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.
And all were happy about the Democratic victory, and sad about the passing of Proposition 8. And we drank wine, and we bitched about some dudes and our lack of desire to be manic pixie dreamgirls, etc. etc., and re-watched a documentary about Siamese twins on the YouTube.
I am tired now and must retreat to bed. But, you know, good times.
I have to be up in a few hours to go to work. I will possibly be going to work green, as who knows how hard this makeup is to get off. But I am going to write some shit and eat some hot dogs, so there. Hah.
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.
I heart Halloween so much you don't even know. It's a fact. I'm like Roseanne about it, if you recall the glorious Roseanne Halloween Specials. Right now I'm at work dressed as Sarah Palin and let me tell you, it's pretty sweet. And this evening I will be Zombie Delta Burke, as we are going out dressed as the Zombie Designing women. Glorious no?
Can I just tell you how vastly disappointed I am in the fact that at 12.30pm there were trick or treaters at the store? They don't trick or treat after dark anymore, which is fucking lame. We started at sundown and went until 1am, because we were bad ass. This is what happens when children are raised on stupid unfun playgrounds that are made of plastic instead of metal. It's true.
Yesterday was my first full day off in over two weeks. I figured I'd do nothing and then feel better, but I did nothing and I feel like crap. Which is not so much fun. I didn't write or do laundry or dye my hair or do anything else important- I spent the day on the couch watching bad TV and horror movies with Nicole and Allen, and Jen when she got home, nursing a hangover with Franzia and tortilla chips and pico de gallo. I went to bed early and my face feels numb and I've kind of got a cold now, and I'm kind of bruisey but for other reasons and that's my story.
Oh! But check it out- Nicole is going to get one of the girls from her salon to come over Friday night and do our hair for Halloween! Because if I did it, it would just look retarded. We're going as the Designing Women and it's going to be glorious and I'm going to be Delta.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you the highlight of this season's J. Peterman Catalog....
Party Pants!
One of those houses at the end of a long driveway in Beverly Hills, a high density of exotics parked outside. You can hear the festivities from the street. Inside, white room and white rugs, a jungle of potted plants, Mexican ceramics...isn’t that Harry Connick, Jr. over there, shouting his compliments to the hostess? Her grandfather had painted scenery for Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, and in her own way she keeps the flame alive. Velvet Party Pants (No. 3084). Wide-legged palazzo style introduced on the Riviera in the 1920s, with clean Hollywood waistband and fitting darts, fully lined. The big, bubbly polka-dots are lush silk/rayon fabric, takes color beautifully.
(They remind me of sparkling burgundy; not the pink kind or the New York kind, but the Red Cap Chauvenet kind I remember from the holidays; do they still import that from France anymore?) Women’s sizes: 4 through 16. Color: Rich Garnet.
Andy Wang is totally my soulmate. It's true. I don't actually know him, but I found his name tag last week when I went to Hub 51 with the ladies from work for a birthday celebration (by the way- best motherfucking carrot cake ever. In the history of carrot cake. And I don't even normally like carrot cake all that much! In fact, I'd say it's the best cake ever period.). Being a festive lady, I decided to wear it for the rest of the evening, thus causing much ado over the fact that people who did not know me or Mr. Wang were still pretty sure that I was not in fact... Andy Wang. Which I totally could have been. Andy can be a girls name (like in Pretty in Pink), and I could totally be married to a guy with that last name. Or I could be an Asian man in disguise, like, uh, that song "Secret Asian Man." You never know.
Anyway, finding the nametag was totally the highlight of the evening. The next night I went to The Old Town Ale House for a Jezzie meet-up in honor of the naked painting of Sarah Palin (I totally have the shirt now), and while searching for cigarettes in my bag, found the name tag again. I put it on in hopes of having even more nametag related fun and frivolity. Which I totally did, because the best way to make new awesome friends is to wear the name tag of someone you clearly are not. Especially when your particular measurements cause any and all nametags to look patently hilarious on you.
But this is the best part! This guy comes up to me and says "You're not Andy Wang!" And I say "How do you know, because I totally could be." and he says "No, you're not. I know Andy, he works for me!" Which, I was totally enthralled by, as was the rest of the bar. And so we actually tried to call him from there but he was on his way back to NYC on a plane. So sad. But I think someday I will run into him again, and I will give him back his name tag and we will fall in love. Probably not. But how funny would that be?
When I woke up this morning, brutally hungover and still in my Sarah Palin costume from last night (and by the way, the show went fantastically well, please and thank you), I thought daylight savings time had already happened. Or at least my vcr did. It randomly changed times last night (it psychically adjusts itself in accordance with DST) and read 7:30am, while my alarm clock read 8:52 and my cell phone was at 8:30. I'm going with the cell phone, because my computer says the same thing. I'd be awfully sad if I missed Daylight Savings Time, as it is without question my favorite holiday.
See, I believe that during that one extra "fall back" hour, it's sort of like you get to go back in time and correct any shit you may have fucked up since the last fall DST. This belief is somewhat informed by the ridiculously brilliant cable television program of my youth, "The Adventures of Pete and Pete." In case you don't know what I'm talking about, I have decided to post the whole episode here- which by the way features a cameo by broadway actress Ellen Greene (Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors).
It's *kinda* like a monster truck rally... except with words and sex, and no trucks, and uh, superior sartorial decisions...
Ok, it's nothing like a monster truck rally. Which, you know, for me is something in the plus column- I have enough trouble driving regular cars which is why I live in a city that doesn't require that I do so.
But you should totally come anyway, because we've got some awesome people reading this month. They'll totally give you something to talk about at the water cooler, should any of you have jobs that involve water coolers that people talk about things around. Its something I hear happens. I don't know, I work retail.
7:30pm this Sunday @ The Burlington. 3425 W. Fullerton
(Oh! And can I just say that they got *so* close to spelling my name right in the Reader listings? So close. It's actually quite impressive given the length of it. Except I think the way they spelled it is a euphimism for dick in Italian meaning "little vine" or something, which is kind of funny and appropriate given the reading. And speaking of which, that sandwich place over by the Pontiac (RIP) has a sandwich with a name that, in Italian, actually means Salami Big Faggot. They were not aware, it seems.)
Oh wow. So Ben Shapiro (Harvard Graduate) has taken it upon himself to identify the traits of an elitist in the populist style of Jeff Foxworthy! So, I must wonder... am I in fact an elitist? Lets find out! You’re an elitist if you love Brokeback Mountain, but think that John Wayne movies are jingoistic expressions of outdated American machismo.
What if I just think they're boring and have no intention of ever watching one?
You’re an elitist if you believe that anyone who supports the standard of a married man and woman raising a child is a bigot.
Bigot- n. One who is strongly partial to one's own group, religion, race, or politics and is intolerant of those who differ.
When the definition changes, let me know.
You’re an elitist if you love watching soccer and you’re not a recent immigrant.
Well, I guess soccer moms have gone out of style...
You’re an elitist if you hate Whittaker Chambers but love Arthur Miller.
Yeah, because non-elitist people totally know who Whittaker Chambers was. And who would prefer a dude who ratted on all his friends to the guy who wrote Death of a Salesman, and All My Sons? Which, btw, were not exactly plays about the elite of the nation.
You’re an elitist if you believe Jon Stewart is non-partisan, but Fox News is an outlet for the Republican National Committee.
Jon Stewart is a comedian on purpose. Fox News is just a joke
You’re an elitist if you don’t mind Sarah Silverman’s language but can’t stand James Dobson’s.
You're an idiot if you don't get that it's meta. She's not serious. James Dobson is.
You’re an elitist if you worry what the Europeans think of us.
Because making the world hate us works out so well, right?
You’re an elitist if you think public school teachers are qualified to inform your children about sex, but parents aren’t qualified to teach their children basic math.
Well, yes- because they have a curriculum. Also, as I imagine this refers to homeschooling- it's a lot more than basic math that people have to learn. Jen was homeschooled and was one of the few people she knew who went through that and ended up going to college and being able to function in the world.
You’re an elitist if you think the government should manage the health care system even though it can’t manage to keep the tax code within a 10,000 page limit
You're an asshole if you think only those with the financial means deserve health care.
You’re an elitist if you think transgenders ought to have their own bathrooms for privacy reasons, but public distribution of pornography is fine.
