When did reality become so sexy?

"Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life," said the great Oscar Wilde.

And yet, we as a public shudder in shock when the curtain reveals that in fact, the life we thought was authentic is infact a fraud.

Everytime you close your eyes (Lies, lies!)

"A Million Little Lies: Exposing James Frey's Fiction Addiction" is the latest among The Smoking Gun's exposes. James Frey, a former crack addict, wrote a book and checked the box next to "non-fiction". Frey soon found himself in Oprah's bed and then soon in the hands of her adoring fans.

Then in a blink of an eye, Frey's accounts of vomiting into his lap, beating up cops, and playing a role in the death of a twelve year girl were exposed as lies. Suddenly, our nation's poster boy was actually just like every other drug addict - an insecure, pathetic, and unexciting unless high mess with a need to vindicate themselves through extraordinary tall tales.

So now I have to ask, when did reality become so damn sexy?

I cannot recall a time when television was so cluttered with reality shows and the biopic or "based on a actual events..." films. Yet, as we suspend our belief that Jessica Simpson doesn't know tuna from chicken, filling our minds that reality is far more orchestrated than a Steven Speilberg film. Is the promise of "reality" some kind of justification for our love of drama? Are we no longer allowed to root for Luke and Laura because they didn't meet on the Bachelor?

Stephen Crane's novel, "The Red Badge of Courage" was hailed as one of the greatest war novels of his time, yet Crane never fired a shot in defense of a cause. Does this make Crane a fraud, or just someone who understood the human condition? Is Frey that different from Crane in that he nailed the fraility of the human spirit and the perils of an addiction?

Yes, Frey's a liar, no argument here. His book was clearly not an autobiography, yet I question the accuracy of anything that claims to be. I then further question the audience who needs life to be this unbiased, unattainable reality.

72 Year Old Woman

Somewhere between college and adopting a cat, I've become a 72 year old woman. I'm not sure what wrinkle in time I've stumbled into, but will someone please grab me an iron?!?!

Here my friends is an example of a gift I have recently received:

Believe it or not, this illustration is actually much more stylish than the terry cloth seafoam (think 70's bathroom tile) number I unwrapped. Please note the easy to use snap buttons and flared skirt...it's almost an empire waist...

I'm not knocking this style for someone who's pushed watermelon sized items out of their non-watermelon sized items, but jeez, I'm saving this little diddy for at least 80.

Yes, I realize the model is not 80, but she is getting paid. Pay me a few thousand dollars and I'll wear one in yellow denim.


Here is an example of a new theme called, "Jinny owns a cat, therefore she LOVES cat stuff"

One more of an item of this type will send me over the edge.

THE EDGE PEOPLE!!!!

To sum up, I like clothing with non-snap buttons and a waistline and I abhor cat stuff. Dog stuff isn't any better.

I also don't like logos, prints, popular music, the color yellow, carnations, Carnie Wilson, clowns, movies with Gwyneth Paltrow, Doom, olives, and egg slicers.

Thank you, and please don't hate me.