Friday, December 2, 2011
I just watched Lady Gaga's new video for "Marry the Night." Let me explain something first, and this will be very important to keep in mind, as I continue writing, and you continue reading. I love this song. I love everything about this song. I also, most of the time, love Lady Gaga. I say most of the time, because the other times that I don't care for her, is when she takes her bullshit art student pretention to the Nth degree. I went to art school too lady, and I understand performance art. It took me a long time to really like performance art, and I would venture to say that about 90% of the time, the reason I don't like watching performance art is because of the performer.
Ok, so I watched the video. It's fourteen minutes long. Now, I have no problem with the length of the mini-film. (I've watched Matthew Barney's Cremaster Cycle. I have no problem sitting for hours watching the the same repetitive motion over and over.) The costumes, styling, set design, choreography, all of that is on POINT. My problem with it, is that, for the first almost five minutes of the video, she's narrating some bullshit about how she "loathes reality" and how the nurses uniforms are Calvin Klein (next season), and the shoes are custom Giuseppe Zanotti, and the hospital is this big stylized thing, and it doesn't make any narrative sense, I mean, it kind of does, but mainly it's this masturbatory thing wherin Gaga tells us of her struggles as an artist, by mentioning a Bedazzler, and pulling out some moves from Flashdance, and alluding to Dario Argento movies. THEN! after all of this thrashing around, and making herself look ugly by smearing her makup and dragging chunks of kohl eyeliner across her body, the song begins.
Again, I went to art school. I knew this girl. I was ALWAYS and will forever ALWAYS be annoyed by this type of person. A person who wallows in the generic and says pretentious things because she thinks people will think she's tormented and at the same time, wise. This person uses images that we have seen a million times before and resurrects them, and in their feeble attempt at real art, we realize later that what she is doing is borrowing, nay, stealing from those who have done it better and were smarter than her and her false attitude.
I don't doubt the work of women artists who were making themselves ugly as a means to show the world that they were not objects, and that they were and should be seen as equals to men. I don't doubt the validity of their work, nor do I hesitate to refer to them as artists. I hesitate to jump on the "Gaga is an artist" bandwagon because I don't think she is one. I think she is playing the part of the tragic fool all too well. I don't think she is original and I don't think she should throw around the word "artist" like it was a brand of potato chips. It cheapens the meaning thus making every idiot with a glitter pen think they can do it too (I'm looking directly at you Ke$ha).
You peaked with "Telephone"girlfriend. Non-pretentious, campy, stylish, funny, perfect. You don't have to try so hard. If your work is genuine, people will like it. Stop trying to force everyone's hand. You haven't done anything new, and the fact that you keep trying to play us like you ARE doing something new, is just making me more pissed off. Maybe you seem new to some people, but those people don't read or were born and kept in a basement their whole lives and are scared of their own shadows.
I still love this song, but I give this video and pretty much all of her other videos with the exception of "Telephone" on big, fat, NEEEEXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!
Oh yeah, here's the video. Enjoy.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
When we were young, we spent our days dying over and over about way to express our feelings for each other, and just as the ink spilled out on to the table, and the last page of our journal was eaten up by our fancy words and jokes, the internet was invented. We collectively lost our minds. I spent the next few years writing blog after blog also know as drunken word barf on Myspace, and for half a second on Xanga. Then Facebook happened, and I just didn't feel like barfing words out anymore. I suppose I felt as if my business was everyone's business, and that everyone wanted to know, like, how, like, horrible it was to be popular, and how the boy I, like, was crushing on was so totally not into me. Sigh. Summer bummer.
When Facebook started to blow up all over, and everyone was on it, not just smarmy college weirdos pumping their fists into the air at every home game, I joined and began my long strange, still lingering trip into the fantastic and fucking idiotic world of cyber over sharing. Yeah, I did it. Because everyone's doing it, and I desperately want to be cool. I kid, but there is always some truth to anyone's jokes. What I mean, really, is that I used to LIVE BITCH LIVE on Facebook, and lived for someone to tell me that they lived vicariously through my status updates. I tried to play it off like, "omg, this old thing." As if each status was just some fabulous garment that I had laying around but would put on specifically because I knew that people would look at me, and pay attention to me. The level of narcissism that facebook and the internet has brought me as well as MANY of my friends (you know who you are, ya cyber slutz!) is remarkable. I never thought I cared so much about what I was doing, until people started commenting on a sentence like, "Jurassic Park Fridays!!! Don't Let the raptors out!!!" There are better ones, but let's get serious. I'm not writing here today about how hilarious I am, and how each of my status updates are these cryptic inside joke ramblings.
