TIM: Nice face...
ME: Wow. It shows that much?
TIM: Yes. Unfortunately, I know you THAT well. You are pondering something and that means I step into the picture. What is going through that relatively cluttered and yet strangely vacant head of yours?
ME: My widowed, 89-year-old mother is interested in someone and I think he's interested in her also.
TIM: How old is the gentleman? It's a gentleman, right?
ME: Yea. He's 93.
TIM: All right. Your first concern?
ME: First? Tim, there are so many concerns, I don't know how to get them to line up in an orderly fashion to number them. They're like crazed, rabid cats on acid...Jackie Chan cats...
TIM: Some one's been reading Laurie Notaro...
ME: You betcha buddy...We Idiot Girls had better stick together. But anyway, there are WAY too many issues to figure out on this one.
TIM: Well, I can't help you if you aren't willing to organize your thoughts...all I have to work with are your thoughts, Ms. Braniac...
ME: What happened to "Carry on" and "Make it work"
TIM: You stopped watching television...
ME: Sorry. My bad. Okay, first, I'm totally weirded out by "date talk" coming out of my mother's mouth.
TIM: Okay. Next.
ME: She's confused. She likes the "idea" of dating but not the "mechanics" of dating. I think she is remembering being swept off her feet by my big, theatrical Dad and I don't think this situation is even remotely like that so I'm worried that my Mom is setting herself up for a big emotional disappointment kind of thing.
TIM: Well, thank goodness.
ME: What?
TIM: You redeemed yourself. For a minute, after that first concern, I almost walked. I thought it was all about YOU. YOU being "weirded out" by your mother allowing herself the indulgence of date-speak. She should be allowed to let that fly without any judgment. How many 89-year-old women get that opportunity? Rock that show, Mom!
ME: Point made, sir.
TIM: Yes. She could very well be setting herself up for a disappointment. She probably is. He's 93, for Heaven's sake. He's setting himself up also, truth be told. Your mother needs to have the risks laid out, quite clearly, before her. Write them down if you have to. Put it out there in black and white. There are problems with simply driving, interference/involvement with each of the children, either one of them may consider it "meddling" and to some extent it may feel that way. How do you juggle privacy and "I'm looking after you for your own good" and still make everyone feel adult? That would be tough, for BOTH of them. And then there is the very sensitive subject of death as the ultimate deal breaker...But they're both adults, they've both lost spouses and peers to death, they know these risks...
ME: Yea...there's that.
TIM: Deborah. That's the ultimate deal breaker for all of us, any day, any time. None of us have ANY guarantees. Not one. When was the last time you looked at your birth certificate?
ME: Yeesh, I don't know.
TIM: Well, I can guarantee you it did not come with an expiration date. We all have the inalienable right to happiness and your mother wants one last shot at that fluttery joy that comes with new romance. Are you going to take that from her? I don't think so. And as for disappointment, yes, she may experience it. In fact, she probably will, to some degree. But as her daughter, you're going to support her, and love her, and be a resource for her as she struggles through it.
ME: So what do I do?
TIM: Exactly what you're doing right now. You're going to listen. You're going to laugh when she laughs. You're going to tell her she's pretty when she gets dressed up, mainly because she is; I've seen your mother and she's sharp! And you're going to be with her when she gets down. You're just going to be present. All the way through. All. The. Way.
ME: I am, aren't I.
TIM: You will help her carry on...while she carries on.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
TIM GUNN TALKS ME DOWN FROM A METAPHORICAL LEDGE...
ME: Aha! There it is. Look!
TIM: Where?
ME: There. See it now?
TIM: Let ME hold the magnifying mirror. Try shining the flashlight from this angle.
ME: See it?
TIM: Ohhhhh...there it is.
ME: I know, right? It's huge! The San Andreas Fault could hide in there.
TIM: Deborah, it's a line. Yes. But unless you go without moisturizer and go full on sunbathing for six months, no one is going to see it unless you duct tape a magnifying glass to your face with a cardboard arrow pointing to it!
ME: So you're admitting I have another line.
TIM: I don't think I can take another birthday with you.
ME: I don't think I can take another birthday with me.
TIM: Look, you're over 50. You have to choose between your butt or your face-that's the reality of it my dear. You're thin, you chose your butt. Your butt won. Your face lost. *pause* I've never seen eyeballs shake like that.
