accidental feminist

bringing sexy back May 28, 2007

Oh how I long for the 30s, when voluptuous wasn’t a euphemism for “fat”, and being able to see someone’s ribcage was considered wholly unattractive. The “girls guys like to look at” vs. “girls guys like to touch” phenomenon has been plaguing me since Jr. High, when my boyfriends would remind me with some sort of pride of ownership that I looked like Botticelli’s Venus , and yet the skinny girls with tiny little butts would be on top of the “hot lists” that the boys passed around in Math class. (It’s okay; I’m over it now; I mean, why would I be talking about it 15 years later if I wasn’t over it!?)

Of course, it is interesting to note that one of the main features that seems to have grown on the woman on the right side of the advertisement is her bosom; I don’t think there’s a supplement for that.

love to love to hate to love them May 20, 2007

Whilst in my pretentious college days I once argued with a classmate over who was hotter: Raskolnikov or Hamlet, these days I am stumped as to who to crown my tv fantasy boyfriend (oh, where has the ivory tower gone?). Here’s the rundown:

House: Brilliant Asshole
Jack Bauer: Tactically Perfect w/ a Martyr-Complex
Alan Shore: (Self) Righteously Indignant Misogynist
Jim from “The Office”: Adorably Hilarious w/ No Self-Esteem or Direction in Life

How to choose? They each represent both the best and the worst of what makes a man a man. And maybe that’s why they’re such fantasies. You can enjoy both the “good” and the “bad” as compelling (which they equally are), without running the risk of being sucked in by their charms and then emotionally destroyed by their tragic flaws. I never have to worry that House will berate me, Jack will die on me, Alan Shore will emotionally detach from me, or Jim will lose his nerve; no, no, they only do that to the other girls. Me, I’d be different. I would bring out the best in them. Granted that did not happen with every other tragically flawed/ borderline abusive relationship after which I chased throughout my younger days. But I’m so much wiser now; now I would know exactly what to do to bring out their highest potential. And they, they would take me in their arms and whisper “Thank you, thank you”. Ahhh…yes; I’m so much wiser now. (I guess the only smart thing I stumbled upon was to actually marry a man who does not, in fact, exhibit the trait of housing within himself mutually destructive extremes. Whoops…)

the piano teacher= i swear the emperor is naked

I know, I know; Ebert loved it, Cannes loved it, the Village Voice loved it (although they hated “Five Towns”, so what do they know?), but I just wasn’t impressed. Maybe with the acting, okay. Maybe if I had read the book I’d have a little more context (some of the linking threads that might have ended up on the cutting room floor that might have made the film cohere, or even make some sense). The whole film reminded me of the improv adage never to play a crazy person because it just undermines anything you say or do, and the entire reality of the world you’re creating on stage. Okay, she’s a spinster who’s into S&M, okay, okay she goes to drive-ins and watches the couples making out in the cars, okay she collects bondage toys and stored them under her bed, okay, she rolls over in bed and starts making out with her mom…no, wait! What?! I mean, really, WTF!?!? When does a film go from being an honest portrait of the untold story of the lives of the brilliant and sexually aberrant to being, well, just something the author just dreamed up in his own aberrant mind (which he has a right to, but which cannot be considered art simply because it is strange)?

Basically, this film was every stereotype people (read: I) resent about French films. Inaccessible, pretentious (watch Huppert’s interview if you believe me not), and overindulgent (how many 45 second shots of a person watching another person play the piano am I expected to watch?). For a more favorable review of a not dissimilar film, see my earlier comments on “Henry and June”. Really, I’m not completely full of bile.

err on the side of stoicism May 18, 2007

When I was a young lassie, my mother handled my absolutely horrid adolescent behavior by, as I used to call it, “freaking out” (Hi, Mom; I love you). As a young pre-teen, I determined that this was not an effective method for handling wayward youth, and decided then and there that I would not behave in such a manner with my children. Instead, I have taken to engaging in a behavior that I have no doubt they eventually will find as frustrating as I found my mother’s emotional outbursts: I remain unmoved. Examples:

Dina: You’re a bad mommy.
Me: (in an even and slightly pleasant tone) Wow, Dina, that’s the first time you’ve said anything like that to me. You’re really growing up.

Bassie: You’re mean; clean my glasses.
Me: (matter-of-factly) No, I don’t clean glasses; I’m mean.
Bassie: But you have to clean my glasses.
Me: (gently, but with authority) Look, if you tell me ‘I’m mean’ enough, I start to believe it, and then I’ll start to behave in a manner that lives up to it.
Bassie: Okay, you’re not mean.