All of that being said, the other night, I was listening to Kevin Allison's podcast RISK! (Kevin was on The State, he is hilarious, people tell stories, the music is weird and great. Download now), and I started thinking about the shift in how we talk about ourselves as we get older. When we're young, we barf our feelings all over Facebook and Google plus each other in the ass, and Tumble, and Digg, and Stumbleupon, and it is all so instant. The instant pleasure the act of immediately uploading a photo to the internet provides is so gratifying. You are a part of a thing at that moment, and you can immediately share that perverse over sharing desire with all of your nearest and dearest intronet pals! It feels so awesomely dirty, and you love it.
What happens later, and why I think storytelling podcasts are gaining in popularity, is because, we spend a long time collecting memories, and photographs, and moments, and yes, we write them down or share them immediately, but after that, they go away to the cyber card catalogue, or to a box of trinkety bullshit in my closet. We forget about them until we are sitting around with our friends talking, remembering, taking our time, taking our memories out and shuffling them around. Telling stories feels like we're showing off all of our lifetime achievement awards. Passing them around, showing them off, gesturing towards them like one of the girls on The Price is Right. These are things we have done well, or made a spectacular fail out of.
Facebook is the thing we do when we want to people to see us at face value. Judge us by our updates. Later, when we're at The Moth, or RISK!, or listening to This American Life, we don't need the judgement, or the acceptance by the faux friends we encounter. We're sharing because we want people to really know us. The kind of knowing that knows my laugh, and how I like my coffee(winter-steamed milk, little brown sugar/summer-black, iced Americano), and my taste in men(mostly lumberjack types, southerns, sometimes gingers), or jewelry( awkward and ugly), or tchotckes (Troll.Dolls). The kind of knowing that shoves its way to the top of your basically.
We can read everyone's status updates, their profiles, and all of their lists of likes and dislikes, but we can never really know them until we hear them tell us something about how they arrived at who they are today. Sharing the minute details of our lives is annoying and fascinating, but the real story, is when all of those details converge and form a super Voltron Transformer person, and we laugh and cry together, as we have always meant to do because now we're closer to each other than we ever have been, and that's all we wanted in the first place.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Here's Beyonce's new video. First of all, I am NEVER mad at Beyonce. I think she is fly as hell, she works ridiculously hard, her songs are almost ALWAYS jams, and she's married to Jay-Z. This song is a total jam. Maybe not the fiercest B jam, but I would tear up a dance floor to this any day. Here's where the 21st century feminist in me kicks in. She keeps referring to us as "girls." Ok, we "run the world," but she still keeps calling us "girls." I mean, seriously, she says it about 65million times in the damn song. That's actually about all she says. Lots of fierce ass dancing and amazing clothes and location shots, but really, she doesn't say anything else. Girls. Who run the world. You might as well say, "and stuff" after that sentence. Ain't no girls in that video B. Sorry. All women. Furthermore, if you were at all conscious of how conflicted this song and video feel for me, (and I know I will not be the only one), you would try to make it make a little more sense.
I am all for girl power, and I am absolutely aware that women have to keep telling themselves that they rule the world because every day we are out there in this world, we are treated like the world rules us. I just don't find this song to be empowering at all. I think it looks fucking great, and she looks great, but beyond that, and a few dance steps stolen from the Rhythm Nation tour, it's fluff. I know that there will be young girls, and women alike who will take this as a call to arms for women, but really ya'll? Really? She's not telling you how to rule the world, or how to even start feeling like it is possible for you to rule the world. She's not starting a revolution, or burning her bra, or demanding equal pay in the workplace. She's not saying anything.
Can we all take a collective guess why? Oh, well, because it isn't sexy to actually say in any format, that you believe in your rights as a woman. It's like, in old timey comics, right when women got the vote, they were portrayed as ugly troll beasts because it was "un-ladylike" to vote. This is the same deal. We're seeing this beautiful facade that claims to be about empowering women, but what it ends up being is a male-driven fantasy of what a strong "girl" should look like.
Again, hell yes I would love to look like Beyonce, but at the end of my day, do I think that it will change my place on the ladder? Maybe, but most likely, no it will not. Beyonce makes so much money, they deliver it to her in old timey bags with dollar signs on them, but really, I am sure she STILL makes less than her man does, and homegirl actually WERKS!