ME: Are you serious? That's it! You're going to say something like that to me and think it's OVER? I don't do GLIB! I may SPEAK glib. But I don't PROCESS glib. Oh ho ho ho no Mr. Gunn...no no no no no...I did NOT choose my butt. This is not a butt. This is a battering ram for bones trying to escape through my gluteus minimus. Jennifer Lopez has a butt. Girls with some meat have a butt. What I have is a lower back which somehow immediately becomes my thighs. This, I did NOT choose. This is a lose/lose situation, sir. I have an aging face and NO butt. It hurts to sit on a hard chair because of the bony nature of my lack of butt and it hurts to look in a mirror.
TIM: Has your husband said anything to you about the lines on your face?
ME: Really Tim? Really? My husband hasn't seen me in natural light in 5 years. Have you ever wondered why I have so many candles in my house?
TIM: Well, there does seem to be a lot of wax on the walls, now that you mention it.
ME: We are the mole people Tim. MOLE PEOPLE!!! It's not that I look especially alluring in candle light! Heck! Charles Manson looks alluring in candle light! I light candles because he can't see the fine details of the lines on my face!!! IT'S A STRATEGY!
TIM: *backing up* Okaaaayyyyyyy
ME: Get back here. You'd better talk me down from this ledge I'm getting ready to metaphorically jump off of buddy. I CANNOT afford a face lift. This had better come from within buddy boy and that is YOUR job!
TIM: I see. So, you just had a birthday and now you're having aging issues, am I getting that right?
ME: Yea Tim. Yea, aging issues. Bingo. Lines on face. Loose skin. Achy joints. The whole nine yards.
TIM: And you want to be young again?
ME: Well, I don't think it's possible to be young again. I just don't want people to judge me based on my age or appearance.
TIM: Oh! Like you do to yourself when you hold a magnifying mirror to your own face?
ME: *gulp* Is that judging?
TIM: Well, let's see. I'll hold the magnifying mirror and the flashlight. You grab the box of haircolor, the anti-wrinkle cream and the tape measure, and we'll recreate what you do in here all the time and then you tell me what you see.
ME: I'm the one doing the judging?
TIM: Looks that way to me. What would happen if your stopped judging yourself?
ME: I'd save money? Time? Sanity?
TIM: Those last two are mine.
ME: I'm the one doing the judging...
TIM: Now you're repeating yourself, old people do that.
ME: Stop it Tim.
TIM: Go outside with your husband. Have a picnic.
ME: Don't push it.
TIM: Where?
ME: There. See it now?
TIM: Let ME hold the magnifying mirror. Try shining the flashlight from this angle.
ME: See it?
TIM: Ohhhhh...there it is.
ME: I know, right? It's huge! The San Andreas Fault could hide in there.
TIM: Deborah, it's a line. Yes. But unless you go without moisturizer and go full on sunbathing for six months, no one is going to see it unless you duct tape a magnifying glass to your face with a cardboard arrow pointing to it!
ME: So you're admitting I have another line.
TIM: I don't think I can take another birthday with you.
ME: I don't think I can take another birthday with me.
TIM: Look, you're over 50. You have to choose between your butt or your face-that's the reality of it my dear. You're thin, you chose your butt. Your butt won. Your face lost. *pause* I've never seen eyeballs shake like that.
ME: Are you serious? That's it! You're going to say something like that to me and think it's OVER? I don't do GLIB! I may SPEAK glib. But I don't PROCESS glib. Oh ho ho ho no Mr. Gunn...no no no no no...I did NOT choose my butt. This is not a butt. This is a battering ram for bones trying to escape through my gluteus minimus. Jennifer Lopez has a butt. Girls with some meat have a butt. What I have is a lower back which somehow immediately becomes my thighs. This, I did NOT choose. This is a lose/lose situation, sir. I have an aging face and NO butt. It hurts to sit on a hard chair because of the bony nature of my lack of butt and it hurts to look in a mirror.
TIM: Has your husband said anything to you about the lines on your face?
ME: Really Tim? Really? My husband hasn't seen me in natural light in 5 years. Have you ever wondered why I have so many candles in my house?
TIM: Well, there does seem to be a lot of wax on the walls, now that you mention it.
ME: We are the mole people Tim. MOLE PEOPLE!!! It's not that I look especially alluring in candle light! Heck! Charles Manson looks alluring in candle light! I light candles because he can't see the fine details of the lines on my face!!! IT'S A STRATEGY!
