Have no fears, we've got stories for years. The AV Club staff seems to have gone off the deep end with their Simpsons love-in. With the movie opening this week, I guess they can't really be blamed, but the in-depth debate about the show's continued existence is particularly geeky. Not nearly as geeky as the types of Simpsons merchandise out there, of course. "Eat My Shorts" Cereal? Really? But who am I to judge? Apparently The Simpsons is the best cultural critic ever and is generally better than everything else in the entire universe. Pretty good for a 22-minute cartoon, eh?

She's in fashion. I don't usually argue with the Washington Post, but I seriously doubt that Hilary Clinton was trying to show off any cleavage when she wore this shirt. Here's a news flash: Women have breasts. When women wear v-neck shirts, sometimes some of the tops of our boobs peaks out. This does not mean we are trying to "show off" our cleavage or making a statement about our sexuality. Frankly, the fact that Hilary Clinton's wearing a slightly low-cut shirt warrants news coverage is almost as ridiculous as the media circus that surrounded John Kerry's adoption of the Live Strong yellow wristband.

As a rebuttal to this ridiculous piece, I'd like to point out Slate's recent examination of what happens when Hilary Clinton is insulted. Apparently, it strengthens her popularity among the ladies. I am not sure whether the Post meant to insult Clinton, but the minutia of the exploration certainly made me uncomfortable. In general, I do not enjoy it when I am minding my own business and someone draws unnecessary attention to my femininity. It is inappropriate and unnerving, exactly how this Post article made me feel. Eesh.

School's out for summer. Augustus Caesar isn't going to like this one bit.

Take it to the taxman. Listen, people. Stop saying that President Bush should "fire" Dick Cheney. The Vice President can't be fired. He is not a Presidential appointee, he's an elected official. Read the Twelfth Amendment, for crying out loud. We have a written Constitution for a reason!

I'll be your whatever you want. Having lived in the region for the past six months, I can tell you that this is an oversimplified answer to a complex problem. Via Facebook group Lezbollah, hot women from different Middle-East-Peace-Process ethnic backgrounds will send in pictures of themselves getting it on and, thus, inspire the rest of us to put down our weapons. After all, what's more inspirational than girl-on-girl action?

I'm pretty sure that most traditional Arabs and Jews would take offense to lesbian hook-ups, even if they are multi-cultural and, therefore, awesome. Also, I am compelled to point out the exploitation here: Why do women always have to pretend to be gay to get men to do what they want? As usual, the only tool with which women can prarticipate when it comes to compromise is our sexuality--or pseudo-lesbian posturing, as the case may be.

Leave me lying here 'cause I don't wanna go. I will not be mourning the end of Jane magazine. Jane was originally designed as the daughter of Sassy, which, according to everything I've read, was rather innovative and irreverent. Jane, however, is mass-marketed faux-feminism. Every time I've picked it up, it's been full of nothing but painfully-expensive, blink-and-you'll-miss-it fashion trends and terrible advice for all you "feminists" out there. The most recent issue contains a how-to guide for detox dieting. Any doctor worth her degree will tell you that a detox diet is harmful to your health. But this is not the first time Jane has given its readers step-by-step instructions on how to perform arguably-unhealthy acts. Some years ago I remember reading a guide to one-night stands. For a magazine that releases reports on STIs, it's ironic that they would trumpet an activity which is a fantastic way to get you sick.

I suppose Jane does appeal to a New York City subculture of mid-20s young women who are sexually active but not necessarily in relationships, who are fashion-conscious and see nothing wrong with spending money on shoes instead of investing in a 401k plan. I'm not condemning this way of life; however, I think that it's irresponsible and untrue to say that Jane speaks to its readers with a feminist voice. Bitch magazine, the real feminist successor to Sassy and an amazing read if you can find it, outlines it much better than I can: "Jane is like the girl in your homeroom who chats with you pleasantly enough but always manages to mention that her skirt cost more than yours....An old, advertiser-smooching, beauty-product-hawking, celebrity-ass-kissing, skinny-model-filled old friend in a new, faux-iconoclastic, hypocritical, self-congratulatory hat."

Well, I just need a little space to breathe. Someone explain to me why anyone would buy an iPhone. I don't get it. Yes, it's shiny and new and... I honestly can't think of a single other reason this is desirable. From this article, you can see why the gadget isn't revolutionary. It has a tremendous amount of pitfalls, the price being number one on my list, second being the fact that AT&T's cellular service is spotty at best. But perhaps the single biggest turn-off is recounted in this Apple-addict's ode:

While I couldn't find my favorite YouTube video (of rocker Jenny Lewis performing "The Frug," live), I was able to watch some very popular videos and chuckle softly to myself while waiting for a smoothie. The Season 3 finale of Lost looked vastly better on my iPhone than on my video iPod--so good, in fact, that it made one friendly stranger gasp.

How pathetic of a person are you that you cannot stand on line at Jamba Juice without watching a video? Furthermore, how pathetic of a person are you that you feel the need to pay Apple $10 for the privilege of watching a TV show ABC lets you watch for free on their website? How much constant stimulation does a person need? It's like the entire country has become afflicted with ADD, and the only cure is the newest iProduct.

I'm not saying I am free from the pull of crass-consumerism and materialism, but at least I have the good sense to recognize that Apple's products aren't as amazing as the media would have you believe. My iPod, and the iPods of most of the people I know, broke within the first year or a few months after the warranty expired, and I won't even go into the terrible battery-life. But love of all things Apple is nothing new, and most people seem more than happy to ignore the problems for love of the pretty packaging.

The biggest concern for me is that all this electronic gadgetry will create a world of unhealthy non-thinkers. According to the Franklin Institute, television makes your brain go into "neutral." Overexposure to computer screens causes eyestrain. Not to mention the connection between headphones and hearing loss. My point is that this constant exposure to gadgets is ultimately harming our health, our brain function, and our creativity. So wouldn't it be better if we put down our supped-up phones and had a conversation with a real person every now and then? I mean, how can iPhone "revolutionize" the way people communicate if we're spending all our time watching YouTube and shuffling through our MP3 collection, not to mention the fact that it doesn't work as a phone?

If you want to go to hell, you should take a trip. I realize some of my recent posts make me seem like something of a prude, but there are just some things I don't need or want to know. For example, I do not need to see or even think about Bart Simpson's penis. How in the heck is this necessary? This is the ultimate example of a case of too-much-information.

Unfortunately, this is not a publicity stunt. More information here.

I'm a sinner, I'm a saint. You call this news analysis? I think the author was giving the President's family a verbal blow job. Or does she have a girl-crush on Jenna Bush?

Come on, CNN! The President of Israel is going to plea bargain his way out of serving jail time for rape. Hamas is throwing people off buildings. The airport in Glasgow was bombed. There's a genocide going on in Darfur. Lindsay Lohan just got out of rehab. Write about something important!

Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down. It is my humble opinion that when Time magazine creates a word count as to the latest post-jail Paris Hilton interview, we have officially reached oversaturation. I mean, I expect her to be on the cover of People. I even expect CNN to send me breaking-news updates via e-mail about her antics. But the fact that Time actually went throught the Larry King Live transcript and counted how many times she uttered the word "yes" during her interview (45 times, apparently) is just going too far! I mean, Paris Hilton is, was, and always will be nothing more than an uninteresting blob of flesh. Must we rub it in?

Our days and our nights. Another part of my inner child just died, except this time it drowned in a pool of its own vomit. I don't want to give this (or the upcoming reality show) any more exposure than it deserves, but suffice it to say that I am deeply disturbed. Deeply. Painfully.

It gives that Charles in Charge theme song a whole new, vivid connotation, doesn't it? And do we have to involve poor little Joanie in this? Ew.

