The Fountainhead. Don’t put columns on my building!

Your fearless leader of Mince Words with June is mincing with death, is what she is. She left work at 3:00 and has been in bed in her stunning Delta College Tshirt ever since. Delta College is a community college. Fearless leader June attended said Delta the first year after high school because she graduated with a 0.000001.


That said, let's sniffle over to The Fountainhead, shall we?

I wasn't really smart enough for this book (see Delta college reference above). For example, did anyone really understand why Dominique wouldn't be with Roark, other than to build tension for the reader? It was some crap about how she admired him too much to not destroy him, and okay, what? I really didn't understand that part.

I enjoyed the whole Luke and Laura let-me-rape-you-and-then-we'll have-a-nice-relationship action, as well. What do you make of that scene? This was the only time I didn't like Howard Roarke, but I guess we're supposed to think that Dominique really wanted him even though she herself calls it rape. I also think it symbolizes how Roark will do what he wants, whether the rest of us see it as good or bad.

I was taught in college to never dismiss an offensive part of a book because "that's how it was back then." But I'm tempted to do that with the rape scene. Women were supposed to resist desiring someone.

Other than the part where he's a big rape-y pants, don't you wish you could be like Hoard Roarke, with his uncompromising ideals?? I am so not him. I would have been like Peter Keating, doing what everyone wanted me to do. Like participating in a book club discussion while I have swine flu.

But of course, the big crux of this book is the whole idea of objectivism, which means, as Ayn Rand herself said, "the concept of man as a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral
purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and
reason as his only absolute."

So, she's basically saying that in her world, we'd all be like Roark, only being happy living up to your own standards.

Well. You know what? She may be right. But the concept is so foreign to me that I can't hang with it. Throughout the entire book, I kept thinking, come on, Roark, just DO the assignment they gave you! Don't you want a nice career? And fame? And for everyone to like you?

Perhaps this makes me a putz. But I am completely influenced by everyone around me and by everyone else's standards. Do I betray my moral principles to make sure everyone likes me? Yes. I mean, if you all told me you wouldn't read me anymore unless I played that terrible Facebook quiz, "Should the president be killed"? I wouldn't do it. But I compromise in all sorts of subtle ways all the time.

So Howard Roark is selfish because he lives only to please himself, and I am selfish because I live only to please myself because I've pleased all of you. That's what I think. Either way, I think most of our motivations are selfish.

Now, what do you think about altruism, after reading this book? Ayn Rand said altruism permits no concept of a self-respecting, self-supporting man. Well, jeez Louise, this is so counter to how I grew up that I can't even stand it. There are people in my immediate family who give away more than I make in a year. Plus, I was the recipient of Pell Grants in college. Did that make me someone who didn't respect herself? No. But maybe that's because I had to work so hard to get the REST of my college money.

At any rate, I'm glad I read this book. It was interesting to look at life from her completely different perspective. And I think anyone's first reaction to something different is to shun it, and I'm trying hard to see and respect her point of view, even if I end up not agreeing with it.

Oh, and by the way, I found it ironic that I read this book, then looked online to see what I should think of this book. That is exactly the kind of activity that would have made Ayn Rand spit up.

So what'd you think?

Fountainhead tonight!

Remember, tonight is our first Mince Words with June, the official book club of this blog. As opposed to all those other book clubs that pop up here unofficially.

So get your Ding-Dongs (our official book club snack food) and get your comments ready. I will post my review of The Fountainhead at 9 p.m. Eastern Time, and then you all come on over here and write what YOU thought of it.

If you can't make it to book club tonight, feel free to come back and tell us what you thought about it when you can, or leave a comment here, if you want.

Since I won't blog until tonight, I will leave you with this beautiful visual. Kind of get you in the mood for some highfalutin' book discussion.

Wedding 001

My family is proud.

Okay, see you tonight!

I’ve never met anyone quite like you before

The other day Marvin tells me my iPod is corrupted, which made me think my iPod met the wrong crowd and started smoking that cocaine, but apparently it just means all your songs go away and you have to put them back on again.