TIM: *backing up* Okaaaayyyyyyy
ME: Get back here. You'd better talk me down from this ledge I'm getting ready to metaphorically jump off of buddy. I CANNOT afford a face lift. This had better come from within buddy boy and that is YOUR job!
TIM: I see. So, you just had a birthday and now you're having aging issues, am I getting that right?
ME: Yea Tim. Yea, aging issues. Bingo. Lines on face. Loose skin. Achy joints. The whole nine yards.
TIM: And you want to be young again?
ME: Well, I don't think it's possible to be young again. I just don't want people to judge me based on my age or appearance.
TIM: Oh! Like you do to yourself when you hold a magnifying mirror to your own face?
ME: *gulp* Is that judging?
TIM: Well, let's see. I'll hold the magnifying mirror and the flashlight. You grab the box of haircolor, the anti-wrinkle cream and the tape measure, and we'll recreate what you do in here all the time and then you tell me what you see.
ME: I'm the one doing the judging?
TIM: Looks that way to me. What would happen if your stopped judging yourself?
ME: I'd save money? Time? Sanity?
TIM: Those last two are mine.
ME: I'm the one doing the judging...
TIM: Now you're repeating yourself, old people do that.
ME: Stop it Tim.
TIM: Go outside with your husband. Have a picnic.
ME: Don't push it.
Friday, November 14, 2008
TIM GUNN TALKS MENTAL HEALTH
ME: Yeesh! What a weird night and day!
TIM: Oh goody. I'm on the edge of my seat.
ME: That lacks sincerity Tim.
TIM: Well of course it does! You were expecting maybe...I don't know, who were you expecting?
ME: No one else Tim. No one else.
TIM: Holla at cha boy.
ME: Oh for crying out loud.
TIM: Okay okay.
ME: Well, last night I woke up at 3:00 in the morning.
TIM: Fascinating! Sell the movie rights, quick!
ME: That's not the story Tim.
TIM: Sorry.
ME: And I was thirsty, so I took a swig of my water bottle from the night table. Peter, who wakes up if I dream too loud, then asked if he could have a drink also so I handed him the bottle and he took a drink. He handed me back the bottle and as I attempted to put it on the nightstand, I displaced a pile of books and they all tumbled down and fell onto the floor, scaring my poor little dog, but I finally managed to put the bottle of water down. What's so weird is, I just thought the entire scene was hysterical! I started giggling incessantly. I fell onto my back and just lost it. I was insane with laughter. I could barely breathe. I was an idiot!
TIM: I see. What was your husband doing during all of this gaiety?
ME: He just laid there, on his side, facing away from me. He never even turned over to face me. He just waited for me to stop. When I was finally gasping my last snorts of glee, he referenced an old inside joke he's made a few times.
TIM: Which is what?
ME: You won't get it. It's an inside joke.
TIM: I understand. I'm just curious.
ME: He said, "What part of the evidence don't you understand"?
TIM: That's stupid.
ME: Yeesh Tim, I told you you wouldn't get it.
TIM: That doesn't stop it from sounding stupid?
ME: Whatever.
TIM: Go on.
ME: So, a couple of hours later I'm at MacDonald's ordering a diet drink and this lady steps in front of me and says, "MOVE!" all mean. So I move out of her way because, I mean, who WOULDN'T? And then she utters under her breath, "asshole". And I started laughing AGAIN!!!
TIM: I am stunned.
ME: I know, right? I laughed after being called an asshole.
TIM: I'm stunned that you're ordering diet soda that early in the morning. Do you have a death wish?
ME: Stay with me here Tim. I'm laughing after being called a name. That's the gist of the story.
TIM: Fine, but I'll revisit that diet soda for breakfast in the future.
ME: I'm sure. Anyway, then I go to the hospital for an MRI of my brain because my episodic amnesia has been worse of late. The tech asks me if I'm claustrophobic. I say, "Oh yea!". He lets me listen to Classical music. Cool. But first he stuffs my ears with foam plugs. That's counter-intuitive to me, but okay. Then he puts the headphones on. The music starts, I go into the tube, I start to relax to Pachebel's Canon, and then THIS HIDEOUS CLACKING STARTS. What do I do? Do I freak out? No. I start smiling!!!
What the heck?
TIM: And your concern is?
