Tim Robbins is a Tool.

Seriously. 

It’s as if he thinks we don’t get him. 

Behind those beady little eyes lies the mind of a publicity obsessed man whore. 

His latest stunt happened at the National Association of Broadcasters Show.  Because you know - he hasn’t inserted himself in the news for awhile – so what better place to do it.  Guaranteed coverage.  I have to hand it to Mr. Robbins: he does know how to trick the feeble minded news feeders.  His contract had a “no filming” clause.  But that only lasted for a brief respite as he allowed the cameras to eventually film. 

Of course.  Way to be counter – culture, Tim.  Way to stick it to the man and not allow filming at a Broadcasters Show. 

Oh wait…  Never mind…

Some gems from his drunken rant speech:

Mr. Robbins wants the media to “lift us up” into  “a more enlightened age”. 

I’m sure the “enlightened age” he doth speak of includes more exclusive interviews!  of Tim’s own political leanings – his daily (and deep!) thoughts on government, politics, movies, and Susan Sarandons’ bewbies.

You see, when you use the media as Tim has to further his own agenda, you have zero credibility to turn and bite said hand. 

I, for one - could not agree more with the assertion that I have heard enough about Paris Hiltons’ panty dropping antics - but I balk at the idea that Tim has any right to criticize a media that he himself has profited from. 

The sole reason his face is blasted at us everytime he feels a protest coming on:  the media loves him.  Why?

Because…

He is an actor, mainly known from “Bull Durham” and “The Shawshank Redemption”.  Both movies in which he read from the lines he was given and emoted.

Let me repeat: HE. READ. FROM. SHEETS. OF. PAPER.   and:  CRIED. ON. CUE.

What a hero.  

He is a glorified telemarketer.  With a stylist and better PR.

So he has a forum for every waking thought, should he choose to lower himself down to the teeming masses and share his nuggets of wisdom.  Through the media.  The very same establishment he criticizes for catering to the whims of us dirty, dirty, stinking peasants.

I realize Tim has a dim view of the general public, what with our “prurient and salacious desires”.  However, what Tim has failed to grasp is this:  The reason these news stories about the fucked up lives of celebrities are well read is that:

WE LIKE LAUGHING AT YOU. 

The golden age of Hollywood is over. 

Get a grip, Tim. 

 

A Change in Venue

I have a confession to make. 

I used to blog on Myspace. 

 

 

I know, I know.  What a tit.

The thing about Myspace:  it’s distracting.   It’s shiny.  And it’s great for short attention spans.  Me likey.  

But the blogging community on Myspace – it’s the public high school of blogging.  It’s easy to get caught up in all the bickering, drama, tear jerking farewells, general jackassery, and friend collecting that goes on. 

Me?  Well… there are only a few personalities I like on Myspace.  I tend to ignore most.  But it’s getting harder to do with the “LOOK AT ME, OH GOD PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO ME” stunts.   Some people spend so much time on Myspace their ass has fused to their chair; their comments are littered across the site like Cheeto bags in Britney Spears’  house.

I admit - the train wrecks are spectacular.  I can’t look away.  I. MUST. READ. 

And mock and ridicule.  Of course. 

Lately though, my mocking and ridiculing has been done in the privacy of my own home.   I’m tired of the three ring circus.  It’s overplayed. 

Stick a fork in me.  I’m done.

So here I am.  

Hello, wider world.

 

A Change Will Do You Good

Hello!  I made it.  I’m now living in Ireland.  It was months in the planning, and there were several things I could have planned better, but I’m here.  I like it… but there are several things this spoiled American (that would be ME) have noticed:

 

 

1.  The streets ARE smaller

2.  There is no way in HELL I’m driving over here.  WTF about roundabouts?  I have no clue.

3.  I was warned me about crossing the streets – you have to look the other way here ’cause they drive on a different side.  They were right.  I don’t even look. I get all confused.  I just wait until Chris starts to cross and then I follow.  I hope he never gets suicidal.

4.   It DOES rain.  A lot.

5.   The people are thinner.  Don’t get me wrong – there are some chubbos here, too.  Just not American style chubbo.  They’re not on scooters in the stores honking at you to “git outta way, girly”.

6.   I can’t seem to flush a toilet properly here.  I don’t know why.

7.   What’s with the 1900’s style taps on the sink?  I have to mix hot and cold in the basin?  …. I’m american.  We’re lazy.  We like our appliances and fixtures to do our work for us.