If all it took for me, (or any of us women)to rule the world, was gyrations set to 11, 2 bags of hair, and some hot ass clothes, then shit, I would be ruling the world right now. Someone would be typing this for me while I drape myself over a hot pink velour chaise lounge stroking my cat, sipping on a dirty Martini, and smoking Nat Sherman Fantasia ciggies. You make it seem so within my reach B.
Where are the youngs of all age groups to look in order to find role models? The answer remains unclear, and if we keep this kind of horsey bullshit up, we'll be right back where we started, fighting for our right to have rights.
On that ever so cheery note, please enjoy this ode to Beyonce's wig stylist.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Today, while I was trolling craigslist for jobs, I started trolling around google for images of The Upper Peninsula. See kids, I'ma be getting a tattoo of my homeland to show my pride. Yes. I am proud to be a Yooper. Yes, I know that sounds ridiculous, and, well, I am not denying that there are many things about the magical place that I am from, that are, how do you say, questionable. I get that it's way up north, and it's sometimes hard to believe oh ye of south of Milwaukee heritage, that there is anything up there in the "styx." Briefly, I'd like to address that phrase. "Styx" as in the River Styx, as in the "boundary between Earth and the Underworld." Just to clarify, I'm not from a Hellmouth. I'm from Escanaba.
Whilst dicking around the interwebs, I came across one blog of some man who calls him/herself "blatantproof.". Well, the blatant proof of this blog is that this person thinks they are better than me because they live in D.C. and eat Chipotle, Potbelly, and Sushi (High.Class.Broads). Houghton, MI. I guess, just doesn't accommodate such a sophisticated palette.
What consistently blows my mind is that, I live in a city. A rather large, dense, urban city. Yet, when I return home to Escanaba, I don't feel the need to throw shade at my home. We all criticize the place we are from, that is true. I totally remember times when I was much younger, and much more critical, and I knew from a very early age that I was not going to stay there after I graduated from highschool. The world is an enormous place, and I wanted to get out and see what was out there, and meet all the freaks I could, AND, I talked mad shit about my home because I didn't appreciate it. What I don't get, is that I am from a place that is so naturally beautiful and calm, and where, for the most part, the people are kind and generous, smart and interesting. Yes, I know that there are ignorant sons of bitches who probably cranked up the Toby Keith, and unloaded round after round into the night sky when the news of Osama's death hit the airwaves. Yes, I know that I used to get a day off of school for the first day of deer hunting season. Yes, I am aware that there are still quite a few old racists and that the town's economy is struggling, there aren't a lot of big fancy things like Chipotle or Potbelly, and sometimes it feels like a place that time forgot and that is why the town's economy is struggling. Even with all of that, Escanaba is still my home, and I am still proud as all hell to be from there. Haters gonna hate, and all I gotta say is, why ya'll so angry all the time? You are from one of the most beautiful places in this country, and hell yeah it's isolated, and it can seem like a winter wasteland around December through February, but man, in the summer...Forget about it. If I take you there in the summer, you will fall in love, and you will look at me, and the way I am here in the city, and you will look back out over the lake, and you'll understand everything about me, and we won't even have to say anything. It's THAT kind of magic.
I mean, look, I am from here, and I live right close to the end of that peninsula. I can walk to the lake and go swimming. I can look out the window in the second floor bathroom of my parents house and see the lake. I can drive an hour north and dip my feet in Lake Superior (my favorite). I can sit in a house with no air-conditioning and feel the breeze coming off of the lake and smell the fresh water. I can take my parents dogs 20 minutes out of town to a private beach area where you can swim in the clear, clean water. I used to work here. Is this really THAT bad? AND, Christine and Jarvis, we are totally going HERE!
XOXO Escanaba. Hearts and Glitterbombs, and Jeff Daniels and his stereotype mongering can suck it. Or just stay in Lower Michigan. Ya'll are called "Trolls" for a reason. Stay under that bridge.
Sprinkles and Sparkles.
P.S. The Dust has risen!
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
I watch a lot of bullshit movies. Campy, terrible, D, E, and F grade movies. You say Jurassic Park, I say, that Sci-Fi Original steaming pile where dinosaur bones, SKELEEEETONS!, came to life and killed people. You say Citizen Kane, I say Jason X, where Jason gets frozen and ends up in space and then turns himself into T 1000 Jason, and still can't be tamed, even by smarty pants girl from the past who holds the key to the legend of Jason Voorhis. Yeah. Look into it. Bad all around.
