If you’re cold, put on a sweater.

And, if you’re a tree, and you’re cold . . .

Put on a sweater.

I wonder if the mystery knitter wears a knitted cape.

When I was growing up, we had family dinner.  Not Walton’s family dinner, or Eight is Enough family dinner – there was no chit chat, no revelations, no drama.  We ate, and we watched the local evening news.  The lead story was always a fire.  A warehouse is burning, a tractor trailer is aflame on the highway, smoke is roaring through an apartment complex.  Fire, that was the big story.
Then, if there wasn’t a fire to report on -and, really – there was always a fire – a church, a car, a backyard leaf fire, if nothing else, the reporter could always light a cigarette and set a garbage can on fire.  In any event,  there was always weather as a fall back.  An approaching storm, inches of rain, record breaking temperatures.  Like Jane Austen advises, if you have nothing nice to say, confine your comments to the weather.

So, I don’t expect much from the local evening news – at this point, all I want to know is is it going to snow? and is Donovan McNabb finally going to get the boot?   But, really, that’s my issue – I’m sure there are many out there who think that there can be truth in reporting, that our local newscasters are striving for something a little more than mediocrity, and that  covering the health care debate, the wars in the Middle East, etc., is still an essential function of even our local news.

So, taking into consideration my obviously low expectations, and an optimists unreasonably high expectations, the newscast should land somewhere in the middle, right?  It should hit about mediocrity, shouldn’t it? 

Well, you be the judge –

Last night, I sat down to watch the 11:00 NBC10 news.  Ok, you don’t want to cover a fire – fine.  The shooting on Dorrance Street?  Ok, you don’t want to lead with local crime, so be it.  So, Renee Chenault Fattah, married to a congressman, what’s your lead?  That the President of the United States was right here in our area last night, plugging away at his health care plan?

Nope.  Facebook.  Idiots who put their ridiculous photos online, only to have someone snatch them, and  – can you hear the beat of the sympathy drums – post them elsewhere only to make fun of them.  Gasp!   The lead story, which lasted a good five minutes, was some idiot woman, by anyone’s measure, overweight, who had posted pictures of herself ONLINE, scantily clad, in ridiculous outfits, eyeing her camera with “come hither” looks.  Really?  We’re supposed to feel bad for this woman for forgetting to check the box that clearly pops up every time you post a picture on Facebook about photo privacy and who can see your pictures.   But, the bottomline is – they are ONLINE – they are accessible by anyone who wants to see them – there is no such thing as online privacy.   Everytime you post a picture, the question should be – could my boss see that?  And if the answer is yes, ok, post it, and if the answer is no you’re just an idiot.  And this blog that highjacked her pictures – Philly Burn?  Does she really think that the exposure on Philly Burn is greater than the exposure of being on NBC10?  So whoever you really didn’t want to see them before, certainly has seen them now – because you put them on the local news.  So, the only news there really is that Channel 10 got snookered, because she is clearly proud of those pictures, and wanted the widest audience she possibly could to see them. 

And what could possibly follow that story?

The President at Immaculata University, right?

Nope.  People who wanted butt lifts, but instead had some chemical injected into their butts that gave them infections – something like window filler – I can’t give you accurate reportage about the story, because by then we were already actively comparing the NBC10 telecast to the 6ABC telecast, and in the time it took NBC10 to report on Facebook idiocy, and rotted butt injections, 6ABC had covered the shooting on Dorrance Street, the death of a medic, and the burglarly of a church for its copper piping, and the President’s visit.  That’s not to say 6ABC didn’t have it’s feel good story – suburban teenagers addicted to heroin – but at least they got some actual news in there before they got to the meat of their telecast.

And what’s up with NBC10′s good news segment?  I don’t even know what the regular time is – but it’s a half hour a day, and it seems like its on whenever I turn on the t.v.  For a half hour, they only report “good” news.  Good news, bad news – really, aren’t you just supposed to report the news – the days events – and let others be the judge of whether it’s good news or bad news?  And, a half hour a day – that’s 2.5 hours of what NBC10 dubs “good” news a week – 2.5 hours of kids with cancer to promote fundraising, maimed animals rescued from animal shelters to promote fundraising, and maybe a few minutes adorable adoptable children, again to promote fundraising.  If they want to do a telethon, just call it what it is, and don’t put it on the “news.”

