Showing posts tagged Modern lady
Pretty Funny (Minus the Funny)
I don’t understand a lot of things. I don’t understand why my neighbor is pursuing a career as a 1990’s electronic music artist. I don’t understand why the ice cream shop near my house considers two scoops of ice cream one scoop. And I don’t understand how women, educated journalists, can be so unfair when writing about other women.
Alessandra Stanley of the New York Times was saddled with the task of writing a review of NBC’s newest show, “Best Friends Forever.” The article “Old Pals Falling into a New Dynamic” starts off strong by setting up the premise of the sitcom, the tone of the show, joke quality and a serious review of the acting. JUST KIDDING! She kicks off her article by ripping right into the looks of star and writer Lennon Parham.
“Ms. Parham, who is funny and appealing, has the pleasant, ordinary looks that are usually reserved for sidekicks”
Ms. Stanley is right to make this point. In the history of ALL OF TV, there has never been a woman driving a sitcom who has looked like a normal person. Except for Lucille Ball. And I guess Ellen DeGeneres, Roseanne Barr, and of course, my comedy idol, Bea Arthur.
Ms. Stanley marches forward with her unique brand of media criticism, mixing random and personal observations to prove her point about this new era of “interesting” looking women on TV. This would be an opportune time to discuss how talented, funny women, have taken things into their own hands by creating careers and names for themselves, thereby circumventing the system by which women are cast only for their looks and ability to set up/respond to the joke delivered by the male lead. But it’s more Ms. Stanley’s style to prove her point by bringing other successful female leads into the fray and describe their looks. Like Whitney Cummings:
“Whitney Cumming, a sexy comedian with an Olive Oyl figure.”
Sure, “Olive Oyl” is not an outright mean way to describe a woman’s body. It would have been meaner to describe Cummings’ body as a “skinny, nothing pile of skin covered sticks”, but “Olive Oyl figure” has a more whimsical feel to it. And take what Ms. Stanley says about Lena Dunham:
“Lena Dunham (“Tiny Furniture”), doesn’t look like a Hollywood actress pretending to be a Brooklyn slacker; she looks like a Brooklyn slacker, and not the Zooey Deschanel kind.”
What a skill! Calling out the average looks of one woman by insulting the “conventional beauty” of another. It’s like a weird competition all women are participating in, where no one really knows the rules and there’s no winners and everyone is sad. Also, TV fun fact - Zooey Deschanel’s New Girl character neither lives in Brooklyn nor is she a slacker. Way to watch TV, person who is paid to watch TV!
The most insidious thing about Ms. Stanley’s piece is that she seems to think she’s doing something worthwhile by pointing out the plainness of the actresses. What it comes down to is that for it or against it, discussing either the attractiveness or the “normalness” of a woman’s looks still means that you’re keeping it in the cultural zeitgeist. It’s not relevant, dude! This is supposed to be a review about a half-hour sitcom, not a piece about beauty trends in TV. When was the last time a review of Two and a Half men felt the need to go into how Jon Cryer is “such a normal-looking man?”
All in all, here are the terms used in this piece to describe women in comedy: “not conventional beauties,” “jolie laide” (French for “pretty-ugly”), and “pleasant, ordinary looks.” Add similarly overused “not the meanest” adjectives like “interesting” and “unconventional”, and you’ve got the perfect list of “not the meanest” way to characterize the “not hotness” of a woman.
Slate.com, not to be outdone, threw their own hate hat in the ring with an article that does nothing to hide its real intention with the tear inducing title “Is Rachel Dratch Too Ugly for Hollywood?” Written by, yup, another woman. In the article, Torie Bosch explores an argument that Dratch makes in her new book “Girl Walks Into A Bar…” Says Dratch:
“I am offered solely the parts that I like to refer to as The Unfuckables. In reality, if you saw me walking down the street, you wouldn’t point at me and recoil and throw up and hide behind a shrub. But by Hollywood standards, I’m a troll, ogre, woodland creature, or manly lesbian. … Trolls, ogres, and woodland creatures can be done with CGI, so that leaves yours truly to play the bull dykes.”