Where do we go from here. I admit that I wasn't as jazzed about the musical episode as some people apparently are, but I am not going to stand in their way. I think it would be fantastic if this went the way of Rocky Horror and we could all dress up like our favorite character. I could bust out some crazy witch-cum-lesbian flowy dress thing, or maybe some hot leather pants. Or just sport some fangs. Awesomeness, thy name is costuming. So, even though I am not quite the fangirl, I say sing on, proud cult following. Sing on.

Good God, y'all. I don't want to get into a big political debate over this, but I had to point out something funny about this description:

About 600 people were holed up in the long, concrete tunnel that leads to the Israeli side of the crossing. About 100 people belonged to Fatah security forces, but the rest were civilians, seeking a better life in the West Bank, which is separated from Gaza by Israel.

Isn't it bizarre to say they're fleeing Gaza for a better life in the West Bank? Isn't that admitting that being occupied by Israel is preferable to self-government and independence? Obviously, most of these people are ordinary guys who're caught in the crossfire of a tremendous power vacuum, and I am not unsympathetic to their situation. However, instead of saying these Palestinians are seeking refuge from a tumultuous situation, CNN has worded this in such a way that it sounds like the Palestinians are actively asking the Israels to re-occupy them because it's the only way for them to secure this "better life." If you think about it, it's kind of hilarious.

I enjoy anything which makes CNN look foolish.

הזמנה לחתונה. I seem to have a bad habit of hearing about events well after they've happened; I'm not good with breaking news. I enjoy bands after they've already broken up, and I have no idea how to work an RSS feed.

If you're like me and you missed it, you should check out last week's outstanding exploration of American Mass Wedding Hysteria in Slate. Dear Prudence's take on acquired situational narcissism and this article discussing film's fiancee-as-castration motif are particularly trenchant.

Even though I feel I am too young to confront this situation, I know a fair number of people my age who have already tied the knot. I have heard it all, and the suggestions they read on The Knot for choosing bride's maid gifts and usher boutonnieres left me feeling mostly insane. Isn't the whole point of getting married to, you know, get married? People act like the goal is the wedding. As Meghan O'Rourke points out, "Today's marriage ceremony is indeed a statement of love: the love of buying things, and, more particularly, buying things that have been personalized to express one's taste and, so the industry tells us, the essence of who one is....The wedding becomes an exercise in magical thinking: If my teeth are white and my linens match my napkins, he and I will stay in love forever." Well, considering how high the divorce rate is, maybe it's more important to have some photos where you look fantastic than to actually count on the marriage itself working out. I mean, if you're going to have to argue over who gets the gravy boat eventually, you might as well register for the most expensive one out there, right?

She's a maniac, that's for sure. When I heard about Nathaniel R's Action Heroine Blog-a-thon, the first thing that popped into my head was Kim Basinger in Batman. Batman irritated the hell out of me because Kim Basinger spent the entire film screaming her head off. For a photo-journalist, a profession which requires a certain level of moxie, she certainly couldn't handle the criminal underbelly she was so desperately trying to chronicle. Except for Catwoman, you could argue that no Batman heroine has ever been especially daring or self-sufficient, but at least Katie Holmes saved that little boy from the psycho-gas. Look at Kim in this promo picture; she look like she's thinking, "Don't ask me, I'm just a girl!" So much for being a heroine.

I had a very long post planned about how all action heroines are, in essence, Kim Basinger in Batman. I was of the opinion that Hollywood cannot in good conscience create an action film heroine completely divorced from traditional sex roles. It's just too threatening. As a result, almost every action heroine has a characteristic that specifically identifies them as feminine and, consequently, non-threatening. Lara Croft had the gigantic breasts and skin-tight outfits so that, even though she was cold and crafty, she was still basically a sex symbol. The Charlie's Angels agents may have been slick kung fu artists, but at the end of the day they sat around in bikinis painting their toenails and gossiping about boys. Traditional gender roles even play into the motivations of the remarkably non-traditional heroine The Bride as she seeks revenge over the death of her child.


I thought that, no matter how many guns they wield or men they kill, action heroines are fundamentally feminine. Even the action heroines I liked were still imbued with gendered markers absent in their male counterparts. Selene has the pleather unitard and a lovey-dovey subplot. Leeloo wears the decidedly-awesome yet still-skimpy bandage dress and can't save the world without the love of a good man. Strong-willed and brave Princess Leia is quite bouncy running around the Death Star in A New Hope because Carrie Fisher was not allowed to wear a bra during filming. Even my favorite action heroine Trinity, who I adore mostly because of this, has the requisite skin-tight catsuit and the my-man-is-my-destiny motivation.

I'm not necessarily advocating that action heroines be portrayed as cold-blooded psychopathic killers, but why do they always have to be so darn gendered? The typical action hero doesn't need a clear-cut motivation to be accepted as strong, brave or heroic, and no one seems to have a problem with that. I mean, Batman's motivations were kind of sketchy: He was fighting for redemption, right? Or was he seeking revenge for the death of his parents? Or was he after justice? Or did he simply suffer from rich man's guilt? No one seems to question whether James Bond deserved to be designated a hero, and what was his motivation? Preservation of freedom? Securing the safety of the British people? Sleeping with lots of hot babes? Hollywood doesn't need to saddle action heroes with weighty back stories which explain why they should be admired, yet their female counterparts require considerable explanation or lots of cleavage. Why do Lara Croft, Selene, Leeloo and Trinity--all of whom are fighting for decidedly noble causes--need to run around in those skintight outfits?

However, a friend read the above rant and proceeded to prove me wrong. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that Angelina Jolie, of all people, in Mr. and Mrs. Smith proved to be the heroine for whom I have always wished. Her character is a professional, ambitious, fearless assassin who leads an all-female team, while her male counterpart Brad Pitt has the always-bumbling Vince Vaughn and that grandma-secretary. Her operation is more professional and state-of-the-art than Brad Pitt's, and she is consistently shown to be smarter, faster, and all-around better than her husband. The best example of this is the scene in the minivan where Angelina has taken over driving duties while Brad hesitates in taking the shot that will eliminate the henchmen they are trying to escape. Tired of his lack of confidence, Angelina whirls the minivan around and finishes the job herself while Brad looks on in amazement. Let's see Kim Basinger do something like that!

Mrs. Smith is just as slick, crafty and strong as any James Bond-type hero, and she does not have a well-developed back story--or any back story whatsoever--to justify her profession. Furthermore, she is thankfully free of skin-tight catsuits (except for one scene where she must dress up as a dominatrix to infiltrate a secure area). The only distinctively-feminine touch is that she fights most of her battles wearing diamond earrings, but that's more for the sake of character-consistency than to dumb her down or soften her image.


So there you have it. There is a new type of heroine afoot, one whose strength does not need to be justified or curtailed by increasing her femininity or squeezing her cleavage. Here is a heroine that would probably shake Kim Basinger and tell her to get a hold of herself. A Jennifer Bond, if you will. I am heartily impressed.

Welcome to the jungle. Despite my previous assertions that any country which has universal indoor plumbing no longer qualifies as Third World, according to my boyfriend these sorts of incidents only happen in the Third World. I don't know if that's the case, but I still think it might be best to keep his window closed at night considering he lives about 20 minutes away from Sede Boker.

Apparently, in addition to leopards, there are also at least four wild tigers roaming around the Judaen Desert. Israel is officially even more awesome than I originally thought. I wonder if there are wild penguins lurking around here somewhere. Perhaps a narwhal or a leviathan?

Soon it's gonna change in a new direction. Progress! I am a citizen of a country where a fringe, pagan religion can successfully sue for cultural representation on gravestones used in military veteran cemetaries. I love it!

I don't think I'll ever make it on time. There really aren't words for how disturbing I find this. Perhaps I am overreacting. I mean, he was on a successful television show and, therefore, has earned a certain amount celebrity, I suppose. And yet...

