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1:53 p.m. : 2002-08-01 : Cotton Candy 'n Sauerkraut

I could not resist the bouncy cuteness of this little gaggle of guys. Thanks, june-miller.

Ok� This freaking American Idol thing is manipulating my skin to erupt in goosebumps. It is muy embarazoso, mis amigos! Theatre is like crack. Once you�ve had it in your system you can�t help but be stirred by anything remotely close�anything where people are really SELLING it. I guess since the music oozing from the heinie of American Idol is so far from anything I want to do/make that it is safe for me to be creepily moved by it, and yes, I find myself trying out dance moves in my vanity mirror and singing along to �Joy to the World� or �Jeremiah was a Bullfrog� or whatever the hell the song is called that they�re R & B-sturbating. It�s like watching Karate Kid and getting up and doing fake shing-sham-shazaam martial arts moves. It takes me back to the days of Liz Claiborne and Design perfumes, Powder-scent Secret spray antiperspirant, Salon Selectives hairspray and Sea Breeze facial astringent (which smells remarkably like pickled ginger). But most importantly, it takes me back to that o-so-full-of-hope time when you really believe you will be ~ rewarded ~ for your musical and dramatic abilities and fame seems so sweet and innocuous. And justifiably yours. And the measure of success. And then you grow up and (hopefully) realize, even with the bombardment of commercials for hot muffins voiced-over by Kathleen Turner, constant details of Julia Roberts DIY wedding (groom wore a red shirt! fried chicken!), and Brits declaring her slavedom to the drooling hoi polloi, that FAME IS NOTHING. Ok, I know I�m trampling on religion here. And fame gets people some pretty nice things. But my point is, Phil Hartman�s wife believed it would make her happy�where are they? Patty Duke (btw doesn�t go by �Patty Duke� anymore) had to hide her depression for years. Now that Tenacious D believes they really are the Greatest Band in the World, they�re not anymore. And what redemption/truth do they/we have? Betty Ford and the E! True Hollywood Story. And yes�I love the E!THS. And we have Mackenzie Phillips on Proactiv infomercials. (And yes, it pains me to type that word with no �e� on the end. In fact, the word �proactive� pains me. It�s right up there with �team player,� �FYI,� �upward mobility,� and �sexy� to describe marketing copy).

Ok�so on American Idol I really think the o-so-sincere tawny Sideshow Bob guy may win but he almost got kicked to the curb just now. Instead the one eliminated is the Hot Chick who dresses as if lions keep ripping more of her clothes off, upon which she ties the bits of material to her sinewy limbs. Ryan, I believe her name is.

I talk so much smack on commercials and consumerism as a pacifier for the masses yet I�ve always been a total drugstore junkie. It wasn�t �Can we go to Toys �R Us?� but rather �Can we go to Genovese?� I can�t think of the first five years of my life without fond memories of taking bites out of my sisters� giant black raspberry Bonne Bell lip-smacker, coveting their Tickle deodorant (by the time my pits were roll-on-worthy it had been discontinued), and stealing sips of the impossibly pink-can-bedecked Tab soda.

Switching gears (sort of), watch the waves for the Cato Salsa Experience�Brent and I saw them play the other night and they were good and goofy and rock �n roll. The bass player was great and so hilarious�a touch of Mick Jagger only better looking (sorry, Shannon). They�ll probably be famous soon unless his cheekbones don�t come jamming right through his skin first and he has to recover for months in a sanitarium in Holland. It�s already happened once�they say that�s how come he has them little bangs�those razors-for-cheekbones couldn�t resist cutting right through his skin and going whole-hog on his already jagged mop do.

The free mini-cd that fell into my hands describes them as �Unruly, ultra-fun garage rock from Norway.� That�s about right. (How dorksville am I�the cd is fully tripping on the psychedelic Action Is font and I�m so aware of it that it hurts. I saw a frozen cappuccino machine at a convenience store the other night that was sporting the Font Diner sparkly font�one of my favorites. I'm all over fonts like someone who's purposefully not touching you! Not touching you! Brent told me that when we first met he was delightfully surprised (and found it touchingly odd) when I said something about the �Woody Allen font.� But you know what I mean. How many of your minds� eyes went black with white letters in the white Woody Allen font, your minds� ears filling with 30�s jazz? See, there�s something fame gets you�your own font and better than that, exclusive choice of music, which Woody uses well).

It�s so hot today I have what I like to call �pre-wig drag queen� hair. A bun and a headband, baby. Fosse, Fosse, Fosse!

I can rest easy now, learning that my paranoid fears that dictionary.com was dissing me were quite to the contrary�they were actually saving up to give me a really good word:

Word of the Day for Thursday August 1, 2002:

camarilla kam-uh-RIL-uh; -REE-yuh, noun:

A group of secret and often scheming advisers, as of a king; a cabal or clique.

Mr Kiselev likened Yeltsin's entourage to a "camarilla"... which would turn Russia "into a gigantic banana republic corrupted from top to bottom by a rotten clique of demagogues". --Marcus Warren, "Moguls at war over control of Kremlin," [1]Daily Telegraph, July 23, 1999

The arrest in October 1976 of Mao's radical camarilla, the so-called Gang of Four, led by his maniacal widow, Jiang Qing, was the second "liberation," delivering the Chinese from the most extreme forms of ideological conditioning. --Willem Van Kemenade, China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Inc.

Camarilla comes from Spanish, literally, "a small room," from Late Latin camera, �chamber� ("vault; arched roof" in Latin), from Greek kamara, "vault."

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