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Be prepared, girl scout!

As a fan of the supernatural thriller type movie I am happy to suspend disbelief to a degree beyond that of my more obnoxious spoil sport nerd friends. You can even hit me with some preposterous fringe bullshit like aquatic apes or hilarious hybrids or really stretch string theory if you want, but when your human characters react in ways that defy explanation, you’ve lost me.

I was really into this movie I was watching tonight when the lovely protagonist is startled awake by scary sounds from the empty apartment above and decides to investigate barefoot and in a negligee. What horror flick could this be, you ask? ALL OF THEM EVER.

Who would do this? Granted, I am a kid who can’t sleep without socks and the idea of being barefoot somewhere that isn’t my bathtub horrifies me –but who wanders around dark, unfamiliar, vacant places after hearing who-knows-what busting shit up in the immediate area without grabbing their slippers, or better yet throwing on actual shoes? Someone who is going to step on a rusty nail or through broken glass and/or a puddle of blood, that’s who.

Of course I am aware there are a stupillion more significant problems with the genre, many of which account for the extremely irritating extremely vulnerable ladyvictim trope, but this absurdity drives me bonkers. Instant spell breaker.

While I’m complaining about petty things –how useless is the new Netflix layout that provides the opinions of everyone in the world except the people you’ve specifically told them you care to hear from? I want to read random strangers’ reviews of movies just about as much as I want to overhear them on their cell phones.

For example, here is a 1 star review of The Big Lebowski:

Not that it is a film beyond reproach — but no plot? Really? This person rated Beverly Hills Chihuahua five stars. We are 18% similar, it says. If they can produce movie recommendations based on my ratings, why wouldn’t they screen out reviews from strangers that I’m less than 50% taste-compatible with? What is the point of collecting huge amounts of data and then not utilizing it?

I am done complaining for the afternoon! It is time to go have dinner with a puppy. (Sadly, not my puppy. But related! We are like second cousins.) There will be pictures!

Puppy!!!

Posted 07 March 2010 § Movies ‡ Comments (0) ° Tagged:

Questioning Victims

The big story –on my planet, which is celebrating a forever-long moratorium on the infidelities of professional sports people, but sadly has reached its maximum capacity of 1 human, all past present and future cats, and a sauropod resurrected through a secret potion I accidentally-on-purpose swallowed– is that people are both shocked and Not Shocked over a British study that suggests that more women than men feel that rape victims should take some responsibility for their rapes. Oh these shameful dirty dumb broads ought to wear more clothing and leave the drinking to the men while making sure never to speak to or smile at them, indeed. Just like you should not keep anything you would prefer not to have burgled in your home. Or eat food you didn’t prepare yourself so that you can avoid being poisoned by Victorian villains. Or dare having a fancy yard unless you’re just asking for the neighborhood dogs to defecate all over your prize petunias. Oh, some teenagers in distant lands used your credit card to have every game ever made overnighted to them? You don’t keep all of your money divided between an odd number of mason jars scattered over several locales devoid of any paper-trail connection to you and determined by a complex system incorporating the entire history of cartography and color-coded darts? Well. Shame on you.

Look, I said it was the big story, not news. Also not news: the comments are a grab bag of upsetting, disturbing, and infuriating. But it’s still a sucker punch every time this comes up.

You know what is surprising? Finding the They’re All Dirty Liars Myth being perpetuated on a site focusing on young adult literature. In her review of a biography of Claudette Colvin, Colleen Mondor writes:

The other issue I had was with her pregnancy. The fact that Claudette became an unwed mother was a big part of why she was apparently deemed too unpredictable to be the face of the bus boycott. Her explanation of that pregnancy – that it was an older young man who took advantage of her, that she had no idea how to even get pregnant, and that he abandoned her, all read as….well, forgive me but it’s a story I have heard dozens of times. Every teenage girl I’ve known in my life who got pregnant always had a variation of the virgin rape story to share. This indeed could be what happened to Claudette but there is no corroborating interviews – no friends or relatives who say yes, she was an innocent who was taken advantage of. There is instead another round of silence. Claudette was a blameless victim yet again.

Being critical of sources in nonfiction is a valid endeavor, of course, and I have picked up what Colleen has put down –as the kids say– except in the above passage. The problem here is that stating matter of factly that every pregnant teen you’ve encountered was falsely crying rape in a book review that will likely be read by teenage ladies is irresponsible. I mean, seriously? And this doesn’t make that statement less gross: “This indeed could be what happened to Claudette but there is no corroborating interviews.” Interviews to corroborate a common situation so rarely taken seriously, and the victims scrutinized and judged so harshly –say perhaps even casually, like in book reviews of biographies of teen mothers and sexual assault victims– that even today they hesitate to come forward?