It's Mr. Belding with "Playboy" models! Some part of my inner child just died.

What have I become. I have always had a seething dislike for Rudy Giuliani. He's always appeared very smarmy to me, what with the messy public adultery/divorce scandal and the berating his children in public. However, I could never find specific facts to support my distaste. I'm not puritanical; I'm not in the habit of condemning people based on their romantic or personal failings. On the face of it, Giuliani seemed to be doing a fantastic job of cleaning up New York City. And once you add in the glitz and glamour of his stunning September 11 performances, you can't really argue with him.

Whereas I used to only have a gut-reaction of disgust when faced with Rudy's bloated face, I now have actual evidence for why Giuliani is full of hot air. I heartily thank Slate and the documentary Giuliani Time for poking holes in his administration's false claims of influencing New York's safety and climate. As much as I may appreciate the Disney-fication of Time's Square, I now do not have to give him credit for it. Victory in our time!

I also thank them for giving me permission to feel disgust at his personal antics. I agree that "a past like Giuliani's betrays a level of self-indulgence that, if nothing else, suggests that more fireworks are in store and that the show will be long-running." This clearly outlines why Giuliani's candidacy makes me squeamish.

However, I think that Giuliani fits into a larger problem in American politics: By and large, Americans are more interested in superficial successes and bump-in-the-night propaganda of fear than actual facts or logic. Giuliani is a potentially powerful force because of America's willing blindness. They want the speaking tours and the hand-shaking and photo-ops and not the actual details or fineprint. If we want our country back, we have to be not only brave but charismatic. We can't be blinded by the hype if we want to win. "To defeat the American Churchill in an age of terror, it will take a level head, patience, and a respect for empirical facts, and not folklore, urban legend, or the exploitation of our worst fears. You must stay, in a word, civilized."

Sweeping the clouds away. Israel just got a whole lot fuzzier. And let's hope more tolerant as well.

Everything is quiet since you're not around. Dear Real-Life and Cyber Friends,

I am very angry with you! How in the world could you have neglected to tell me about this? I am out of the country, and I rely on you all to keep me informed about important events. What could be more important than Season 8 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in comic book form? Not only that, but the first issue has already sold out! Need I remind you that I do not have consistent internet access and unfortunately miss out on such incredibly important developments? I am very disappointed with you all.

Check out a preview of the first issue as well as a review. Also, for good measure, happy 10-year anniversary, Buffy!

P.S. Someone host a BtVS blog-a-thon, already!

Point me to the sky above. I found this in the Slate archives and it's really REALLY funny and also really REALLY disturbing. On the one hand, Evangelical Christians are hilarious. On the other hand, Christian Evangelicals scare the shit out of me. This article pretty much sums up why.

Twisted firestarter. We went to a "nature party" in the desert at 4 a.m. on Israeli Independence Day, and I probably took one of the best photos of my life. The subject is a winged fire juggler on stilts, believe it or not. I just think it's wow.

Fire Starter
Originally uploaded by thelizisawesome.

Is it so wrong to crave recognition? Interesting human interest story in the NYT about Hillary Clinton's 1969 Swells classmates' reaction to her persona and her candidacy. One classmate made a particularly interesting comment about something that has been bothering me for a while but I have been unable to address:

Some of Mrs. Clinton’s classmates say they take personally criticism that she is “shrill” or “strident.”

“I hear these anti-Hillary attacks by men, especially right-wing men, and I feel like it’s just as much an attack on me,” said Cheryl Lynn Brierton, an in-house lawyer for the California courts. “It’s an effect of intelligence that you come across as intense, that you have strong views. I’ve always felt that the way she is singled out and attacked is very indicative of how society reacts to smart women.”

I think part of the reason I have been reluctant to endorse Hillary is because she is so polarizing. Supporting Hillary is controversial simply because she does not adhere to traditional gender roles. She is a "career woman," a "feminist" and ambitious. I would never expect myself to shy away from that, to look for a more "mainstream" candidate that I felt was a more sure-fire win. As my father said during the 2004 election, I'd rather lose fighting for something than lose by playing it safe. It is time to throw my hat into Hillary's ring.

Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya. I've said it once, I'll say it again. Jews are funny. And, apparently, creative. Makes my bat mitzvah party at a fancy restaurant overlooking the Hudson look downright cheap!

When the band plays "Hail to the Chief." I'm on the fence about Hilary Clinton, not because I wouldn't vote for her, but because I really can't stand another four (potentially eight) years of fascism conservatism and I'm not sure if she can win. However, I do acknowledge that she makes an excellent point below.

"[Former U.S. president John F. Kennedy] was smart, he was dynamic, he was inspiring and he was Catholic. A lot of people back then [1960] said, 'America will never elect a Catholic as president.' So when people tell me 'a woman can never be president,' I say, we'll never know unless we try."

And really, if you can't support your Swells' sisters, who can you support?

The wind is howling. A rather disappointing celebrity sighting, as I don't remember where, exactly, it happened, BUT, I give you...

Last Week in B-List Celebrity Sightings:

Sean Lennon, of all people, walking around Jerusalem! I didn't recognize him at first--and, really, who expects to see Sean friggin' Lennon walking around Jerusalem--but in retrospect it was definitely him. He had an unkempt beard and a cozy-looking (I want to say tartan) scarf, but the best part was definitely his bowler hat.

I guess celebrities do come to Israel. I'll have to keep my eyes open.

These tedious dances. Perhaps it shouldn't, but this really made me see red. Our darling first daughter Jenna Bush is writing an inspirational tale about a 17-year-old HIV-positive South American single mother? Seriously? This sounds like another Seventh Heaven-esque Christian retelling of terrible circumstances spun to make money. No matter how much volunteer work Jenna Bush has done with UNICEF, what could she possibly understand about living with HIV in poverty or raising a child alone?

I also think it's irresponsible to portray a young woman infected with HIV as inspiring. Yes, you can live a full life for many years with the disease, and I don't think you should demonize those who are infected. However, poor people in general do not receive the kinds of cutting-edge drugs or specialized attention that preserve health. Portraying HIV infection as positive absolutely goes against the basic idea behind prevention. The only way HIV will end is if new infections cease; you can't count on a vaccine. When I volunteered at an AIDS services organization and talked to those patients who had been living with the disease for decades, they were appalled by how young the clients were--some of the new clients hadn't finished high school. The elder clients knew that the very drugs that prolonged and improved their lives had damaged the fight against HIV: young people aren't afraid of a disease when there are so many medical advances to preserve health. Jenna Bush's story of "inspiration and hope" is just another piece of the problem.

I will slice. This headline made me really sad.

Cheney unhurt in blast

On the one hand, Cheney is evil. On the other, I shouldn't root for him to die... should I? This is going to bother me all day now.

It starts out easy, something simple. As many of you know, I have periodically relocated to across the Atlantic. But fear not, this blog is not completely dead. It's just that, well, I don't have much time for celebrity gossip, and there aren't any celebrities to sight here because of all the politics, so many of my favorite categories will have to remain dormant. I am probably more upset about this than you are.

In addition to missing spotting random celebrities walking down New York streets, I also miss all forms of Asian food, non-hard water, reliable heating, non-bee-infested apartments, spring mattresses, water boilers, Garnier Fructis shampoo and conditioner, and Sundays. These are all things I can't seem to find reliably and consistently here. If anyone would like to FedEx me some sushi, I would be eternally grateful. However, I do not miss my old job, dress codes, parental supervision, or Fridays.

That said, I will endeavor to make more consistent updates and spare you from the horror of repeated Confederate Army Soldier viewings.

