Friday, January 09, 2004

First a jump to the left...and then a jump to the ri-i-ight.
Place your hands on your hips...and bring your knees in tight...

Not having anything profound to say this morning -- not that that has ever stopped me before -- I went trolling around the web for current event odds and ends. Fortunately, TinyTuna got her current events done early this week. First she did the story about the Michigan Quarter, which will be released at the end of January. Next it was the story about the 12-year old boy who rescued his baby sister from a house fire. TinyTuna managed a current events hat trick by telling about the closing of the movie theatres. What a little over-achiever.

She declined to take the story of the guy who survived a 3 ½” nail driven into his brain. When we saw the teaser on the news, she did a grand mal MPF. It was classic. Severe grossness aside, I decided it was a perfect Friday morning topic of blogginess. It really hit the nail on the head. Or is it, the head on the nail? (Ha Ha!)

So, I hitched up with my boyfriend to find a good link to the story with a nice yummy picture. Not to hammer my point home too strongly (Ha Ha Ha!), but if you have a weak constitution, I do not advise whispering words like nail, nail gun and/or skull into my boyfriend’s ear. The results are not pleasant. And yikes, there are a lot more nail gun accidents than I had ever imagined. NAIL-GUN FACE! (NGF!)

The best I could find was a picture HERE with a link to the video interview. It is amusing in it’s own sick way. The guy, you’ll be glad to know, is fine. Or at least not any more damaged than I think he was going into the whole thing. YupYupYup.

But then…THEN. On the Today Show page, I ran across a greater horror. Worse than a nail gun to your head. It was Dr. Laura and her new book, The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands. Now, Dr. Laura far surpasses any NGF or MPF I could ever make. This is full-out Chucky horror in the first degree. In an excerpt from the book, she includes such stellar quotes from men as

As a man, I can tell you our needs are simple. We want to be fed, we want our kids mothered, and we want lovin'.
Men are only interested in two things. If I’m not horny, make me a sandwich.

I’m dumbfounded she didn’t include all the wisdom uttered by South Park’s Cartman (Get your ass back in the kitchen and make me some PIE!), because it’s really the same.

I shouldn’t be surprised at the tone of this waste of paper, glue and binding, because after all, it’s Dr. Laura we’re talking about. But still. Her advice to some poor woman? You had better get your butt in the kitchen, because if you don’t, you’re “intentionally undermining his enjoyment of a home cooked meal.”

What the hell? If I were too tired to cook on a given day, I’d remind “my man” that his legs still function, and then I’d take him to the kitchen and give him a guided tour. This is a refrigerator. This is a pot. This is a pan. The stove is over there. Go to town, buddy.

Dr. Laura goes on to say that if this woman doesn’t get her butt in the kitchen, she is giving a message to her one-year old son that he doesn’t have to do things he doesn’t want to do. And then he’ll grow up to be a monster. Holy what? I’m surprised this woman wasn’t blamed for global warming, mad cow disease, international unrest and hiding weapons of mass destruction.

I’m sick to death of people lecturing others on what their obligations and roles are in society, based on gender or color or preference or background, or anything else they can think of. It seems so simple to me. Decrees and edicts do nothing more than stifle and suffocate those things we all need the most in this world: Communication, conversation, compromise. Everybody needs to be allowed to grow and take our own place and shape in this world, instead of being smashed like round pegs into square holes.

Genetic duty is a crock, and I can only hope that someday Dr. Laura will realize what a colossal waste of time, energy and humanity it is when we try to shackle people with superficial bonds. We can’t stretch, we can’t grow. Hell, we can’t even make pie.
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