Come Back Sarah Palin!!!!

Okay, I simply cannot say anything here that was not already said, with far better wit, snark and charm, than Mark Morford at SF Gate. Ya gotta read it. Click Here. I admit to having a major talent crush on him. Sorry Manpants. Tis True.

Michael Jackson -- The ARTIST, or the MAN?

Michael Jackson’s HUGE memorial service is today. A few of my friends are there. They managed to get tickets. I find it appropriate and fitting that two of them are there – I think they would be crying for a month if they weren’t.

I am curious though – what or who specifically are they/we all mourning today? The list of A-List participants at the memorial is pretty impressive. Stevie Wonder, Mariah Carey, Usher, Kobe Bryant, Brook Shields to name a few. But are they there for The ARTIST, or the MAN? Are they there for who he was a very long time ago? Who he became? Can they possibly be there for both; possessing the infinite capacity of compassion necessary to embrace ALL of it? – Is it even possible to be there for both in this particular circumstance or is an astronomically vast fog of denial the collective need here? Can a proper memorial service celebrate the life of someone like Michael Jackson without mentioning the MAN, independent of the ARTIST?

Okay that was annoying. Yeah, I know – that’s a lot of questions, but seriously. My mind is churning here.

According to the relatively simplistic definition of Wiktionary, ARTIST is defined as follows:

A person who creates art.
A person who creates art as an occupation.
A person who is skilled at some activity.

Well, by that definition, Michael Jackson was certainly all that.

It defines MAN as follows:

A MAN is a male human. The term man (irregular plural: men) is used for an adult human male, while the term boy is the usual term for a human male child or adolescent human male. . . Sometimes it is also used to identify a male human, regardless of age.

The term "manhood" is used to refer variously to the condition of being male, male sexuality, or the actual reproductive organs.

Okay, by that definition as well, he was a MAN in that he had the requisite organs, he was an adult male, (though reportedly an adolescent human male in arrested development due to early childhood trauma.)

Like Howard Hughes -- the genius aviator and brilliant visionary; on one hand an undeniable talent and artist in his field and on the other, crazier than a shit-house rat – Michael Jackson was a dichotomy.

Back to my friends who are attending the memorial. One is a singer, one is a dancer. I am pretty sure that neither of them would be the type of performer they are today without the influence of the incredible artistic talent that was Michael Jackson. I am relatively certain that the mentally ill, self-hating-skin-bleaching-plastic-surgery-addicted-child-molesting recluse that slept with young boys and a chimpanzee had no influence whatsoever on the hundreds of thousands of people who grew to love Michael Jackson for his music, dancing and all around fashion forwardness. I am pretty sure that most people would like to forget all about that part.

I am also pretty sure that there are those that will never forget that part. There are those who would not be who they are today without the influence of THAT part of the equation and that is not really a great or even a good thing. I would not want their therapy bills, nor their nightmares. Nor still would I want to live for even five minutes in the head of any of the parents that pimped out their children to him so he could have unsupervised overnight child guests at Neverland Ranch and they could make a little cash. I would not want to be the staff that worked for him. I think Michael Jackson, the MAN, was a sick individual that needed to be locked up and not allowed custody of his soon-to-be-very-fucked-up children. I think he should have had himself cryogenically preserved after the Thriller Album – okay Off the Wall -- and ceased being at that place – it seems to be the place the rest of us stopped at with respect to our worship of him as an ARTIST. Our collective willingness to overlook each and every progressive action during the course of his mental decline, regardless how lawless or morally repugnant, is evidenced by the stadium-sized memorial going on as I write this (while simultaneously checking in on FaceBook to get the photo updates from my friend in VIP seating.)

Wiktionary also defines MAN as: Humanity as a whole. I interpret this to mean our collective ability to be compassionate -- to forgive. We are celebrating and mourning the life and death of Pop Culture itself today. The complete awesomeness that Pop Culture is, along with the twisted, sick and pathetic state Pop Culture can become.

I admit to feeling rather confused, numb, sad, angry and all of the feelings that go with being rather confused, numb, sad, angry. Not really knowing HOW to feel about something so large is an entirely undefinable thing that requires a new word that has not yet been invented.

Politicians and Their Penises -- DOH!

What is up with politicians and their runaway penises? Honestly.

