Colin Firth's Penis

Now that I have your attention...I read somewhere, that Colin Firth has quite a following among the older than 60 set--you know, those geriatric hippies who just don't know when to throw in the towel. Colin, who is not even 50, could be the son of some of those panting chicks, provided they were doing something naughty in the back seat of dad's Chevy in 1960--not me, of course, I was too young then. But I do find Colin Firth yummy and I have to say  this was pre-Darcy and the 1995 production of Pride and Prejudice. Anyway, a mention of Colin Firth, or Harrison Ford (another ancient heart throb), is liable to elicit a "EYEW" from my 15-year-old source on what is currently hot. I have it on good authority that Zac Efron turns teens on these days, leaving Brad Pitt, Justin Timberlake, and The Jones Brothers in his well-coifed dust--and the Jones Boys also have something for the 'tweens market. But for me, it's Colin's rugged good looks, aura of approachability and killer smile--with a side of Harrison Ford. Colin Firth is about to open in a new movie, Then She Found Me, which looks like a frothy comedy, but which is probably a dud (it's been finished for some time and only now opening in select theaters). Doesn't matter, I will go see it and love him. Besides it has a pretty good cast that includes Bette Midler and Matthew Broderick, and Helen Hunt, who stars and directs. The story is about a teacher whose husband leaves her and then her adoptive mother dies and then her biological mother shows up and she begins seeing the father of one of her students (Colin Firth). It was a really good book and I hope a good movie. Anyway, I recommend it to thems who can find it.

Blame it on Jane Austen

I've been a Jane Austen fan since that long ago day when a friendly librarian recommended one of her books--I was 12 at the time, and my love affair with Jane continues unabated regardless of impending old age, numerous broken hearts, a divorce, and a cat that hates me. For many years, Jane was one of  those secret loves us bookish types kept to ourselves. But then along came Hollywood, and Colin Firth, and the proverbial cat was out of that velvet bag.

I can give you all sorts of reasons why I love Jane Austen; her heroines are intelligent, strong and mature. And the movies are just so beautiful. Be honest, wouldn't you love to live in a remote but adorable vine-covered cottage confident that Prince Charming was just down the road and headed in your direction? Some wealthy individual who might be a little grumpy, but who would find your intelligence, wit, and resourcefulness irresistibly charming? Because the guaranteed happy ending is what I love best about Jane Austen.

Yes, Austen's novels are visions of a world of prescribed rules of conduct, and if one masters those rules, one is rewarded with love, fulfillment, and security. Honesty, loyalty, and industriousness are always rewarded and the bad guys never, ever, prosper. 

Women today have it better than ever. We don't need beautifully appointed cottages or magnificent mansions, we pay our own mortgages from our own salaries for our own overpriced condo. We don't have to wait for Prince Charming, we can approach him armed with nothing more than snappy patter and our own supplies of condoms. We can make our own deals, negotiate our own futures, break barriers, and maybe be elected president. But unlike Jane's heroines we cannot seem to find serenity, or even a happy ending.

I cannot decide if my discontent is based on my own inability to accept that bad things happen even if you are intelligent, honest, loyal, and industrious or if through a series of bad choices I blew my happily ever after because I was too busy looking for something else. In any case, I blame Jane Austen who made me believe that no matter how bad things seem there is always a happy ending at the end of the road. And in the end, I long for the serenity that all of her characters achieve.

Coming to a mall near you: Food Riots

Yes, folks, none other than the Wall Street Journal suggests that Americans begin stockpiling food. As oil companies, unhappy with last year's record profits, continue to gouge the public for gasoline, food prices climb. And I have trouble feeling your pain because I am unemployed. Rice, a cheap staple for all of us, is being rationed at Wall-Mart. Eggs are up 30% and as raw materials increase, there is no end in sight. We can blame the demand for ethanol or we can place the blame squarely on the shoulders of this miserable excuse for a government, which does not care if you starve in dark of an unheated house. Provided you still have a roof over our head. We are spending billions of dollars on our ill-fated occupation of Iraq, we are enriching the already over-filled pockets of every single one of Bush's cronies and we are now facing the inability to purchase a decent meal. Let's extend this: If you cannot afford to buy staples to cook and eat in your own home, you will not be able to afford eating out, when people stop eating out, restaurants close, when restaurants close, people become unemployed. And we won't even touch the service industries that will be adversely effected by restaurant closing. But here's the good news, when you get your $600 some time this summer, you may be able to afford a pound of potatoes.