Weirdly enough, two things happened at once that thrust me backwards in time. The first was that a long lost friend/unrequited love turned up on Facebook. This is a guy that I thought, at the time, I had no desire to date. But when I remembered it back after all of these years what I see more than that is how afraid I was of someone with strong, sincere feelings like that. But boy, did he kind of stick with me over the years in an odd way. So now he’s on Facebook. That is the strangest thing about Facebook, well — maybe it’s number 515 when it comes to weird things about Facebook.

The second thing that happened was an encounter at the Federal building with a total stranger also made me think of this person. We exchanged smiles briefly. He stood behind me and said my last name was the same as his mother’s maiden name. But, though I thought he was cute and all, something stopped me from engaging in conversation with him. What was it? Fear? Lack of interest in jumping on that roller coaster ride of a relationship? Whatever it was it was a strange, unsettling encounter with someone who seemed very familiar to me. Since I spend so much time online now I forget that there are other ways of meeting people.

And finally, on a nightly jog, this haunting song came over my headphones and it once again thrust me back. I think we’ve all been the girl in this song one time or another. I dare say we’ve also been the guy. When I’ve been the guy, it hurts like hell. When I’ve been the girl I often look back with a fair amount of regret. It’s like a mournful puzzle that never gets put together. A maybe beautiful one, in its perfection and impossibility.

When I hear this song it floods my brain with my recorded memories of being a much younger woman. It recalls lazy summer afternoons spent up at the creek smoking pot and skinny dipping. It recalls occasional trips to Dodgers Stadium, too few and far between, and all of the romance that goes with boys and baseball, or baseball at all.

And as my daughter and I get ready to flee this city and head for the South of France, to Cannes, this is probably the song that remind me of today. Right here, right now.

Two new movies about Facebook are coming out, or have come out, right about now. One is Catfish, and the other is The Social Network. The latter is, I think, probably going to be turn out to be 2010′s one true masterpiece to rule them all. Not sure. Inception is right up there too. And there are other great films 2010 has produced, like Blue Valentine, Another Year, Inside Job, etc.

But Social Network and Catfish involve real people. Catfish is a big pill to swallow that these filmmaker dudes actually had some faux online relationship with this woman pretending to be three different people. Well, the weird thing is that if you search for the woman’s name, Angela Wesselman-Pierce you will find a great many websites out there but most, if not all, have been removed. She has been scrubbed almost completely from the net. This is very bizarre. I don’t know how she managed to erase her paper trail but she did.

The even weirder thing is that her name will pop up as a cast member for the film Catfish. She supposedly was cooperating with them (money involved?) but has since pulled her name and is suing them. I don’t even have all of the facts. All I was trying to do was a little internet stalking.

I don’t really believe these dudes didn’t know what they were walking into. It all seems very staged to me.

And a Zuckerberg stalking DOES turn up interesting info. Like William Randolph Hearst, the Zuck in The Social Network is not the real dude. But it’s still fascinating to internet stalk him for buried info. WAY TOO FUN.

Angela Pierce or Wesselman-pierce has all sorts of weird blogs she started and they’re by invite only, like http://www.incrediblyordinary.com/

Here is her flickr photo stream –

http://www.flickr.com/photos/40483951@N02/

And her painterly website:

http://www.artbyapierce.com/

It says this on her painterly website:

About Me
I’m a Mom.
I like to paint, take photos and write.
I like Blue Cheese salad dressing.
I thank God for giving me the talents I have and for giving me the strength to overcome the challenges in my life.
I hope you enjoy viewing my work as much as I enjoyed creating it.

Full disclosure admission: I have been listening to Dr. Laura off and on for many years. Many many years. Even though I am one of the “bad people,” according to her code of ethics: single parent, not married, had baby out of wedlock. I did stay home to raise my kid so in that way she would approve of my lifestyle. I’m a bleeding heart liberal but I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t get much from Dr. Laura’s show over the years. I just tuned out the political stuff or anything I disagreed with. I found much of what she said valuable. And beyond that, it was occasionally entertaining not just to listen to her berate callers (why did they call her if they knew she would tell them what they didn’t want to hear?) but to hear people who were far worse off than I have been.

