A New Year

jeff buckley, hallelujah

Keep this in mind when you think of Jesus

Collective memory, a term coined by sociologist Maurice Halbwachs in the early twentieth century, is a shared understanding of the past. Unlike history, collective memory can be based on something other than historical fact. And while history reproduces the past, collective memory more often represents it. This is because collective memory is malleable—its understanding of the past shifts not with the revelation of new historical facts, but rather with changing notions in the present. While historians and scholars look to ‘history’ to understand the past, for most of the public, collective memory defines their interpretation of the past.

What it feels like for a girl: Getting old in our image-conscious, gender-stereotyping media crazed world

On this month's cover of GQ magazine, a publication arguably for and by gay men, Jennifer Aniston, a sitcom celebrity, appears naked with a strategically placed necktie (because men wear neckties and you know, like naked chicks). In the article, she says some surely fascinating things about that dog movie she's in and continues to talk about her ex-husband Brad Pitt, and just embarrasses herself in general. However, Ms. Aniston's cover begs the question of why a 30something woman with a successful career ("successful" in media terms, not mine!) and solid stardom feel the need to strip down for a men's magazine?
Jennifer Aniston rose to fame on a stupid yet successful sitcom (Friends) and continued to find roles in mainstream movies (Along Came Polly and You, Me, and Dupree...wait, that was Kate Hudson. Same thing) due to her conventional attractiveness. Ms. Aniston really hit her stride when her more famous husband left her for a hotter woman with whom he proceeded to procreate and populate the earth with. It was the stuff that tabloid dreams are made of. Ms. Aniston then became the everywoman because every woman loves Friends, is getting older, and hates that humanitarian minx, Angelina, too.
Ms. Aniston is 39 and probably has been for the last five years. And thanks to cosmetic surgery, facial injections, a personal trainer, nutritionist, and stylist, she looks great. Some would argue the fact that Ms. Aniston is "Sexy at 40!" is reason enough to pose nude on the cover of a magazine. I argue that it's reason enough not to pose naked as some masturbatory fantasy. Brad Pitt is in his 40s and recently graced the cover of Rolling Stone with a mustache...and clothes. George Clooney is a sex-symbol in his 40s and sadly, has not been naked on the cover of anything.
Alas, the aforementioned are men. Jennifer Aniston is not. Sure, women can age but only if they do so wrinkle and fat-free manner. From her cover, Ms. Aniston shouts, "Hey! Hey! Hey! Look at me! I'm 40 and hot! Older women are hot too! Hey!" Ms. Aniston passed desperate when she started talking to the media about her ex-husband and his current partner. While Ms. Aniston's GQ cover could be understood as her representing the single and aging ladies. However, she is really just representing our obsession with women's looks. The real issue is the fact that women are only relevant in our culture when they are look good. It's okay that women get older, we just better not look it.

Prop 8 the Musical

From "The Bell Jar"

do suicidal artists know something we don't?






"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.
From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
Sylvia Plath

What It Feels Like For A Girl*

*Borrowed from a beautiful revolutionary in the West, "What It Feels Like For A Girl" will be a new installation for this sad, neglected blog. W.I.F.L.F.A.G. will explore what it means to be a woman in the 21st century. Don't be shy (to post). We're all girls.

(Excerpts from a paper written by me, E.K. May, about the Madonna/Whore complex)

In sexual politics and cultural standards, female virginity is the ultimate good. A woman’s values are said to be determined by virginity (or the guise of virginity). Aside from her looks, a woman’s purity is to be safeguarded and treasured; by herself and one man. Conversely, female promiscuity is the ultimate bad; she is damaged but desired. Women must be the virgin or the whore and men will marry one and screw the other.
The virgin/whore dichotomy has long existed in sexual politics; from the Virgin Mary and the sinful temptress Eve; to the moral crusaders and the prostitutes of nineteenth century America; to Mary-Ann and Ginger here on Gilligan’s Island.
There is a hierarchal desire to categorize a woman into archetypes, linked almost exclusively to her sexuality. Hillary Clinton is a wench and a ball-buster. Sarah Palin is a mother, but a Mother I’d Like to Fuck (MILF). Lindsay Lohan is a whore. Miley Cyrus is a virgin (or a Madonna). But it is the ladder two stereotypes encapsulate the cultural expectation of female sexuality. The standard of two sexualities allows men to hate or idolize women (Leslie, 2007). Men can have their wife and their fantasy too; have their cake and eat it, too.
The Madonna is the utmost moral woman. She is on a pedestal; pure, chaste, and sacrificial. On the opposite end of the sexual spectrum of womanhood is Eve. Eve is the antithesis of Mary’s morality; she is the image of the whore. According to the book of Genesis, Eve is created by God from the rib of Adam. She is made from Adam’s rib and is therefore positioned as lesser and beneath him. Eve is tempted by the serpent to eat from the tree of knowledge. She complies and lures man (Adam) to eat also. She establishes original sin in humans. She cannot deny herself the fruit; she is lustful and carnal.
The juxtaposition of Mary as the virgin and Eve as the whore is contradictory and seemingly obvious. Yet, the common bond these iconic and immortal women share is less conspicuous. Mary’s selflessness brings forth the son of God, and Eve’s temptations create sin in which man takes part. The virgin/whore archetypes create an adventurous problem for man, “the Madonna as his dutiful helpmate and vision of purity, the whore as symbolic of the dangers and temptations he must overcome.” While women chose whether to be the Madonna or the whore, men choose who they want sexually.
The dichotomy of said virgins and whores is an abstract and culturally constructed concept of female sexuality. The division of women in to categories of virgins and whores is certainly the ideal, but moreover, it is an idea. That is to say, the virgin/whore dichotomy does not actually exist. Mothers and good women are not virgins; they bear children through sexual intercourse. A whore is not actually a whore. Certainly there were prostitutes, but a whore is usually only a woman who overtly takes pleasure from sex. But as sexuality, gender, and time progressed, and sexual standards evolved, curiously, the virgin/whore dichotomy persisted as the expectation for female sexuality: the faithful and the fantasy.

