The Revolution Will Be

Women, some Girl Talk

2010-10-13T08:37:00.000-07:00

Why do I have to wear short shorts and my bandmates get to wear pants? I'm kinda cold.

Last week I went to see the band Women and was struck by something odd. It wasn’t how good they were—it was my second time seeing them and there was gratuitous guitar wanking, inaudible vocals, and not much else. No, looking up through my PBR colored glasses at the stage I saw Women—but they weren’t women, like the people with boobs, they were Canadian dudes! Not only was there not a single woman on stage, looking around I only saw a handful of us in our best skinny jeans.

I wondered where are the ladies? Furthermore, what’s the deal with all these all- male indie rock bands with female band names?

First, every show I’ve been to lately is a complete dude storm—in both band and crowd. Now, I love a cute bro in glasses just as the next broad, but where are all the women at shows? Perhaps I’m in the wrong city or maybe we just don’t care about music and prefer to at home cooking dinner and making babies.

Maybe I’m being an “uppity bitch” but c’mon: Women, Girls, Girl Talk, Twin Sister, Communist Daughter, etc. A few years back, it was totally trendy to name a band after a woodland creature—Fleet Floxes, Grizzly Bear, Deeranything. But now you cannot get onto Pitchfork unless your band name is the Girly Girls and the lil’ Twin Bitch Sisters.

Is it satirical for a band of bros to call themselves Girls or Women? Like, ha! ha! we’re a bunch of dudes so it would be totally ironic to call ourselves something girly!!

I probably wouldn’t be so annoyed if I thought that popular indie rock was overflowing with female artists and those artists were respected and taken seriously. When female artists are buzzed about, it’s often not about the music. Kyle Forester of Crystal Stilts recently commented on this gender dichotomy on Pitchfork saying, “People love girls in bands, but they want to write lewd shit about them on Brooklyn Vegan. It is weird that the indie rock world is supposed to be politically progressive, but in terms of gender politics, it's sort of like 'Mad Men'.”
(you needn’t look further than Death Cab for Cutie sad sack Ben Gibbard to realize that, in music, the same attractiveness standards DO NOT apply for men and women. His wife's pretty hot though!)

There are a lot of awesome women in indie rock right now, but the bands that are the most blogged about are either a bunch of dudes with a lady name or a bunch of dudes with some sort of hot, maybe gimmicky female lead singer. For example, the New York based band Twin Sister; the band consists of five members- and the one girl is the vocalist. She has a “quirky” voice, conveniently contributing to the band’s sleepy, bedroom “dream pop”. I know little of Twin Sister’s background but the aforementioned uppity bitch in me suspects the lead vocalist was shoved in front of a microphone because she was hot in that indie-bangs-and-arm-tattoo kind of way and could sing. And behold! In an internet minute, Twin Sister’s album Color Your Life was given a 7.5 by Pitchfork.

Twin Sister and their lead lady are blowin’ up on the blogosphere, but they aren’t the only one with a strategically placed female lead singer. I saw the Brooklyn-and-blog based band Cults sometime in the late summer. Listening to Cults before seeing them live, the vocals sounded like they belonged to that of a 6-year old (and I loved it, by the way). I wasn’t far off. The lead singer looked about 19. Her voice is very twee and childlike and for Cults, it works well. But watching her fronting an all bro band, singing and sweetly swaying in front of an almost exclusively all male crowd, I was unsettled. (It should also be mentioned that one of Cults’ band members commented on the lack of women in the audience. sorry you couldn’t see me. I was in the back drinking beer.)

Don’t get it twisted—I love female vocalists. But with a new Brooklyn buzz band cranking out an MP3 a minute, it seems like cute female vocalists are a commodity for success—or at least a blurb on a blog.

There are women in indie rock. A lot of them. But women's music is often gendered- passed off as being sentimental or juvenile. Neil Young was taken more seriously than Joan Baez as an antiwar musician. I know a lot of women who are willing to admit they love Bob Dylan and I can’t say the same for men and Joni Michell. Today, Joanna Newsom, a probable genius, was at first passed off as being nymph-like with a childlike voice. Meanwhile, her 'freak folk' compatriot Devendra Banhart was touted as world-weary and wise. From politics to sports to media to indie rock, women’s accomplishments are often quantified, where man’s are simply accepted verbatim.

When I was doing DJ training for my college radio station a year ago, one of the (female) senior members of the station said to me, “It’s nice to see some ladies here”. Yeah, is refreshing to see actual Women, Girls, Sisters, and Daughters doing the Girl Talk and playing music.

Here are some talented bitches, Mountain Man. Get it? Ha! Ha!

Things That Are Good

2010-07-08T14:49:00.000-07:00

...Little kiddies dancing outside of your radio show as you play Beirut.

So Gay For: Lissie/Tequila Swigging Ladies

2010-06-30T10:14:00.000-07:00

What do you get when you cross a Kid Cudi song, a badass lady, tequila, beers, plus a few bearded men for good measure? My wet dream, that's what! My friend Josh gave me a heads up about this artist, a tequila swigging lassie named Lissie (and he's a lifeguard, so you should trust him).

makeout music.

2010-06-29T14:10:00.000-07:00

-by someone who makes out more than you do.

Here's some music you should be making out to:

"When I'm Small" -Phantogram

This song is from August 2009, which means it's not new. But it's new to me. And this is for people who are making out, not music snobs. And in my experience they are not the same people.

Ding Dong Special: The World Cup

2010-06-29T12:46:00.000-07:00

We hardly knew ye tight buns, Glen.

Hey Sports Fans! It's the most wonderful time of year. Or, I should say, it is the most wonderful time of every four years. It's the World Cup, yallz!

I love sports (as long as they're not terribly American or boring like football or basketball). As the daughter of a hockey coach and the sister of a brother who once asked about a boy, "Does he even play sports?", playing sports was just expected of me. I'll be the first to admit I haven't played soccer since the Clinton Administration (full disclosure: when my family moved from Long Island to Pennsylvania when I was 11, I quit soccer. In PA, the tween teams were coed and I really hated playing with aggressive wanking-off tween boys. I also wanted to play tennis so I could wear a skirt, which is really beside the point). But the World Cup is all sorts of international fun. It's like the Olympics but without the bullshit sports like archery. It's thrilling and kinda cool that the whole world is caught up in well-thighed men kicking around a ball.

Here's the problem: I have no idea who to blow my vuvuzela at in the World Cup. I usually like to pick a side and get my jollies off arguing in their defense. This is not a problem with other sports:
Tennis: Serena Williams, badass & a babe. Rafael Nadal, badass & a babe.
Hockey: Detroit Red Wings, for my pops.
Skiing (yeah): Bode Miller, badass babe from New Hampshire.
Baseball: Kinda too boring to care but I guess the Mets or the Phillies.

I guess it should be obvious that as an American, I should root for the U.S. of A. Before they were knocked out by Ghana on Saturday, I still could not root, root, root for the home team. Before I'm called a turncoat (or whatever the post-18th Century equivalent for that term is), lemme explain: like Kayne said George Bush doesn't care about black people, the U.S. doesn't care about soccer. First, we call it soccer when the rest of the world calls it football. We think the games are too long. We think the men aren't manly enough. We'd rather watch American football or So You Think You Can Dance? The rest of the world is wacky about soccer and they play it from Slovakia to the Ivory Coast to South Korea. It's pretty neat.

Instead of rooting for these purple mountain majesties, I've found arbitrary reasons to root for other countries. First, it was England. I love all things English (Harry Potter. Nigella Lawson. Tea. Wellies, houndstooth, & cable-knit. Fog & rain. Colour, not color.) and, I fell madly in lust with jolly good sexy English defender, Glen Johnson (see above). England lost to the cold machinery of the Germans and now I'm lost without a team. Do I root for Spain because I experienced my first (and only) discothèque in Madrid? Or Ghana because Africa could use some happy news? Or Slovekia because who the hell knew they played soccer? Or Brazil cos they'll prollz win?