And what does that make the happenings of the rest of the telecast – the bad news hour?  Good news, bad news – just tell me what happened today, ok?

What can I say? Sigh – a picture IS worth a thousand words.  Isn’t my husband handsome!

As anyone who attempts to follow this blog knows, my posts may trickle off for no reason, or a good reason, or something in between.  This particular hole in in the blog was due solely to lack of time, and then technical difficulties.  The last three weeks have been crazy.  Not only did I manage to put a wedding together, I was on trial for 2 straight weeks, and without going into detail, it was a nightmare. 

In the midst of this perfect storm of obligations, I was writing blog posts in my head – but, unfortunately, what was in my head was never realized “on paper.”  When I finally did find time to write, it turned out that my website had been hacked, and Dreamhost had moved all of my files into a temporary, unpublished folder.  I got this long, involved email from Dreamhost about how to find the corrupted files, update software, etc., but really, in the middle of trying a shooting case that seemed to drag on into eternity, making ridiculous wedding favors, and counting the days that my wedding dress wasn’t in (it came in the week before the wedding – just when it was supposed to, but nervewracking nonetheless), I was flumoxed.  So, after the wedding, I wrote Dreamhost a rather pathetic email about how inept I am at anything other than one button installing, and they graciously fixed my problems.  Thank you Dreamhost!

Anyway, here are some of the blog posts I thought about writing, but never did -

1.  Cultural Graffiti – Joe and I saw The Informant when it came out (that will tell you how long ago I started writing in my head, and not regurgitating on the computer).  I had a total eggheady post planned about the new trend in art, literature, movies, whatever, to graffiti on top of original material.  In the Informant, there’s a rather dull, straightforward corporate espionage thriller that is falling flat on the bottom, and then, there’s a running internal monologue that Matt Damon’s character is having with himself superimposed on top in the form of a voice over.  Instead of being able to craft a tongue-in-cheek movie with just the primary script, the director failed so miserably that in order for people to get it, he had to carve open his main characters brain in order for us to get that the guy was really a bungling sociopath.  And then there’s the new fascination with Jane Austen and Vampires, and Jane Austen and Sea Monsters.  I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this desire to put crap on top of art (or in the case of  The Informant, crap on top of crap), and, since I never wrote the post, I’ll guess I’ll figure out my final thoughts on the subject some day.

2.  Dancing with the Stars – I can’t even begin to tell you how incensed I was about Tom DeLay buffooning around in our Stars and Stripes on national television.  I wanted to write to the show so they could change his introduction from “former congressman” to” disgraced former congressman.”  His prancing around in tights and liederhosen is just another sign of our nation’s call to tackiness.  It is no wonder that Serena Williams told a line judge that she was going to shove a ball down her f-ing throat, that our President was called a liar by a heckler in a joint session of Congress, that Kanye West crashed the stage at the Grammy’s.  If we can collectively support an indicted, but not yet tried, thief in a ridiculous ballroom dancing competition which gives Japanese game shows a run for their money, really . . . we have to start asking when we draw the line between entertainment and offense. 

3.  My wedding shawl.  So, um, yeah – Brad Lidge failed miserably in his one closing appearance at the World Series, and I failed to close the handknit accessory of my wedding ensemble.  Sort of.  I started out knitting Miralda’s Triangle, as you will recall, but my original idea had been to knit something worsted since the wedding was November 1.  So, when Ysolda’s capelet, Emily, came out, I totally switched up, put aside the fingering weight shawl, bought some Manos silk blend, and knit this.

I was so excited – perfect, I thought.

And then I tried it on with the dress –

And, as you can see, I’m not wearing it.  It didn’t match – at all.  The color was completely wrong.  How could I go wrong with cream, I thought?  But, I did.  Sigh.  So, I thought about reknitting it, with a whiter yarn, I thought about the new Manos Rittenhouse blend, a yummy, smooth merino, but I only had a week until the wedding, I was still on trial, and I had another case to try in the middle of the one I was already trying – so I just gave up, gave in.  And, it was fine – it was  a warm day.

4.  And, to end the suspense for all – it being a warm day, no hose!  And no one said a word . . .

And see, you can’t even tell!