So, tonight, while I was dicking around on the Apple movie trailers page, I came across this movie called The Troll Hunter. The poster art for this movie makes it look like an advert for a monster truck rally. Of course, I was like, "Yep. Check into this." What I found there was an absolute deLIGHT! I know what you guys are thinking, and part of me is thinking the same thing. Summer is for totally ridiculous movies that are most likely in 3-D, have lots of explosions, tons of titties, and gallons of fake blood and severed limbs (muchas gracias Pirhana 3-D for covering all the bases). We get a little high, or we get a few 40s, and we go to the movies. Movie theaters have A/C, unlike the sweat lodges we all seem to live in, and, what the hell, rack 'em up so we can keep our conversations relevant and feel like we're covering all of OUR cinematic bases.
Ok, so I watched the trailer for The Troll Hunter, and I actually got really excited. Giddy almost. This is campy, 1950s monster movie territory for sure, but what I found exciting about it, was the approach. It isn't pitched to you as some kind of bullshit monsters out to gnaw a bitch in half and wreak havoc on smalltown USA just because it has some nondescript thorn in its side. First of all, it's Norwegian. Therefore, the folklore is regional, which makes it both intriguing and special to us. It's filmed in that same hand-held documentary style a la District 9, and, one of the better monster movies that came out a few years ago, simply titled, Monsters. Of course there are lots of night vision shots, dark stretches of forest complete with jerky camera movement, screaming, and then, naturally, a shot of the great ugly troll beasts. They look amazeballs you guys. Something born from a dream Guillermo del Toro and the creature design team from The Lord of the Rings is what they resemble. I am sure that this sounds corny and like those "In search of Bigfoot" programs on The History Channel, but I want to, and I wish I could assure you that this will most likely be a very interesting take on the way we process and receive storytelling, and that maybe some folk tales are rooted in some kind of truth. I mean, they all probably are, but that someone would be so dedicated to this one story, or rumor even, that they would pursue it all the way to the end. Then, imagine that that thing that you thought was just some crazy campfire story was true, and you found proof. Actual proof. How would that feel for you? Honestly, thinking about seeing something so buried in ancient lore, in person, would make me question everything I knew about everything.
Now, I get the impression that the trolls are something like a Bigfoot situation, where you think it's some fakey fake guy in a gorilla suit, ever so strategically thrown out of focus, so you can't really tell that it's a guy in a gorilla suit. Maybe, though, they're not. Maybe, as it played out in Monsters, these are creatures who arrived here under mysterious circumstances, weren't able to get back to where they came from, so they wove themselves into the landscape around them, became a part of it, and all of humankind treated it as just a strange progression in their routine. It's like in zombie movies, where the non-zombie folks are aware of the word "zombie," and refer to the walking dead as such instead of "walkers" or "infected." They assume that these are things that happen, and there aren't any super cute euphemisms for them.
Monster movie time doesn't have to be all giant scorpions attacking helpless ladies and cars driving into gila monsters resulting in a hilarious miniature explosion. They can tackle a subject like giant gnarly beasties living in the woods with the kind of sophistication that is campy and insightful at the same time. You can make a movie about trolls that attaches a kind of humanity to them that we usually only reserve for ourselves or the animals in Homeward Bound (don't even get me started). I realize that some of ya'll are going to watch the trailer and throw all kinds of shade my way, but I'm just sayin'. Science fiction can be truly interesting when executed properly.
SO! Without further adieu...here's the trailer for The Troll Hunter. Enjoy and ya'll are more than welcome to come watch it with me while we sip on Andre and eat Doritos.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Americans, for the most part, seem to have massive issues with their food, and I'm not just talking about our desire for a svelt nation full of fit as fuck yoga freaks. I'm mostly talking about the way we treat food, it's production and consumption here in this beautifully fucked up nation. For most of us, the issue isn't having food, it's that once we do have it, how are we so sure that what we're eating is even food. Most of it is some food-like product that has been manufactured in a lab. Also, once we have decided what we want to eat, there is not romance in our interaction. It's just a wham! bam! Gimme more grocery store chain amonia soaked ham. There is nothing nice or tasty-good sounding about any of that. It's just sad, lonely people, shoving medicore products into their mouths because that is the only option they think they have.
