So: Donald Trump. What’s with that hair? I say that with confidence, because I don’t want to be Donald Trump’s bum-licker like the people on “The Apprentice.” They’re all thinking it, you can practically hear them while they bow to him and call him sir and flash a little more leg (women, mostly) and their shiny white teeth that are polished just enough but not too much because you don’t want him to think you’re being TOO aggressive, just the right amount to be America’s Next Top BusinessShark but still below Donald himself. They’re all thinking: Wow. That HAIR.
One of the apprentices used “myself” incorrectly in a sentence, which reminded me how much I hate it when people do that.
“I have lots of respect for myself.” OK.
“I think that as far as myself is concerned, I rule!” Not OK.
Why do salespeople (yes, I have several examples to back this up) insist on using words and grammar they don’t understand? There was this guy I used to work near. His job was to call people and try to sell them things that they probably already wanted. He would say things like, “Here’s the number where you can reach myself between the hours of 10 am and 6 pm,” and I would have to use packing tape to strap my hands to the armrests of my chair to keep me from getting up and squeezing himself to death.
Though, if you are from the Maritimes, Ireland or Scotland, it is acceptable to say things like, “There goes Himself. Down the pub again.”
The women won the first challenge on The Making of America’s Next Top BusinessShark. Their reward? To see Donald’s penthouse. Apparently, not very many people get to see it. Lucky, lucky millions of viewers last night. Paintings on the ceiling, fountains that spurt, statues of naked ladies and men, Donald’s new girlfriend, Hottie La Hot, gold everything gold gold so much gold.
Saint Aardvark described it thusly, “It’s like Donald got an interior designer. And he said to the designer, ‘OK, here’s what I want. I want you to pretend you are a gay Pope.”
Is it the money? Or is it the process you go through to get the money? Or is it the drive you have to have to be the kind of person who gets that much money? What is it, exactly, that makes people with lots of money reject any sense of aesthetics, taste and ability to behave reasonably? It’s a whole chicken/egg argument, I suppose.
And, um, hair! Someday, when I’m really rich, or even richer than I am now, if I have really bad hair, I want someone to tell me. If it looks as though my hair is lowered by crane onto my head every morning and kept in place by space-age polymers and spray painted by one of those student painters that drives around in a beat-up van all summer, smoking pot and listening to Nirvana, will someone please take me aside and say “I know you’re rich and you could totally fire me even though you’re not my boss, but for the sake of the puppies, please do something about that hair.”
Now that I think of it – my hair is always longest when I am most broke. And last year, when I had the most money I’ve ever had, my hair was at its shortest. Hmm. Now what?
New feature: Understatement of the Day!
Understatement for January 9.2004
Journey rocks! (I am too afraid to go to the multimedia section of the site, which apparently includes Oh Holy Night performed by Neal Schon and Jonathan Cain. Maybe if I get drunk this weekend.) The only Journey song I thought I knew (until a recent re-run of “Scrubs” brought Journey to my life in a big way, including yesterday’s purchase of “Journey’s Greatest Hits Live!”) was Open Arms. I think I was in my swooning romantic boy-song phase by then. I was post Laura Branigan, Pre Led Zeppelin. It was a fragile time. They’re one of those bands that had a kabillion hits. My brain went behind my back and noted all of them and now I am unable to stop humming along. Damn you, brain! You work for me! I am your Donald!
The live version of Any Way You Want It has a real polka-frenzy feel.
Journey = Velveeta. It’s plastic, but it’ll do in a pinch.
Donald Trump = Port Wine Stilton with Blueberries. Too many flavours! Pink and blue and creamy and chunky! Not classy, just gross!