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Johnny Depp & Amber Heard
Jun. 2nd, 2022 09:17 amYay! Yay! Yay!
Modest but unexpected windfall has alleviated the immediate financial pressure. Breathing room!
Wrote 5,000 words yesterday, but I don’t have to rag on myself for not writing 8,000 words today.
My mood lifted immediately.
All those deeply unpleasant, unkind thoughts I was thinking about everyone…. Vanished!
Except for the unpleasant, unkind thoughts I was thinking about Johnny Depp, Amber Heard, and Kyle on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
###
At first, I resented the ubiquity of the Johnny Depp/Amber Heard trial over whatever-it-was because I mean, really: Who gives a shit?
Elderly movie star who makes you feel grateful that Elvis had the decency to die on the toilet bowl at age 42.
Texas golddigger straight off the Jerry Hall assembly line except Jerry Hall comes with more upgrade options.
What could be more boring?
I avoided reading about it.
But then I realized that the Johnny Depp/Amber Heard trial was the OJ trial for Generation Z.
What better way to distract prospective voters from skyrocketing inflation, the imminence of WWIII, and the eerie similarities between the present-day U.S. of A. and the Weimar Republic?
It was a spousal abuse contest.
From what I could gather, the abuse was mutual and ongoing, and if not exactly consensual in the ever-stricter definitions of that word then certainly encouraged according to the dictates of codependency.
He raped her with a (possibly broken) bottle and made really nasty threats against her in multiple texts to his bros; she somehow managed to cut off the tip of his finger and shat in his bed (although maybe it was the dog—we don’t know, and they didn’t preserve the turd for DNA testing.)
What’s really most remarkable to me, though, is that Depp somehow managed to blow through $600 million in something like 15 years.
I mean, how the hell do you do that?
Short of giving away all the money?
Or sitting cross-legged in front of your Taj-Mahal-like domicile setting fire to it, one $100 bill at a time?
###
Amber Heard is a living testimonial to the power of makeup.
It’s hard to believe that this person—
—is the same human being as this person:
Maybe I should start investing in industrial-strength cheek contour highlighters.
###
I will also note—hallo! U.K. friends—that today is Queen Elizabeth II’s Platinum Jubilee. She seems to have attracted a bigger crowd to her celebration than Donald Trump attracted to his inauguration.
Those side streets do look very empty, though.
What else?
My right hip started hurting a couple of days ago.
Again. At the exact spot where the femur inserts into the acetabulum.
I am fairly sure this has something to do with my gait.
Many, many, many, many years ago—I was a child!—I sprained my right ankle.
In retrospect, I am fairly certain that I tore some ligament there and that my ankle ought to have been casted.
But my mother being my mother, naturally, there was no trip to the doctor. “Stop whining!” was the only medical intervention I got from my mother.
The ankle healed—but for years, it would go out on me at irregular intervals. Never when I was doing anything athletic, oddly enough. I would be walking down a street or standing in my bathroom, and then I’d hear it go out: Pop! It always made a sound: Pop!
Anyway, I was in my 40s the last time it actually went out.
I think after that I must have unconsciously compensated, shifted my gait somehow, started pronating slightly on the right side. And now the birds have come to roost or whatever it is that birds do when they perch on decrepit old monuments—shit mostly.
###
There’s not very much I really mind about aging.
I don’t care about being invisible.
The small, momentary memory lapses can actually be fun since I have to take collateral routes through the brain to pull the right word out, and those can be quite entertaining.
But I do mind the physical deterioration.
The physical deterioration is a pain in the ass.
Modest but unexpected windfall has alleviated the immediate financial pressure. Breathing room!
Wrote 5,000 words yesterday, but I don’t have to rag on myself for not writing 8,000 words today.
My mood lifted immediately.
All those deeply unpleasant, unkind thoughts I was thinking about everyone…. Vanished!
Except for the unpleasant, unkind thoughts I was thinking about Johnny Depp, Amber Heard, and Kyle on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
###
At first, I resented the ubiquity of the Johnny Depp/Amber Heard trial over whatever-it-was because I mean, really: Who gives a shit?
Elderly movie star who makes you feel grateful that Elvis had the decency to die on the toilet bowl at age 42.
Texas golddigger straight off the Jerry Hall assembly line except Jerry Hall comes with more upgrade options.
What could be more boring?
I avoided reading about it.
But then I realized that the Johnny Depp/Amber Heard trial was the OJ trial for Generation Z.
What better way to distract prospective voters from skyrocketing inflation, the imminence of WWIII, and the eerie similarities between the present-day U.S. of A. and the Weimar Republic?
It was a spousal abuse contest.
From what I could gather, the abuse was mutual and ongoing, and if not exactly consensual in the ever-stricter definitions of that word then certainly encouraged according to the dictates of codependency.
He raped her with a (possibly broken) bottle and made really nasty threats against her in multiple texts to his bros; she somehow managed to cut off the tip of his finger and shat in his bed (although maybe it was the dog—we don’t know, and they didn’t preserve the turd for DNA testing.)
What’s really most remarkable to me, though, is that Depp somehow managed to blow through $600 million in something like 15 years.
I mean, how the hell do you do that?
Short of giving away all the money?
Or sitting cross-legged in front of your Taj-Mahal-like domicile setting fire to it, one $100 bill at a time?
###
Amber Heard is a living testimonial to the power of makeup.
It’s hard to believe that this person—
—is the same human being as this person:
Maybe I should start investing in industrial-strength cheek contour highlighters.
###
I will also note—hallo! U.K. friends—that today is Queen Elizabeth II’s Platinum Jubilee. She seems to have attracted a bigger crowd to her celebration than Donald Trump attracted to his inauguration.
Those side streets do look very empty, though.
What else?
My right hip started hurting a couple of days ago.
Again. At the exact spot where the femur inserts into the acetabulum.
I am fairly sure this has something to do with my gait.
Many, many, many, many years ago—I was a child!—I sprained my right ankle.
In retrospect, I am fairly certain that I tore some ligament there and that my ankle ought to have been casted.
But my mother being my mother, naturally, there was no trip to the doctor. “Stop whining!” was the only medical intervention I got from my mother.
The ankle healed—but for years, it would go out on me at irregular intervals. Never when I was doing anything athletic, oddly enough. I would be walking down a street or standing in my bathroom, and then I’d hear it go out: Pop! It always made a sound: Pop!
Anyway, I was in my 40s the last time it actually went out.
I think after that I must have unconsciously compensated, shifted my gait somehow, started pronating slightly on the right side. And now the birds have come to roost or whatever it is that birds do when they perch on decrepit old monuments—shit mostly.
###
There’s not very much I really mind about aging.
I don’t care about being invisible.
The small, momentary memory lapses can actually be fun since I have to take collateral routes through the brain to pull the right word out, and those can be quite entertaining.
But I do mind the physical deterioration.
The physical deterioration is a pain in the ass.