The next issue is that we don't even seem to enjoy what we're eating anymore which, of course, is why we eat at the MacDonalds and the Wendy's. I am not above eating fast food when I am summer time stoop hangin' drunk, or hungover. Nothing fills the void like a spicy chick'n sangwich from Wendy's, salty salt lick fries, all smothered in some plastic tasting BBQ sauce. YUM-OMG. We don't think about what we eat because we have decided that we are too busy. We're too busy to eat food that tastes good because we want to sleep in, and run late to work on purpose. We're too busy to eat food that tastes good because we worked late and don't feel like cooking anything, or stopping somewhere that isn't the corner bodega because it's out of our way. We. Hate. Food. Good food! Ya'll be so stupid.
The most important issue here besides the "treat yourself to deliciousness" is that corporations own our food. They make it difficult for people who live below or at the poverty line to purchase foods that are a healthier option. They control the production and distribution of the food you put into your mouth every day, and they are killing you softly. Even though this documentary was, at times, difficult to stomach, it is so important. It is unacceptable that we have let our food culture come to this.
FYI, Taco Hell, I went to your website to see your busted ass recipe and guess what? I found it, but it is as vague as the Obama Administration's definition of "transparency." Keep on fucking that silicon dioxide beef-chicken ya'll! This is what I'm saying, the food you eat has the potential to come from somewhere that isn't a factory or that isn't a factory farm where the cows are eating soylent each other. It is absolutely possible to arrive at a meal that you have made yourself, that supports local farms and butchers. Yes, you may be spending a little more money, but doesn't it just taste better? Don't you feel morally less bankrupt than you did before? The answer you are searching for is "yes."
Ok, even if it doesn't taste better(MSG is magical I know), take a second to enjoy what you put in your mouth( the jokes write themselves people). The food you eat shouldn't be treated as a simple fuel. If that's the way you want to look at it, then you might as well just start chugging Slim-Fast shakes. You'll lose weight to achieve the ideal that American's think they should strive for, and, you'll imbibe all necessary nutrients your body needs to survive. If this is the adventure you choose, then you hurt food's feelings, and mine as well. The delicious food that you have access to every day via Farmer's Markets, neighborhood butchers, very generous and lovely neighbors, grandparents, etc, should not be taken for granted. Food is a gift. A magical, sweet or savory gift. A possible fantasy for your moufth. You want me to take you there? Oh baby I will.
Here are some delicious restaurants, butcher shops and a co-op sauce you should try plus one link to the corporation that is trying to destroy everything. I know they may be a smidge pricey, but for a delicious night out, or for perfectly sliced and diced animal parts of all kinds, they are totally worth it. Plus, you're supporting local businesses, and that always feels like the right thing to do.
The Purple Pig
The Butcher and Larder
Paulina Meat Market
Delicious Co-op Hot sauce
Go Go GO Monsanto
Also, since it is sort of Spring here in Chi-City, Farmer's Markets are going to start soon, so get to the choppah, and buy some delicious foods while supporting local farmers at the same time! 2011 is the year of eatin' good in the neighborhood!
Take advantage of the city and of the resources you have. It's easier than you think.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Tonight, I did something I haven't done in a million years.
I went to musical theater night at Sidetrack. Or, rather, SideTRASH. I met up with one of my favorites, Bryan, who I realized tonight is my emotional soulmate. Took me long enough. We caught up, we laughed, I might have almost cried. I also might have fallen, in the bar, picked myself up, and claimed oh so triumphantly that I didn't spill a drop of my summer time cocktail, even though I might have spilt a little on my leg. No one will ever know. The boy at the bar, while Hedwig was playing, told me I was beautiful and that was enough of a finale for me.
After I left Boystown, I got into a cab and began my ride home. When I got to Ashland and a smidge north of where I had been, an acoustic version of The Postal Service's "Such Great Heights" started playing on Pandora. I pulled out my headphones and told my driver that I wanted him to take me further than I needed to go. I wanted to be driven through the heart of this city in the middle of the night for no reason other than, I needed to realize the beauty of my space, and of where I was, and I needed to feel emotional about a place. Again. I told him that i was having a movie moment, and he asked me what movie, and I told him that it was a movie in my head. A personal thing that i needed to play out. I needed an existential movie moment where I cruise past lit up office bulidings and ghettos and think, as some bourgeois song is playing in my ears that this is exactly what real beauty is. This is where I am the happiest. If I could have lived in that cab all night tonight, if I could have lived all of my life listening to the most perfect cuts all night, while crusing through neighborhoods that most people would run from. Places that I would run from if I wasn't in the safety of a taxi...The lights, the skyline, the underpass on Damen, I could stay there.