Here's the solution: I'll do what everyone assumes the ladies do anyway - ogled the players buns and pick a favorite that way. Thus, making this the World Cup Ding Dong Special.

We'll start with Spain first. The Spaniards just kicked Portugal and Ronaldo's well-coiffed ass with the help of this sexy hombre, Sergio Ramos. The locks, the abs, the name, Sergio. You're welcome. This international celebration of sport and the illin' hotties that play it goes on well into July, so it's going to be a hot month.

So Gay For: Sleigh Bells/Alexis Krauss

2010-06-18T10:58:00.000-07:00

In a new segment on The Revolution Will Be, "So Gay For" will exhibit girl crushes and things I think are really neat. To qualify as a girl crush, a lady must be a ballin' badass babe. And things I think are really neat must be just that.

To start us off we have my favorite band du jour...but for, like, a couple months...Sleigh Bells and it's ballin badass babe front woman, Alexis Krauss. Sleigh Bells is a Brooklyn band creation of its instrumentalist and songwriter, Derek Miller. Both Florida natives, Miller and Krauss hooked up and headed north. Miller, who used to be in a hardcore band, creates heavy guitar riffs that are lightened by Alexis Krauss, who is able to keep it rough but sweet. It's Krauss' heavy breathing, singing, and screaming that makes Sleigh Bells one of the tightest new bands in 2k10.

And it's her killer bangs, arm tats, and shiny pants that makes her my absolute girl crush.

You'll hate yourself if you don't check them out:
http://www.myspace.com/sleighbellsmusic
(esp. "Rill Rill" and "Crown on the Ground")

Millenium Falcon Ding Dong

2010-06-14T20:00:00.000-07:00

Han Solo: Angry, in a v-neck. Can't ask for anything more, really.

(It's my time honored start-of-summer tradition to watch Star Wars. Harrison Ford is a perk.)

Somethings last a long time

2010-06-04T09:19:00.001-07:00

to sunsets near & far
for somethings last a long time

Baller of the Week

2010-03-21T09:18:00.001-07:00

Ballin' Iranian woman.

ladies

2010-03-09T22:53:00.000-08:00

next year will mark the 100 year anniversary of international women's day. this is a tribute to the amazing ladies in my/our lives.

Wine-blogging with too much wine

2010-03-09T18:54:00.000-08:00

Dedicated Readers (?),

My Live Wine-blogging of the Academy Awards was cut short because I 1.) had too much wine and 2.) it is largely considered rude to be typing away on your glowing laptop when you have guests over to watch the Academy Awards.

Anyway, I had so much to say about celebrities, as I often do, but they were saved for people "IRL" (in real life, apparently). I'm pretty sure I deserve a real celebrity blog, to be honest. However, I might have a higher calling (RU there god? It's me, Elsa) and I think that everyone on "the internet" thinks they deserve a celebrity blog (or their version of such).

In short, the Oscars sucked. Sandra Bullock seems like a fun gal to get a beer with, but not an Oscar nominee, let alone a winner! (People thought George Bush would be a good guy to get an beer with (he's an alcoholic) and he was president for 8 years. These are strange times we're living in, readers.)

Congratulations to Kathryn Bigelow for being the first woman to ever win an Oscar for Directing. Hopefully this will encourage female filmmakers and will discourage James "Jim" Cameron from ever making another again.

My award from Best Sexiest Man goes to Jeff Bridges. A fine wine, that man is. Best Lady I'm Currently Obsessed With goes to Carey Mulligan. Her hair! Her Britishness! Her Shia LeBouf!

Otherwise, the Oscars were too flippin' long. Get a grip, Hollywood.

2010-03-07T17:26:00.000-08:00

8:30

ZOMG it's starting. Why does the set look like it's from 1986?

8:32

Dougie Houser is sooooo g.

8:24

Maybe I'm being sensitive, but this seems pretty inspired by Lady Gaga.

2010-03-07T17:22:00.000-08:00

8:20
Tina Fey is sooooo normal and kewl.

8:22
I would marry Jeff Bridges and/or The Dude tomorrow.

8:24
Kate Winslet is The Woman. Why did the interviewer ask her if her kids would go into acting? Aren't they 3? They're probably going into kindergarten.

2010-03-07T17:19:00.000-08:00

8:19

Whoopi Goldberg in an adult diaper commercials. lololololol. Whoa, baby boomers, huh?

2010-03-07T17:13:00.000-08:00

8:13
Is Jennifer "Jenny from teh bloxxx" still relevant?

Wine-blogging the 382nd Academy Awards

2010-03-07T17:01:00.000-08:00

Hey Glamour Gals (and guys?) and drunks. Welcome to my live wine-blogging of the 82nd Academy Awards. Since we can't be together, I've decided to blog with a bottle of Cab Sav (is allllwaaaays fab!) We'll see how long this lasts...

8:07
Penelope Cruz can't speak English. To quote paraphrase Emily, she looks like a ferret.

Have one on [us]

2010-03-02T20:08:00.000-08:00

I wish we could take every path.
I could spend a hundred years adoring you.
Yes, I wish we could take every path,
because I hated to close the door on you.

Joanna Newsom, Baby Birch

Happy Birthday, Sara!

exactly what we need.

2010-02-22T16:38:00.000-08:00

I implore you to watch this very twee short film with the adorable Jason Schwartzman and Kirsten Dunst. You know I have less that warm n' fuzzy feelings towards Dunst (her je ne sais quoi bothers me) but I found anything hard to hate about this film. Aside from the fact that I'm not in the indie in-crowd in L.A. The film is meant to promote a new clothing line Opening Ceremony. It worked--the clothing is covetable. The film is cute.

non plus one final from Tracy ANTONOPOULOS on Vimeo.

(I promise to actually write something soon)

New Moon Mornings

2010-02-15T11:56:00.000-08:00

Dedicated this to yallz this morning on my radio show. With giggles, coffee, revolution, and, duh, love.

(& as a matter of interest, check out Yeasayer's new album, Odd Blood. soo good)

Open Your Heart

2010-02-11T06:51:00.001-08:00

For you

2010-02-08T22:03:00.000-08:00

Love, me

Phoenix - 1901 - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

I'm Your Biggest Fan

2010-02-08T08:54:00.000-08:00

A couple Sunday nights ago, I watched the Grammys for the first time since I thought the Backstreet Boys was quality music and thought the Grammys meant something. As I watched celebrities faun over themselves and pantless women prance, there was something that really bothered me about the awards. It wasn't the fact that there wasn't actually any good music up for nomination (that's another post entirely). What bothered me is that the Fame Monster, Lady Gaga, was almost entirely shut out of the Grammys while teen ingenue Taylor Swift walked away with America's hearts and the coveted Album of the Year. In what world is a woman who has reinvented pop music defeated by a girl who laments tween heartbreak?

I'll let you read my poker face right off the bat: I am a huge Lady Gaga fan. I think she's a brilliant entertainer whose made made pop music interesting again. She walks the line of being a "Fame Monster", courting the media in her fanciful Haute Couture, all the while not caring what anyone aside from her fans think of her theatrics.

Before the Grammys, I'd never seen Taylor Swift perform and really knew nothing of her, aside from knowing that her personal brand is lapped up by everyone from tween girls and their moms; college dudes; and country music fans alike. Apparently, American is titillated by Taylor.

She certainly fits the "America's Sweetheart" profile: she's young and looks younger. She's thin and blond. She's from America's heartland. She writes harmlessly catchy tunes. And although Ryan Seacrest blew his teen-girl load while introducing her during the Grammys (basically stating she's the Greatest Song Writer of Our Time), her songs such as "Fifteen" aren't exactly the next "Blowing in the Wind".