Home Sweet Stuff

Home Sweet Stuff
By Meredith Rivlin
There is a man in Burlington who, like many residents, bikes everywhere. But he is not like them. He is a 40-something Jamaican man whose trove of possessions is attached to his bicycle. The bike’s frame is not a fancy one, like the bikes of Burlington residents: it has three gears at most and is gray or black; I can’t remember these details because it’s not the bike itself that draws attention—heads turning, cameras flashing. It is what some consider a collection of junk, piled precariously in baskets and tied onto the frame of his bicycle, questionably secure. There must be over 100 objects, vestiges, and relics attached.
I’ve never spoken to the man—Super Birdman, I think he calls himself. But I’ve seen interactions between him and others; tourists take out their cameras to snap a picture of the foreign sight they saw in a town that turned out to be sublimely familiar. Barely speaking, Birdman waves his hands up to lenses like a celebrity (and he is!) evading the paparazzi, and says “no” to the people hiding behind their cameras. He points to a sign on the front of his bike attached to a basket, next to a fake flower bouquet, a radio, and a small, round fan, that reads “Pictures: $2”. People are baffled and displeased as they replace lens caps and wait to hear the digital “ping” of their robotic medium. They walk on to the next scene available for point-and-click-and-delete-if-necessary shooting, declining the pseudo-beggar, the one who looks least pathetic and only asks for money when about to be violated photographically. So the smug family walks on to mumble about how he should get a real job, and that it’s just not fair—they’ll have to relive this scene with that damned language, those “remember when”s, instead of scrolling through their 21st century slide show.
Birdman is like any tourist attraction here in Burlington and like the other marketed attractions, there is a price of admission. Whether or not the Birdman would explain his kitschy collection or just pose (I wonder if he would smile?), only those desperate and removed and bored enough to pay the money for a photograph know. Perhaps he buys more things, or maybe pays rent for a place where he keeps the rest of his larger treasures.
Or maybe it’s for an empty house. A bed, maybe a few plates on which to eat. The rest is attached to his bike which he rides up and downhill, on busy streets and side roads, as he pulls a fast one on American tourists who think that their possessions define them as people. What is so striking about Birdman’s collection is that it is so portable. Imagine the weight of all your belongings everywhere you go, his loaded bike demands of us. Would you need the space of a large van, or would a bike and some baskets suffice?

Injustice Anywhere

Barbara and Robin Levine-Ritterman became the first same-sex couple married in Connecticut since the state passed gay marriage

On November 4^th 2008, America won by electing Barack Obama as our president. Liberals stood with wide eyes and gaping mouths in disbelief; the youth were filled with hope and alcohol; and an African-America was judged on the content of his character, not the color of his skin. From Democrats to Republicans; activists to apathetics; atheists to crazy Christians; Indiana to Indonesia; from puppies (especially Greyhounds!) to polar bears—we all won on November 4. In California, however, it was a different story.

California. The home of Hollywood, the Redwoods, and a heady girl named Kelly. California is surely a mystical place and has certainly set the pace for American radicalism and progressive politics.

In May 2008, California became the second state to legalize same-sex marriage asserting that under its constitution, marriage limiting to only a man and a woman violated the equal protection clause. California granted a seemingly basic human right, marriage, to gays; in short, the bill allowed consenting adults to marry whom they love.

On November 4, however, that right to marry was taken away from gay Californians with the passage of Proposition 8. Joining thirty other states, California has now restricted marriage to one woman and one man. While I don't think California gays recently joined in holy matrimony will be returning their wedding gifts to Crate & Barrel anytime soon, the passage of Prop. 8 was undoubtedly a huge setback for the LGBT community.

While Prop. 8 dehumanized gay commitment, another proposition on California's ballot granted some living creatures a more humane way of life. Proposition 2, or the Standards for Confining Farm Animals, requires that calves raised for veal, egg-laying hens and pregnant pigs be confined only in ways that allow these animals to lie down, stand up, fully extend their limbs and turn around freely. In the crudest of terms, Prop. 2 insures that animals have wiggle room before they are slaughtered (and that is why I am a vegetarian).

Farm animals gain rights, people loose rights. Without a doubt, Proposition 2 is a great thing; animals deserve ethical treatment even when they are raised simply to die. But shouldn't gay men and women receive just treatment when they simply want to be legally committed?

Perhaps animal rights was more tangible and safe for the average California voter to support. Annually people donate more money to animal shelters than to women’s shelters because cats and dogs are presumed helpless. Women can leave abusive relationships and people can chose to be gay. I realize the two issues are not mutually exclusive; it is not quid pro quo. But the fact that these two propositions were side-by-side on the California ballot simply highlights the disconnect of humanity.

In the aftermath of the passage of Prop. 8, California is already rethinking the decision. Republican Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger expressed disappointment at the measure’s passage.
“It is unfortunate, but it is not the end because I think this will go back into the courts,” Mr. Schwarzenegger said. “It’s the same as in the 1948 case when blacks and whites were not allowed to marry. This falls into the same category.”

And as Martin Luther King once said, "injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."

Please watch Keith Olbermann's powerful and eloquent condemnation of Prop. 8:

End of an Era

Forget Bush. The Obama presidency holds greater significance for the counterculture (or American Apparel fanatics as it may be).
Park Slope blogger declares: "OBAMA VICTORY RENDERS HIPSTER 'MOVEMENT' OBSOLETE—Neo-Cynicism Now Strictly For and By the Fags.'"
Urban Outfitters is selling the "hipster" lifestyle, maybe they can put a slouchy hat and suede boots on Hope, too.

I Wish I Had a River

Happy Birthday, Joni

Kegs for McCain

Good job, Sarah Palin. Way to prove more and more that you're a man's woman, meaning you leave choice up to the sex for whom it doesn't matter, you don't value intelligence, and your makeup looks great!

And good job, dudes. Now men in Carhartts everywhere look like assholes. It's a good thing Americans are focused on the important resources for this election: wealth and beauty. Men are "realizing" that it is "their" "sex drive" that is "fucking things up" in the White House and all of the WorldWideGovernment as of late, so it's time they "allow" a woman (any young broad with nice legs will do) to do the dirty work.

Hillary must be ripping out her leg hair over this.

Do Something

Only YOU can prevent McCain/Palin from getting elected. You can campaign even if you don't have time or money.

From Slate.com:
Harass your friends. Call them. E-mail them. Visit them at unexpected hours. (Since you know them, it's OK to show up after dark.) Threaten to break off the friendship unless they vote. And tell them to do the same to their friends. People respond better to someone they know than to strangers on their doorstep. You may be preaching to the choir if your network consists of like-minded people. But that can also be helpful—it's called getting out the base.

Live blogging!!!!!!!!

It's debate tiiiime! While the debate is "town-hall" style, the only style I know is the "what's the deal" style. So00:
1. The deal with the blue screen at the debate? What's with the primary colors? It's hurting my eeeyes. Are they trying to make this more interesting for digital artists?
2. What's the deal with Obama. Why is he smiling at this dino.? Actually, it's kind of funny! He probably thinks this dino is funny too.
3. What's the deal with earmarks? Meredith utilized the interwebs: "congressional provisions that direct approved funds to be spent on specific projects." Thanks, wikipedia!
4. Middle class! Middle class! Who the hell is the middle class anyway?
5. What's the deal with all the old people at the debate? The youth is the future, not the geriatrics of Ohio. Or Tennesee. Or wherever this debate is. We will be the ones without Social Security when we're wearing Depends. Obama mentions the youth and the environment. Thanks question mark?
6. What is the deal with McCain's "My friends." John McCain, you are not my friend.

Another glass of wine and I'll be back...

debate this, john mccain

And Obama is the "elitist"?

Sign of Humanity

Art is "[a] social thing, as opposed to being an artist making things for bored rich people to hang above their couch.” -Poster Boy

DIY, indeed.

read more:

Gawker

New York

Sign of the Apocalypse

"Facebook allows people to be their authentic selves online and therefore use the power of technology to discover each other and share who they really are. The connections they make have a real impact on their lives. Collectively, those bonds can change societies."
-Sheryl Sandberg, Facebook COO

The Nanny Diaries

So I've learned a few things about kids and life in the last few weeks.

