Saturday, November 29, 2008
Robyn: Oh my god! Are you Tim Meadows?
Tim Meadows: Yes I am.
Robyn: Awesome! Congratulations!
Yes. I am in fact retarded. It's true.
Like I've said before, I totally love it when the bad girls win. It gives me a bit of satisfaction after all those years as a kid hoping The Misfits would beat the shit out of Jem and The Holograms in at least one Battle of The Bands episode. But what got me thinking today was the fact that on a Jezebel post about how, well, everyone deserves to be happy, a lot of women not-so-repectfully disagreed. A running line seems to be that a woman who sleeps with a married man is just as guilty as he is, and I've been hearing this a lot lately- but it's his obligation, not hers.
You know, honestly, I think they have a much better chance of being happy than most people out there. I really do. Let me tell you why: I don't think she's someone who would be with someone just to be with someone. And he's obviously someone who doesn't give a damn about what other people think. Which is bad ass. I think it says a lot about both of them.
I think a lot of the bitterness comes from people who are really into rules and shit, and try to follow them, and then hate to see good things happen to people who don't. I mean, seriously- look at this comment on Gawker:
"Ya know the hilarious thing? We tut, we tsk, but in fact the takeaway message is, "Yes, ladies, you really can have sex with famous people for money
and then find that certain special someone to sweep you off your feet."
As in, whatever the fuck we "normal" people have been doing, clearly we've been doing it wrong."
Honestly- what the hell is wrong with that, really? Who says you have to do things the "normal" way in order to be happy? In any case, the thing that really bothers me is that I can in no way fathom the same comments coming into play if she was a he. Can you? No, because women are held to different standards than men are. Granted this is on a somewhat larger scale than the usual oats sowing, but still...
We are a society obsessed with ritual and reward and penance. If you do things in the prescribed way- even if it's not necessarily what you'd really like to do, and it probably isn't- you get rewarded with "happiness." A very specific type of happiness that comes with a house in the 'burbs, 2.5 kids, a minivan, and once a month "lie back and think of England" sex, and a smug feeling of self-righteousness because you did what you were supposed to do the way you were supposed to do it. And if the people who don't do it that way are appropriately punished, then you can feel comfortable, knowing it was all worthwhile, because at least those people are worse off than you are. But if they get to go and be happy- maybe even happier than you, well, that's just going to drive you up the damned wall now isn't it? Well, suck it up. I wish absolutely the best of luck to those people I don't know.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Ok, so last night I wrote a shit ton of embarassing personal demon-y type crap- and no one needs that, so I thought I'd embarass myself in a new and exciting way! By sharing with you what I found amongst the old journals and Warped Tour compilation CD's in my cabinet in my old bedroom at home. An old CD that we made in some voice class I had in highschool!
It was part of the final, and we had to go to some random recording studio and sing whilst accompanied by the voice teacher's husband. I was horribly nervous because she hated me- I suspect because I was not a soprano- they all had it out for the altos. Seriously. I'm telling you it was a total consipiracy. They also always tried to make me sound musical theatre-y. So, anyway, without further ado, this is me, circa age 16, singing "Stormy Weather." Hilarious. It has yet to be heard outside that one class or my house, so, you know, you should feel pretty special. And yes, that is in fact a picture of my one true love, Vincent D'onofrio. Yup.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Hilarity will ensue, I'm sure... and you know I love me a documentary... and I was certainly fond of The Jenny Jones Show at one point in my life. However...
I find people with themes to be especially disconcerting. I mean, it's not like I think Goth "culture" is so especially avant garde or whatever- it's been around for pretty much forever- at least since I've been around. I just feel like, exhausted looking at them.
I've always been told, in highschool yearbook signings and various other mediums, that people "admire" me because I am always myself. Which, if I am going to be honest, is not necessarily true. There were periods, like in highschool, when I tried adopting various themes, tried out other personalities. It never lasted for very long, because, well, I have commitment issues... but it was always at times when I wasn't feeling especially at ease with myself. There are times when I can feel myself, in uncomfortable situations, becoming affected. And it really, really bothers me. So I guess seeing people putting all that effort into, you know, being something all the time- it reminds me of my feeling especially awkward and insecure.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
However, still suffering from a bad case of beard burn. It is not pretty. I am not happy about going back to Rochester looking like I've suddenly developed bad skin, when my skin has always been such a ridiculous point of vanity for me. Alas.
