Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Shave Off Your Burns!!

As I stopped at the local library today to drop off my copy of "Cidade dos Homens" (great film, btw), my attention was drawn by a fashion statement so rare and wonderful that I literally had to stop and stare.

The statement was being made by a person who, it pains me somewhat to admit, must be about my age, i.e. FOREVER YOUNG!!! (Read: early 40's). The most eloquent part of the statement was being made by this person's hair, which was a flowing, waist-length mane of dishwater brown with some serious split ends. The top part, however, was carefully feathered and held in place by bobby pins and a copious use of Aqua-net. You could tell it was Aqua-net just by looking. The effect seemed to be a combination of The Mullet with the look made popular by Warren Jeffs' seven thousand wives, when they have their hair down, which is very elaborate in the front and long and stringy in the back. I gleaned this important bit of information by reading all the trashy mags, and if you need to know anything about Brangelina, ask me first.

I have to be honest here--I have never felt a particular fondness for Jen Aniston, a feeling the movie The Maid solidified. In fact, I had to walk out of the cinema after one of the characters expressed surprise that another character had not seen her own husband's, um, anus. And Jen always has a look on her face as if she'd just swallowed a mouthful of carpet tacks. But what I was going to say is, Brangelina, would you stop acting like anuses, and Brad, lose the Hitler mustache, ok? Brad Pitt seems to have absolutely no mind of his own. It probably comes of having a name of only two syllables. I could never love a two-syllable man, myself, but Angelina seems to think she has enough syllables for the whole clan.

Having had more than one glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, I will admit at this point that Angelina Jolie seriously irritates me. The Italians would say, "she stands on my dick", and, given the literal impossibility of such a thing, me being female and all, I think the expression renders the idea quite well. I have noticed, in an informal survey of my friends and supermarket cashiers, that Angelina Jolie has this effect on most females. I have never met a female person who finds Angelina anything but annoying. I have no idea what male people think, but I have an opinion of the male capacity for discernment that is, alas, on the low side.

Of course, it just may be that the most annoying thing about Angelina is that Brad likes her. Obviously, I am into Symbols, and Brad Pitt is, arguably, The Symbol of the desirable male in the Western world. And therefore, his choice of a life partner has a bearing on all of us females, indirectly. And it has to be said that his choice is something of a disappointment. I mean, I'm not saying he had to like Rita Levi Montalcini, but fuckin Angelina Jolie?? The upshot here is that Angelina is, by process of elimination, in the position of World's Most Desirable Female, meaning that the rest of us women feel at least slightly disenfranchised. So maybe that's why we hate her.

The good news is, Jennifer Aniston is also extremely annoying, and even though Vince Vaughan has gotten to be decidedly chubby, I really think he can do better than Madame Carpet Tacks.

But I digress.

What I witnessed today is an anachronism and I was so happy. I remembered why I love living in Ohio. You can have a Fundamentalist Latter Day Mullet on your head and be taken seriously, by someone. This person also had a mysterious chain hanging off of his belt and I'm sure it only adds to the attraction for the denizens of the parallel universe in which he lives. He was very thin, clad in all black, with some of those white leather hi-top tennies that I'll bet you haven't seen in a while, unless you also live in Portage County. He smoked some kind of smelly cigs and had copious sideburns. It was wonderful!!

I am not being mean, I'm really not. I would personally rather endure Death by Sloppy Joes (my mom, who went out of town for the holiday, left me Sloppy Joes for sustenance, forgetting that Sloppy Joes is not food) than commit such a fashion coup d'etat, but I am a Capricorn, forever condemned by the pissy planet Saturn to a life to be lived in shades of taupe. That doesn't mean I can't envy the other signs, the fun ones, who don't live their lives in fear of ridicule.

Now, having expressed my joy, I must return to my pasta, which is a variation of La Boscaiola. Meaning, we have sausage, a tiny bit of tomato, garlic, mushrooms, and cream, but instead of the peas, we have squash. And oh fuck, I forgot to buy Parmesan, but I have a certain Innocent Flirtation with the Butcher, a thin and intense type with tattoos, so another trip to the store is never as tragic as it could be. If you make this dish, you have to be very careful because the squash is sweet, so it has to be balanced with an appropriate amount of spices and acidity. Key word: Tabasco. Not Frank's. Not hot pepper flakes. Tabasco. Buon appetito!