My Trip to the Eye Doctor

I go to my eye doctor today. It irritates me off the bat because I don't want to have all the tests run that they require; I just want my eye exam so that I can renew my contact lens prescription. But I get to see the same eye doctor I grew up with today so I'm feeling more jovial than I might otherwise. The exam is unextraordinary--nothing of note happened. But then I was dropped off with one of the opticians? Nurses? Ladies who work up front to order my contacts and pay.

She sits down slowly and sort of looks through the folder. Her pace isn't what one might describe as quick. After a minute or two she says she'll be right back; she needs to ask the doctor something. She walks away and a couple with two kids walk up to another lady. All four are dirty, dressed in various stages of camouflage, and wearing footwear that's seen better days. The woman says she would like for her kids to have an eye exam. The nurse/optician/lady replies that there are no walk-ins today. At this point the little girl starts screaming something insensible about wanting her mother. The mother is standing no more than five feet from her. The lady asks if the mother wants an appointment and the mother steps closer to make one. The little boy joins the little girl in screaming now and the father is something beyond ineffectual. Eventually the little girl is removed from the cart and given to her mother. This sets the little boy off into a full fledged tantrum, complete with kicking and screaming the likes of which haven't been heard since the fat lady broke the glass in the Memorex commercial. Finally the woman taking care of me comes back.

Now, there are a couple of rules when it comes to getting a PhD in Las Vegas. Rule #1) Never tell people you are getting a PhD. They think you're a snob and try to make lame "I don't know English" jokes. Rule #2) (and this one is by far more important) Never tell people you live in Las Vegas. Every time--EVERY TIME--they will want to know all about it and you PLUS tell you how much they want to go there/enjoyed being there/will go back again and all the details of their trip including family or friends that have also gone there/lived there/want to go there. I forgot this rule. I knew better, but I still forgot the rule. That is why my trip went from unextraordinary to so very much worse.

She started to badger me about making an appointment for a year from now and I just wanted to make it stop. "I'm from Las Vegas" I blurted and immediately regretted it as soon as I saw the glint in her eye. From that point on I learned about her uncle that used to live out there whom her mother thinks was part of the mafia. This uncle paid for a cousin who is in jail for drug use to fly on a special plane with four guards to her grandfather's funeral. I learned about her and her husband's TWO honeymoons and how much they love Niagra Falls, but that I shouldn't do my hair if I visit because you're just wet all the time. I learned how their other honeymoon was to San Diego, which she also loves, but there were gay couples kissing on the beach and she didn't think straight couples should do that either because there were families out there.

At this point I really, REALLY, wanted to interject and ask if the gay couples were sodomizing each other in public since kissing has yet to aversely affect a child, but I was still clinging to basic rules of etiquette.

I learned that another nurse saw two girls kissing in Walmart and wasn't in a shame her husband wasn't there to see it. I learned that on the Niagra Falls honeymoon they drove up? down? Superior Road and stopped at every waterfall along the way. Maybe that was the trip to Canada. I learned about their trip to Canada too.

Eventually--a solid twenty minutes later--I knew drastic measures needed to be taken before the last vestiges of my control slipped away. I texted my mother blatantly and openly in front of the talking lady opting for minor rudeness versus extreme rudeness in an effort to extract myself from the situation. I might have felt bad about it, but the other option was me screaming, much like the little boy and little girl of twenty minutes prior, "I don't care about you and your life!" at the top of my lungs. Under the circumstances a text message seemed the way to go.

That was my trip to the eye doctor. The moral of this story: whenever you feel the need to share details about yourself with a stranger don't. Always remember--nobody cares.

I thank you.

Ooooohhhhh my gosh. I just read Taming of the Shrew. You wanna know why I've never read it before? Because I knew I would have this reaction. I knew I would HATE it. Yes. I used all caps. I used all caps because my rage cannot be contained. And why should it? There is nothing about this play that is sexy or romantic. Let's break down the action shall we?

Our romantic leads:
Woman who is a complete and utter bitch for seemingly no reason.
Man who is a complete and utter douche-bag because he wants said woman's dowry.

(We're off to a great start already. I know these are the makings of my ideal romance.)

The "Courtship:"
Man starves, freezes, sleep-deprives, and imprisons woman until she agrees to obey him without question.
Man instigates a "cat-fight" to show off how much more awesome his woman is than his fellows.
Man parades woman around room like prized animal.

The Ending:
Man and woman live happily ever after...wait, what?

And really, none of this would be worth mentioning because it's all been said and done except then I read one of the scholarly excerpts from the back of my Signet edition. An excerpt by Germaine Greer who says:

Kate courts ruin in a different way, but she has the uncommon good fortune to find Petruchio, who is man enough to know what he wants and how to get it. He wants her spirit and her energy because he wants a wife worth keeping. He tames her as he might a hawk or a high-mettled horse, and she rewards him with strong sexual love and fierce loyalty. Lucentio finds himself saddled with a cold, disloyal woman, who has no objection to humiliating him in public (145-6).