Nanny Diaries (the book and not-so-bad movie starring Scarlett Johanson and the more fabulous Alicia Keys) is kind of true. IE overqualified young women shoved into childcare positions for lack of other options and the classicism that ensues.
Sure, you're caring for someone's kid, their most precious thing in the world (which is why they put them in someone else's hands for fifty hours a week). But a six-page contract detailing the rules of the game? Being the 23-year-old solely responsible party of a two-year-old's potty training venture? Grocery shopping, enrichment lessons and planning play dates?

Moms ONLY talk about being Moms. Good god. These are very educated women talking about snack time and discipline. And am I being unfair by thinking this is dumb?

Dads are really hot. Especially when they wear turtleneck sweaters and pick up their kids from school. Additionally, why am I attracted to the strange-looking, long-haired burnout of a sole male teacher in a Finding Nemo t-shirt?

Pre-schools have changed a lot since we were there. Bathrooms for ONLY adult males exist, and adult males can't go into any bathroom with the students. There are also nut-free classrooms. This is a generation of food-phobic freaks.

Planet Earth has definitely revolutionized kids' entertainment. There will probably be a generation of kids who knows every single characteristic about all the animals that no longer exist.

Classism is alive and well. I have no idea what the other moms think of some girl in a hoodie and jeans waiting for the kids to get out, but I can tell you that it's impossible to find any common ground. Because, as mentioned before, moms only talk about their kids. I don't have any kids, I have a job. They're waiting for one kid to get out of preschool and are holding the other one in a portable car-seat. Also, when someone is a nanny, it's because they did not go to school at all, rather than the fact that they did go to school and all they learned was that it's pointless to push paper. So instead, they get jobs working for people who push paper. I recently met a mom, a friend of my employer, who, when told I just moved out here from VT after attending UVM, said, "Oh, I went to Middlebury." She had that dumb flat haircut and those big Connecticut lacrosse teeth. It has been my experience throughout my entire life that when you meet someone who is from or has even visited anywhere near where you're from, they get very excited and suddenly treat you like an old friend. In that moment, I almost thought about hating this woman's sagging tan and Middlebury education, and then I forgot to care, because she is a lawyer and went to Middlebury and is obviously very boring and never thought about doing anything but going to law school like her parents told her she should.

After two weeks of this, I can honestly say that I have no idea why anyone ever has kids. They're loud, needy, and kind of boring. They can't really carry on a conversation about anything other than snacks, and they usually just cry when they don't get what they want. I used to think that the ego and superego were just socially constructed, unnecessary elements of adult human existence, but now it seems like we have them for a reason. If we were all just three-year ids walking around, we would all just cry when someone took away our toys. At least we've evolved passive aggressive tendencies.

However, for what it's worth, I honestly don't know why people have kids just to let someone else take care of them. It's a strange byproduct of our capitalist culture that a child learns that his parents work are more important than he is. And this claim can't just judge working moms-- what about the dads? Even in our supposedly "post-feminist" society, (today I saw a bumper sticker that said (I'll be post-feminist in a post-patriarchy-- boo -yeah!), there is little to no choice about who stays home with the kids, or who arranges the majority of care for the kids. Is it because women feel a stronger connection with the kids? Or do they just feel like they should? Or do dads really not care as much about their kids? Or do they feel like they shouldn't? I suppose it varies between parents. But I do know that I have a newfound respect for working moms.

My body, their problem

On my way to school—after I ran over a runner’s foot, seriously!—I rode past posters of the Virgin Mary and anti-abortion protesters. These champions of life were staked out across for the Planned Parenthood of Northern New England because Tuesday is not only my least favorite day; it is the day surgical abortions are performed at PPNNE. I should have run over their feet.
First, the Virgin Mary: one of the reasons that women are damned is that the cornerstone of our Christian society is based on the “fact” that one of us gave birth to the Lamb of God without having sex. Ladies, you are responsible for holding up the morality of this great world, so keep your legs together.
Some of us will have little brats, but not Jesus No. 2. Still, there are many who believe procreating is all we should do. Some British twat argues that Bridget Jones has ruined British families. Essentially, Bridge has inspired a generation of women—chain-smoking women with bottoms the size of Brazil, presumably—to be independent. And surely, there is nothing more frightening that a woman who knows how to put one foot in front of another—without the aid of a man.
Whether you believe conception begins at life or it’s just a bunch of cells, abortion, after all, is about independence. To have the control over our reproductive rights is the independence every woman deserves.

Ha! Sigh.

To understand the financial crisis, Emle Che. She's almost as sexy as Anderson Cooper.

I Really Don't Like Sarah Palin

When Sarah Palin was mayor of Wasilla, Alaska, the small town began billing sexual-assault victims for the cost of rape kits and forensic exams.

Also:

Sarah Palin Is Not A Feminist

‘There is no postfeminism—that’s like saying post-democracy.’
—Gloria Steinem

read more:
In Conversation: Gloria Steinem and Suheir Hammad

All Tomorrow's Parties

"Let's have a sexy party"-Stewart Gilligan Griffin

From Gawker:
Did the parties used to be better?

Autumn

I went to the park on a bright fall day to collect crunchy red leaves with children.

R.I.P. TRL

For those old enough to remember a pleasantly plump Carson Daly and videos played in their entirety probably won't be sad to know that Total Request Live is going off the air. It's the end of an era, really: George Bush was just a goofy governor from Texas; Iraq was a country, not a war; investment bankers could still afford $15 cocktails and $300 hookers; and your sister, in her Catholic school uniform, threw her digital watch at the television when the Backstreet Boys' "I Want It That Way" debuted at a measly no. 8.

So goodbye screaming teens and crush-worthy Carson. You made my 3:00-4:00 pm special.

Post-Rock Thursday

During their loud and raucous release of kinetic energy, with bloody fingers, sweaty shirts and a dismembered drum set, I couldn't help but wonder if boys really do get to be more alive.

Lipstick

I honestly think that we select politicians based on whether or not they could, in some way, be impersonated by a cast member of SNL.
And we've totally lucked out.

Another Brick in the Wall

In other depressing news

Vampire Weekend and Wolf Parade better up their indie ante.

One of the Sweetest (Legal) Jobs Ever

So it's 8:12 pm on a Sunday night, and I'm camped out on Google Reader listening to Animal Collective, eating a delicious savory tart and GETTING PAID FOR IT. Just how can you get twelve tax free dollars an hour plus free internet and dinner?
Babysitting.
I've got two toddlers feet away from me-- that have been sleeping since I walked in the door! Their adorable parents, who own the greatest literature and record collection I've ever seen, are so happy to get out of the house for some adult conversation and a chance to get drunk on nine dollar cocktails that they're all too happy to throw some crisp twenties at me for spending four hours with my laptop and a copy of The Believer.
What better way to spend one's post-college existence than reading about the collapsing economy in peace while realizing once and for all that I don't want kids?
But in the meantime I think I'll troll craig's list for dudes with great record collections who might one day make hot dads.