To dust. Only in New York would I see a guy wearing this:

That's right. I saw a guy on the subway wearing a friggin' Confederate Army coat! It had the buttons and the brocade work and everything! What kind of person walks around in a Confederate Army coat unless he's a racist or really confused? Nothing else about him was even remotely reminiscent of the Civil War, so why the coat? Maybe he went to a thrift store where some retired Civil War reenactor had sold his memorabilia, and he thought it looked warm? I'm at a loss.

Moving too fast. Not again:


Enrique Iglesias is in Israel to collect a reported $1 million paycheck to perform at a private Hanukkah party for a billionaire. Fine, that's great, but must you go do...whatever it is you're doing near my sacred site?

What is it with these crazy celebrities using my wall as a photo opportunity? I blame Madonna and her b.s. Kabbalah fascination for making Judaism all the rage.

I've got a perfect body. Today in Celebrity Sightings:

I'm not usually one to brag, but I really outdid myself this time. I had a blink-and-you'll-miss-it sighting while walking down Prince Street. In a crush of people, I spotted a familiar face and placed her right away as the worst part of "Popular," in my opinion, Carly Pope. She was looking a little bedraggled in her military-esque cap and dirty hair. Still, she was having a good time, laughing it up with her friend, and that's a lot better than the sullen-looking, nervous celebs I usually see.

Make you work hard. Once upon a time, when I was a wee assistant arts editor on my college paper, the Opinions Section had a weekly "Cheers and Jeers" column. With my impending move, I have become nostalgic. Thus, I bring you my own little "Cheers and Jeers" offering because there is nothing more important than my opinion.

Cheers!

• Buffy worship continues.



• Tom Perrotta worship heats up (scroll down to Item #2).



• Merry Christmas to you, too, Britney Spears. I'll take acne over vajayjay any day.



• So over The Gibson and The Lohan.



• I just received my first business-related holiday gift! I got a gift pack of dried fruit, nuts, chocolate and jelly beans. People try to bribe me with candy. I'm finally important.

Jeers!

• Yay for new discoveries in HIV prevention, but was this really necessary? I doubt that it was.



• Oh fuck, that's disgusting. I think I'm scarred for life.



• Anyone else getting a distinct "Hiroshima Mon Amour" meets "Schindler's List" vibe from Cate Blanchett in "The Good German?"



• No snow! How am I supposed to go skiing?



• Christmas is on a Monday this year, meaning I have to work Tuesday, meaning that my annual post-Christmas tradition of raiding the Saks Fifth Avenue Day-After-Christmas sale is ruined! Thanks a lot, Baby Jesus.

Make 'em laugh. According to "Vanity Fair," women aren't funny. Who knew? I certainly didn't get the memo. Apparently I was born with a penis I never noticed because I am certainly funny. In fact, I would say that I am much funnier than my boyfriend, and he would probably agree with me on that. My female friends are all very funny. In fact, most of the women I know are hilarious.

But, no, we must be wrong because women are not funny. Why aren't we funny? Because all we think about is reproduction, and reproduction makes you serious:

For women, reproduction is, if not the only thing, certainly the main thing. Apart from giving them a very different attitude to filth and embarrassment, it also imbues them with the kind of seriousness and solemnity at which men can only goggle.

Apparently, not relishing piss and fart jokes means women have no sense of humor. All of the intelligently humorous women out there, even the ones who do enjoy body function jokes, are automatically disregarded. I'm sure Jane Austen, one of the best satirists in English literature, would appreciate that.

In case you have any doubt as to the veracity of the woman-aren't-funny axiom, Christopher Hitchens uses Rudyard Kipling's poem "The Female of the Species" as supporting evidence. Apparently, verse by a notorious bigot is all you need to support your thesis.

This is what I like to call "convenient journalism." It doesn't require any research or basis in reality; it's just based on one person's limited view of the world. It's like if Jerry Seinfeld started writing magazine articles instead of doing stand-up.

"Ever notice how men are douchbags?" There's your next headline, "Vanity Fair."

Nothing compares to you. For all five of you who haven't heard yet, Mary Cheney is pregnant! That's right, the evil Vice President's lesbian daughter is expecting a child with her longtime partner. Not surprisingly, this isn't going over well with certain conservative groups. For example, Carrie Gordon Earll, a policy analyst for the conservative Christian ministry Focus on the Family, had this to say:

"Just because you can conceive a child outside a one-woman, one-man marriage doesn't mean it's a good idea. Love can't replace a mother and a father."

Um, what? This doesn't make any sense. Apparently, it doesn't matter how much you love your child or how well you raise your child. If you and your partner are of the same sex, you are inherently doing your child a disservice. The most important thing for a child is that the child has a parent with a penis and a parent with a vagina. Doesn't matter if dad beats the kid, doesn't matter if mom is an alcoholic. All that matters is different genitals!

I'd like to understand the religious Fascist Conservative viewpoint. I keep rolling this stuff around and around in my head, and I Just. Don't. Get. It. I really don't understand where these people come off saying that love doesn't count. Good parenting is good parenting, no matter who is raising the child. Every time one of these morally self-righteous bigots gets up in a public forum and spews this crap, every child from a non-traditional family hears this and is disheartened. Every kid raised by grandma or a foster parent or a single parent or two parents of the same sex is going to think that he is in some way defective or given the short stick in the life lottery. If these conservative groups were really concerned about building healthy and happy families, they would work to provide all children with health insurance, school lunch, and proper education at the very least. They would even legalize gay adoption so that the massive amounts of kids in foster care could have permanent, safe homes. Conservatives are only interested in hate and self-interest. They don't give a shit about families.

I haven't thought of you lately at all. Today in B-List Celebrity Sightings:

Christmas came early, apparently, as I had a very obscure celebrity sighting last night right before I got on the 1 train at Houston. I was on the phone at the time, and I had to interrupt my conversation to say, "Hey, I just saw a celebrity."

Though, I have to admit, it was something of a lie as Ms. Krysten Ritter is not much of a celebrity. She has become the go-to annoying ditz for teenage girl-focused television, first as Gia Goodman on "Veronica Mars" and now as Lucy on "Gilmore Girls." If you can believe it, she's even skinner and more ridiculously-dressed now than she was on "Veronica Mars."

Anyway, when I saw her she was wearing a black ski hat, black scarf, and black peacoat, all of which, coupled with her jet-black hair and incredibly paleness, made her look like some sort of goth wanna-be rocker chick who moonlights as a cat burglar when she isn't writing bleak poetry. Either that, or she was just trying to be incognito, in which case she has an over-inflated sense of self-importance. Or she was just cold, but if that was the case, may I please suggest some color to offset the black? Maybe a kicky red scarf or a ski hat with a fun knit pattern? You know, just to spice things up a bit.

If everything could ever be this good again.
Best. Birthday gift. Ever. Holy shit, Sus, you just rocked my socks off.

I'll remember. Two Years Ago in B-List Celebrity Sightings:

Recently, I was asked why there haven't been many celebrity sightings on the T.L. Here's the truth: I actually see plenty of celebrities, but for the life of me I can't remember their names. I rarely forget a face, but names can be like smoke through a chimney for me...or something.

Anyway, this celebrity sighting actually has a little bit of a story to it. Two years ago, I was walking through Grand Central when I saw a celebrity walking towards me but I couldn't for the life of me remember his name or anything he'd been in. Flash forward to Saturday. I went to the theater and was flipping through a playbill when what do I see but a picture of said B-list celebrity from Grand Central. Huzzah! The next day while brushing my teeth, I remembered the movie I'd seen him in.

Without further delay, I present to you, "With Honors" alum Josh Hamilton walking through Grand Central, wearing a kicky little scarf. This also makes me one degree away from Patrick Dempsey. Yum.

I don't know about you, but I feel much better.

It's good enough for me. I just LOLed all over myself.

Flawless, absolutely flawless. I suppose "thou shalt not put thy dick up another man's butt" trumps "thou shalt not kill" in the Commandment department? Good thing to know that crazies exist in all religions. I was worried.