But I think her decision to leave radio now is a good one. She didn’t so much cross a line by saying the ‘n’ word. She crossed the line when she said that there had never been so much racist talk until Obama (a black President) landed in the White (WHITE) House. That was both unpatriotic of her, a faithful patriot, and it was so far off the loony tunes charts that I myself had decided I couldn’t listen to her anymore. Of course, where Dr. Laura is concerned I can have my convictions, “how could she have said that!” and then find myself tuning in one day when I feel like I need to hear some talking therapy. Or a good laugh, or some voyeuristic thrill.

The thing is, I know Dr. Laura isn’t a racist. Nor did she mean to use the word in an insulting manner. She is someone who says whatever she thinks and she’s been making a lot of money off it for years. The problem is that things are heated now and people are taking sides. We all seem to be gearing up for an epic, and yes, maybe violent battle. It was one thing electing a black president. But it wasn’t all that long ago that whites didn’t even allow blacks to drink out of the same drinking fountain nor attend the same college. Things are wiggy everywhere because of it. Anyone who pretends they aren’t is simply living with their head in the sand.

Thus, you can’t really start fanning those flames right now. There is still a lot of anger from the black community about the way they have been treated since, oh, forever here in America. We whites still have a lot to answer for. I don’t know much about anyfing, but I do know that Dr. Laura was saying stuff she shouldn’t have said and that quitting radio IS the right thing for her to do anyway. The time has come.

So goodbye, Dr. Laura and goodbye Oprah. In the same year!

But I want to leave you with this piece written by Lincoln Mitchell for the HuffPo, which I think puts it all quite well. Yeah, what HE said.

Radio personality Dr. Laura Schlessinger’s recent racially tinged comments are in some respects, just another offensive reactionary rant at a time when radio talk shows seem more filled with hate and vitriol than ever before. However, these remarks, which were in response to an African American caller who was upset about racist remarks made by her white husband and his family, also offer some insight into how race and racism is understood today when for the first time in history the president is African American.

While Dr. Laura’s comments are initially most shocking because of the frequency with which she used the N-Word as well as apparent pleasure she seemed to be experiencing by saying it, some of her comments were more disturbing. Moreover, these comments should not be dismissed too quickly as the rantings of just one radio host because they reflect a great deal about contemporary understandings of race.

Before Dr. Laura ever pronounced the N-Word on her show she asked the caller to “give an example of a racist comment”. She asked for this not to understand the story better or to empathize with the caller but because, according to Dr. Laura “some people are hypersensitive”. This is important because it reflects an approach to racism that burdens the victim even more. Dr. Laura’s approach, which unfortunately is not hers alone, suggests that if an African American person is experiencing racism, the appropriate response is not concern, but suspicion.

A few seconds later Schlessinger made a comment that is both baffling and disturbing, as well as something of a non-sequiter: “Without giving much thought, a lot of blacks voted for Obama simply because he was half black…It was a black thing.” This was Dr. Laura’s response to the caller being upset that white guests in her home seem obsessed with talking about what African Americans do and like. Leaving aside Schlessinger’s use of the phrase “half black”, a strange phrase to use in a country where apartheid was always enforced based on the one drop rule, the comment bears closer scrutiny.

Many casual listeners would agree with the good doctor’s assertions as Obama did very well with African American voters who, according to a racist way of thinking, couldn’t possibly have voted for Obama based on his positions on the issues. The data, however, suggests that Obama’s African American support was based on more than racial affinity. African American voters cast 95% of their votes for Obama, but this was consistent with the support African Americans generally give to Democratic candidates, regardless of race. It was only a slight uptick from the 88% they cast for John Kerry in 2004 or the 90% they cast for Al Gore in 2000. The reason why African American support for Obama is relevant to a question about enduring racism in your own home is not clear, but the association between the two in the mind of Dr. Laura suggests her resentment runs pretty deep.

