Friday, July 31, 2009

Boob Tube

Man did I just get a good lip slashing from the little Gordon Ramsey in my head. "Come ON, you donkey" he said as I peeled a hard-boiled egg over the sink, then transported the shell across the kitchen to the garbage can, then came back to the sink to peel the next egg, and then back across the (you get it). I am the least efficient person in a kitchen, ever. It is infuriating...I guess. Actually, it doesn't bug me so much but, since Mr. Ramsey moved in, I never hear the end of it. He gives me no peace.

(Interesting side note: a social worker I used to share an office with had an elderly client who was absolutely convinced that Emeril Lagasse lived in her basement. He would yell "BAM" all hours of the day and night. The worst part, according to her, was that he never invited her to try a single one of his dishes.)

Most of my voices are familiar - people I know, people I love, people who love me. They keep me honest. My little mother reminds me to send cards (sometimes she actually does this outside of my brain, but mostly I've internalized it) and frowns at me when I reach for another slice of bread. Jessica gives me a hard time for throwing away recyclables (something she would never do in real life, outloud). Herb looks at me sideways when I buy expensive organic kiwis or tip more than 15%. Lori is constantly telling me to get over myself. My dad scolds me for scolding the dog or forgetting to let him out before bedtime (the dog, not my dad who usually takes himself out before bedtime).

Ah, see. Mostly helpful, generally well-intentioned reminders from the people who care for me most. I sometimes ignore them.

But what's up with all these quasi-celebrity voices who feel so inclined to boss me around in my head all day long. Look, Stacy & Clinton, I have no interest in owning a blazer even if it does emphasize the smallest part of my waist. I don't need Donald Trump's assessment of my professional ambition nor do I crave Oprah's empathetic advice regarding body image. Thanks but no thanks, guys.

I don't know how they all got in there. It's not my fault. I entered tender adulthood at the cross-roads of the self-help book and reality TV. All this schandenfreude is meant to be instructive for the masses. I don't buy it. But apparently I've absorbed it.

That's all time will allow but I have a whole lot more to say on this topic - especially as it relates to TLC and the post-modern freakshow...I'm working on that one. Stay tuned. (And get the frick out of my kitchen, Ramsey!)

Dinner Tonight:

- Good bread
- Good salad
- Meat on sticks

1 comment:

  1. That poor elderly lady story is hysterical. That is pretty crappy to believe that that is really happening to you. And I bet no one ever believed her. tsk tsk tsk.

    You tell me to put on the size medium shirt, not the size extra large.