7 yrs later

"Bush's post-attack strategy to transform the world has squandered our resources, buried us in debt and poses a greater strategic threat than bin Laden ever did."
- The Nation

20th century feminism

‘A liberated woman is one who has sex before marriage and a job after.' Gloria Steinem

This quote is decades old but still relevant.

Self/World

"Buddhists have this concept of non-self that I find useful. If you watch yourself you realize the self is a process of sensations and thoughts and identifications which change from moment to moment.

"...And now religion is an important factor in the problem of how humans can live more sustainably with each other on the planet. I’m interested in the ways religions are trying to address that issue.

"...I’m interested in re-enchantment both as a scholar and as a human. We’re missing something by not having some sense of enchantment and meaningful connection in our lives, in our relationships to places and to other non-human beings. If you want to call that paganism, feel free to.

"Or call it animism. I like the term animism because it focuses on the animate, on our animality — which is what humans are: animals among other animals. We are social beings living in an extended society of beings who don’t all speak the same languages.

"We enchant the world already — we give power to certain ways of thinking and being, investing it in cars and consumer products and brand names and armies. We give them all a tremendous amount of emotional and psychic power, what Freud would call libidinal investments that end up controlling our lives. All those things that are consuming the world to death are doing it because we enchant them with our fears and our desires. If we learned to give some of that power and meaning to the other critters we share the planet with, and to the lakes and mountains and rock formations and forests around us, things might change for the better."

-- Adrian Ivakhiv

scrapbooking, hunting, down syndrome, etc.

PalinDrome

18th Century Perverts

(Edvard Koinberg, Herbarium Amoris)

Flowers are nothing other than the breeding organs of plants, yet with that difference from those of animals, which we regard as so foul that witnessing them awakens shame, so that, in animals, nature has in most cases found a way to cover them up.

On the other hand, in the plant kingdom these parts are not hidden but instead firmly exhibited for all to see, Oh, yes! These are, above all the other parts of plants, those which are most delectable and most delightful, warmly attracting our desires, appreciation and viewing. 

Just as the sexual organs of animals smell and are odorous during lust, so do the breeding organs of plant also give off a vapour, which in each and every sort is different but which is so delightful, and for some so refreshing that they feel they are drinking the sweetest nectar through their nose. 

-Carl Linnaeus

from Jezebel.com

"...for a certain kind of feminist, Palin is a symbol for everything we hoped was not true in the world anymore. We hoped that we didn't have to hide our ambition or pretend that our goals were effortlessly achieved ("I never really set out to be in public affairs, much less to run for this office," the Governor has said.) We hoped that we could be mothers without having our motherhood be our defining characteristic, as it seems to be for Palin. We hoped that we did not have to be perfect beauty queens to get to where we wanted to be in life, that our looks, good or bad, wouldn't matter. Whether or not you think it's appropriate to comment on Palin's appearance, the fact of her attractiveness exists, and is being used to her advantage by Republican sloganeers ("the hottest Governor in the coldest state," et. al)."

Yay UVM!!

UVM is green!
And they thought all we had to offer was a major in jambandery with a minor in cannabis production and distribution.

(I'd like to think that now maybe I can get a job.)

ILL tattz

"The best tattoo I've ever seen in my life was a shark sitting on a La-Z-Boy, smoking a bong, with a tribal tattoo on its fin. Every element of that is retarded—and thus, it's timeless."

The Republican Party is Eric Cartman.

Not a pregnant teenager or even an American; but a ginger.

The following is a comment about a New York Times article regarding Sarah Palin's 17-year old pregs daughter:

"The Republican Party is Eric Cartman. Specifically the episode where Cartman rips on “ginger kids” and then wakes up to find he has become one (as part of a prank to get him to learn his lesson). Instead of learning his lesson, he goes on a “Red Power” rampage and threatens to kill all non-Gingers…until he finds out he isn’t one, and then just says “hey, let’s all just get along.” It is THAT level of hypocrisy, and the fact that the Republicans have been gleefully getting away with it for so long now, that has many of us outraged by their actions and their spin."

Sort of a crush, really.
More to follow on the hypocrisy of the Republican party and gingers, too.

A little dessert, just for you

love, me

me: i think we should troll for dudes on craigs list

more or less awkward than real lifee?

bellatierra: less

me: hmmm

bellatierra: my ad: i want to fuck you, you want to fuck me, i don't have a house, you don't want to use a condom

let's find a middle ground people!!!

me: if they're that great, why are they on craigslist> what if we're the only non-mouthbreathers on it?

bellatierra: and by middle ground i mean the park!!!

me: WHAT IF WE ARE MOUTHBREATHERS?>

bellatierra: preferably close to my damn crazy relative's house so i don't have to waste gas cuz it's all like eXpEnSiVe!!!!11

me: LOL!!!11 yeah condoms R 4 LOOZERZ

across the street

bellatierra: hahahaha

me: nice delias type

bellatierra: LOOOZERZ

me: i am disgusted by this

bellatierra: i like how i just typed hahaha

and how you ref'd delias

me: and am going to start a blog right now and post this shit

bellatierra: i always felt too fat to even receive that catalog in the mail

me: DISGUSTING

BRILLIANT

bellatierra: delia*s

me: haha I KNOW-- NERUOSES!@@@

bellatierra: OMG

me: I didn't feel fat, but i thought I should SO I DID@@@@@@@!!!!!!!!JKFRJNRGJMF

bellatierra: CAN'T SHIT THE GENIUS OUT FAST ENOUGH GAAAHHHH@##@%#@%@#%@#

me: apparently google chat is like a damn laxative

now we'll see ads for laxatives and gary

bellatierra: i'm going to try to embarrass google with my dirty emails

maybe if i talk about anal fucking they'll direct me to some cool sites

ps i feel like i can't say any of this outloud

what does that make me?

MONSTERRRRRR

Sent at 10:56 PM on Sunday

me: no, just a prisoner of the god and the world bank.

i am TOTALLY STARTING a blog for this shit

i don't want to pollute your song with this holocaust

bellatierra: THANK YOU

Sent at 10:58 PM on Sunday

This is the Pacific Northwest

Note: This is a work of fiction.

We pointed to the map, landed on Portland, Oregon and got into the car after borrowing $3000 in drug money from the man I'd been naked with outside and inside half a week before. The bills were gummy and smelled like the inside of the shoebox they'd been kept in.
The next morning was foggy and tired as we crept up the spine of the country. The eucalyptus trees were just waking up as we sped past out of their long state and through the thick forests that hid the road north. There are walls of ferns on the I-5!
Breakfast in the bottom of the state: in Elmer's parking lot, "Obamanation" is not a compliment. Jesus will show you the way. The average age is old conservative and I want a bloody mary. We are a jean vest and nose ring in a sea of weekday dining senior citizens.
Supertramp and Springsteen blare into our heads as we slide into the Wal-Mart parking lot. Kelly rips some Sally's moustache-b-gone and Tom's toothpaste from the shelves and we dance out in front of the security cameras. Five minutes later, we're careening down the highway, white upper lips, mine burning and hers staring back in the rear view mirror and seventy miles an hour.
Soon, the afternoon sun soaks tall metal buildings and an unfamiliar river. We get a beer and some vegan food after falling in love with the way the sun hits the backyard of what might be our new house. Everyone here has tattooed hands. and loves Obama. Did I mention we spent 3% of our loan on tickets to our welcome party? TV on the Radio, Ratatat and the Fuck Buttons are coming.
The next night, we're at a community farm with babies about music about trees and love. There are acres of green and home brewed chai with goat's milk. The babies dance and goddesses bang on drums. The stars are out and I realize that this is not a "break"-- mothers with their eyebrows pierced and thoughtful-eyed children live here, together, listening to each others music and silence. I wonder if this is a new America forming, a new mode of being for our country, which designates the enjoyment of good company and nature as the primary goals of a successful life. Either way, the fire was hot and the stars were bright.