RAINN’s site states that 7% of girls in grades 5-8 and 12% of girls in grades 9-12 said they had been sexually abused, sourcing a 1998 Commonwealth Fund Survey of the Health of Adolescent Girls. One out of every 6 American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime and college age women are 4 times more likely to be sexually assaulted; numbers that ought to be considered when blithely shaming large swaths of your audience.

So, well, that’s the first time I’ve felt really uncomfortable reading a YA book review that wasn’t written by an over privileged teenage boy who resents being tasked with reading something he wouldn’t choose for himself, or someone insisting the material be burned in a pit in some backwoods town square. (Like the exact opposites of Colleen Mondor!) It’s mostly unsettling because I truly like what she’s been doing with Chasing Ray, one of my favorite YA feeds in my reader. But then, that’s the only reason why I would even say anything.

Links that discuss false accusations:

Link that explains why I have trouble making friends:

Posted 21 February 2010 § Current Events ‡ Comments (2) ° Tagged: ,

(Another) fresh start

There simply was too much cell phone coverage and not enough snow in my life so I moved to Vermont almost two weeks ago.

No joke, really. Small town New England –maple flavored everything, ski reports on the news, people leaving their cars unlocked and running in the grocery store parking lot. There’s been snow or freezing drizzle every day since I got here and I suspect that will be the case until sometime in August maybe, when a moose sees her shadow or something? And yet somehow there’s still enough green to make it postcard perfect and clearly better than Pennsylvania. Also? The grocery store sells beer and wine. No contest.

Plus, six of my top seven favorite relatives live here. AND! And! and! I’m right down the street from a library and not stuck in an office during its hours of operation. In fact I’m not stuck in an office AT ALL. Well, I have a fake office that is also known as my bedroom. (It’s got a window –a thrilling dream come true.)  I knew my job was making me miserable but I didn’t realize the extent to which it kept me immobilized by depression. Four and a half years of wasted time.

Well that’s old business. I’ve got some new things in the works; getting serious about freelance writing, opening an online store, and a fun project with Jen of deliberatepixel is about to begin. More details on that later!

Here’s that January mix I promised last post: (Maybe NSFW, unless you work in a cuss-friendly environment like me.)

A tad more upbeat, eh?

Posted 29 January 2010 § Uncategorized ‡ Comments (0) ° Tagged: ,

Ancient history

Ten years ago I sold my 87 Pontiac Sunbird for scrap, packed an army duffel, got on a plane, and landed in Los Angeles. The near-year I spent there encompassed some of the most fun I’ve had along with the absolute worst point in my life so far. I do not regret a minute of it (and I cannot imagine what it’s like to grow up without having run as far as you could go without a passport, a space shuttle or a submarine at least once).

Ten years? Really? It seems so much longer, and like that kid wasn’t even me. Here’s a quick mix of 8 tracks that would’ve been on that kid’s iPod if such a thing were a thing back then. (Launched in October 2001 –I looked it up so you don’t have to.)

I’m packing up to move again this weekend, this time New England. Once I get there I’ll make a follow-up post with a current state-of-affairs for comparison –should be good for a laugh, at least.

Posted 11 January 2010 § History ‡ Comments (2) ° Tagged: ,

Soft men & broad brushes

manlymanComrade Sisters! Tom Purcell is on to us and our girlification of the menfolk. It is true.

This man, this hunka hunka macho manly man-ness, has sounded an alarm that’s totally new and the guys are probably going to give him some manner of phallus-shaped trophy for his exceptional work in preserving all that is great and good and worthwhile in the world: hard men.

You know hard men? The opposite of soft men who are the men we’ve created with our insistence on controlling our reproductive systems, which alters our strange womenbrains and confuses us into not wanting to go to Boner Town with the square-jawed types who don’t groom, love breaking their expensive electronic gadgets they shove carelessly into their pockets, and who apparently don’t read so have no need to transport books anywhere, ever? Right. Those guys.

Sisters, get ready for the Rebirth of Proper Manhood inspired by what will surely someday be known as Purcellian heroism! All of us. Yes, even us. Look, it is Tom Purcell’s world and it doesn’t matter that not everyone is heterosexual. Friends, I don’t make the rules. That’s why we have hard men like Tom Purcell, hardest and real-est of real hard men to tell it like it is.

