Oooooh-kaaaaay. . .

In a momentary lapse of reason, probably while I was eating and needing something to do, I started watching yet, another reality dating program, called "Tough Love" on VH1.  I am convinced that VH1 bought some mansion in the Hollywood Hills, and in order to pay the mortgage, needs to occupy it with some of the craziest people in the universe under the guise of a "reality" dating show.  So, some dude who claims he and his mother have matched millions of couples, decided to take on the task of helping a group of perpetually single women find true love by changing how they think and behave in a social setting.  One lady in particular, whom is nicknamed, "The Princess", wears a wedding ring.  She informs the matchmaker-dude, "I married myself.  I made a commitment to love and cherish myself."  Now, is it just me, or does she sound completely out of her mind?  I am perpetually single, but, I don't feel the need to marry myself.  I am not really attracted to myself, nor do I want to spend the rest of my life with, myself.  A very dear friend of mine shared with me that she will get dressed up and go out by herself regularly.  She told me how she would go to the ballet and the symphony by herself.  She justified this by saying that she enjoyed her own company.  She also proceeded to tell me that she would get dressed up and go out to a fancy restaurant for dinner--by herself.  She basically told me the same thing as "The Princess"--which is, "I have to love myself and treat myself like a queen.  I have to pamper myself, because no one else is going to do that for me."  Now, I am all about pampering oneself, with a nice massage, a new outfit, cooking a nice meal, etc.  But, I actually enjoy the company of others, and I prefer to go out with other people, like my friends, family, or, a date.  This whole idea of "loving yourself" just seems like a symptom of a psychiatric illness.  Frankly, I bore myself.  If I am alone, there is no way I am getting dressed up to sit by myself in some high end restaurant.  I would rather be at home, in my pajamas, eating a Hot Pocket, or something.  All in all, it is the self-loving woman who may not be loved by any lucky guy.

Follow Me, Follow You

This Twitter thing has completely taken over my life.  I find myself checking it at least five times daily, and I update pretty much every time.  Now, I tend to be verbose, and I have a little difficulty with the 140 character limit.  But, I follow all of these famous people, like some of my favorite artists, television programs, and writers.  I also follow my favorite President, Barrack Obama.  Now, to give my ego a false boost, President Obama follow me, too!  Of course, I follow Starbucks AND Dunkin Donuts (hope they don't find out ;)).  To my thrill, they both follow me, too.  Now, I'm hoping that Trent Reznor will come around. . .

Now, there is this whole Twitter-etiquette thing.  If someone follows me, then, I feel obligated to follow them.  Many of these folks have some quirky Twitters.  Some people have these inspirational messages they send to their followers.  Anderson Cooper just gives a link to his show's website.  Many people have Twitpics, which is kind of fun.  However, it's surprising how many Twitterers just share their usual daily routine, like, "I just took a huge crap, and it was awesome".  I use Tweetie, for the iPhone, which is pretty cool.  I can update and photograph crazy stuff I see in the world.  It was $2.99 well-spent.  Yesterday, I was reading Rolling Stone online while I was shoving my lunch in my face, and I saw a few stories about Trent Reznor's Twitter review of the new Chris Cornell album, and Chris Cornell's possible retort, which probably wasn't a retort at all.  Since I follow them both, I was on the front line of this breaking story.  Pretty cool. . .

This Can't be Happening

An Open Letter to Chris Cornell:

Now, Chris, I have admired you since my teen years.  When you led Soundgarden in the best era for music, your voice and your lyrics floated through the air, each note hanging to oxygen molecules.  "Outshined" provided me the insight and validation that led me through some rough times in college.  "Slaves and Bulldogs" guided me to build an emotional foundation for surviving moments of difficulty with boyfriends, friends, etc.  Moving on to Superunknown, you and the gentlemen from Soundgarden gave us anthems, like the epic "Black Hole Sun", and the tribute to "Spoonman".  With Down on the Upside being the final chapter in the Soundgarden story, you gave us the classic ballad of despair, "Blow up the Outside World". My personal favorite, "Burden in my Hand", provides a blues-rock fusion with a story of eliminating one's lover.   You gave us Euphoria Morning, which highlighted your songwriting and your musical range.  Oh, and "Seasons", from the Singles soundtrack--that is my favorite song and it has been on repeat a lot lately, as many of your songs are. Lest we forget, the genius of Temple of the Dog. . .

