Southpaw Jones

Once I rose above the Friday and confusion.

February 09, 2007 By: Southpaw Jones Category: Interesting?

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

Good morning, fair reader. Happy Friday! Well, actually a bit of a sad Friday. Here’s what I wrote in a rare evening post after hearing the shocking news last night, a flashback of a flashback, if you will:

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.

And Another Thing…
More verbosity with velocity and viscosity:

And here’s my annual SXSW rejection e-mail:
Dear Southpaw Jones,

Thank you for submitting music to SXSW in consideration for a showcase. This year, SXSW Music received and reviewed almost 8000 submissions. Unfortunately, this means that we must turn down many artists. With that in mind, we will be unable to offer Southpaw Jones a showcase this year. Please be assured that your materials were given full consideration. We wish you the best in your musical pursuits.

Sincerely,
SXSW Music Festival staff

“Please be assured that your materials were given full consideration.” I had a girl break up with me using this line once…

For those of you who aren’t aware, SXSW is a group that convenes to select the future babysitters of America.

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