I really hate March.  That whole thing – “March comes in like a lion” – garbage.  If March were king of the forest, it would show its leadership and nobility by being consistent, trustworthy, and reliable, and the weather would reflect the lion.  To umbrella, or not to umbrella?  Rain today, sun yesterday, what tomorrow?  I’d be ok if it were just a precipitation issue, but it’s a temperature thing as well – up, down, up, down.  How is girl supposed to pick her clothes in the morning – I can’t even get the coat right.

March isn’t a lion — March is a ground hog.  It’s a schizophrenic month, constantly asking, “did I see my shadow?  I think I saw my shadow?  Do I want to see my shadow.”  March needs a therapist.

In the meantime, to deal with March, I tend to buy myself treats – but since March is a long month (and it seems longer every year), I generally didn’t splurge on large goodies.  In the past, a pretty lipstick would do.  But, it’s kind of like buying my father a present – I’m going to be forty – so I’ve bought him 2 presents a year for at least 30 years – that’s 60 presents – 60!  What else can I get him – another CD, another book? I’ve been buying myself lipstick in March for a good 20 years – 20 lipsticks – and that’s just the lipsticks I buy in March.  Not another lipstick!  The thrill is gone.   What’s a girl to do?

Buy a handbag!

And so I did – and to give you a little March thrill – I will share it with you!

I was walking to knitting circle last night, and passed one of my favorite stores, Hello World – a beacon of light in this world known as March.  Hello World is on 20th Street, just passed Spruce, and on Pine Street, 11th maybe?  The window is always enticing, the store is filled with hard to pass up items – fantastic handbags, jewelry by local artists, the cutest stationary ever.  Stuff, just fun, frivolous stuff.  And, I happened to have been walking around with a $25 gift certificate in my bag that I’ve been saving for two years for just the right occasion.

And, here it is – the right occasion – are you ready for the bag?

How fantastic is that?  I’m not really a yellow person (although you would never know from my recent fascination with all things Lemon), but this bag spoke to me – it says, “April” – it says, who is March, I am the true lion!

So, this bag now joins my tote bag that I got at the Gap last month, in preparation for the long haul through March – and no, I don’t have any yellow walls in my house, I’ve been playing with Photoshop.

And, speaking of my efforts with Photoshop, I don’t know if you can tell or not (hopefully you can), but I’ve been making an effort to post better photos on this blog – I’m not saying the photos on Knit and the  City were all crap, but I’ve always admired blogs like Brooklyn Tweed, and Lolly Knitting Around for their fabu photography.  I took a 6 hour class recently, on the in’s and out’s of Photoshop, and while the first three hours were pretty good, the second night became a frenzy to show us skill per minute, and it’s just not that kind of program.

So, while my Photoshop skills are mediocre, but improving, my actual photography skills aren’t what they used to be.  I started taking pictures with a completely manual Ricoh when I was in high school.  Once I “got” it, I moved on to an SLR Canon, a Rebel.  I loved my Rebel, I loved my aperture priority, and frankly, I loved film.  After college, I took several semesters of a noncredit Temple photography class just to have unlimited access to the darkroom.  But, at some point, that SLR just wasn’t practical.  It didn’t fit in my handbag, it was cumbersome, and in the end, it was film, hardly the medium for my bloggedy world.  But, this digital stuff, I don’t know – I just don’t see things the same way – maybe it’s because I’m not looking through a lens, but at the back of my camera.  When I looked through my Rebel, I saw depth of field, I saw how I wanted the picture to look, and I knew what settings I needed to get the right exposure.  I thought this would all translate but for whatever reason, it hasn’t.  But, I’m working on it – because Photoshop can work a lot of miracles, but a crappy picture generally will always be a crappy picture.

And, Photoshop isn’t the only think I’ve been playing with – this blog is going places baby (well, at least around the virtual corner)!  I’ve become obsessed with tweaking the layout, thinking of new features (video knitting school anyone?) . . . but again, it’s like the photography – I don’t feel like I have the skills in my tool box anymore.  On Blogger, I had become pretty adept with HTML, but here – CSS?  PHP?  If you click on the Gallery tab up top (another work in progress), you can see, I can’t even figure out how to move the margin over.  So, like March – I’ve been a bit schizo – do I use WordPress as a CMS, and buy a completely customizable theme like Thesis, that is a bit of an investment, but will relieve me of my frustrations with newfangled code.  Or, do I struggle on, use WordPress as just my blogging platform, and create HTML static pages with Dreamweaver and the rest of the Adobe arsenal for the rest of my ideas.  And, if I’m going to move to a more dynamic theme, how much more work do I put into this one?