8.   There’s no coffee mate creme brulee creamer here.  Dammit.

9.   Vanilla coffee apparently hasn’t caught on.  I’m working on it.

10.  I miss walk - in closets.

11.  I miss fountain diet cokes with lots of ice.

12.   Euros feel like monopoly money.  They look like it too.  And the denominations are all different sizes.  Strange.

13.  I couldn’t understand what half the people in Dublin were saying.  Their accents were too thick.  I just smiled and nodded my head.  (Come to think of it - I should just do that anyway.  Saves me a lot of hassle.)

14.   The BBC apparently thinks the Republic of Ireland is a vast wasteland – when they’re showing the weather, they show Northern Ireland, but there’s nothing where the Republic is.  Although I really don’t need to watch the weather.  It’s going to rain.

15.  I shouldn’t bother doing my hair.  It’s gonna be wild from the wind anyway.

16.  I should have bought that perfume duty free in the airport.

17.  The spire in Dublin amuses me.

18.  The US postal service is awesome.  I mailed 4 boxes of clothing the day I left – and they arrived 2 and a half business days later.  Now I just need to figure out what to do with them.

19.  The bottom of my jeans are always going to be wet from the sidewalks. (Pavements) Yes, I know it’s because I walk on them.  Shut up, Chris.

20.  I need to work for a bank over here.  Their hours are sweet.

 

But for everything I miss, there are 10 things I like better.  I’m really glad I made this move and it was worth all the planning and preparation.  I miss you all and I will be in touch. 

Addiction

Just reposting an older blog from my deleted profile -   I wrote this in July of 2007.

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I read today Lindsay Lohan was arrested again. I now officially, for the record, feel sorry for her. Addiction is a terrible thing. I should know. I lived with it for 10 years.

The hardest thing I’ve had to deal with in my life is whether I continued in a relationship with an addict. I chose to stay. I almost left but backed out at the last moment. I knew the heartache that would follow. I knew there’d be many times I’d question why I chose to stay. I knew people would think I’m a fool. I knew.

Right now, I’m watching my addict waste away due to cirrhosis of the liver complicated by crohns disease. He is 6 feet tall and now weighs 85 pounds.

We had many fights. The hardest thing about fighting with someone under the influence is this: you’ll remember every word. They won’t. They won’t remember the argument while everything said is ringing in your ears. I’ve been chased down by him holding a knife. I hid in the bedroom that night until he passed out. Those memories I will always have. He doesn’t remember and I don’t remind him. I made my choice.

I’m a stronger person now. I know I’m loyal. I like that about myself. I’ve been to the hospital and emergency room and doctors office with him so many times I could just vomit when I see M.D. anywhere. (And sadly for me, those are my initials… ) I can hook up TPN, handle all the household issues, comfort him when he’s scared about dying, work all day, push him around in a wheelchair while pretending he’s in a racecar to make him laugh and still look at him and remember what it was that made me stay. I don’t know how long he is for this world. Looking at him now, I don’t think it’s long. All I know is I’m glad we met. I’m a better person with him.

Watching someone die is horrific, especially if death comes slowly in bits and pieces. I hear him moan in pain. I watch him cry. Helplessness is the worst feeling in the world. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t make it go away. I can only watch. I wake up in the middle of the night and check to see if he’s still breathing, check to see if he’s still alive. I don’t know what I’ll do when it’s over. I know I’ll be relieved for him, his suffering is done. Mine will continue.

I want this to be as easy for him as I can make it. I smile and pretend everything’s alright. I don’t let him know how emaciated he looks. I don’t share the heartache I have when I look at him. I smile. That smile eats at me. I want his days to be as pleasant as I can make them. If these are his last, I want him to be as carefree as possible. Most of the time I feel as if I’m going to break apart in a thousand pieces. I want to hide. I want it to be over. Then I hear him laugh at something and I pick myself up. I put one foot in front of the other. And smile. It’s all for him. My time is later. It’s his time now.