To a Child of Wonder

If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children, I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life.

-Rachel Carson

Happy Birthday e.j. may

guerilla girls

I never thought you'd be an activist

Because terrorism is so passe

But for those who want to know what's up, this is the most concise and informative piece on Al Qaida that I've read.

Games of the XXIX Olympiad

The Olympics…what’s not to love? The grandeur! The international community! Michael Phelps’s bod! As I watched the Beijing opening ceremonies on Friday, I could not help but be overtaken by China's organizational skills, for one, but moreover, as vast and diverse our world is, we really are all connected. To watch the Opening Ceremonies was to be reminded that, politics aside, we are all equals in our global community. I cry and I did so while watching the opening ceremonies. To watch Palestinians, Iraqis, Afghans, Sudanese, Zimbabweans march into The Bird's Nest arena, symbolizing hope, walking proud despite carrying the weight of their war-torn countries on their shoulders; to see Iranians and North Koreans march as athletes, not enemies or terrorists in the “Axis of Evil;" to see women in hijabs and women in pants, as athletes, not victims or objects; to see a Sudanese Lost Boy carrying the American flag and a 9-year old earthquake surviver carrying the Chinese flag was hopeful indeed.

Yes, China has massive human rights abuses. I want to cry “What about Tibet?” And while the Sudanese athletes marched so proudly, I am so ashamed at China and the international community for watching them march by while we watch systematic genocide march by. And don't get me started on NBC's perpetual boner for Michael Phelps and the Women's Gymnastics team.

There is still a place for this ancient athlete competition. Furthermore, there is a need for this athlete competition. While most Americans don't know Georgia is not home to Atlanta, we need to be reminded that everything is connected and we need compassion for each other.

My father said, "I hope these athletes from different nations have a beer together after the competition." Me too.

I Hope They Serve Rat Poison in Tucker Max's Beer

Stripy polos rejoice! Your favorite piece of literature, next to Maxim, is being adapted for the big screen! No need to breathlessly await The Wedding Crashers 2, the fine piece of literature “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell” is being turned into a movie. I guess Hollywood ran out of Jane Austen books to remake! Written by self-proclaimed (and actual) asshole Tucker Max, the totally INSANE piece of non-fiction chronicles Max banging a lot of chicks, bro.
Alas, I can’t say that I am surprised. We are the proud land of gender stereotypes. Being a white male is the greatest thing ever and in our fine country and being a frat-boy gives you literal presidential status.
The short of it is Max’s penis and, that he’s had sex with tons fuckin’ hot sluts and got a book deal because he went to a pseudo-Ivy. He probably didn’t get enough attention as a child, feels disenfranchised as a white male, blah, blah, yadda, yadda.
But seriously, who is this dude? I went to boarding school, so Tucker Max is my every-man: well-educated, boringly attractive, far superior to you. In Max’s world, all women are “bitches” and date-rape is sex. Mr. Max will marry at 30, when having sex with prostitutes becomes sad and all the good chicks have married. He’ll become an investment banker and screw some college interns at Goldman Sachs. He’ll have two blond children and see them once a week. And the cycle will continue with Tucker Max II.
Only in America could Tucker Max’s book be published and cherished. We love a “man’s man” (see: George Bush). White men have ruled this country for over two hundred years, Goddamn it! But wait, Barak Obama is the most important person in America right now. And didn’t a chick run for president and do pretty well? And isn’t a black woman the wealthiest and most well-known American? Is the apocalypse upon us? Are white men loosing control?!
No, of course they aren’t. It will take a long time for this country, rooted in racism, sexism, and class-ism (and some other “ism” to be sure) to be truly egalitarian. But in the meantime, minorities (read: not white men!) are making some headway. But instead of cheering this diversity, the media, controlled by who else?—white men! won’t let us forget who’s in charge. Why else would Askmen.com come up with a top-10 “Things Only Men Can Do”? It is almost as desperate as John McCain’s campaign.
But I am just a man-hating feminist, so of course I hate males! Alas, I don’t hate white males; I feel bad for them. In our culture, young men are marginalized just as much as young women. Girls are taught to be skinny and stupid—to attract men—and boys are taught to be uber-masculine—in the most contrived sense—and super-dominant. And while girls can never be pretty enough, boys can never be “manly” enough. In the game of gender-stereotypes, everyone looses!
Tucker Max, I do hate you. Max perpetuates a tired stereotype that no one benefits from. It’s time that we start holding men to higher standards—men aren’t Neanderthals, women aren’t sluts, but Tucker Max is a douche. To end on a positive note, I leave you with some real men.

CSN..C

Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Colbert
dedicated to my crush, Graham Nash

Fox Run

Nas, rapper and husband of my hair crush Kelis, has taken the intuitive and spoke out against Fox News. Nas led a petition orchestrated by the Color of Change organization demanding that that Fox News stop racist smears.

Fox News is owned by evil Australian and friend of Bush, Rupert Murdoch. Its home to blonde bobble head anchors, Bill O’Reilly, and my favorite, Sean Hannity (I scored two free lattes off the guy in a book store in Long Island. Thanks, Sean!). Murdoch owns the News Corporation, the largest media conglomerate in. the. world. Meaning, Murdoch owns almost all media and probably me.

So what racist smears you ask? Fox News referred to Michelle Obama, a lawyer and former dean of the University of Chicago, as Obama’s “Baby Mama.” Fox News contributor Liz Trotta referred to Barak Obama as “Osama” and stated that they should both be killed. Michelle and Barak pounded fists after Barak won the Democratic nomination; Fox News referred to the pound as a “terrorist fist bump.” I realize that the white anchors of Fox News don’t understand much outside of Starbucks and Dancing with the Stars, but just because you don’t understand something, that doesn’t mean it’s an act of terrorism.

Like a preteen girl, Fox news is just jealous that both Michelle and Barak Obama are intelligent, charming, and cool. I’d like to laugh the news station off in a Stephen Colbert-esq manner (after all, Stephen did model is caricature after “Papa Bear” O’Reilly) but Fox News is the most watched news in America.

Nas dedicated a whole song to the fake news channel called Sly Fox.

Tall, Dark, and Handsome: "The Dark Knight" Reviewed

You'll always be Theodore "Laurie" Lawrence to me, Christian Bale.

On Thursday night I fastened my LBC (Little Black Cape) and flew to the midnight showing of “The Dark Knight” with my father. Surrounded by brahs and sci-fi geeks alike and feeling rather claustrophobic and agoraphobic, , I settled into my seat at the Rave Multiplex to watch one of the best films—that was supposed to be The Best Film—I’ve seen.

