Can't Buy Me Love. Probably.

When I was a little girl, I honestly believed every inanimate object came alive at night. In fact, I thought they were alive all day long, playing opossum until nightfall. In this vein, I had many staring contests with a certain purple teddy bear.

Oh, he was good. He was really good.

With this idea firmly planted, for reasons I cannot fathom, I tried to show my inanimate objects some mercy.

On Christmas, all my dolls and stuffed animals got to sleep in my bed, with the covers perfectly up to their necks so they could breathe, and all side by side so they could snuggle.

There usually wasn't room left for me.

On many mornings, my mother would walk into the dining room to find her chairs laying sideways on the floor. After sitting up all day, I knew they had to be exhausted.

I tried to avoid attachments to anything glass. Too much possible heartache there.

That must be why, when it's time to upgrade my life, I mourn just a little bit.

Partially for how the object must feel to be discarded. Partially because I'm attached to my money most of all.

Hollywood: Mockery from me, Not about me

The Golden Globes. Awards ceremony or Hollywood roast? One I'd need a hefty sum of tax-free money to watch. The other I'm posting.

Rick Gervais used Hollywood celebrities as punchlines the other night, instead of drooling over their laser-treated laugh lines. And they didn't like it. Here's a summary.

Warning: Some of the jokes, particularly about Hugh Hefner, are vulgar.


Now I'm no Gervais fan. He's rude and self-obsessed. Truthfully, you'd be hard-pressed to find any entertainer born post-1925 that I could really claim to admire. Jim Caviezel, because he has morals behind that handsome face. Clint Eastwood, because he has guts and grit. And a scant few others.
However, I have to hand it to Gervais. In his uncouthness, Gervais did something no one dares do. He let Hollywood try our shoes on for size. Us, the average movie goer. Me, the average Christian and conservative. I've sat in a darkened movie theater many times, paid to be there, expected to enjoy myself, and instead had my ideals, my lifestyle, my religious belief, mocked and demonized by those very same laser-treated wrinkle lines.

Going out for a night of entertainment and instead finding yourself stuck in a theater and being mocked isn't much fun, is it?

Now they know how it feels. And they're ticked. John Nolte at Big Hollywood has two excellent piece about the reaction post-Gervais jokes and his sudden tarred name.

The Daily Mail is positively gushing over Golden Globes host Ricky Gervais and his willingness to pretty much hit every star in the room directly in their soft spot. Meanwhile, back in America, the Hollywood Reporter has a host of quotes, including from some top Golden Globes execs, stating Gervais “definitely crossed a line”. That pretty much sums up how this unimportant but revealing scandal is playing out across the world: Reality v. Hollywood, and Hollywood stupidly allowing their heightened complaints and indignation to feed this fire is the dumbest of all dumb public relations moves.
In the bubbled, hypocritical mind of some in Hollywood, the only reason Gervais crossed a line is because he went after them. Had he been as relentless in ripping apart Sarah Palin, her young children, Jesus Christ, or George W. Bush, today the comedian would be celebrated as “edgy” and “courageous” — because only in Hollywood is throwing red meat to a hard-left crowd considered “edgy” and “courageous.” But Gervais didn’t do that. Instead, he trained his satirical fire on Hollywood Power and today there’s serious talk about whether or not the comedian will be brought back to the Golden Globes next year as host.

Impressive. Hollywood, who are gushed and lauded and slobbered over on a daily basis, can only play tough, not live it, dish it out, not take it.

Lastly, to Tom Hanks. I remember you, too. I remember when you were an innocuous, fun-loving comedienne who neither spoke about your typical liberal politics nor called America racist.

Now you do both.

Right in the Kisser

Driving yesterday afternoon to a family dinner and an awaiting birthday surprise, radio blasting, thoughts everywhere but on the road ahead, I was hit right where it counts with this song. Thought I'd share. Listen, enjoy, and don't swerve. That's what I did.



I sang all the parts. Of course.

Bon Jovi had a point

Thinking about anything other than his frizzy hair is hard to do when remembering 1980s Jon Bon Jovi. I can't help but wonder if the man had ever considered the use of a diffuser. Or perhaps testing out a few other hair products. A mouse, instead of a gel, perhaps. Or maybe just the use of shampoo.
Any of these things might keep me from being so distracted by his rakish locks that I can't concentrate on the actual song.

Then again, maybe that was his ingenious plan all along. He was actually trying to inspire his fans to seek a closer relationship with Jesus Christ. Subliminal like. Much like a magician's slight of hand. Look at the hair, don't think about what you're headbanging to.

Without realizing it, the words are shoved into your brain and rooted there. Much, again, like Bon Jovi's mane.

Then again, maybe he was just trying to sell a tune so he could score free women and the free addiction of his choice. At this point, it could really go both ways.

Whether he meant to or not, the Jov-master had a point. We really are living on a prayer. And if not, we should. In fact, if not, that could literally explain the majority of problems of our age. Not living on prayer.

Lately, I've been thinking about this whole prayer thing a lot. This could be an actual gold mine. Pray? Leave my problem/fear/worry/concern with God? Expect an answer? Expect Him to do what I can't? And all I have to do is accept His decision?

I don't know. There's got to be a catch. Is there a 30-day prayer-back guarantee?

Trusting in God has become so passe'. Instead, we flick a bic, link arm and arm, and sing, "We are the world," while feeling this overwhelming hippy'fied nuance that Jesus is love and love is Jesus and Jesus wants me to be happy and being a @$#% to anyone and everyone makes me happy. Sweet, sweet self-gratifying love.

Ah, that's the good stuff right there. Take a hit off that, baby.

Besides, we're too capable to ask anything from God, or even believe in His existence. We're powerful. Independent. We make our own destiny. We control our own lives. We are the ones we've been waiting for.

That's why we need government assistance to pay our mortgage, buy food, subsidize our business, and burp us when necessary.

Still. We don't need God. Only pathetic weaklings seek a higher power. All we need is Oprah and the federal government.

We're contradictions of incompetence: wanting what we don't need, needing what we can't get, and getting what we shouldn't have. But it's all good. We're more evolved than previous generations. We're educated and smart.

Then we create irrational fears about cow flatulence.

(That's an entirely different post. But for future reference, here's a scripture to think about when freaking out over cold winters and hot summers:

As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease. Genesis 8:22, NIV)

Standing on faith isn't easy. I haven't figured it out yet. It appears to be one of those things that happens less when you talk about it and more when you do it. And the doing is so much harder.

But it appears to be the key. Not a key. THE key. The key to a more peaceful existence. The key to contentment, less stress, more emotional stability and maybe even less physical pain or fruitless exertion.

Praying. Yeah, praying. I wonder if He'll thrown in a free set of Ginsu knives.

Video: Courageous 2.0

Anxious for this movie. I posted their video last year. This one they added a few more scenes from the movie. And, anyway, I just like to be reminded of the message. So...here it is again. The Heart of Courageous, 2.0.

Blog? What blog?

It's been a long month. Although it appears I've disappeared, sadly, last time I checked the mirror, I'm still quite visible. Never buy body lotion off the back of a moving van, fyi. You'll be disappointed every time.

In December, I got snowed (it's actually snowing outside so I had to slip that in somewhere) with deadlines and upcoming family plans for my mom's big birthday. 35 years old! We're so proud. But sadly, don't tell her, she looks 37.

On her birthday, however, plans changed. That morning my grandmother hurt her hip. And I've been preoccupied with family stuff ever since.

Saturday, my grandmother passed away and her funeral is tomorrow. So, between that and keeping up with work, I've been meeting myself coming and going. And, frankly, from one me to the other, I've looked better.

This is the end of a very long journey in one aspect. And, honestly, as with the end of every journey, another begins immediately after. Hopefully, I'll be back blogging later this week. I've had a lot of thoughts to share. Here's one for you, I hate death. Truly hate it. Thankfully, I know a beautiful man who defeated it about 2,000 years ago. Because of him, my Grandma ended one journey this week, only to start a far better one immediately.

Thanks for hanging in there with me! I'll make more sense later.

Maybe.

Quote Me: The benevolence of cake in a tiny cup

Chocolate cupcakes cannot heal the world. But I'd like to let them try.

Tara Lynn Thompson,
eater of said cupcakes and equal opportunist for all gluten-free baked goods