My taxi driver told me I was a very nice person, and I knew I was going to pay a fortune for a ride that would normally cost me roughly $12. I haven't been this content in a long time. I haven't been this happy in a long time. I know it sounds false and ridiculous, but, I realized, on my birthday this year, that I haven't been happy for years, and in the last week, I have found a hilarious happiness that I have missed since I moved here nine years ago. Matthew Nicholas dressing as me for my birthday, everyone who came to my birthday, musical theater night at Sidetrack, followed by my lovely lovely cab ride from Boystown to Pilsen to Humboldt Park to me busting my shit on the skreetz behind my cab. Oh yeah! Roadrash YEAH! Bloodied knee and Death Cab for Cutie. Even though I know I am very drunk right now, and that I was very drunk when I was being driven through the ghetto, and I know that this will seem like wise drunken wisdom tomorrow when I read this, I know I know I know that I am slash I was so happy tonight, so genuinely happy tonight, so genuinely happy at my party at Alice's, so in love with everyone who came, and so in love with everyone who knows me like you do.
I fell twice tonight. Twice. Once in the bar and once in the street. Both times could have been humiliating and embarassing, and terrible, and a sign to some that maybe that last drink was unnecessary, but really, really, it was so perfect, and so fantastic that I ripped my tights and that I scraped my knee all to shit. I bleed red blood, not glitter latex lipgloss.
Tonight. I present to you, B'for real. Sans photos(except the AWESOME pic of my exquisite ambulatory FAIL!) and snarky bullshit ramblings about the world. I bring you, live from my bedroom, something truly real and spectacular. It was a movie montage from some hipster self-discovery thing, and it was a thing of beauty, it really was. The lights, the see-through glass buildings in the dark, the broke-off el tracks, vacant lots, expressway exits, the passing of some cheap, beater hipster-mobile, the music between my ears. Everything was perfect, and I was happy to be alone until I wished that there was someone sitting next to me, whose hand I could hold. Someone who, for those few precious minutes could feel exactly what I felt. In the next episode perhaps.
I love all of you more than you will ever know.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Listen, shit be going down around the globe. The Middle East is eating itself alive, Africa is eating itself alive, South America is eating itself alive, New Zealand is crawling out from under the rubble of Mt. Doom. I know. We know Madison, WI. We got it Indiana. Congrats Rahm. Yeah, I know, soon, my ovaries will be owned by some white man in an expensive suit sitting up on Capital Hill.
Print may be dead, and I'm not saying DON'T watch the news. By all means do. The news, and all news affiliated networks, blogs, newspapers, etc. are some of the most hilarious and entertaining outlets around. HIGHLARIOUS!!! What's even more hilarious is how mad everyone is getting about all the news coverage! Everyone is pointing fingers and accusing everyone of being liars, and various stones being thrown at respective glass houses and pots and kettles and the color black. Like, OMG Becky! Did you hear what ACoops said about Piers Morgan? OMG like, yeah, it's like that time when Christiane Amanpour showed up at that Haiti benefit wearing the same outfit as Brian WILLIAMS!!! WTF!!!!
This just in. The news is just like reality TV only everyone is old and ugly and no one is drunk, except maybe Chris Matthews. Glenn Beck is HIGH AS SHIT!!! Seriously, have you guys ever watched that show? Homeboy is on the worst trip of his LIFE!
The point is, watch the news because it helps to understand what other people are doing, and to get a general sense of geography and world events, but PLEASE stop believing what ANY of them are saying/doing. ACoops may have gotten beat in the dome by some angry Egyptians, but he scurried back to his hotel, and then back to the U.S., and his posh Vanderbilt heritage.
All those men and women sitting in their virtual offices are in no way connected to the information they are reading off that teleprompter, and if they are, then they need to make that cylon shell a skosh more emotive. Just sayin;. Ya'll are stiffer than my special edition Dorothy Barbie.
Both sides are ignorant fear mongers, and this is no way to get anything done, so, in an effort to drastically change the subject and bring back the allegedly deceased paper media, I.AM.STARTING.A.ZINE. Oh yes. It has been a long time coming, and it will be called.....are you ready...are you suuuuuuurrrrreeeeee? Ok. It will be called, PIZZA FACE AND TOTAL BARF!!!! I know right!!!
