bit of excitement, I can honestly say that it was no damn good.
Friday night and I am home all alone. Imagine that. (Calling all serial killers...Yikes! hahaaa!) I was supposed to go out with Ive after I got home from the chiropractor. When I got home there was a message from her. When I called her back she told me vic got in trouble at school today. She says he's been getting straight A's since school started, but when he's bored he chats with the other kids and talks back to the teacher. She said she needed to come up with a proper consequence to administer. I suggested the usual things, make him write standards or go to bed really early or hold a book above his head for ten minutes. Ouch. That hurts. She didn't want to leave the kids with her mother. So maybe we'll go out tomorow night. It's been several weeks since we've hung out.
So that's what I'm doing. Spending my night at the computer. Reading blogs and listening to my station. The current selection is "Beat on the Brat" ... Beat on the brat with a baseball bat...Oh yah oh yah oh oh! Oh yah, oh yah oh oh! What can you do? What can you do? With a brat like that, no it's not your fault, what can you lose? What can you do? What can you do?
When I was a little kid my dad used to wake us up on the weekends by putting on records and cranking the stereo. I remember loving that. Waking up to the Ramones or Donovan or the Circle Jerks or whatever kickass band he happened to be into at the time. Waking from a dream with music filling in every corner & crevace of the house and the sound of my dad singing or whistling along to the tunes was the best way to open my eyes to a beautiful morning in santa monica. He is really good at sounding just like Joey Ramone. I totally equate the two. Joey was a saint. The world has been deprived by the loss of him.
NEWSFLASH! Operation Ivy just came on to my Launchcast for the first time since I started it almost a year ago. I rated it back then and it never, ever played. That makes me so happy! I am in a music mood right now. (When am I not, you ask? well...um, never.) Now the Pretenders are playing. Chrissie Hynde is a fucking goddess!!! My radio station is better than sex. But you can forget about it, I'm not giving up either one. Oh don't tell me I've had too much wine. I'm not even halfway through my second glass, man!
I still haven't completely unpacked from my trip. I hung up all my work clothes and threw my shoes in the closet, but other than that I still have two suitcases sitting in the spare room, each half full of clothes and purses. I have laundry to do and mail to deal with and all kinds of things that I brought back from my trip that I don't know what to do with since there are so few actual surfaces in my house. That's a problem. One that's going to get fixin real soon.
I just washed the dishes last night and there are already ten glasses in the sink. How is that physically possible? Hm. My cats are terrorizing eachother, I can't decide whether to go and read my book, watch tv (that should be an easy choice), read blogs, look at shit on ebay that I don't really need, but that looks fun, or write while listening to a favorite cd. Hmmm. I guess I just feel like sitting here and blogging about my messy apartment and the things that I could be doing instead of talking about it.
I am reading this book that a friend gave me yesterday for my b-day called "The Devil Wears Prada." ("A delightfully dishy novel about the all-time most impossible boss in the history of impossible bosses.") It's kind of funny. I don't know. It's almost annoying. It's a little tooo "delightfully dishy" for me. A bit much with the superficial fashion bullshit and too New Yorkey with all of its name and location dropping. Anyway, it' has got me hooked on wanting to know what the hell is going to happen in this silly book, so I guess the author definitely achieved that objective. After reading the first thirty pages I had to get on JimmyChoo.com so that I could indulge a ridiculous, shallow fantasy of one day owning such a pair of shoes, priced between five hundred and twelve hundred dollars a pop. I sort of detest the entire idea of yearning for such useless things as an extremely expensive pair of shoes, when a less expensive pair would serve me just as well and probably hurt a lot less, but I still can't help from sometimes thinking it would be a good pain, because they would look so fucking hot.
The book is about a girl about my age, little younger (since I'm getting old and crotchety now) who is fulfilling her dream of living in New York and working at a Magazine. Only problem is that she wanted to work at the New Yorker as a junior editor and instead landed a job at a high end fashion magazine working for some psycho bitch from hell with a bunch of boney assed model chicks in expensive slutty clothes. I worked for a horrible lady once in the clothing industry. She was a wretch. But this girl is even more of a slave than I was back then. I used to love fashion magazines when I was younger, but then I realized what a bunch of shit they are and that they're bad for your mind and your self esteem. It's kind of fun to read a book about the inside world of those who create such paper waste as Runway Magazine, as it's called in the book.
Reading is starting to sound good. cya.
I was on vacation in Oregon for two weeks and (obviously) didn't blog the entire time. So much good stuff has happened, but I just have to start where I am because there's too much to recount.
Today is my birthday. I turn twenty-five flinkin years old today. As Marilyn Monroe once said in How to Marry a Millionaire: "I'm twenty-five, quarter of a century...it makes a girl think..."
I had an excellent dinner with Robert at a restaurant here in Bay Ridge called "The Pearl Room." The food, drinks and service were excellent, but there was a table very nearby full of loud, drunk Italian women, who made it pretty clear that they had no regard for the other people dining in the restaurant. They were told not only by the waitstaff, but also by other patrons to please keep the noise level down as the waiters could not even hear the orders they were taking and customers could not hear eachother talking over the racket of these squawking yentas. It was that bad. I couldn't hear myself think. Robert doesn't even let himself be bothered by those things most of the time, and even he was highly irritated by the disturbance they were causing with their yelling and screaming. We are talking about a nice, expensive, candlelit restaurant. Not a bar, where that type of thing would be perfectly acceptable.
So finally, near the end of our meal, the owner of the restaurant approaches them and asks quietly once more that they please keep it down as other diners are complaining. One of the ladies says in a profoundly abrasive tone: "What's your name?" He tells her, trying still to be discreet. She says "we have, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, EIGHT people here. What is your problem?" He says "I am just asking that you lower your voices a tiny bit so that the other customers can enjoy their meals." One of the nasty women says "hey, you know what, shut up, shut up and bring us our check." He says "don't tell me to shut up. I am asking you to keep it down." Another nasty lady stands up from her seat and says "Fuck you!" to the owner of this nice restaurant! Then she says "who has a problem here?" and looks around the room at us and the other customers. I said "I do." Robert said "I do." Another group of people near us said "We do." She then pointed her finger and said "FUCK - YOU." She must have been drunk I think because she was irate in front of the whole restaurant and all of the waitstaff was standing off to the side in the shadows watching, and everyone was staring and it was like watching a show at the theatre. It was really insane and quite hilarious.
Robert and I walked home in the pouring rain and bought a bottle of wine on the way. He brought me a huge, gourgeous bouquet of flowers earlier which I put in a big vase as soon as I got home. I had a perfect birthday, even with the hollering shrew at the restaurant. I received lots of great gifts and auspicious greetings. So all in all it was a happy day and a happy couple of weeks with my family and friends back home, where I enjoyed the nature and beauty around me with the people I love the most.