I don't really give a toss about Ms. Swift. But I do care about the underlying implications of Swift's victory over Lady Gaga at the Grammys.

They do share a few commonalities: they're both thin and blond (though Gaga's hair color is as ever changing as My Little Pony's). They both write their own music and both play an instrument. They're both in constant rotation on Top 40 radio. But the similarities pretty much end there.

Swift, with her twee lyrics and "Who me?" demure, appeals largely to Conservative America. I'm sure she comes from a "Family values" background and is known for dating good Christian boys.

Lady Gaga, grabbing her crotch and singing about sex with men and women, is a pop star for Liberal America. Widely considered a gay icon, Madame Gaga appeals largely to women and gay men. She is on all accounts a strong woman; making no qualms for 'freakish' performances; her fashion choices; and her meticulous attention to detail.

There is nothing wrong with different representations of women in the media. What is disconcerting is the mainstream's fetishization of Swift and the villaininization of Gaga. Swift is idolized by girls and lusted after by men for being the Madonna, the unattainable virgin. Lady Gaga is the villainous whore, courted by ultimately feared. The mainstream is so intimated by Gaga that there was a "legitimate" rumour about Lady Gaga having a penis (Google "Lady Gaga" and the first thing to pop up in the search browser is "Lady Gaga Hermaphrodite). Yes, because she is a strong woman in control of her career and sexuality, Lady Gaga must have a penis. Who else could have such control but a man?

Taylor Swift's popularity largely hinges on her ability to play the sweet, yet sexy, girl next door. It'll be interesting to see if her popularity can sustain as she transcends into womanhood (she is, in fact, already 20-years old).

For now, Swift is America's girl next door. She embodies what we expect women to be: sweet, naive, virginal, and of course, beautiful. She's not like those women who speak their mind; change the way we view gender; and who are free bitch(es), baby.

Ding Dong [Alt-Rock Edition]

2010-02-04T09:04:00.000-08:00

Ladies and...er, ladies...Nathan Followill of Kings of Leon. Nathan is the drummer and oldest bro of the Kings of Leon, the alt rock band from Tennessee turned recent Grammy winners. Out of all of the Followill bros Nathan is decidedly the sexiest of the bunch. Flowing locks, sexy specs, and arm tats. Use somebody, indeed.

Liveblog of Elsa's Show!

2010-01-26T12:18:00.000-08:00

...from when I tuned in.

totally LOVED BSS and Cat P. miss u 2005! that was a good year for alternative tunes, before the scene like "blew up." also, cant find my bss album. do you have it?

coco rosie is like, ok (ie boring and dumb), and "by your side" song blows. shine shoes? fuck that. just saying. prollz just jealz that one of those broadz was boning Dev for a while.
also hilarious (?) that you played a PSA for anti-women-abuse after that song ("I'll wear your black eyes.") I think cocorosie were being "ironic" or they are "dumb bitches."

9:58 yr voice is sexy! i want a ride on the ride board!

10:00 johanna! guh huh! i was young once.
"all day long we talk about mercy/ lead me to water lord i sure am thirsty." holy fuck.

10:06 havent heard the justin timberghey version of Halleululiah. yet and i never will. i will never cave to that guy's existence. still like the rufus wainwright version the best besides Leo's.

10:12: billy bragg. dUUUUHHHH. can't listen to this song without thinking of Merez, and how she loves the line "is it wrong to wish on space hardware/ i wish i wish i wish you cared." also reminds me us driving out to VT with Dad and he really liked it, like the line about other girls pushing prams. he did that "aw" thing. That's the trip I read harry potter 5 outloud, at the hight of my hagrid voice capabilities.

10:14 this sounds like first wave alt core. smiths or something? british ppl r sad. [oh that was my request! Brian Jonestown Massacre. that totally blew. sorry, your fans.]

10:19: i like this! helsinki-esque. [oh it was arcade fire. miss u buzzbands

10:27: you talk kinda quiet! cant hear!

10:30: love you FFoxez. wonder when the FF "backlash" will start and we will uncover that they used to be a ska band/sons of CEOs. Wonder if they will "beat the sophomore slump" or sell the rights of their songs to kidz bop.

10:41: guh huh! Keh'ssong! about meeeeeeeeee! reminds me of "being young." it was lovely, and kel's music is a revelation, and you can listen to all of it here:

10:46: more downbeat winterindie core. seems appropriate. [port obrien! they are waaay different live, like loud and siiiiick.]

10:50: omg beachhouse. sounds like a very long winter and a very melodramatic heartbreak! the human experience on a good day.

10:55: more BH. victoria legrand: genius, the biggest baller in the room. beachouse has defined the modern soundtrack to the experience of love.

10:59: yeah library PSA! your mother would be proud.

11:00: quirky voiced post-regina broad with acordian. nice. sux to be a woman in the music biz cause you are just a "woman in the music biz." unless you're cat power/victoria legrand/joanna newsom/MIA.

11:06: talk louder, broad.

11:11: le loup! forgive me! this song could power a train. one of those rare songs that could qualify for "heartbeat of a generation." or whatever.

11:16: dancy post-ipod-commercial janglecore followed by kinda slow, relationship-endingcore.

11:23: raucous. THATS WHAT IM TALKIN ABOUT. boogie boarder. tight.

11:27: if i was some lil indie bro I would have a HUGE crush on you.

11: 31: dreams come true girl. like it. Love Cass McCombs, but he's a lot better when he's not trying to be buddy holly. PREfection is better.

11:34: FF knock off with smaller vocals?

11:43: I will never understand Vampire Weekend. because they "suck." is this a vinyl played too fast? It sounds like shit. acutally, i've taken shits that sound more relevant than this.

11:49: whoa. anco? perfect, as always. think they've kinda "reinvented music."

k, i'm having lunch. will be sure to tune in next time!

love, your biggest fan (but not VaWe's)

heeey ladies

2010-01-24T13:47:00.000-08:00

I've been digging Au Revoir Simone for a couple of months but really fell in <3 when I saw this video for their song "Sad Song". I found myself really "relating" to their cookie baking, lil dresses, and their attempt to have a dance party (not to mention, the bangs!) But in the end, life is just about synthesizers and having a dance party with your ladies. I suspect you can relate.

clinton era ding dong

2010-01-16T14:19:00.000-08:00

jordan catalano, circa 1994.

vintage ding dong

2010-01-12T20:10:00.000-08:00

Ding dong it's been too long!

Lindsay Buckingham (of Fleetwood Mac)

tough cookie

2009-10-02T10:54:00.000-07:00

I created this digie essay for a class. Look for familiar faces...

Baller of the Week

2009-09-24T17:43:00.001-07:00

Read: Oh Christ I just wanted you to fuck me and then I became greedy, I wanted you to love me

...Ladies and....er, Ladies, Tracy Emin.

I just found out about this brilliant artist and am wondering where she has been all my life.

pleasures of the past, part one.

2009-09-17T14:05:00.000-07:00

It is late summer and the sun is sad. It hangs in the lower in the sky just as my heart hangs lower in my chest. It’s still warm but not humid like it once was. The earth is gently setting us down from the summer high.

I walked down Loomis Street today. I’ve done it a million times before, although I’ve never almost cried like I did today. I headed to my old house to pick up mail but knew I wasn’t heading home.

My boots kicked dirt on the gray gravel driveway. Bikes crowd the wooden porch where mine used to belong there before it was stolen. I knock on the door where I once held a key. I enter a house where I once lived and breathed and loved. But today I am just picking up misdirected mail.