No one says that. What we actually say is that bathrooms should be unisex, and who gives a shit anyway? And who knew that only elitists liked porn? Go know, right?
You’re an elitist if you think that pro-life folks are fascists unmotivated by true sympathy for the unborn.
I'd be more likely to believe them if they had the same sympathy for the born.
You’re an elitist if you know what arugula is but don’t know who Jimmie Johnson is.
Arugula is delicious, and I think he's the sandwich guy?
Oh well, so I guess I'm an elitist. Go know. Thank god I have Ben Shapiro (Harvard Graduate) to fill me in.
Forgot to mention this, but the other day I had the chance to hear Jonathan Kozol speak- which was, duh, positively amazing and I almost cried. It was a really big thing for me because Kozol's work has been such a huge, huge influence on my life.
See, when I was a kid, my mom had a very cool way of dealing with my being a brat. I didn't really get punished, I got "perspective." If I made a big deal about cleaning my room, she'd put pictures on my wall of the bombings in Kosovo or someplace else, or of parapalegics, or an article about a homeless family- people who would like to have a room to clean, or like to be able to clean a room (so maybe I should just shut the hell up). When I didn't want to do homework, or was otherwise acting bratty, out came the Jonathan Kozol books. Amazing Grace, Savage Inequalities, Death at a Young Age, etc. etc. We'd sit at the kitchen table, and she'd read aloud to me about kids my own age who had to do their school work in between taking care of a parent with AIDS. Who didn't have nice school books, and nice quiet, encouraging places to come home to. Who couldn't play in the local parks because they were filled with junkies and littered with needles. And they were so, so fucking sad that, well, sometimes, at that age, I admit it was torture to listen to them.
But I'm glad I did. I am ultimately more grateful for that than any of the things my parents were able to give me. More than any Christmas presents, I remember the fact that my parents spent half the Christmas money on us, and gave the other half to children in need. More than I loved the beautiful house on the lake in Plymouth that I grew up on until I was five and that my parents designed themselves, I love the fact that my parents let struggling families live there for practically nothing so their children could go to a good school in the area, and have a nice place to come home to. In short, my parents are amazingly cool people who practice what they preach.
I grew up being aware of my own privilege, of every privilege I had that other children did not, and understanding that it was wrong and must change. And that has made every difference in my life.
I got to talk to Mr. Kozol after his speech, and I told him about my mother who idolizes him and how she read his books to me when I was young so I'd understand, and I told him about Rochester and the ridiculous inequalities there concerning the suburban public schools vs. the city schools (which, at one point, either did or were going to have to go down to four days a week- this was around the time I was moving so I don't recall), how we campaigned for the county to become one school district to even things out, and blabbered on about other things that I don't even remember because I was so nervous.
But can I just say- I have never, ever, in my life met any sort of well known person who was that genuinely nice? I mean, he took down my phone number, and gave me his, and said that when I'm done with Columbia I should think about going to Cambridge and working for this organization he's getting started there. Which I just may do. I think I need to get back to that. I think retail is eating my soul.
So I just ran over to the convenience store across the street from my store to grab a diet coke. Now, right next to the refrigerators in said convenience store is a magazine rack. A magazine rack full of porn. Hilarious porn, mostly from the 80's. Lots of magazines with titles like "Juggs" (wasn't that on Married With Children?) and "Glutes" (is that sexy? I feel as though it is not.), and "Pinball Fuck" (Which I may have to purchase merely to satisfy my personal curiousity about what it could possibly be about.)
I look over, and in their video section is a tape called "She-Male Toga Party"- the cover of which features three she-males, in, of course, togas, with amazing 80's bouffants, which can be mine for the low low price of 9.99... so, of course I'm standing there giggling and trying to figure out who I could possibly give this gem to as a special special present- obvs Nicole or my former Gentleman Caller- mostly because he was quite macho and would react in a manner that I would find especially entertaining. And the guy from the store comes up to me and is like "you are looking at magazines? You get this, it comes with DVD. I watch it. It is good." And I nearly died. And then I purchased my diet coke and the whole time the dude is still trying to sell me on the magazine. I do not know if I can go back.
So... last night Jen and I, after watching Heroes (which we continue to watch religiously despite the fact that we cannot figure out what the hell is going on anymore), decide to watch Kath and Kim on the OnDemand, because, even though it's gotten awful reviews, Molly Shannon is kind of awesome. We actually liked it, but that's beside the point. The point is this- a line somewhere in the beginning of the show: "You dated a guy who lived in an ice cream truck!"
We nearly died. As many within my aquaintance will testify- a couple years ago, I dated a guy who lived in an ice cream truck. Seriously, ask Jen. He tried to sell her random parts of his drum kit (I know, right?). For quite some time now, this has been my big line about the whole "Robyn dates weird guys for weird reasons" thing. It's become a standard part of my shtick.
This, I imagine, cannot be a common occurance. I am convinced that someone I have told this story to moved to L.A. and is now working on that particular show. Even if that didn't happen, I feel weirdly violated and am now afraid that if I use that line in anything people are going to think I am in fact the life plagiarist, when it's just not true!
- "A Cougar Stole my Man!"- Harrowing tales of chicks who were dumped for older chicks who were super tan and did a lot of botox. Or, um, not so much dumped for as the guy started doing one after the break-up. Plus tips on how you can, uh, prevent this from happening by being more like a cougar. Not really sure on what to take from this- I mean, shit, if that's what the dude wants, then let him go and get it. What do you care? I mean, generally, post dating me, most dudes go in one of two directions
1. The blatantly, horrifically, gasp-inducingly hideous. I'm not talking just in a sour grapes, "oh I'm cuter than she is anyway" way, or that the girl was just sort of "eh" looking, or just not traditionally attractive- and not that there's anything wrong with not being aesthetically pleasing... It's just that it happens to be an objective fact that many of the girls that guys have dated after dating me have born a striking physical similarity to Jo-Jo the dogfaced boy. I don't know why this is. I think maybe they want someone who will be more grateful to be with them or something. That's my only guess.
2. Robyn-lite! A chick who kind of looks like me, and has some vaguely similar attribute (ie: being from the same state, liking the same movies or music or whatever), but is usually rather dimunitive in stature and not so much of a smart-ass.
And you know, I really don't feel as though I can really learn anything from these chicks. I'm ok with not belonging in a sideshow, and I doubt that being more demure would add anything positive to my life. I mean, I'm the one who has to hang around me more than anyone. I would say that if someone terrible "steals your man"- he's probably not someone you really want all that much to begin with.
- "Am I Normal Down There?"- When I read this out loud to Jen, she said "In Australia?" That is all.
- The Surprising Touch That Whips a Guy on Date #1- Did you know it involves reading his palm?
- Guy Sexy vs. Girl Sexy!- When you go out with your girlfriends you should wear fake eyelashes so you stand out and look cuter than they do, but you shouldn't wear them with a dude because it will weird him out.
- Best Celebrity Scent ever! Unscripted by Patrick Dempsey! For Avon! Huh? I'm not sure if it's for men, or for women, or what. But, really- what?
- Fashion hints! The look for fall, clearly, is a fedora, with a sweater, and then just underwear. Wear it while casually arching your back on your bed while no one else is in the room. Also- cardigans and underwear. Seriously, just forget pants altogether.
- Lessons learned: If you want to look hot in the morning after you do some guy, keep one plastic bag of cotton balls doused with make-up remover, and another filled with cotton balls doused with witch hazel (to soothe beard burn and degrease your roots!). Oh, and don't forget the liquid brightener! Seriously, what kind of people are this prepared?
Also featured- lots of really boring sex tips along the lines of "dudes like blowjobs! Did you know?" and tying your pantyhose around his dick or something. Ew. Who the fuck wears pantyhose anymore?
I got Nicole the world's most amazing housewarming present yesterday- a lotion pump shaped like a toilet with the words "lotion pump" emblazoned on the tank. Priceless. And the fact that she understood just how glorious it was... well, that's why we're friends. That and the fact that she came up with a plan to take a trip to the "Sweet Love Douche" factory (if we can find it) to film a "re-imagining" of the Laverne and Shirley opening segment. Because we really want to put a glove on a douchebag and wave goodbye to it as it passes.