Home of the brave. Now that we've kicked some Republican ass, I think it's time we make all their dreams come true. Bring on the crazy liberal agenda. Wooo!

The bats have left the bell tower. Thanks for coming along with me on my spooky countdown. In honor of All Hallows Eve, I've resurrected something from the depths of television past. No, it isn't Charlie Brown, and it isn't "Buffy," but you're close. It is from the black and sinister trenches of YouTube, and it screams Satan's name as it dances naked around the Bacchanalian hellfires.

Send it in! Send it in!

Vampire Blog-a-thon

Transylvanian concubine. I have recovered from my stint as the Scrooge of Halloween and will now talk about a subject very dear to my ghoulish heart: Vampires. I admit, ever since I saw "Interview with the Vampire" in middle school, I have been wary of sleeping with my neck exposed else some nocturnal hematophage happens upon me. There's something about Vampires that really gets to people, isn't there? Vampires are distinctly human in form except without that pesky superego getting in the way of all the fun. Plus, they add a demonic note to that age-old "Where do we go after we die?" question. With Vampires, the answer is that you come back to feast on the flesh of the living. That's exciting if you're a Goth but terrifying if you're a Hungarian peasant.

I've noticed a transition between the historic soulless-Vampire-as-pure-evil and the current Hollywood Vampiric incarnation. Whereas once the eternal Vampire instilled fear, now it is a source of erotic excitement. You see it in the homoerotic undertones between Lestat and Louie in "Interview," the skin-tight cat suits and lingering sex scenes of "Underworld," and the romance-beyond-death theme of "Bram Stoker's Dracula." Even the Vampire's "kiss" is portrayed in slow-motion, close-up, open-mouthed, wet with dripping saliva. Then the camera pans to the victim's face. Her emotions are ambiguous, with her wide eyes and parted lips. Is she in pain or intense pleasure? Is there even a difference?

But enough of this. I don't want to talk about victims. I want to talk about heroes!

As many of you know--and I should probably be embarrassed about this--I am a huge "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" fan. I even wrote my college entrance essay about Buffy-as-feminist-icon (Hey, don't judge. It worked). I realize that "Buffy" started out as a pathetic little movie about a stereotypical blond cheerleader who inconveniently must battle the forces of darkness and make out with Luke Perry, but if you know anything about Joss Whedon, you know it was not meant to be like this.

Oh no. No no. We were not supposed to have cheerleader-and-phallic-symbol fetishism. Nonsense! We were supposed to see the traditional blond victim walk into the Vampire's lair and not only survive, but triumph. The TV version of "Buffy" is kind of like revenge porn--it's not every day that you get to see a petite blond kicking ass and taking names. We weren't even supposed to care about the Vampires. Think about how terrible the show was when Dracula showed up. Here's the most legendary and feared character in the Vampire canon, and he comes off as a fey David Copperfield wanna-be desperately in need of bronzer. Even the initially-feared Spike turned into a love-sick, if grumpy, puppy.

It's interesting to go from the woman-as-Vampire-victim Hollywood aesthetic to woman-as-Vampire-slayer theme. Women were either dinner or devil in the Vampire legends of yore. Now they are the avengers, fighting for some moral principle or saving the earth from destruction at the hands of some latent but lingering evil.

Yes, the cleavage is still there, and we still have the overly-moussed love interest. But the Vampire motif seems to be evolving beyond the traditional blood-lust and gore. Suddenly, women are the heroes, the Chosen, the leaders destined to deliver us from evil. The current trend in Vampire lore seems to reject snuff films in favor of heroism. Men become the sidekicks, and we're supposed to lust after the strong, gun- or crossbow-wielding heroine. She's the one's who's going to get the job done.

A small, blond chick walks into a Vampire's lair with nothing more than a pointy piece of wood. A battle ensues. Who do you think is going to win?

So sexy it hurts. I ask you, what's more frightening than Republicans procreating? I would also like to point out that most of the men they interviewed were smarmy, manipulative assholes. Go Blue!

Dig up her bones. Continuing with my spooky theme...

Le Tombeau
Originally uploaded by thelizisawesome.

Wasn't there a house at Harvard or Radcliffe named Greenough? I think you guys just raided cemetaries looking for names. It's called originality. Look it up!

We can hold hands like paper dolls. YES! I believe this warrants an old school fist pump.

*pumps fist in air*

Come on now, sugar. I don't know how many of you out there watch "Veronica Mars," but tonight's episode made me incredibly angry. The current mystery revolves around who is drugging and raping his/their way through Veronica's liberal arts college; the rapist's signature is a shaved head bestowed as a parting gift for each victim. The rapes, as far as we know, have been going on for over a year, and the college's administration has failed to take action.

My problem is the way in which the series labels everyone who dares protest these rather horrific rapes. The only voice of outcry is led by a gaggle of angry, militant feminists who are ethically dubious (one is a Fox News journalist in the making, if you catch my drift) or freakish (strange body piercings, implied lesbianism).

Think about it. At any college, if a razor-happy serial rapist was running amok among the female population, you'd better believe that the outcry would not be lead by a marginalized group of radicals. There would be hell to pay--parents would yank their children, alums would yank funding, and there would be a media circus. However, anyone who dares lift an eyebrow at the events is painted as an irrational ball-buster. The only reason our heroine Veronica seems to be taking an interest in the case is because of a sense of wounded pride, not genuine concern for the victims or fear for her own safety or the safety of her friends.

This setup is in stark contrast to season one, when Veronica set about uncovering the events surrounding her own rape. Every single person who saw Veronica the night she was drugged and raped--and there were a good 20 characters highlighted--is labeled culpable. Even "Saint Blond" Meg is guilty of standing by and leaving Veronica in harm's way. The rapes the writers are currently depicting are horrific. Victims have no way of remaining anonymous or going about their normal routines. The rapist strips away their identity, both as whole human beings and as feminine. They are forced to hide behind wigs or walk the campus as poster children for victimhood. Yet anyone who dares demand answers is portrayed in a remarkably unflattering, almost comical, manner.

Why am I getting so worked up about a dumb television show? Because television is a mass medium that reaches millions each day, and every time it is portrayed as unacceptable for women to stand up for themselves or speak out against sexual violence, we lose. Even Keith's derogatory crack about asking Veronica if she'd become a women's studies major because she donned a pants suit and unflattering shoes underscores the idea that women who do not conform to socially-dictated notions of proper femininity are not worthy or valuable.

I really have no idea why a show that started out lauding the exploits of a petite blond who refused to let the shit get kicked out of her by the reigning kings and queens of her high school has devolved in such a manner. I'd like to blame the CW, "network of the Lord", but I fear there's more to it than that. Either way, I am righteously pissed off.

This old engine makes it on time. Riding the subway is not totally safe? Is it because of terrorism? Have they uncovered some information about a nerve gas attack? Have they discovered poorly maintained infrastructure?

Haha, you're funny. The subway stations and subway cars are too noisy and will permanently damage our hearing.

Shockers!

With dead poets and drum machines. Countdown to Halloween continues here on the T.L., and the excitement is palpable! Oooh baby.

Did you ever notice how most greeting cards are either cloyingly sweet or snarky? There is never a greeting card that simply states "I love you" without including some saccarine poem about flowers and the ages or some ball-busting qualifier such as "but not as much as I love your money." I wonder why Americans are so reluctant to lay it out there. Maybe we're all just afraid to be vulnerable.

Well, fine then, if love is schmaltzy, then I am a malt ball. Or something. Whatever. Enjoy some candy.

And death climbs up the steps one by one. It's almost Halloween, and with it comes my nostalgia for a simpler time when my desire for jack-o-lanterns and trick-or-treats wasn't met with such derision. Anyway, the next two weeks will be heavily steeped in all things ghoulish and disturbing. Let's kick it off with some creepy pop culture.

