In which I consider all things considered

I was listening yesterday to a recording of NPR's Terry Gross interviewing Gene Simmons from KISS--the interview took place two years ago, but Al just sent me a copy of it.

Although it didn't exactly come as a surprise that Gene Simmons is a loudmouthed boor, the interview is nearly unbearable to listen to, owing to his onslaught of mis-assumptions, egotistical ranting and overall weak grasp of logic and proper sentence structure. Maybe you've heard the interview, but if not, here's a brief recap. Gene Simmons, sailing a boatload of false modesty, postures that his band provides nothing but mindless entertainment, ultimately meaningless, but he still appears to see himself as the center of a very large universe, owing to the large amount of money he's made. "More money than NPR has," he states condescendingly. (More money than a public radio station? That IS impressive.)

Gene Simmons bulldozes his way through the interview, alternately coming on to Terry Gross and deriding her bookish, colorless image. He suggests that she get out of the dusty studio to see what the rest of the world is doing, and unironically proposes that NPR punch up its image by hiring enthusiastic DJs and changing its name to "Lexus." Listening to him, I was reminded of a friend of Carson's mother's, a tiresome guy named Ed Shapiro, who'd made a little money in the real estate business and discussed it to the exclusion of all other subjects, highlighting all his accomplishments while pretending to downplay them. Listening to the Simmons interview was like an evening with the Shapiros, minus the stale kugel.

Of all Gene Simmons' ungrammatical, male-chauvinist assertions, though, I found this the most puzzling: He states that he would never sleep with any woman who's under the influence of alcohol or drugs, yet simultaneously claims to have slept with more than 4,600 women. Have you seen Gene Simmons? Is it possible that 4,600 SOBER females agreed to sleep with him?

Wait. He didn't say "female humans." I think we may have found the answer.

In which the holy spirit tells me to buy the TV stations

(Note: the holy spirit did NOT actually tell me to go buy the TV stations.)

It being February, I decided it was time to get a new calendar for my Filofax. The only store that sells Filofax calendars is in Montecito, and having just received my W-2 form, I recognized that I fall too far below the minimum income requirements to enter the town limits, so I hauled my ass over to the K=Mart, no, the Target. Target, where the only available calendars that fit my agenda are produced by the FranklinCovey company. I ended up with a bland, style-free calendar featuring grey-scale images of daisies against various shades of pastel last popular in 1995. Sexy.

I think Franklin-Covey must be some kind of cult, because in the beginning of the calendar packet is a note addressed to "Dear Target Guest," written in a soothing and genial tone that allows me to feel that I've not just bought a sheaf of paper numbered in sequential order, I've purchased a Lifestyle Tool. I'm part of a Family, and they're just waiting for me to get up to speed with my organization skills so we can all enjoy success together, possibly with a cool, refreshing glass of lemonade. Reading the note, I got that eerie, creepy feeling I experience whenever I accidentally run across motivational speaker Joel Osteen on the television. (Health, wealth and success are yours, just follow this rigid set of rules and Think Positive, brothers and sisters!) The welcome note congratulated me on my important step toward "getting organized and achieving what is most important in your life." Why... THANK you, Franklin! (May I call you "Franklin"?) I liked the conceit that the calendar was powerful enough to manage the direction of my life, but owing to boredom, I stopped reading the note after that, ignoring about twenty more pages of hints on improving my life via making lists. Here is their example, to show how a list might look:
--------------
A1 jog 3mi.
A2 make handouts
C2 shop for shoes
B1 order tickets
C1 call Ray
A3 call Louisa
--------------

So you can see, by organizing important events like how far he's supposed to jog, even a Joel-Osteen-following copier-supply salesman can vastly improve his life by breaking down daily tasks into neat, ordered sections. I'll bet at the end of the week, he can look at his Franklin-Covey planner and get a real sense of the Big Picture, see measured improvements in his status.

I don't have important events to organize, and things like shoe-shopping and calling Ray tend to be spur of the moment, but perhaps my "spontaneous" lifestyle, which seems so free and easy, is actually keeping me off the path to success.

With that in mind, I decided to get organized. First, I made a neat stack of the Franklin-Covey inspirational papers and put them aside. Then, I opened my purse and inventoried the contents, which included:

  • a travel watercolor set in a wooden box

  • three containers of fountain-pen ink (grey, olive, magenta) and a bottle of India ink

  • a large bottle of Chanel No. 5

  • a placemat from an Italian restaurant on which a nice lesbian I met wrote out the words "Dunkin Donuts" in Arabic for my enlightenment

  • a list of dates to volunteer at the gallery, written on the back of a receipt from Minney's Yacht Surplus

  • a headline I apparently cut from a magazine that reads "The Holy Spirit told me, 'Go buy the TV stations.'"

Don't think I've gone over to the Dark Side if I say that I'm going to write these things down in the "Notes" section of my Franklin-Covey planner. They may seem random, but I have faith that some kind of pattern will emerge, something to help me take control of my life. As the congratulatory letter says, "You can change 'maybe someday' into a defined time and place." Amen, Franklin-Covey. Amen.



Star of the day. . .
posted @ 11:55 a.m. on February 04, 2005 before | after

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She lay awake all night,

zzzzzzzzzzz......