detail from Labels for Hair Ribbons by Manuel Ocampo a delectable selection of oriental appetizers
Thursday, April 12, 2001

: . Couch Potato Queen:

Wednesday evening. After 12 maddening hours at work I arrive home clutching a copy of James Wood’s The Broken Estate: Essays on Literature and Belief. I must read it. ‘High’ lit. crit. by a writer beaming ultra-snob rays, what more can I ask for? This book, The Book, will spirit me back to the Ivory Tower, far far away from corporate life. Harold Bloom in Waste Land mode: ‘James Wood is an authentic literary critic, very rare in this bad time.’ But James Wood thinks that Magical Realism is for kids and it’s already 8:50, ten minutes ‘til The West Wing. Then That’s My Bush at 10:30. 9:00…9:30…10:00 American High on PBS features tormented artsy teens. Brad is gay. Brad is a dancer. Brad does pornographic paper crafts. Brad was reared by bobos in paradise who smile way too much. Brad’s parents have ‘known’ since he was eight. Eight! Torture by studied tolerance. Praise the Lord my own parents are in denial. 10:30…That’s My Bush sucks. More American High. Oooh, Dance Night! Then…

Sad but true: I am lulled to sleep by back to back episodes of The Golden Girls on Lifetime: Television for Women. The shtick never gets old, ha ha. I could be watching the Charlie Rose Show or The Newshour with Jim Lehrer or BBC World News. High-brow stuff. Instead, I wonder: If I were a Golden Girl which Golden Girl would I be? Easy: Blanche, the slutty Southern Belle. With a Big Daddy. Small mind, small pleasures.

The Broken Estate will have to wait.

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