One of my all time favorite historical figures is Joshua Norton- self proclaimed Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico. And really, it's not just because he was an interesting eccentric, or because I just happen to love the idea of proclaiming oneself to be royalty (which I do)... but I really like the fact that the entire city of San Francisco, where he lived, just went along with him on it. They accepted his money, they printed his decrees in the newspaper, they bought him new fancy uniforms, and when he died, they paid for a royal funeral. I cannot tell you how happy this makes me. Even happier than skee-ball (which Nicole and I are totally going to play tomorrow after work), and bizarre things from the dollar store (like the toilet shaped lotion dispenser I purchased recently!). No other story gives me such hope for humankind, and I mean that in all the seriousness in the whole world.
For some reason yesterday I thought The Sunday Night Sex Show was next weekend instead of two weekends from now. Phew!
In other news, I decided to wear heels to work today and thus, by 4:00 was wishing I was dead. I was going to go out, but considering the pain I am in, and the fact that I already went to Rodan earlier, I suspect I shall not. Sigh. I think I ought to stay home and read Dorothy Parker and watch some old movie on TCM or something.
Dilemma
If I were mild, and I were sweet, And laid my heart before your feet, And took my dearest thoughts to you, And hailed your easy lies as true; Were I to murmur "Yes," and then "How true, my dear," and "Yes," again, And wear my eyes discreetly down, And tremble whitely at your frown, And keep my words unquestioning My love, you'd run like anything!
Should I be frail, and I be mad, And share my heart with every lad, But beat my head against the floor What times you wandered past my door; Were I to doubt, and I to sneer, And shriek "Farewell!" and still be here, And break your joy, and quench your trust- I should not see you for the dust!
McCain: "Across this country, this is the agenda I have set before my fellow prisoners. And the same standards of clarity and candor must now be applied to my opponent."
Either dude is suffering from dementia, or he actually has a really keen idea about what it's been like for the rest of us for the past 8 years or so. But I doubt it.
You know, I am quite sure, Mr. Leary, that even if you weren't married or whatever, that Miss Zellwegger would not deign to make you any goddamned cupcakes. Call me crazy. I'm sure she's crying herself to sleep at night because some gross looking, barely relevent comedian doesn't want to do her. I know it would kill me.
You know, I lost all respect for "men in general's" taste in things when I read two other articles, so I am not all that gaggy over this. Article number one was about how women are more likely to find Miss Zellwegger's Chicago co-star Catherine Zeta-Jones to be super hot than men are. That was pretty surprising. Then there are always the articles in fashion magazines about dudes liking women in clothing made out of the following materials: Lace, cashmere and velvet. I'm down with the cashmere, I can do a little lace here and there- but velvet? Ew. Really? Does anyone wear velvet outside of 8 year olds around Christmas time and sad, renaissance fair-esque goths? These are pretty much the only instances where I find being unduly swathed in velvet to be any kind of appropriate fashion choice, and I use the term appropriate lightly, because those evil renaissance fair goth chicks scare the crap out of me. Not because I am especially judgemental of their lifestyle, or that it's just like, so subversive that I can't handle it- I assure you it is not. I'm freaked out by the renaissance fair, period, ok? It's a thing I have. There are mimes there, and clowns, and people who walk up and sing at you, and people eating turkey legs without proper utensils- so, suffice it to say, I find it rather traumatic. So, like, evil renaissance wear is especially disturbing to me. Where was I? Oh, yeah, dudes have bad taste in things.
But not really. It's just that whenever someone like Dennis Leary speaks on behalf of all men, or when some idiot magazine takes a poll, men come out having really bad taste in things. So do women, so do any people, when taken as a whole, or represented by a douchenozzle. I mean, I've never dated a guy who was like "You know, you should really wear more velvet!" I can't imagine I ever will. That would be totally weird. Also, I'm pretty sure that quite a few heterosexual men find Renee Zellwegger attractive. Probably more than anyone finds Dennis Leary attractive. He has awful skin, greasy hair, and weird beady albino eyes. so I'm not sure what makes him think he's any arbiter of taste in anything. So there.
1. Two eggs, over easy, wheat toast, hashbrowns and sausage links. Right now, I can promise you that this is the most importantly good thing ever.
2. Mr. Catface being absolutely delightful.
3. The episode of Fantasy Island I am about to watch.
4. Writing in a bar.
5. Chocolate! I hope to find some in my apartment! I should have gone to Dominicks and purchased tiramisu before they closed. Alas.
6. Closure.
7. The awesome list of ways not to get murdered I wrote today, based upon my watching far too many true crime shows. I'm pretty safe, as I do not jog, I didn't marry my highschool sweetheart or anyone with the last name Peterson, no one would describe me as the All American Girl Next Door with a charmed life who smiles all the time and goes about lighting up rooms with her zeal for life, I have no Sears Portrait Studio pictures of myself donning a floral bib dress and an 80's bouffant, and I would not describe any of my neighbors as people who are quiet and keep to themselves mostly.
8. The most amazing episode of Intervention, ever, is now on the OnDemand thing. The huffing episode with the girl who feels like she's "walkin' on sunshine!" It's so, so disturbing, and yet I cannot turn away.
Bad things:
1. Camille Paglia
2. Dudes that I used to date or see or whatever being painfully, gag me with a spoon, jaw droppingly cheeseball-esque human beings. I tell you, it's absolutely painful, and it kinda makes me feel embarassed to be alive.
3. Tucker Max
4. Having to sit still for too long. I'm not so good at it.
5. The fact that no one seemed to want to be out tonight, when I was way too hyper to go home.
6. The guy who said earlier "what's a gal like you doing in a place like this?" I really wanted to punch him. A lot. More than you could possibly know. Like, A) dude, we are not in the country, and I most certainly do not appreciate being referred to as a gal anymore than you would like being referred to as a motherfucking redneck douchenozzle, and b) Really? You actually said that? Out loud? With the intention of my hearing you? What's next? Asking me what my sign is? Or if I come here often? Oy.
7. The fact that I cannot foresee myself remembering to take off my makeup tonight. And the fact that I didn't finish hanging up my laundry today, and thus will have to remove things from my bed in order to sleep. Sigh.
(First off, can I just tell you that I just watched Biden's speech in Tampa, and have been giggling for an hour over the fact that he said something along the lines of "we need someone who can raise up his hand and say no! Not some angry man lurching from position to position" Because the imagery in that was just fantastic. He's right. McCain- cannot raise up his arms, was definitely lurching last night. Lurching is an amazing word)
Anyway... Sarah Vowell was on The Daily Show last night talking about the whole weird love/hate thing conservatives have with NYC- you know, they sure love talking about 9/11, but think the people who live there are evil elitist jerks or something. Which, you know, is not in fact true.
But I believe I know why they think this. See, when someone grows up in a small town, 9 times out of 10, they're dying to leave. That's what spurs this country on, the desire to get the fuck out of wherever your parents raised you. The people who don't get out and wish they could, are bitter. The people who don't want to get out, I assume, feel like the people who did thought they were "too good" for that life. Which, I think, is why people in those towns feel that NYC and other cities are elitist. I mean, it's not like people are clamoring to move to Wasilla, ya know? If they were, it would certainly be more populated.
But I don't think it's a matter of insult on so many levels. Some people are better suited to city life, and some are happy in smaller towns. Country Mouse, City Mouse and all that. I mean, it's possible that people grow up in cities and decide that they'd prefer small town life, but you don't hear about that so much. I mean, if someone here did that, I wouldn't take it as a direct insult to my way of life, so much as a personal decision on the part of the other person. Living in cities sort of forces you to deal with multitudes of people not living the same life as you are. Every day, I meet people who believe things that I do not, that do things that I do not- were I to take it as a personal insult to my being, or a rejection on some level, I'd be pretty unhappy with life.
The thing is, I sort of feel like a lot of these people just watched "Mr. Deeds Goes to Town" a few too many times or something. And while the Capra films are lovely and heartwarming (and I do love love love "It Happened One Night"), they're not really, like, fact. Despite the fact that Hollywood is supposed to be another bastien of the elite, there are craploads of movies out there espousing the whole idealized vision of Wholesome Small Town America vs. Corrupt Big Cities. And if that's where you're getting your information from, yeah, it's gonna be a little skewed.