Aside from stellar performances, the best aspect of the latest Batman installment is that it did not present itself as an superhero movie. Sure, Batman (a smokin’ Christian Bale) flies and wears a cape, but he strays from being a hero. Batman, or Bruce Wayne, is not appointed by any government (although he is anointed by Lt. Gordon, the police commissioner); he is essentially a vigilante, albeit a good one, taking the law into his own sexy hands. Citizens of Gotham either love him or hate him and as viewers want to love him, but should we?

Batman, the sort-of hero, wants to take down a different kind of vigilante, The Joker. Everything you’ve heard about Heath Ledger’s performance as the Joker is true. The dearly departed actor, Australian, hunk, father, and Brooklyn resident is nothing short of mesmerizing. I expected as much (see Brokeback Mountain. Really, see it!), but I did not anticipate sympathizing with some reasoning behind the Joker’s crazy. After much terrorizing of Gotham, the Joker, wearing a wig and a nurses’ uniform (yeah, it’s weird) explains why he does what he does. Gotham, like many nations, is a corrupt city from the top (see Sudanese president). There are some good forces at work, but there is substantial distrust in and for the government, leaving the citizens of Gotham not knowing who to trust. The Joker gets it; stating that only anarchy can suffice. In all of his sadistic glory, the Joker also asks the very topical question: whose life is worth more than whose? Does he kill a gang-banger or blow up a bus of schoolchildren? Guess who the citizens of Gotham would choose to die.

While the Joker is clearly psychotic, his response to the Gotham government provoke human rights questions of today. In a world where American-Knows-Best, whose life is more important: an Iraqi or an American (see coverage of decade old murder of JonBenet Ramsey v. lack of coverage of nearly 1 million dead Iraqi civilians)? Guess who the citizens of the U.S. would choose.

No matter how heart-pumping the explosives and high speed chases are, this action-hero movie is only as good as its acting. And it’s good. Christian Bale, almost eclipsed by that face looking “as if it had been carved with a chisel” as The New York Times film reviewer Manohla Dargis so rightly states, is excellent as playboy making good Bruce Wayne. Batman is aided by his superb friends, Alfred (Michael Caine), Lt. Gordon (Gary Oldman), and Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman). Aaron Eckhart perfectly embodies Harvey Dent, the politician you want to trust. Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal, who took over the role from Katie Holmes, presumably too busy with Xenu to be involved in the second film) is charming, if not the stereotypical woman in a superhero movie; her biggest dilemma is figuring out who she’s crushing on more, Bruce Wayne or Harvey Dent. And, well, I’m no Roger Ebert, but Ledger’s portrayal of the menacing and maybe misunderstood Joker is Oscar-worthy.

As Heath Ledger proves to be more than a pretty face, The Dark Knight is more than a superhero movie. The film moves past the Good v. Evil theme of superheroes to ask who is good? Who is evil? And who is to decide?

Do yourself a favor and see this movie. I'll be watching the 2009 Academy Awards (probably drunk), hoping that Heath Ledger receives a much, much, much deserved posthumous Oscar.

Bush Tours America to Survey the Damage Caused by his Presidency

couldn't have said it better myself

Victoria's Secret is an abomination and should be stopped. Thank you Slate's XX Factor for calling bullshit.

"The Advertising You Can't Live Without. Period."

The latest development in Victoria Secret's inspiring e-mail solicitation campaign comes in the form of a subject line: "The Bras You Can't Live Without. Period." My sister forwarded it to me with the accompanying note: "After reflecting on this subject line, I understand now why some portend that feminism is dead."
I'm struck by how resoundingly the death toll sounds, illustrated by the boldness of these lame advertising campaigns.

It's the "Period" addendum that gives the tagline its je ne sais quoi. Not that I am surprised, coming as it does from the same company that brought us such inventive names for their different bra lines as "Very Sexy". If the lingerie-seller's home page is any indication, in the world of VS, young college-bound girls hop off to campus wearing thigh-high rugby socks, a pair of underwear, a belly shirt ... and a cute pink hoodie. You know, because it is autumn after all, and it gets cold. So while your exposed buttocks and navel chill in the fall wind, you can be sure that you're covered from head to midstomach-ish; from toe to lower thigh. A VS girl is sexy and sensible, it seems.

I really wonder about Victoria Secret's vaguely dire world view. Take for example another VS subject line from February: "What is Sexy? TM ... New! Very Sexy ® Low-cut Push-up." Oh! I had been wondering what sexy was ... I thought it had something to do with confidence or being healthy. Thank you for clearing up my confusion. Question: What is sexy? Answer: You Spending Money on This Bra.TM

If they are going to shamelessly push their wares upon my person, I'd appreciate a little more creativity. Where are the days of subversive advertising? Is it me, or is Victoria's Secret doing a really sloppy job when it comes to fooling me into thinking a $40 bra will turn me into an impossibly hot Brazilian, accent not included?


Published Thursday, July 17, 2008 3:38 PM by Amaka Maduka

Brought to you by the number 4

All the news that's fit to print

Sunday Morning is a time for God (or it is my favorite Velvet Underground song?). But while some of my fellow Americans are dressing in their Sunday Best and preparing marshmallow Jell-O salad for the church buffet, I am engaging in a much more secular Sunday tradition: coffee and the Sunday New York Times.

I think you can judge a lot by a person by the section of the Sunday Times they read first. Whether it is the Business (soulless), Travel (pretentious), Sports (stupid), Week in Review (thoughtful), the Magazine (interesting…and probably selfish. We all want to read the Magazine first!) or Styles (illiterate), the section you choose first says a lot about you. Naturally, this causes me much anxiety. If I am in a public setting, such as a coffee shop or a park, I choose the Week in Review first to show my fellow patrons that I do care about gas prices and Darfur and stuff. If I am in the privacy of my own home or with close, personal friends that already know I am slightly shallow and illiterate, I read my Sunday Styles first.

Oh, as I page through some irrelevant headline story about the secret life of socialites and through the 3 millionth Ralph Lauren ad, it is just like Christmas Morning. I peer to see who’s profiled on “Night Out With” (oooh, the indie artist, Santogold, I love her too!) and mutter “MmHmmm, yep” at the advice written by Phillip Galanes in “Social Q’s,” realizing that he might be my middle-aged, gay soul mate.

But, as embarrassing as this is to confess, my oh-so-very favorite bit of the Styles is the Wedding Announcements. As Carrie Bradshaw once said, The Times Wedding Announcements is “straight woman’s sports pages.” These stale, bleach-white announcements should have been left in Eisenhower’s time, but god, do I love them. The supercilious wedding announcements breathe some aristocracy into a world gone Wal-Mart.

