Archive for the ‘Rants’ Category

Hate Your Legs?

Monday, April 7th, 2014

skinny legs

I’m not happy with mine either, and here’s why: The model above.

Just look at how skinny those legs are! Hmph, bad photoshopping, right? That’s what I told myself. But then, I accidentally started a video, and the skinny legs marched toward me confidently, even though their owner looks like a polio victim.

Now, we all know that our culture has screwed up our body image, and we know intellectually that legs this skinny aren’t desirable (or for most of us, attainable.) But after seeing enough images of bone-thin models, a normal-sized woman looks hefty.  Hefty and meaty.  Hefty and meaty and unworthy.

How are we supposed to even know what a normal leg looks like?  Personally, I only wear shorts at home, no matter how hot it gets. I may have run out in shorts to walk the dog, but in general, I don’t want to impose my legs on innocent bystanders. I wear a size 4, which is fairly small, but no way will I get my legs out and submit them to judgement. And I’m not thrilled about my lack of a waist.

No matter how many magazines print sanctimonious, preachy articles about eating disorders and the pressure to be unnaturally thin,  these images aren’t going anywhere. A couple of beautiful plump models will appear every so often, as if to prove there’s no bias in the fashion industry. But the ideal of a size-nothing body remains entrenched.

If you have a daughter, your work is cut out for you. Not only do you have all those pop singers writhing around like desperate prostitutes, you still have these fucking legs to deal with.

Robin Wright: No.

Wednesday, February 26th, 2014

RW chin problem

I have been gorging on Season 2 of House of Cards and Robin Wright is killing me. I can’t take it.

Why is she so fucking manly?

It’s hard to watch this series without complaining about the manliness. Even at its most engrossing, I am distracted by the physical ickiness of this actress once known for being pretty.

Is it misogynist of me to man-shame her? Is it homophobic or just looks-ist?

Trying to examine my strong reaction to Robin Wright, I realize that I can’t stand her posture either. Or her character’s skintight minimalist wardrobe. Wear a fucking COLOR, Robin Wright!

Her manly hairstyle draws attention to her huge neck and jaw. Why the huge jaw? Is it a chin implant or what? What’s the deal?

Please explain any part of this.

Oh Shut Up, Jezebel

Friday, January 17th, 2014

lena-dunhams-arm-is-missing-in-vogue-photoshop-fail

 

Can someone explain why people pay attention to Jezebel? I know it’s supposed to be a staunchly feminist website but it’s just so godawful! I have already registered my disgust at its policy of auditioning its commenters. But the offenses keep piling up.

Now Jezebel is offering $10,000 to anyone who can provide the original unphotoshopped pictures of Vogue’s February covergirl, Lena Dunham. How many things are wrong with this stupid gambit for attention?

1. Why offer cash, turning their ‘quest for truth’ into a bounty-hunting exercise?
2. Why humiliate a woman they profess to admire?
3. Why claim “This is about Vogue, and what Vogue decides to do with a specific woman who has very publicly stated that she’s fine just the way she is, and the world needs to get on board with that. ” when that is so clearly a hypocritical lie?

It’s about page hits! But meanwhile, any claim to ‘feminism’ is surely negated by this mean fumble at pseudo-truth seeking.

Poor Lena. I don’t like her TV show but she doesn’t deserve this. DUH, the picture is photoshopped, they left out her fucking arm! Why don’t they choose a more traditional thin beauty-queen type to humiliate?

This is some kind of shaming situation, even if it’s just Vogue-shaming or Lena-shaming. Feminists are not supposed to approve of shaming! Recently, Jezebel engaged in some chola-shaming when they denounced Lana Del Rey for dressing like a home-girl. What fucking fuckers they are.

Jezebel is more dead to me than ever.

Triggers and Tarzana

Thursday, December 19th, 2013

vintage sheet music

 

Once you are traumatized, you are vulnerable to triggers. And triggers are everywhere.

Jane Birkin’s daughter, Kate Barry, jumped from her fourth story window last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about her despair, and how fame and talent don’t protect families from depression or suicide.

Then, on Homeland, they executed the poor hero, making us watch as the life drained out of his face.

When I’m triggered enough, my mind reverts to familiar paths that lead nowhere. Often, it settles on Tarzana Treatment Center, a lucrative rehab business whose $45 million budget is largely funded via contracts with Los Angeles County.

I took my son to TTC when he relapsed during a period of hard-earned sobriety. They made a big fuss about payment and made a copy of my credit card. They refused to let the family inside the building. After a few days, I started receiving calls from a guy named Del, in the financial department. He said they needed more money, even though they were a Blue Cross provider and had accepted our son’s insurance.

Del’s harassing phone-calls brought me to tears but he persisted. He threatened to kick Max out instead of keeping him for the agreed 30 days. I came up with $1,000 and then another $1,100. Del kept calling and demanding money. He said the rehab cost $500 a day. Meanwhile, Max called me, sounding panicky; he shared his room with a bunch of convicts who played cards all night, depriving him of sleep. He was cold but I wan’t allowed to bring him a blanket.