Monday, November 24, 2008
And the worst part, I guess, other than my fear of going up in flames at some point this evening, was that, like, my very first gut instinct was to call the absolute wrong person. And I had just, just had a conversation with Jen about my high-minded, self-preservation based reasoning for not doing such things anymore. Fuck.
And my penance for it is this- I will write, 87,000 times, on a blackboard "I will believe people when they tell me who they are."
Sorry for being so vague about shit. I don't even know why I'm writing this, or anything I've written lately, really. Maybe I'll delete it all later.
I should go downstairs and get my laundry so's I can pack for tomorrow... but I've had too much wine and the stairs might be a bad idea. Do you know how much I hate planes? I'm not looking forward to it. I am, however, looking forward to seeing the fam, especially my mom, who is pretty much the greatest ever.
Maybe because I'm happy, and no longer awkward, about the things I say and write. Maybe because I teach myself the things I want to know about, and learn the things I want to know how to do. I don't feel any deficiency in these things anymore. I used to be so impressed by fellas who could beat me in the verbal sparring, I used to be impressed by men who would make reference to something that I'd be dying to go home and look up and research- but it doesn't happen anymore. I've won, but it's, on some level, a Pyrrhic victory. I don't know what to be impressed by anymore.
I am tall, dark, and handsome. I am culturally literate. I speak three languages. I play several instruments. I'm well read. I'm well informed in terms of current events. I'm excellent with the snappy comebacks. I am a walking reference book. I think about how what I say and do will affect other people. I will throw down if someone hurts anyone I care about. People know when I am insulting them. I am the man of my own fucking dreams, and I am choking to death on a silver tongue.
And it's not that I'm the greatest thing ever. I assure you, I'm not. And I don't think I'm smarter than anyone else- I'm just well versed in the things that are/were important to me. I'm fucked up in a lot of ways as well, and will gleefully recite them to anyone who will listen. Maybe I'll make a list later. But right now, I'm jaded and I'm tired- and it's been awfully hard for me to be funny lately. And I'm tired of thinking- "Well, if you can't be endlessly clever or interesting, can you at least be kind?"- and having that be an impossibility.
Oy. I'm such a kvetch.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Bullshit in the 2000's... (or what I did on Thursday night)
Boy (via text message)- What r u up to?
Robyn- Watching Bringing up Baby.
Robyn- It's a Katherine Hepburn picture
Boy- Come to ___.
Robyn- It's 1am. I can't.
Boy- That's stupid. Come out.
Robyn- Sorry, I'm tired. (and frankly, after watching Cary Grant all night, you're going to look like pretty lame anyway.)
Gah. I don't know which is more terrible- the term "hunk" being at all acceptable, or the fact that this particular text message conversation has taken place more times and with more dudes than I can possibly name. Occasionally more than once a night. Also, have had four or five conversations with the ladies this week in which I have advised, "If he's only calling you at one am, he is not all that interested in your sparkling personality or witty conversational abilities. Promise." Which is always easier to say than it is to remember.
This is the thing- in order for me to put forth the effort tear myself out of my warm bed and away from Cary Grant and then get myself gussied up quickly, the dude has got to be pretty damned awesome. If he is texting me at one am, and cannot get it together to plan a day ahead of time, he is, clearly, not all that awesome. Or at least not all that well mannered. So I stay in bed. Call me lazy or whatever, that's just how I feel.
Song For One of The Girls
Here in my heart I am Helen;
I'm Aspasia and Hero, at least.
I'm Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Stael;
I'm Salome, moon of the East.
Here in my soul I am Sappho;
Lady Hamilton am I, as well.
In me Recamier vies with Kitty O'Shea,
With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell.
I'm of the glamorous ladies
At whose beckoning history shook.
But you are a man, and see only my pan,
So I stay at home with a book.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
The horrifying FreeCreditReport.com guy is in a new commercial. A new commercial in which he is at the goddamned Renaissance Festival. Do you have any idea how I fear the Renaissance festival? I went once when I was a kid and was practically traumatized by all the delusional Olde English speaking people and the whole thing where everyone was eating giant turkey legs with their hands (it's not festive, it's unsanitary).
So, anyway this commercial is basically like a cornucopia of my absolute worst fears in the world. I seriously dived under the blanket and covered my head until it was over. This is what I imagine it looked like:
(click to enlarge and see all of my worst fears come true!)