ME: I don't know if it's concern. I just found all of these experiences interesting, to say the least.
TIM: You never say the least about anything. Look how long this entry is. Look at it! It's huge already. No one is going to read this!
ME: Tim, it's not really about anyone reading it as much as it's about you and I processing things.
TIM: No. It's about people reading it.
ME: Are you going to help me figure out why I'm smiling and laughing at stuff that should make me crazy or irritated?
TIM: You're mentally healthy?
ME: No. I'm talking to you.
TIM: Fine. Be nasty.
ME: That's not what I meant. Oh forget it. I'm just going to keep smiling. I'm not going to worry about it until I stop feeling good. Does that make sense?
TIM: Makes perfect sense to me? But considering I'm an imaginary voice in your head, that shouldn't really give you too much comfort. Hey! Did you hear the poem by the schizophrenic? "Roses are red, violets are blue. I'm a schizophrenic and so am I!"
ME: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH....oh......
TIM: Oh goody. I'm on the edge of my seat.
ME: That lacks sincerity Tim.
TIM: Well of course it does! You were expecting maybe...I don't know, who were you expecting?
ME: No one else Tim. No one else.
TIM: Holla at cha boy.
ME: Oh for crying out loud.
TIM: Okay okay.
ME: Well, last night I woke up at 3:00 in the morning.
TIM: Fascinating! Sell the movie rights, quick!
ME: That's not the story Tim.
TIM: Sorry.
ME: And I was thirsty, so I took a swig of my water bottle from the night table. Peter, who wakes up if I dream too loud, then asked if he could have a drink also so I handed him the bottle and he took a drink. He handed me back the bottle and as I attempted to put it on the nightstand, I displaced a pile of books and they all tumbled down and fell onto the floor, scaring my poor little dog, but I finally managed to put the bottle of water down. What's so weird is, I just thought the entire scene was hysterical! I started giggling incessantly. I fell onto my back and just lost it. I was insane with laughter. I could barely breathe. I was an idiot!
TIM: I see. What was your husband doing during all of this gaiety?
ME: He just laid there, on his side, facing away from me. He never even turned over to face me. He just waited for me to stop. When I was finally gasping my last snorts of glee, he referenced an old inside joke he's made a few times.
TIM: Which is what?
ME: You won't get it. It's an inside joke.
TIM: I understand. I'm just curious.
ME: He said, "What part of the evidence don't you understand"?
TIM: That's stupid.
ME: Yeesh Tim, I told you you wouldn't get it.
TIM: That doesn't stop it from sounding stupid?
ME: Whatever.
TIM: Go on.
ME: So, a couple of hours later I'm at MacDonald's ordering a diet drink and this lady steps in front of me and says, "MOVE!" all mean. So I move out of her way because, I mean, who WOULDN'T? And then she utters under her breath, "asshole". And I started laughing AGAIN!!!
TIM: I am stunned.
ME: I know, right? I laughed after being called an asshole.
TIM: I'm stunned that you're ordering diet soda that early in the morning. Do you have a death wish?
ME: Stay with me here Tim. I'm laughing after being called a name. That's the gist of the story.
TIM: Fine, but I'll revisit that diet soda for breakfast in the future.
ME: I'm sure. Anyway, then I go to the hospital for an MRI of my brain because my episodic amnesia has been worse of late. The tech asks me if I'm claustrophobic. I say, "Oh yea!". He lets me listen to Classical music. Cool. But first he stuffs my ears with foam plugs. That's counter-intuitive to me, but okay. Then he puts the headphones on. The music starts, I go into the tube, I start to relax to Pachebel's Canon, and then THIS HIDEOUS CLACKING STARTS. What do I do? Do I freak out? No. I start smiling!!!
What the heck?
TIM: And your concern is?
ME: I don't know if it's concern. I just found all of these experiences interesting, to say the least.
TIM: You never say the least about anything. Look how long this entry is. Look at it! It's huge already. No one is going to read this!
ME: Tim, it's not really about anyone reading it as much as it's about you and I processing things.
TIM: No. It's about people reading it.
ME: Are you going to help me figure out why I'm smiling and laughing at stuff that should make me crazy or irritated?
TIM: You're mentally healthy?
ME: No. I'm talking to you.
TIM: Fine. Be nasty.
ME: That's not what I meant. Oh forget it. I'm just going to keep smiling. I'm not going to worry about it until I stop feeling good. Does that make sense?