At the end of the day, I think that it has more to do with hierarchy than anything else. Our capitalist culture demands that in order to be worthy, you have to be better than someone else. I mean, that's pretty much the whole reason people are racist or homophobic- fear of not being better than someone else (look at the people who are, and try to tell me I'm not right about this). Small towns have little to offer in the way of "things to do"- so it probably makes them feel better to cling to the idea that they are morally superior to larger cities, despite all the meth use and teenage pregnancies. They have to have something, I guess.
1. Seriously, last night Nicole and I were at Estelle's, and like, right after I told her the story about the cabbie, "Lovely Day" came on. Again. Spooky.
2. I learned, recently, that "Nucular" has been added to the dictionaries (including my beloved OED) as an alternative pronunciation of nuclear. I assure you, it is not. You can't just go about changing the correct pronunciation of things to make stupid people feel better about themselves. This is what's wrong with the world. Entirely. People want us to change science because it doesn't correlate with their idiotic, delusional religious beliefs. People want to use the term "begging the question" to mean "raising the question"- WHICH IT DOES NOT. I am wrong about things sometimes, as most people are. I'm ok with that. I don't expect the rules to change simply so that I personally don't feel stupid. People have to get used to being wrong about things. If I give you the incorrect directions to a place in Chicago, and you end up in Missouri, I do not get to say "Well, that's what I feel the directions are, and because I say it it must be true." Soon, we will have no spelling bee champions and the world will erupt into outright chaos. This, I feel, is a natural consequence of the "everyone is special and a winner" aesthetic. There ought to be no "If you do something wrong enough times it can be right" rule in grammar, pronunciation, or spelling. What's next? Changing the spelling of "realtor" to "realetor?" Are we supposed to accept that it is possible for the world to be flat just because some people happen to believe it? Everything cannot be simultaneously true- 2 + 2= 4, and god damn it, nuclear is pronounced new-klee-urr.
3. Some guy I did not know sent me a shot at the bar last night- from another table, which was delightfully old fashioned/ more like something that happens on 70's TV shows than in real life. I said thank you, but did not actually go and talk to him as he was not so much my type- but still- kinda neat.
4. But really, if he really wanted to impress me, he would have sent me the amazing hologram "Footprints in the Sand" framed picture that I saw at the LaSalle Blue Line today. I'm totally serious. It would be the second best present ever. The best present ever being the one my friend Luke got me for my 19th birthday, which consisted of a tape of Harold and Maude, a copy of "Fleur de Mal," fancy chopsticks and strawberry bubble tape- which, at the time, was something I was especially enamoured by. Yay.
It's been an interesting couple of days. For one, on Friday, I was late to work and took a cab. I get in the cab and the dude is all "I can't talk for a second, I gotta figure out what the title of this song is so I can play it when I DJ tonight." The song, by the way, was "Lovely Day" by Bill Withers, and the only words in the chorus are "Lovely Day" so I'm not sure why that was so hard to figure out. So, anyway, dude then tells me that he owns the cab company and just drives them for fun, because "No woman wants a man with no money. You know what I'm saying?"
"Sure" I say, even though I do not agree in any fashion. I have my own damned money, and very, very little interest in discussing the subject ever.
"I don't like to wake up in the morning unless I got a thousand dollars on my dresser" he says.
I couldn't resist... "So, what, are you like, a hooker?"
He then proceeds to inform me that while he was not in fact a hooker, he could be, because he's got "the good dick," and that if that were the case, he would do me for free. Because I am "sexy as hell." Which was not true at all at that point in the morning, mind you.
So then he asks me about my man at home, which I don't have (in case you didn't know), and I say he is super. It doesn't mean much, though, he says, unless he's got the good dick.
I say nothing. He then takes this opportunity to tell me about how much money he makes djing places like, um, Indiana and Miami. And how he knows The Beastie Boys and djed for Naz.
"Neat" I say. He continues the bragging until I get out of the cab. He offers his phone number and I do not take it.
I just... I don't know, I find it interesting how totally, totally wrong this dude was about everything a lady like myself might want in a fella. Or, I mean... any woman, really. I've never heard any chick I know say anything like "Yeah, he was totally dreamy. I mean, all that bragging and ostentacious name dropping and casually mentioning how much money he made and how totally important he was, was like, so hot. Who doesn't love that? Worlds of sexiness I tell you!"
To that, my friend, I say this:
But, for real, I felt kind of insulted. Like as far as this guy was concerned, women care about the following things:
1. How much money you make (I don't care because I have my own) 2. How totally important you are and how many famous people you have casually met (I don't care, because, really, that has no effect on whether or not you are a jerk. They could also be jerks for all I know, or have nothing interesting to say. How does that help me?) 3. The good dick. (You can get that shit at the porn store)
Which makes us seem pretty shallow. If he had instead focused on the following list:
1. Not being a jerk/having good manners 2. Being funny 3. Being well groomed
I bet you things would work out better for him. As of now, he's just really, really insulting.
Ok, first of all- I'd just like to say that while I don't believe I am the arbiter of deciding who is and who is not a feminist- I do believe that existence precedes essence, which means you can't go around disagreeing with every single basic principle of feminism and then declare yourself to be one. While there are many differing views within the feminist community, I'd have to say that there are some guiding principles we can all agree on. Choice being one of them- pretty much the big one. It's like me saying I'm a Zoroastrian or part of some other belief system I know nothing about.
With that said... who the hell can't name one newspaper or magazine? Really- there are people out there that have never read one in their lives that can at least name a few. How is this even possible? Is she just committed to not answering any question with anything specific whatsoever so it doesn't sound as weird when she won't answer real questions, like, you know, should it be illegal for a rape or incest victim to get an abortion? It's not exactly a hard hitting question. Man, I wonder how she'd stand up under the pressure if asked which Darren she preferred on Bewitched (The answer, of course being "Did you know that I go hunting? Because I do. I kill things. Often.").
Also, just to add, homosexuality is not a choice. Duh.
Nothing in the whole world bothers me more than a woman looking stupid/willfully ignorant. It's one thing to disagree with me, I've met some very smart women who disagree with me on every possible issue and are able to express those sentiments in an intelligent manner. It is another thing to come off looking stupid and poorly informed/researched, especially if they think it's cute.
Ok, so, Clay Aiken came out of the closet and the world said... duh. Or at least I assume they did. I did. My first thought, after, you know- "duh" was... "Oh my god, if only I were in a room with Kathy Griffin right now!" and then, I thought- "But what about the Claymates??? Won't someone please think of the Claymates?"
It's all pretty much hilarious. However, the best thing that I discovered was the existence of Clay Aiken fan fiction- like, more websites devoted to Clay Aiken fan fiction than you would ever think exist. Also, Clay Aiken erotic fan fiction. Honestly- the non-erotic stuff is, in it's own way, almost more hilarious, because it involves him solving mysteries and saving grandmas... and, uh, being in an abusive relationship that involves water torture and daily beatings? Oh, and some romances with elven princesses here and there. The erotic stuff is just... disturbing. I don't know, I've just never looked at Clay Aiken and thought "yeah, hot sex!"
But seriously folks, if you have some time to kill... I heartily reccomend leafing through these.
The seething sarcasm from the first female anchor is absolutely delightful. I also like how the girl going to the purity ball is like "I've never had a birds and the bees talk and I really don't want one"
So... like, does she not know what sex entails? At 17? Is she like my neighbor who thought it was when the guy stuck his dick into your bellybutton? Or has she just not discussed it with her parents? Because, I have to assume that most people tend to be curious about these things... especially someone who gives that much thought to staying "pure."
On a positive note though, this is the first one I've heard of that involves the boys. How progressive?
Have you ever met a dude who, in all seriousness, had a name for his dick? Me neither. In fact, I don't think I've encountered one, period who did it even ironically. Maybe they just don't share this with me because they figure I'd laugh for seven hours if they did... but then why get this?
Or, um, rather, why pay $14.95 for an official plaque with your peen's name on it? I mean, I'd make you one with crayons for 5 bucks. I'll even draw a picture (warning! I can only draw stick figures, so I don't know how flattering it will be!)!
Apparently, it's like a registered name. There can only be one of each! So, like, if you want to name your dick "Kenny Rogers" and that name is already taken, you will have to pay the dude who registered it originally for the rights. You know, if you have your heart set on it that much. Also, don't plan on making it a "dirty" name, like some of these, because they have standards of decency over at Name Your Wang.