After around 12 days, a woman called me and said she was a therapist at TTC. She told me that my son was being discharged for lack of sufficient funds, but that she had convinced them to let him stay until morning.

In the morning, Max’s dad picked him up from TTC. He was still in withdrawal from klonopin. At dawn the next morning, he jumped off a cliff.

So I think about Del. I sometimes call his extension at TTC but I always get his recorded message. A couple of days ago, I called and he answered.

I told him who I was, and told him what happened after he kicked out my son. He stammered that he was sorry for my loss but quickly regrouped. He denied calling me to demand money and I laughed maniacally. WHAT?!, I said, Are you serious? You called me a million times! You made me cry!

No, he said firmly, this never happened and couldn’t have happened. They never discharge anyone for lack of money. Never. He has worked there for 18 years and it has never happened. Furthermore, it wasn’t his call. It was someone else’s.

I asked whose call it was and after some arguing, he gave me a fake name with a fake extension number.

Now, if  you are still reading this, you can understand my distress. I’m going to call it distress because rage doesn’t cover it. Why didn’t that cunt just apologize and say it was a terrible unforeseen consequence, one that he regretted?

I don’t want to hear “Just let it go.” I want to hear useful ideas about how to proceed.

Time To Banish Words!

Friday, December 13th, 2013

Axe Murderer jude

 

It might be a little early but let’s make our list of words we don’t want to hear in 2014.

Time online is asking readers to vote on a list of 15 annoying words or terms. “Selfie” is a must for any list of awful words, but what the hell is “FOMO?”  I only just learned YOLO!

I may be too old and out-of-it to know all the linguistic outrages of 2013 (‘At the end of the day’ and ‘Reach out’ are perennials) but so far I’m on board with these:

Selfie
Hashtag
Because + noun
Kimye
Farm-to-table
Lean in
Millenials
Optics
Game-changer
Cultural Appropriation
Celeb
Instagram

Okay, you can see I need help.  Suggestions?

No Dancing

Monday, November 18th, 2013

Jessie Wilcox smith - At the Back of the North Wind

 

When I saw a few moments of the Cancer Dance video on the evening news, I was dismayed. The news people smiled and exchanged platitudes about courage and healing. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, they mused, if people everywhere were inspired by the dancing mastectomy patient to face cancer with such joy?

If you’re reading this and you have cancer, and you like the dancing, please forgive me for my bad attitude.

I just feel that it’s one more way to pressure people into masking their trauma and fear and grief. BE HAPPY! Find a silver lining! Things could be worse! Be thankful for the ‘lesson’ of cancer or death!

Our culture offers nothing for the grief-stricken. We just want them to keep quiet or go away. What if some women insisted on wearing black mourning clothes to her mastectomy, to say goodbye to her breasts? That video would not go viral.

I will never be “over” my loss and I will always grieve. I accept that but no one else does, except for the parents I see on online forums, who express their anguish and desperation to strangers who have Been There. Online People can be remarkably patient and compassionate. Real Life people get sick of your morose demeanor. They get sick of hearing you ask with complete sincerity, “Why doesn’t so-and-so just kill themself?” They are upset by your negativity. And they feel helpless in the face of such intractable sadness.

A couple of nights ago, I chatted online with a total stranger who seemed really smart and really nice. I told her my story and asked what to do about facing or avoiding my dark constant companion, as I think of it.

She asked a few questions and then told me that grief was noble. She advised me to look for people I could help, and to honor my son however I could.  Her words were a huge comfort.

I’m going to just feel noble instead of hating myself for being sad. I’m not going to dance and act happy, because I’m not a model of courage and positivism. And If I find out I have cancer, I’m going to make a big fuss and take to my bed.  I wish America were like Africa, with shaman elders to dance around and perform some rituals for us who have lost our children or breasts or limbs or sanity.

At least there are wise strangers out there in cyberspace.

Open Letters to Miley, Sinead, et al

Tuesday, October 8th, 2013

miley and sinead

 

While the US Congress attempts to hasten the Rapture, I think we should all take time to write some open letters to Miley, Sinead, and all those who have inserted themselves into the melee - Ann Magnuson, Amanda Palmer, Brooke Shields, and Annie Lennox, thus far.

If you’ve been dying to get in on this, here’s your chance!

I will begin:

Dear Miley, I saw you on SNL and I read about you in Rolling Stone. I don’t know why your face is so flat. Also, were you born with a hare lip or not? I don’t care about your body or your tongue, although I wouldn’t mind if you put on a little weight. Also, I’m sorry your father molested you. However, this doesn’t mean you should ridicule poor Sinead for needing mental health services. That was a pretty fucked up move. You could help out by supporting mental health services and working to de-stigmatize mental illness. Otherwise, do whatever you need to do.  Love, Sister Wolf.

