My Looking Glass

Apathy is the New Prozac

Longtime readers from my old blog may be wondering what happened to the outspoken and strident (politically and otherwise) LA. I mean, a complete fascist was just confirmed to the Supreme Court, our idiot president just spun more fictional fairy tales on television, and that imperialistic uber-bitch of daytime talk just burned another author at the stake to placate her swollen-yet-fragile ego. Typically, these types of events would inspire me to write volumes of impassioned discourse. But as you can see, I haven't addressed any of those items in recent days, focusing instead on pedestrian matters such as the Academy Awards and Jake Gyllenhaal's supreme hotness. And don't get me wrong, I am passionate about the latter. But still, you may be wondering, what gives?



No, not Prozac. I am presently antidepressant-free for the first time since shortly after 9/11 and that big dose increase after my dad died in 2003. Nope, there's nary a trace of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor floating around my synapses. My neurotransmitters are as pure as the driven snow.

Fact is, I'm just plain tired.

A family member was marveling the other day at my obsession of late with celebrity gossip in general and Jakey in particular. My response was that basically, it's all I have the energy for right now. It's meaningless and irrelevant, so it can't hurt me. Bring it on and let me drown in it. The political culture in this country has left me feeling absolutely powerless, and it really hurts me when I think too hard about all the shit I can't affect. I suppose that's a defeatist attitude, but honest-to-god, it's the best I can do right now. Things are so unbelievably fucked up that I've become numb to anything of importance, and the only curiosity I can muster up is over whether Wilmer Valderrama celebrated his birthday the other day at Level 3, Mood, or Club LAX. (It was Level 3.)

Trust me, I know this is all very, very sick. I'm one of those annoying people who never has her television on, but I'm thisclose to ordering cable so that I can watch HGTV 24/7. Decorating, knitting, and celebrity gossip will serve nicely as my insulation from the big bad world.

Speaking of knitting, something funny happened the other day. I organize a social knitting group that gets together typically on alternate Fridays. The local yarn store that I frequent has an annex a few store-fronts down with comfy sofas and chairs and music set up for people to come by, relax, knit, have a drink, and enjoy themselves. Coincidentally enough, the room is called The Annex, and so we call our meetups Annex Knitting.

At any rate, we got together last Friday afternoon, but I had to leave early to go to a hair appointment. Fast forward a couple hours later at the salon. I was sitting there in foils while my color was processing when someone opened the door and called in to say, "excuse me, is LA from knitting here?" I turned to see someone who looked vaguely familiar, and I said, "uh, yeah, that's me." Long story short, she had gone looking for me at The Annex to get some advice on a shawl she was working on that I knit last year. They told her I was getting my hair cut in Naples, so she tracked me down and found me in the third salon she tried. Pretty fucking funny. Here are some pictures of the shawl in question. I worked on it for 2-3 months last spring/summer. It was designed by one of my favorites, Jane Slicer-Smith. It's made with a wonderful soft merino wool, and I completely love it. But maybe it's not a shawl, and maybe I should call it a security blanket.

posted by LA @ 10:39 PM