I would like to say maybe it's the editors fault and he excerpted badly. I would like to say maybe the argument is misrepresented. But that final sentence is so wholly unsupportable (we have no idea what Bianca is like in the bedroom, nor any real proof that she is cold or disloyal) that I am led to believe the previous part is intended seriously as well. Kate has the "uncommon good fortune" and Petruchio is "man enough to know what he wants and how to get it"?!?!?! Is this 1955? I can barely control my punctuation I'm so irate!

And I think this is what has me so upset. We can all agree this is a "problem play" in that the gender roles represented are difficult to interpret. We can make movies reimagining the play and its outcome that make this story more politically correct and we can even (though after reading the play I really don't understand how people swing this one) argue that Kate is being ironic and isn't actually broken. But deep down inside where no one else can see--the place where feminists that say they hate Twilight are actually just angry because they love it, but don't want to admit it--a lot of women secretly wish for a Petruchio. A lot of women secretly want a man who is "man enough to know what he wants and how to get it" and they want him to want them. They want him to push past their "resistance" and dominate them in his awesome manly way. Why? Because it's really sweet to be broken like a horse? Because it's so much fun to have a husband that treats you simultaneously like a child and a sex slave? In what universe is that romantic?!

I have heartburn I'm so upset. At least in McClintok there's enough else going on right that a person can just close her eyes during the spanking scene and still love the movie. Honestly I think this play should only ever be taught in conjunction with one of the better re-tellings like Shakespeare Retold or 10 Things I Hate About You. This is written proof of why Shakespeare is not a man for all time.

And that right there is why Harold Bloom will never hire me. Oh my blood pressure can't take this abuse.

We must needs discuss Star Trek: The Next Generation. Specifically, William Riker (pictured above hopefully). Do you see that little shoulder cock? I HATE that should cock. Why does he do it? Imagine looking at that oddly "debonair" slump which falls somewhere short of debonair and lands round about the "douchey" marker. And I like Riker! I do! I'm in the minority it's true. But I've always found him slightly endearing and good looking. At least for a Star Trek crewmember. But as I continue on my process of watching all The Next Generation's (TNG's) in order I find my continued exposure to his refusal to stand up straight slowly robbing me of sanity and control required to function in society.

And...we have a new winner for worst line of dialogue ever. Or best, depending on how you look at it. Captain Picard says, "Is there any hope of penetration?" I'm not making this up. It's Patrick Stewart and everyone knows how much I love Patrick Stewart, but no one, especially a man, can say the line, "is there any hope of penetration" and not expect a slight giggle out of the crowd. Did the script writers do it on purpose? Did Patrick Stewart have to fight to deliver that line seriously? These are questions I find burning deep, deep inside my blackened little soul.

An educated man, or even an uneducated wise man, might say to me, "it's time to stop watching Judge Judy and TNG." And he wouldn't be wrong. But you see I've been reading a lot (A LOT) of Shakespeare and other tragic plays lately and I find my general demeanor to be a dour one of late. As I am also lacking in trashy romance to provide me with some other means of recuperation I've turned to my TV on DVD friends and bad cable access to get me through. But when you're reading things like Richard III and Othello your expectations for entertainment simultaneously go up alongside the requirement that little is demanded of one mentally. This is a hard shoe to fill. Or, if you're Captain Picard, to penetrate. TNG fulfills these requirements admirably and I can even look myself in the mirror in the morning unlike previous obsessions such as--oh, I don't know, Beauty and the Beast staring Linda Hamilton and Ron Perlman--but I just want to reach into the screen and force Riker to stand straight! If this PhD thing doesn't work out I'm totally writing a metatheatrical play where just such an occurrence takes place. It would look something like this:

[LIGHTS UP] A young woman sits center stage, perpendicular to the audience on a couch. A diet soda rests perspiring on the end table next to her and a forgotten bag of chips sits on the floor. She is slowly eating popcorn, while nursing a box of oreos to her left. A television set is in front of her, hollow with its "actors" performing her show on the other half of the stage. It quickly becomes apparent she is watching Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Picard: Is there any chance of penetration?
Riker, standing with his right should cocked down giving him a slanted appearance: I believe so sir.
Picard: Engage.

The young woman jumps up from the couch, knocking over her oreos and discarding her popcorn haphazardly behind her on the seat cushions. She steps INTO the T.V., walks up to Riker, grabs him by each shoulder and forcefully straightens out his stance until he stands tall--his shoulders now parallel with the ground. That done the woman steps back out of the T.V. into her "living room," resumes her seat on the couch, takes a large drink of the diet soda and belches loudly, but contentedly.

[BLACK OUT]

It would be the best play EVER.