Ok, so some mysterious person dropped off a Scientology pamphlet at the store called "The Way to Happiness," and let me tell you- it is absolutely glorious! Glorious! I don't think anything has made me this ecstatically happy since I found One-Arm Juanita, my weird dancing lady lamp that doesn't work (it's the simple things in life, really).
Here are some things I learned!
1. If one does not survive, no joy and happiness are unattainable (So... death is not in fact a dance party? I've been misled!)
2. You are well within your rights to insist that people bathe regularly and wash their hands.
3. Suggest to others that they preserve their teeth.
4. A "feeling of guilt" is nowhere near as sharp as a knife in the back or ground glass in the soup (why you should be faithful to your "sexual partner"- which, I think, in Scientology is a lot like your lab partner.)
5. While most children are capable of great decency, a few are born insane and, today, some are even born as drug addicts.
6. No one has the right to force data off on you and command you to believe it or else. If it is not true for you, it isn't true.
7. (Personal favorite!) The way to happiness does not include murdering, or your friends, your family or yourself being murdered. (Really? Because I thought that would be an awesome time! I have been shown the light!)
8. In some societies, when they are barbaric or become very degrade, it can even be the fashion to be a public eyesore. (On the runways of Calcutta...)
9. A thief sows the environment with mysteries.
10. Has there ever been an instance where another had some false data about you? Did it cause you trouble? This can give you some idea of the havoc false data can raise!
11. The new model eggbeater or washing machine, the latest years car, all demand some study and learning before they can be competently operated. When people omit it, there are acidents in the kitchen and piles of bleeding wreckage on the highways. (But what if the new model eggbeater lead to piles of bleeding wreckage on a highway? There's a story in that somewhere.)
12. The insane cannot learn.
13. Movie stuntment who don't practice first get hurt. So do housewives.
I am totally thrilled to pieces with this book. I went to the website http://www.twth.com/, and plan on ordering the DVD, which I believe will be a fantastic addition to my collection of weird religious videos. The Mormon shit is the best. In fact, as a general rule, whenever I start to think I might really like a fella, I show him my 80's Mormon video to see if he finds it hilarious or not. Because if he doesn't, it's so over.
Oh, and by the way, I just checked out the site for the Watchtower Society (you know, the Jehovahs?)... and I found out that you can request a home bible study! How funny would it be if you were really mad at someone and then as retaliation sent the Jehovah's Witnesses to their house?
A link to my blog! In Susie Bright's blog's sidebar thingy! Seriously. I can totally die now. I feel like reciting the Oscar speech I had practiced when I was 11. I think it might be some kind of automated reciprocating thing... but still. I'm totally plotzing.
Ok, besides the fact that he starts off condemning some girl as a total prude for being surprised that some dude tells her he wants to shove his balls in her vadge while they're making out... which, jeez- can you blame her? It's not something you hear every day, or necessarily even know how it would work (I'm still a little fuzzy)- and it's just ridiculous and sexist to act like a girl who doesn't want to go along with every fetish a guy has is a horrible, judgemental person....
The third one down? The one about the party in Paris and the Spanish girl and the unlubricated anal sex in the party igloo? Totally made up. SO made up. This is how you tell someone is lying- too many freakin' unnecessary details. And he's not even really asking for advice, he just wants to put that out there and probably jerk off to it later. Which is fine for him, except that Dan Savage looks a little ridic going off on what a "tramp" said imaginary Spanish girl is, and how terrible of her it is to not be humiliated over a thing that didn't actually happen.
It seems that my favorite magazine, Bitch, is having some financial issues, and if they don't raise $40,000 by October 15th, they could go the way of Punk Planet. It would totally break my heart if this happened, so, if you can find it in your heart and wallet, please contribute a few bucks to the cause.
I've donated 25 bucks, which is about all I can do at the moment, but I plan to see if I can collect donations at the next Sunday Night Sex Show. Even if you aren't a reader of Bitch, show your love for independent, non-profit media by donating what you can!
Not lipstick. Not much, actually, because an article featuring this exact same advice was featured in this month's Cosmo- along with the usual advice about new and exciting things to do to your man's taint (so not even joking about this.)
What? Like I don't have enough to do? What do you want from me, body language experts? Like, am I supposed to jump out and say "Ha! You're stressed! You're tugging your collar! I read that in Cosmo and saw it on the Today show so it must be true!" or "Oh my god! You love me! I just caught you pointing your belly button at me! I'm totally gonna go pick out bridesmaids dresses now!" or am I supposed to spend hours with my friends analyzing what some dude meant by the way he shrugged? What if the guy is just itchy because he's allergic to his fabric softener?
True story- Some dude once got all huffy at me in a bar because my pupils did not dilate while he was talking to me. He said that this meant that I was not interested in him/ attracted to him (which was true, but he probably could have also guessed that by the fact that my eyes were not only undilated, but also rolling)- and he, of course- being a weird drunk guy- demanded to know why. And I, of course, being me, excused myself to go to the ladies room and never came back. The End. The moral of the story? Analyzing people's body language makes you look like a total weirdo.
Which of course resulted in my walking around trying to talk in that Fargo accent, which of course sounded exactly like an Irish brogue.
It could be useful as a halloween costume. Oh my god! Speaking of halloween costumes... I heard recently that last year, some dude copied my Sylvia Plath costume (with the oven on my head) that I did two years ago. Can I sue? I haven't decided what it's going to be this year. Jen thinks I should definitely do Sarah Palin and carry around a baby, a gun and a coathanger. I'm still trying to figure out how to do Frances Farmer without losing an eye from the icepick...
I defy you to not rock out to this, just a little bit. His lip movements alone are blowing my mind. Jesus is like a Mountie? Really? I am sold! And the band is called "Sonseed!" What is that about? I mean, sperm, obviously- but why?
I think I am safe in saying, however, that this is the single greatest thing that has ever existed.
Every single time I hear some idiot republican start going on and on about "small town values"... I want to punch a wall. Seriously.
Republicans like to talk about small towns like they're these magical Capra-esque places, filled with only people who are magically decent-licious. Unlike big cities where we're all kniving assholes, out to get all we can- or something like that. I've seen Mr. Deeds Goes To Town. I know what they're thinking.
It's amazing to me that "small town people" are presented as being more trustworthy than people in cities, because if there was anything that taught me not to trust people, it was the time I spent living in a small town in Massachusetts. It taught me that if you are vulnerable for two seconds, it will bite you in the ass. When I moved to Rochester, finally, I thought at first that everyone who was friendly to me was doing it as a joke, and that as soon as I was friendly back, they'd laugh at me for falling for it. Which is exactly what happened to me myriad times in that trustworthy small town.
It's amazing to me that small town people are presented as being warmer and friendlier than city people. Because I have never had to eat lunch alone in a bathroom stall in a city because no one would sit with me. And sure, in a small town, everyone knows your name- but it doesn't mean they're going to talk to you- except, of course, in the case of screaming racial epithets at you on the bus because it upsets you (yes, it happens in Massachusetts).
It's amazing to me that they act as though people in small towns have better morals than people in cities. I can't think of a more important moral than being kind to people- and if anything, I think the main reason I was targeted was because I wasn't afraid to be stand up for other kids who were getting picked on. And let me tell you, I don't want to brag- but the one thing I am proud of is that they never, ever took that away from me- they never got to me on that one- I did it right up until my last breath in that small town, and I did it with every ounce of vitriol in my being. And I have a lot of vitriol when it comes to that shit.
Since then, I've lived in more "citified" places, and have never had that kind of trouble with anyone- and have found people to be much, much kinder and more decent, and more upstanding, etc. etc. And while I'm not saying that every small town on earth is filled with that sort of people- or even that everyone there was like that- it probably just seemed like it at the time because those people were the stronger personalities and other kids were afraid of them- I just think it's unfair to go and paint cities with the evil brush and small towns with the good brush, when that has most certainly not been everyone's experience.
With that said, I've never met anyone who wasn't dying to get the hell out of a small town, so what does that say?
Amongst other things the supposed left-wing media could learn from me (and by that I mean leftist blogs and pundits, not the general media- which if you ask me, leans to the right)- is how to win an argument. I am an unbelievably frustrating person, insofar as you will never, ever win an argument with me. It may occasionally be a tie, if you're good- but you won't win. Why?