But Ms. Bosch doesn’t buy the argument that Dratch is too “ugly for Hollywood”. Her deep journalistic desire to get to the bottom of this problem pushes her past this obvious solution (that Dratch is too ugly to be hired in Hollywood, in case you forgot what we were talking about) to a more complex explanation - that Dratch’s looks aren’t to blame for her lack of success, but rather she’s unsuccessful due to her talentlessness as a comedic actress. Yay! A definitive answer! Just goes to prove that every problem has a solution because life is super simple.
Bosch herself wrestles with the theory that Dratch’s lack of success is due to her lack of talent. Despite her real feelings, she’s confused about what to think because OTHER cool woman think Rachel Dratch is a talented comedienne. Bosch writes:
“That comedy sisterhood is part of what so makes me want to like her: She is considered hilarious by women whom I consider hilarious.”
How will Torie ever be besties with Tina Fey if she doesn’t like Rachel Dratch? Will Amy Poehler ever let Torie sit at the “cool table” if Torie’s down on Dratch? And if Torie can’t laugh at Dratch’s jokes, she’s never gonna get high with Maya Rudolph on the soccer field during study hall! WHY IS HIGH SCHOOL SO HARD?
Dratch has a book out, one that Torie (I guess?) likes, or at least that’s what I imagine she means when she writes “I’d rather read another Dratch memoir than watch her in a sitcom.” But really, why dive into Dratch’s book “Girl Walks Into A Bar…” when there’s a bunch of space on the page to compare Dratch to another comedienne?
“But maybe the best rebuke to Dratch’s argument at the moment is Lena Dunham, whose HBO comedy Girls is about to debut to already rave reviews, despite that fact that she spends significant time in the show examining her rolls of fat.”
Wait, so the point of all this is that Rachel Dratch is not “too ugly for Hollywood” because fat Lena Dunham’s doing just fine? I feel like I’m reading the transcripts of vodka fueled vitriol spewing out of the freshly glossed mouths of a bunch of shitty 16 year old girls who have been binge drinking at a slumber party. You know what kind of party I’m talking about. The kind that’s over only when someone gets stabbed with cuticle scissors. On purpose.
Why is it nearly impossible for women, even journalists, to talk about other women without bringing up looks? I don’t know. But I do have a solution. Stop talking about women’s looks in articles that have nothing to do with women’s looks. I did it. I didn’t once mention the looks of Torie Bosch or Alessandra Stanley. I wrote about how shitty they were to other women in their articles without once mentioning anything about what they look like. I didn’t even Google image search them. I promise It’s possible to talk about the merits of a woman’s creative work without talking about how weird her hair is or how much her butt weighs. All it takes is retraining your brain to stop being a superficial dick.
Special thanks to Lindsay Katai for reading this a million times and copy editing and helping in general!
PUBLIC RESPONSES TO PRIVATE MESSAGES: #4 - CAN I SPOIL YOU?
Oh, wow! Can you spoil me? I mean, it does sound like an amazing offer. Let’s talk this out. So, the situation would be you, a man, showering, me with affection, buying me whatever I want, possibly going down on me on a regular basis, etc. Maybe you fly me to Paris, make me frittatas for breakfast (I can’t believe you can cook!) then propose to me in front of the Great Pyramid. Oh Jesus, I never even knew they made 20 carat diamonds! I say “yes”! Of course I say “yes”, because this every woman’s dream! A year after our first date, we’re living in a wonderful house in Cape Cod and I have everything I’ve ever wanted. But slowly, I sober up after realizing I was drunk on being taken care of. I cry while you’re gone because I’ve lost myself. What happened to my career? What happened to my friends? And the worst part of it all, because this relationship with you is based on diamonds and dinners at Per Se, you feel that you are entitled to treat me like an object.