Except, according to an earlier columns by Purcell, women have already won the war. So I’m a little confused, but that may just be my unfortunate genetic start as a gatherer of berries and not knowledge. Did you know we make more than the menfolk? Which made them sad and opt to give up… and go to the salon to make themselves pretty for us? No? Or that real men don’t like to clean, (but I guess all us women love it?) Well, good thing Tom Purcell is around to explain things with evolutionary psychology wankery, right? I could just keep linking and linking to his insightful take on previously-undiscussed topics, but I just don’t have time what with my amazing high salaried career and all the time I’m obviously spending oogling pop stars.

So, who is this wily and dangerous Tom Purcell, you ask? He is a nationally syndicated humor columnist. Yes, humor, that thing we women lack. But don’t worry, you can be sure he is a funny guy because his blurb says so. He is also single. But you knew that.

Posted 14 December 2009 § Current Events ‡ Comments (0) ° Tagged:

hair-tie graveyard

Somewhere in the world there is a place where all of the worn out elastic hair-ties retire. If you stumbled upon it you would find the rusted remains of the ancient metal closure bands and thread bare husks of the scrunchies of times past.

AGoodie Stay-Put Thick Elasticsnd somewhere deep in this hair band graveyard is an even more secret spot where all of my elastic bands ran away to get on like teenagers do –filled with hundreds and thousands and kajillions of these guys from Goodie’s ironically named “Stay-Put Collection” that never ever ever stay where I put them. They’re not in my bag. Or in my desk drawer. Or around my wrist, or the handle of my hair brush. They just leave. I’m certain of it.

Ill-advised pony-tail holders improvised from common office items:

  • binder clips
  • mangled paper-clips
  • chain fashioned out of paper-clips
  • pull-chains taken from desk lamps and/or ceiling fans
  • Mardi Gras beads from last year’s company anniversary party
  • twist-ties pulled from the tangle of cables under your desk

Office supply order:

  • rubber bands
Posted 04 December 2009 § Personal ‡ Comments (0) ° Tagged:

New Romantics

If I’d been a teenager in 81 instead of a toddler this would be my embarrassing youthful subculture attachment:1

Which reminds me of this sketch from Big Train that kills me:

Notes:
  1. Not really all that different from my embarrassing youthful subculture attachment though. EXCEPT that I didn’t hang out with living harlequin dolls –something too creeptown for even the gothiest of us. [↩]
Posted 02 December 2009 § Video ‡ Comments (0) ° Tagged: ,

mid-November thumbs up list

I redid Surplus Cats and would like my suspicion of its adequate level of cuteness confirmed. So if you’re reading this via the feed, be a dear and click over and tell me if anything is broken or wonky?
tinybanner

Actual Content!

Here’s my semi-monthly list of interesting things! Who is excited? (I am.)

  • A look at Isabella Blow by Plumcake at Manolo for the Big Girl. Totally fierce. Totally awesome hats.
  • Here is a Shakesville post by Melissa McEwan that sums up why you might’ve found yourself unfriended by me on Facebook or sitting by yourself all fish-mouth after I’ve abruptly gotten up and left our conversation.
  • A few of my FB buds hopelessly threw up their virtual hands and wailed “why are all the girls so into Twilight?” the other day, and I almost responded, but thought better of it. It would not have been as articulate as Sady Doyle’s Tiger Beatdown post, The Edward Cullen Underpants Conundrum, in which she deftly points out how no one really questions guys who get excited about female celebrities but when ladies treat a male celeb in the exact same way, it’s unnerving! What is the world coming to? Let us wring our hands! If you are going to read anything about the Twilight franchise, make it that post.
  • In Defense of “Douchebag” over a Feministe. Truth.
  • Flu Vaccines are safe, even for pregnant women. “There has not been one study that has shown any maternal or fetal complications from the inactivated flu vaccine.” Science-Based Parenting.

Two posts in one day, instead of in one month. I AM ON A ROLL, GUYS.

Posted 23 November 2009 § Personal ‡ Comments (0) ° Tagged: ,

Cheese Wonderland

Cheese photo glommed from Market Dist. site.

