Do You Wonder What Has Happened With Americans? Do You Wonder How Obama Got Re-Elected?

In the following post, Lauren Besser unknowingly tells us what is wrong with America. We now understand that hero worship of rude, tacky malcontents who once had some talent now overrides thought, consideration and politeness. 

Heroes used to brave individuals (usually soldiers but others like Charles Lindberg and Amelia Earhart also rose to that status) who overcame tremendous odds to rise to a level of admiration  They were common people who did extraordinary things.

Now, we have a President who gets the Nobel Peace Prize within months of taking office and doing nothing to achieve that goal; movie stars whose only claim to fame is the run ins with the law; and politicians who post naked pictures of themselves and have the temerity to tell us to go "F" ourselves if we question his judgment.  

No wonder we have lost our way, our current day heroes are gutter level slime and those heroes of the past are treated like yesterday's trash.

Thanks to Lauren, she has made it clear that this country is not the nation of 1945 and before. It is Rome in its latter days when the decay had eaten away the morals of the nation and everyone was out for their own piece of the pie.

America is just the latest of nations to end up on the scrapheap of the world. 

Conservative Tom

The (Elevator) Ride of My Life with Courtney Love

October 31, 2013

By Lauren Besser in UNDER CULTURE

 Blog

Photo Credit: Hedi Slimane for Saint Laurent (www.thetimes.co.uk)

A friend was staying at a fancy hotel for a visit to New York City. It's the type of place where so many celebrities retreat that they have an exclusive lounge where guests can't be bothered by regular people. Naturally, we followed our girls dinner with drinks in said lounge. Just being there made us feel famous so we slouched our shoulders, ordered champagne and laughed with abandon because that's what we decided famous women do together.

At some point I decided to head up to her room to use the ladies and fix my lipstick. For whatever reason I felt like it would be less of a hassle than walking down a flight of stairs to the hotel rest room. But, now, I know the reason was fate. 

As I waited, an entourage entered, walked to reception and stayed there in theperipheral vision of my right eye. The amount of people fussing over this person made it clear it was someone special. I obviously didn't look to see who it was because I know how to conduct myself in environments that are too cool for me. 

I stayed patient as the group made their way to the elevators. It was the perfect moment to steal a look. And then my heart stopped. I was about to board the elevator with one, Courtney Love. 

Courtney Love. The woman who induced my need for baby doll dresses and Doc Martins at fourteen. The woman who suggested I cut my hair and use plastic children's barrettes to clip it up. The woman who bared her breasts at my first teenage concert. The woman who graced the cover of Sassy with her husband Kurt Cobain. Her face was plastered on my walls. My sky was made of amethysts. I rented a guitar with hopes to front my own grunge band one day.

In other words, this elevator ride would be the ride of my life. 

As the doors shut, the most perfect perfume I've ever smelled encompassed me. Usually so much would get me sneezing with the quickness, but not Courtney's. It was light like sweet feathers and musky like a Parisian parlor. I breathed deeply and gathered myself to live presently in the moment. 

I am three feet from Courtney Love. I am three feet from Courtney Love. 

Courtney was not happy. Apparently her favorite and seemingly regular fifth floor suite was not available and the third floor alternative was not acceptable for a slew of unconvincing reasons. There were at least two hotel employees accompanying her and what looked like an assistant futzing about as Ms. Love threw words around that she believed would eventually land her the room.

She was a little wobbley with all her defiant protesting. Because of her holy status in my life I refuse to assume why she may have been less than sharp, but let's face it, we all know her history. 

What I can say is that she looked a lot better than I thought she would. There was part of me preparing to mask my horror at the messed-up surgery face she might have. But I was pleasantly surprised to find her sort of healthy looking. Except for a really big head on a tiny body, the woman looks good, considering who she is.

As she leaned in to find the third floor button she struggled. After becoming so accustomed to the fifth floor it makes sense that finding another number could be difficult. The luggage cart was between me and the buttons so I had no choice but to rely on my (very angry) idol to get me to my floor. I prepared myself to talk to to Courtney. 

"I'm on six," I said.  

There was a pause. It was heavy and tense with silence. And then Courtney spoke. 

"Well, lucky fucking you." 

She didn't even look at me and for a minute I didn't think she'd punch my floor. For a minute I thought we would all stand there knowing my button wasn't lit. For a minute I thought I would have to press it myself after they cleared out of the elevator. But she eventually pressed it and my heart started to beat regularly again. After a bunch of breath was released from everyone's chests Courtney started to talk about the fifth floor suite again.  

When the doors opened on the third floor, the assistant and hotel workers ushered themselves and the luggage out first and took a right turn. Love came out last and made a confident left. Someone called to her down the hall and she managed a bobbled 180° to follow everyone to her hated room. When the doors closed I could still hear her complaining.

I twirled around in the elevator and furiously wiggled. Courtney Love just dropped an F-bomb on me! She didn't even hesitate! She completely excelled at every expectation I ever had of her. And it was in person! 

She was sulking and bitching. She was rude and disheveled in a super star way. My inner adolescent wanted to thank her for the honor of her presence. The dark shimmer of teenage angst was appealing again. I wanted to dye my hair with Manic Panic. I wanted a headache from head-banging. I wanted to turn it up when I heard my mom yelling to turn it down.

I love Courtney for her genuine indifference because I don't have it. I love her because she's full of tragedy that's wide open to the world. I love her because I'm as loyal as a dog. She was my favorite and will always be. Nothing will ever shatter that teenage bell jar she let me reside in, and I don't care what you say, Live Through Thisis a killer album. 

All hail Queen Courtney!