After these comments, Schlessinger noted that African Americans use the N-Word but that it is not all right for white people to use that same word. This may seem, in Schlessinger’s words “very confusing”, but to genuinely be confused by this one would have to have absolutely no understanding of context, intent, narrative or any of the other concepts that undergird human communication. Even without an understanding of any of that, a simpler notion that you shouldn’t call people names they have made clear they don’t like seemed to elude Schlessinger as well.

For many people, noting that the election of Barack Obama does not mean that racism is a thing of the past is so obvious that it borders on being pedantic. Dr. Laura’s comment after her burst of using the N-Word, “we’ve got a black man as president and we’ve got more complaining about racism than ever. I think that’s hilarious”, indicates that this may not be so obvious for everybody. It cannot escape notice that the caller, seeking help for a difficult personal situation focused on specific incidents that have occurred in her home and the homes of her friends and family. The caller is obviously not the first person to have encountered racism of this kind. Dr. Laura, however, on two separate occasions in a brief conversation brings the discussion back to our African American president. The question the caller raised was personal, not political, but Schlessinger seemed to have a hard time keeping her distaste and resentment for the president under wraps. Given that her comments about President Obama are bracketed by liberal use of the N-Word, it is difficult to conclude that there is not a racial component to this.

Dr. Laura’s later half apologized for her use of the N-Word, expressing regret for “losing the point I was trying to make.” However, Schlessinger made her point all too clearly, touching on all the major talking points of the new racism: the real problem is that African Americans are over-sensitive; knowing whether or not it is okay to use the N-Word is “very confusing”; and African Americans should stop complaining because the President, for whom they mindlessly voted is African American.

I don’t get the whole mommy blogging thing very well. One thing I noticed is that almost everyone wants to be a prototype, or a brand. They have to sell an identity – like a sitcom star, or a reality TV star. The brand they’re selling is often helpful and entertaining. They give back more than they take, which is why they’re making money. But every once in a while you can see behind the curtain. That’s what I love about this photo.

You don’t often see what it really must like a lot of time at the Drummond ranch in Oklahoma as Ree Drummond displays a fantasy life for her readers. It is all fantasy, with a smidge of reality thrown in here and there. I really don’t begrudge the fantasy – I just sometimes feel like a sucker for being pulled in, I will admit. I prefer hardcore truth in writing. But I also enjoy the fantasy. Why not, right?

There are a handful of super successful mom blog stars – The Pioneer Woman is one, and Dooce is the other. Both have engaging writing styles and enviable lives. I think Ree’s success is that she appeals to women who want what she has. And I think Dooce’s success is that people love to hate her. And she’s funny. Both take gorgeous pictures of their gorgeous children. Both offer up advice and funny stories. And both are like mega stars among other female and, in Ree’s case, foodie bloggers.

I get exhausted thinking about how hard they both must work. And it can’t be easy because we women love to hate on other women.

I find I read Ree less, but look at her pictures more (especially her cooking and interior design photos). I don’t much care for her photography contests because, though the photos are beautiful, they are too “professional” and generic looking for my taste. I find she almost picks the least interesting, but most accomplished photo. Oh, and it’s all too white bread – white people everywhere but for the occasional black person and latino who pops in. And, lest we forget, it is very conservative and Christian. If Ree ever started spouting off about politics the world would probably shift on its axis. Dooce, on the other hand, lets it fly. But Dooce is also holding back much of what her life really is. She must keep up the brand, like Ree must keep up the brand. So, even though their lives are evolving to fame and fortune — they try to pretend they are still just ordinary folks. To me that’s a house of cards.

Oh, and note how Ree Drummond is Pioneer Woman (and she gives code names for her children and husband, as if the whole world doesn’t already know who they are and where they live). And Dooce is Heather Armstrong. I guess to be successful as a mom blogger you have to have a code name. Did this all start with the Barefoot Contessa or what?