Dear Sinead, I love you. I have always loved you. Your shaved head, your brilliant early records, your anti-Catholicism, your boyfriends, your kids, your rebellious emotional frankness, rage on, girl! But don’t expect that bitch Miley to apologize. Mean girls never apologize, ever. Stupid people can’t get enlightened because that’s just how it works. I wish you’d accept my apology on behalf of Miley! Then you could get back to whatever you were doing. Love, Sister Wolf.

Okay, your turn.

The Horror of Facebook

Thursday, September 26th, 2013

horror of facebook

 

I have been spending more and more time on Facebook, and learning how it substitutes for actually living your life.

People who hang out there are losers, like me, or else they’d be doing something out in the world. They wouldn’t need to share every thought or meal or wisecrack with a bunch of imaginary friends.

I noticed this a few weeks ago when I spent hours chatting with a complete stranger, based on a shared taste in art and books. I tried to ignore his increasing references to asses. He liked big asses. Which was fine with me, up to a point. After a while, apropos of something, I told him about Max.

He expressed dismay and then excitedly started a list of other people with dead children. He had an impressive fluency here, even throwing in Paul Newman.

I said goodbye and blocked him. But it was my own fault for buying into the imaginary friend illusion propagated by Facebook and all “social media” I guess.

Still, I enjoyed looking at the pictures people posted and I often laughed out loud at conversations with my new imaginary friends. One of them even sent me a package of vintage gloves! She is really smart and miserable: a good description of many of my real life friends, too.

I also enjoy jumping into debates, usually without much consequence.

Tonight, I was upset when one Facebook person I really like expressed his despair over a friend’s death. Lots of people commented on his ‘status’, some offering words of condolence. Others wanted to point out that they had experienced things just as bad or worse. I could see it turning into a competition. I struggled to keep my opinions to myself, even when someone posted a depressing Leonard Cohen song in this thread, as if Leonard Cohen is a good antidote to despair.

Then, someone posted a video of the song “People Who Died” by Jim Carroll. If you don’t know it, it’s a litany of the writer’s dead friends.

I stupidly commented, “I don’t think this is useful, with all due respect.”

This was greeted with righteous fury that devolved into a whole back and forth where I politely apologized but the woman got madder and madder. Her friends jumped in to call me names. One of them said “People are fucking unbelievable!” and a million people liked his comment…including the original “friend” I was defending.

Ooooooooooh, right? When a gang of imaginary people go off  on you, it’s a singular experience like no other. You can smell the feeding frenzy, which takes on a life of its own. It has nothing to do with anything you actually said or did. It’s just people feeling exhilarated by getting to gang up on someone.

I have already payed my dues with malicious strangers. But thank god something happened to steer me away from the tragic black hole that is Facebook.

Jennifer Lopez: What a Fucking Cunt!™

Sunday, June 30th, 2013

jlo302way

 

J Lo is sorry about going to Turkmenistan to sing for its dictator, President Gurbanguly Berdymukhamedov. Her “people” had “vetted” the event, but they missed the part about its human rights record.

All you have to do is google ‘Turkmenistan human rights” to learn that it is one of the world’s most repressive countries. Media and religious freedoms are subject to draconian restrictions. Authorities use imprisonment and torture for political retaliation and to suppress dissent.

President B

 

You can see why J Lo might want to sing happy birthday to President Berdymukhamedov; he looks so nice! She’s not a mind-reader, you know.  And neither is her choreographer, who tweeted during the event: ”I wonder where all my Turkmenistan followers are!? Hit me up!” How could he possibly have known that twitter is blocked in Turkmenistan??

Anyway, please accept Jennifer’s apology, especially as she has pointed out that she was hired for the gig by the China National Petroleum Corporation. They’re nice, right? Because China is nice and so are gas, oil and chemicals.

‘Lopez obviously has the right to earn a living performing for the dictator of her choice,” says Human Rights Foundation president Thor Halvorssen.  You can’t argue with that. Even though she’s so obviously a moron and a fucking cunt.

Gwyneth, Enough Already!

Tuesday, April 30th, 2013

aww, poor gwyneth is embarrassed

I know it’s not very interesting to hate Gwyneth, but how can one ignore her this week? It’s like she WILL NOT REST until every single person on earth detests her. Is her work done yet? If not, we’re getting very, very close.

Today’s revelation (for me, anyway) is that she advises women in troubled relationships to stop fighting and give their man a blowjob instead. Really, Einstein? You think that might work?

What a fucking imbecile. I love the pictures of her feigned embarrassment even more than I love that awful see-through dress she wore recently. But not as much as I love the time she tweeted something like “niggas all in Paris!” to indicate her down-ness.

There is so much to love, i.e. hate, that it’s almost redundant, like denouncing Hitler. Wait. Am I comparing Gwyneth to Hitler?! Sure, see Godwin’s Law. But if you need to catch the latest Iron Man movie and your revulsion for Gwyneth is getting in the way,  here’s a guide to putting things in perspective.

I don’t need to see Iron Man, so I’m good.

If you believe you were at the forefront of the anti- Gwyneth movement, let’s hear about it! (If you don’t hate Gwyneth, you shouldn’t be here at all, just leave quietly.)