I’ve been on television twice, both times in time slots where nobody could possibly be watching (I keep telling myself), and I’ve had a couple of mentions in the Gazette. The Oklahoman, however, tends to ignore me, and I’m starting to think that’s a Good Thing, since the absence of coverage gives their brow-at-nose-level Web commentariat no shot at me.
This story, for instance, has drawn all sorts of nasty remarks:
Cathy Velte is not your average 54-year-old. The Oklahoma City woman is a successful medical researcher. Financially secure, she’s single, beautiful and confident. She’s a speed junkie who races cars professionally. And she’s proud to be a cougar.
But wait. Most people think of a cougar as a lonely, desperate woman over 40 who is on the prowl for a younger man. That hardly describes Velte.
That’s because Velte is one of thousands of women on a crusade to redefine the term cougar as applied to women.
A sample of the verbiage:
It is flabbergasting that someone would think they could appropriate a term “cougar” which is code for “I sleep around” and *NOT* think they are going to “inherit a degrading label.” The “label” fits.
“Code,” incidentally, is code for “This is a blatant example of projection” a good 90-95 percent of the time.
I’m guessing that if Cathy Velte races Porsches and runs a medical lab, she probably doesn’t have time to sleep around, not that it’s anybody’s business in the first place. Furthermore, I have just enough glass around the house to remind myself of the qualifications for stone-throwing. I will, however, lob a lump of feldspar at Steve Lackmeyer if he somehow sells the Dark Tower suits on the notion that I’m somehow newsworthy; I’d almost rather get Valentines from the Lost Ogles.