How about this:

Her: “If you sleep with someone other than me and I find out about it, the outcome is very simple. You will come home to find the locks changed and your crap in the middle of the street outside. Done and done.”

Him: “Likewise.”

The couple high five, cheer, chest bump and sit down together to watch So You Think You Can Dance.

That’s how it’s done. This business of standing stoically by your man at a press conference as he humiliates your coupledom on national television – is absolute hogwash. To be fair, I suppose I should say “stand by your man OR woman”, though I have yet to see a female politician spend tax payer money on getting a boy toy a staff position. Nor have any of us seen the aftermath of a she-powerful-public-servant haplessly running off to a foreign country because she just can’t get enough of that sweet boy ass. The second he OR SHE ventured outside the marriage agreement, they lost all privileges in the “I’ll stand you, no matter what” department. Especially if the idiot is in a career that involves exposure to television, FaceBook, Twitter, YouTube, Fox News, etc. . .

We do not live in a country that has a good or healthy relationship with sex – and there are many who are paid good money to state on camera that sex is evil and dirty and icky and something to be very, very afraid of. So if you are actually having THE SEX and you are one of those people who let us know how evil and dirty and icky and something to be very, very afraid of it is, make super duper sure that you are having the kind of sex that you yourself have endorsed in public as being permissible. That would be the male/female only kind that is all about having babies and not about having fun or joy or pleasure at all. Make super duper uper guper sure you are not having the type of sex that you have openly condemned as evil and dirty and icky and something to be very, very afraid of. Is it just me? Doesn’t that seem like a no-brainer?

We do not need Maureen Dowd (though I adore her even while her snark is akin to drinking straight lemon juice first thing in the morning) writing an advice column for “wives of politicians” when their politician husbands dip their pen in somebody else’s inkwell. Seriously. When it DOES happen (and happen it will because the biggest protestors when it comes to sex are always the biggest closet kinks) the Associated Press should then treat it accordingly:

“Another public servant in the area of politics disgraced his spouse and family today by publicly admitting to an extramarital affair. This is pathetic, sad and unworthy of further comment.”

Isn’t there still poverty, or war, or a failed economy, or a flu, or extreme weather, or a food recall, or [insert topic here]. . . that is infinitely more important to know about?

Compost O My Soul

One of the awesome things about buying a house – oh, by the way, Manpants and I bought a house while I was away. Away from the blog, that is. “Away.” Sounds like I was off for “the cure” or in jail or the funny farm or other such nonsense. Actually a lot of things happened while I was away, leaving us both a little older, wiser, fatter. And while Manpants still has a lovely head of dark hair, I seem to have developed a large quantity of gray that my hairdresser liberally covers with some sort of ash blonde something-or-other to get it back to its natural state.

What was I saying? Oh right. One of the awesome things about buying a house is that the amateur gardener in me gets to come out and play. I have to admit I love it. It is literally the only time my head shuts up completely and all outside sound is gloriously filtered by my subconscious to include only birdsong and the buzzing of various insect life. Oh, and the sound of the next door neighbors’ giant front yard fountain that sounds like Paul Bunyon is relieving himself. That one is kind of hard to tune out and often triggers a sudden urge to relieve my own self in the Bougainvillea.

We’re on water rationing here in California, so I am moving certain plants and shrubs from the front of the house to the back into areas where they won’t need so much – putting a lot of peat moss and compost around the plants to hold onto the moisture longer – all while improving my upper body strength and thereby holding off bone loss for another day.

This brings me to the subject of this ramble. Rather than staying in bed and drinking coffee Saturday morning, Manpants and I went off to a workshop given by LA County on . . . composting. About twenty minutes of our lives to find out what one can and cannot put in said composter – and we then get to take home our fancy schmancy Bio Stack from Smith & Hawken, at the subsidized price of $45! Didja know you can put dryer lint in there? I know!

Com-post [kom-pohst]: –noun -- a mixture of various decaying organic substances, used for fertilizing.

I like to think that the mundane and terribly suburban act of introducing a composter to our garden is somehow symbolic in the larger scheme of things as we begin this new portion of our lives – and that perhaps we can – I can – allow the experiences of the past two years to become a form of decay that I can put into a metaphorical bin, add water, and something altogether wonderful and nurturing and fabulous will come out of it.

