Woohoo!
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.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
I feel like crap.
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.
Maybe I'll dye my hair today.
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.
Maybe I'll dye my hair today.
And everyone's invited!
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.
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.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Did I tell you about Andy Wang?
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?
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?
Daylight savings time...
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).
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).
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Sunday Sunday Sunday! (Night Sex Show)
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.)
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.)
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Well, then I guess I'm elitist. Thanks, Ben Shapiro!
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.
You know You're an Elitist if... by Ben Shapiro
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.
You know You're an Elitist if... by Ben Shapiro
I heart Jonathan Kozol...
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Precious Moments
Oh... good times.
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.
Help! I've been life plagiarized!
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!
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!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Oh, Cosmo
- "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?
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?
Sweet Love
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.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
It's just amazing how fair people can be...
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.
Friday, October 10, 2008
What's time to her, or she to Time?
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!
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!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
McCain... lurching off the deep end?
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.
He should talk...
Dennis Leary, in an extra classy Vanity Fair article (which also refers to trollops slobbering on his knob):
"Most heterosexual men do not find Renée Zellweger attractive -It’s true. Nice girl, and I have met Renée. She is the kind of girl who bakes really good muffins, you go out to dinner with her, but that’s 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.
Things that are good vs. Things that suck. A booze infused list I will probably delete when sober
Good things:
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
She's just a small town girl...
(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.
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.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
I am totally being stalked by Bill Withers, and other things, varied and sundry
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.
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.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The whimsical story of the cabbie who was wrong about everything in life.
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.
"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.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Aggravated vaguery
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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.
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