For now the effect is confusion or aquiescence. But I only have a few years before they’ve reached their threshhold, and then it’ll be all “Shut up! Stop it! That’s not funny! No, really, I really hate you!” But I’ve determined that, since there’s no way to keep your kids from resenting you, the best you can do is handle those moments in a manner that keeps you as sane and emotionally undamaged as possible (I mean, without completely emotionally withdrawing; although I can always hold that out as an emergency measure…)

keeping up with the steins= ari gold: the movie May 16, 2007

At least they could have changed Jeremy Piven’s character, like, at all; you know, just to show he has some range. I mean, he must; he was trained at that esteemed Chicago landmark that brought us Lily Taylor and John (and, yes, fine, to a lesser extent, Joan) Cusak.

I did enjoy being able to turn to Yosef periodically and say “No, this is not an exaggeration”. I remember one bar mitzvah where they brought in tropical animals (there were definitely large birds in cages; there may have been a drugged tiger or something, too, but don’t quote me on that); I remember ice sculptures, I remember elaborate portable game shows, fire breathers, karaoke stations, and always, always, boys lighting things on fire in the hallways (that’s one detail that would have really lent some credibility to the film).

Anyway, it was a little blast from the past. And Jamie Israel, if you’re reading this, I want to formally forgive you for making me, like, the only person in the whole 7th grade who wasn’t invited to your lavish and decadent Bat Mitzvah just because you resented me for being a little bit shorter than you and therefore being the one to stand in front of you for all of the cheerleading routines, and always making you look bad because I knew them and you didn’t. There, I’ve made my peace. Can you make yours?

boston legal makes more than just baby boomers feel old May 14, 2007

Yes, it’s a touching show with spot-on comedic writing about aging, male friendship, the politics of compassion, and the internal struggle between moral integrity and monetary success. It also places me squarely in an age bracket that I continue to resist. Some examples:

• When I talk about the show to my high school students, they get confused when I refer to the “hot, young” James Spader from his “bad boy/asshole” days (sort of like the Boston Legal variety, but with blonder, more feathered hair).
• Shelly Long is a guest star playing a 57 year-old nymphomaniac who is on trial for enjoying the services of male prostitutes; Diane never had to pay for sex from Sam!
• Not that I was alive when Candice Bergen was still hot, but I have a father who is old enough to have made me watch “Getting Straight” in high school (the only good scene is the defense of the thesis, in case you’re considering renting it).
• I am, however, old enough to remember a time when William Shatner was sort of taken seriously, or at least not best known for his “has-been”-ness.

why won’t everyone just shut up about sarah silverman already? May 9, 2007

No, for real, this is an interesting article, and it’s not all about her, although from the moment I started reading it is was sort of like “Okay, when are they going to start talking about Sarah Silverman?”, and I’m really happy for her, although I sort of agree with the tone of this piece regarding her overall act, and how her “You can’t get offended by me because I’ve sterilized my comments by passing them through this adorable little character I do” gets a little tiresome. Still, the point about women having to cater their comedy to men is well taken.

I do think it’s worthwhile to note that stand-up (a genre to which I am completely foreign, except as a consumer) is a completely different animal from improv (which is built around some things that don’t exist in stand-up, like character interactions, relationships, and group mind). In improv, your point-of-view isn’t so vulnerably laid bare to the audience; you aren’t standing there and having to deal with the fact that everyone is staring up at you, and only you, and they’re categorizing you as a women, or an African American, or whatever.

Incidentally, teaching high school is a lot closer to stand-up than improv, so maybe I do know a little something about the former.

(thanks to marissa for the link!)

hmmmm…

Bassie: (as we are driving away from a toll booth on 294) How do toll booth workers get to work?

nerd v. nerd (v. nerd*) May 1, 2007

This actually happened to me tonight:

Me: (approaching Steve and taking the book out of my bag) I’m such a nerd; I bought this book after I read a good review of it in The Economist.

Steve: (taking the book in hand) Oh, yeah, according to The Guardian, it’s required reading.

*see comments for the extended nerd throw-down.

mommarazzi

Last night, an hour after bedtime, Dina was attempting to stave off sleep by, it seems, pretending to be a fireman/parking cop:

When she caught me trying to take this picture, she slowly walked back into her room, emerged sans hat and pad, and disciplined me: “There is a rule: no pictures at bedtime…but, you can take one,” then went back into her room, and reemerged in costume. Hey, give the public what they want, right, Dina?

Good thing she didn’t write me a ticket!

…and, yes, that is a full garbage bag at the back door. I put it there to remind me to take it out. Oh, like you don’t do that! Oh, no, I bet you take them out to the alley the second you tie ‘em up, even if it’s, like, 1 am. Whatever, man…focus, af, this post is about your daughter, not about your insecurities about being a bad homemaker. Steady, steady…