1. Always stick to facts. Actual facts, and then only those that you can back up with evidence and research.
2. Steer clear of ad hominem attacks. Attack the issue, not the person. Ad hominem attacks are the last resort of those who are unsure of their position.
3. Don't say anything out loud unless you are absolutely certain of it being true.
4. Insist that your opponent back their shit up with actual evidence/research/details. Or say anything along the lines of "some people say"- demand to know who those people are, specifically. Considering the fact that most people talk out of their asses, this is where you usually win.
5. Don't argue using previous personal experiences, stories you have heard, or legends others have told. Avoid strawman arguments. If you say anything someone can easily poke a hole in, you have pretty much already lost.
6. Stay absolutely, totally, completely, nerve-rackingly calm. Always let them be the ones to get histrionic. Whenever they do get histrionic, start talking even more quietly and calmly. This is where pundits fail.
7. Don't make sweeping statements. If they make a sweeping statement, say, like "Women are bad drivers"- the logical follow up to that is "Have you been in a car with every woman on earth?" The answer is obviously no, which negates their argument. If they say it's a statistical thing, (I just mean in general! Most women are bad drivers), of course, mention that men pay higher insurance rates and get into more fatal accidents than women do.
8. Ask questions that demand a specific answer. For instance, if debating abortion- before you let them expound upon the sanctity of life and life beginning at conception, ask them what they think would be an appropriate punishment for a teenage girl who had an illegal abortion. Very rarely do they have an actual answer for this. If there is, the follow up question is naturally something along the line of "would it be fair that women with money would be able to go to other countries to get one safely and legally, but that poor women would be subject to possibly unsafe abortions and [whatever legal ramifications suggested].
10. Don't argue emotion, intuition, or gut feelings. I actually once had an argument with a girl who insisted that the original purpose of WWII was to defeat Hitler, and when I told her that, well, no- our main goal was to stop Japan from becoming too powerful and actually when people tried to come here to escape Hitler and told us what was going on over there, we sent them right back because well, America was actually pretty anti-semetic in those days... insisted that this couldn't be true because her grandfather had fought in WWII and to say that was an insult to his memory. I can't even get into the myriad reasons that was ridiculous (especially since pretty much all of our grandfathers fought in that war)- but you can't win an argument based on things you "feel" are true. Unless you're Steven Colbert.
That's pretty much it. It's not the most complicated thing in the world. I learned to argue from my mother, who is freakin' brilliant at it. We'd make either really fabulous talking heads, or annoy the crap out of everyone. Still, I think the so-called left would be much better off following our rules rather than going off on these tangents.
Once upon a time, when I was a bit more active in my activism, I had a massive disillusionment. See, because I made the startling discovery that supposedly progressive men were just as likely to be sexist, misogynistic, and chauvinistic as other men. And quite honestly, a lot worse some of the time, because they thought they were somehow exempt from it because of their generally leftist beliefs. They'd brush off any accusations of sexism by stating that feminism was just an issue for "middle class white women."
This is what is going to get the Democrats in trouble- the whole thinking they're exempt thing. See, the Republicans were smart... I hate to say it, but it's true.
Sarah Palin wasn't selected because they thought that women who supported Clinton were going to turn around and vote for her just because she happens to be a woman. She was selected because the Republicans knew they'd go after her with the same sexist shit they used on Clinton, and that then they'd be able to turn it around and use it against them. Which, you know, is exactly what they're doing.
No one seems to be discussing her horrifying environmental policies, the fact that she's anti-choice, her ridiculous positions on health care... nope. They're too busy calling her a blow-up doll, critiquing her abilities as a mother, and making comments about her looks.
Instead of harping on the fact that she *has* an pregnant teenage daughter, why not, uh, mention the fact that she cut funding for pregnant teens? Wouldn't that make just a little bit more sense?
Obama's "lipstick on a pig" comment was just stupid. It was just stupid on any level. If he didn't mean it to refer to her (and quite honestly, I think he did, especially as it was followed up by the old fish in newspaper comment- which obviously referred to McCain. I'm just going to say it.), then both he and his staff are um, not thinking very clearly if they didn't think it would be interpreted that way. It was very dude-ish. It was very "I'm going to say something totally horrible to you and then act surprised when you're offended by it and swear to god you're taking it the wrong way." Every woman on earth knows that trick.
If the supposed Left were smart, they'd focus on the issues and stay away from the sexist shit, which, I promise you, is NOT GOING TO HELP. It's just not. Let them be the sexists! Let them be the assholes.
But, of course, no one ever listens to me. I'm just a woman.
Ok, so every time that Boost Mobile commercial comes on (you know, the one with the three guys rapping?)- which is often because apparently they sponsor the FearNet, and we watch a lot of horror movies here at The Maxi Pad- I freak out about the last guy in the commercial with the incredibly bizarre, plasticky looking face.
So, eventually (as in yesterday), I look him up. Because I need a closer look at his face. I google "'That dude' Boost Mobile commercial"- and find out that he is in fact Mickey Avalon, and he actually does stuff other than commercials for cell phone companies. Stuff which includes the "My Dick" song....
Which was the inspiration for my favorite thing ever, Margaret Cho's "My Puss" song. Which I think I've already posted here like, 50,000 times. It's that glorious.
See how everything comes full circle? Now, with that success (?) under my belt, I decided I was ready to discover the identity of my old nemesis, the "free credit report dot com" guy (I'm feeling very Nancy Drew this morning)...
I've had nightmares. I've gone four days without being able to get that "F-R-E-E that spells free, credit report dot com baby" song out of my head. I hate his smug face and his lies (truly- like, jen signed up, and it's free at first, but then they charge you 14 bucks a month and when you try to cancel it you can't get a hold of anyone, and they stick you with a virus that charges you twice). I hate the fact that nothing I can do will stop him from singing those awful songs. I think sometimes that if I just give up and go to the stupid website that it'll stop. You know, like when some drunk dude starts trying to convince you that you and he are totally soul mates, and eventually you just say "Yeah, ok, fine, we're soulmates, whatever." so he'll shut up and move on to bothering the next chick? It won't work like that! There is nothing I can do! Nothing will stop this man from torturing me with his horrid jingles! But still... I'm curious.
So I look him up. As it turns out, his name is Eric Violette, and he doesn't even sing the songs- it's dubbed over! It's like the fucking Beijing Olympics thing! Like, apparently, they thought this guy was so awesome looking/ such an awesome actor, and that the other guy was such a good singer, that they combined them. What the cock is that shit?
Also, I have found his myspace, and, unsurprisingly, he does not seem to have much to say about life, other than that which involves getting free credit reports. http://www.myspace.com/eric_violette
The VMA's were on last night, in case you didn't know. I didn't watch them- the ladies and I watched two creepy kid beauty pageant documentaries on the learning channel instead. Which of course was way more awesome. But anyway, I woke up this morning to read a bunch of crap about how Russell Brand made fun of The Jonas Brothers' special special purity rings, and how Jordin Sparks got up there and told him right off by saying: "I just wanna say, it's not bad to wear a promise ring, because not every guy and girl wants to be a slut, OK?" and then the audience cheered.
Yeah, stick it to the man!
Christ. I swear to god, that is the most irritating sentence I have read in quite some time- basically because it translates as this "Don't judge me for wearing a symbol of my parents' creepy over-interest in my sex life on my finger! The fact that you don't wear one makes you a dirty, dirty whore!"
Ugh. I don't get it. I especially don't get all the commentary about how she's being so "subversive and edgy." I also didn't get straight edge kids or christian punk. It's a thing I have. Shit, I feel like that would be like me saying "Yeah, bitch! I'm going to go read some Jane Austen and then bake a pie! Take that, establishment! Yeah, maybe I'll even crochet some scarves while watching Turner Classic Movies! Can you handle that? Am I totally blowing your mind here with my awesome edgyness?"
I am cool with the things I choose to do not being cool. I will rock no one's face with a recitation of The Lady of Shallot, and I completely accept that.
The mere act of doing something that not everyone else on earth does is not necessarily an act of rebellion. It is not necessarily subversive- especially when it is, in fact, what "the man" wants you to do.*
*Sorry- just spent a week with my mom. I'm going to be referring to "the man" and "the establishment" a lot for a bit. She rubs off on me.