I’ve read where people don’t understand why Lindsay Lohan didn’t quit drinking and using drugs having gone to rehab twice this year. The answer is simple. Lindsay didn’t want to quit. You can’t force someone to drop an addiction. It doesn’t work that way. That person is under the grips of something that takes their sanity, their sense away. All the threats, promises, taunts and bullying you can dish out won’t matter. All you can do is to decide this: Do you love them enough to stand by them and watch them hurt themselves, hurt you, waste their potential, waste away, and still be there to pick up the pieces? I know I can. I’ve learned love is not always wonderful with flowers and candy and jewelry and kisses. Love is hard. Love can be dark. Love is seeing them break apart while you stand by waiting for the crash to happen. And knowing the whole time it will hurt you and cost you everything to watch and there’s nothing you can do but wait for the moment you’re needed. I did. I love him. I always will.

I hope Lindsay has someone in her life like that. I hope everyone does.

For Steve

 

“Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service”

William Shakespeare “The Tempest”

Steven David

12/26/1966 to 10/15/2007

 

The very first moment I saw you, I felt drawn to you. You walked up to the desk where I worked and leaned over, wearing that tie that had flying pigs on it. I looked at you and knew there was something there. I had never felt that before. I know you remember how I harassed you in those first few months. I would have followed you to the ends of the earth.

I was so selfish then. I don’t even recognize that girl anymore. She left long ago, thanks to you. A lot of the things I said and did then I am completely ashamed about. You were such a good man and I took advantage of that. But I could never leave you. I couldn’t do it, and you know I tried. I was yours.

I remember all the good times. The silly things you used to do. Remember when you’d drive around with that face, the one where it looked like you were trying to eat a huge, invisible hamburger? The looks you’d get, we’d laugh so hard. Or the time you drove around on Cinco de Mayo in that huge sombrero and yelled out “Ole!” at all the passing cars. How you imitated my laugh, that never failed to make me giggle. Or our private joke when we were watching a show or movie and something would happen, I’d say “THE PLOT THICKENS!” and you’d pretend you were stirring a large pot. The strange dance you used to do. How I could tell everytime you went in the kitchen, every cabinet door would be open after you left. How you used to coo like a dove. Your monkey sounds. Your monkey dance. Your totally geeky hand gesture when you’d say “You’re IN!”. Driving back from Arizona with no radio, you made up songs and sang to me all the way back. Birka time with the cats. Your silly walk. How you could recite scenes from any Monty Python movie. Your pretend dive into the bathtub. Those things keep coming back to me, stopping me in my tracks. I’m sure more will surface, things I’d forgotten and have now lost forever.

Your alcoholism tore me apart. I still remember the feeling I got when I woke up or came home from work and found you drinking. My stomach would drop to my feet. Occasionally when you stopped drinking, I saw what a real relationship between the two of us would be like. I wished there were more of that.

When I first learned you had cirrhosis, I read everything I could find out about it. I saw the life expectancy. I knew my time with you was drawing to a close. I hoped it would be painless and peaceful for you. It wasn’t. I had no problems taking care of you. The only thing that bothered me was you could not do anything for yourself at the end. I had no problem lifting you up, moving you around, or bringing you anything.

The day you died, you weren’t there. Your eyes wouldn’t focus on anything, they were far away. You moaned a lot, and I hope with all my heart that was a reaction and not pain you were in. I heard the rattle in your chest early that day and I knew you were going soon. That night, I laid down beside you and slept for awhile. When I woke up, the rattle was loud. I lit candles in the room and put on music I knew would soothe you. I left the room for a bit and when I came back, you were gasping for breath. I sat beside you on the bed and held your hand. You looked over at me and you saw me. It looked like maybe you were trying to say something. You couldn’t. Then you died.

I couldn’t be in the house when they took you away a few hours later. I didn’t want to see you covered in a sheet. I didn’t want that memory. The memories I have of the last year of your life, watching you suffer are hard enough.

It was hard making your funeral arrangements. I wish I’d looked into it sooner. I hope you approve of the white lilies. I hope you like the music I picked. I will never be able to smell a white lily anymore. I will never be able to listen to “Adagio for Strings” either.

You looked good at the viewing, everyone said so and I agree. I thought that would be the hardest since you were cremated before the funeral. I would see you again at the viewing. But it wasn’t. I could hardly stand to be at the funeral. I wanted to leave. You know me and my fear of showing any emotion.

I want to see you again, I want to talk to you. I feel your presence at times. I wish you could speak to me. I wish I could see you again. I hope you’re at peace now. I hope you approve of the choices I’m making. I’m trying to pick myself up. I can’t wait for the day we meet again. I love you.