The approaching fall makes me intensely nostalgic. Nostalgia sneaks up on me just as the reds and the oranges sneak up on the green leaves. I have a longing to feel the past although my horoscope told me I ‘cannot fully embrace the exciting and daunting possibilities that loom ahead of you if you also insist on immersing yourself in the pleasures of the past.’

But today all I want are the pleasures of my past. I want to feel a warm hug from my sister. I want to taste the collective dinners and embrace the collective ideas. I want to wonder when I’ll stop giggling. I want to know that we’ll always be this happy; this young; and this close.

Every time has a season but I could live the pleasures of my past and the happiness of the sad fall forever.

blank walls

2009-08-20T20:36:00.000-07:00

she's moved a thousand times and it's always the same: blank walls where her innumerable picture frames used to hang. dusty shelves where books and earrings and stationary used to gather. during each move (always in summer), sadness twists her heart into a knot that will surely burst and salty tears freely flow down her sticky summer-freckled face.

but this time is different. she's not crying. she can't cry. her age has rendered her emotionless or maybe it's her readiness.

still, i don't know why i took all the pictures down. i fucking hate blank walls.

It Wasn't Until Then

2009-07-02T11:33:00.000-07:00

By Meredith Rivlin

It wasn't until i left your house that i felt the glass.

It wasn't until i left your house and decided to take the long way home,

past the painted water and mountains, on one of the sunny, earth-scented, spring days that could still be counted on one hand,

with an empty stomach because we didn't know if we should

eat breakfast or lunch

or stay in bed sleeping and fucking until the next morning.

It wasn't until then that i felt the glass.

It was sharper than a pebble in my shoe,

and was certainly not round.

It wasn't irritating like a pebble was, making you kick it

to the front of your shoe and keep going, or yelling

"wait up!" to your friends as they walked ahead.

Instead it was a sharp pain in my heel,

so painful that i walked on the toes of my left foot

until i got to a bench where i sat down and took off my shoe

and carefully peeled off my sock.

It wasn't until then that i saw the glass.

Well, i really saw the blood first,

where the glass had entered,

punctured through the calloused skin of my heel.

i nervously picked at it, desperate to get it out immediately

but thinking the worst:

It was lodged in deep;

it had broken into tiny pieces inside my body

i would need surgery;

sterilization;

this was an omen for more pain to come from you.

it wasn't until then that i wondered what had happened

to cause glass to be on my side of the bed, not your side,

where some of my clothes lay in a bundle,

a piece of glass sneaking its way into my sock.

i tried not to imagine you with someone else where i just

pretended to sleep while i really

looked at the spines on your bookshelf.

i didn't want to picture you with someone else,

having such wild sex that you broke glass and didn't even stop

to clean it up.
(I later learned that your landlord broke a bottle when repairing your refrigerator
and that you must not have swept it all up.)

It wasn't until then that i questioned whether i liked you

because of your hair and vulnerability

or because i was nervous that my number of sexual partners

could now be rounded up.

I grabbed the tiny point that hadn't been impacted

completely in my foot yet.

I scraped the skin around it in desperation,

close to panic.

I looked around to see joggers in spandex,

shaded people walking leashed dogs,

families on vacation.

How can they go on walking

when there is pain and metaphor happening!

It wasn't until i took a deep breath and pulled hard

at what had caused such pain

while Aesop's Fables ran through my head:

lions and mice and thorns,

unexpected friends coming

of stereotypical enemies.

It wasn't until then that i removed the glass.

I pulled out the triangular shard,

now tinted red

and a drop of blood

formed on my once impermeable heel.

But only one drop.

Love [is] the Drug

2009-06-12T06:28:00.001-07:00

Walking to work this morning, actually walking to buy coffee from the cute new barista at Speeder and Earl's, I saw/smelled 3 people getting high on their ways to work. Got me thinking about getting numb before work to make it not as awful.
Maybe if you can't feel anything while you're entering data or doing things at your firm that people at firms do, maybe then it doesn't feel like a waste or a severe compromise.

Or maybe you only feel truly creative when you're high and then you can come up with really good names for files and titles for spreadsheets, meanwhile sketching trippy patterns and phrases that you will later transfer to a canvas and your journal. And then maybe you don't feel bound to anything; you feel free and light and part of the earth and the trees from where the paper in your printer came.

Maybe you've been smoking since you were a freshman in high school, or even in 8th grade, and now you can't function without weed; it feels more like you're on drugs when you're off them. You like the way your head feels and the way that music sounds and the culture and the experiences that you can't always remember.

And you forgot your lighter at home because you weren't stoned first, or else you would have remembered, so you pack your swirly-colored, hand-blown glass piece and use the matches you keep in your car for cases like this. And while you're stuck in traffic and listening to talk radio and news headlines, experiencing the truly tragic on your 15 minute ride to work, you strike the match and burn your essential green and inhale and hold the smoke in your lungs long enough to make you cough--that's the really good high--and now you're ready for work. Ready like having done your hair. Ready like having packed a 32 ounce thermos of strong Starbuck's coffee with low-fat half-and-half. Ready like having masturbated in the shower in the morning. Ready like having shaved your face. Ready like having put on lipstick and then having put the tube in your purse for touch-ups during the day. And you're ready to hold this vestige, this secret from coworkers, which would surely have you on the streets with little chance of being hired anywhere if anyone found out. And God knows, you don't want to end up like people like that.

The Senses of a Burlington Spring

2009-06-08T15:49:00.000-07:00

(Photo and writing by Meredith Rivlin)

It snows in spring here too
when forsythia recalls foliage
and tulips bloom the rusty red
of fall when we
don't want to dread what comes next
and we sing and believe
when Simon and Garfunkel tell us
the green leaves will turn brown.

It snows in spring here too,
long after we've put away
boots and fleece and
wool and liners;
and long after we can't
remember the cold
digits turned purple from red
to white and back to purple again.

It snows here in spring.
Mid-spring, actually,
when you still need a blanket and
maybe to close the window at night.
But during the day as you ride
your bike uphill--
always up-Goddamn-hill--
a gust will spread the dandelion seeds.

And when it snows here in spring
it's just a flawed simile
because these seeds will replant
themselves in fertile soil and,
new, will soak up sunlight and live
on to have their seeds
blown in a gust of wind
or by someone making a wish or
trying to remember what wet snow smells like
but can't.
But the snow will stop. And start. And melt.
And thaw. And I wonder,
for another four months,
is it really connected?

but I hate short stories

2009-05-11T18:44:00.000-07:00

Today went to Powell's, headed for the small press section. Am wearing hoop earrings, and as I was walking down the street I realized no one who I want to love me will love me if I'm wearing hoop earrings. Also feeling self-conscious about wearing a black hoodie from Old Navy that my neighbor was getting rid of.

Bought Barthes for Beginners, since I need to have even less faith in signs and signifiers. Thought of buying the newest Believer, but its dense columns of text written by people doing with their lives what I would like to be doing with my life seemed like steel mountains to climb. Originally had gone for the Tao Lin, but it was $14 to where the darkest channel of my brain doesn't need to go to. Almost picked up an old Paris Review, but I hate short stories and it's only full of dead white ghosts whose 20th century trials seem trivial now. Finally settled on the $8 zine my own name is in, to send to someone or something, and the Barthes was an impulse buy sitting at the counter for less than five bucks. By the time I check out at Powell's, every time, it's all I can do to look the cashier in the eye, I'm so crippled with the words I've scanned and the new truths I've drafted in my head and my own brain is left seeping on all the shelves I've touched.

I always see Miss Lonelyhearts/ Day of the Locust by Nathaniel West, read it when I was 18 and home for a while and put myself on a strict reading schedule and lived at library book sales, left with paper bags full of paperbacks from 1959. Brought West on a family vacation to Athens, Georgia to see parents friends. Mark has a Ph.D in American literature, he's a high school teacher, published, but still hasn't written the Great American Novel. He saw my book, commented what seemed pleasant surprise, maybe that some girl with high heeled sandals seemed to give a fuck about what people his age used to when they were my age. Anyway, the book features a particularly 1960s brand of apocalyptic despair, which now seems like a pretty cozy place to lie.