TIM: Makes perfect sense to me? But considering I'm an imaginary voice in your head, that shouldn't really give you too much comfort. Hey! Did you hear the poem by the schizophrenic? "Roses are red, violets are blue. I'm a schizophrenic and so am I!"
ME: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH....oh......
Friday, November 7, 2008
TIM GUNN IS SPEECHLESS
ME: Hey Tim! We did it?
TIM: And what's that?
ME: We elected a President. The people spoke and a clear winner emerged. No dirty tricks, no shenanigans, no controversy. A clear, undisputed winner.
TIM: Shenanigans?
ME: Fine. It's a quaint, rather antiquated word, but it has its place.
TIM: Yes. Congratulations are in order. Do you feel better? You were struggling quite a bit with your choice.
ME: I feel like a million bucks.
TIM: Too bad your clothing choices will never reflect that.
ME: Oh, your slams about my fashion sense, or lack thereof, can't even bother me right now. We're still riding the elation of election night. It was beautiful and unifying.
TIM: Can I assume you voted for Obama?
ME: Oh, no one knows who I voted for.
TIM: What? You didn't shout from the rooftops who you voted for?
ME: Nope! I cried all the way to the voting booth. Cried and prayed. I didn't know my choice until I stepped up to the machine.
TIM: You're kidding! You seemed so dead-on certain after our last conversation.
ME: I know, huh! But that was just the beginning of my "editing out the drama" and thinking about things. It was a decisive moment for me. It clarified a lot of things but it didn't "seal the deal". I really struggled.
TIM: So, right up until the time you got into the booth? Seriously?
ME: Yep! The way I saw it, I had four choices. McCain, Obama, Keyes and Nader.
TIM: Wow.
ME: Exactly. I stood there and stood there and stood there...and then I realized that, it was going to happen exactly like it was supposed to happen so pick the man and be done with it. So I picked. Then I finished voting and walked out. That afternoon I bought two celebratory pies and went home.
TIM: So no one knows who you voted for? Not even your husband?
ME: Right.
TIM: And you're suffering under the illusion that people care, aren't you?
ME: Absolutely.
TIM: I'm speechless.
ME: SCORE!!!
TIM: And what's that?
ME: We elected a President. The people spoke and a clear winner emerged. No dirty tricks, no shenanigans, no controversy. A clear, undisputed winner.
TIM: Shenanigans?
ME: Fine. It's a quaint, rather antiquated word, but it has its place.
TIM: Yes. Congratulations are in order. Do you feel better? You were struggling quite a bit with your choice.
ME: I feel like a million bucks.
TIM: Too bad your clothing choices will never reflect that.
ME: Oh, your slams about my fashion sense, or lack thereof, can't even bother me right now. We're still riding the elation of election night. It was beautiful and unifying.
TIM: Can I assume you voted for Obama?
ME: Oh, no one knows who I voted for.
TIM: What? You didn't shout from the rooftops who you voted for?
ME: Nope! I cried all the way to the voting booth. Cried and prayed. I didn't know my choice until I stepped up to the machine.
TIM: You're kidding! You seemed so dead-on certain after our last conversation.
ME: I know, huh! But that was just the beginning of my "editing out the drama" and thinking about things. It was a decisive moment for me. It clarified a lot of things but it didn't "seal the deal". I really struggled.
TIM: So, right up until the time you got into the booth? Seriously?
ME: Yep! The way I saw it, I had four choices. McCain, Obama, Keyes and Nader.
TIM: Wow.
ME: Exactly. I stood there and stood there and stood there...and then I realized that, it was going to happen exactly like it was supposed to happen so pick the man and be done with it. So I picked. Then I finished voting and walked out. That afternoon I bought two celebratory pies and went home.
TIM: So no one knows who you voted for? Not even your husband?
ME: Right.
TIM: And you're suffering under the illusion that people care, aren't you?
ME: Absolutely.
TIM: I'm speechless.
ME: SCORE!!!
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
TIM GUNN TALKS ABOUT THE ELECTION...
ME: Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh
TIM: Let's edit the drama. What's the problem.
ME: The election's coming.
TIM: And?
ME: I'm still not sure who I'm voting for. I'm that hideous demographic called "The Undecided"
TIM: Kind of like, "The UNdead"?
ME: Yea. I'll wish I was dead if I make the wrong choice.