Yup. That was pretty much it. The worst thing ever. I will have nightmares for years to come.
Oh- and I will actually be reading as well this month. Either from "I Never Liked You Anyway" -an ongoing piece that I've read from before- which is basically a series of short paragraphs about dudes I've been involved with on some level, that I need to update anyway. Or, I'll write something new, which may be tough considering how much other crap I've got to write at the moment. Blah.
Anyway- we've got most of our readers set for this month's Sunday Night Sex Show, but we still need two more fellas to complete the line-up. This whole gender parity thing is kinda stressful. It's funny, because most readings I go to are so heavily dude-oriented that the main reason we wanted to do it this way in the first place was because we really wanted to encourage as many women to read as possible so we wouldn't have to do a "ladies night" type deal- but we're finding it harder to recruit guys. Isn't it ironic, Alanis?
But yes. If you are a dude (or transman) who would like to read this month, or happen to know one, let me know.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
"Hem Tape"- (available at dollar stores, CVS, Walgreens, where ever)- $1
And they are pretty much the exact same thing. Actually, hem tape works better. Just thought you should know
Thursday, November 13, 2008
You know, if you seriously feel as though you have to dye your pubes pink and have them fashioned into a bow, I feel like you're maybe missing something in life or in your relationship that will probably not be solved by dying your pubes pink and having them fashioned into a bow.
I refuse, refuse to believe that this is something that is happening anywhere. Mostly on the grounds that I can't imagine any woman would prefer sticking a soaking wet tampon up her vag (which I cannot imagine can be done gracefully or without difficulty) to sipping a cocktail. Nothing about that seems like it would be at all pleasant for any reason. Although, a part of me hopes that this will become a national moral panic, and that there will then be a PSA about it and possibly an episode of The Tyra Banks show dedicated to the subject. Just for my personal amusement.
Story #1- When I was in 5th grade I went to Hawaii with my family, and everywhere you went there were signs such as this:
Please Do Not Litter-- Mahalo
Please Do Not Lean on Railing-- Mahalo
And for the first few days I thought that Mahalo was the name of an especially involved, or rather vain, Mayor or Governor. I would feel lamer about this if my mother did not think the exact same thing (and she wasn't 10 at the time)
Story # 2- This one time when I was back home visiting, I introduced myself to this one guy only to have him inform me that we had dated for a month. I still feel horribly embarrassed when I think about it, and yet I still do not remember him. I am haunted by this as I usually have a fantastic memory.
Story #3- I go through a tin of hot chocolate a week, and am suspecting that this cannot possibly be healthy.
Story #4- I accidentally took Sudafed PM today and tried to correct it by drinking a lot of coffee. The Sudafed has worn off (I think!) but now it's 3am and I can't sleep. This has happened before. In high school, my mom accidentally gave me NyQuil or something instead of DayQuil, and I got a little kooky or something in bio, and was sent to the nurse's office. They called my mother and told her I was probably on drugs. She told them about the NyQuil and they thought she was in denial.
Story #5 (A Secret!)- I can be bribed with egg cream sodas. Seriously, if you were like, "Hey Robyn, haul like, 15 tons of bricks across the street and I will take you out for egg cream sodas!" I would be sold on that arrangement, as it will always sound like the best time that can possibly be had. In this regard, I am five.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Things I have discovered about people in personal ads, a not-yet comprehensive list.
-They like fun. As opposed to everyone else in the world.
-They like to laugh. See above.
-They like "enjoying life" "exploring everything that life (*or the city) has to offer."
-They like going out to a foreign movie, an art exhibit, or to dinner- but they also enjoy just cuddling on the couch.
- They like movies and also music.
-They either are, or seek a woman who is just as comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt as she is in an evening gown. This seems to be an especially important and sought after quality.
-Older dudes refer to themselves as gentlemen and are usually looking for a nice or special lady, gal or companion- which I suspect means they are looking for someone their own age because I think most girls I know would balk at being called any of those things. Oh, and they use the term "petite" a lot.
- No one under the age of 40 refers to themselves as being sexy, or as having an "amazing" smile or "amazing" eyes.
-Women who want to be treated as "princesses" and men who are looking to treat a woman as one often express a love for boating.
- Most enjoy camping or hiking. Odd, considering we live in Chicago and I do not imagine there is much of that going on here.
- Younger women toe the Manic Pixie Dream Girl line. We used to call these "Amelie" ads, since most of the women writing them would describe themselves as such.
