Apologies To Leslie Jones, Even Though I’m White

gloria steinem dorothy pittman

I want to apologize to Leslie Jones for the awfulness of people on the Internet.

When she was abused on Twitter by a bunch of brain-damaged racist trolls led by some cunt from Breitbart, I was truly aghast at the level of cruelty out there.

It reminded me of the time I was the victim of trolling, an experience I will never forget. Being trolled by an organized group is like a spiritual gang rape. You can’t believe people are so crazy. You feel dehumanized for a reason: Trolls don’t think of you as human. You are just prey.

And yet the Leslie Jones trolls are so vile, your heart breaks just to read a sample of their invective. It’s like a gang of malevolent infants throwing their own shit around and reveling in it.

I just read that the Department of Homeland Security will be investigating the hacking of Jones’ website, and you know they’re going to get that fucker (or fuckers.)

But I also just read something less encouraging, in a piece on Vox about defending Leslie Jones with the hashtag #IStandWithLeslie.  The writer discusses the attacks in the context of ‘misogynoir,’ meaning misogyny targeting black women.

I admit I didn’t know this was a thing, that’s how ignorant/sheltered/politically unaware I am. And the Vox piece tells me that hashtag activism…

needs to be connected to the multiple ways black women are systemically targeted and exploited offline, and redress those problems accordingly.

Okay. Or so I thought.

Evidently Katy Perry rushed to Jones’ defense on Twitter, even denouncing “misogynoir crime.” Good for Katy, right?

No. Wrong.

The Vox writer scolds Katy Perry for her cultural appropriation.

Even though Perry signal-boosted misogynoir, she in her music video for the 2014 single “This is How We Do” can be seen sporting cornrows, baby hairs gelled down, looking at the camera while deploying slang rooted in black culture like “I see you” with a pursed lip.

Perry — like Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift — is one of the many celebrities who have created their own cultural cool co-opting the fashion (and sometimes the actual bodies) of women of color as props to give them an edge. And while Perry, as a white woman, is praised, the injustice comes from the fact that the women of color she emulates, like Jones, are punished for doing the same thing.

Here I will stop and lament that we have come to this.

I want to apologize to Leslie Jones EVEN THOUGH I’M WHITE! I genuinely deplore the abuse she has suffered and I worry about her well-being. I look up to her and I feel for her, even though I listen to soul music and own a necklace that says THUG in rhinestones.

Black culture is not sacrosanct in my house and neither is any other culture including my husband’s Mexican one and my Jewish one. We are elevated and enhanced by appreciating cultures outside our own upbringing.

I love you Leslie Jones, whether that Vox writer likes it or not. I hope you will accept my sincere apology on behalf of the human race.

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The Wisdom Of Lock-Up Extended Stay

I watched Lock-Up Extended Stay the other night for the first time in years, having dismissed it as too voyeuristic and depressing.

Now, it seems to be full of existential wisdom.

You can view the prison as a metaphor for Life, with each convict choosing a method of coping

One prisoner doesn’t dwell on the sordid past and seems unduly optimistic about what lies ahead. One prisoner admits his terrible crimes but feels at peace with himself. Another blames everything on someone else, never taking ownership of any choice or action.

One prisoner, Elijah, is my new role model and I will go so far as to call him my Happy Place.

Elijah is waiting to be transferred to the prison where he will serve his sentence for robbery or something. He doesn’t like the jail where he is, and he expresses his displeasure by flooding the toilet in his cell.

At the time we meet him, the jailers are already sick of this. Elijah has also managed to break the cell’s sprinkler system a few times.

He doesn’t like being in general population because he ‘doesn’t fit in.’ He performs in a drag act and has a soft feminine voice with a lisp. At the same time, he is tough, and looks capable of serious violence.

Elijah is moved to a disciplinary cell-block as punishment for flooding the toilet. They take away his socks, which he has used to perform his mischief.

At some point, Elijah admits that he isn’t really protesting cell conditions; he enjoys antagonizing a hostile jailer. “I just don’t like his ath,” he explains.

The warden thinks he’s solved the problem but Elijah sticks his arm down the toilet to make it overflow.

Now the warden is getting pissed. They make Elijah mop up the cell himself, even though is becomes a ridiculously complicated procedure.

Elijah says matter-of-factly that nothing will make him stop flooding the toilet. He’ll keep doing it until he is transferred.

In the Elijah allegory where prison is life, let’s interpret “transferred” as death.

Elijah has chosen a path of resistance, of defiance, of finding satisfaction in annoying his captors (i.e. the forces that be) instead of capitulating to authority. Life will be harder, but it will be a principled life.