And then I think, stop thinking about what it looks like so much, just worry about the writing – but then I think, I worry about the writing a bit too much, and I’ve become a bit to stuffy.

Well, I’m working on it.  I’m still trying to find my voice here — strange that a new look, a new cover, a new concept would change my writing style so much – it’s still the same old me, right?

Or, maybe I’m not the same old me – I’m me in March.

For anyone who has read the “About” section of this site, you will know that AFTER I cleverly named the blog Lemontines, I googled “lemontine” for “shits” and giggles, and found a rather, nasty definition of “Lemontine” in the Urban Dictionary (Ok, I won’t make you click on the link – it means “crap stains in one’s pants.”)  Whatever, like many Urban-adages out there, I chose to ignore it.

But, I’m a woman of action – not an ignorer!   A changer!   A reformer! and I have now, courtesy of The Big Word Project, a viral marketing campaign to redefine the dictionary, redefined Lemontine, and restored it to its proper place in the modern lexicon.  For $1 per letter, you can purchase a word, and link it back to your blog, so that your blog now becomes the “definition” of the word.   A “lemontine” is once again a whimsical product of an overactive imagination (or an imagination with too much time on its hands), generally in the form of  a blog post. 

The Big Word Project is  the brainchild of  Paddy Donnelly and Lee Munroe,  ”two Masters students from Northern Ireland, who are exploring what different words mean to different people.”  Big Word’s homepage is a cloud of words, and each word sends you off into a new worldwide web vocabulary.  So, I took “the dictionary” for a test drive.  Being the legal scholar that I am, I clicked on “Constitution.”  Does it send me to the official site of the United States Supreme Court?  Or perhaps the ACLU?  Or horrors, does it go to Ann Coulter’s personal blog?  Maybe – if it’s in Polish – or what I think is Polish – Konstytucja.info .   Quite right, don’t you think – why should the United States Constitution be the global definition of “constitution?”  Then, I tried “abba.”  Was this abba the “rock” band?  Abba, as in abba dabba do and Fred Flintstone.  No, it’s Abba as in The Springfield Reader, and “independent voice of Springfield, IL.”  Hmmmm  . . .

Ok, so maybe The Big Word Project is not so much a project at all, but a big springboard for advertising.  And maybe my $9  didn’t go to changing, reforming and fixing online misconceptions about the meaning of Lemontine, it probably funded Paddy and Lee’s St. Patrick’s Day celebration.  But, maybe that’s all that “defining” is – advertising.  I can advertise away the “skid marks,” “track stains,” and make it into something fresh and lovely – like my little puppy.

Perfect opportunity for a gratuitous puppy shot!

I’m sure that $9 is going to go a long way in preserving our puppy’s very ladylike reputation. No shit stains on her, no sir.

Hmmm, maybe I should redefine “crap stain” and direct it to the Urban Dictionary? That would be another well-spent $9.

Have you noticed the Widget thingy on my sidebar – I am “on page 0 of 576 pages” of The Book Thief.  I’m not actually on page 0, but I have no idea what page I am on.

The beauty of the Kindle.

Beauty?  Not knowing what page you’re on?  Absolutely.  Reading is no longer a race to the finish, because who knows where the finish is.  Nor is it about flipping to the finish, to see if its worth it.  The decision on what to read is no longer a cost/benefit analysis based on amount of time available v. the desire to read said book.  There’s just no way of telling how long a book actually is — your progress is noted in percentages, not pages. 

I’m reading things I never would have dreamed of reading, had I been able to flip through and evaluate the time commitment.  Take the New Yorker.   When I had a subscription to the paper version, the one that came in the mail every Monday, and fell into the pile next to the toilet by Tuesday, I would flip through for the cartoons.  Then, on the second pass, I tended to read the shorter blurbs – the about town, the small reviews, the short story perhaps – but not the long, long, long featured essays that went on for pages, and pages and pages – did I really want to make a two hour investment in reading a 20 page article about Barthleme and what it really means to be post modern?