Last year, before my daughter moved to our old/new apartment (we switched from a tiny one bedroom to a two bedroom), we had a fantasy about living on the top floor of a duplex apartment down the road from where now live. It was out of our price range but so much the kind of place we’d wanted to live in. For one thing, we didn’t have to “be embarrassed” about where lived. This was squarely in a good neighborhood, an upper with lots of light and windows, a hard wood floor, a fireplace and a huge kitchen. Two tiny bedrooms.

My daughter saw the ivy crawling up the brick wall outside and fell in love. It had its own yard and a patio area. It was the kind of place in which you could build a container garden, for instance. It was the closest thing to a “home” that we had looked at. And it was a huge step-up from our current one bedroom (which I liked because of the view, even if I did sleep on a mat on the floor).

Well, in the end, we decided our dream place was too high. It was three hundred more dollars a month. I could have rationalized it away but I knew I had to be frugal. We’re just not at the level where we can bite out the ass of luxury, you know what I’m sayin’?

So we moved to a different apartment here in the same complex. Now we had two big bedrooms, two baths, a balcony, a dishwasher — hell, it was a relief if not for us but for our cats.

Best of all, though, it has serious security. Locked front door, locked garage. It takes two keys to get in here. The other place didn’t have that kind of security. It was an older building, very much exposed to the outside world. You could lock it but it wouldn’t be that hard to get in if you wanted to. Turns out, someone did that very thing a few weeks ago.

In the very same complex, one of the three little units we were planning to rent, had a home invasion murder. Now there are signs for a reward for the killer posted on every telephone pole up and down Riverside Drive.

Now, to get to our would-have-been unit, you’d have to enter a gate and then walk upstairs. I’m a fairly grotesque woman of 45 years, while this poor victim was a pretty young thing of 34. She was about to get married. She was planning her wedding dinner the night she was assaulted, murdered and then burned. But my daughter, well, my daughter looks about 16. What if I had gone out to the gym or the market and left her there? What if it had been HER?

Investigators say it appears a suspect killed Osmanhodzic before setting her body on fire in the bedroom of her home on the 11000 block of Riverside Dr. in Valley Village.

“She was an angel to us,” said Osmanhodzic’s friend Ivy Belisle at the vigil.”She was an amazing woman. We just want to bring her justice.”

Detectives say the victim’s fiancé told them he returned home Saturday after 7 p.m. from the grocery store and confronted a man inside. He then chased the suspect out of the home and down the street. The suspect got away. The fiancé returned to his home and found it on fire.

“The only thing that I heard that night when I was walking [my dog] at 10 o’clock was that it was just a small fire in this apartment complex,” said an unidentified neighbor.

Neighbors now know it was much more than a small fire. Osmanhodzic was found murdered inside. An autopsy was performed on Osmanhodzic, but police did not reveal the murder method, and the cause of the fire was not released. Police suspect she was killed before the fire was set.

Detectives believe the suspect is a 20-year-old Hispanic male, about 5 feet 8 inches tall, with a stocky build, weighing approximately 190 to 200 pounds. He fled the scene wearing black shorts, a blue shirt and a baseball cap turned backward with the letters “northern” in lowercase.

Her fiance had come home from the market just after the suspect left. He chased him but couldn’t catch him. Now they’re offering a $500,000 reward for this asshole who murdered this young bride-to-be who lived in the front house of this very cute apartment complex in Valley Village. It isn’t even an apartment complex. It is a cluster of lovely little cottages, each one almost like a real house.

My heart breaks for Chere Osmanhodzic and her fiance, Adam Culvey. It makes me enraged, actually. It makes me want to arm up. But I am grateful that we didn’t move in to that place.

I came across this story from New Scientist about what makes life worth living if you take away religion. From a brain perspective, there ought to be a good reason why a person feels like bothering with this life. It ain’t easy. It ain’t pretty. And it feels like it goes on forever. Beyond that, there is much suffering in life. I thought briefly about what it would feel like to have a son travel to Iraq and die in some useless, futile IED explosion. How would I go on living? Moreover, a recent memorial of the victims of the Oklahoma City bombing showed mothers who lost babies in that pseudo-patriotic, mind-numbingly senseless terrorist act.

