My Fiance is a Cranky Old Man

Matt and I joke about how we're going to be cranks when we're old, but truth be told, we're already cranky.

What started our latest round of grumpiness? A commercial on the Food Network. If you're not familiar with the programming on the Food Network, there's currently a horribly offensive commercial they're running in the NYC area for the French Culinary Institute. In it, a chef talks about how he came to the school because he'd "rather be homeless than work behind a desk." What? What entitled bullshit. No one wants to work behind a desk, but that's what you do. And he'd rather be homeless? No. That's obviously someone who has never known anything close to poverty. I've been pissed at this commercial before, but tonight was the night for Matt to start shaking his fist at the tv. After I told him how wrong I thought the commercial was, he sent off the following email:

Just wanted to write to you about your commercial on Food TV. Both my fiance and I found the commercial offensive. The chef or student in the commercial goes on and on about how working behind a desk sucks, if he had to work behind a desk he'd die, he'd rather be homeless than work behind a desk. I bet that 95% of the people who watch this channel, and your advertisement, and who eat at the restaurants where your students work, work behind desks. Many, I'm sure, find their jobs satisfying. If there's really someone at your school who would rather be homeless than have a desk job, I suggest you have that person seek serious psychological care, because that's really not healthy. The whole thing is demeaning both to homeless people and to people who work in offices for a living. I'm sure your school is very nice. But your advertisement is deplorable. You should fire whoever is responsible for it, immediately. Perhaps that would give them some perspective on how bad homelessness is in comparison to working behind a desk.

Blah. Whatever, Etc.

One of the great things about having a public blog is that people around the world can stumble onto my writing simply by searching for things like "I hate Carrie Bradshaw" or "virginity underwear." The flip side is that by having a public blog, anything I write is public. I can't write about my frustrations at work or all the horrible stress with wedding planning (Matt's family felt that a child-free wedding was the most offensive thing Ever--it took 3 months for me to win that fight).

So lately I haven't known what to write here. Do I write about the 3 dead animals I saw on the way home? In care you're wondering, it was a bird, another bird (I think), and a mouse. I suppose I could write about how I thought it might be an omen. Of what, I'm not sure.

I could write about my grandmother's stroke. How her speech is slurred and she can't walk now. How my mom had to clean out her place so once she's released from the hospital she can move to a nursing home. How she told my dad that I should have gotten married sooner since she didn't think she was going to make it to the wedding. But that's depressing. I don't want to think of her losing control of her life (and her bowels).

Basically, I just don't write like I used to. I don't keep a journal or even jot down thoughts in a notebook. A notebook used to be an essential component of my purse--now, I don't even have the passionate feelings I used to write about with such fervor. It's hard to know if over the years I've lost part of myself or if this is just one part of growing up.