Moving on to the next era of your career with Audioslave, the supergroup with members of Rage Against the Machine, which was the mastermind of Rick Rubin.  "Like a Stone" told the story of the spiritual aspirant, with lyrics and melodies mirroring U2's The Joshua Tree.  The remaining two albums were also excellent, with the musical mosh of RATM and you.  You all were the first American band to play in Cuba, to adoring fans.  I had the opportunity to see you perform in Houston.  It was amazing, and I didn't sit down the whole time.  I felt a sense of disappointment when I heard that you left the band, but, I know that you are a talented musician, singer, and songwriter.  I purchased Carry On, and I must say, I was shocked.  Although it wasn't bad, and I really liked the cover of "Billie Jean", the album reminded me a little of, well, John Mayer.  I didn't hear the Chris Cornell that I have known and loyally loved for so long.  But, it was okay, just an experiment.  

I have been hearing of this collaboration with Timbaland for some time now, and I didn't want to believe it.  There is a place for Timbaland and Justin Timberlake, as they make some catchy pop songs together.  However, their place is on a secret playlist, buried in the vault of my iPod, where noone knows where it is.  They emerge when I run on the treadmill or use the elliptical trainer.  However, their place is not in a recording studio with you.  You are an icon in music, and you, along with many others, led a generation (known as X) through some confusing, dark, and frustrating times in our lives.  I completely understand the tradition of risk-taking and going outside one's comfort zone, so I wanted to give it a try.  I wanted to keep an open mind.  But, I am sorry, it was one of the most difficult things to hear.  I was hearing one of my favorite singers amazing vocal talent completely maimed by overproduced, synthesized beats, with the repetitive catch phrases.  If I remember correctly, the chorus of the first song was ,"This b---h ain't a part of me", and I felt like I was in some Twilight Zone, because you are a soulful singer, uttering the lyrics of some Lil Wayne-wannabe.  

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that you are better than this.  You don't have to sell out, so that my teenage cousins will download the Timbaland-produced catchy pop tunes off iTunes.  We love you, your voice, your music, your lyrics, etc.  You don't have to share a stage with the Pussycat Dolls.  You don't have to have Justin Timberlake sing background vocals.  You definitely don't need the hiccough-like grunt of Timbaland to ruin a song for you.  Please, play the music we all know and love from you.

Why Won't They Leave me Alone?

I really do love children.  I work with them for a living and it is tremendously rewarding.  I also hope to have children of my own someday.  Children are our future; they are innocent, pure, and sincere.  They have nothing but love in their hearts.  However, when I feel like listening to my iPod and reading, they annoy the crap out of me.  For some reason I have a tendency to welcome the likes of attention-starved children.  While sitting in a waiting room, a hyperactive child kept approaching me, with a desire to show me every object from her mother's purse.  She slowly, stealthily creeped over to me, like a hunter sneaking upon its prey.  Then, if I looked up, she stared for a moment, shocked, and then proceeded to identify all of her mother's personal items.  If I am waiting in a grocery store line, and there is one sitting in the cart in front or behind me, they are constantly staring, smiling, and waving.  I was recently sitting on a plane, again, just trying to read a book, listen to my iPod, and essentially mind my own business.  A little girl in front of me persisted in poking her head through the partition between the seats, smiling.  When I attempted to just ignore her, she had the audacity to tap on my tray table.  Of course, I had to respond, in a smiling, sing-songy voice and comment on her Tinkerbell shirt and her Disney Princess shoes.  

Many times, when parents are bright enough to bring their other children along to an appointment for a child for whom they are concerned, the siblings do everything in their power to get my approval.  I can convince the siblings to do anything, like throw away trash, pick up the blocks that their brother/sister threw across the room, and even provide a medical history.  After I have evaluated their brother/sister, these poor kids will actually follow me out of the room (although I'm the doctor, I am actually a stranger), and tell me many private details of the home situation and their lives.  At the end, when it's time to say goodbye, these poor kids don't want to leave.  When I finally convince them that I can't be their mother and that their family may actually prefer that they return home, the kids are pretty adamant about kissing, hugging, etc.  I have a rule that I don't really like to touch other people's children, without some blood relation or need for a medical examination.  Many of my patients like deep pressure on their mouths, and are very aggressive about climbing on me, hugging me, and pressing their dirty little mouths against my face.  Being the obsessive-compulsive germaphobe I am, there are times when I have to leave the room so I can stop hyperventilating from the anxiety.