As a sidenote, isn’t it ironic that we reacted to the terrorist bombings of 9/11 in quite a different way from Oklahoma City? Why didn’t our National Guard descend upon the psychos in America with their radical views of our government? Because we are a so-called free country. Free to bomb a Federal building for the very same reason our towers were bombed: to make a political statement. To take lives while doing so. And to either run and hide to continue fighting, or get caught and die by the state, as Timothy McVeigh pretended to foresee. In his taped confession he actually says to the victims’ families, “get over it.” He wouldn’t show fear when he was put to death by the state. He pretended he not only saw it coming but welcomed it: that was too easy of an out for that puny tyrant.

And then, last night, Frontline brings the report of the boys are used for sexual favors in Afghanistan. They are made to start when they are very young.

What about the Holocaust? What about Jim Jones? What about Charles Manson?

Without the explanation of God how could anyone make sense of any of it? But for me I always ask the question, WITH the explanation of God how could anyone make sense of it. I’m sure God is a perfectly nice Man who maybe gets jealous, perhaps bored on occasion – perhaps he’s texting while driving or sleeping through fire alarms. But it seems to me that God apologists have no trouble explaining away God’s lowly job performance of late. He works in mysterious ways. Oh, think of how much corporate criminals, corrupt politicians, and all around sleezoids could get away with if people let them follow God’s work study habits?

It isn’t God’s job to fix our lives – that is what religious people will tell you. He’s just there to pray to. And if you happen to win $1,000,000 you will say that God was looking out for you and when you survive a plane crash you thank God. If you win an award, He gets all of the credit. So I guess I’m wondering how it is that people can give God so much credit for the good stuff but then never hold Him accountable for the bad stuff? Like you know, the continued suffering of young boys in Afghanistan and children all over the world.

But I didn’t really want to talk about God. What makes life worth living, as Woody Allen ponders in the clip above. When he finally concludes that one of the things is Tracy’s face, one tends to wince at the idea of an old man loving a 17 year-old’s face and her loving his back — yes, it makes my skin crawl too but it is still a great movie. Still, if you take out the sex part, there are few things that make life worth living than the face of a child, especially your child.

One can bob around life with no purpose but I’ve always believed that our purpose is to help other people and animals and be parents. It’s really as simple as that. Everything else is ego-driven nonsense. Can you help people by writing great movies? Yes. Novels? Absolutely. Porn? For sure. Being an artist does contribute immeasurably to society. For me, though, it boils down to one thing — the people I love (not to get all Laura Dern in Jurassic Park on you).

These little creatures, my daughter and my niece’s eye sit on my computer and do Photo Booth whenever they get the chance. And the photos are always girl-silly. I love finding new ones on my computer that were taken when I was out of the room and they always remind me that youth is fleeting, that my love couldn’t be any stronger for these kids.

The New Scientist story talks about having and fulfilling goals as being a primary source of not killing oneself. Therefore, feeling purposeless would probably be a REASON TO kill oneself. Feeling purposeless, I think, leads down two paths. The first would be narcissism. As in, “I don’t really have a purpose so I will focus on myself only.” And the other path would be despair. As in, “I’m no good to anybody.”

For me, when I hit 25 thoughts of mortality kicked down the door and cornered me with terror. I am surprised that I emerged from that paralysis with ambition and goals intact. But it hit me: this is all temporary. I have a shelf life. I could not only die any minute.

One tries not to think about the worst ways to die but unfortunately, I do have a list and I’ve concluded that I could tolerate pain more than I could tolerate fear – thus, a plane crash or death-by-serial killer would come first (although I’m sort of out of the zone of serial killers now that I’m getting on in years). A long, slow illness where my kid would have suffer along with me and then be left without me is probably the worst of all. You see, at some point in life one stops worrying about one’s own death and starts worrying about the death of one’s child, and also how one’s own death WOULD impact that child.

