The Cranky Professor

Today I received a postcard, addressed personally to The Cranky Professor, advertising Laser Vaginoplasty.

The first thing a thought was “OK, who’s been telling tales about my dainties…who put me on this list?”  My husband said it was because of where we live, which is within 5 miles of the porn capital of the world, but I think he was just trying to humor me.

And then I thought…really?  This is another thing I have to worry about?  In addition to keeping  my flab, my wrinkles and my gray hairs all at bay, now I have to worry about the landscape below the Mason-Dixon?

I’m blaming all of this on Brittney Spears and Paris Hilton.  They’ve groomed themselves so they look like 10-year old girls down there.  Now it’s really on display.  Hair hides a lot of stuff…there’s a reason why we have it.  An anthropology professor at my school said it has to do with pheromones or smells or something and also reducing friction or chafing.   I’m not saying that we have to look like cave-women, but c’mon!

Why, I remember the days when men were just excited to get a gander at any vagina, no matter how ungroomed  or lopsided.   If you had a vagina, you knew the power it held.  Now, as one website reads:

“Laser Reduction Labioplasty can sculpture the elongated or unequal labial minora according to ones specification. Most women tell us that they do not want the small inner lips to project beyond the large outer lips… . Women tell us that they want the skin to drape neatly over the clitoris.”
– http://www.drmatlock.com/dlv.htm

OK, who are these women?  Who has time to squat over a mirror and decide that their skin isn’t draping neatly enough over their entertainment center?  Is there some man who is telling them their vag isn’t pretty enough?  I would say  to that man that if you’ve got the time and energy to critique you’re partner’s bits and bobs, you’ve got too much time and energy.  Go change a lightbulb or take out the trash and be thankful you’ve got someone who will give you access to a vagina.

There are basically two ways to make money with a newspaper:

1.  Sell advertising

2.  Sell subscriptions

Somewhere between numbers 1 and 2, there is a profitable sweet spot.  Lower the subscription rate, and theoretically you can garner more subscribers and stick it to the advertisers to make money, because you’re delivering a giant audience.  Charging more for subscriptions can be profitable, but you’ll lose some folks in the bargain.  Lose too many subscribers and you can’t charge so much for advertising.

Well, apparently the Daily News is having trouble finding the sweet spot.

I will be mailing the following letter Monday:

May 11, 2009

Edward R. Moss

Publisher and President

Los Angeles Daily News

P.O. Box 4800

21860 Burbank Blvd. Ste.  200

Woodland Hills, CA  91367

Dear Mr. Moss,

Congratulations.  You got me.  I give up.   I will forever be your unwilling subscriber.  What I want to know is whether this some sort of premeditated, fiendish plan?  Let me explain:

A week ago, I received a letter from the Daily News saying that although I purchased a pre-paid subscription, I will be billed me an extra buck a week because advertising has dropped off due to the economy.

The letter said that I’d soon be receiving a bill for this extra amount.  If I didn’t wish to continue under these new terms, I could call and cancel my subscription.

It isn’t the cost that bothers me.  It’s the fact that I shouldn’t be made to pay for the Daily News’ marketing mistake.  If you can’t afford to deliver the newspaper and make a reasonable profit while allowing for dips in advertising income, then that’s a problem with your business model.  Why should I have to pay for that?

I called the number to cancel.  I touch toned my way until a voice said I’d be transferred to a customer service representative.  The voice said I might hear some clicking while I’m being transferred.  I heard a click.  Then I heard a dial tone.  This happened 4 times.

So I went to the Daily News website, I logged in to my account and I sent customer service an email.

An anonymous representative responded the next day by telling me that I can’t discontinue my service by email.  I have to call.

Now, I must admire the genius of this system.  Who runs your organization?  Mr. Burns?  Does Homer work in customer service?

The email I received suggested that I could subscribe to the electronic version of the paper for $65 a year.  This strikes me as an odd suggestion, given your online capabilities over at the Daily News.  I mean, I can do all my banking online, but you don’t have the technological ability to cancel my $20 subscription over the web?

I guess the purpose of this letter is to figure out if you’re all a bunch of diabolical masterminds over there at the Daily News or if you’re just a bunch of lucky assholes.

Sincerely,

The Cranky Professor

I’ll let you know what happens.

PS:  Here’s a particularly goofy picture of Edward R. Moss and an article naming him something called a “BJ Publisher.”

Followup:  They kept sending me bills, some threatening to cut off delivery and send me to collections. At the same time, salespeople were calling my house to try and sell me a new subscription.  Eventually everything stopped — the phone calls, the bills and the paper delivery.