MRA's are always fond of making this big giant deal about how feminism is supposedly to blame for the men of this generation having no direction or whatever. This guy isn't one, but he's basically saying the same shit.
But this is the thing- I don't think it's all that bad. Like he said, we're all probably going to live until 90 or something- who the fuck wants to settle down and be an adult for like, that many years? Especially when you don't have to. Hell, maybe this generation will be less prone to the whole midlife crisis thing because we actually got it out of our systems. It doesn't seem to me that anyone really wanted to go out and be an adult back in the day either, but shit, that was just what you did because you had to.
I have to tell you, I watch these things, and my first instinct is "Those assholes! How dare they prematurely reject me because I went to an Ivy League school and play ice hockey! (watch the video for that part to make sense) How dare they think I have to "need" them or whatever. Dudes suck!"
But then, um, it occurs to me- I don't know anyone who actually thinks that way. Do you? I mean, honestly, I think we're now more focused on "want," rather than "need"- which I think is better. I'd prefer someone want me rather than need me, and I think it goes both ways. I think that now, people are doing what they want to do, rather than falling into some life that society tells them they should have- and that's pretty cool. I mean, I don't know one single guy who has ever, ever said "Oh, I just want my wife to stay home and make babies! And need me constantly for absolutely everything!" I mean, I think a lot of it is that there are these older men who grew up when that was just the way, and assume that younger guys are absolutely freaked the fuck out over the fact that it's not- causing them to, uh, drink, watch porn and play video games?
I don't see this as a crisis. I just don't. I mean- fuck it, everyone's confused. It's not just a guy thing, it's a human thing. And if a dude has a problem with the fact that you went to an Ivy League school and play ice hockey (and therefore don't need him!), then he's a douche and you don't want him anyway. It's called culling the herd. You should thank him for being coming out as a douche so promptly, instead of faking it for god knows how long, forcing you to find it out for yourself. Think of the time you would have wasted! Chalk it up as a bullet dodged.
I don't know- sure, the ladies and I joke about how every dude we know is like, in his mid-thirties, collecting action figures and trying to be a rock god. But I don't think it's that big of a deal, really. It's not like I'm doing anything better. I'm writing a blog! And sure, I've heard from my guy friends on occasion that the fact that I'm especially independent and, um, maybe something of a know-it-all can be off putting to guys who aren't as sure of themselves.
But, at the end of the day- you have to think to yourself "shit, would I want that guy anyway?" And I wouldn't. I'd much rather be alone than fake it for the mere privilege of being with some asshat. And the fact that I'm cool with that, is a really awesome byproduct of feminism.
I just read that Eddie Murphy plans on doing a movie version of Fantasy Island in which he plays Mr. Roarke, and, of course, other multiple roles- one of which will no doubt involve a fatsuit. Ugh.
It was announced like a year ago or whatever, but I just found out because I was reading the wikipedia entry for the show. What? It's my favorite! Yesterday we watched an episode where Mr. Roarke battled with a totally flaming Satan played by Roddy McDowell, and mindfucks him into giving this chick her soul back (she sold it to save Adam West's life!). So glorious. Especially the part where Ricardo Montalban says "I guess you could say... I am in love with love." Seriously, say it out loud in the voice and you'll know what I mean.
Ok, so I was just about to write a thing about how my old friend Jeff Rae was in a Chinese prison, and how, ya know, that kinda sucks, and I was going to tell you all to call some legislators and stuff... but I just checked the website (beijing6.org) for info, and they've been released! So yay!
So, today I have to clean my room, do some laundry and get some financial aid stuff figured out, tomorrow I work and then Allen and I are going to the Venus Magazine party for good times, free rum, and of course to promote the show- which we do merely by existing. I've gotta go shopping for prizes sometime this week, and also come up with trivia questions- which is tougher and more time consuming than you'd think. There's Panic on Friday, and then on Sunday, of course, we've got the show. Then my parents are coming to visit for a week. I've also got boy issues galore all over the place, which is- sigh- obnoxious.
BTW- Come to my fucking show! Sunday Night Sex Show! This Sunday! At The Burlington! 7:30pm!
Sarah Haskins, the ladies of the maxi pad have spoken, and we have decided that you must be our new bff. We would like to buy you a cocktail and some delicious yogurt. Because we're women.
It was recently revealed that during WWII, Julia Child was a spy. I know, not merely because I read it, but because pretty much everyone I know called me to inform me of this. Why?
Because those people who are lucky enough to know me well have heard the tales of my childhood obsession with Julia.
It was kinda weird, I guess. I didn't really watch much TV as a kid- I didn't have the patience for it or something maybe- I was totally ADD and didn't much care for any activity that didn't involve me talking. But when Julia was on... I sat there hyp-mo-tized, wearing my Mister Potatohead glasses, watching her methodically chop onions. And I was not to be interrupted. She was on right after Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. Which I did not much care for, as I found them rather patronizing (Near? Far? Yeah, I think I've got that, thanks.). But Julia didn't talk down to me. She totally assumed my mom let me near knives and the oven. She assumed I knew some French words. She assumed I had dinner parties and drank sherry, or even knew what sherry was.
I tried to be just like her. There is video footage of me at age three making a sandwich involving chopped carrots and cheese and talking about boeuf bourguinon in a Julia Child voice. I really, really liked to say boeuf bourguinon in that voice, and whenever anyone asked me what my favorite food was, I would insist that that was it, even though I had no idea what the hell it was.
I also once made my mother walnut soup. Which consisted entirely of unshelled walnuts in lukewarm water. It serves as a testament to my mother's unyielding devotion that she actually ate it.
At my pre-interview for kindergarten, they asked me what my favorite show was, and, of course I said Julia Child, quickly lapsing into my best impression of her. I forget what else I said, but afterwards they informed my mother that while I was "precocious," I was going to have horrid social problems, and that she should prepare herself for the next few years. They were right, but still- what did they have against Julia?
At the end of the year, they gave us one of those assessment tests. I had one of the highest scores, and my teacher reccomended they send me to a special "camp" called College Gate. College Gate wasn't camp- there were no kayaks or sing-alongs involved. It was like school, except you got to pick your own courses. I picked sign language, paper mache, some sort of English course involving writing haikus, and, of course, cooking. I totally had to fight my mother on this, because she wanted me to take more academic type courses. Which makes sense, because it probably cost a lot of money, whereas I could probably take cooking lessons at the Y for cheap. But I insisted, and I won. And I made fresh spaghetti, and ravioli, and shishkabobs, and pizza, and french fries, and it was awesome.
You should also know that I totally won the "camp's" invention contest! I made a paper dress (with notations on it such as "Spill some Kool-Aid? Cover it up with a paper flower!" and "Add paper ruffles for flair!" It's actually still in my parents basement if you ever want to see it.
As I grew older, I grew out of my Julia obsession I guess. Around third grade I got really conflicted about liking to cook/being a feminist, and sort of stopped it. It sounds stupid now- obviously I can cook and still, you know, want equal rights- but I generally rejected anything vaguely connected with what women were "supposed to do." I was young and strident- what can I say?
I've still never eaten bouef bourguinon, but it kinda warms my heart to know that Julia was such a bad ass.
I'm totally serious, I think he does. Blender gets Obama and McCain to list their favorite songs (with comments on the site from Girl Talk and my boyfriend Randy Newman)
JOHN McCAIN 1. Dancing Queen - ABBA (Do you know what this does to my head? All I can picture is John McCain's head on Toni Collette's body, just twirling and twirling around in a room filled with pictures of ABBA.) 2. Blue Bayou - Roy Orbison (Eh. It's a good song. I have nothing bad to say) 3. Take a Chance On Me - ABBA ("Now that I'm running for president, my life's just as good as an ABBA song!") 4. If We Make It Through December - Merle Haggard (Would have been so much more awesome if it was "Hello Darlin') 5. As Time Goes By - Dooley Wilson (Whatever, John McCain. I bet you don't have a Humphrey Bogart action figure. Which I totally do.) 6. Good Vibrations - The Beach Boys (I don't like having things in common with you, John McCain) 7. What A Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong (Blah, blah, blah...) 8. I've Got You Under My Skin - Frank Sinatra (Easy) 9. Sweet Caroline - Neil Diamond (Going for the fratboy vote... but does he know that it was written about Caroline Kennedy?) 10. Smoke Gets In Your Eyes - The Platters (Really? The Platters version? You must be kidding me. Dinah Washington's rendition is far superior.)
