Think in pink

Plus, a little celebrity conversation

This is the irresistible pre-spring nature show. There are some people out there (no judgment here) who are unmoved by blossoming Japanese plums. I'm pretty sure that until there is a lego version of flowering plums with hidden weapons in the branches, my kid will remain unimpressed. I find them just amazing. I'm not even a real devoted pink fan, but, I mean, look at em'!

As much as I love these grounded pink clouds, I will not plant any in my own yard because these are ornamental and my true passion is for fruiting trees. Speaking of those, I will have to get a shot of my cherry tree budding up. The buds are just beginning to split open showing pink blossoms. My blueberries are beginning to leaf out too. Except for the couple that don't look so good.

My mom is, in my opinion, largely responsible for having instilled in me a great passion for growing things. As I mentioned in my last post, this passion was latent until I had my very own playground in which to find out how fantastic it is to grow my own flowers and fruit. My mom is at a point in her own life where gardening is no longer a priority. She has much darker concerns right now. Still, yesterday morning she and I got feverish talking about building green houses, and raised beds. She can't help herself, this time of year rolls around and even though she is not tending a garden at this moment, she's eager to help me realize my garden ambitions.

Which will be tricky this year as there is such a constraint on my time. However, what if I bust my butt in the shop to complete a bunch of things I must complete, and carve out a couple of days? Truth be told, there are at least two or three weeks worth of chores to attend out there. I want to muck around. I want to clean up. To weed. To prune. To put in time amongst my roses. To plant new ones.

This isn't so much of a hobby as it is a necessity. I'll squeeze it in there somehow.

Most people who know me know that I am unashamed to say that I really enjoy reading the smut mags. I don't feel that it says anything about my intelligence to admit this. Since human behavior is pretty much the most interesting thing on earth it should not be surprising at all that I like to know how other people live. What could be more fascinating than finding out how people with more money than sense live?*

There are some things I wish to say after having read the most recent rash of dirt rags:

There are a number of celebrities that these magazines are constantly referring to as "trend setters", "style icons", and "always fashionable".

I would like to interject here that Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen are not style icons. In fact, few celebrities have managed to look as consistently skanky. Sorry girls, you look like thirteen year olds who just discovered make up and Grandma's furs for the first time. Most of us have been there, Lord knows I went through a very painful stage of wearing all pink and blue eyeshadow, but I did eventually grow out of it. These two gals look like shrunken caricatures of rich girls with no sense of style at all and droopy shoulders.

Chloe Sevigny is another celebrity more known for her "fashion forward" wardrobe than for her acting. Good god, there are few people in the public eye more capable of reminding me of all the worst fashions of the past. Who pays these reporters to say that she is always fashionable? I want to hit them with big soggy pickles for saying such total trash. Plus, she always looks so bored. Which makes me want to smack her with a big soggy pickle too. (I really appreciate the website "Go Fug Yourself" for the things they have to say about Chloe. Though now the two creators of this blog are writing for one of the smut magazines and have suddenly become mysteriously unfunny. Such a waste.

I have just been reading all about the Oscar parties and something weird has come to my attention: that all the celebrities who attend the Oscars and the following parties get to take away with them really expensive "goodie" bags full of treasures. I think it's really creepy actually. Here are people, most of whom can afford anything on earth they want besides Buckingham Palace, and they are being given bags full of products that the rest of us will probably never be able to afford.

It's that whole concept that when you don't need a bank loan, the banks will jump hoops to give you one. The celebrities are being rewarded for being famous and making more than is really necessary for any human being to make while the people who made that fame and fortune possible, the people who ultimately bank roll their riches (us poor slobs who go to their movies and watch them on television) are working our asses off to barely be able to afford to buy Paris Hilton's cat-piss perfume.**

If I was a very rich person, I would feel really weird about taking expensive gifts whose purpose is really to woo me into endorsing their various products. Actually, I'm not a rich person at all and I already feel really uncomfortable when anyone tries to give me anything for free. Seriously. But here's where my feelings get complicated; my business is barely off the ground and if a celebrity were to be seen wearing one of my aprons I would be launched. It's exactly the same thing if I court them by sending them free stuff hoping they will be seen using/wearing it. Which is something I have been thinking of doing. But it's so gross. It's gross that celebrities take these goodie bags, free designer clothes, and free products. It's gross that companies go to such lengths to court them. Sycophants, everyone.

Apparently me included.

It's very hard for me to have sympathy for celebrities being hounded by the press when I know they are taking part in the big cycle of fame prostitution. That they are being rewarded to be seen at events by being given bags full of products worth $8,000 or more.

I would have a lot more respect for them all if celebrities, instead of taking all this free loot for themselves, auctioned it all off as it came to them and donated the proceeds to their favorite charitable causes.

Well, I must be off to work because, unfortunately I am neither thin enough or famous enough to be living off the fat of my past deeds.

*Yes, yes, I know. How judgy of me. How can I possibly know this? And what if Brittney is reading my blog? If she was, I think I'd be making a living with my blog by now.

**I lie not. It smells exactly like tom cat spray.

How can this be? I drank no beer yesterday, I got exercise, and today I am fatter? Plus: no beer is now synonymous with BAD DREAMS in which I am flunking lots of classes I didn't even know I was taking.