Marvin was only too happy to fill my iPod.

Let me tell you a little something about Marvin. He owns every song ever invented in the history of mankind. Also? Marvin is annoying.

We had houseguests once, and after they went to bed, Marvin listened to our guest's iPod, decided all her songs on it were stupid, then proceeded to stampede to the computer to change up all her tunes. I am not making this up. Unfortunately for him, she got up about an hour later, and came out to look for said iPod, which Marvin was wholeheartedly violating with stupid songs like Strawberry Letter 23.

Did I mention our guest was 21 at the time, and in no way, shape, or form would get a kick out of hearing Strawberry Letter 23, which was probably a song before she was a zygote?

So, part of my quest to weigh 102 pounds is I'm back to my running, which if you ask Tallulah means I'm back to an annoying trot. Because I have been taking this dog, this cheetah with floppy ears, out with me, and she is so.fed.up. with my slow pace. That dog runs like the wind. So when we go out, she is forever pulling as hard as she can, then looking back at me with pity, and slowing down to this patronizing sort of fast dog walk.

Hey, one of us is two.  And part Tibetan Spaniel. Is what I'm saying to you.


Naturally I am taking my iPod with us as we run, and I frankly do not know how Talu enjoys herself without an iPod. An iPawed.

Yesterday I forgot that Marvin put new songs in, because they were all regular things I like. It wasn't till today that I realized I want to cram this shiny magenta thing where the sun does not shine. And I don't mean Seattle.

Marvin. I know that you knew Michael Jackson. That does not translate to "your wife will want every Michael Jackson song ever written" in her ear. In fact, I really don't want ANY Michael Jackson songs. I am sorry.

And, yes, I know you hate the fact that I like ABBA. But Marv. I don't need eighteen ABBA songs. Give me one Dancing Queen and I'm on my way.

Do you have any idea how irritating it is to have to pull your iPod out, make the dog slam on her breaks, and plink plink plink through songs until you get one you like?

The final straw was when he added Hocus Pocus by Focus

A) You have never heard this song unless you grew up in Saginaw, or a similarly Saginaw-y town. Do some of your townswomen wear chains connecting their wallets to their belts? The straight women? Then okay. Maybe you've heard Hocus Pocus by Focus.

B) I was careful to pick the most exciting video I could find of Hocus Pocus by Focus. Enjoy the visuals. And please, stay until they start yodeling, I beg you. Really. They're going to yodel.

So, I have big plans tonight. Until midnight I will be preparing all my glycemic index diet foods (I cannot tell you how easy this diet is, other than the having-to-bring-everything-to-work part. I was not hungry all day) and then from midnight till 5:00 I will be removing stupid songs from my iPod.

Wait. Let me get it and just randomly choose five songs. So you can feel my pain.

1 Man, 1 Woman by ABBA. Okay, you see what I mean?

Jet Airliner by The Steve Miller Band. Seriously. Have you ever heard me wax on about how I like to jam out to The Steve ridiculous Miller Band?

I Can't Help It by Michael Jackson. I can't help filing for divorce.

Wanna B Startin' Something by Michael Jackson. See above re divorce proceedings.

Temptation by New Order. Okay, I love that song.

But Marvin, they made songs after 1987, you know. Don't argue with me on this.

You wanna be startin' something?

In which June speaks of nothing and everything

Tallulah is staring at me. Someone is staring at you in Personal Growth. She is in the kitchen, peeking her head around the door. It's unnerving.

Okay, turned out she wanted to go outside. That was a terribly disturbing way to go about it, peeping at me like that.

Anyway, I was so involved in showing you my beautiful YouTube video in yesterday's post that I forgot to tell you I'm on a diet.

Oh, and before I delve into the part where I could really go for some baked brie and big pieces of french bread and also maybe some chocolate creme pie, I noticed that people who watched my boring YouTube video yesterday said, "I've never heard your voice before." Now, didn't you all watch my movie trailer?