BARACK OBAMA 1. Ready or Not- Fugees 2. What's Going On- Marvin Gaye 3. I'm On Fire Bruce- Spingsteen 4. Gimme Shelter- Rolling Stones 5. Sinnerman- Nina Simone 6. Touch the Sky- Kanye West 7. You'd Be So Easy to Love- Frank Sinatra 8. Think- Aretha Franklin 9. City of Blinding Lights- U2 10. Yes We Can- will.i.am
Good lord. I get it. It's not even worth multiple comments. You're totally inspirational, Barack Obama! Wow! Oh, and way to pick a song about yourself. It kills me that you are just sothat guy. I'll bet anything that your yearbook quote was the whole Robert Frost thing about the stupid roads diverged in the woods. You totally remind me of this guy I dated when I was 17 who told me that my karmic path had led me to him for enlightenment. Because he was totally deep and wrote poetry, and I was a failure at life for liking "Breakfast at Tiffany's." That guy was an asshat. Don't be that guy.
Scientists are like, one step closer to creating invisibility cloaks. Which will of course aid in the war against the deatheaters...
So, of course, I think to myself- "Gee, Robyn, what would you do if you were invisible?"
If Clay Aiken were invisible, he would just watch you in your room. Which would be totally horrifying. Seriously, these are the things nightmares are made of. I don't care if he's not getting off- it's just weird.
But me, I honestly don't know what I'd do. Maybe I have no imagination- but mostly I think it's that I really have no reason to spy on anyone. It's not like there's anyone where I'm like "Gee, I'd sure like to see them naked, so much so that I would don an invisibility cloak to do so!" I mean, quite frankly, I'm pretty sure I could just like, ask or something if it were all that much of an issue, though I can't imagine why it would be.
I don't really want to spy on anyone- I mean, I already know way too much about other people's lives anyway. I always figure that if someone doesn't want you to know something, you probably don't want to know it yourself.
As I was walking through West Fest... I noticed that a brand new vintage store had opened up just a few doors down from me- which, a) is awesome, and b) is terrible... you know, for my wallet and all, considering my penchant for dresses and the fact that I really shouldn't be buying anything until I get rid of the shit ton of clothes I need to get rid of.
I try on several super cute dresses... the cutest of all being a glorious, glorious, glorious Chloe dress- which is so mod, and gorgeous, and just like, my freaking dream dress. It's navy blue, with like, a cute sailor type neckline with ruffles and a tie thingy hanging down, and ruffles on the hemline! And the skirt part is tight and the top part is blousy, which is like, my favorite dress cut ever... It is everything I have ever dreamed about in a dress and more, and it fit perfectly.
And it was only 100 dollars. 100 dollars! For vintage couture! For fucking glorious, Lagerfeld era Chloe. Not See by Chloe. Chloe. Motherfucking Chloe for 100 dollars. Could you just die?
But then the salesgirl tells me... there's a reason it's only 100 dollars...
And on the ass, there are like, weird greyish faded areas. I couldn't even wear it at night.
Not fair. Not even a little bit fair. Very few things in my life have been less fair.
But there is hope! I have heard of a magical tailors/cleaners place on Oak St. that can supposedly work miracles. I'm going to call them tomorrow and see if there is anything they can do about it.
Oh my god... I just read that Paul Newman may only have a few weeks to live! How devastating! I will totally cry- in fact, I might cry now. You never know- read the previous post, I'm in that sort of mood. I totally love him. He's basically the reason I'm perpetually single. Not like, because I'm holding out for him, but because when compared to Paul Newman, every dude out there is just worlds and worlds of terrible. No one can beat him. I mean, your standards are going totally different if you had a crush on him as a kid as opposed to John Cusack or something. Any idiot can pull of stalking and moping and being "conflicted." It doesn't require much effort or intelligence- and if that impresses you, you've got quite the plethora of douchetastic asshats to pick from. But to be like, simultaneously retardedly hot, and tough as shit, and into saving the world... the man is the worlds greatest argument in favor of cloning, and the reason for the word dreamy. He can make organic salad dressing, rank 19th on Nixon's enemy list, race cars, ooze class and sex from every pore, and kick your ass to a bloody pulp. Paul Newman is what my parents refer to as a "stand up guy." Outside of my father and two of my uncles, and this one kid in elementary school who used to stick up for me when I was getting picked on, I have never known another specimen.
My whole world is totally vagtastic. I'm surrounded by other chicks both at work and at home, which would be totally swell with the exception of the fact that it totally fucks with my uterus. Seriously. Right now, I am batshit crazy, and I am not supposed to be batshit crazy for another two weeks. I am supposed to have another two weeks of delightful sanity and good skin, I am supposed to have another two weeks where I can go shopping and like something. But no, tonight I went to Akira, and Untitled, and American Apparel, and Urban Outfitters and found nothing. The only thing I considered was a shiny purple miniskirt which I have no reason to wear ever and would probably look like a hooker were I to attempt it. It's probably for the best, because it was from AA, and Dov Charney makes me feel a bit nauseated, so I don't really want to support anything he does, even if the clothes are cute and sweatshop free. I mean, I'd feel the same way if Joe Francis made like, the best peanut butter ever (better than the kind with honey in it, which I love more than life and often eat with a spoon)- I would not eat that peanut butter. I was raised on the boycott diet as a child, and did not eat grapes or orange juice for most of my early years.
I digress. I want an oatmeal cookie. More than I have ever wanted anything ever. But not a regular oatmeal cookie from a box, one from a bakery. I hate hard cookies.
The ladies want to go out. I don't think I can do it. I'm likely to lose my temper, or be so lost in my head that I can't formulate a sentence properly, and being someone with little else to offer the world but wit and logic... this can be awfully frustrating.
I guess it started getting strange when I found myself blanking out in the cheese section of Dominick's for five minutes while "To All The Girls I've Loved Before" played overhead. Which is less awkward, actually, than when they play Kelly Clarkson's "A Moment Like This" when I'm buying yogurt and box wine at 1am in pajama pants with my hair pulled into lopsided pigtails. It's happened, and it's kind of depressing.
Most of it was spent in the living room with Nicole, watching every episode of Fantasy Island available on the OnDemand, followed by every episode of The Facts of Life. Little known fact about me, I love me some Fantasy Island. Seriously, it's like, my favorite thing ever. Ricardo "Fine Corinthian Leather" Montalban and a midget fucking with people's dreams and then totally solving all their problems? Sign me up!
I want to put Ricardo Montalban in charge of my life, I feel like he knows better than I do. I have ideas about how my episode would go, but I'll save that for another time. Because by the time we got halfway through the episode of The Facts of Life where Blair's father uses her for tax evasion, the Emergency Broadcast System sounded.
I have never seen it actually used before. Like, ever. Usually it's "only a test." At first all the tornado warnings were for places that sounded far away... but when we heard Humboldt Park, we started freaking the fuck out. Jen thought it wasn't any big deal until we heard the siren go off. We scrambled to get the cats in their carriers and hauled ass down to the basement. It was totally like some ridiculous horror movie. Nicole was so freaked out that she dropped the wine on her way down the stairs. We stayed there for like, 45 minutes, watching the rain pour in, almost flooding the place, until it finally, slowly started seeping away into the drain.
I was fucking terrified. It seems like everyone we know had like, no problem with the whole thing. We were the only ones in the basement. But, fuck, at the end of the day, I don't give a shit. Something on my TV beeps at me and tells me to get to the basement, I go. I haul ass. I have no illusions about weather being my friend.
We had planned to go to Evil Olive last night with Kris, my best friend from High School, who came up from Florida to go to Lollapalooza. Instead, after the rain died down, we just picked her up at her hotel and spent the evening with The Golden Girls and some box wine. Having Nicole, and Jen and Kris all together in one car, or apartment or whatever is like my own personal episode of This is Your Life, because it's like- all my closest friends from various points on the Robyn timeline. And it's kind of awesomely weird, and shit, if I'm going to ride out a tornado, there aren't any other bitches I'd rather be with.
