— the flash of celebrity Warhol coined, and that we live all our lives for: my sainted daughter just appeared on a newsmagazine TV show about Internet fraud. Hey, she was the main character: sure enough, she was cheated by someone who’d sent her an email warning, saying that her credit card was being used by others. In response, she gave that evil someone her banking information.
She looked blonde and pretty (which she is) and innocent (which she isn’t) on the show, and she was thrilled. Ah, good for her. Famous for being the unwitting victim. Oddly, she does realize why she got her starring role. At dinner she said she’d like to start her own series: How to Be Cheated by Everyone. What the Stooges did on the physical plane, she could do on the cyberspatial one. Fall down go boom. But the 15 minutes of fame were worth the fact that she was being exhibited for her mistake.
I live with a SWiMCAT. Maybe you do too, or maybe you are one.
I’m proud to say I made up the acronym. It describes my wife: She Who Must Control All Things. For short, a SWiMCAT.
I know, I know. The “i” is just there because you say it when you pronounce SWMCAT.
To find out if you live with one of these creatures, ask yourself: is there anything that you do at home that does NOT have to be redone? (You brought the plants in from the balcony for the winter, sure, but did you have to put them in the window sill?)
Right: that was kind of a crazy idea. Should have been the other window sill. I see that now.
The blare began, and I fell in love. A bodily excitement buzzed when the Gillette ad came on – the “Look Sharp March”:
To look sharp and feel sharp too
Choose the razor that is built for you
Light [in tenor voice]! Regular [baritone]! Heavy [basso]!
Only way to get a decent shave.
How’re you fixed for blades – better check! – Gillette Blue Blades, I mean.
The ad was a harbinger of exhilaration: for only when the Look Sharp March was done could the World Series begin.
Meanwhile, what did we see? The ad’s images showed a strong handsome guy, maybe even The Mick himself, making swift carefree swoops with the razor, cutting a clean swath through a face swathed with bright white shaving cream. Shaving looked like mowing the lawn: one pass, and it was done.