Apparently, when I don’t know how long the commitment is going to be, I’ll bite.  On Monday, when I started the article, I had no idea it wouldn’t be until Wednesday by the time I finally finished it. 

So time commitment is no longer an issue – it just is what it is, you can’t worry about what you can’t see.  The other thing that goes hand and hand with length is also obsolete – weight.   Never again do I have to ponder the following question – based on my schedule now, can I lug that hardback book around, or should I go for the slimmer paperback?  And, the question doesn’t boil down to cost – that paperback is in the same ballpark price as the hardback, as even a NY Times bestseller is generally only $9.99 (except for the rogue author here and there trying to buck the new system).

And, I am a sucker for the NY Times book review – like yarn, books become, I have to read it now (the New York Times said so!) – and not last summer (because I spent the summer on the beach, and hence, made the tactical decision just to go with paperbacks - see the question of “weight” above), but the summer before, I got suckered into hardback after hardback that I ended up hating – The Yiddish Policemen’s Other Ball, Divisidero, The Falling Man . . . two summers ago, and I still remember how much money I wasted!  With the Kindle, the new books can be more expensive than the paperbacks (sometimes even as high as $16.00 – but a $16.00 mistake is still less painful than a $24.00 mistake).  And, speaking of “I have to read it now!” you really can read it now. With Amazon’s wireless delivery, you can have your latest heart’s desire in a matter of seconds.

Length and weight no longer an issue, neither is a pretty cover.  You can be told from the time you start to walk and talk that you can’t judge  a book by it’s cover(although, when you start to walk and talk, you’re only looking at picture books, counting books, books that go “mooo”, and  you probably can judge a book by it’s cover – maybe that’s why the advice never stuck)  but a pretty cover, a good blurb, and handsome jacket, can go along way.  You go into Borders or Barnes and Noble and there are tables and tables of books – what catches your eye?  Author of course.  A snappy title, maybe.  But when you have the book in your hands, a snazzy cover and a well written blurb might just push you over the edge into purchasing.

Not any more.   No more covers.  Everything is so egalitarian!  And, with no covers, you have so much more privacy.  Ever been embarassed because you’re reading something completely brainless – a guilty pleasure trashy romance?  or perhaps a book you read as a child that now seems silly as an adult?  No worries – no cover means that no one can see what you’re reading!  Reading is again a private thing – enjoy what you want, no one is judging you for your cover (alghough, that does work in reverse as well – I am totally a cover judger). 

Now, there are some books that are not on Kindle, that I do want to read – and that’s the only true dilemna now — since I just love my Kindle so much.  For instance, I really want to read 2666 – but frankly, I only want to read it on Kindle.  The last paper book I read, The Given Day, at 800 pages, was completely overly cumbersome - I could never prop myself into a comfortable position, the book was just such a beast.  2666 is 912 pages!  I don’t want to invest in 912 pieces of paper.   So, am I missing out – it just won the National Book Award? 

Yeah, probably, but there’s so much other Kindle content out there, and you can’t read ‘em all.  The web is loaded with free e-book content, all of which are readable on the Kindle. My queue is backed up with free classics – books that I was supposed to read in college, but chucked and read the cliff notes, or read so fast just to get to my next assignment.  And, unlike in college, when I had to carry around a backbreaking bookbag of books, the Kindle holds them all in either it’s memory or (since I have Kindle 1), an SD card that holds thousands – right now, I’m carrying around at least 200 books. 

It sounds like I’ve abandoned paper, doesn’t it?  When I got the Kindle for Hanukkah (hmmm, I guess that’s one factor I haven’t had to worry about – the price of the Kindle, since it was a gift – so put it on your Holiday list for December), I said, eh, I’ll always read paper books – but now, really, I have no desire.  The e-ink technology is so good, that sometimes I get tricked, I  go to turn the page instead of push the button, because that’s how much it feels like reading a book. 