Here's what's up. Today I had my first session with a therapist who I decided to continue to see from here on out. As a compliment to that, and also a way to exorcise my demons, I will be writing about rather personal things about myself, and how I came to be where I am today, and why therapy is the right move. Before you come down with a major case of the sads, I promise that besides the seriousness and sometimes sadness teenage angst can bring, it'll be FUNNNNNNEEEEEEEE! And also available at Quimby's. Also, I will prolly toss some in with the free papers.
The way I see it, when the Apocalypse happens, and all electronic media is made obsolete, paper media will rise from all those electrical fires, and even that skeleton dude won't be able to resist my wit and creative use of the Engrish language! Viva PRINT!!!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Recently it has become apparent that The United States would prefer to believe that Mad Men, and the male-centric world of the early 1960s should be a time worth revisiting. Now, I know in the past I've taken more of a lightly toasted approach to this subject, but, as of recently, the goverment has provoked me to throw open my windows in the middle of this Chicago winter and scream, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!!!" I suggest all of you to do the same.
Sexist attitudes have been creepin' around all forms of media for a very long time. This we know. We also all know, or at least, we should know, even if we weren't around when it happened first, that women's roles in this country were fucked up. I'm a woman living in America in the 21st century, and you would think, that by this time in my life, I wouldn't be seeing sexist ads on television. Haven't we progressed past all of this? Oh we haven't? We've regressed to this and this? Perfect.
The notion that women are still treated as if we have no control over who we are or what we choose to have or not have growing inside of us is ridiculous. As is the idea that women are simply to be thought of as objects or as nagging ugly hags. Oh! Check this encouraging image out. This makes me want to castrate every man on this planet. Even the ones I like! Watch out assholes! You're about to be able to hit all the high notes. To be fair, stereotypes of men are equal in how ridiculous they are. The perfect example of this entire blog could be any episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. That show is by far the worst piece of shit on television because it decides for you, dear viewer, that these are the truths about men and women. Your husband should be a bumbling lazy idiot and you should be the always nagging wife who has a strained relationship with your mother in law. While you're at home taking care of your three kids, cooking all the meals, cleaning, in a constant state of errand running, and walking the dog, your husband is either asleep on the couch "watching" television or out with the boys playing some boring old white person game of golf. These characters are modeled after real people. I. Am. Sure.
When I was working at Public Outreach, one of the twenty-year olds I worked with was going on and on about how he knew so much about Planned Parenthood and women yabba dabba doo doo doo, and I just said, "That's great, but when was the last time you WERE a woman?" I applaud the gentlemen who are willing to get down with the feminist movement, but the sad fact is, you will never understand that these old white fools in Washington want to take away from me my choice in literally everything I can think of.
Check out this bullshit. I just looked up "Planned Parenthood petition" and what came up was about a million sites spewing all manner of propaganda regarding Planned Parenthood's funding. This situation, for me, results in my decision to tell you that I don't care if you are pro-choice or pro-life. I just ask you, as a woman, to understand that either is a choice, and you are lucky right now to be able to decide (for the most part) by yourself. These old white men, who have never had lady parts, (unless I missed that part of the State of the Union) are trying to make sure that you NEVER have a choice. F.A.S.C.I.S.M. That's right. I said it. Because I can.
You know what else I can say, as a free woman, who can make her own choices? I can say to you that right now, thatthat 100% of all commercials on your television right now are sexist towards both women AND men. 100% of commercials pitching cleaning products have a woman in the commercial. Oh you're looking for a commercial selling you some bullshit food product that is 99% preservatives and chemicals you can't pronounce? I bet a woman can help you cook that because boy do we know our way around a kitchen! At the end of the preview for that horrifying Adam Sandler/Jennifer Aniston movie Just Go With It, the announcer urges you men to "tell your girlfriend it's a romantic comedy." Buhscuse me??? In the beginning of that Taco Bell commercial where the man and woman are in a piano bar, the pianist's intro says something to the effect of "that chick-sized steak." Buhscuse me part 2!!! We are surrounded by a sort of casual sexism and methinks it be time to move forward and not backward. Women gained the right to vote in the 20s. First of all, the 20s were not THAT long ago, second, THE FUCKING VOTE! Now we have to go after it again with these crusty old women-haters to try to get birth control pillsto be included in the GD healthcare reform.