So now I've got the Barthes, a companion guide to Semiotics for Beginners I bought almost a year ago at a fantastically musty and dirty over-stocked used book store on an island off of Washington state, with my mom and more parents' friends. The husband doesn't believe in evolution, his reasoning explained over breakfast when he looked at a blueberry and wondered how we could possibly be related. Luckily I'd just almost passed bio and remembered that all living organisms are joined by a protein called WNT or something, a seemingly important fact that about 20 people in the world care to know, and I brought this up in a voice quiet and measured that I always use in situations where that's ten times harder than getting radish-faced and shouting and bludgeoning people across the head for being so unbelievably wrong and offending the sensibilities of anyone who's put in the menial time and energy to have half a fucking brain.

Anyway, this island off of Washington reminded me of Maine, because it was all tall grass and water, and it was quiet. Except one year when we had a vacation in Maine I listened to a lot of Bon Jovi (Slippery When Wet. Jesus fucking Christ, obviously) and we were on the South Beach Diet, and I thought that losing 15 pounds would be as valuable as any other vital accessory to the person I knew I needed to be, like a 1500 on the SATs or a boyfriend on the hockey team. But it was brutal, we ate peanut butter and ricotta cheese the entire time, and didn't lose a pound, and I remained a size four, my dreams of twos and zeros dashed along with those of a Little Ivy acceptance, and other things I'm really fucking thankful never reached my hands, and am now mortified and guilty and sad to admit ever held a place within my mind.

Those long dirt roads were beautiful though, bisecting this fluttering sea of bright green grass, and sometimes horses would come to the fence by the road, perfect: dumb and handsome, and the fields only stopped for a cliff at the endless gray-blue deep of the Atlantic that our porch sat right over.

And that's what Washington reminded me of, and we followed around the orca-watching tour vans in our car, and took a ferry back to the mainland, and of course the bright orange sun just melted into that water and absorbed everything except for the wind, and the trees got black against the pink and orange, and thinking about it now, it's almost too beautiful to believe it was real, sitting on the water and watching the day's end illuminate everything, even the wind, and just feeling like nothing in the face of it all, in a good way.

That's the last sunset I can really remember, almost a year ago, because ever since, when the sun goes down, it's been raining, or I've been at work, or drunk, and it doesn't matter anyway, because there's no water here (a river is not an ocean).

Service: In the Proper Adaptable Format

2009-05-11T12:14:00.000-07:00

byMeredith Rivlin

My hands grazed the keyboard resting
making the distinct clicking and twitching
sound of idling fingers.

(Working hands, though.
These are my hands.
They are privileged hands.)

And I worked and clicked and spoke and
eased my own conscious back
into consciousness where productivity
also lies.
I practiced selflessness while clicking “send/
receive” in hopes of 20 new emails addressed
to me personally
with questions I could answer and people
I could convince.

Open minds and opportunities will
take the place of littered envelopes
(remnants of a culture of desire)
and broken sidewalk glass
(whose contents is used to forget selves and ease fears
as we lay awake
next to someone who might just
know the answers to
questions we lay
awake trying to forget,
like are we really special and where does that fit in?)

Working visions.
These are my visions.
They are out there and
unspecific and cliché.

And they feed off of devotion and passion,
though we think we have enough,
and get swallowed by cynicism and
another explanation
or excuse
of our generation.

What it feels like for (this) girl

2009-04-30T14:15:00.000-07:00

I am eleven or twelve or thirteen in the fitting room at The Gap. I barely fit in to a women’s size 16. I ask my mother where I am going to buy jeans once I exceed the sizes at Gap. My mother is a good mother and she doesn’t know what to say. Really, there is no consoling a fat girl. I probably cried. I cried then and seemingly a million times before because I knew I wasn’t pretty. At eleven or twelve or thirteen, I hung a photo of a woman with a “hot body” that I cut from one of my teen magazines, manuals for how to be a good woman. This woman had flat abdominals and tanned skin. This woman attracted men because she was beautiful. This woman was a woman while I was merely a girl.
In my preteen journal I wrote, Loose 30 pounds, next to doodles of hearts and stars, I assume. I considered hanging this, my demand of myself, on my mirror, next to the magazine photo of the beautiful vacant woman. But I did not want my parents, or anyone, to see it. I tore out my declarative scribbles and placed it in my underwear drawer next to some lip gloss purchased at CVS.

Ding-Dong.

2009-04-29T09:21:00.000-07:00

In a new series entitled 'Ding-Dong', I will post photos of good-lookin' men-folk. You might ask yourself, in what way is this constructive to the Revolution? Whelp, it's not. However, the revolution supports community, sharing, etc. and these bros are too sexay not to share.

To catapult this series, we start with Ryan Gosling. The brooding Mr. Gosling was in that movie The Spiral Composition Book and Half Nelson...talk about heroin chic! According to IMDB, the Gosling Goose is set to appear in All Good Things in 2009.

Love in the time of SWINE!

2009-04-28T20:31:00.000-07:00

This sweet photograph reminds me that love will conquer the piggy flu!:

Even if we have to wear protective suits and those masks (made popular in the days of SARS), we can still make-out with our partners and have a nice time before the fear-mongering kills or exhausts us all.
Enjoy your life...until you die a slow and excruciating death by the swine flu disease thing of 2k9.

Take Time

2009-04-27T17:55:00.000-07:00

Check this video from the intelligent and sensitive experimental duo The Books for a mind/life altering experience similar to that of witnessing childbirth or climing a really really high mountain.

Happy Birthday Elissa Kathryn!

2009-04-19T14:29:00.000-07:00

Spring is nature's way of saying, "Let's party!"
Robin Williams

R.I.P., Personal Computing

2009-04-15T12:39:00.000-07:00

Today, I flushed a lot of monies down the toilet and mourned the loss of technologies. My computer just up and broke I am no longer an owner of a personal computer (I think they call it a “PC”) which puts me in a league of 3-year olds and the peoples of the developing world.

I took two trips and spend roughly100 hours at my university’s “computer depot.” It’s difficult to feel human when you realize how much we depend on machines that don’t love us back and that will just break. It’s hard to stay sane watching your beloved files being transferred to a sad, little, expensive external hard drive while a tech brah next to you listens to Widespread Panic on his moe. Pandora radio station.

As I walked home with a $1,000 hunk of metal and plastic in my bag, the world was still breathing and I still had all my appendages. The world keeps spinning: spring is coming alive around us and consumers continue to buy technology that will ultimately fail.

I’ll miss the convenience and making playlists. Alas, I was tiring of the mega blogs that I waste so much time on. The sun is shining and I desperately need a tan, not an extra special glimpse into the life of blog commenters.

I don’t know if a new computer is in my future which is to say, my blogging will take a hit. Dry your eyes; we’ll be okay.

And friends of the interwebs, don’t buy a Dell.

april showers.

2009-04-09T20:22:00.000-07:00

A photographic ode to April, the greatest month in the Georgian calender.

[slate]

local celebrity

2009-04-08T17:22:00.000-07:00

Study abroad with this (alt) broad (@ minute 3:40)

Fleetwood Tuesday

2009-04-07T09:19:00.000-07:00

Another rainy day in the Green Mountains and the only cure is the Mac:

Rhiannon, 1976

Hotties of the Recession, Part Deux

2009-04-06T08:50:00.000-07:00

Another Monday and the economy continues to spiral into oblivion and 50% off DVDs at Circuit City (Paul Blart: Mall Cop, anyone?). The silver lining of all this economic doomsday is Caleb Moore and Kyle Sevens, this week's Hotties of the Recession.

