T.S. Eliot would be proud. My mind is a complete blank.

Mind you (pun intended), it’s not for lack of junk to think about. I got lots of that.

It’s that there’s so much to think about, that it all has become a blizzard that has approached whiteout conditions in my tiny brain pan, and I cannot so much as scrape the metaphorical ice off my allegorical windshield with my symbolic credit card so I can try to start the hypothetical car of my mind, only to find that the engine block has frozen and cracked.

There’s nothing to stop me from making a few analogous snowballs, however, while I wait for the Triple A truck:

– Steve Jobs passed away, sadly, and such is his presence that, despite stories of his legendary, shall we say, mercurial treatment of his employees and family, the Twitterverse exploded in grief. Margie Phelps, the daughter of the pastor of the Westboro Baptist Church, exploded herself with the thought of all that PR opportunity and announced that she and her cohorts would picket his funeral as Jobs was, apparently, the anti-Christ or at  the very least, his second cousin and was rightly in Hell.

Hilariously, she used her iPhone to tweet the news. Even more hilarious: when that little irony was tweeted back to her, she told the world where to get off and quit hating on her because, and I quote: “God created iPhone for that purpose!”

Which means that God is in Hell, according to the High Priestess of Hate. Epilogue: God had enough money and so was able to arrange for the one thing those families of our fallen military could not:  privacy and thus, sanctuary from Phelps and her minions.

– One of the reasons the anti-freeze has leaked out of the radiator of my id is that the world keeps looking for, and conducting the same stupid arguments. In my quest to thaw out my brain freeze, I was reading Huffington Post and stumbled across a contribution from Jamie Lee Curtis extolling the virtues of growing heirloom tomatoes and creating artisan bread and playing word games whilst drinking hand-crafted gourmet coffee and why the heck aren’t we ALL doing that instead of banging our heads against a corporate wall and what does that say about feminism?

The comments de-evolved into the usual debate about what women should *really* be doing and what feminism is really about and included, of course, the standard snarky comments about women who abandon their children because they don’t really have to work.

This was a rare occasion where two of my pet peeves get together and mate to make a gigantic Snowmageddon:

First pet peeve: wealthy, clueless actresses/celebrities spouting off about the realities of being a working mom and presuming to understand the priorities of people who are not independently wealthy. Normally I dig JLC and I really liked that magazine piece where she posed in her underwear without any re-touching, and I like it that she doesn’t act like she can hide from Time (the way we measure entropy, not the magazine). I just don’t know when the bleep her reason abandoned her. Any idiot knows it’s more fun to play Words with Friends and grow tomatoes or [insert any leisure activity here] than haul one’s ass out of bed at 5 a.m. to go to work. Apparently just any idiot hasn’t figured out that for so many of  us, there would be no tomatoes or word games (or roof over our heads, or food for our children) if we didn’t haul our asses out of bed to go to work.

AND

Second pet peeve: any debate about what women should be doing with their lives. By people other than the woman herself and her immediate family. Because here’s a clue: YOU (and by ‘YOU’ I mean the general ‘you,’ not *you*) ARE NOT QUALIFIED TO EVALUATE WHAT ANY OTHER PERSON CHOOSES TO DO WITH THEIR LIVES, provided that the laws of the land are being observed. If the laws of the land are not being observed, then you have the same chance as anyone else to sit on the jury.

This…this, dear readers, is where my fingers get the typing version of brain freeze. I’m so tired of reading all this stuff. I’m even more tired of writing it.

And that’s the nice thing about dying in the cold…it’s really kind of peaceful and quiet.

© E. Stocking Evans 2011