Battle of the Moms of Many

As Octomom is thrust into my life by Larry King, Dr. Phil, Nancy Grace, Entertainment Tonight, and, yes, even Papa Bear Bill O'Reilly, I am beginning to experience a deja vu.  Sarah Barracuda (Palin) revisits my memory, and a few similarities strike me as odd:

                            SARAH PALIN                          NADYA SULEMAN

1. Number of kids   5, + 1 grandbaby                  6, + octopulets
2. Exclusive interview  Charlie Gibson (ABC)       Someone (ABC)
3. Acquisitions            $150,000 Wardrobe                   $168,000 Disability
4. Desired jobs                 President, err, Vice Pres            Actress, err, Porn star
5. 15 minutes   Speech at GOP convention     Fight with Mom on TV news show
6. Media whoring Lugging children everywhere    Constant filming of her kissing kids
7. Reality strikes     V.P debate                 Father questions mental situation
8. World crashes   McCain/Palin lose election        Home about to be foreclosed
9. Comeback strategy  Interview re: media mistreatment      Intervention by Dr. Phil
10. Dumb nickname  Lipstick-wearing pitbull              Octomom

In a Twilight Zone moment, this all seems very eerie.   Why are we fascinated with crazy chicks that have a bunch of kids?  In a ploy to receive good publicity, we are bombarded of images of adorable children, tiny babies in the neonatal ICU, these women struggle to epitomize the strong, yet tender woman.  They aspire to be the ultimate woman, with the maternal instinct of the Virgin Mary, sex appeal of Marilyn Monroe, and intellect of Marie Curie.  However, superheroes are meant to be in film adaptations of graphic novels.  These ladies are far from being heroes and inspirations to women.

Songs on Repeat

Today, U2 drops their new album, No Line in the Horizon, and will hopefully sell more copies than Taylor Swift, Fall Out Boy, etc. combined.  Five star reviews and a week-long promotional appearance on Letterman will hopefully lead to . . .gasp. . . a tour. . .  But, in the tradition of the catchy iTunes-commercial song, I have had to download and keep "Get on Your Boots" on repeat for the last few days.  It starts my day, helps me keep my pace on the treadmill, etc.  The song actually inspired me to wear "sexy boots" to work.

Now, for the embarrassing part.  I am totally addicted to this dumb song, "Burning Up", by, yes, the Jonas Brothers.  I finally had to download it, after I watched them perform it (I was with my younger, teenage cousins).  I love all two minutes and 57 seconds of this song.  As a woman, I want nothing more than for some guy, to sing in that whiny, lovesick voice that I make him "burn up" for me.  I don't know their names, and frankly, they are not the best singers.  However, this is really a great pop song, with a sweet innocence reminiscent of the early Beatles or Elvis Presley songs.  

Where Have all the Real Men Gone?

In a world that is inundated by dating reality shows, dating websites, speed dating, mixers, and social networking websites, I have come to the realization that there is no romance anymore.  Where is that guy, from whose perspective Frank Sinatra croons, "Strangers in the night, exchanging glances, wandering in the night, what were the chances, we'd be sharing love, before the night is through. . ."  We all want a quick fix, that physical gratification.  We want all of our senses to be simultaneously pleasured to the maximum force.  

Dating websites grown like weeds, taking over the internet and sucking up all of the resources.  All of them claim to have the secret to finding us the loves of our lives.  They seem so generic and superficial.  We list all of our physical speculations and requirements, kind of like a resume.  If you meet the standards based on how hot you look in your picture and how catchy your subject line is, you may get a match or two.  Frankly, it reminds me of going to a bar, where people let their guards down with a sense of anonymity.  People put these professional glamour shots, which depicts an aspiring actress/actor/model type.  In bars, the lighting is a little off and people visually impaired by their alcohol consumption.  They wind up with someone who is ready and willing, only to find out that the person really looks like crap in the morning.  

Reality dating shows are just a reflection of the downgrading of humanity as we know it.  Television producers visit the shallowest of gene pools to find the participants for their trash orgy, known as "The Bachelor" or "Rock of Love" or "Flavor of Love".  Of course, I find these things a source of entertainment and self-prophecy.  Most of the actual seekers of love are seekers of attention and self-promotion.  They get to live in a posh mansion filled with unlimited, flowing booze and a house requirement that one must cover less than 10% of her body with clothing.  Of course, where alcohol flows, silicon implants show, with some of these women having superhuman mammary glands, probably nuclear fembots in disguise.  

The art of romance, wooing a potential partner, and really appreciating someone is completely extinct.  Men don't want to work very hard to impress a lady, and ladies are very rare.  Chicks, on the other hand, are rampant, and require no effort.  Everyone looks for the easiest conquest, who requires little conquering.  Unfortunately, there are endangered species, such as myself, who still yearn for passion, romance, and true love.