I think we should live by our principles, even if they’re stupid. They’re all you’ve got, in the end. They’re the only thing you can control.

On a whole different note, I also learned that you can make eye shadow by mixing crayons with roll-on deodorant.

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Posted in Art, Horrible Stuff | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

If It Walks Like A Slut And It Quacks Like A Slut, It’s Melania!

melania slutty 1

Melania Trump is mad at The Daily Mail, Politico, and eight other news outlets for reporting that she once worked for an ‘escort agency.’

Her lawyer – the same one who represented Hulk Hogan in his lawsuit against Gawker media – has put these websites on notice that they will be sued unless they retract the unsubstantiated report.  Because it could harm her sterling reputation, for one thing. Here’s how he put it:

All such statements are 100% false, highly damaging to her reputation, and personally hurtful. She understands that news media have certain leeway in a presidential campaign, but outright lying about her in this way exceeds all bounds of appropriate news reporting and human decency.

I’d like to start off by asking if it’s okay to slut-shame Melania Trump. Is it okay? Because she’s pretty slutty.  And I don’t see why she should be or pretend to be ashamed.

She’s a slutty nude model from Slovenia who was willing to do what it takes to come to America and make money. Not every woman could succeed at this. Most can’t, in fact.

Melania nude by Alé de Basse­ville 1996 max magazine

Be proud, Melania!

She met The Donald at a party thrown by some guy who runs a modeling agency and enjoys entertaining big-shots who like sexy gold-diggers. All fine with me!

Unfortunately, Melania has lied about having a college degree and she lied about her immigration history and she lied about writing her own speech at the GOP convention.

And we’ve just learned that she lied under oath in legal proceedings related to some shady skin-cream she was selling.

So I’m going to say she’s a slut and a liar.

Why can’t a lying slut just go about her business strutting around in her Loubs, squinting and frowning and trying to become the First Lady?

Let her reappropriate and embrace the term ‘slut’ just like Amber Rose, who isn’t nearly as slutty as Melania, IMHO.

I hope her feelings aren’t too hurt. But I’m not convinced she’s a good arbiter of “human decency” because, you know, her husband.

Meanwhile, Mr. Trump has promised that Melania will hold a press conference to address the rumors surrounding her immigration.

Oh please, as if.

 

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A Fucking Game-Changer!

game-changer

These jeans are so spectacularly awful and egregious that I consider them a true game-changer.

They raise the awfulness-bar to a level I don’t expect to see exceeded in my lifetime.

They are beyond idiotic, beyond revolting, and just stupefying in every respect.

Should I order them, take some photos, and send them back?? Before you answer, check out the rear view:

Denim R13 Sashah Jeans 2

Hahaha!  The designers at R13 are insane!

Here’s the Shopbop description.

An overlay with raw edges completely covers these destroyed R13 jeans, lending an avant-garde touch to the silhouette. 5-pocket styling. Single-button closure and zip fly.

An avant-garde touch, eh?

Imagine showing up anywhere in this atrocity. It might be worth the $795 just to see the fear in people’s eyes…and yet no.

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Weekend Hatefest

pant usage

I’ll start with the word ‘pant’ in the picture above.

Why can’t they use ‘pants’? The singular ‘pant’ is so grating, like ‘a red lip,’ which we all hate so robustly.

I’m really struggling with existence. I’m looking for relief and I’m turning to hate, as always. Please join me. In no particular order:

Seth Rogan
Donald Trump
friends of Seth Rogan
Taylor Swift
Ariana Grande
Pokemon Go
cancer
Hannity
Lena Dunham
cropped jeans
the word ‘cropped’
selfies
Game of Thrones
Kylie Jenner
the other Jenners
Tom Hiddleston
Ben Afleck
Rudy Giuliani
Vetements
those girls named Hailey
social media
Brad and Angie
TV commercials
Jezebel
Republicans
Star Wars
movies about comic book characters
my three half-sisters, all cunts
millennials
apps
NRA
Giselle and Tom Brady
Julian Assange

Okay, that’s just the tip of the iceberg, hatewise.

Let’s here what you’ve got.

 

Posted in Disorders, irritants, Words | Tagged , | 36 Comments

‘There Is Still A Role For Shame In Society.’

Shame - Max Klinger

I am quoting Stuart Stevens, a former top strategist for Mitt Romney who has been expressing alarm about Donald Trump for months.

Stevens was reacting to Trump’s attack on the Muslim American parents who spoke at the DNC about their son, who died serving in Iraq.

Khizr Khan, the grieving father, spoke emotionally about the loss of his son. Sane people everywhere were moved to tears by his words, which included a forceful admonishment for the rabidly anti-Muslim Trump:

You have sacrificed nothing and no one.

