it's a damn good thing

I started writing in the comments box under the "Christmas dinner plans" post below, holding forth my own thoughts on Martha Stewart, but thought I'd relocate here to these more commodious accommodations.

Martha Stewart. Is there anyone she doesn't put to shame? Anyone who doesn't leaf through an issue of Living without first feeling a few pangs of inadequacy that spiral quickly out of control to bloom full into despair and shame over one's own sorry wasted life?? While Martha is snipping fresh arugula, rosemary and thyme from her herb garden and nestling the succulent sprigs in a wicker basket that she handwove earlier that afternoon and festooned with white crinoline bows with crisscrossed interwoven silver and gold threads, all the while maintaining her French manicure, I'm picking my cuticles and thinking of checking the fridge to see if there's any of that "herb in a tube" oregano I can add to the Ragu spaghetti sauce because the oregano on the spice rack is turning brown and then deciding what the heck I'll check a few blogs first.

While Martha is setting the table for twelve, putting the last touches on the beef bourgignon and deciding at the last minute to whip up a six-layer strawberry chiffon cake, I'm staring out the window dreading all the papers I have to grade. While she whips together a centerpiece out of bay leaves, homemade cinnamon candles, and flocked pinecones, polishes the silverware, sews a pair of silk tie-backs for the raw silk curtains she hung that morning in the dining room, and transfers a few shares of ImClone stock, I'm thinking I might or might not walk down to the mailbox to see if the mail has come yet.

Ah, Martha! Ah, humanity!