So Barbie has a tramp stamp. I think we all knew that was inevitable since she started hanging out with her pregnant friend Midge.

http://dolltattoos.com/

http://www.dailywaste.com

I asked my mom what she thought of the new “Tramp Stamp” Barbie, and she said that she thought it was OK. I said I thought it was offensive. She basically said that she didn’t think a tramp stamp was any more offensive than the rest of her (by which I think she meant the pointy tits, but I don’t want to put words in her mouth).

There is an interesting trend that I’ve noticed among my unmarried friends in their 30s and 40s: they want man candy.

Take, for example, an old friend of mine. She was married and it wasn’t the world’s greatest relationship. She was supporting the two of them. They weren’t planning on having kids. He didn’t have a whole lot cooking in the career department. There were other problems in their relationship, but one day, she said, she looked at him and said to herself “If I’m supporting you and doing everything in this relationship, you should really be A LOT hotter!”

They split not long after that.

I’ve noticed that many women in my age group who aren’t married and aren’t planning on having kids are going for younger, hotter men. I think it’s an interesting sign of what the women’s movement has given us: back in the day, women were supposed to find a man and marry him. He would probably be older and more established, because it was his job to be the provider. Your job as a woman, to attract that good provider, was to be as attractive and fascinating as possible.

By the time women reach my age, they usually have their own money and their own life happening. They don’t need anyone to provide for them. These babes are established.

And remember how women who were over 30-something would have trouble finding dudes in their age group to date? They used to have to go older, because all the 30-something men were after the 25-year old hottie? Well, I’m fearing for the poor 40-something men. You better start working out, boys.

OK, so no one has asked me advice about dating, but since no one asks me to make snarky remarks about my workplace and I do it anyway, I’m just going  to go ahead and give you my dating advice.

One of my friends recently said that her shrink told her that women of my generation were raised with this idea that we need to be “picked.”  We generally have the attitude that some dude is going to pick us; we don’t do the picking.  I would say that this is generally true.  I know that I spent my 20s, really up to and before my first marriage, with the wrong attitude toward dating.  I guess I knew I was a pretty good catch — it wasn’t low self esteem or anything — I just didn’t think in terms of meeting a guy and evaluating all that he was bringing to the table.  I dated a series of fun guys.   Guys that made me laugh, were fun to be with, but not dudes that I was going to spend the rest of my life with.    And I guess that’s what your 20s are for.  You need to explore relationships and make your mistakes with the Mr.  Wrongs, so you know more about yourself and what you want when you meet Mr. Right.

Well, then I married one of those dudes of my 20s.  And I think the reason I did that was because I wasn’t quite sure what my goals were — I was flexible. (That’s probably why I couldn’t properly evaluate the men I was dating:  if you have that flexibility, almost any guy will work for you).  If I’d had some clarity in the goals department, I don’t think I would have married that guy.  I don’t blame the cloudy goal issue on why we divorced…we didn’t divorce over diverging life paths.  We divorced because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.  But I’m wondering if I would have picked him if I was the woman I was in my 30s.  Instead, I let myself get picked.

During my divorce I had to really look at what I wanted, which for me was being married with at least one kid.  So as soon as that became clear to me, I started dating, which is something I used to hate to do.  The second time around, I loved it.  I would meet a fella for coffee or whatever, and as soon as he did something annoying, that was it.  Move on to another guy.  Maybe he’d get another chance, but probably not.  Move on.  Another coffee and another guy.

By the time I found a guy that I could spend a weekend with and he didn’t  drive me crazy, I knew I’d found a real contender.  And I think that should be your goal:  find someone who doesn’t make you nuts.    Forget the other stuff.  Just find someone that doesn’t annoy the fuck out of you and then marry him if you want.

This lady was seated at my table at a recent event.  I barely talked to her because she sat so far away from me, but she seemed very nice.   I was super fascinated with her glamorousness.  Let’s take a look:  That’s a shiny purple leather jacket with strips of fur peeping out at the seams, collar and cuffs.  She has SEVERAL very large turquoise nugget necklaces and giant matching earrings.  She’s got a lot of upkeep happening:  colored hair, lots of makeup.  You can’t see this in the picture, but she’s rocking the kind of lipliner that makes it look like she just had an intimate encounter with a chocolate bar.

Part of me wants to be her when I get old — she’s a diva.  She still gives a shit about how she looks, even if it might scare small children.  The other part of me says “does she look in a mirror before she leaves the house?”  Sometimes the line between glamor and scary clown is very fine.