“Time” magazine and “Desperate Housewives”

Last night I read my latest “Time” magazine and then watched “Desperate Housewives” which was a pretty good combination for the evening. I read about the Supreme Court Justices and an article on Clarence Thomas. Thomas is not my favorite Justice. He’s actually my least favorite for a lot of reasons. I don’t agree with his rulings or the way he got his appointment. But what I’m interested in is the title of the memoir he just published. Now we all know now that “memoirs” are no longer considered factual thanks to the James Frey debacle of 2003 when his memoir turned out to be partly fictional. So what about Clarence’s memoir? Will he gloss over the Anita Hill incident or not mention it at all? And what about the title . . . “My Grandfather’s Son.” What is that about? Is he writing about his father, and if so, why doesn’t he say so? I don’t plan to read it so guess I’ll never know.

But there was another article in “Time” that caught my attention. It was all about chocolate, chocolate, chocolate and all the fantastic benefits of eating dark chocolate. I agree and plan to go to the store as soon as possible. After that I watched “Desperate Housewives” which sort of tied in with the chocolate theme. Lynette (Felilcity Huffman) is suffering with cancer and undergoing chemotherapy which makes her nauseous. She can’t eat and feels like shit all the time. Her mother (Polly Bergen) is visiting and decides to take matters into her own hands as she can’t stand seeing her daughter in that condition. So she goes to a neighbor boy who has connections, and she scores some marijuana which she bakes into some brownies. Lynette eats one . . . and then more . . . and more. She ends up feeling great, bouncing around the house and even going to Susan’s (Teri Hatcher) charade party where she’s a big hit. She eventually finds out what caused her wild behavior and forbids her mother to do anything like that again. It made me wonder about if I’m ever in that position, to whom would I go for good brownies? I don’t think I’d want to play charades, but if that’s what it took to feel better, I’d be up for it. Would my daughters help me? Daughters should help their mothers do anything . . . do you suppose the godfather and president of I Eta Pi have any connections, or do they know anyone with any? It’s a moot point right now, but when the time comes, I expect my sorority sisters to gather around me. Hopefully, the aforementioned will never be necessary. It’s just a thought.