Caleb and Kyle live in Baltimore, the Philadelphia of Maryland, and are currently unemployed. Caleb was laid off from a position as a graphic designer (oooh!) and Kyle was laid off from his job as a woodwright's apprentice (huh?).

Pictured with their intricately placed owl lamp* and guitar, these dudes look sad. Sure, they have a very nice apartment, but poor Kyle admits to having taken walks to the ATM even when he didn't need cash. Caleb, with the decidedly cooler name and interesting glasses, has been taking his unemployment in stride; he is setting up a recording studio in their apartment because he's in a band, naturally. But don't cry for Kyle!: he's teaching himself to silkscreen.

Surely, Caleb and Kyle's interesting alternative hobbies will be enough to get these dudes laid for the remainder of the recession.

*This "hip" owl lamp was mostly likely purchased for $39.95 at Urban Outfitters. In these economic times, Caleb and Kyle will need to learn to be more thrifty. Also, boys, lamps go on tables, not the floor.

Faces of the Recession

Friends of the interwebs

2009-04-05T13:22:00.000-07:00

This blogger might be my blogging soul mate and her blog, my internet Graceland:

Cute and Cuter

Puppies! Babies! Beards! (Lay off the cats. They are Stupid and Stupider)

The C-bomb

2009-04-02T14:11:00.000-07:00

From Jezebel.com:

"Personally, I revel in vulgarity. I love the word "cunt" for its abruptness, its harsh syllable, its ability to shock nearly everyone. I don't say it to reclaim anything, really, either, because I appreciate its base nature, its harshness, its cruelty. I would rather be a cunt than a pussy (and certainly either than be a dick); I have a cunt, not a twat; I prefer being cunty to being bitchy because I feel like cuntiness is more deliberately mean. I like that "cunt" is worse than "fuck" on the scale of things you can't say in front of your mom. I feel I would rather my anatomy be the worst insult than a lesser insult, Because I'm competitive like that and because it's seemingly all based around the fear and mystery surrounding the female anatomy (and not just a little jealousy). But I also love the idea that it could be the greatest compliment, because having a cunt is pretty awesome."

Hotties of the Recession

2009-03-30T11:31:00.000-07:00

In these economic times, The Revolution Will Be will be (ha!) presenting a new weekly installation called Hotties of the Recession. These men and women women are unemployed and sexy. You can most likely find them Mon-Sun. at your local bar, knocking back PBRs, quite unironically. They need comfort and a job too, probably.

This week we have Blake Sims from Austin, Texas. Blake was recently laid off from his job as an offset printing technician. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it looks like the that sticky bar stool next to him is empty.

[Great Shots from Tough Times]
http://facesoftherecession.blogspot.com/

The Future of Journalism

2009-03-30T10:41:00.000-07:00

Birmingham City University is offering a year-long course in "social media": $5,700 for instruction on how to start a blog, record a podcast, and use Facebook, Twitter, and Bebo.

[Gawker]

Spring.

2009-03-20T08:29:00.000-07:00

Happy Spring Equinox.

Burlington, Vermont, April 2008

More delightful Spring photos found at slate.com

Chick Lit

2009-03-09T19:48:00.001-07:00

Susan Sontag, 1972

Portraits of authors, who happen to be women

simple pleasures.

2009-03-06T08:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it's nice to take a step back...

Morning Watch
The percolator is a gurgling alembic
brewing the morning's sputtering slick.
I bask in the coffee's simple balm.
For once I'll be wise and forgo
turning to the company of the radio,
the world's hourly news and see
if the goldfinch and the chickadee
will come to our feeder,
to our coffee-brown sunflower seed.
I'll accept the responsibility of being calm.
I'll pay attention to the small creatures,
to their broadcast and morning need.
This morning I will pay special heed.
-Greg Delante

dark room.

2009-03-03T10:48:00.000-08:00

Oh no oh no! Financial crisis and trillions of dollar$$ of debt is forcing true artists to sell out and sell all--even art that has yet to be created! I'm melting!!!

Happy Birthday Sara

2009-03-02T12:18:00.001-08:00

It's a new year,
I'm glad to be here
It's a fresh spring,
so let's sing
(yeasayer, 2080)

What to Expect When You're Expected (Part 1)

2009-02-27T06:26:00.001-08:00

By M.R.R

I reached down below my desk to turn on the computer and as I looked around me, changing from my winter boots to office-appropriate footwear, it all seeed strangely familiar. Not familiar in the sense that it was Wednesday and I had been at this job Monday through Friday for the past six months; it was familiar in the sense that I had done all this only several hours ago. It was as if I slept in the office or worked through the night, as thoughts of mentoring and public awareness (or, to use a detestable phrase, "branding") encroached upon my inexplicable, albeit incredibly important, R.E.M. cycle.

Yes, i had dreamt about work again. But what was worse was that i had solved a problem, figured out a task that had stumped me, and, as soon as 9am rolled around, i could execute my solution.

So it worked; i found a missing file that had been misfiled and it took me all of half an hour to fix it. Then I looked up from my desk in the basement-level office out the large window where I cannot see the sun itself, but I can see the color of the sky and I can see glares and reflections. I sat and thought about other people. Other people were sleeping in right now; other people were walking their dogs, meeting other people walking their dogs; other people were starting and then subsequently finishing something that they wanted to start and then subsequently finish. And I was refiling existing information.

Barbie: Every girl?

2009-02-17T17:28:00.000-08:00

By Anna Mae Green, Guest writer

Barbie claims to be “every girl.” Rather, the toy company Mattel claims Barbie is every girl; “from urban teen to fantasy queen, she’s every girl!” Realistically, is Barbie any girl? In America and worldwide, Barbie is a phenomenon, representing American culture and catering to millions of children. Barbie represents an impossible attainability and subliminally preaches perfection to the world’s youth. Mattel created Barbie in a perfect light, with a perfect life, becoming a catalyst for the demoralization of the worlds girls in their strive for the impossible. Barbie’s dimensions are physically impossible to attain; “she has excessively long legs… her feet are eternally on point, she also has large breasts, long hair” (Gamber). However, now more than ever, girls and women of all ages are regularly getting plastic surgery, dying their hair a certain shade of blonde, and even becoming anorexic and bulimic, knowingly or not becoming more and more like Barbie. Barbie is not every girl, but a representation of the perfect girl, the girl we are supposed to strive to be like.