Coincidently, after years of reading the announcements, I could write a case study. Mrs. Hamiliton, 25, was until recently a curator at the Guggenheim Museum. (Read: she quit her job to plan her wedding!) Her husband, Mr. Hamilton, 27, is a hedge fund manager at Goldman Sachs. Her father is the vice president of Citigroup and her mother is a trustee of the MET. Mr. or Mrs. Hamilton might be related to an obscure president, like Millard Fillmore, or railroad tycoon, in which case they’d get prime real estate on the front page. An Asian woman, who’s keeping her name, married a Jewish man at the Rainbow Room. They’re in their early thirties, met at Columbia med school, and now live in San Francisco. Once and awhile you’ll get your really good-looking alterna-couple. She’s older than him, keeping her name, and works at a non-profit. He’s a graphic artist and they live in Colorado. Every week, you’ve got your token Indian doctors, Distinguished Black Couple, and elderly newlyweds (she’s divorced, he’s a widower), so the reader knows The New York Times isn’t racist or ageist, or just obsessed with WASPs.

A few burning questions after following the nuptials of the elite for many years: how are these people so blond? How uninteresting is Harvard grad no. 876? Do the announcements without pictures mean the bride and bridegroom is really ugly? And perhaps the most easily answered: how many of these marriages end in divorce? About half.

My mother likes the Catholic Church because of the Pomp and Circumstance; I like the Sunday Times, the wedding announcements in particular, for the same reason. She had me look at the wedding announcements in the local paper for a slice of “real life” which I liken to making her attend a silent Quaker mass in a clapboard chapel. Mrs. So and So, 18, is a manager at the Dress Barn? Mr. So and So, 21, attends community college? Ick.

I’ll stick with my Wedding Announcements (which the ever so politically correct NYT has renamed “Celebrations” to include the gays). After I’ve breezed past the latest It-Bag profiled in Styles, I’ll move on to the Week in Review, Arts & Leisure, Travel (if I’m feeling crazy), and finally, saving the best for last, the magazine. They say that newspaper readers are a dying breed. But I’ll be the last one, because there is nothing quite like newsprint stained thumbs, good coffee, and an easy Sunday morning.

George Bush would like us to believe there are only two kinds of Americans: god-fearing Christians and latte drinking liberals. And as I sprinkle some cinnamon on my latte and gingerly unfold the Sunday Times, I’m okay with that (as long as everyone votes for Obama in November!).

Who Wears Short Shorts?

When I run, I wear shorts. Short shorts. My thighs rub together, but the shorts are comfortable I can move in them—essential when one is running. I admit I run so maybe my thighs will rub together a little less, but mostly I run to get away from it all. In the muggy, green nature preserve which I run, I can forget it all; what I’m doing with myself and what I’m not doing with myself, what I look like and what I should look like. I can just think, dream, and breathe.

Could I run in a skirt? No way. And this from the girl who got involved tennis for the skirts. So, when I read an article called “The Rise of Skirt Culture” in Runner’s World magazine, all I could do was sigh.

Women have long been forced to wear skirts in sporting events. At the turn of the century, female athletes wore long, cumbersome skirts in every sporting event. As the hemlines began to rise in fashion in the sixties, they did in sports as well. After Title IX, high school athletes still wore kilts in lacrosse and field hockey and skirts and dresses in tennis, although some of that is changing.

The one sport that has avoided skirts is running. In the fifties and sixties, women runners wore skirts because they had to; they also weren’t permitted to run in road races. In 1973, Katherine Switzer illegally entered the Boston Marathon, being the first woman to enter the all-male race. Subsequently, she did so in a skirt.

In the seventies, running swept across the country. Everyone from hippies to New-Agers, to yuppie businessmen engaged in the running lifestyle. Steve Prefontaine set the mile record and made the University of Oregon the running bastion it remains today. Women, including my pregnant mother, began running in droves, in shorts. Women wore shorts because they were most comfortable and practical. Perhaps also, in the wake of the feminist movement, women were fighting to be taken seriously and to breakdown the gender roles society forced men and women to play by.

The “skirt culture” of running bothers me most because it is gendering an activity and a sport that does not need to be gendered. Just as girls are gendered to play with dolls and boys play with trucks, women who run feel they need to be feminine and pretty when they run. Writer Kristen Armstrong says about a friend, who designed and popularized the running skirt, “Her motivation has never been just to look pretty, but to look pretty while kicking butt.”

Women like to look pretty. We like to look pretty partly because we are told we need to be attractive to get a man, get a job, a raise, to be successful. When I run, it is one of the only times I don’t worry about being pretty or feminine; it a release of the everyday pressures of life and of beauty. I am sweaty, puffing and panting, with mud splashes on my shins and dirty hair. Even when I pass someone, a fellow runner, I don’t worry about what I look or what she looks like. You nod and smile; saying “isn’t this hellish/great/exhausting/euphoric.”

Armstrong continues, “…some people aren’t thrilled with the idea. They seem to think that women who run in skirts aren’t serious athletes…The same people probably insist that women need to be in pantsuits to be taken seriously in the workplace. But I believe that a woman in even more powerful when she feels pretty. Besides…it’s nice to have clothing that reflects our multitasking lives; it performs on the track and looks presentable when you roll directly into the supermarket or elementary school.”

Sigh. Venus Williams won Wimbledon this month in a skirt. Last year, after she campaigned (and won) equal prize money for women at the stuffy all-boys club of Wimbledon, she won Wimbledon and equal prize money. In shorts. Like Venus, women in modern society have the choice to wear skirts, shorts, or pants (or skorts! Or Gaucho pants!) in athletics, in the boardroom, classroom, or shopping. Call it a success of feminism.

I reject Armstrong’s assertion that a woman is more powerful when she feels pretty. When Hillary Clinton was at the Iowa caucus, I bet she ironed her pantsuit and put on some lipstick, but I believe that she cared to talk more about health care than who does her hair. Clinton was, in fact, criticized for her pantsuits; called “mannish” by Vogue editor Anna Wintour. Clinton said she favored pantsuits so that photographers could not snap pictures up her skirt. Call it a success of our patriarchal culture.

I’ll continue to run in shorts. I’ll continue to play tennis in a skirt. I’ll continue to wear pants or skirts in my every day life. I love that I have the choice to do what I want. But when I run, my legs pound on the dirt and I am strong. And that is pretty, pretty powerful.

Summer reading list, here I come

This seems meaningful and tasteful. I don't think he' rolling over in his grave due to this film. It's probably due to acid running through his spine.

America, Fuck Yeah.

"This summer when you're being inundated with all this American bicentennial Fourth Of July brouhaha, don't forget what you're celebrating, and that's the fact that a bunch of slave-owning, aristocratic, white males didn't want to pay their taxes."
-dazed & confused

Just A Girl

Emily’s latest obsessions with Robyn and Paula Cole (was that not public knowledge?) got me thinking about the pop “girl music” of my childhood and the music available today for a 9-year-old girl. As someone too young to attend the Lilith Fair or to really know what Alanis meant when she sang “would she go down on you in the theater?” I can still remember very different women making music in the mid to late 1990s. Then, mainstream female artists were keeping up with the boys (Alanis and Gwen Stefani) and carving out new music venues that were distinctly female (Sarah McLauchan and the Lilith Fair) Now, female artists are fifteen (or made to look like 15-year-olds), represented as hypersexualized parodies in 30 second snippets on MTV and mp3s.