TIM: There will be plenty of people to make that happen if it gets out who you voted for.
ME: Don't I know it!
TIM: I thought you were 100% behind Obama?
ME: Wrenches were thrown in the works. There were hitches in the giddy-up. Spin was spun.
TIM: Were you attacked by the cliche police?
ME: Something like that.
TIM: Quick! I need you to be more vague. I almost understand what you're saying.
ME: I know I know. I sound ridiculous. I really don't know who to vote for anymore. I've listened intently to both sides. They're both passionate. They both have good points. I thought if I "picked my battle" and just went with the candidate that best represented me on that particular issue, that priority, so to speak, then that would be that!
TIM: Okay, that's a plan. What happened?
ME: I can't come up with a definitive battle! There's just so many! So many people that I love and respect are voting for different people. There's no real consensus. No mandate.
TIM: So, you're picking other peoples' minds? You're trying to figure out what other people are doing? Am I hearing you correctly?
ME: It sounds like that doesn't it?
TIM: Excuse me. I'd like to speak with Deborah please.
ME: Tim, it's me.
TIM: No. I need Deborah. The loud-mouth blond Democrat that talks way too fast, dresses funny, sits weirdly, rocks too much, has poor taste in, well almost everything?
ME: Me again.
TIM: No, I'm not certain I know you.
ME: Fine. You have my attention Mr. Runs-into-the-room-with-Gunns-blazing. Spill.
TIM: Who are you? What is this? You were dead on certain about Obama for months. You even had a link to his website on your other blog; you know, the one that isn't as cerebral OR as interesting as this one. But since then, you've studied the issues, became politically active, even stomping for some issues. You involved your HEAD, as well as your HEART. What does this say about you?
ME: I went with my emotions when I supported Obama. I was seduced by his "feel good message". I didn't study things out thoroughly. Right?
TIM: Could be. Does that mean it's wrong to support him now?
ME: Not at all. He could still be the right man. But I have to support him now based on what my research tells me. I have to learn to balance my critical thinking skills with my emotional response. And if I'm using my critical thinking skills, McCain can and does have good points as well. In fact, there was a time, I'm thinking 2000, when I actually loved McCain. But was that emotional at THAT time as well? Am I getting it?
TIM: Yes, you're getting it. Now, continue to edit. Phase out the drama, bring in the rational thought. Step back, take a look. Look at your family. What are your immediate needs for the next year? The next four years? What are your priorities? Are they financial? Are they feelings of security? Are they morality issues? Which candidate will best represent what you're going to be about in the immediate future? Are you with me?
ME: Am I with you? Seriously? Just try to get way from me. No don't! That would totally require some kind of weird medication that I can't afford...no health care coverage...wait!...oh my gosh....HEALTH CARE COVERAGE!!!! BY CRACKY!!!! I THINK WE'VE DONE IT!!!!!
TIM: "WE" Do you have a multiple personality in your pocket? Oh wait...
TIM: Let's edit the drama. What's the problem.
ME: The election's coming.
TIM: And?
ME: I'm still not sure who I'm voting for. I'm that hideous demographic called "The Undecided"
TIM: Kind of like, "The UNdead"?
ME: Yea. I'll wish I was dead if I make the wrong choice.
TIM: There will be plenty of people to make that happen if it gets out who you voted for.
ME: Don't I know it!
TIM: I thought you were 100% behind Obama?
ME: Wrenches were thrown in the works. There were hitches in the giddy-up. Spin was spun.
TIM: Were you attacked by the cliche police?
ME: Something like that.
TIM: Quick! I need you to be more vague. I almost understand what you're saying.
ME: I know I know. I sound ridiculous. I really don't know who to vote for anymore. I've listened intently to both sides. They're both passionate. They both have good points. I thought if I "picked my battle" and just went with the candidate that best represented me on that particular issue, that priority, so to speak, then that would be that!
TIM: Okay, that's a plan. What happened?
ME: I can't come up with a definitive battle! There's just so many! So many people that I love and respect are voting for different people. There's no real consensus. No mandate.
TIM: So, you're picking other peoples' minds? You're trying to figure out what other people are doing? Am I hearing you correctly?
ME: It sounds like that doesn't it?
TIM: Excuse me. I'd like to speak with Deborah please.
ME: Tim, it's me.