Marvin and I are part of a documentary about people who collect photos of strangers–I mean, who DOESN'T do that?–and the filmmaker has made the trailer. Go click on that link if you want to see it. It took a while to download when I just looked at it and appreciated my bra strap all over again.

I keep thinking all the same people read this blog all the time, but new people come in and think, "I wonder if June likes to collect pictures of people she doesn't know?"

And as a matter of fact, I just ran across some pictures of people we don't know that I didn't even know we had. Here's one:

Popwdk 001

Now, I know I do not have to explain to other I-collect-pictures-of-people-I-don't-know aficionados (such as Faithful Reader Culpepper) why this picture is fabulous.

First of all, I just love to look at old houses. The main reason I loved Warner Bros. cartoons as a kid was I liked to look at the details of the houses from back then. The one about Marc Antony, the big dog with the baby kitten? Has GREAT '50s kitchen stuff.

So, yeah, I love the french doors, and that valance in the next room, and the wallpaper in the dining room. And then I am obsessed with what the women are wearing, and I am totally that guy standing up, who thinks he's hy-LAR-ious holding that appetizer on his head.

I don't know. They just look like they'd be fun people. With their black olives and their coffee. I can't help it. I find these photographs riveting.

Honestly. Do you know ANYONE who diverges from the topic further than I do? I was GOING to tell you about my diet, and then I got up and scanned this picture, and linked to the Marc Antony cartoon, and man, I'm annoying.

At any rate, I am on the glycemic index diet, which is supposed to keep your glycemics indexed or something. And you know, I'm not that starved? I mean, I stuck to it all day today and never once did any of the pets look like a delicious roast or anything. It took 72 hours to prepare everything to take to work tomorrow, because my usual snacks of Snickers and Dr Pepper are not indexed by Mr. Glycemia or whatev.

I have a goal weight in mind. Here's what I want to look like:


Okay, really, where's that appetizer? I am so putting it on my head.

Oral hygiene with Talu

Enclosed please find a relatively boring YouTube video of Tallulah getting her teeth brushed for the first time. Won't you enjoy my Michigan accent?

I just came back from working out, and hadn't put any product in my hair yet, hence the part where I look like Garth. Party on.

Original music and "could you just hold it still?" camerawork by Marvin Gardens.

What the blooming bush is going on?

It is a rainy, chilly Saturday here at world of June.

Here is my rain hair.


I put this picture on Facebook last night with the words to the Cowardly Lion's "Courage" speech. Because what makes the Sphinx the seventh wonder? Courage.

This hair is the eighth wonder.

And speaking of the strange and terrible, one of the bushes I planted just started blooming. I think it's a gardenia. How much do you like me for not remembering what it is? It could be an azalea, but either way, it's not supposed to bloom now, is it? When it's 63 and rainy? What gives?


Look at the brown fall leaves around it! It's like, incongruous plant!

You don't know how many fibers in my being want to go back out in the cold rain and pull that clover down there, and also those tall wispy weeds at right. The rain has made weeds just SHOOT up. But look at my pretty pink salvia! I said to Marvin today, "My salvia's going crazy" and he said, "Well, then, spit."

Who adores himself night and day?

In other news, half of my pets had to go to the vet today. (Yeah, no, I'm really not going to say fur children. Ever.)


We had to make sure Henry would not become a rabid kitten. It may be too late. Have you met his jerky personality? I like how the bars of the cage cover his eyes like he's a Glamour Don't.


Henry was accompanied by his large sister, Tallulah, who had to get some other annoying shot so she can hang around 57 dogs every day. Dog day care. It just gets cheaper.

They are at the vet in the photo above, along with Marvin's knee, waiting for the scary vet with trepidation. How ridunkulously blog-centric am I that I took a camera to the vet? I enjoy Lu's dog feet sliding out from under her on the linoleum floor.