So that rules out suicide. That just wipes it off the slate for me, which means that in itself, caring about the pain of one’s child, is a reason to endure.

So, the kid and kids in my life – from my sisters’ kids to my best friend’s kid to the kids I used to work with at an elementary school – they make life worth living and they are number one. But what about the other stuff? Let’s run it down for twenty, shall we?

2. Coffee. How shallow of me but it is really true. Some days coffee is the only thing I have to look forward to. It makes every minute of the morning pleasurable.
2. California. I know I could never live anywhere else. The blue sky, the wide sky, the general warmth – the sea, the mountains, the city — even the white trash zones, of which there are many, this is my home and I will live here for the rest of my (hopefully very long) life.
3. My effing iphone and my effing Macbook. Let’s just say all Apple products.
4. Cooking – the combination of flavors one can create – spending time in the kitchen, even though I really am a pretty terrible cook (getting better) is one of the joys I get out of life. I overcook things a lot. I overspice, I oversalt, I burn. But I love it.
5. Sex. I don’t do it anymore but I think it is one of the things that makes life worth living and certainly our human life. Humans have the best sex in the animal kingdom, you gotta admit. With a big brain comes a lot of responsibility.
6. Movies. The best ones I will watch over and over again. Even crappy ones I’ll watch over and over. I am just someone whose lived a life through movies. I grew up disappearing in them and I continue to disappear in them. My daughter began going to the movies with me when she was six months old (don’t worry – I timed it to her naps so that she wouldn’t disturb the other VERY LOUD ANYWAY moviegoers). So she loves movies too now and we often quote them back to each other. I can’t tell you the pride that goes along with THAT.
7. Stuff to know. There is still so much to know, so much to learn. And the more I find out, the more I want to know about science and history and art. To that end, podcasts of late have been invaluable. I’ve gotten into “Stuff You Missed in History Class” and “Stuff You Should Know.” I also listen to Fresh Air on NPR religiously. If I could I would go back to college and take all history classes. I wish I could. Go back to college.
8. Excitement for the future. I don’t know about you but one of my laments is that I can’t be alive 200 years from now, or 500 years from now to see where we humans end up. What will happen with stem cell research, and our obsession with the online world for communication. Where will we go from here? My daughter and I watched Sleeper the other day and in some ways I wish I could do that – wake up in the future just as I am now. Because I can’t it makes me want to live as long as I possibly can. I think of my grandmother who was born in 1907 and died in 1994. She saw so much progress in her lifetime. As one gets older one tends to appreciate the aged.
9. My best friend Clara. She is always there to talk to all of the time. And she always listens to my dumb problems. She, with her hands full of a hard life chats with me on a daily basis, gives me advice and makes life not only worth living but much more tolerable than it would otherwise be.
10. My kooky family. My two sisters, who are my best friends, my mother – who is determined and focused, which has made her successful. My moody and talented father. My handsome and rock solid brother, his son, my nephew. And all of our extended family whom are now readily available on Facebook. So that means Facebook gets in there.
11. The internets. Without the internets I wouldn’t have my daughter, nor would have as many great pals as I do. Nor would I have an income. Ahem.
12. Paris. PARIS. Paris.
13. Jon Stewart and the Daily Show. Of course. And you can add Bill Maher to that list.
14. Museums. Isn’t it cool that we make art and then put it in places to appreciate and admire it?
15. Tastys: French wine, cherry tomato marinara sauce, roasted garlic, creme brulee, Sharkey’s fish tacos, red licorice, summer peaches, organic blueberries, tomatoes on the vine, a well-cooked, organic steak, strawberry milkshake, crispy eel, fried calamari, plantains, Lorna Doones, Bolognesese ragu, the two best meals I’ve ever had in Florence ten years apart. Strawberry cream cake from Chinatown. Belgian white beer.
16. Blooming Jasmine, Gardenia, orange blossoms in the air. Sigh and swoon.
17. The icy cold water in Matilija Creek after a long summer hike uphill.
18. Music: Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Van Morrison, The Rolling Stones, the Beatles, The Who, PJ Harvey, the Counting Crows, Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson, Chrissie Hynde, Liz Phair, Sarah McLachlan, Tori Amos.
19. Feeling the ocean on one’s feet. Stepping into the ocean and tasting salt water. Staring at the waves and maybe catching site of a dolphin.
20. Being a mommy. Raising another person. Watching her grow.