TIM: No. I need Deborah. The loud-mouth blond Democrat that talks way too fast, dresses funny, sits weirdly, rocks too much, has poor taste in, well almost everything?
ME: Me again.
TIM: No, I'm not certain I know you.
ME: Fine. You have my attention Mr. Runs-into-the-room-with-Gunns-blazing. Spill.
TIM: Who are you? What is this? You were dead on certain about Obama for months. You even had a link to his website on your other blog; you know, the one that isn't as cerebral OR as interesting as this one. But since then, you've studied the issues, became politically active, even stomping for some issues. You involved your HEAD, as well as your HEART. What does this say about you?
ME: I went with my emotions when I supported Obama. I was seduced by his "feel good message". I didn't study things out thoroughly. Right?
TIM: Could be. Does that mean it's wrong to support him now?
ME: Not at all. He could still be the right man. But I have to support him now based on what my research tells me. I have to learn to balance my critical thinking skills with my emotional response. And if I'm using my critical thinking skills, McCain can and does have good points as well. In fact, there was a time, I'm thinking 2000, when I actually loved McCain. But was that emotional at THAT time as well? Am I getting it?
TIM: Yes, you're getting it. Now, continue to edit. Phase out the drama, bring in the rational thought. Step back, take a look. Look at your family. What are your immediate needs for the next year? The next four years? What are your priorities? Are they financial? Are they feelings of security? Are they morality issues? Which candidate will best represent what you're going to be about in the immediate future? Are you with me?
ME: Am I with you? Seriously? Just try to get way from me. No don't! That would totally require some kind of weird medication that I can't afford...no health care coverage...wait!...oh my gosh....HEALTH CARE COVERAGE!!!! BY CRACKY!!!! I THINK WE'VE DONE IT!!!!!
TIM: "WE" Do you have a multiple personality in your pocket? Oh wait...
Sunday, October 19, 2008
TIM GUNN TALKS EXISTENTIAL CRISES....OH NEVER MIND
TIM: Well, I'm feeling a bit spurned, rejected, left-out.
DEB: Are you serious?
TIM: It's been days Deborah! What am I to think when I don't hear from you for days on end?
DEB: Um, well, considering that I come to you when I'm experiencing internal conflict, I suppose you can consider me...I don't know....healthy?
TIM: Well, your mental health is absolutely alone-ville for moi.
DEB: Moi? Who are you, Ms Piggy?
TIM: Fine, you know what I mean though. You can't even stop in for a nice "Hello" or "Hi Tim, how are you" every once in awhile? You have to be tortured or upset to speak with me?
DEB: Tim, it's the nature of our relationship. You represent my angst, my struggle du jour.
TIM: I can't believe you just said "struggle du jour", what are you, a menu of emotional complaints? Do you get salad with that?
DEB: Been watching a lot of TV lately Timmy boy?
TIM: I have to kill time some how.
DEB: Books.
TIM: Looks who's talking! Earlene? A girl and her mac?
DEB: That's called "creative out letting".
TIM: You totally made that up.
DEB: Whatever.
TIM: !
DEB: Oh my gosh, now you're not speaking to me? Tim? Tim? You have to speak to me Tim. This is your blog! It's called "Tim Gunn's Voice", not Tim Gunn's Cold Shoulder! Why would anyone read Tim Gunn's Cold Shoulder?
TIM: I'd read it if the shoulder was turned against you!
DEB: You don't mean that.
TIM: *sniff*
DEB: Tim. I'm not that healthy. Really. The quarter's almost over. I have classes coming up that will crawl under my skin and send me raging against the system. You know this. It's just a matter of time before I am a loon....a raging loon...and to whom will I turn when that happens Tim? Huh? To whom?
TIM: Impressive use of grammar...
DEB: Thank you. I did it for you my friend.
TIM: Well, some one's going to have to be here for you. Goodness knows those men you live with can't handle existential crises or fragmented personality disorder. Fine. I'll stay here for awhile longer. Oh for crying out loud. Carry on!
DEB: *sigh*
Sunday, October 12, 2008
TIM GUNN TALKS SMACK...ER..."MAC"
TIM: You're smiling again. And that is seldom a good sign for anyone.
ME: Hahahah. Well! I've figured out that whole Youtube thing and I have mastered it.
TIM: You've "mastered" Youtube? Why is this a frightening thought?
ME: Don't be sceered. I've started posting silly little videos I've made with my Mac computer. I think they're funny so I started an account on Youtube so I could post them there.