Don't forget...

Some of them want to use you. The wait is almost over...



Stock up on your garlic and crosses before it's too late.

I killed a cockroach so big it left a puddle of puss on my wall. Today brought a reprise of the scorpion incident, except this time it involved the largest waterbug I have ever seen. This thing must have crawled here from Mexico, and it terrorized my office for a good half-hour. All attempts to kill it failed, and everyone was perched on their chairs in creeped-out anticipation. At the first possible opportunity, I threw an encyclopedia at it. That's right. I killed an insanely huge cockroach with a $250 encyclopedia. I feel justified in this because cockroaches are detrimental to women's health. I have since been told that I should be showered with flowers and candy, and that I am "ghetto." I take this as a compliment.

You won't scoff at my attempts to kill unwanted pests by squashing them with large objects anymore, will you Wombat? Victory!

I think it's here to stay. Holy shit.

According to visionary astrologer Elias Lonsdale, the age-old war between good and evil is over. His shocking conclusion: Evil lost. It will take a while for its malignant dominance to ebb away, and the transition time may bring apparent setbacks, but already the momentum has shifted. The forces of good are in ascendancy, and will steadily build a new order in the coming decades. Is Lonsdale's perspective true? I personally don't have the wisdom to be able to confirm or deny it. But I do know this: The age-old war between good and evil within you is over, and evil lost. From now on, the forces of beauty, truth, love, and justice will grow in power.

I don't want to join your club. So, um, I actually have the poster Natalie is mocking here. As some of you may remember, it hung over my dorm closet back in my college days (sniff sniff). But, in my defense, I bought it at a time when my then-boyfriend was acting particularly heinous, and I needed an outlet for my male-centered anger. Uh, does that mean I suck less?

I didn't think so.

Sing it back. Um, wow.

At the end. Today in C-List Celebrity Sightings:

Here's a really obscure one for you, folks. Last night I went to see The Pain and the Itch (a good friend of mine is doing stage management for it. It's hilarious. Go see it, already) and who was waiting in the lobby but the guy who played Ming Na's husband on "The Single Guy." Remember "The Single Guy," the NBC sitcom from the mid-'90s starring Jonathan Silverman? No? It's just me? Okay then.

Living alone, living a lie. Here's an interesting little editorial from "Dear Prudence" writer (and Swells alum) Emily Yoffe that struck a chord with with me. You probably wouldn't think that I think much about this, or you might think that I'd agree with the flabergasted readers who decried Yoffe's suggestion of reconsidering parenthood. As a feminist and a WOSTie, perhaps I am stereotypically supposed to condemn motherhood as chaining women to the home. Perhaps I should revel in sexual liberation and professional satisfaction over spit-up and diaper rash. If you thought this about me, you'd be painfully wrong. The mere suggestion of parenthood wrankles my step-mother, sending her off on non-sensicle diatribes condemning anyone who would dare find a baby mildly attractive. Every time she does this--and it's more often than you might think--I get angry. Very angry. To me, motherhood is no longer compulsory. I do not feel that it is my obligation as a woman to reproduce. As much as I want professional satisfaction and intellectual stimulation, to me, life doesn't mean much if you don't have family to round it out. My boss put it best. She said that when she decided to have a child, and she did so relatively late in life, it was because she felt that life was "so juicy" that she wanted to share it with a new generation. Like me, she did not have a great family life growing up, but she said that she took great pleasure in watching her husband and daughter interact because she got to vicariously experience their relationship; she created the family she'd missed out on. Yoffe's editorial sums this up and illustrates why, many years from now, I hope to be a mother.

Got to keep it all inside. I've decided to add a new section--or type of drip, if I want to wax poetic like my overblown blog title indicates. Without further ado, I give you Today in Schadenfreude:

The school board in Canton, Ohio, has added contraception to their sex-ed programs--it had been abstinence only--when they realized that 13 percent of the female students at one high school were pregnant. [Source]

Way to go, Ohio. That fascist, Republican misogynyny is really working for you. To this, I give my standard schadenfreude derisive of Nelson's "Ha ha!"

Playing games with the faces. I just found out what happened to Tucker Carlson:

He's going to be on Dancing with the Stars 3!

I'm very amused... I guess we now know the punch line to the joke, "What happens to a loud-mouth, conservative twat after his career ends?"

Adding even more glee to the schadenfreude: His co-"star" is Jerry Springer! Excuse me while I break into a maniacal laugh.

Ain't that America. That's America for you. A war's going on, and us stuck-up, privileged Americans are shocked by the fucking head gear!

Without a song in my heart. On my way to work today, I was fortunate enough to witness a fantastic dog moment. A fire engine was heading down Varick with its siren blaring, and this big husky-eque mutt of a dog was standing on the corner with his owner. You could hear the siren before you saw the fire engine, and this dog started "singing" along to the siren, echoing the whining noise almost verbatim. He had the same pitch and rhythm. He let out this long, plaintive, rhythmic howl that was perfectly in harmony with the siren. As the siren got closer, the dog got louder until the engine drove in front of the dog and the dog's howl became a very loud bark. It was the funniest thing; I couldn't stop laughing!

Fear, my old friend, disappear. As many of you know, I am freaking out about the GRE. It isn't even funny how anxious I am about this test. To boost my spirits, I am posting my horoscope. I don't care if this post isn't entertaining; I need help!

In 1993, my American friend Mark started playing music on the streets of Copenhagen. His parents regarded it as a tragedy. "This is what you do with the fine education we bought you?" they mourned. "What a waste!" grumbled his siblings and college friends. Mark was hurt, but didn't shrink from his mission, eventually expanding his open-air performances to Ireland and Holland. Thirteen years later, Mark has accumulated so much wealth from his gig that he has been able to buy homes in Ireland and Hawaii. Though he still busks part-time, he spends nine months of the year writing books. He's your patron saint in the coming weeks, Sagittarius. May he inspire you to follow your dreams no matter how much that bothers the people who think they own you [Source].

If you have any, leave your words of encouragement below.

You may laugh 'cause you did not do your math. As many of you know, I am exceedingly adorable. For example, before one of our editors traveled to South Africa for a conference, I requested that she bring me back a baby elephant which I would name Peanut.

I have just received the following e-mail:

I couldn't take him with me for you; South African Airways has pretty strict rules for excess bagage. So here is the picture I took from little Peanut...

Yay! My very own baby elephant! I hope he has lots of playmates in South Africa. I don't want him to get lonely without me.

Let the handcuffs slip off your wrists. One of our journals was mentioned in this article from, Lord help me, USA Today. It consequently showed up on our company intranet under the headline "Being smart and 'hot' is not an easy task..." Apparently it's like so tough to like be a girl and be like smart and junk. I mean like I don't know about you, but like I always face the dilemma every day of like should I be like slutty or like smart and stuff? It is like so like hard!

My advice to the women who "suffer" from this "problem" is this: Go to a women's college. If it's too late for that, do some volunteer work, preferably at a battered women's shelter, because, Sister, you have too much fucking time on your hands.

Are you diggin' on me. I was thinking today that we haven't had a good celebrity sighting in a while here on the TL, but during my lunchtime walk the god of voyerism blessed me. Without further ado, I present you Today in A-List Celebrity Sightings:

Joss Stone on the corner of West Broadway and Prince Street, buying a hand-made halter dress from one of those street vendor artist-types. I recognized her right down to her nose stud. Let me just say, she is gorgeous! She dyed her hair a very sexy chestnut brown with red highlights, and goodness is she tall! She also has a great (speaking) voice. I was very excited.

I've noticed that my celebrity sightings are a little like trading cards. I'm hoping to get a Lohan or a Hilton before either of them overdose and kick the bucket.