And I guess that wraps up today, other than I bought a resistance band. I tried and tried not to buy it. Get it? Cause it's a resistance band? Oh, forget it.

Gonna go resist something.

Oh! Wait! There's more! Comment of the Week, which I forgot to do last week so Paula got two beautiful weeks with her crown, goes to Faithful Reader (and my former editor at our hard-hitting high school newspaper) The Chief.

Most convoluted sentence, ever. Edit it, The Chief.

So click on Special of the Week in the right column to see The Chief's editorial comments.

2000 called. Wants its sweater back.

I just threw away my eggplant sweater. I don't mean that it was literally made from eggplants, cause, slimy. I loved that sweater, but it was gettin' ridiculous.


Okay, cause first of all, Robbie Krieger from The Doors called and wants his hair back. It's 99% humidity here today. I guess it's time for another Liquid Keratin treatment. But beyond my berserk hair, this sweater has had it. Note how it gapes up in the collar, and how fashionably lengthy it is, plus it has stretched out so that it covers my hands, like I constantly have sock puppets on.

I have no idea why Tinkerbell is on the lower-left side of this photo.

Here might be why this sweater is finally being retired. Because I bought this sweater with my sister-in-law when we both lived in LA. She had one child then, Emma, who was in her stroller as we shopped and she looked like this:

Emma 001

Emma happy to shop with Aunt June. Emma talk a little like Tallulah. How about some fashionable scrunchy socks, Aunt June?


Emma is ELEVEN now. She has her own cell phone. Time has passed, is what I am saying to you. She still totally rocks that jumper dress, though. Just like I do the eggplant sweater.

So, goodbye, sweater. You served me well.

But hey, guess what? While I was looking for a picture of Emma? I found this!!!

Lion 001

I know I talked about this picture about a year ago. I told you all I couldn't find the photo of the happiest moment of my life, and I told y'all to shut up about the part where you're supposed to say your wedding day was the happiest moment because HI I'M HOLDING A BABY LION.


It was some fundraiser for some animal rescue place, and for $10 they just TOTALLY LET YOU hang with a baby lion or tiger. There was a huge line, but I was first. And yes, most of the people were, you know, children, but they had to WAIT THEIR TURN! For I was holding a baby lion. Oh, it was fabulous. She FELT wild, you know? She felt kind of vibrate-y.

And the whole time my mother was in the background saying, "How do I know this lion won't eat my child? My 38-year-old child?"

And you know what makes me sad? It makes me sad that the happiest moment of my life had to be in my mother's sweatpants with pockets. We were on vacation and you do not even want to know what happened to my original pants that day. Really. Trust me. And there were NO OTHER PANTS besides those, so yes. Every time I look at this, I'm all, "Nice mom sweats." But still! I thought I had lost this photo forever! And I found it! Oh, sweet heavenly biscuits in the morning I found it!

Did I mention it was a moment to end all moments? Am I gettin' over the baby lion?

And finally. In summation. I also found this happy photo.

Ferry 001


I know this is in Seattle, because of the ferry action. Let's discuss just everything. First of all, am I a plush toy? What is with the fuzzy sweater? And such a snug fit! It would have looked great with mom's sweats. And am I Cruella DeVille? How many Dalmatians were sacrificed for that bag?

And finally, the earrings. Oh, those earrings. Am I wearing candelabra? Are those go-go dancer cages? Do they actually light up? And what made me say, "Oh! These enormous yellow and magenta earrings will go nicely with my blue stuffed animal sweater and Dalmatian bag!"

Wow! Someone's fashion sense needs a lifesaver. At least I didn't keep THAT sweater for 11 years.

If by “sexy” you mean “I look like Geraldo Rivera”

So I'm sitting there at work, and I feel this…this…

Heavenly days in the morning! That isn't a WHISKER, is it?

I stampeded to the giant Wicked Queen mirror in my office. (Seriously, you should see that gargantuan thing.) Sure enough, I had this GROWTH coming out of my face. I practically looked like one of my cats. Is my body anticipating that I will need to crawl through narrow spaces soon?