Donald can’t tolerate criticism, as we know. His deep narcissistic wound triggers a disproportionate burst of rage whenever he perceives a slight.

So Donald lashed out at Mr. Khan, and then attacked Khan’s wife Ghazala for her silence onstage.

Mrs. Khan is a grieving mother who still falls apart when she talks about her son.

She shouldn’t have to defend her silence, but she did, in an interview on MSNBC, explaining:

I was very nervous because I cannot see my son’s picture, and I cannot even come in the room where his pictures are. And that’s why. I saw the picture [behind] my back, I couldn’t take it and I controlled myself at that time.

Today, in response to chickenhawk Trump’s attack and his ludicrous list of his own ‘sacrifices,’ Mr. Khan said:

That is typical of a person without a soul, without empathy…

Exactly! Donald Trump is just a despicable piece of shit, his politics aside. He is an embarrassment to mankind, for fuck sake.

No one needs to confront him with the famous words addressed to Joseph McCarthy Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last?” because the answer is so obviously “No.”

I think it is normal and rational to squirm in agony when you watch the clip below. But I also think we must bear witness to the horrible, indefensible immorality of the Republican party for running this cunt for President. Shame on them all.

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Thinking and Writing About Your Stuff

fire

The other day, I dutifully checked in on the Ex Wife’s literary efforts, not just because I’m nuts but because they are so breathtakingly stupid. I always come away feeling both gratified and enraged.

I can’t help it! She writes a monthly column for her community paper. If it wasn’t there, I wouldn’t need to read it. But it is there. Like Mount Everest.

So the column this month is about packing up when a fire forces you to evacuate. You don’t have much time and there is limited room in the car.

What stuff would you take if you only had a small suitcase?

The stuff she packed was nothing special: “the important papers, and the photos, my doll, the few pieces of good jewelry, family videos.”

I guess the doll is a little suspect and who still says “good jewelry” but let’s move on.

Safely back at home, she removes the precious things she had stuffed into a washer and dryer, and here’s where the fun begins.

My old volumes of Shakespeare, heavy and dark with wisdom,

A collection of glittered Advent calendars holding all the magic of the season,

The Happy Birthday banner handmade by my father,

A pink sequin dress, old family bible, my Beatle cards.

One shabby, brown flannel shirt, well worn and shared by everyone in the family.

Miranda’s report on Ground Squirrels, complete with illustrations.

An Anniversary card from a man who loves me still.

A popsicle stick-framed picture of a guru, the Batman book, Riley’s small handprint,

The copy of, “An Actor Prepares,” that Cindy gave me all those years ago,

A Smashing Pumpkins tee shirt, a stuffed pink pig named Peddly,

Mike’s old surf jacket.

And a faded needlepoint from my mother, reading,

“Dear House, You Are Really Very Small, Just Big Enough For Love, That’s All.”

Jesus Christ. I can’t even.

How does a person get to be so enchanted with their own self?

I believe this is the key to my fascination. It is unfathomable. And so awful.

I asked my sister what she’d pack if she was in a hurry to evacuate. Her answers were reassuringly normal. Photographs and family mementos.

My husband’s answer was thrillingly concise: Instead of a suitcase, he’s take a guitar case, and a guitar. I could not love him more for this.

Me, I’d take the photos and the things I sleep with. I’d throw all my jewelry into a pillowcase, and if there was time, I’d take my hard drive.

I couldn’t manage to be poetic and nostalgic about my itemized stuff.  And believe me, I tried, on the phone with my sister. I’m just not enough of an idiot, say what you will about me.

Now! What stuff would you take, and for extra points, try to emulate the Ex’s lovingly descriptive tone.

 

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Posted in Disorders, revenge, Words | Tagged , , | 38 Comments

Botanica: A Field Trip

botanica santeria2

Remember going on field trips when you were a kid? It was a chance to get out the classroom, and it would an adventure. Not always a good one, but a diversion from the routine of school.

Last week I found a Botanica just a few miles away, bit it was like entering another universe.

This was a real, authentic Botanica, not the one in Hollywood that sells candles to hispters. It was dark and dusty, crammed wall-to-wall with weird packets of herbs, oils, religious statues, Santeria supplies, trays of amulets and charms and some shit you didn’t even want to know what it was.

There was a girl behind the counter in full cola uniform and manner. She might have been Filipino, and she didn’t speak much Spanish. She had died blonde hair with long black roots, heavy winged eyeliner, and a tattoo in gang writing down in her cleavage,

Her name was Jenny, and she watched me ogle the stuff behind the counter. I told her I was looking for something to cure a friend’s illness, instead of admitting to being a nosy Jew on a cultural field trip.

