The lady vanishes

Newsweek, September 27, 2017

Is it just me or does everyone imagine that Jared Kushner insists that he should be called Chantal when he's out of the public eye?

OK, then, what about Desirée? Maybe he's more of a Desirée.

Or a Nicolette.

Despite his ruthless real estate mogul reputation, there is just something very soft and feminine about La Jared's look and behavior. Yes, I'm trading in stereotypes. Not gay ones, mind you. I don't think he's gay, not at all. But whatever the current progressive-approved term is to describe a cross-dresser, c'est Jared, n'est-ce pas?

Despite the outrageousness of the thought, I don't think I'm completely alone in having it. There was this story from centuries ago, September 2017 or so, that the Lady Kush had checked "female" as his gender when completing his New York State voter registration. (Special note: Interestingly, his New Jersey state voter registration had stated his gender was unknown.) Mistakenly, I'm assuming. Later it was reported that J-Ko hadn't done the deed, it had all been done for him by mistake--a data entry error apparently. Whatever happened--and in the Trump administration, who knows where the truth lies?--it seemed to make perfect sense, Jared registered as a woman "by accident."

And there is one of my recent favorite stories from America's best news source, The Onion--"'You Are the Jewel of My Collection' Says Saudi Prince While Guiding Frightened Jared Kushner Toward Harem." My doe, my lamb, I can't improve upon this. Again, Jared Kushner in the gauzy midst of a medieval Arabian Nights poetryscape makes a perfect sense. At least to my warped way of thinking.

All pure fantasy on my part, of course--just not that kind of fantasy. Oh, I've seen photos (OK, one photo) of a younger Jared that make him seem almost hunky in that way many of us are in our 20s when our body fat percentage is at its lowest and our testosterone level is at its highest. Otherwise, I find him of no interest or appeal other than as yet another Trump enabler who hopefully will spend several decades in prison when this sad mob family saga is over and done.

Always something there to remind me

A new playlist for a new year (Asian or otherwise)--an homage to the pop sounds of the 1950s and 1960s with modern interpretations and inspirations. I've tried to draw links between sounds, titles, grooves, performers, composers, languages, sentiments, and more. Nothing too heavy--just something to remind us that there is a certain salvation in pop music and fantasy. Because there certainly isn't salvation in politics and reality.

What is was was a fool's ball

You can't play rock-and-roll on a diet of Quorn, veggie juice, and Linda Bloody McCartney's Tofu Treats! - Edina Monsoon, Absolutely Fabulous

* * *

A few things you should know about me, if you don't already.

• I hate football and most organized sports.
• I hate the Super Bowl.
• I hate crappy pop music.
• I hate Maroon 5.
• I hate Adam Levine.
• I hate gay men drooling over pictures of gratuitous displays of manflesh.

I don't mind the flesh itself, but I prefer not to act like a 57-year-old 14-year-old every time I see a naked body.

So you likely can surmise that for me a shirtless Adam Levine of Maroon 5 playing the half-time show during the Super Bowl is the equivalent of being stabbed in the head with an ice pick. Repeatedly and with gusto.

I mean, sure, yeah, Adam Levine has a good body ... I guess. But how can I say for sure? There are so many tattoos, so many, and I'm from a generation that thinks excessive tattoos look, well, excessive. And kinda trashy.

One might get away with a lot of tattoos and trashiness if one had some blue collar street cred--serves or served in the armed forces, works as a mechanic, did or is currently doing time in prison, etc. But on a pampered Momma's Boy of a pop star that is as manufactured and focus-grouped as his muscles, they just look trashy but in an inauthentic, calculated way.

I told one of my drooling friends that he looks like a Mexican sugar skull that got lost on his way to a Day of the Dead celebration. Like a lotería card mated with a Ken doll. Like the Guy Pearce character in Memento--or the actress who plays in Blindspot--if the hero were a smug putz who wants you to want his body but acts like he doesn't, that somehow he's above pimpin' himself while he is in fact pimpin' himself. No, señor

And for pity's sake, C A L I F O R N I A? Why? Why did you have a state's name tattooed across your stomach? Are you afraid you'll forget where you live? Is your city tattooed on your ass and your zip code on your wang?

I'm sure in real life Adam Levine is a lovely person, but he gives off (at least to me) a very fake vibe. My drooling friend thought otherwise, so what do I know? I never thought Donald Trump would get elected or Maroon 5 would have lasted past three albums.

In all of this, I can't help express a little sympathy for Adam Levine's wife, Namibian model Behati Prinsloo. Don't you just know she is grateful when they have sex with the lights off? Less reading, fewer visual distractions, and no secret desire to fake an orgasm when you're tired of trying to figure out Where's Waldo.

Lady B, thanks for taking one for the team, but hasn't Africa suffered enough? I think so.

Head case

To: Barron Trump

From: Yours Truly

Re: Football and head injuries

Your father is right to be concerned about the risk of head injuries that can happen while playing football.

However, please note that your father is a prime example of how you can be brain damaged even when you've never played football (or any sport) in your life.

(And golf doesn't count.)

Proceed accordingly.

Sin rumbo

"Sin rumbo" or "Aimlessly." If that doesn't describe me in 2019, I don't know what does.

But maybe that's a good thing? I mean, I feel less crazy, more lazy, and still daydreaming about Argentina six months later. Life could be worse, and, thankfully, at the moment, it is not.