|
|
The |
|
(The Latest Word provides Sandy's latest observations about folk music and other topics. The main Latest Word page contains a list of additional installments.) THERE OUGHTA BE A LAW I really hate to mention this—but I have another life outside music. Okay, I'll admit it: I practice law. (Please don't hit.) Oh, I know I really should retire, but people keep getting into trouble and my boss wants to pay me to help get them out. Looks like I may have to keep practicing till I get it right. Which brings me to the next logical step—perhaps I should use my legal background for good instead of evil. How many times have all of us grumbled, "There ought to be a law?" How many times have we actually thought about just exactly what there ought to be a law against (e.g., ending a preposition to end a sentence with)? Well, I'm about to perform a public service by adding my two cents (or, if you're reading this on the other side of the Atlantic, .035 Euro). There ought to be a law against: • People who don't want to commit to buying an article of clothing right away (or don't want to go through the bother and expense of lay-away), so they hide their desired garment in a rack of the wrong-size clothes. Anyone ever rummage through the racks to find just the right dress, shirt, etc. in the right color—and then find out it's a size 2 lurking amid the 14s? And while we're at it, how come I never find a 1X buried in the size 4 Petite rack? Which brings us to.... • Size 2. Even worse, size 0. Even worse, size 2s who decide they're too fat for fashion standards and publicly and conspicuously diet to fit into a size 0. In college I endured a grueling year of Weight Watchers and got down from a size 14 to a 6. I proudly strode into the Petite department at Ohrbach's (a painfully fashionable and mercifully extinct department store on NYC's Herald Square). I tried on the terminally adorable dresses and pants and admired myself in the mirror. The saleslady (whom Lara Flynn Boyle would have described as skeletal) mentioned that I looked pleased. I replied that I had indeed dropped 30 lbs and a whole bunch of dress sizes. "How marvelous," she gushed. Without a trace of irony, she added, "Now if you could just get down to 96 lbs., you'd be perfect." To paraphrase Bruce Cockburn, "If I had a rocket launcher...." Well, fair is fair, after all. I could probably survive a plane crash in the Andes without eating my fellow passengers far longer than could she. I'd like to think that today she is a size 26 grandma in New Jersey—cursing at some unprincipled bimbo who has sneakily slipped a 1X into the size 4X racks. • Giant SUVs that block your view, splatter mud and salty road slush all over your windshield as they pass, and bully their way into two Small Car Only parking spaces at once. Unless you happen to be driving one. • Bands who can't sing on key, play instruments, or write their own material but have become critics' darlings for their looks and/or chutzpah (critics use the euphemisms "attitude" or "innovation"). I won't name names, but check out Time magazine's recent issue (Jan. 15, I think). While we're at it.... • The magazine industry's charming habit of dating current issues a week to two months ahead of the actual date they hit the stands. See above. Ever go into the dentist's waiting room, pick up a magazine dated this week, and realize it's full of two week-old news? • Televised awards show geniuses who put Creed, Limp Bizkit, N'Sync, and Britney Spears in the same category. And, by extension.... • Limp Bizkit, N'Sync, and Britney Spears. (I'll give Creed a pass: Though they're not to my taste—if we need two lead singers who sound exactly alike, I'll take Eddie Vedder over Scott Stapp any day—at least they have chops and sincerely believe in their subject matter.) • That smug little twit who does Entertainment Weekly's In/Out/Five Minutes Ago minicolumn. Who among us wants to hear that they're so Five Minutes Ago? • Anyone who lives in LA complaining about how cold it is this winter. Boo-frickin'-hoo. • For that matter, winter. Bitter cold, ice anywhere except in your drink, snow anywhere except where you can ski on it, cities that neglect to plow alleys or side streets, and cities that carelessly plow alleys and side streets, sealing parked cars and garage doors behind walls of snow. And sidewalks you need cross-country ski poles to negotiate. • More than one removable price tag or label per item of clothing. Size and care labels with sharp edges that stab your neck and are printed in pidgin Esperanto. All those @#$%^&* little straight pins used to pack men's shirts—as well as the cardboard collar shapers, the plastic carboard collar shaper shapers, yards of tissue paper, and useless sheets of cardboard. (On the other hand, buy enough shirts and you'll never have to buy tissue paper or cardboard again.) • All of the TV networks and cable channels that schedule their commercials at the same time. What's a poor channel surfer to do? • Diet Nazis. First they told us to cut down on fat. Then sugar and refined starch. Then red meat. Then fish, because of the danger of contamination and the dwindling worldwide fish population. Then grains, potatoes, and pasta, because they contain starch. Then fruits—even peas and carrots—because they are full of sugar. Then fresh fruits and vegetables, because they are grown in polluted soil and their vitamins have taken a nose-dive in potency over the years. (Wanna go hunt down a Center for Science in the Public Interest spokesman, pin him down, and starve him till he screams, "Krispy Kreme?" Meet me at my place tomorrow morning, and bring a giant butterfly net and handcuffs. No, not for us, you pervert. Get your mind out of the gutter. On second thought, put it back. And Instant-Message me). And finally (drum roll, please): • There Ought to Be a Law lists. One Andy Rooney per century is more than enough. That's what I think. Of course, your mileage may vary.
Main Page • Additional Installments • Contact Sandy Copyright © 2000, 2001, Sandy Andina, All Rights Reserved |
|