And, reading is fun again – and I’ve overcome any shame in saying that its because the book is on a gadget.  I like being able to push a button and look up a word I don’t understand.  I like having a clipboard, where I send things I want to think about later, or with Joey’s reading Olympics, things that are going to make it onto index card question cards for study purposes.  I have to admit, I’m not a reading purist – I embrace the technology, and I look forward to what comes next.

And not only is reading fun again, but the more I read, the more desire I have to write – not to go too far with my point, but I’m not sure this new blog would have happened had I not been reading as enthusiastically as I have been since I got my Kindle.  I wrote about it here somewhere – either in the first post, or the the about page – about this strange phenomenon I’ve been experiencing – that of losing words, like they’ve all run away and abandoned me. 

Kindle has given me back a handful, and the desire to use them.

Women are putting shit on their face. 

I’m not talking about zit cream that could burn a hole through your skin, or exfoliators with acid, or makeup that is the consistency of spackle.

No, I’m talking about honest to G-d shit.

Bird shit, to be precise.

While getting ready yesterday morning, I had one ear on mischievous Lemon, and the other on the CBS morning show (although it may have been CNN, I’m not sure what channel we left it on when we went to bed).  The morning show featured new miracle anti-aging, skin whitening treatments.

The first treatment – placenta.  Yes, placenta, afterbirth.  I’ve heard of strange customs like burying placenta in the backyard, but swabbing it on your face?  But, somehow, I’m not as skeeved out by placenta as I am by bird poop.   I don’t want placenta on my face, but I kind of get it – many myths and legends are attached to the placenta, in particular, in burying the placenta – giving a girl baby digging powers, giving a boy baby the power of prophecy (British Columbia), protecting a newborn child from the spirit of a mother who died in childbirt (Bolivia), simply connecting the newborn to the earth (New Zealand).  So, while it’s not for me, I get it – I can see where someone would believe that an organic blob of guck that once nutured a maturing fetus might have miraculous restorative powers.

But, bird poop?  Really, seriously?  Women are paying between $150 and $225 for the miracle Nightingale dung treatment.  I don’t care it’s a cute little Hummingbird – I find it hard to believe that poop from a Nightingale is any different than poop from Philadelphia’s own flying rat, the pidgeon.  Is there really a fortune to be made by hanging out in Rittenhouse Square and scrapping the bird poop from the goat statue? 

And what do scientists have to say about this – when CNN interviewed scientists, they “explained”:

“Bird experts at both the National Aviary in Pittsburgh and the Cornell University Lab of Ornithology were at a loss to explain the benefits of nightingale droppings as a skin treatment. Brian Keller, a dermatopharmacologist and executive vice president of San Francisco-based Bio Zone Laboratories, which manufactures custom private-label dermatological products, offered one possible reason.

“The reason this product may work is the high concentration of urea in the fecal-urine combination in bird feces. Urine has a lot of urea in it and it has long been used as a skin-softening agent,” he says. “It’s obviously shrouded in a lot of mystery.”

The problem with this however, is that the question posed seems to have been, “Doctor, can you explain the benefits?”  What benefits???  There’s no proof there are benefits.  It’s the Emperor’s New Clothes – he’s naked!  Lady – you have bird poop on your face!  High concentration of urea?  Now that’s appetizing – and when they asked the women who volunteered to try these miracle treatments, they said, yeah, it still smells like poop. 

Shit is shit, even if you dress it up in Geisha clothing.  If you visit the Shizkuka website, the spa in New York specializing in this “exotic” treatment, you get a nice little history of Geisha, their flawless skin, and how to solve the troubles of all of that spackle white make-up, the Geisha used this bird poop secret ingredient to cleanse their skin and unclog their pores.  However, when interviewed, the proprietess, Shizuka Bernstein, says about this long secret history, “I’m always trying to bring Japanese culture and tradition to my spa,” said Shizuka Bernstein. “I heard my mother talk about this treatment when I was a little girl.”  I heard my mother talking about this treatment?  This is the source of this ancient, Japanese Geisha ritual?  I heard my mother talking about throwing salt over her shoulder, about giving someone the evil eye, and about how if I made silly, ugly faces, my face would freeze that way.

And who are these women taking the bird poop cure, passed down from Shizuka’s mom to Shizuka?  Not my women, not my friends – we’re broke.  I’m lucky I can afford to put Cetaphil on my face, let alone a $200 pile of birdshit.  Does wealth lead to a sucker, born every minute? – because that’s how often a Nightingale will shit in his cage.