When neighbors become worried, I blame the moodiness and yelling on your stressful job as a high powered investment banker. But deep down inside, I know that doesn’t excuse why you hit me when the hand towels are crooked.
But I’ve put up with enough! I want to live my life again! Who cares if I have to put my car payment on a credit card? It’s better than living with you, a rich control freak, who one day will not hesitate to slice my neck open with our Gunter Wilhelm paring knife and watch me bleed out on our $10,000 Persian rug … smiling because you know now, no one else will have me.
While we’re out on our boat one night, I fall overboard during a storm, fake my own death at sea, swim back the house (you didn’t know I could swim, did you!), flush my wedding ring down the toilet and escape to Iowa. I become a librarian and fall in love with a sweet man who has too much facial hair.
Sound familiar? It’s the plot to the Julia Roberts’ opus “Sleeping With the Enemy” and had it been released in 2012, it would have started with an on-line dating message just like this one.
While the idea of being a female house pet is embarrassingly tempting to me, even having seen “Sleeping With the Enemy” more times than I care to admit, for my own safety, I’ll pass on your offer.
Hi Equinox,
I loved your gym, but couldn’t afford the last price hike, which is why I left. But as a former member and a health conscious feminist, I fucking LOATHE this new ad campaign. At over $150 a month, you must know that the type of women who can afford your gym are probably professionals who aren’t thrilled to get e-mails from you guys that include photos of under weight models looking dead inside while being rag-dolled around by a buff shirtless dude. Me included.
I’d rather you sent me a photo of a meth addict eating vomited up spaghetti than this Terry Richardson trash.
Thank you,
Erin Gibson
feminist/comedian/jump rope queen
PUBLIC RESPONSES TO PRIVATE MESSAGES: #3 - A BIT CRAZY
Hi possible future date!
I’m not sure if people would consider me “ a bit crazy”. But how about this… I’ll tell you what I did last night and you can judge for yourself ;)
I went to Gelson’s and picked up a yummy dinner - two bottles of malbec, pre-made tuna salad and rice crackers. Went home, popped off my men’s Nike’s, unpacked the groceries (set them on my desk) and finished my work (looked at porn).
It was 10PM when I realized that I was very drunk and my hands smelled like a gross pier on a sweltering day. At this point in the evening, I had two options:
Option #1 - Go to bed
Option #2 - Dance
Blame Robyn’s “Call Your Girlfriend” and M83’s “Midnight City” forcing me onto my feet and shaking my ass like no one was watching (because no one was. I live alone). I watched myself dance in a full length mirror, wearing a robe over my clothes, for about 30 minutes. Not sure if you’ve ever danced in a heavy robe over a flannel shirt and corduroys, but it can get hot really quick, so I got totally naked, marched in my bedroom and put on a silk party dress, panty hose and peep toe heels. Feeling amazing in an outfit too bold for an indoor lonely dance party was the fuel I needed to dance the night away. I hit shuffle on my iTunes and danced like a three year old at a wedding. The two bottles of wine sloshing through my system made it easy to make every song a dance hit - Journey, Merle Haggard, episode one of Breaking Bad.
But the night, she was a justa getting started! I flung my shoes off and into the floor lamp, grabbed my last glass of wine and my laptop, and headed into my bedroom for a little single lady alone time ;)
I laid on my bed, took off my pantyhose, then opened my laptop. I went to my gmail, did a quick search for sad/angry emails ex’s have sent me, then read them aloud while crying and apologizing for being a terrible human being.
Next thing you know, it’s 8AM, my face is washed, the laptop is plugged in and all my clothes are put away. After I double checked that no pleading, sad emails were sent to anyone, I put my yoga clothes on and walked to the gym like nothing ever happened.
Anyway, I’d love to grab a drink if I sound like your dream woman.
Merry Christmas from The Bachmanns!