I'm no femi-nazi (OFFENSIVE), but I don't appreciate any of this treatment. Dear Washington assholes, let the gays get married, and include birth control as preventative care on your mythic health care reform. Also, tell the ad men on Madison Ave. that what they're doing is sexual harassment. Finally, if a woman is sexually assaulted, let's not throw shade and cop that attitude that "she asked for it." Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Stop all the damn presses!!! Tonight, I joined a dating site. First of all, by "dating site," NO I do not mean I put an ad up in the craigslist "casual encounters" section. Pervs. I joined an actual site called OkCupid. Everyone seems to be doing this online dating thing. I suppose this is the wrath of the 21st century. Instead of IMing and creepy chat rooms on someone's Angelfire page, we're doing this online thing. Ok, I get it, people meet people on these things, and it all ends up working out. Fine, perfect. All that keeps running through my mind is that time we all joined Hot or Not in like, 2003, and met all the creeps and weirdos on that mess, and, well, the internet, and meeting people have just never sat right with me since.
However, this is a massive trend, and you know trends are like the crack in my mind. This is how people meet people these days, and it's not as scary or as weird as it was in the 90's. People be out there meetin' fools and havin' fun times and shit, so I thought, "hey girl, get out of your apartment and go out with someone who isn't in your immediate circle of friends." So I am. I mean, not yet. I "quickmatched" for myself earlier, and the site came up with some douchey looking bro who "is really into music." Terrifically Specific!
I really want to be proved wrong OkCupid, and I want at least 5 free dinners out of this thing. Also, if I do score some D8s and dinners out of this thing, please believe I will be blogging about it. We can all laugh together, and then Reese Witherspoon can play me in the movie. A romantic comedy about a young writer who is skeptical about love and relationships, so she joins a D8ing site and meets this really terrif guy, and they have a GR8 time, and then she fucks it up, and get the sads for about a montage worth of a Norah Jones song, and then she realizes that she's an idiot, and he's an idiot, and then they live idiotically ever after. Co-starring Ryan Reynolds(as the guy) and RuPaul(as my sassy gay friend). The end.
OMG this is gonna be so funny! I can't wait! Bring it on OkCupid.
See youse guys on the internets!!!
Friday, January 14, 2011
Sometimes things happen to us and when they happen at first, we don't really know what to do with ourselves because we've been doing that same thing for so long, that every day seems like the same routine place, and we know everybody, and everybody knows us, and we get comfortable, and we slack off, while trying to look like we still give a shit, and most days we do, but then there are days where you just feel like your soul is being sucked out of you, or already has been, and you feel completely dead in every way. You know you should try something else, something that will make you feel the excitement of being like you were on that very first day, but you don't know where to start because every day when you get home, you are so goddamn tired, you would rather just cook yourself some dinner and watch the Jersey Shore marathon of season one on MTV2. And you do. Oh boy do you ever watch the shit out of some cable, and drink 1-2 bottles of wine a night by yourself, and you think, while you crack open that second bottle, "man, this really is the worst. My life really is a fucking joke." You drink more wine, pass out, wake up the next day, and lather, rinse and repeat. Propped up in a corner next to your bed is a graduate course catalogue that you've been staring at every single day since it arrived in the mail three years ago. Notebooks of blabber jabber and art magazines and things that you used to really love to do and see and listen to are collecting dust and cat hair and glitter shards. Books and movies and people talking about things you like to talk about, but you feel like you can't because you've been out of it for so long, you don't remember where you left off.
Every fucking day was the same unti this day. I lost my job today, and while i was upset and severely bummed out, I take this as a message, whether it be from some higher God-ish incarnation, or just the way time should naturally progress in my life, this is what was supposed to happen because otherwise I would have been there too long, and I would never have been given the opportunity to make a serious change in my life, in myself, in everything I once had a passion for, but threw to the wayside because I was too busy being one fake fuck. Change on the key change, and because I am awesome, maybe I have a chance to be an artist again, and write, and sing, and learn, and teach, and get back to who I was a few years ago.
This stings like a motherfucker, but, after that part wears off, we'll be back in business and maybe I can write something that doesn't sound like I'm listening to Jenny Lewis, which I am, and I can write you all something to bring the laughs back.
As always, thanks for reading, and thanks for being my friends( lame-o I know, that's the Jenny Lewis sads talking). Without you, I'm just some lonely cat lady talkin to her cat.