It is a very special day! Three years ago today, my most favorite person was born.
The Nephew is joyous and brilliant and funny and stubborn and I am admittedly biased, but I am quite sure he is the best little human around. I am one cranky mama-jamma, but not when The Nephew’s around. He cheers me right up. You can’t be in a bad mood around this kid. He’s filled with light. Look at that face. Can you look at that face without smiling? Well, maybe you can, but you might be broken, just a warning. You might want to get that looked into.
So today I am spending the day celebrating the birthday of my favorite little person, that somehow I am lucky enough to be related to. I know! Funny how that worked out, right? I get to hang out with him on his birthday and watch him eat cake (when you ask him what kind of cake he will have on his birthday, he looks at you like you’re insane and says, “CHOCOLATE,” like, “duh, ADULT, of course it’s chocolate, what OTHER kind of cake is there?” Mom told him I was coming home for his birthday, and he apparently thought about it for a moment, and said, “She can have some of my cake,” like it was a tough call, but he decided it would be ok. Aw, buddy!) and open presents and swim and play with the other kids and generally be the most amazing little guy around. He’s worth the drive home and back in the heat; he’s worth spending too much money on in presents; he’s worth pretty much anything I’ve got.
The ONLY type of cake. ONLY.
Happy birthday, The Nephew. And a million, billion, trillion more. I love you more than pudding and popsicles and bacon and nailpolish and penguins and semicolons.
In completely non-related news, there has been a lot of celebrity news. Let’s discuss what’s up in the land of celebrities, shall we? Or, as Dad calls it, the land of fruits and nuts.
First: Katie Holmes has left ol’ toothy alien-believin’ Cruise, and balance is restored in the world.
…help me. HELP ME.
In what some could say is the only intelligent decision she’s made in…well…seven years, Katie Holmes finally decided to leave Tom Cruise last week. I can’t believe that she stayed with him as long as she did, honestly. Here’s what I see happening. His gigantic battalion of lawyers will gag-order her to the point where she can say one of three phrases about her marriage to Tom, and never more than one of the three on the same day: “We both want what’s best for Suri,” “We were married for seven years,” and “This is a new chapter of my life.”
Tom Cruise is apparently flabbergasted by this development, and probably went to whoever runs the Church of Scientology now and was all, “YOU PROMISED ME A PRETTY LADY IF I PROMISED TO NOT HAVE GAY SEX THIS IS NOT WHAT I WAS PROMISED” and they were all, “Eh, people don’t always behave according to the law of thetan space operas, what can you do” and then Cruise stomped and stomped and screamed “RUMPLESTILTSKIN!” and tore himself in two and fell through a hole in the floor.
There are a million theories as to why Holmes finally left Cruise; from his religion (more specifically, him attempting to shove his religion down their child’s throat) to his controlling nature (ZOMG he wouldn’t let her do a Dawson’s Creek reunion!); however, I think it all boils down to one, very specific thing:
HE IS BATSHIT CRAZY.
She’s apparently attempting to get full custody of Suri. I hope like hell she does. He scares the everloving shit out of me, no joke.
(On a related note, Andreas says he thinks I suffer from odontophobia, which is the fear of teeth. Not ALL teeth. Just people with TOO MANY teeth. And who show them too much. That’s all.)
On to happier things. You are all aware, I hope, of the love we have here at Lucy’s Football for Anderson Cooper. And by “we” I of course mean “me.” That was a royal “we.” It’s not a cheerocracy here at Lucy’s Football.
Last week, Anderson Cooper, in a completely classy and understated way (as if he could do it any OTHER way) admitted what most of us had assumed for, well, ever:
I’ve always believed that who a reporter votes for, what religion they are, who they love, should not be something they have to discuss publicly. As long as a journalist shows fairness and honesty in his or her work, their private life shouldn’t matter. I’ve stuck to those principles for my entire professional career, even when I’ve been directly asked “the gay question,” which happens occasionally. Recently, however, I’ve begun to consider whether the unintended outcomes of maintaining my privacy outweigh personal and professional principle. It’s become clear to me that by remaining silent on certain aspects of my personal life for so long, I have given some the mistaken impression that I am trying to hide something – something that makes me uncomfortable, ashamed or even afraid. This is distressing because it is simply not true. The fact is, I’m gay, always have been, always will be, and I couldn’t be any more happy, comfortable with myself, and proud.
I have always assumed that Anderson Cooper was gay. (So have a lot of people. At one point, he made Out Magazine’s list of most influential gay celebrities, and this was LONG before he even came out.) Mostly, I assumed he was gay because I was attracted to him, because that’s how these things work, you see. Here’s the thing. Doesn’t matter. If he chose not to talk about it? Totally his call. The only thing that worried me is what he addressed in his statement above – that other people (namely, youth struggling with coming out themselves) would see being gay as a shameful thing, something to be hidden, embarrassed by. I love that when Anderson Cooper came out, he did it with his typical grace and style, thinking of others, classy as possible.
I’ve always admired Anderson Cooper. I know this will make some people dislike him, or distrust him – homophobic people who think that someone’s sexual orientation supercedes everything else in their life – but for me, it makes me like and admire him more. He’s a hell of a reporter and a writer, he’s funny, he’s intelligent, and he’s brave, on a lot of levels. And he happens to be gay. What he does in his personal life doesn’t affect me in the slightest. That he’s a role model for other struggling gay kids who need someone to look up to – well, that matters to me as a human being who cares about the well-being of my fellow human beings.
Thank you, Anderson Cooper. You’re wonderful. Good for you.
And, finally, in so so soooo sad news, apparently Chris Brown’s latest album is not being reviewed well, and ZOMG, you guys, what total sadface that is, right? I mean, we should all rally for the poor guy. If someone who beat his girlfriend can’t get another Grammy, I don’t know what the world is coming to. I mean, look. He spells it all out of for us in one of his songs: “Listeners seeking references to Brown’s troubles need look no further than ‘Don’t Judge Me,’ in which he sings ‘Just let the past just be the past … take me as I am, not who I was.'” Oh, well, that fixes it, then. We should all forgive you for beating your girlfriend and not feeling in the least bit sorry about it at all. We should ALL rush out and buy that album, clearly. To fund domestic violence. Clearly. My adorable and lovely cousin is madly in love with him for no reason I can ascertain, so he MUST be a class act, I mean, of course he must. Even when I say, “J., HE BEAT HIS GIRLFRIEND,” she has the response of, “Oh, that was a long time ago,” which explains it, of course. It’s my own damn fault for not being able to forget things like WOMEN COVERED WITH BRUISES.
I’d put a photo of Chris Brown here but I hate him so much I can’t even, so here’s a photo of an adorable sleeping puppy instead. You’re welcome.
Happy Sunday and happy day of The Nephew’s birthday! Day off tomorrow for me, whoo-hoo!