PUBLIC RESPONSES TO PRIVATE MESSAGES: #2 - BIG ‘OL DONGS
If a guy likes my photos, but we have LITERALLY NOTHING ELSE IN COMMON, he will send me an email that is related to my height requirement, which is a minimum stature of 6’.
That being said, I get two types of these e-mails:
#1 I meet your height requirement
#2 Fuck your height requirement
This is an example of #1, with some bonus information… the 1950’s construction worker sexual harassment slang/greaser pick-up line “hung like a mule”.
It’s an interesting choice of words for a person I assume is living in the today’s, so I’d like to explore what he’s expressing by using it.
Let’s assume he’s not so crass as to just write “I’ll split you in half with my huge cock”, so, he thought he’d be funny and write “hung like a mule” instead. While I appreciate the small amount of restraint and sprinkling of respect, the message is the same…I HAVE A BIG DICK. Talking about your massive dong might be a funny thing to talk about with your friends or maybe a girl you’ve been on a couple of dates with who “gets how you like to joke around”, but I’m a mother fucking stranger, which means I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. Which means you also don’t know that I don’t like big dicks.
Believe it. I’ve been with enough guys to fill a yoga class, so I know what I’m talking about when I write in all caps “BIG DICKS ARE SCARY”.
Guys who brag about having gargantuan cocks usually don’t understand the term “too deep”, which a phrase women use when it feels like a dick is about to burst through her uterus, maybe her spine. And because of their inflated ego, well-hung guys don’t care about how having a monster’s penis makes it harder for women to have an orgasm. They don’t understand that because their cock doesn’t fit in anything smaller than the Alaska Pipeline, there’s no body friction, and they need to use their fingers so that the women they’re having sex with can have a fun time too. If a guy brags about having an enormous schlong, and you decide to have sex with him, you can bet on a three-part sexual experience - you and him fucking, him falling asleep as you tell him you didn’t come, you masturbating on the floor of his bathroom.
But, hey, maybe I’m wrong about the whole message he’s trying to send. Let’s assume he was being literal. He’s just your average, tall, nice guy who embarrassingly has an actual mule penis…due to some unfortunate science experiment or genetic mishap. I’m sure it’s a tough thing to bring up with ladies and while I appreciate his honestly, I’m sorry, I still can’t handle a mule’s dick, which looks like this (NSFW).
All around, until you’ve met someone face-to-face, I’d wait a few dates before bringing up your xxl boner.
PUBLIC RESPONSES TO PRIVATE MESSAGES #1: THE OUT-OF-TOWNER
This internet stranger used a lot of unnecessary words to express that he would like to fuck me at the end of December. I’m not into out-of-town dick or short-term anything, so I won’t be responding to this. But if you’re a guy, and you’re interested in fucking a girl who you’ve never met before and you’re only in town for a couple of days, here are some more direct things you could email. Sending her the following things might not guarantee she’ll meet you, but if she’s down to fuck, it just might do the trick:
#1 Look, I don’t know you, you don’t know me, but I’d like to give you the sexual experience of your life at the end of December.
#2 Just your pictures are making me hard. Imagine what would happen if we were in the same room together. I am.
#3 After Santa Claus comes, I think you should too. And I’m the guy to make that happen. With my tongue.
#4 I know we don’t know each other, but I’d like to take you to the Standard and fuck you for days.
#5 Wouldn’t it be fun to ring in the New Year with my fingers touching you in places you didn’t know were pleasurable?
#6 For Christmas, ‘tis better to give than receive. And I have the perfect gift for you. Multiple orgasms.
These are just some examples of more direct ways to ask for casual, time sensitive sex…because there’s no time to pussy foot around when you’re a guy looking to escape family holiday festivities by fucking a stranger.
I tricked this magazine into thinking I’m famous! And they fell for it! Dummies!! I’m laughing all the way to the bank with the money they didn’t pay me!
If I were still working as a bookkeeper, I would totally wear this outfit.