I have a new weird obsession. Tiny houses. Did you know there was a whole movement of tiny house enthusiasts? They are even more than just enthusiasts – they are devoted followers. Most of them are environmentalists who believe it’s possible to live in a tiny house that has just the things one person would need to live. The key with the tiny houses is that they are small enough that they don’t need a permit to build them and so one can build them anywhere. Theoretically.

The Tiny House Blog, though, doesn’t highlight tiny houses (but it does have those) – it also has just cute little houses in unexpected places. Thing is, I love the little places. I’ve never been a person who craves a big house. I look at big houses and they look lonely to me.

I would make an exception for a chateau or a manor house — those are so cool it doesn’t matter how big they are. Maybe it’s because I grew up in California where there are so many giant homes with no real history to them.

Here is what the Tiny House Blog put up today — so damned cute:

Here are some more tiny houses I love:

Oh god. There are many aspects to celebrity culture that freak my shit out but none more than Heidi Montag. The first thing I ever knew about her was that I couldn’t stand her. It’s not even worth my time to explain why because my goal was to make it through a day of interneting without reading any story about her, the self-made fake celebrity that she is. But — after she did this to herself:

It became my business. Why? Because can you believe we live in a world where women spend lots of money and go under the knife to look like this? What could be more horrifying? Well, okay, so lots of things: child abuse, school bullying, mass murder, rape, torture, sending soldiers off to die for an unjust and pointless war. Yes, lots and lots of tragedies emerge every second of every day. Heidi Montag is not a tragedy, particularly, but she is an example of the hideous excess of our culture.

I mean, really? Nothing else to do with your life than have someone puff up your tits to look like balloon animals and then have someone carve out your face to give you a more genetically appealing look? Really? To what end, Heidi Montag? So that people will hire you to go stand in a bikini at their events? There isn’t a way this story could end happily.

I want to live in a world again where it is frowned upon to do oneself this way. It used to be so. Stripper, whore and pimp culture did not used to be so widely accepted. Stripper poles did not used to be an exercise regime.

Look, as you know from reading my stuff, you three people who do, I believe firmly that sex culture is a good thing, especially for men, but for women to. When you deny it, weird shit starts to happen. Ugly flowers bloom in unnatural gardens. But this. This. Is. Wrong. What Heidi Montag has done is sad. There is no other word for it.

This story has to be one of the saddest ever:

COPAKE, N.Y. – State police in New York say an upstate dairy farmer shot and killed 51 of his milk cows in his barn before turning the rifle on himself.

State police found the body of 59-year-old Dean Pierson in his Copake barn on Thursday. A visitor found a note Pierson had left on the barn door that said not to come in and to call police.

State police would only say that Pierson was having personal issues.

The Columbia County hamlet of Copake is about 115 miles north of New York City.

Local farmers buried the cows outside the barn Friday. They would not discuss Pierson or what had happened, but one of the men said these are hard times to be a farmer.

A gigantic asteroid silently flew past our planet, avoiding us by a mere 45,000 miles. The thing is, it was undetected. Why is it that no one seems to care about this. Most people just shrug and say, oh well. Nothing much we can do about it anyway. I even told my friend Clara that maybe we could prepare to hit it with one of our powerful nuclear warheads? “That’s only in the movies,” she responded. This is what happens when you ask a dumb question. Here I was, obsessing on Bernie Madoff (how could he have…how could anyone have…how could the SEC have…), and mildly meditating on a PBS documentary I saw last night on the guy who invented the labotomy. And all this time I could have been nurturing free-floating anxiety about the asteroid. It’s not like it’s never happened before.