Someone must get hurt and it won't be me. Dear readers, I am flummoxed. For the first time in six years, I think our shit-for-brains President might not only have a realistic understanding of a situation but, Lord help me, he might actually be on my side of a debate! Check out another infamous oops-the-mic-was-still-on snafu, this time from the G-8 summit:

Apparently not expecting an open mike to pick up his remarks, Bush told Blair: "See the irony is what they need to do is get Syria to get Hezbollah to stop doing this s___ and it's over."

Okay, so points off for misunderstanding the meaning of the word irony, but the sentiment is there. Don't blame Israel for defending itself, blame the Syrian- and Iranian-backed terrorist organization!

"What about Kofi Annan?" Bush asked Blair. "I don't like the sequence of it. His attitude is basically cease-fire and everything else happens."

Not being a big fan of many UN policies myself, any jab at the UN's anti-semitic and ineffectual policies are okay with me.

I don't believe I am about to say this--I really don't--and I'm sure my father would answer me with a hearty dose of skeptisim in the veign of "These are bad guys, don't be fooled," but...okay, this is going to hurt...

Thank you, Mr. President.

The #1 Must-Have is that we are safe. Today in Why We Still Need Feminism:

The week continues with the stunningly awful story that's been burned into the brains and bosoms of all who've encountered it, chronicling the "traditional West African practice" of breast ironing. For those out of the hideous news loop, breast ironing involves the use of hard, hot objects (typically stones placed in boiling water) to stunt breast growth in girls, via the rubbing of the aforementioned hard, hot objects across the bare chests of prepubescent females. Devised as a protection against sexual abuse (as girls with scarred, stunted breasts are far less appealing to molesters), breast ironing is apparently freakishly widespread in Cameroon, where Reuters reports one in four teenagers has been subjected to the traumatic process, typically at the hands of relatives worried that the onset of puberty could invite sexual harassment. Never mind that breast ironing carries the "asking for it" argument to a truly horrific end; beyond conceptual offenses, the practice has a slew of horribly tangible side effects, including severe pain, abscesses, infections, breast cancer, and even the complete disappearance of one or both breasts. So thank God for the German development agency GTZ, which sponsored the eye-opening survey that fueled today's news reports, and which is waging a campaign "to respect the physical integrity of young girls." As GTZ representative Flavien Ndonko told Reuters, "If nothing was done today, tomorrow the very parents may even resolve to slice off the nose, the mouth, or any other part of the girl which they think is making her attractive to men." [Source]

This is a prime example of the unwillingness of society to acknowledge men's role in sexual violence. Instead of attacking the problem at its source--namely, the view of the female body as constantly sexually available and not a respectable, autonomous entity--these West Africans have, like so many other cultures before them, decided to place the blame and the onus for prevention on the very victims of arcane and brutal ideology. Until we can retrain men to see women as their equals and not as second-class, sexually available property, violence against women will always exist.

Lift me up when I'm falling. Another great billboard; this one's for you beer-lovers and Jesus freaks:


"The company that leases the billboard believes vandals made the poster at home and then pasted it on top of the ad that's supposed to be there."

Hats off to you, you cheeky fuckers.

Going to the chapel. One of my co-workers just got married last week, and for the past six months all I've heard is wedding this and wedding that. Couple this with a new person I know getting engaged practically every other week, and weddings have seeped into my brain. I have actually started dreaming about weddings! Now, I'm in no way ready to get married, but I have unconsciously started planning mine. Good God, what is happening to me? Am I slowly becoming that girl, the one who has the whole party planned out before she even has a groom? If I do, you are all free to slap me.

However, to keep things in perspective, I present to you the winner of Slate's Unidentifiable Wedding Gifts Contest:



Seriously, who the fuck thought up a CONDOM VASE? If getting married means people buy you atrocious things like a CONDOM VASE, then I guess I will just have to be a spinster.

Is it still possible to be a spinster?

And they say that a hero can save us. Yesterday in B-List Celebrity Sightings:

A Two-Sighting day, my friends! First, SNL cast member Tracy Morgan on his way into the AMC Theater in Times Square. You know what's coming next: Much shorter in person! He couldn't have been more than 5'4" tall. Also, he looked really haggard, like he'd been enjoying too many wrap parties, if you catch my drift.

Then, after seeing Superman, what did we stumble on outside the New York Public Library but a taping for the new Spider-man movie! Hotness! The scene featured one Thomas Hayden Church of Sideways fame who, if I may say so, really does not look good as a redhead. The whole time we were watching them film this scene (check out Spiderichman's livejournal entry for July 1 to see an impressively comprehensive play-by-play of the scene), I kept thinking of the scene in Sideways where Paul Giamatti is running away from the naked fat guy...I think I am inheriting some of CB's inscrutable thought process. Anyway, it was so much fun and really interesting to watch. I would rather have seen Topher Grace (swoon) or James Franco (double swoon), but I suppose beggars fanboys cannot be choosers.

A Superman-related post script: There is an atrocious grammar error on Lois Lane's Pulitzer Prize plaque. Post it in the comments section, and I'll award you three T.L. Intelligence Points.

Who can turn the world on with her smile. As many of you know, I am a big David Sedaris fan. I am also a big Amy Sedaris fan. In fact, I've probably never met a Sedaris I didn't like...not that I've ever actually met a Sedaris in person. But their mom sounds pretty cool; I wish I could have met her, but she died when I was three. Damnit.

Anyway, back to my point. As part of the Strangers With Candy media blitz, Amy Sedaris talked to the the A.V. Club about, well, stuff. And it was cool. So I am posting it here for you to enjoy because Lord knows the world could use more Amy Sedaris fans. Also, doesn't she sound eerily like her brother? The similarities are a little unnerving...at least they are to me, but I don't have any siblings, so what do I know about it? So, uh, enjoy!

One more thought: Amy Sedaris is ridiculously pretty. Do you think that's her real nose?

I want everything he's got. I'm sure that this is going to offend someone, somewhere, which is probably part of why it's such a darn funny joke:

A young monk arrives at the monastery. He is assigned to helping the other monks in copying the old canons and laws of the church by hand.

He notices, however, that all of the monks are copying from copies, not from the original manuscript. So, the new monk goes to the head abbot to question this, pointing out that if someone made even a small error in the first copy, it would never be picked up! In fact, that error would be continued in all of the subsequent copies.

The head monk, says, "We have been copying from the copies for centuries, but you make a good point, my son." He goes down into the dark caves underneath the monastery where the original manuscripts are held as archives in a locked vault that hasn't been opened for hundreds of years. Hours go by and nobody sees the old abbot.

So, the young monk gets worried and goes down to look for him. He sees him banging his head against the wall and wailing,"We missed the "R" ! , we missed the "R" !"

His forehead is all bloody and bruised and he is crying uncontrollably. The young monk asks the old abbot, "What's wrong, Father?"

With A choking voice, the old abbot replies, "The word was...

CELEBRATE!!!"

So I tell the world that it can kill itself. I am going to take an arguably controversial stance on the straight rights issues that are currently being shouted about: I don't care. That's right, America, I no longer give a shit about you. I live in New York, a state that legalized abortion three years before Roe v. Wade. You want your women to die of cervical cancer because you are convinced that the HPV vaccine will lead to promiscuity? Fine. You want to place pharmacists' religious beliefs above the health needs of your constituents by allowing pharmacists to refuse to fill prescriptions for emergency contraception? Fine. You are so determined to keep your women stupid, poor, disease-ridden and pregnant? Fine. Go ahead.