Like most companies today, Mattel has created a virtual world that Barbie lives in. Girls can interactively play with Barbie and model their Barbie world after the one online. The Barbie website has a link for parents that leads to webeliveingirls.com, a website more about the strength and power of girls than the strength and power of Barbie. Obviously fashioned for the over-protective mother who may see through Barbie, the website is geniusly designed to focus on the children who may be purchasing a Barbie doll rather than Barbie herself. In this important move, Mattel is able to show that Barbie can and will lead to strong, independent girls and young women. As life has confirmed, however, Barbie leads us down a treacherous path of trying to prove ourselves to the world and to each other through beauty and all things pink, not, on the contrary to a life of happiness and strength. The website features girls of all ages and nationalities, unlike the doll itself who is either white or white with black skin (i.e. all white features but clearly simply dyed differently). Some children, at least one child, altered her African American Barbie to become more versed in African American heritage; “the doll’s hair has had treatments applied to it, treatments that would be found in the African American community” (Gamber).
Barbie, fashioned as a white middle class teenager, was deemed to be a role model for young girls growing up in America; she was “an icon of what it means to be an American” (Gamber). As time progressed, Barbie spanned her arms worldwide to become a more versed and cultured Barbie. Incidentally, Barbie sent a negative message to countries worldwide, adding to the American influence across the globe. Later, Barbie adapted to the diversity of the world and altered Barbie for different national identities; “they are not using the same copyrighted face…they have marked her features differently” (Gamber). Barbie now has a different persona for every country she is sold in; however “at the core, Barbie is still this white, western ideal” (Gamber).
My mother and Barbie are the same age; both were born in 1959. My mother remembers growing up with Barbie; she received one in a red bathing suit as a gift from a neighbor when she was about 6 or 7. She recalls however, that Barbie was a representation of the 1950s idealism and representation of women, but as the women’s movement of the 1960s and 1970s took over Barbie’s popularity waned. With women’s liberation, Mattel combated the movement by modernizing Barbie by marketing her in a police or doctor uniform instead of the typical bathing suit or dress originally included with the doll. Despite this attempt at modernization, Barbie remained a sexual and provocative figure. The new packaging and outfits included with Barbie was a farce; Barbie’s eyes were still bating with perverse motion, surrounded by intense eye makeup. Her breasts were still the center-point of an outfit and her feet were even now modeled forever on point, only able to wear high heels. As if placing Barbie as a police officer or as a presidential candidate undid the negative stereotyping associated with the doll, the marketing scheme worked. Barbie’s popularity was growing more now than ever before. However, there has been a recent resurgence of the original stipulates of the doll, almost reversing the women’s movement all together. Barbie remains an icon of the 1950s; her modernization plot was a clear ruse.
In the last few weeks and months, a court case has developed between Mattel and MGA, maker of Bratz dolls. Bratz dolls, slightly shorter than Barbie dolls, portray urban teenagers with slightly more attitude than girly-girl Barbie. Bratz’s popularity since their creation in 2001 has exponentially risen, outselling Barbie in the United Kingdom as well as in other parts of the world. Bratz dolls don’t pretend to be sophisticated and friendly like Barbie, but instead illustrate a rude demeanor with obvious sexual intentions. Mattel, feeling that the idea of Bratz was stolen from Barbie, is suing MGA, proving that the true intentions of Barbie are blatantly sexual ones.
Barbie preaches independence and intelligence but is the opposite. Mattel has given specific press conferences as to the marital or dating status of Barbie: at one minute she’s with Ken, at the next she’s not, then they’re together again. The relationship between Ken and Barbie presents a purely heterogeneous one. They live their perfect lives together, sending the message to young girls, the average consumer that to be happy is to be blonde, disproportionately slim, beautiful, and in a relationship with an equally beautiful man. Although put back on the dating market by Mattel, Barbie couldn’t be alone; what message would that send to young girls!?! Can one be happy without being romantically involved? The answer, made clear by Mattel is no; therefore resulting in Barbie reentering her relationship with Ken. Although intimating and insinuating sexual intentions, sex amongst Barbie and Barbie’s friends is unheard of; her permanently tattooed underwear would prevent this from happening anyway. Therefore, Mattel advocates a message of abstinence but has deep sexual intentions for Barbie and her lovers.
We live in a world today of conflicting ideas and interests, raging wars, a weak dollar and a deteriorating environment. Barbie lives in a different world. Her world is perfect, just like she is, emphasizing consumer culture and lavish lifestyles. If most of the world’s girls cannot even afford a Barbie doll themselves, how could they relate to a girl, albeit Barbie, who drives several cars at once, has hundreds of different outfits, and infinite accessories for every activity? Barbie is not every girl; she is not even one girl.
As time progresses, perhaps Barbie will become a thing of the past, she’ll be stuffed in boxes in basements and garages beside beanie babies and yo-yos, a passing fad that was popular once. Barbie’s fall may be due to competing products or ideas, or may be because her idealism is simply old fashioned and will finally become obsolete. Instead of representing what girls should be, Barbie might become an image of what girls should not be. Until mothers and daughters decide to make that change themselves, however, Mattel will continue to be successful. Barbie would not be successful were it not for the average consumer buying her at a rate of once every three seconds (Gamber). To be beautiful and rich is something to be treasured in this country so young girls will continue to gravitate towards such a role model until change by mothers and daughters is brought about.

What Art Isn't

2009-02-15T14:14:00.000-08:00

Never has the American art world functioned so efficiently as a full-service marketing industry on the corporate model. Every year art schools across the country spit out thousands of groomed-for-success graduates, whose job it is to supply galleries and auction houses with desirable retail. They are backed up by cadres of public relations specialists — otherwise known as critics, curators, editors, publishers and career theorists — who provide timely updates on what desirable means.

--NYT, Feb. 15, 2009

2009-02-09T21:39:00.001-08:00

ICELAND—By the Urridafoss waterfall, anti-industrialization protesters hold a banner demonstrating against the proposed damming of the Thjórsá River, which is under threat of housing a new power station. The waterfall has the highest volume of water passing through it in all of Iceland, 2007.

Barbie: Baller

2009-02-08T16:30:00.000-08:00

On her 50th birthday, Barbie is a controversial role model. Some say she represents an unrealistic image of women. She is the standard of American beauty: blond hair, blue eyes, a tiny waste and tits to topple her over. Others contend Barbie, who has been a doctor and a pilot, is an entrepreneur and a role model. While no little girl should aspire to have her plastic breasts, I say that Barbie is a baller.
Barbara “Barbie” Millicent Roberts was modeled after a German doll in 1959 by a woman named Ruth Handler. Her daughter, Barbara (a.k.a. Barbie) was tired of her baby dolls and Handler was attracted to the German model which was an adult woman doll. Handler brought the idea to her husband, a co-founder of Mattel. The company was unenthusiastic with Handler’s idea and I need not say how rare a businesswoman was in the 1950s. Yet Barbie debuted in her great zebra bathing suit and the rest, as they say, is history.
I’m a feminist and I’ve never had a problem with Barbie. In fact, I love Barbie. I played with Barbie from the time my thumbs were opposable to the time when boys were more important than Barbies (fifth grade, ok?). I kept my Barbies in a big white bag filled with fabulous clothes and an array of little plastic multicolored shoes. I had over 20 Barbies, all different in appearance and personality. There was Theresa, a no-nonsense brunette with killer legs, obviously. There was Barbie’s teenage sister, Skipper, whose hair my sister shored to a buzz-cut before we got any male Kens. …A total lesbian now that I think of it. And then there was Keira. Keira was my favorite, Asian and awesome, with a streak of light brown in her beautiful jet black hair.
Like any famous woman, Barbie is surrounded with controversy. The most common criticism of the doll is that she is an inaccurate and unrealistic of women. If Barbie was a real woman, her body could not hold her internal organs and she would be unable to stand due to the weight of her breasts. Yet, Barbie is not a real woman; she is a doll. Margaux Lange, who creates jewelry from Barbie’s appendages, said “I think people have a hard time separating Barbie from a real woman.”
Barbie was a staple in my life for nearly a decade and not once did I think, “I want to look just like Barbie.” She was skinning and I was not, but I had parents telling me I could do and be whoever I wanted and a sister teaching me about self-confidence.
Girls are inundated with negative images of women daily, but Barbie is not just big boobs. Teen magazines that tell girls what “real” guys want from “real” girls but Barbie asks girls what they want from themselves. Barbie herself has had numerous careers, a lot of friends, and never married.
I do not regret one day I spent with Barbie. My sister and I played Barbies endlessly and can remember us going to bed one night, so excited to play Barbies the next morning. But my best times with Barbie were when I played with all my Barbies alone in my room. Through Barbie I developed a limitless imagination and a keen interest in people.
Barbie’s popularity is waning and her stocks are dropping but I hope Barbie is around for another 50 years so my daughters can imagine who they want to be. And the alternative is pretty frightening.

Love is not proud, you know.