Your faithful June has been Nair-ing for years. Ever since 1999, when I went to get my eyebrows waxed and the woman said, "You want me to do mustache, too?" and I said, you know, good marketing on your part, missy, but I don't have a mustache. And she said, "Ohhhh, no. You dark like man!"

I dark like man? Really? I gave her the 15 bucks and told her to wax on. When I returned to work, I emailed my entire department. "I want to thank you all for not telling me that I am Tom Selleck," I wrote. And everybody in my department assured me that I was really not dark like man, that that eyebrow waxer had scammed me.


But I've Naired or waxed anyway, just to be safe. And now here I was at work, needing one of those mustache coffee mugs. What gives?

And do you think I could wait until I got home tonight to take care of it? As soon as it hit noon, I went screaming to my car and headed to Walgreen's for tweezers. I also called my mother. I don't know how she understood me, what with my handlebar brushing against the phone like that.

"I could practically tie Nell to the railroad tracks," I told her. "Honey," said my mother, who was trying to have a nice lunch with my Uncle Jim, who also has a mustache, "you do not look like Snidely Whiplash.

"You know, I don't have a problem with facial hair," she finished.

I know I have told you before how my mother does this. "I never get cavities," she'll say, after you've had four root canals. "I graduated college with a 4.0," she''ll tell you, after you get a 1.0 in Natural Science.

And I really hope my family is reading this today, because I know they can back me up on this. Come on, folks, help your masculine niece/cousin. Back a brother up.

Of course I had to buy the $37475638505945949405948 Tweezerman tweezer, which let me assure you is worth the money. Seriously. Mortgage your home. Once you use a Tweezerman, you won't go back.

The other "of course" in this scenario is I had to tell this gruesome tale to the computer guy at work, who for some reason is a good audience for all my drama. When I returned to work, he popped his head in to check on my '70s-porn-star-looking self. "Everything better now?"

"Yeah," I told him. "I was just registering for the draft."

I mean, SERIOUSLY, when did I get so unfeminine? I swear I used to be kind of hot. Now I'm hot in a Salvidor Dali kind of a way.

Gettin' old. It's not for the clean-shaven.

Bagging on Dooce. Hey, at least I stopped mentioning Casey Chase.

Everyone knows who Dooce is, right? I mean, I feel like an arse even linking to her, as she gets A MILLION hits a month, so who on earth doesn't know her? Okay, just go Google "Dooce" and you'll get right to her, if you don't know her blog.

As a recap, Dooce started blogging in the early part of this decade. In 2001, she got fired for blogging about work, and as a result got kind of famous for it. Now she has written two books, has been on Oprah and Today and all sorts of places I will never be. She has two kids and suffered postpartum depression and was really open about that. She now lives off the money she makes from her blog, and so does her husband.

There is Dooce in a nutshell.

People seem to be hostile to Dooce. I have even seen it here, when I have mentioned her in the past. You say her name and man! People get testy.

I think Dooce is funny, and that her pictures are great, and I am always interested in her posts. I have said before I doubt we'd be friends in real life, but so what? She's clearly compelling, to get that many people reading her blog.

Well, Dooce has done a marvelous thing. She has taken the many many many pieces of hate mail that she gets and has turned it into a page on her blog with a purposely obnoxious number of ads on the page, so she can finally make money from the hate.

Okay, come on. That is brilliant. I mean, people say terrible things to her, about her looks, her furniture, her family, her mothering skills. I would not be able to take it, not even for the supposed $40,000 a month she makes from blogging. I'm glad she has taken lemons and made lemonade.

Are you a Dooce disliker? A downright Dooce hater? Why? I really want to know. There is something about her that makes me feel a little peckish, too, and I can't quite figure out what it is. But mostly, I am on her side. More power to her, you know?

And what if you had a blog that big? Would you tolerate the dreadful email from people? Is it worth $40,000 a month to get attacked so much?

Do tell.