I get many letters every week asking for an update on my underarm situation.
Well, I tried Dove first, as I’m a fan of the soap, but it doesn’t really help with the sweating. But it sure smells good.
Then I went back to my old high school favorite: Arrid XXtra Dry, which seems porno-y, but isn’t. White streaks on everything — my shirts, my bras, my coffee mug. A mess.
This month I went out on a limb and bought a men’s anti-perspirant/deodorant: Arm & Hammer, since I use their detergent, and baking soda is good for you. First of all, I smell like a stinky guy, not a clean guy who just got out of the shower. I smell like the guy who ran all the way to the bus. And it just seeps into all of my clothes, and I sit around going, “Who stinks?”
And it’s me. I stink.
It’s to the point now that last night at Trader Joe’s I stared at the crystal stick and actually debated buying it. I know. I know.
So, I guess I’ll try that Certain Dri soon, but I don’t usually see it when I’m at the store. I’ve looked!
Here’s an interesting thing to note. Last Wednesday, the last time I updated, I had over 2,000 visitors that day. The next day, after I put up the index page listing the casualties, I went down to less than two hundred visitors. It’s been less than 200 since then. Now, is it that people only come here when I update at DHAK, people are protesting the Internet until the war is over, my site isn’t working, or nobody wanted to see those names?
I thought about not writing until the war ended. I thought about staying quiet until it was all over, until there was sense to everything. And since both of my books are out of my hands and I don’t have a new script that I’m working on currently, it meant that I had absolutely nothing to write over the past week. I watched a lot of news coverage, read a couple of books, and got some sewing done. Then I realized I was sewing while watching war coverage, and I worried I’d fall into a time portal and become Betsy Ross.
I was also filled with such anxiety, not having a way to communicate. It was too quiet, and I found that I’d be pacing, waiting for something to happen, someone to call, someone to write, something. It was most unfun.
I’ve never been one to be very political. But I think it’s important to remember the price of war. And since I have to actively search to find those names, I want a place where they are remembered, not long after their sacrifice has ended, but right when we’re missing them the most. So I’m going to keep updating that page until this has ended, until everyone is home safe. I can’t wait for the day that I don’t have to copy and paste those young ages anymore.
Let’s see… armpits, guilt, war, preaching… I guess I should find another shallow topic to discuss. Saw Bend It Like Beckham, or as djb and I have called it: My Big Fat Indian Soccer Game. I could just imagine girls back in Texas describing it, their heads tilted to one side, while their faces squinted up like a Zellweger as they sing-songed, “Y’all, it was sweet!” I got a cavity.
We’ve done Oscar pools in the past, and I never win them, so I don’t know why I suggested one again. But I did. And I lost. Spectacularly. I had seen almost every movie nominated (Damn you, The Pianist!), and I had the second worst ballot. It was as if I had thrown darts at the ballot and just let it ride. Was it because I voted with my heart? No. It was because I don’t really think about it. I just imagine who I’d like to see give a speech. I pick the winners like a director: “Queen Latifah, Jack Nicholson, Julianne Moore, Christopher Walken. Chicago. Follow it up with Batshit Crazy Juliette Lewis, quick war speech from Sarandon, let Steve Martin talk for an hour, and then Brad Pitt, Brad Pitt, Brad Pitt.”
I’d make Fosse proud.
Buy Glarkware. It’s so damn cool.
The Hours. Yes, I’m the last person on Earth to do it. Thanks for asking.
High Maintenance. My editor is trying to get her to blurb my book. Cross your fingers, think good thoughts and buy her book so I have good luck.