Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Wednesday, Nov. 20, 2002 - 12:20 a.m.

Michael Jackson is a freak, y'all.

Now, I realize this is stating the obvious, but I've been cutting the guy slack for years, labelling him a pathetically sad and lonely man with deep-seeded issues, rather than opting for the cheap and easy label of freak.

I see, now, the error of my ways.

The guy is gone. Certifiable. And one has to wonder exactly when that happened and what the hell is going on in the dark, dark place that is Michael Jackson's brain, because it must be the most tortured morass of pain that ever was; that guy is a Freak with a capital F. He is a loon, whacked, out there, nuttier than a fruitcake. Not only are the lights on and nobody's home, the place has been packed up, white sheets are tossed over the furniture, and the owners don't EVER plan on coming back. They're selling the place from Europe or something. And it's haunted. It's haunted in a way that makes every other haunting look like freaking normality. The guy is gone.

Remember how nice and normal Michael used to look? Before he discovered plastic butchers and cryogenic chambers, surgical masks, and hotel balconies? I wonder at what age he'll start pushing his children to have plastic surgery? That is, assuming he doesn't drop them off of a 4th floor balcony first. Michael used to be all-American. Makes you wonder about the American Dream, man. Maybe it's not all it's cracked up to be. Maybe I don't need to get everything I ever asked for, afterall. Maybe it's good to want and never have. I'm thinking I'm gonna be a little less unhappy about not having it all, from now on, because I've seen what happens when you have a lot, and it is scary.

I also wonder if The Nose will get more press than the bizarreness of nonchalantly dangling a baby off a 4th floor hotel balcony when one is in town to accept an award for one's work benefitting children. Which is why I finally graduated the sad, pathetic creature to Freak. And I'm reading this article on the subject, and some lameass plastic surgeon has the gall to suggest it's not always easy to say no to people requesting plastic surgery, there's no line drawn. And I'm thinking, Oh, really? Because I'm thinking even plastic surgeons swear a Hippocratic oath, wherein they pledge to do no physical harm to a person, but to heal him, and whomever did that hack job on Michael's nose (and the rest of his face) *certainly* violated that oath. When do you draw the freaking line?

When the person asking you to cut into their face has had so much surgery they no longer resemble a human being, you leech. When jurors gasp in horror and small children scream in terror, while their mothers cry out "Dear God, what is that THING?"* It's time to say no, or face medical malpractice charges. Betcha five, plastic surgeons would have no trouble whatsofreakingever saying no if they were gonna be brought up on criminal charges for their butchery. And they should be if they're taking advantage of people with that syndrome that causes them to mutilate their bodies. Or anyone else pathologically inclined to seek plastic surgery, for that matter. Michael Jackson is an abomination, and someone helped him get there. And that person should have to answer for his atrocities. It's Michael's responsibility, yes, but someone should have said no, for god's sake.

And that's all I'm gonna say on the subject.

*Apologies to excellent writer William Goldman.

Poser from Hell
I have to wonder if there was ever a more over-rated singer than Shania Twain - other than Brittany Spears, I mean. If you ever have the misfortune to receive a Shania Twain cd as a gift (I don't know, don't ask), you'll find out what I mean. As if you'd need that proof, but some of the stuff she does on the radio isn't THAT bad. I mean, that sappy "From This Moment" song was kinda nice, in a Lionel Ritchie, sap-sucking, moony-love kinda way, but if you ever heard the album version, it SUCKED POND WATER LIKE NO SONG EVER SUCKED BEFORE IN THE ENTIRE HISTORY OF SONG SUCKAGE. I'm serious. It was absolutely vile. That woman and her parody of a music producing hubby, Mutt Lange, can not write a song intro to save their talentless little lives. The radio version was way better, so if you hated that version, you would have torn your eardrums out to avoid having to listen to the album version. The whole thing, not just the intro, but trust me. Do NOT put yourself thru it just to find out. I'm here to tell you; I've been thru the Saving Private Ryan battlefield of that hell, and you do not need to go thru it too. I made that sacrifice for all of mankind already. Please, save yourself. And I know those of you who are all into Def Leppard and consider Pyromania the greatest album ever recorded think of Mutt Lange as the single most amazing, talented record producer of all time, revered as a *god*.