- Younger dudes go for absurdity. Sort of like Ubu Roi meets Must Love Dogs kind of thing. I guess.
- Forced sounding whimsicality on all ends.
- Dudes are way bigger on cuddling. snuggling etc.
- All very fond of that whole "dance like no one is watching" greeting card poem thing.
- Older people always claim to look younger than they are. No one ever writes "50 and totally looks it"
- Phrase "free spirit" thrown around way too much.
- They often like "this" and also it's total and complete opposite. Which indicates well roundedness I suppose?
- Those who use the terms "good hearted" or "god fearing" can rarely spell.
-Older men in the personals tend towards being musicians, while the older women tend to be, uh, writers. Which is slightly depressing.
PS- I've developed a fondness as of late for the totally resentful and angry ads, which are generally written by men. Features of said ad often include some sort of espousing about how said dude is only nice human being ever and how you probably just want to take his money and fuck with his head anyway. Total laughs.
According to the Daily Mail, Jennifer Aniston said in an as yet unreleased interview with American Vogue "What Angelina did was very uncool." (ooooooh!)
This, of course, passes for news. Even, you know, when actual things are happening in the world.
Let it be said that I have never found Jennifer Aniston to be in the least way even remotely tolerable. I got sick of her in the 90's- primarily, I guess because my sister, in middle school at the time and going through the age of obsession, was overly enamoured with all things Aniston, and even had her hair cut into "The Rachel"- which totally made anyone wearing it look just like a cocker spaniel. Talking about her, writing about her, or acknowledging her existence at all is irritating business for me. But, some things must be addressed.
All the world loves a catfight. So, I don't know- maybe Aniston saying that what Brad Pitt did wasn't "cool" wouldn't sell as many magazines... but still- isn't what he did a lot less cool than what she did? I don't see that Angelina owed her anything- she wasn't the one who married her. To read the tabloids, one would think Angelina had slipped some magic seducing powder into his drink and he couldn't help himself. Which, I'm quite sure, is not the case.
This has happened before (and I've discussed it here before, but I will again). In 1958, Elizabeth Taylor's husband, Mike Todd died in a plane accident- she leaned on his best friend, Eddie Fisher- who was married to Debbie Reynolds at the time- for support. And then in 1959, she married him. This was one hell of a huge ass scandal. People loved Debbie Reynolds- she was a sweet girl, she was an everywoman... She was Tammy. Taylor, on the other hand, was darkly beautiful- considered, in fact, to be the most beautiful woman in the world, a far superior actress, a classic vamp with violet eyes and a bad temper. People hated her after she married Eddie Fisher, and for this reason, was blackballed out of the Academy Awards that year, despite phenomenal performances in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Suddenly Last Summer and Raintree County.
There are kind of a few similarities here and there, ya think? History repeats itself. But the biggest similarity of all- no one ever thought Eddie Fisher was an asshole. It was all Elizabeth's fault. She seduced him- of course he didn't have a choice! And they felt even worse for him when she left him for the true love of her life- and possibly the sexiest man ever, Richard Burton. Poor Eddie Fisher. Poor Debbie Reynolds.
It disappoints me that we haven't evolved all that much since the late 50's. Why is the woman to blame and not the man- even when it's clear that he's done more wrong than she has? Why are we as a culture so eager to think of men as helpless victims of a woman's sexuality? I think it goes back to the Victorian idea that it's the job of women to keep men moral- because I don't think we fault men who "steal" women to the same degree. Personally, I could do without that responsibility.
At the end of the day, though- I just don't believe people can be stolen. I've never understood that idea. I think that if someone can be "stolen" than they weren't really yours to begin with. I don't ever want anyone to hang around me because they think they have to. I feel as though it would be doing me a great disservice, as I am quite charming enough to find people who would hang around because they want to. If you want to hang out with someone else who is not me, than go and be well, and let's not chat about it any further. I do not compete.
Honestly, I truly think that Aniston ought to be grateful to Angelina Jolie for ridding her of someone who did not want to be with her and probably just didn't have the balls to do it on his own without being "seduced."
Genetic sexual attraction, if you don't know, is this whole phenomenon where people who are related, meeting later in life (as in the cases of children who are adopted) feel an intense sexual attraction towards one another.