You think when the phrase, “For my 2 cents” was “coined” (har har) 2 cents was worth anything?  I think it probably was – I think once upon a time, unsolicited advice was probably worth something – because it didn’t come from the internet, it came from a face to face conversation, from a parent, a teacher, a mentor, a friend.  Now, with everyone throwing their 2 cents into the mix, you’ve got a pile full of pennies, and opinions that don’t mean a whole hell of a lot.  And, when Oprah chimed in on her show Friday, and addressed Rihanna directly about the beating she took from her still boyfriend  Chris Brown, and said unequivocally, “ He will hit you again” – it joined the cacophony of impersonal voices, and probably fell, although thonderously, on deaf ears.

And my 2 cents – after Oprah??? Worth nothing.  No, if anyone is going to have a hand in giving 2 cents worth of sense to Rihanna, it’s going to have to come from a familiy member, or her BFF. 

And, her dad in the media, seems to be saying something like, justice in this case isn’t possible, telling US Magazine, justice can never be served in this situation . . . He can’t feel the pain she felt. I don’t believe in hitting a woman. I hope everything works out better for them. I don’t feel happy or sad. He’s in the court’s hands. Let justice prevail.”

Oh, no, justice is possible.  Chris Brown is being prosecuted, and if he’s guilty beyond a reasonable doubt based on proofs presented by the prosecution, then there you have it, justice.

And, if he goes to jail – so be it.

Is it justice? 

What’s an eye go for in society these days – still an eye?

Justice has never been as simple or as possible as an eye for an eye.  And, inherent in the idea that our criminal system provides justice, we have to accept that justice will not always be fair.

And, who says it should be or has to be?

Rihanna’s dad says, “He can never feel her pain?”  Well, what does that have to do with justice?  He doesn’t have to feel her pain, he has to be punished for her pain. 

So, punish him.

Rihanna’s dad has also said something about her speaking out, on behalf of all women, and emerging a hero.  You know what, don’t worry so much about her hero-dom.  Just keep her alive.

Because that’s what Oprah really should have said -

He will kill you.

I once had a client who beat his girlfriend into a 2 month coma.  He was charged with Attempted Murder and Aggravated Assault.  He didn’t have a problem with pleading guilty to Aggravated Assault, but about the Attempted Murder, he just kept saying, “I wasn’t trying to kill her.”

Well, you know what – what were you trying to do?  If you beat someone that badly – what were you trying to do if it wasn’t kill her.

And Chris Brown, if you try to push someone out of a moving car while you’re beating the crap out of her – what were you trying to do if not kill her?

And that hero stuff – that role model stuff?  Rihanna didn’t run for a position called “role model.”  She sang a few songs, sold a few records, wears pretty clothes and makeup.  We didn’t elect her to any office.  She is not accountable to anyone but herself – she needs to leave to save her life, not for any other reason.  It’s hard enough for women to leave abusers when it’s private, can you imagine being in the national/international spotlight with a bunch of bloggers throwing in their worthless 2 cents? 

But her self-accountability does go one step further – if he hit you (while trying to kill you, because that’s the only thing that level of violence is meant to do), he will hit any children you have with him.  Period. 

Rihanna is not safe.  That is what’s not fair.  And the only justice, is leaving him, because no matter what happens to Chris Brown — jail, probation, anger management, whatever – won’t mean a thing if she’s dead.

First Poodle?  Portuguese waterdog, smudderdog, that’s a poodle.  No, no, no!

The only appropriate choice for First Dog, is of course, the Boston Terrier, because it truly is America’s first breed – a true American concoction, bred from a cross between an English Bulldog and a white English Terrier. This dog symbolizes the American immigrant experience. First a fighter, now the quintessential “American Gentleman,” the Boston Terrier is intelligent, self-sufficient, yet charming, affectionate, and of course, very talented.  Apple pie, pizza, french fries and chicken soup all rolled into one.  And that allergy Malia suffers from?  Nonsense.  Suck it for the right dog.

LEMON FOR FIRST DOG

(Well, a Boston Terrier like Lemon – Lemon doesn’t need the White House, she has us!)

