I may or may not be an accidental accessory to a crime involving our building. You know the oldest trick in the book where someone pretends to be a police officer and asks you to let them into the house? And you’re supposed to check their identification? Does anyone really ask to see ID and then actually analyzes it with some degree of knowledge of what police ID actually looks like? Rhetorical. Don’t make me feel worse.
Where did we leave off? Oh, the Petraeus scandal? For Peninna and my father (both as obsessed as me), I will say this one thing:
Someone should give Holly Petraeus a makeover.
I keep wanting to turn on one of those makeover shows and see her come out at the end to her loving kids and great friends and admiring colleagues. I know I would cry. Do it, Holly.
And as for you journalists screeching about double standards and feminism, save it. I didn’t say frumpiness is an excuse for infidelity. It’s okay to want a lovely person to look her best.
Now on to this Elmo business.
Quiz time. Who is worse: Opportunistic lowlifes who wait years after a consensual sexual experience with a celebrity, forgo filing criminal charges (because there is no financial gain and they didn’t feel victimized) and go right for extortionist lawsuits OR the lawyers who represent them?
I don’t know either. Also, I have no idea what Kevin Clash did or did not do and when, nor do I care since it appears no one was harmed or upset by it enough to file criminal charges, but is rather just trying to cash in on it a million years later. I only know that I have met Kevin Clash, seen the documentary on him (LOVED it) and love the character of Elmo with a deep and abiding and pure and permanent part of my heart. And Kevin Clash created the Elmo we know (who happens to also be a beast of a cash cow for Sesame Workshop). Saying the two can be so easily separated is absurd. His heart and soul was infused in the furry little muppet of love.
I wish important famous people could swallow a pill of celibacy for the peak period in which the world needs their genius.
And re sex… Here is an analogy/simile/metaphor (I don’t know the difference):
Altering ingredients in baking to make a dessert “healthier” is like having to learn algebra during intercourse.
I have decided that, ok. So take your weird agave nectar and your yogurt and your applesauce and your neufchatel cheese and your stevia b.s. and feed them to a pigeon or somebody you hate. It’s Thanksgiving. Emotions are high. Airports will be crowded. Don’t be a d*ck. Share freely in the full fats and refined sugar. Let’s all get along.