The world must be having as boring of a week as I am. I couldn’t help but notice the random topics of discussion in the NYTimes over the past few days.
– Rich upper class citizens across the world (not just the material girl of America) are finding new and exciting ways to spice up their already flaming lives and “get away from it all” (I know how you feel; sometimes I just feel like my bulging bank account weights heavy on my spirit too) by commissioning treehouse architects to build their childhood dream full scale. I would advise these people’s shrinks to discuss childhood trama and their moms not loving them enough.
– Don’t judge a book by its cover. Judge a gay man by his car.
– It seems the Health and Science writers have finally gotten laid, because they have spent the last 3 days pulling apart that which is the mystery of love, desire, and sex after 40. Don’t get too hot and heavy, they have a very unsexy way of going about this complex path to understanding. Lest we forget that these are still science geeks, which brings up the fact that it has been this long since they last experienced that post-coital cuddle. From desire being in the genes (not trashy romance novels like we previously followed) to the inevitable and strong search party that tries, unrested, to find the female equivalent to those baby blues, and some dating show that goes on in your head called the flaw-o-matic and how dating services are serving to improve this cerebral entertainment and perhaps hiring Sally Fields as the new host. Responses to MLK Jr.’s flirting tactics and turning Menopause: The Musical into your center stage with your mojo as the lead continue to fill my mind with thoughts of how my DNA seems to be getting all the action. Still, it continues to tear apart the beautiful mystery of a gentle caress; a study on if middle aged people can accurately describe those butterflies in their stomach. Even Tom Cruise and his pose of scientologists are getting in on the action.
– A recipe for “Supernatural Brownies” except it seems the writer forgot to include the name of his dealer…..
– This last topic of Nelly Furtado isn’t from the Times, but from my own observations. It was a sad moment in Cleveland radio yesterday when I heard N.Furt’s old song during her one-hit-wonder times before being pulling into the Timbaland/JT pop-o-sphere. “Turn off the Lights”. As I listened, I reminisced about driving home from school senior year of high school with the windows down and music turned up, thinking only of my public school bad boy boyfriend (who now has a 3 year old son. Go figure) and the football game that weekend. The DJ must have been having the same Saved by the Bell flashbacks as me (it was a college station) as he said “how weird it is to hear and oldie like that” Oldie. Sigh. Nelly is at the top of her game, yet she already has a song that is considered, not yesterdays news, but a relic for college students. This is how quickly the pop curcuit moves, whether your on it or not. Nelly, after falling off the train momentarily and reinventing herself (don’t get me started on that term) as a promiscuous girl, is now an artist that’s talent is celebrated over 5 whole years. Such talent!