I HEART M.S.

Poor Martha. I’m crying as I type, abetted by a crisp white tea towel I bought at a flea market. If you squeeze the tears out, you’ll find the salty water perfect for removing blood stains.

I always Got her. Anal, picky, obsessive, compulsive, idealistic - we could have been separated at birth. Wanting Things perfect, isn’t that the point? Does anyone make a cake thinking, “Ah what the fuck. Who gives a rat’s ass if it looks like a Special Ed project?” Perhaps. But deep down we want it to look good, like a picture in a magazine, like Martha makes. Granted, she has thousands of minions and a Matrix-like supply of materials at her disposal. In the end, however, it was her pinched attention and hypnotic tone that lulled you into thinking you could do the same. You, too, could have Superpowers.

If I had a problem with Martha, it was her willingness to share The Secret. Usually what makes something Fabulous is it’s distinction. When everyone starts buying 350 count sheets and whipping out chicken sate, the thrill is gone. Style and Taste dilute to Mall Wear and before I know it I’m at K-Mart elbowing aside twenty Mexicans and their eight thousand kids to get to the Good Stuff.

Jail will be tough. Cybil Shepherd Out, Gena Rowlands In. I’m consoled by the fact I know it will not break her. Every day she/me/ we face life’s indignities. Misplaced silverware at restaurants. Wrinkled money. Polyester. One learns how to bravely march on.

My thoughts are with you Martha! We’ll be waiting. They can never take away the world as we see it and that, indeed, is a Good Thing.

12:57:36 PM    sro home /