TIM: And the point is?
ME: Is this where I say another pointy-head joke? Because you know I love pointy-head jokes?
TIM: No. Spare me. What exactly are you uploading to Youtube? And will I be sorry I asked?
ME: Here's what I do. This is my creative process.
TIM: I'm sorry already. Carry on.
ME: You're not sorry, you just love saying "carry on" and I love hearing it. We're a little dysfunctional like that.
TIM: Speak for yourself.
ME: I always do, you're in my head.
TIM: Oh for crying out loud...
ME: OKAY OKAY. Here's what I do; I turn on my Mac computer to the IPhoto. I switch on the video component and turn on one of those crazy visuals like a "squeeze head" or something where I'm all distorted. I look at myself and then, this crazy persona or character comes into my head and sort of takes over. I hear her voice, I get a sense of her story, and then I just start speaking it.
TIM: Speaking what?
ME: Her story! I'm not scripted or anything. I just take off. It's like I'm channeling or something. It's the funnest thing ever!!! You know how some people channel long lost spiritual giants? Well, apparently I channel embittered divorcees and old women with bad face lifts. I don't think I'm "evolved" enough to catch a being of light or a mystical warrior, maybe next lifetime, eh?
TIM: I see.
ME: Hey. That's what psychotherapists say.
TIM: Go on.
ME: They say that as well. Are you writing stuff down? Are you taking notes?
TIM: Why? Would that bother you?
ME: What are you doing Tim? Are you trying to psychotherapize me? What the heck Tim?
TIM: Don't get angry. I just find it curious that you're caught up in this activity of "channeling" other people's personalities?
ME: Oh, you mean like style gurus? You mean like imagining entire conversations with imaginary men? You mean like that Tim? TIM?
TIM: Hmmmmm. I suppose, on hindsight, there probably isn't anything horribly out of kilter about it? It sounds harmless really. It's actually quite humorous. I say "CARRY ON"!!!
ME: I thought that was what you were going to say.
TIM: Well, of course you did, you're brilliant like that...
ME: Hahahah. Well! I've figured out that whole Youtube thing and I have mastered it.
TIM: You've "mastered" Youtube? Why is this a frightening thought?
ME: Don't be sceered. I've started posting silly little videos I've made with my Mac computer. I think they're funny so I started an account on Youtube so I could post them there.
TIM: And the point is?
ME: Is this where I say another pointy-head joke? Because you know I love pointy-head jokes?
TIM: No. Spare me. What exactly are you uploading to Youtube? And will I be sorry I asked?
ME: Here's what I do. This is my creative process.
TIM: I'm sorry already. Carry on.
ME: You're not sorry, you just love saying "carry on" and I love hearing it. We're a little dysfunctional like that.
TIM: Speak for yourself.
ME: I always do, you're in my head.
TIM: Oh for crying out loud...
ME: OKAY OKAY. Here's what I do; I turn on my Mac computer to the IPhoto. I switch on the video component and turn on one of those crazy visuals like a "squeeze head" or something where I'm all distorted. I look at myself and then, this crazy persona or character comes into my head and sort of takes over. I hear her voice, I get a sense of her story, and then I just start speaking it.
TIM: Speaking what?
ME: Her story! I'm not scripted or anything. I just take off. It's like I'm channeling or something. It's the funnest thing ever!!! You know how some people channel long lost spiritual giants? Well, apparently I channel embittered divorcees and old women with bad face lifts. I don't think I'm "evolved" enough to catch a being of light or a mystical warrior, maybe next lifetime, eh?
TIM: I see.
ME: Hey. That's what psychotherapists say.
TIM: Go on.
ME: They say that as well. Are you writing stuff down? Are you taking notes?
TIM: Why? Would that bother you?
ME: What are you doing Tim? Are you trying to psychotherapize me? What the heck Tim?
TIM: Don't get angry. I just find it curious that you're caught up in this activity of "channeling" other people's personalities?
ME: Oh, you mean like style gurus? You mean like imagining entire conversations with imaginary men? You mean like that Tim? TIM?
TIM: Hmmmmm. I suppose, on hindsight, there probably isn't anything horribly out of kilter about it? It sounds harmless really. It's actually quite humorous. I say "CARRY ON"!!!
ME: I thought that was what you were going to say.
TIM: Well, of course you did, you're brilliant like that...
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