Alex raises a question in the comments of an old thread: If Don Imus had referred to the Rutgers baseball players as lesbians rather than prostitutes, would the outcome today be different? Hmm.
“Nappy-headed dykes,” say, or (more likely) “tattooed dykes.” I don’t wish to be a cynic. But if I think his insult had been seasoned differently, had been about sexual identity — which all good Americans know is entirely a choice, something you pick out in a store like a pair of Levi’s — rather than race, Imus would be interviewing Frank Rich as we speak and we wouldn’t be looking at his Andy Rooney eyebrows in the newspaper today.
Since this topic is now so played it’s like discussing the weather (STILL TOO COLD), maybe we could take it away in that direction. Or maybe you’re as sick of hearing about it as I am.
Me, I went shopping yesterday. Nickel-and-dimed my discretionary spending away on things like foot cream and a misting fountain for Kate’s room (long story boiled short: she loves it). But I counted myself victorious, because I went to the Container Store and only bought two 99-cent plastic squeeze bottles and a marked-down iPod case. As soon as I walked through the doors I knew I was at high risk to produce a credit card and start making sweeping arm motions at entire aisles. The place is like a porn store for women, dangling the fantasy that we all hold in our heads — that somehow, somewhere, with the right filing system and a lot of clear plastic boxes, you can find a place for everything and put everything in its place.
Years ago, my sister bought a SimpleHuman trash can. It cost something like $130, which may strike you as insane (it did me, at the time), but everyone who experiences the marvel of this trash can is entirely sold on its clean design and smooth operation, then goes out and buys one. Yesterday I saw the logical upgrade — a $199 electronic model that raises its lid when you stick your foot in the sensor zone at its base.
No, I didn’t buy it. But I drooled. Afterward I came to my senses, the way a man who 20 minutes ago was thinking, “Hmm, yeah, Jenna Jameson might make a nice life partner for a guy like me” might wake up and say, “Um, maybe not.”
Visual joke: For sale at the checkout of the $199 trash can store? Copies of Real Simple magazine, pitched at the person vexed by owning too much stuff.
OK, we’re back on the road today. No. 1 on today’s to-do list: Find a babysitter. Because guess what snuck up on me? Tonight is Iggy at the Fox in Detroit. If necessary, Kate can sit in the car.