Fertilizing my HOPE, as it were.

Other than that Mrs. Lincoln . . .

Previously seen on Millicent: Oh hell, read the archives – but they are over two years old and so much has happened! Turns out Dick Cheney IS a demon that eats small children and puppies! Who knew! Our new president can READ!!!! His wife is awesome and completely her own person with her own fan base!!!!

There’s a famous track on a recording by Tallulah Bankhead where she posed the same question several times to demonstrate how vocal emphasis could COMPLETELY make a performance. That question, posed thusly below, can sum up my last two years away from this blog.

What have you been doing?
WHAT – have you been doing?
What HAVE you been doing?
What have YOU been doing?
What have you BEEN doing?
What have you been DOING?

[fill in blank here]

No seriously. What HAVE you been doing? No, not me. I mean you. I’m talking to you. Duh. Oh, and Manpants says hello.

A NEW DAY

That title does not in any way, shape or form refer to the jingle in the Herpes commercial. Horrible what commercial jingles do to language association.

Anyway . . .

Well, hello there. It has certainly been awhile. First and foremost, I wish to extend my heartfelt gratitude for all the kind wishes and support many of you have given, and extended thanks to those of you who have continued to check in with comments here and emails there, reminding me that I am indeed part of the fabric of the universe and that it might be time to rejoin it.

I have been okay, considering. People keep asking me if I have had an inappropriate outburst at anyone yet. That answer is no, however it was suggested to me by my Chinese Medical practitioner that I do so, and soon. The suggestion being to unload it on someone completely unconnected to the situation, i.e. get in a cab, tell the driver to drive, and just go off. Or unload on an unsuspecting telemarketer. Something like that. I haven’t yet, but it is an interesting idea.


Much has happened in the last three months. Many things have happened in our world and nation in the past three months that go beyond the scope of my own recent family tragedy. Anna Nicole (insert all hourly news updates and scandal here), Obama’s impressive fundraising, more soldiers lost, the horrible tragedy at Virginia Tech and the U.S. Supreme Court donning medical scrubs sans medical degrees to declare what they believe to be sound medical practice when it comes to reproductive health.

Oh, and Manpants and I got engaged.

I plan on commenting upon all of the above at some point and in my fashion, but today I think I’ll talk about a few things I have learned and I’ll try not to make it too Lifetime Movie of the Week.

I have learned that having an inappropriately dark sense of humor is crucial to human survival. I have learned that I can pack up an entire house and close up financial affairs in an insanely rapid, yet efficient amount of time. I have learned that it is actually rather important to name a legal executor of one’s estate because if that isn’t there, other people cannot do whacky little things like legally sell, donate or even inherit a car; that the only recourse is to drive said car to a dodgy neighborhood and leave it there with the doors unlocked and the keys in the ignition. I have learned that bathing can sometimes be left off the chore list for a week without it being all that icky. I have learned that Southwest Airlines staff are absolutely wonderful if one ever has the horrible task of flying anywhere while carrying a loved one’s ashes on their lap. I have learned that waiting in line at Trader Joe’s or sitting in L.A. traffic is just not that big a deal when compared to sitting and watching a 7 ½ hour chemo treatment and a willingness to wait as long as it takes and more if it meant my sister would still be alive. I have learned that it is important to have friends with you when strangers come over to pick up things they bought from you on Craig’s list. I have learned that some of those people who buy things on Craig’s list can leave an entire house smelling like fried chicken. I have learned that the people who live and work in St. Louis, Missouri are some of the kindest, most considerate, patient and helpful people I have ever encountered and that the people of Los Angeles could learn a lot from them, especially when it comes to waiting in line at the Post Office. I have learned that one can indeed survive on coffee, salami and cheese alone if one’s imagination and energy is not capable of venturing beyond those three items. I have learned that the closest of friends can turn out to be those people you fought with and haven’t spoken to. I have learned that Ambien doesn’t work very well as a sleep aid, but over-the-counter Simply Sleep is good in a pinch. I have learned that it is okay to accept help. I have learned how to create a rockin’ PowerPoint slide presentation.

I have learned that life is very short and that each of us has an obligation to those who left before us to remain interesting.

In Memoriam

July 25, 1967 - January 5, 2007


My little sister. I'll miss her forever.