I have to tell you- the whole thing kinda triggered my gag reflex, and caused me, several times to cringe into the fetal position. I mean, I get the Westermarck effect when I've known someone only platonically for longer than a month. I don't even date within my own social circle (though this is primarily because I like to keep it drama free, and am also not so into the whole "let's be friends" thing after it's over, which would make social outings rather awkward. Also, I like to be sure my friends side with me in the event of douchebaggery.).
However, I feel as though I am, perhaps, being inappropriately judgey. Let me explain- while it grosses me out and makes me want to die- I also think it's kinda icky to tell consenting adults who they can love and what they can do behind closed doors. It's hard for me to agree completely that anything relating to that sort of thing should be illegal- especially because many of the arguments against it are the same ones they use against gay people.
While it's true that children produced from such a union have a high chance of inheriting recessive genetic defects at birth (such as the infamous Hapsberg lip)- the idea of telling people they can't have children because of this poses a few problems for me. Because I wouldn't think it was right to tell someone with some sort of inheritable disease that they couldn't have children because of it, because the children might get it.
It isn't easy for me to conclude, definitively, how I feel about this- which is kind of unusual for me. Usually I feel passionately one way or the other about things. In spite of my reeling, I did feel a lot of empathy for the people involved in these situtations (though less for the parent/child relationships than for the brother/sister ones- I suppose because even at an adult stage of life it still seemed to me like the children and their need for a parent was being exploited on some level).
I don't know.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
HOWEVER... I was confused then by the logic of the song, and I remain perplexed. Of course, a lot of these old songs are a little odd- The Duke of Earl still makes no freaking sense to me, and it took me years before I understood that Carole King had written the song "He Hit Me, and it Felt Like a Kiss" as an anthem against domestic violence, and Dion is a total hypocrite (What? He gets to be The Wanderer and at the same time condemn Runaround Sue? What the fuck ever). Still, it makes me a bit uncomfortable. But this song, while lovely, is such a glaring example of weirdly flawed logic, that I feel the need to examine it.
Shirley- seriously, just break up with the other dude. It's that simple. Honestly, what good are you doing him anyway when you're all into the other guy. How is that fair? And is he really all that fragile? Maybe he could find someone who actually likes him and isn't staying with him out of pity. And then everyone could be happy. I mean- what are you going to do? Marry the guy? Spend your life in a loveless relationship because you didn't want to hurt his feelings? Eventually the resentment will pile up and you'll both end up hating eachother- this scenario doesn't end well, I would imagine.
Good song. Flawed logic.
Have I ever mentioned the Little Edie Beale look-alike of Old Town? If I haven't, you should know that there is one, and everytime I see her, I cannot look away. Because, seriously, she looks and dresses just like her- complete with the Revolutionary Costume, and I can't figure out if it's by coincidence or if she knows who she is and is totally doing it on purpose (which, for the record, would be amazing and she would totally become my hero). I have only spoken with her once- when she came into my store and talked to me about cheapo rings for an hour. Anyhow, I saw her yesterday at the Treasure Island, whilst I was debating whether I wanted Gruyere or Emmentaler for my petits toasts (should you care, I went with Gruyere.), I totally saw her again. It was an especially thrilling coincidence, as yesterday was actually Little Edie's birthday. If she looked anywhere near 90 years old or had a strong New England accent, I would be totally convinced that she'd faked her death and was in fact living in Chicago under an assumed identity or something.
Oh... but anyway- if you have no idea what I'm talking about, the Grey Gardens documentary is now on You Tube and you should totally watch it. It's so my favorite thing ever.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
I am tired now and must retreat to bed. But, you know, good times.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
I am so in love with Halloween it's insane. I ran into this dude tonight that my Dad totally wants me to marry despite the fact that he looks like Derek Jeter and my Dad loves only the Red Sox and hates the Yankees so so much.
I discovered some important things in the past few nights, some good, some bad.
- I like the fact that I am still comfortable being hideous for Halloween.
- The diner next door to my apartment was obscenely busy, so while I waited for my hot dogs I bussed dishes because the lady who works there is always very nice to me. This is how things should work in life.
- My inability to throw away a crossword puzzle unfinished is affecting my sanity. Sometimes there isn't an answer, sometimes there isn't an explanation, and sometimes people are just douchebags. I am not Nancy Drew. I must become content with not having an answer or explanation to everything. Even though it is obscenely frustrating.
- In a somewhat perfect world, everyone would throw their crazy on the table.