Hero disappoints. Film at eleven.

.. my brain said this morning, as I read the blurb about poor Martha.  Let's just say that despite her former sour attitude, her stiff demeanor and abhorrence for the imperfect, her lust for power and control and the legal problems that resulted, her enviable success, and the fact that it can just be so popular to dislike her, I do and always have loved Martha Stewart.  I have endured endless ridicule from friends and loved ones (not mom, of course) for my interest in reading everything she writes.  And still, I linger at her shrines.  I liked her way back when, before she learned to laugh at her self and smile on occassion.  Before she learned that being pleasant and real makes people like you more, not view you as weak and vulnerable.  Before she had guests like Snoop Dog on her show.  Before her daughter - who I am equally fascinated with, but fearful of - began capitalizing on a culture that loves to poke fun at some of Martha's more extreme experiments.  I watched her go to trial and go to prison and be released.  And continue to feed a booming career that just cannot seem to fail.  I have weathered ridicule of the most likely suspect... friends snidely saying, 'okay, MARTHA' and had a hard time not taking it as a complement.  I call uncle when it comes to the finer points of her tutoring, such as how to store linens, or trimming certain shrubbery by nearly week-specific groups of time.  I don't assume to come close to her standards when it comes to.. everything... but it is my right to enjoy what she teaches, and listen when she preaches.  I retain her periodicals for years and refer back to them often.  My heart skips when her products appear in more and more stores, and I always take the time to check it all out.  And maybe wait for it to go on clearance so I can buy a bunch of it.  I have 2 of her cookbooks, have tried dozens and dozens of her recipes and craft ideas.  I was Martha when Martha wasn't cool, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.  She inspires me.

But here's where it gets messy.  Today, I read that my darling Martha who I fully realize is not perfect (that hurt) walked out during intermission at a broadway show.  She apparently went to see Hair, wherein the brief summation of act I regales a whole mess of naked jiggly bits waving askew.  I understand the artistic relevance to this particular naked event, and I also understand that it is brief and not nearly as shocking as some make it out to be.  It is relevant to the point of the show, and illustrates a sign of the times in question.  And the fact that my favorite brilliant homemaking genious could not accept WHY it was not abhorrent creates a clash between two very pertinent themes in my lifestyle.  She stated before her brisk departure that she was 'having a meltdown', and left.  I must say, my heart wept.  The fact that she could not tolerate this brief show of fruits-and-nuts kind of disappointed me and made me question just how far she has come.  Martha, you CAN'T not appreciate theater.  My heart can't take it.  This is as sad and unfortunate as Mickey Rourke's face.  You can handle a nipple slip - I know you can! Martha, don't look so concerned. 

Here, let's try this again.  We need to bridge the gap between 2 of my most sacred loves.  You need to get back on that theater horse and try again.  I've bought you some tickets to Equus... I'm quite certain that given another try, my two loves can go together just like .. well...

~Sarah