“And they don’t need me to tell them?”  What was I thinking when I wrote that yesterday? 

Of course, Angelina Jolie – you need my help!!

Actually, what I was thinking about was a review I read of David Denby’s new book, Snark: It’s Mean, It’s Personal, and It’s Ruining Our Conversation.  In the book, Denby, a film critic (hmmm, has he ever heard that thing about people in glass houses?) for the New Yorker, excoriates internet snarkers, who with their  “I’m in the know and you are loser” attitude are ruining our national conversation by spewing insults, invectives, and venonmous talk, without purpose, point or perspective.  And that a snarker  joke is just a smokescreen for anger and abuse, much like a schoolkid sticking his leg out from under his desk in order to trip the class nerd.  The book was not particularly well reviewed, but the review, still managed to shame me, concluding, “No, what we need is a revolution in sensibility, a return to civil discourse, a way of opening, rather than closing down, debate.

This, too, is what Denby means to argue, that we deserve better, not just from our media outlets, but also from ourselves.” 

A revolution in sensibility – exactly.  My favorite scene in the movie Sense and Sensibility is when Marianne and Elinor revist the spot where Marianne fell, and there she met Willoughby.  Marianne is ashamed of her behavior (behavior much like that documented in the never-to-be a classic, He’s Just Not That Into You), and Elinor gasps, ”Surely you do not compare your conduct to his?”  And Marianne responds, “No, I compare it to what it should have been, I compare it to yours.”   

And, therefore, yesterday, I resolved to behave like Elinor, to promote the revolution in Sensibility – and nod and pass on the Oscar fashion, because really, why should I just put forth my completely unconstructive criticism?  I will return to civil discourse, and only say nice things.  Isn’t that the Jane way, if you don’t have anything nice to say, speak about the weather?

Well, the weather is cold outside, and that’s about all there is to say about the weather.

Sensibility is boring. 

So, with that said – I’m certainly not trying to shut down civil discourse — always, please disagree with me – the more the merrier at Chez Lemontines. 

And, what I did get right in yesterday’s post is that, there’s not much to say about this year’s Oscar fashion-less.  Mostly playing in straight, safe, probably to avoid being snarked – but here are a few observations:

Note to Angie – Stay home!  If you’re going to come to a big party, where frankly you are a guest of honor, be gracious — there’s no need to snub Tim Gunn on the runaway.  The man is simply worshipping at your Diorred feet, and there’s no need to kick him in the teeth.  You have everything – a handsome (but oh so dim) partner, children the rest of us don’t want, but you obviously do, a fantastic career, and world adoration, and the rest of us, all we have to bask with pride in is the notion that we seem to be the only ones left in this country paying taxes  - smile dammit, and be happy - it won’t break your face (or maybe it will – I have no idea what work you’ve done to your face, and if it really will break your face, then by all means, go with the puss face you had on all night).  And black, again, really?   I would think that would be the most difficult color for you at this point – nothing shows baby spit more than black. 

Dear Viola, dear dear Viola – I wanted you to win the Oscar, not be the Oscar!

Memo:  To SJP

From:  Your Tailor

Re:  Your Oscar Dress

   We have been mulling over your latest fitting, and because our suggestions fell on completely deaf ears (ears that apparently believe they are 25 years old as opposed to 45 years old), we feel compelled, in order to avoid any future liability, to reduce our thoughts to writing – simply put, this dress does not fit you, and you should not attempt to wear it on the red carpet.  If you do so, you and your breasts will look foolish. 

   Best regards.

Dear Miley – Get yourself a copy of Sense and Sensibility immediately! 

Plea to Natalie – please help Miley dress for the next award ceremony!  It’s only fitting that the best dressed should reach down and help the worst dressed.

Mickey Rourke was not the only comeback story on the red carpet – Robert Downey Jr. look at you!  You got it right!!!!  You cut your hair, you shaved your face, you put on a tux – doesn’t it feel good!  And, you did it all knowing that you weren’t going to win.  Next year, Robert, next year!

I could go on, but those are my highlights – or low lights.  Oh, there is one left:

Lemon would be sad if I left out her namesake.  Good job Tina!  And, go ahead, fall in love with Steve Martin any day!