2009-02-07T11:09:00.000-08:00

"Fidelity": Don't Divorce... from Courage Campaign on Vimeo.
I don't know if I want to get married. I think weddings are pretty awful (the electric slide, drunk relatives, reading awesome poems like "Love is not proud, love is not boastful..." Ick.). I think that the normative family structure isn't so much traditional as it is unrealistic. Also unrealistic? Monogamy. But mostly, I'm just incredibly skeptical that I will meet a nice boy, fall in love and stay in love until that nice boy becomes a nice old man.
Yet, aren't I lucky. As a heterosexual woman in the 21st century, I have the luxury and the privilege to question marriage. Or if I meet a nice boy who, resembles a lumberjack, looks good in a suit, cooks, adheres to no preconceived gender constructs, and will hyphenate our babies' last names, I can marry him whenever I want.
I wish that every bigot who believes that same sex marriage is about more than simply two people committing to each other for life would watch this video. It made this marriage skeptic cry.

Ballllrr

2009-01-31T11:13:00.000-08:00

A Reminder

2009-01-25T17:29:00.001-08:00

that it's not all evil.

This Moment

2009-01-24T13:06:00.000-08:00

'Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand-and melting like a snowflake...'

--Francis Bacon

Yes We Can Change! I Hope!

2009-01-21T14:18:00.000-08:00

We are now well aware that "going green" is not portrayed in the media as a salvation of our planet, but as a means to be hip and acquire more stuff. Politics dictate trends--consumer, fashion, disposal of past trends--so that while grassroots organizations have existed since the beat generation to protect our vulnerable earth, Al Gore gets rich by showing us, with large charts and an automatic ladder lift, what we've chosen to ignore and have found inconvenient for years.

With a new administration come new trends. President (i was getting sick of that required "elect" distinction) Obama's focus on service and civic engagement, while no less legit than environmentalism, is becoming yet another American trend. Starbucks has announced their new inspired ad campaign-slash-initiative to comply with Obama's urge for community service. By pledging 5 hours of (national) community service, a customer is rewarded with a large (venti??) coffee that we can only hope is fair trade. [Please note that no where does Starbucks encourage bringing a reuseable mug on your way to clean up a park or read to a child.] Starbucks makes sure the customer realizes that 5 hours isn't really that much time; it won't interfere too much with his busy, self-serving Americn life. Much like "going green"catered to the stubbornness of citizens by pushing hybrid Lexus SUVs, name brand peace signs, and energy efficient dish washers, Starbucks assures that the customer doesn't have to go too much out of her way to feel like a good American again.
This, once again, brings up the question of motives. Did that yuppie suburban woman start bringing a canvass bag to Trader Joe's because she can't bear to imagine where her plastic bags end up or because Oprah said so? Did the busy businessman start using earth-friendly cleaning products because he doesn't want chemicals ending up in his water or because of his brand loyalty to Clorox? Are we supposed to help better our community because we're passionate about changing things on a domestic level or because Obama and our Favorite Coffee Shop (TM) told us to?
And does it matter? If 100 million caffeiene addicts actually accomplish 500 million hours of community service for the wrong reason, is there such thing as a wrong reason? Or should they get praise for being dutiful capitalist citizens? The coffee is free after all.

The 44th President or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love America

2009-01-20T13:55:00.000-08:00

On January 20, 2009, Inauguration day, former Vice President was wheeled onto the Mall in an sadly hilarious metaphor; he and his buddy George Bush are lame ducks, now irrelevant that their reign of power is through. (Mr. Cheney pulled a muscle while packing up his things. No one was willing to help the old curmudgeon. Ha! And my boy Anderson Cooper called him Dr. Strangelove. Ha! Ha!)

It’s the day that everyone* has been waiting for: today, the United States becomes Obamanation. Or, as one clever sign stated, we are “One Nation Under a Groove.” While we are deep in a dark winter, today is the beginning of a brighter day, a better era.

I'll admit that I caught the Obama bug: I have hope. The inauguration is just expensive fluff and brouhaha but I sincerely believe that not only will President Obama bring about real change and will change the way Americans view race and gender.

President Obama stepped onto the Mall to address those who voted for him and those who didn't. With the world watching, the President spoke of personal responsibility and non-partisanship. As Robert F. Kennedy once said, "this [is] difficult time for the United States, it is perhaps well to ask what kind of a nation we are and what direction we want to move in" and there was a distinct feeling on the Mall today that our new president knows what direction we need to take.

I’m a critic (although not paid, so I suppose I’m just critical) but in my opinion, the inauguration was not without flaw. Our nation has seem to forget that there is a separation between church and state (it's in the Consitution, guys). The God shout outs were many and redundant; for all of Obama's chatter about being a diverse country, at the inauguration it was assumed we are a country exclusively of Christians. Furthermore, the Reverend Rick Warren, mega pastor! and vocal supporter of Proposition 8, was not appropriate. I get it, Mr. President: you want to include all Americans, even Red Staters. But to have a man who does not support equal rights and so hypocritically spoke of God's "loving everyone" is not instep with Obama's message of change.

Still, the Obama Administration will create change and encourage progression. This country needs a makeover: America is that popular high school girl with a bad reputation. Everyone fears her, resents her and doesn't like her. We have two failing wars, a dismal economy, health care and education issues, and a gross rollback of personal rights. We need change, and a lot of it.

While this is the beginning of an era, the Obama era, it is also the end of another. George Bush, don't let the door hit you on the way out. President Obama, we have confidence in you. Please, don't let us down.

*everyone is 54 percent of Americans that voted for Obama and let’s be honest, the rest of the world. And c’mon, red states, just admit it—you like the guy too.

Thanks Yahoo News

2009-01-10T22:51:00.000-08:00

Clarkson's glossy new look:
"American Idol" Kelly Clarkson trades in her smoky rocker look for bright red lipstick.

» A return to pop sweetness
Kelly Clarkson videos, photos, songs

and, thanks google:

Related searches: kelly clarkson fat

Face-value

2009-01-09T18:01:00.000-08:00

Branded like a cow.

Thanks, everyone, for putting those expensive Psychology Degrees to degrading, belittling, corporate use.
(Chewing gum makes a person very attractive and witty)

A New Year

2008-12-30T21:41:00.000-08:00

jeff buckley, hallelujah

Keep this in mind when you think of Jesus

2008-12-21T09:32:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-11T12:59:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-07T12:45:00.001-08:00

From "The Bell Jar"

2008-12-04T17:09:00.000-08:00

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*

2008-12-02T17:34:00.000-08:00

*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

2008-11-25T20:23:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-12T15:49:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-12T15:39:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-08T20:54:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday, Joni

Kegs for McCain

2008-10-19T15:36:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-09T16:42:00.000-07:00

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!!!!!!!!

2008-10-07T18:10:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-07T16:45:00.000-07:00

And Obama is the "elitist"?

Sign of Humanity

2008-10-06T15:08:00.000-07:00

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.

Gawker

New York

Sign of the Apocalypse

2008-10-06T14:59:00.000-07:00

"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

2008-10-02T21:47:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-30T15:16:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-09-30T08:49:00.000-07:00

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

I Really Don't Like Sarah Palin

2008-09-29T20:11:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-29T19:51:00.000-07:00

‘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

2008-09-29T19:44:00.001-07:00

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

From Gawker:
Did the parties used to be better?

Autumn

2008-09-23T05:33:00.001-07:00

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

R.I.P. TRL

2008-09-22T05:29:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-19T15:58:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-18T13:24:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-16T13:12:00.000-07:00

In other depressing news

Vampire Weekend and Wolf Parade better up their indie ante.

One of the Sweetest (Legal) Jobs Ever

2008-09-14T20:11:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-10T11:25:00.000-07:00

"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

2008-09-09T14:19:00.000-07:00

‘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

2008-09-09T00:05:00.000-07:00

"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.

2008-09-07T10:58:00.000-07:00

PalinDrome