Uh, no.

That would be George Martin, aka The Fifth Beatle. If you think it was Mutt Lange, you not only need your head kicked in, you are too sad to live.

Bygones.

Get a life, and then some.
I have come across many scary things in my wanderings thru cyberspace. This is one of the scariest. What's really scary is that the site's counter says it's had 3,487,654,263,745 visitors. That's 3 trillion, 487 billion, 654 million, 263 thousand, 745. Wow.

Please define "security," Joe.
"This legislation will improve the security of all Americans in the age of insecurity that we entered after Sept. 11." --Senator Joseph Lieberman, on the passage of the Homeland Security Act of 2002, which "provides broad exemptions to the Freedom of Information Act."

Come again, Joe? It extends for yet another year the deadline for airport screening of all baggage that goes onboard an airplane. So I don't feel any more secure about getting on a plane, there, Joe. Funny how baggage x-ray machines gathering dust at LAX just don't inspire me to fly. Especially when the airport is one of others across the country who are part of a pilot program which allows them to stop conducting random searches of passengers, because federal employees are employed as baggage screeners now. Federal employees. Civil servants. The same people who set their clocks ahead 10 minutes so they can stop working at 3:20pm instead of 3:30. It also enables the government to tromp all over my privacy without so much as a by your leave to the courts. Again, not feeling all that secure, Joe. In fact, I feel noticeably less secure. But I'm sure all the fricking neo-Nazis in the country feel just great. So thanks for that one.

And oh yeah, did I mention all the fat little add-ons Republican reps pushed thru? Apparently, it is absolutely vital to "Homeland Security" that companies with government contracts be able to use offshore accounts to avoid paying US taxes, and that the makers of drugs and vaccines not be held liable for any damages their products might do. Yeah, there's no peril, there. Drug companies NEVER cheat on research or hide damaging evidence against the use of their product. So, we're totally good there. Thank God.

Seriously, how much does it cost to move to France?

Life in Starshollow
Rory told Dean *what*? Jess and Rory are a couple? Then why was she still wearing Dean's bracelet until it broke in the shower? Why is Dean still coming to Thanksgiving Dinner at Rory's house? Why on god's green earth does Kurt have a trophy almost as big as he is? Jeez, you miss half a season of Gilmore Girls, and everything goes to hell in a handbasket. It's just not fair they moved it to Tuesday night, opposite Buffy. That's just wrong, people. But at least I'll have something to watch on Tuesdays this summer. I love The Gilmore Girls. If I had my own series, I'd want it to be like that one. Lauren Graham hit the jackpot, that's for sure. I want to be a regular on either GG or The West Wing. It could happen.

Is it just me, or is it even creepier when an actor you think is cute plays a psychopathic badguy? I find myself still attracted, and then it's just disturbing and unsettling. Maybe I should seek therapy.

Why is it every time they need a woman to do a cat-themed voice over, they get Eartha Kitt? Julie Newmar was a good Catwoman, too, you know. In fact, no slam on Eartha, but Julie rocked. I still say Julie was the best Catwoman, ever. She wasn't born bad, she was just dressed that way. (okay, okay, sorry; couldn't resist. have i mentioned i play the moo game? lay off.) Julie Newmar will forever be the one true Catwoman in my eyes.

Then again, what do I know? I watched the Bugaloos and wanted to be Joy when I grew up, so clearly, I do not have the best judgement in the world.

At any rate, that's all there is to this entry. I'm tired and craving a 2am snack, so I am for the kitchen. Where the snacks live.

Later days.

Peace out,
Katie

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Yesterday's News - Next Stop

In which Katie shares sad news - Wednesday, Apr. 01, 2015
In which Katie returns after a very long absence - Monday, Jun. 25, 2012
In which Katie pokes her head in and brushes some of the cobwebs away - Thursday, May. 06, 2010
In which Katie asks you to write your congressman again. - Monday, Jun. 02, 2008
In which Katie asks you to please click the link and send the message to protect the rights of artists - Wednesday, May. 21, 2008