She asked me if I believed in “that stuff” and I said “nah,” immediately outing myself by mistake.

We talked for a bit and she told me she had a month old baby. It turned out that her husband was in jail, BUT IT WASN’T HIS FAULT.

Of course it wasn’t his fault! I watch Lock-Up, I’m not an idiot!

She told me his story and I narrowed my eyes like Nancy Grace and asked: “Who threw the first punch?”

It was the Other Guy, not her husband! But somehow the other guy’s wife, a crazy bitch, told the cops that bla bla bla bla.

Poor Jenny! Only twenty-two.  She was watching the counter for her husband’s mother, who owns the shop and gives readings and ‘cleansings’ in a back room.

Jenny revealed that her baby was asleep in the back of the shop. She insisted on showing me the baby girl, who has some stupid name like Kaylee or something.

I cooed at the baby appreciatively. A fat little girl appeared and spoke to Jenny. She seemed to know her way around the store and might have been the innocent husband’s little sister.

The little girl fingered the tiny evil-eye bracelets and Hamsa charms in front of me. I told her that I love Hamsa’s, which actually isn’t true,  but I wanted to engage her in conversation.

“Good for you,” she answered coolly.

What a fat little bitch, I thought to myself.

I am thinking of going back to get the owner to give me a spiritual cleansing in the back room. I am completely serious.

Plus I want to hear more about Jenny and her predicament.

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Posted in Disorders, Religion | Tagged , , | 8 Comments

Learning to Shut Up

TORTUE-ET-DEUX-CANARDS

The other night, I was upset by something someone had dropped into a phone conversation, and for hours afterward I struggled with the impulse to demand an explanation or retraction.

By struggle, I mean I actually had to stop myself repeatedly from sending an email to outline my hurt feelings and question the person’s motives.  Why bring that thing up? Why are you being hostile? What was your goal in saying the mean thing?

I needed my husband to talk me down; I stopped feeling agitated and accepted that for the greater good I could just let it go.

For me, this is a real triumph. My whole life seems like a series of embattled relations with someone or other due to the fact that I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I just remembered that my dad used to call me ‘bigmouth’ when he was mad.  He also called me ‘dummy’ but bigmouth felt like a worse insult.

When I was a kid, I loved my book of Aesop’s Fables. The illustrations were nice and the morals were easy to understand. But there was one story called ‘The Turtle Who Couldn’t stop Talking’ that I felt was directed at me personally:

There’s this really talkative turtle who wants to travel across the sea. He asks a pair of swans if they will carry him across by holding a stick in their beaks. He can just hang on by his teeth. The swans warn the turtle that if he opens his mouth, he will fall. Half way across the ocean, the turtle has a comment to make and can’t contain himself. He starts to speak and falls.

I guess the moral is Keep Your Mouth Shut. Who the fuck thought of that moral, Stalin?

In any case, my stubborn belief in freedom of expression has brought plenty of unhappiness but I persist in shooting my mouth off at the slightest impetus. I hate rules that threaten my so-called efforts at honesty and frankness.

Revealing myself is easy. It just comes naturally. Shutting up is hard.  But just shutting up on this one occasion has been so positive!

The power to shut up is worth developing. We’ll see if I can keep it up.

No You Shut Up- small

 

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Big Black Boots

my-big-biker-boots22

Years ago, I posed in these big black boots, aware that they looked stupid with the dress but probably thinking I was cool anyway.

It was eight years ago and a whole other life.

The boots are in my closet, languishing with all the other shit I’ve wasted money on, always forgetting that I don’t like to get dressed up and I have nowhere to go. Each time I get out my credit card, I’m under a spell where I believe I’m someone else.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’ve worn the boots on two occasions. They cost around 950 bucks (I know!) so that’s $475 per use.

But wait.

Today, I clicked on the Maison Margiela Autumn 2016 collection and discovered that there’s hope for styling my boots after all.

John galliano for maison-margiela

I can wear them with a big upside-down orange coat-blanket thing, cinched at the waist with an uncomfortable belt! I even have the pasty white legs for this look.

Or, there’s this:

maison-margiela_boots

Okay, so a silver hooded cape (unless that’s a hat?) over a silver mini-dress  with a nice kangaroo pouch.

It’s good to switch things up, I’m always hearing. Why wear jeans and a t-shirt every day? I’m not getting any younger. Even if I’m just going out for coffee or groceries, there’s no reason not to throw on an upside-down coat and rock my huge boots.

Another idea is to forget about the boots and patiently wait to die so that some girl with size ten feet and an appreciation of offbeat overpriced crap can be the happiest person ever.

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Posted in Disorders, Fashion | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments