Southpaw Jones

Anna Nicole Smith passed away today, after I wrote this about my fictional Super Bowl party:

I wasn’t going to invite Anna Nicole Smith, but I found a journal entry from a 15-year-old Southpaw that reads, “Older Southpaw, if you’re reading this, please don’t ever stop trying to meet Anna Nicole Smith. I don’t care how fat or skinny or old or deranged or married she becomes. She’s always a woman to me.”

So, ok, for my 15-year-old Southpaw, I called her up. (I also attended an Aerosmith concert.) Anyhoo, she couldn’t quite grasp the directions to my place, so she never showed up.

There was a time when Anna Nicole Smith was a wonderful personification of American beauty, excess, and desire. Before we heard her talk. Before her marriage to a rich, dying man. Before the reality show. Before the weight gain. Before the weight loss. She was the Playmate of the Year and the face of Guess Jeans. For a while there, America praised the wonder of a decidedly non-skinny woman before slithering back into its love affair with poles and sticks.

As a shallow, horny teenager, I thought Anna Nicole was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She was sexy but coy, young but motherly, hillbilly yet sorority, strong but feminine, rural and urban, modern but classic, all at once. There was also the small matter of that massive smile and those eager eyes. She had breasts that could feed the hungry of the world twice over. She was a wild, crazy Texas woman.

Now, as troubled as our country is, A.N.S. is probably more representative than role-models like Hilary Clinton, Angelina Jolie, and Oprah Winfrey. We kill citizens of an ancient land for oil; Anna drilled an ancient man for dough. Everyone around her told her she was perfect, so she never felt the need to learn anything or really do anything. She sought out comfort and pleasure and friends and family, and who among us can truly claim any better?

Call me crazy, but for a while there in the 1990’s, she was our Marilyn Monroe. If that’s overstating things, well, she was my Marilyn Monroe. And just like Marilyn, she never knew who to cling to when the rain set in.

I would have liked to have known you, but I was just a kid. Nowadays, I’m not certain I could stand 15 minutes of conversation with you. But I guess we’ll never know.

Good-bye, Anna. American woman, mama rest in peace.

Is This Interesting?
Thoughts/feelings that just might not matter:

As you may know, my goal for the Gazette this year is to reach 1,000 daily visits, and while the slow build is rewarding and fun, today I’m going to try a cheap, sleazy blogging trick. The chart you see on the left is the Yahoo Buzz! Index of top overall searches on the Internet. I’m thinking that if I compose a piece of fiction using all 20, well, maybe some new friends will stop by. Before I get started, let me just say that I also find the NASA love triangle featuring astronaut Lisa Nowak, William Oefelein, and Colleen Shipman to be very interesting. Up-and-coming searches! Kennedy Space Center! Porn!

Anyway, I had this great Super Bowl party on Sunday. It was just me, Cameron Diaz, Jennifer Lopez, Beyonce Knowles, and Jennifer Garner.

Aishwarya Rai couldn’t make it, as she was busy filming in Bollywood.

I didn’t invite Paris Hilton, because she’s a racist twig.

I didn’t invite Britney Spears, because my doormat reads “Underwear Required,” and there’s a sign on my refrigerator that says, “I Loathe Gum-Smackers.” I just didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

I didn’t invite Fergie, as she’s been known to lack bladder control as well as class.

Lindsay Lohan was in rehab, so I got Jamie Lee Curtis to come over. It’s like they’re the same person!

Ok, well, Anna Nicole Smith died today. As far as I know, the other people I wrote about today are still alive. I wasn’t going to invite Anna Nicole Smith, but I found a journal entry from a 15-year-old Southpaw that reads, “Older Southpaw, if you’re reading this, please don’t ever stop trying to meet Anna Nicole Smith. I don’t care how fat or skinny or old or deranged or married she becomes. She’s always a woman to me.”

So, ok, for my 15-year-old Southpaw, I called her up. (I also attended an Aerosmith concert.) Anyhoo, she couldn’t quite grasp the directions to my place, so she never showed up.

But oh, how the ladies and I enjoyed those Super Bowl Commercials. Each one funnier than the last! When the game was over, we worked on our taxes for the ol’ Internal Revenue Service, while American Idol ran on the tube.

After that, we caught up on the latest WWE matches, and giggled about our Valentine’s Day plans. Cameron was trying to put some Justin Timberlake music on my computer via Limewire, and I said, “Cameron! I’m a musician! You can’t steal music in my house!”

She apologized, we hugged, and she showed my how to play RuneScape.

Beyonce asked me about my time in the NBA, so I gathered the ladies in a circle, because I was aching to talk about it. Quietly, slowly, I allowed myself to say, “I should have gone to college first.”

“At least a year or so. Going pro at seventeen was not a recipe for long-term success.”

That’s when I broke down. Then the ladies broke down. We all confessed heartbreaks, disappointments, crushes, and dreams. After a while, we slipped into our pajamas and climbed into my round, rotating, vibrating bed.

Finally, the lights were out, and we all lay silently, even though we were all too jazzed to sleep.

Out of the darkness, Jennifer G. whispered, “Does anyone know what Hi-5 is?”

We all said “no” at the same time. Oh, how we laughed! That led to a game of steamroller, then a pillow fight, then a restful, peaceful night of sleep. See you ladies next year!

Rhyme Time!
One clue whose answer consists of two rhyming words:

A change that doesn’t really matter. (4 syllables!)
Highlight here for answer: [irrelevant development]

Online Museum of the Week
todayspictures.slate.com/boredcouples/” target=new>Slate presents Bored Couples:

Quotopia
Freshly-picked quotes from the ol’ reference collection:

Razors pain you, rivers are damp,
Acid stains you, drugs cause cramp,
Guns aren’t lawful, nooses give,
Gas smells awful, you might as well live.
Dorothy Parker

First Lines
Introductions to classic works I will never finish:

Heathcliff was neither fast nor slow, dimwitted nor brainy, captain nor rookie, kiss-up nor rebel. He was a work-a-day kind of guy, solid as a rock, America on a stick. That is, until the day he discovered a new way of tying shoes. “10 times faster than the bow!” he said to himself, “And 5 times stronger.”

He also discovered that his bed post could speak fluent French, but only on financial matters, and only when it disagreed with his investment choices.

Thank you, come again!
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