We went to the 24 hour grocery store Saturday night and it was CLOSED — like completely empty and Oh noes! But there was a sign directing us to the new location. We’d forgotten they’d been working on a big fancy Market District store, so I guess my preferred G’iggle was no longer needed. I was skeptical! What had they done? Was this going to be a nightmare? Change! Differentness! Good things usually, but not when it comes to chores that are already tedious and typically annoying, and I was not in the mood for a scavenger hunt. AND And and … lots of breathless statements of indignation!

It was surprisingly crowded for it being near-midnight on a Saturday, and as D commented, everyone looked so irritated that other people were there. Like we’d all invented Late Night Weekend Grocery Shopping and owned that shit and how dare these assholes ruin our shopping experience with their breathing and their pushing of carts! Indeed.

The store is so ridiculously huge that this grumpitude is total BS, and we all ought to be ashamed of ourselves. We were in a magical wonderland of CHEESE AND BEER. The carts have cup holders. It is fucking magical. I can’t even tell you!

So right, I started to get bummed because in true My Relationship With Pittsburgh style, just as I’m leaving, cool new things start popping up and going on. Like I make a few new friends or find a fun new local band or suddenly there is a place where one can easily procure the integral parts of one’s favorite noodle dish and –it’s a month before I’m outta the joint. And THEN I remembered that I’m going back HOME where delicious things have always been available and you can even get a god damned salad without having to specify that you do NOT want french fries in it.1 What am I bummed about? I’ve been paddling upstream on Styx with Cerebus snapping from the shore for what seems like forever and finally there is a light ahead. It’s a neon sign that reads “Reading Terminal Market.” Are you kidding me? Snap out of it, lady.

For my friends who are at peace with pretend salads and doughy white bread cut extra thick for maximum tastelessness and are here for the long haul2, here is the most important, relevant link: The Market District Beer List. Also their handy Cheese Pairing list.

Does that not make you hungry for fancy crap and feel sort of posh and something like a grown-up, or what?

Notes:
  1. I will never ever understand the Pittsburgh french fry salad thing. It’s supposed to be a salad. You are missing the whole concept of salad when you dump a fryer basket of greasy fries over it. Don’t act like I’m the one who doesn’t know what a salad is. I’ve got the rest of the world with me on this one, and you are a wee tiny baby of a city; a fussy toddler who won’t eat his vegetables unless swamped in ranch dressing. [↩]
  2. I think you should move too. There, I said it. I just feel very strongly that you’re being deprived of essentials like general deliciousness. [↩]
Posted 23 November 2009 § Personal ‡ Comments (0) ° Tagged:

Do Wah Diddy Diddy

So there’s this random girl rocking out on the street, out loud. And golly she’s a looker. And then suddenly she’s beside you, and holding your hand! And the two of you go back to your place, and make out! You are in love with this singing stranger! You share your secrets! You are always together. Very happy. You’re gonna get married! Yeah! Now you’re singing out loud too! Diddy do!

Right. Yeah. I have no idea why, either.

Do Wah Diddy Diddy Performed by English beat band Manfred Mann.
Lyrics by Jeff Barry, Ellie Greenwich.

There she was just a-walkin’ down the street, singin’ “Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do”
Snappin’ her fingers and shufflin’ her feet, singin’ “Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do”
She looked good (looked good), she looked fine (looked fine)
She looked good, she looked fine and I nearly lost my mind

Before I knew it she was walkin’ next to me, singin’ “Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do”
Holdin’ my hand just as natural as can be, singin’ “Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do”
We walked on (walked on) to my door (my door)
We walked on to my door, then we kissed a little more

Whoa-oh, I knew we was falling in love
Yes I did, and so I told her all the things I’d been dreamin’ of

Now we’re together nearly every single day, singin’ “Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do”
A-we’re so happy and that’s how we’re gonna stay, singin’ “Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do”
Well I’m hers (I’m hers), she’s mine (she’s mine)
I’m hers, she’s mine, wedding bells are gonna chime

Whoa-oh, I knew we was falling in love
Yes I did, and so I told her all the things I’d been dreamin’ of

Now we’re together nearly every single day, singin’ “Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do”
A-we’re so happy and that’s how we’re gonna stay, singin’ “Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do”
Well I’m hers (I’m hers), she’s mine (she’s mine)
I’m hers, she’s mine, wedding bells are gonna chime

Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh yeah
Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do, we’ll sing it
Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do, oh yeah, oh, oh yeah
Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do

I understand this was 1964 but this is madness.

(I’ve been listening to the oldies station a lot lately. Expect this to turn into a theme.)

Posted 19 November 2009 § Video ‡ Comments (0) ° Tagged: ,