I was an 8-year-old in 1995 when Alanis Morissette debuted Jagged Little Pill. At the time, I was becoming interestingly more interested in music, television, and fashion; I adored loose trousers and clogs and my friend Kate and I would dress up in the likes of Gwen Stefani and listen to Tragic Kingdom repeatedly, which I owned on cassette. After ordering Jagged Little Pill from my brother’s BMG music order, I loved Alanis too. She had a powerful voice and real lyrics (she said fuck!). I didn’t know what my idols like Alanis and Jewel were talking about; all I knew is that these women were absolutely kick-ass and I wanted to be kick-ass too.

Fast forward to 2005: I graduated from high school and Gwen Stefani went from Just A Girl to a Hollaback Girl. Maybe it’s the same message Gwen was singing in ’95 as SoCal ska darling, but now as a solo artist and 20lbs lighter. And in yesteryear, when Jewel sang “You always tell me that is impossible to be respected and be a girl” might she have known that her predecessors would be singing, “What you gon' do with all that junk?All that junk inside your trunk? I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk, Get you love drunk off my hump.”

In 1996, Paula Cole asked “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone.” Within a decade, I ask, where have all the legitimate female artists gone? These women did not disappear due to lack of interest; Jagged Little Pill went platinum sixteen times in the U.S. and sold over 30 million copies worldwide. The Lilith Fair filled huge venues with over 60 acts for three years straight and made Sarah McLachlan, Natalie Merchant, and Paula Cole into household names. No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom sold over 16 million copies worldwide. But while we ushered in the new millennium, we traded “Ironic” for “Hit Me Baby One More Time.”

Under the Bush Administration, the government harkened back to the Reagan Era’s “family values.” Apparently Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Mandy Moore, and Jessica Simpson, mainstream’s new girl music, jived well with the conservative agenda. What’s more threatening, real women singing “So take me as I am, this may mean you'll have to be a stronger man” (thanks, Meredith Brooks) or plastic ingénues singing “I’m a genie in a bottle”? I do not envy 8-year-olds today; the pressure to be pretty! blonde! skinny! has gone up tenfold since I was 8, listening to Jewel. Just ask Jewel herself!

There are, of course, very talented female artists today like Cat Power, Regina Spektor, and Leslie Feist, who have all been moderately successful in the mainstream. Still, even Feist, who has made the biggest mainstream headway hasn’t reached Jagged Little Pill epic proportions. I would guess it has something to do with indie v. mainstream; showing tits v. not.

With the exception of Gwen Stefani, who traded ska for cheap pop and okay, freakin’ fierce fashion, only Sheryl Crow remains from the Lilith days, staying in the game by being skinny, dating Lance Armstrong, and selling “If It Makes You Happy” to a car commercial. Sarah McLachlan made a Christmas album and both a video and commercial that make me cry. The rest of the Lilith Fair crew, who not only performed but promoted non-profits like Planned Parenthood, Amnesty International, and The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence with the Fair, have all but disappeared, leaving people like me to idolize the 90’s.

The lack of real female musicians is, perhaps, just a part of a bigger problem in the music industry; a problem that qualifies Fall Out Boy as punk, Nelly as rap, and Fergie as every girl’s role model. “Girl music” was once on the cutting edge of pop music. Now, the most an aspiring singer-songwriter can hope for is for her hit to appear in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

doche of the day

waiting to see how many frat boys wear this.
they are also available in children's sizes, so your child could wear it too.

Robyn is a Baller

One Woman's Opinion: The Midwest Sucks.

I have been living in American Midwest, Michigan specifically, for roughly a month. I must admit that I have never been a big supporter of the Midwest. Why is it so flat? Why is it so conservative? Why do Indiana and Ohio exist? However, since I voluntarily decided to spend 3 months in Michigan, I decided to fly to the fly-over states with a moderately open-mind.

Despite good intentions, I have found that yes, it’s true, the Midwest does really suck. I may not be the most bipartisan opinion considering I am currently bitter and bored: I desperately miss my New England heady hamlet and am currently living the life of a single alcoholic 60 year old (watching 3 hours of Law & Order on basic cable guzzling a big bottle of wine).

My observations of the Midwest are not of an up and coming indie city like Kansas City or Detroit. These observations, in anthropology called “field notes,” are based upon my assessment of the very worst of this, my Midwestern town. I should mention that there is some indie and heady cred in this college town, but I’m in a bad mood, so I won’t be focusing upon that. Note: these assessments are not based upon scientific data and may be exaggerated.

1. Jesus has risen, apparently in the Midwest. People here love Jesus. A lot. Driving around with my dad, I was blinded by Christ’s light, finding that 1 in every 10 cars had God as their co-pilot. “God Saves” and “God is Love” adorned lots of midsize sedans. A sticker of kids praying at a cross decorated the back of a pickup truck. What happened to Calvin peeing on a ford sign? Driving across the state, I saw a billboard stating “90 percent of women regret their abortions.” I’d pay my last $20 to see where they got their "research," but it was sponsored by a church, so it must be true. I have driven a lot around this country and I have never seen so many Jesus car stickers as I have in the Midwest. Barak Obama said that people in this country cling to guns and religion because they do.
2. Everyone is overweight and tragically unfashionable. Every time I leave my house, I feel like I am at the mall, which is really nightmarish. Girls love Aeropostale, Pac Sun, and hair-straighteners. Dudes love looking like bros. My father is a known weightist (a made-up word for the dislike of heifers) and while he says, “Jesus! Look at that person! She can barely get out of her car!” I try to defend the 300 lb woman, stating she probably doesn’t have the education of or luxury to good food and exercise. But, I am really smirking and agreeing with my “make sure you get a run in” father.
3. The Midwest has the reputation for being friendly. I don’t know how that came to be because everyone here is an asshole. I had some tacky girl (see no. 2) at a coffee shop give me major attitude about grinding some whole beans for me. For some reason, the pissed-off, I hate you/me barista attitude is more acceptable if it comes from a good looking, well-dressed, or barista/screen-printer and not from some 17-year-old who loves sparkly shirts and Rhiannon’s new single .
4. The accent is unbearable; think Eliza Doolittle (thank you, Emily) meets the cartoon matriarch of Bobby’s World. The Midwest accent is thought of as honest and earnest, but I think it makes people sound stupid, country, and uncultured. But maybe you just hate what you are: there is proof (on video!) that at age 5, I had a god-awful Midwestern accent: “Asked” was “aaased.” Luckily I moved to New York shortly after and I lost the Midwest accent without gaining a Long Island accent. However, occasionally, I will still call my father “Ded” not “Daaad.” And to be fair, I hate almost all accents unless they are derived from Europe. Southern? Long Island? Cringe.

What I hate most about the Midwest is what I hate most about the U.S.; Americans are fat, tacky Jesus freaks. My wish for the Midwest is that the whole region would flood. Just kidding! A wise woman once said that the Midwest gets its pokey, uncool reputation because it is pokey and uncool. Any rising scenes from the Midwest should stop lamenting the superiority of the Northeast and Brooklyn and celebrate the fact that they were at all able to become “hip” while being surrounded by fatties and bible-thumpers. It’s quite an accomplishment, Bon Iver!