Hate-o-Rama

Do you know what I hate? Yeah, well, okay, I do seem to hate an inordinate number of things. But what really sticks in my craw at the moment is financial advisors who condescendingly tell me that I could put plenty of money into my savings account if I'd just lay off the Starbucks every day. That was the first message from the lady who came this morning from the new company taking over our 401(k) managment. Got news for you, sweetheart. I don't go to Starbucks, and I don't manage to scrape together the change to patronize one of my favorite local coffeeshops more than a couple times a month, if that.

She passed around an evaluation form at the end of her presentation. I wrote the comment that she needs to realize that many people in that room today actually do eschew daily luxuries but still live paycheck to paycheck. I sure am glad that my funky, edgy fashion sense virtually requires me to buy all my clothing from thrift stores.

What else do I hate... Ben Stein is up there. His column in the Arizona Republic on Sunday (I had no choice but to read it; I was in the middle of a retiree trailer park in Mesa) tut-tutted at Hollywood's cowardice in continuing to reward PC films like Syriana and Brokeback. This is my favorite bit:

The brave guy in Hollywood will be the one who says that this is a fabulously great country where we treat gays, blacks, and everyone else as equal. The courageous writer in Hollywood will be the one who says the oil companies do their best in a very hostile world to bring us energy cheaply and efficiently and with a minimum of corruption.

Of course, that guy will also be on crack.

I also hate writer's block.




And movies where the dog dies, and Republican sycophants who defend Bush's lawbreaking, and peanut butter that goes rancid before the jar's even half gone.

Did I mention writer's block? I'm sure my editors hate it when I get that too.