Camp No Cupcake

I heard on the news last night that the doyenne of domesticity, Martha Stewart, has reportedly lost 20 pounds while serving her jail sentence at "Camp Cupcake," so perhaps a more fitting name would be "Camp No Cupcake."

It's amazing how a woman's losing 20 pounds can be inserted among other daily headlines, like the President's State of the Union address, Iraqi elections, a plane crash in New Jersey, and the Pope's hospital stay.

Now, don't get me wrong, if I lost 20 pounds, I would shout it from the rooftops. My issue here is that I don't think anyone would care if Sam Wexal or Robert Blake or Scott Peterson or even Michael Jackson lost 20 pounds. But let Martha's weight fluctuate, and it's reported like a NASDAQ plummet.

At any rate, Martha will, no doubt, emerge from jail a svelte diva, ready for her primetime reality show close-up. She'll have her cupcake and eat it, too.

Indelible Ink

Today, I'm thinking about Sunday's elections in Iraq, particularly the use of indelible ink to mark the fingers of those who cast a ballot, hence deterring voter fraud. Much more interesting--and medieval--than the little "I voted" stickers with the flag emblem that we sport proudly on election days.

Equally interesting is that over 60% of registered Iraqi voters braved the polling places--almost exactly the same percentage (60.7%) as American registered voters in last November's Presidential election. These Iraqis were terrorized, told that the streets would "run red with their blood" if they voted, yet the majority of them chanced it anyway. I think you'd have to threaten Americans with just the opposite in order to increase voter turnout--threaten that the streets would run red with their blood if they didn't go vote. Perhaps that wouldn't work either. Apathy is a powerful thing.

Maybe if we used indelible ink, our young voters would be encouraged to cast a ballot. Instead of marking a finger, we could fashion rubber stamps--leaving marks just like the ones I see smeared on students' hands on Friday mornings after a rough night of partying at the bar. This indelible mark would certainly be a source of pride.

I do wonder what will happen now that the Iraqi people have spoken. Will they now hand the Americans their hats? Based on the Geneva Accords of 1954, elections were supposed to be held in Vietnam the following year, thus reunifying the country. The elections never took place. Instead, the Americans replaced the French and started a twenty year commitment in Vietnam, ultimately resulting in 58,000 dead American soldiers and infinitely more dead Vietnamese. With the death toll still on the rise in Iraq--for both the Americans and Iraqis--I wonder what these elections' indelible mark will be . . . .

W.W.C.D.?

Last week I finally finished the last eight episodes of Sex and the City, and I am now wondering what will I do without Sex? I missed most of the last season because I no longer had HBO, so I'm a little late in lamenting the end of one of the best shows ever.

After the blackguard broke my heart, giving me the break-up equivalent of Berger's post-it note, I asked myself, "What would Carrie do?" W.W.C.D. for short. Instead of buying a new pair of Manolos, I bought the complete six-season DVD set of Sex and the City. So, for the past few months, I've been savoring each episode, starting with season one.

I tried to pace myself with the last eight episodes, none of which I had seen before, but, like any good addict, I just couldn't stop. And now, here I am, wondering what my life will be like without Sex. I mean, I liked the ending--of course we all knew she'd end up with Big, but something just wasn't right about the ending.

You know how sometimes in romantic comedies, you just don't buy the relationship at the end? There's been too little development, or the chemistry isn't right, or something? Well, is it just me, or did Sex go out with a whimper and not the "Oh, yes. The climax." as the ads promised?

I know, I know. Carrie and Big have been developing for six years. And there is definitely some chemistry there. I think maybe it's something a bit more personal. For all us single gals out there, who saw a little bit of ourselves in Carrie, what if our stories don't get tied up so neatly as hers? What if there is no happily ever after for us? I think maybe we all liked--no, clung to--the single, fearless Carrie because she was us.

Alas, from here on out, we're on our own. But, we can always ask, W.W.C.D.?

Why a Hit List?

I have a friend, whose mother has a friend named Martha, and Martha is crazy. Not crazy in the bad way. Crazy in the good way . . . like Steel Magnolias, Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, or Terms of Endearment. Anyway, lore has it that one day Martha will really flip and go on a multi-state killing spree. And when she does, believe me, you don't want to be left out.

See, it's a running joke that Martha has a hit list, including maybe her ex-husband, the unfortunate guy who wished her a happy 60th birthday (a Southern Lady never tells her true age, dahlin'), and all those individuals out there who have wronged her and her friends. The logic behind the hit list is the insanity plea. Why off one person and be convicted of cold-blooded, premeditated murder when you can kill many (seemingly) unrelated people, claim insanity, and spend the remainder of your days gluing macaroni noodles onto cigar boxes in art therapy at the state mental facility. (Just don't eat the macaroni--too many carbs. The glue maybe.)

So, when I was wronged by a certain blackguard recently, I knew where to turn. I called my friend, who generously offered to have him put on the hit list. Don't get even, get Martha. It's a good thing.