Funny the World...

BAUBLES, BANGLES AND BIGOTS

April 5, 2000

kimbabed.jpg (4631 bytes)A new reader (Hey, Steve, I have readers!) asked me who Kimba is. So I guess I'd better give Kimba her own place here. Kimba is what I call our "Belgian airhead" (I cannot tell a lie--I stole that from David Letterman). She's been with us for about 8 or 9 years now, thanks to our dear son, who brought her home because he thought I wanted her (he was answering an ad we had seen in the paper when we were looking for "a dog for our dog," after the death of the beloved Seymour and the mourning of Toby). Unfortunately, she's never been "beloved," though she has calmed down considerably (she was a whirling dervish for the first couple of years of her life with us). She is definitely the alpha dog around here, despite her small size. But she seems to be accepting Buddy better than she did Benjy last year.

The morning started, while I was waiting to see if Peggy was going to come on line, with reading through a lot of messages at wittybanter.com, a discussion about AIDS between Steve and some college students. It’s amazing how judgmental and unflinching people--especially 19 year olds who know they know everything--can be. One particularly unyielding poster, "AD," took the stance that people with AIDS get what they deserve, the only exceptions being those who get it through blood transfusion and infants born with HIV. Everythings else (including, apparently, ignorance, such as what is fueling the epidemic in third world countries) is 100% the fault of the victim. It must be nice to live in such a black and white world where you can easily pick out the good guys from the bad guys and allow for no shades of grey whatsoever.

Another poster’s solution was to suggest that we put all AIDS victims on an island somewhere and allow no contact with non-infected people. Seemed to have no consideration for families, friends, or the fact that this thing is so widespread now there probably is no land in the world capable of housing, let along sustaining all the HIV positive people.

When Steve talked about his work in educating people about the reality of living with AIDS, he was told that it would have no impact and that he probably would be ridiculed behind his back by the students. Too bad these guys don’t have the chance to either see Steve’s performance, or to read the letters from high school and college kids who talk about how their lives and their attitudes have been changed by spending an hour listening to Steve’s story.

But enough of the soapbox. I got inspired today to clean. (Well...relatively speaking). I didn’t get inspired to do a big cleaning, but I decided to wash pillows. Probably a very big mistake. I put in what I thought were two small pillows. The noise made while the machine was trying to spin them was enough to scare the dogs and there is such a smell in the laundry room that I have a horrible feeling that I’ve burned out some vital part of the washing machine. As for drying the pillows. Forget it. They both feel like they’ve been through a major flood (this is after spin-drying). See? Why do I try? The house has reached a steady state of clean enough not to kill us even if it couldn’t pass any glove test (heaven forbid!). Why do I try to make it better? It only makes it worse.

While I’m confessing my shortcomings, I’ll mention that in November I had the opportunity to go to Los Angeles to see Steve in concert and to attend the Los Angeles Ovation theatre awards (where we thought The Last Session, which was nominated for several awards, would win, but it lost out to Rocky Horror Show). The event itself necessitated a new dress, ‘cause I just don’t have "those kinds of clothes" and I managed to find a tentmaker with sufficient cloth to make something for me that didn’t scare the horses. Steve and Jimmy came to the awards ceremony with their friend Carol Channing, and I was able to sit with them and chat with Ms. Channing, watching her admirers come up to greet her.

CarolChanning.jpg (48751 bytes)

Shortly after that, I took on the job of being president of Steve’s newly formed nonprofit corporation (which has as its mission statement doing AIDS education through entertainment). I realized that if I’m going to move in bigger circles, I should try to look less like a hick from the sticks. Now, I haven’t worn makeup in so long that I had to borrow a lipstick from a friend in LA so I could add some color to my face before the Ovation awards. So I thought that I would start by going back to wearing makeup now and then.

First I went to Long’s cosmetic department. Holy toledo! At some point, some years ago, I wore lipstick, occasionally I put on a bit of cream foundation and once in a great while I might put on eyeliner and/or eye shadow (so long ago, that I was using blue, which I understand is now a no-no). Well, there are walls of cosmetics now. Different brands, colors, and funny shaped things, and brushes and blends and powders and....I was so overwhelmed I went home without buying anything.

This is silly, I thought. So I girded my loins and went back. After thinking about it I decided to skip buying any lipstick, ‘cause I still had the leftover tube that I’d borrowed in LA (gee...I wonder where I put that.....owell). I decided Cover Girl sounded like a safe brand, since I once dated a guy whose mother worked for the company, so I stuck with their display. I shut out everything I was unfamiliar with and concentrated on getting something to cover the skin with--some sort of cream. I picked a color that looked like it might be right. Oh-kay, folks. We’re in business. I got my foundation, and I got my lipstick and I’m ready, Baby!

So next "dress-up" event, I decide to wow ‘em by Putting on My Makeup. I locked myself in the bathroom and got out my lipstick and my foundation. Here we go. I took off my glasses....and the world disappeared! My eyesight has gotten so bad that there is absolutely NO way I can ever put on makeup. I can’t tell if I’ve skipped a spot, if I’ve put on too much or if it’s smooth or not. Forget doing ANYTHING around the eyes. Used to be I had at least one good eye that would help me get through putting on makeup. No more. I managed to do something by feel. I guess it didn’t look too bad. But until I get rich enough to hire a makeup person to wander around behind me powdering my nose, don’t look for any glamour shots from me. I’ll just go back to being me--warts and all. I’m sure Elizabeth Taylor will sleep more soundly tonight

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created 4/5/00 by Bev Sykes

 

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