Power of One

Blogger's note: I wrote this post yesterday, while I was in a bad mood. I took it down later, because I thought it was a little too grouchy. Today I'll repost it, because it has a few good bits, and it took me a decent chunk of time to write! But you should know that: 1) sentiment/activity in this post has been exaggerated to make for better reading; 2) I wish nothing but the best for Paris Hilton and Marc Summers; 3) this week is the Murky Words-Goofus Musings Second Annual Southern Fried Roap Trip, so I really have nothing to complain about.

I promise I didn’t follow the Paris Hilton prison saga. Very closely. In the Winn Dixie checkout yesterday, I resisted buying People’s recap of “the Heiress’s Hoosegow Hijinks” (okay, that wasn’t the title, but catchy, no?). I may have dipped some recreational Paris via E! Online, just for kicks. It’s possible I stumbled into a synopsis of Paris’s Larry King interview. If so, I blinked over Paris’s admission of the “worst thing about jail.” Not the mystery meat. Not the fake designer jumpsuit. “I hate being alone,” the ex-con stated. “I’m an Aquarius. We’re social people.”

My Virgo mind can’t quite digest this. We’re recluses.

Seriously, lonerhood gets a bad rap -- no jail pun intended. (Yes, I made the word “lonerhood” up. Know why? No one was around to stop me!) Organizations have coalesced against racism and sexism, but who’s raising the issue of numberism?

The only children should be.

Or, at least, those of us who watched “Family Double Dare” in the ’80s.

Know what constituted a “family” on “Family Double Dare”? Four people. A mom, a dad, and two kids. As a child, I dreamed of competing on “Family Double Dare.” I fell asleep with visions of sliding through slime and goo. Marc Summers would adore me. I was pudgy and cute, and I could balance funnel-shaped objects atop my head. But, by Nickelodeon dictum, I wasn’t part of a “family.” It was just me and my folks -- like a sofa missing a leg. Tossed out.

(And don’t tell me “Family Double Dare” discriminated against large families. If anything, your built-in “second string” was an advantage.)

In song, two “can make a dream come true,” while ONE gets left at the altar, loses God and family, and eventually jumps off a tower (i.e. Gilbert O’Sullivan, “Alone Again (Naturally),” which makes Radiohead’s oeuvre look chipper). Note to Marvin Gaye and Tammy Terrell: “one” rhymes with “fun.” It may be true that “One can go out to a movie, lookin’ for a special treat,” while “two can make that single movie something really kinda sweet,” but try this logic: “Two can stage a thumb war over DVD remotes / One is free to replay all the love scenes from Hope Floats” (mmm, Harry!).

Consider all the literary figures who would’ve been better off as loners. One blind mouse would have left the farmer’s wife alone -- no peer pressure. If Jill had just retrieved the water by herself, nobody would have fallen. Boo Radley was probably interrupted in the middle of writing a civil rights manifesto. Mr. Rochester’s ex-wife could’ve started a boutique in her attic.

One is the luckiest number. Luckiest!

Yeah, I’m a little lonely this weekend.

Here’s what I did buy at Winn Dixie: ingredients for “Fettuccine with Sauteed Onions, Meatless Bacon, and Green Peas in Lemon Sauce” (Claire’s Classic American Vegetarian Cooking, Claire Criscuolo). In my 26 years as an “only,” I’ve discovered there are two guaranteed cures for loneliness -- baking cookies while listening to the Thriller album, and making spaghetti sauce while listening to The Ultimate Otis Redding. Somehow I’ve misplaced Thriller, so Otis and spaghetti it was! (Otis and cookies don’t match, silly.)

In retrospect, this recipe was a poor choice for a “single” gal. It called for a cup of dry white wine, which, as a solo chef, I didn’t have. I splurged on a bottle of Yellowtail, and, with no one around to share or advise, I saved all of it from “going bad.”

Two can clink their glasses, as they toast the love they share / One can drink the bottle, sitting in her underwear.

(Just kidding, older readers. I was dressed.)

Rhymish boozing? Boozy rhyming? Are these Virgo traits?

Briefly Noted

This morning's headline on nytimes.com is:

Hong Kong Marks a Decade Since Handover

(Referring to HK's return by Britain to Chinese rule)

In my pre-caffeinated state, I read it as:

Hong Kong Marks a Decade Since Hangover

Well, drink up, then!

As a longtime journalist, my dad has a few good stories about headline flubs. My favorite is the fatal mix-up of "weds" and "wets," in reference to the nuptials of a public figure's daughter. "Gentleman Lawyer We..."

I'll leave it to your imagination. (Or Dad's comment!)

On an unrelated, but very important, "note"--happy 80th birthday to my granddad (who doesn't read this blog, I rather hope). He's the second best-looking octogenarian on the Internet. Take a look at his recent ad for Elliott's Hardware. Also click on "Departments" and "Hardware Plus."