I'm watching Judge Judy (because that's what I do) and I become so incensed over her treatment of this last case that I felt the world should know.

The plaintiff who is 50+ years old, allowed the defendant who is 30-something to move into his house without paying rent or utilities because she needed help and...he had feelings for her. He had an email from her where she stated she was sorry, but didn't feel anything for him because she had already lost her heart to "Dwayne." The defendant stands in court now engaged to some other guy who isn't Dwayne, and Judge Judy stops the case to take a moment to lecture to the fiancé that this woman would break his heart too.

It is established that the defendant took advantage of the plaintiff because the plaintiff allowed her to and the defendant, literally, is never allowed to speak. She is allowed one "yes" and when she doesn't offer it up dutifully, Judge Judy talks over her lecturing her and her fiancé about "good form" and "bad women." She then rules on the side of the plaintiff in the amount of $1500.00.

Now here's the thing: old dude is suing this woman because she took advantage of him. If she had slept with him for some amount of time he probably wouldn't have sued her, or if he had, it would recognized as the spurned lover suit that it is. As it stands, he allowed her to stay at his house with no payment agreement and no understanding as to what she would pay him, if she would ever pay him anything. But once she brought another guy home he pulls her into court for back rent and utilities.

Should you take advantage of men? No. Should men who are stupid enough to let pretty girls stay in their houses be allowed to sue them because said pretty girl was tasteless? No! I don't know if I can go on watching Judge Judy; basically she uses her show as an opportunity to preach at the people in her courtroom and she seems to pass judgment based more on who was more "morally" upright opposed to who was actually cheated and deserved the money.

This is crap! Judy what are you doing to me? When someone asks, actually ASKS, another person to take advantage of them can't some form of social darwinism reign here? Old dude was dumb enough to let the chick move in with him without any form of written agreement, and he's pissed that his abundant niceness didn't land her in his bed. To this I say you're being a schmoe shouldn't mean you get money! I'm irate with Judy's moralizing. It's a good thing the show is only a half hour long or I would be in cardiac arrest by now.

This is what happens you have bad cable and are avoiding reading depressing plays. Your day is reduced to Judge Judy and heartburn. I think people that are dumb enough to let those they want to sleep with move in with them should have to pay the rest of us for tolerating their stupidity. Case closed.

Why do I read books? I mean honestly; all a girl asks for is some supernatural love with a little mystery thrown in--perhaps a battle or two for an immortal soul--and this is, apparently, a difficult order to fill. Mostly I feel this is the universe punishing me for not focusing solely on my comps list like I'm should be at the moment. "You dare not read Othello straight through!" it accuses me. "I punish you!" I hate you too universe.

And this most recent foray into young adult fiction wasn't an unpleasant one. I did enjoy the book. The mythology was unique and engaging; the characters were easily sympathetic and moving. But when your villain is a vampire that makes other people vampires against their will in some sort of weird vampire-rape scenario you can't expect me to have sympathy for him. You can't just end the book with the heroine still torn over whether or not she loves him. When you create an entire world and spend 300+ pages teaching me to hate vampires you can't suddenly drop a vampire on me who has literally stolen people's souls and expect me to think he's sexy. Even I'm not that screwed up and we all know how sketchy my love of the undead can be.

Plus, there is a strange werewolf romance going on. In fact, the book is billed as a bit of a werewolf romance but the boy doesn't even kiss the girl until five pages from the end and the book ends abruptly with some implication that said boy runs off an joins a wolf pack never to be seen or heard from again. How is that a romance?! If I wanted this sort of dissatisfaction from reading I would have kept reading Othello and maybe thrown a little Romeo & Juliet in for good measure!

I'm seeing a trend in young adult fiction, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Books are marketed as romances, or at least as romance being a major plot point, that are decidedly lacking in the romance department. I understand with the Twilight phenomena you want to sell your books to teenage girls and immature adults like myself by claiming "this book too has supernatural love!" But it seems unfair that a book can be marketed as a love story when it's actually a strange five act play about emotionally distant teenage werewolves, evil vampires, and strange vampire-raping of one's soul. No part of that spells l-o-v-e to me.

And it wasn't that it wasn't a good book--it was a pretty decent book (other than the ending which seemed to reek of the author being tired of writing) but it wasn't a teenage love story. Fiction should not be allowed to marketed as a genre it isn't. I, the consumer, purchase this book in good faith expecting some werewolf love action; the book should be required to make good on its promises.

So I guess I'll go finish Othello, but the thing is if I only read love Shakespearean-tragedy style what little hope I have for happiness and light in the world will be squelched and my soul will live in darkness forever. That's why I count on, NEED, my young adult fiction and trashy romance to perform as expected. Otherwise I really am going to become the bitter old feminist who every time she meets a man greets him with, "Don't talk to me. You're just going to try to break me with your patriarchy and I won't be held down by your misogynistic discourse."

And, really, none of us needs that.