Archive for November, 2009

Camilla, please.  Normally I kind of like you and your horseiness.  You are the best living example of the hearty-middle-aged British-woman-in-tweeds archetype, which is near and dear to my heart.  I was even touched when you finally married Charles (whose young self is brilliantly described here as “mildly dashing”).  True love, after all those years and all that adultery!  But are you really going to criticize poor Beyonce for scandalizing the public?

You do remember this, right?



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Thanksgiving really screwed up my internal clock.  I keep checking Gawker in the hopes of reading Altarcations (which, I swear to you, is literally the best thing on the internet), but then I realize it isn’t Sunday yet.  Fucking fuck!


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Is this design better?

The font in the other one was too small for my diseased eyes.

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Because I can’t come up with a better explanation for the existence of this horrid ad:

Or these:

Someone needs to tell these guys that for women, being ogled is a significant deterrent to exercise.  I used to dread going running whenever I was home on break from college, because there was this guy who lived a mile or two away who would ogle and harass me constantly, to the point of following me IN HIS CAR because he was angry that I wouldn’t stop and talk to him.  Fortunately, I think he moved away, since now I can go running in peace.

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So, I’m a big fan of the very particular pleasure that accompanies the re-discovery of something I used to love but had forgotten about.  Usually I get this feeling by re-reading old, strange books from my childhood or listening to early Weezer albums, but today I re-discovered my two favorite advice columnists.

The first is Break-Up Girl, writer Lynn Harris’s comic superhero alter ego.  Break-up Girl covers basically every romantic problem ever; she has comfort for the heartbroken, advice for the lonely, and swift kicks upside the head for the clueless.  Her advice is always good and practical and interesting to read.  And, as someone who is currently dealing with the aftermath of a pretty soul-crushing break-up, I can attest that she makes me feel better!  Plus, the site has comics.

The other is Carolyn Hax, who is, in my opinion, the best all-around advice columnist out there.  Instead of going on tangents,* she cuts right to the most important questions, even when dealing with the modern equivalent of Don Draper.

*one of my pet peeves about advice columnists; see Cary Tennis and Susie Bright for the most egregious examples.

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This Life list of the sexiest men of the ’50s, 60s, and 70s and Jezebel’s addendum are pretty good.  But they both forgot Sam Cooke!

I mean, really.

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Curiouser and curiouser

The other day I was in a downtown Seattle coffee shop, waiting to meet up with a friend.  I went to put a lid on my drink, and I noticed a long legged couple with matching long black hair, skinny black jeans and leather jackets.  Then  I did a double take and realized that the woman was actually a mannequin precariously strapped to a wheeled carry-on, so it looked as though it was standing.  I suppressed my urge to gawk–oh, how I wanted to– and hurried back to my seat at the other end of the store.

Then!  The male half of the couple came over to me, leaned in, and asked, “do you mind if my WIFE and I sit next to you?”  He really emphasized “wife.”  And I said, no of course not, and then, wickedly, I began to move over to make room for his WIFE because he was standing behind the only seat on my left.  And he was like, “no, no! You don’t need to move over.  My wife sits here”–and he gestured to the empty space next to the stool–“and I sit here.  Just RELAX.”  So I did, and he brought the mannequin over and situated her on her carry-on, and then my friend came and I left.

Later, I told my dad, who said this guy is a regular fixture downtown and has been wheeling his wife around with him for years.

I don’t know anything about this man or his relation to the mannequin, except that he took great pains to make it look like him (while still being obviously female)  and that he was very intent on letting me know that he considered it his wife.  It reminded me a little bit of the Real Doll phenomenon, and also of Objectum Sexuals, both of which I find bizarrely fascinating.  Perhaps the mannequin is an amalgam of the two?

*Full disclosure:  I anthropomorphized the shit out of things when I was a very small child; I remember playing with lotion bottles and shoes and imagining them as people with families and genders.  But I was three.

**It’s interesting to me that one of the women in the objectum sexuals story said she always got a sense of an object’s gender.  I have mild synesthesia, both grapheme-color and number form, and I guess sensing the gender of an object doesn’t seem markedly different from knowing the color or personality of a number or a letter.

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