You know why I don't care? Because you refuse to care! You don't care that 80% of American women will contract HPV by the time they are 50, you don't care that HIV infection rates are on the rise, you don't care that abstinence-only education isn't effective. All you care about is preserving your precious Christian morality! Apparently, Christ would want your daughter to marry a closeted gay man brainwashed into denying his sexuality. Christ would want you to sacrifice your wife's health, or even her life, for the sake of your unborn fetus. And Christ would certainly want your sister to live in poverty because she wasn't allowed control over her reproduction, consequently causing her to give birth to a slew of children since she isn't allowed to refuse her husband his "marital rights" (and it's not like you're going to help her or her children out of poverty by providing free vaccines, school lunch, welfare, or public housing, are you, America?).

America, you win. You are so intent on damning yourself by voting (or not voting, as the case may be) for right-wing, fascist, self-righteous, Bible-thumping corrupt hypocrites that I really don't see the point in arguing with you. All I'm doing is sitting here in my SoHo office, basking in the glow of sexual freedom and access to effective and safe reproductive health care, and watching you people willing vote away your freedoms. I don't live in one of those 42 states that hate women. I live in New York. So fuck you, America. I hope you all stay in Oklahoma or where ever it is you are, and I hope you all reproduce yourself into disease-ridden oblivion. I hope your women get cancer, your gay children hate you, and your straight children premarital sex themselves to death. If that's the way you want it, who am I to stand in your way?

I'm curious about you. I have a bone to pick with music critics: Why don't you write coherent reviews? About halfway through my tenure as Arts Editor for the News, I noticed a disturbing trend in both the articles submitted to me for publication and reviews I was reading in such publications as "Entertainment Weekly." Gone were the coherent, well-articulated descriptions of what an album or artist sounded like. Such clearly-written critiques were substituted with bloated, buzz-word jargon that only an insider or an obsessed fan could possibly understand. Take, for example, a recent review of Nelly Furtado's new CD in the AV Club: "'Promiscuous,' the first single, follows suit with gleaming synths shot through a long, luscious hook." What the hell does that mean? I have this single on my iPod, and I've listened to it countless times, and I still have no clue what a "gleaming synth" or a "long, luscious hook" could possibly sound like! What happened to terms like "bass-line" or "lyrics?" Music critics are simply juxtaposing as many two-dollar words as possible in the hopes of sounding erudite yet cool--the epitome of snobbishness. Also, lay off the the alliteration. There is no excuse for deeming a song off the new Keane album "tritely positivist pap." For shame.

There could be nothing better. Today in B-List Celebrity Sightings:

This is a good one, people. A once-in-a-decade siting of a most motley crew. At Ruby Foo's last night, I was seated across from Richard Belzer and Paul Schaffer, both wearing sunglasses at night in a very dimly lit restaurant. Who knew that Detective Munch and David Letterman's band leader were such pals? I actually felt bad for them, though, because some idiot sat them at a table right at the top of the stairs, so everyone who was seated in the balcony immediately spotted the stars and couldn't talk about anything else. So much for privacy.

Two Law & Order: SVU sightings in one week. I have such a pathetic little talent going on here.

Take the backroads. Today in C-List Celebrity Sightings (I am really scraping the barrel here):

Michelle Hurd, season one cast member of Law & Order: SVU. You may remember her as the sexually promiscuous black cop with the super-curly bleach-blonde hair and the impressive biceps. I think she's also been in some Excedrin commercials. Anyway, I saw her chatting with a friend outside a tea store located at the back of the DKNY boutique on Sullivan Street. You should go there; they have good tea.

Nobody knows where they might end up. Today in B-List Celebrity Sightings:

Dr. Callie Torres of Grey's Anatomy fame, walking down 8th Avenune with what looked like her boyfriend. Can I just say that, even though they make her look fat on the show for some inexplicable reason, sister is gorgeous and rather petite-looking. She couldn't have been more than 5'6" and 120 lbs. Also, she's a Tony-award winning singer. Who knew?

I have no idea why I have gotten so good at spotting B-List Celebrities. I chalk it up to what Caroline calls my uncanny ability to turn my head. Either that or I spend way too much time reading celebrity gossip and watching television. Lord forbid I actually spotted an A-list celebrity! Then I might have to invest in a camera phone.

You're my number one. Today in Random But Fun Things on the Internet:

Dead Celebrity Soulmate Search! If only you lived in the past and had access to celebrities, you could have found your soulmate. How pointless! How fun! Apparently, in my past lives I was destined to be with silent film sensation Rudolph Valentino, Edgar Allen Poe, and Leonardo Da Vinci. Great. My past selves loved swarthy Italians, manic depressives, and gay men. Woot.

Life in plastic, it's fantastic. Today in B-List Celebrity Sightings (actually this should be "Yesterday in B-List Celebrity Sightings, but blogger was on the fritz and prevented me from sharing my all-important stalkerness with you):

Rachel Zoe, of all people, checking her blackberry at the Tasty D Lite on Spring Street. I know it was her! I just know it! She had the long, stringy extensions; the wasted-away, low calore intake body; the pouty lips and wrinkled skin; the fake-bake tan; and, most telling, despite the downpour she was wearing huge-ass sunglasses. I feel so proud to have spotted such a Celebrity Gossip denizen, let me tell you.

In other banal celebrity news, Ryan Renolds and Alanis Morissette split up. He will be mine. Oh yes, he will be mine.

I'm the one who will shed this old skin. Many of you out there, for some inexplicable reason, do not read Savage Love, so it is my duty to show you what you are missing. I am posting the below because I really think it is some of the most sage advice I have ever encountered. This applies to certain of you out there in particular (I'm looking at you, Petit Morceau de Sel). Anyway, I hope you'll find it helpful and join me in the cult of Dan Savage worship.

I decided, at 12 years old, that pregnancy was not something I wanted to worry about, and now, at the ripe age of 26, I'm still a virgin. I exchanged oral favors with my boyfriends, none of whom lasted more than three months. Approximately half said they wanted more, and the other half were only settling for me until someone better came along. At 19, I figured out that it was a form of leading men on to date them, yet give them no chance of sleeping with me until some arbitrary future date when I was ready to have kids. So I took myself out of the game. I have not dated in six years. My self-imposed sexual isolation is complicated by the fact that I am now overweight and have abnormal hair growth. (I have to shave my face and chest daily.)

For years, my inner emotional life has been locked between aching loneliness and cold emptiness. My friends and my family, though warm and loving, are no longer enough. I want more, I want physical comfort and emotional gratification. I want sexual contact. But I just can't seem to get over my original reasoning and self-conscious body issues.

Of the columnists I've read, you are the bluntest. Help.

Frigid Frustrated Fool



The weight? Lose it. Join a gym, buy a bike, walk an hour a day. Move more, eat less—it ain't rocket science.

The hair? Lose it. Go to an electrologist or a laser-hair-removal joint and have your face and chest hair blasted away forever.

The self-pity? Lose it. While it sucks to be fat, FFF, you have to take responsibility for letting yourself get fat. (And, hey, some guys dig fat chicks.) While it sucks to have to shave your chest and face every day, FFF, there are worse physical challenges. (And, hey, some guys dig hairy chicks.) And while it sucks to be dumped, there's nothing spectacular about the dating misery you experienced as a teenager. Used? Dumped? Settled for? It happens to the best of us.

The 12-year-old? You need to murder that dumb cunt.

That sounds harsh, I realize, but I speak from experience. You see, FFF, I decided, at age 12, that parental disapproval, religious condemnation, and social ostracism were things I didn't want to worry about, so I resolved never to come out of the closet. Instead, I would learn how to become a priest or fuck girls, and I gave both options my best shot. (Hey there, Quigley Preparatory Seminary North! Hey there, Wanda!) But by age 26, FFF, I was out, my parents were over it, and I was living in Berlin with my first serious boyfriend. I couldn't have gotten the physical comfort and gratification that I ached for—to say nothing of the bruises and rope burns—if I hadn't wrapped my hands around the throat of that scared, pansy-assed, 12-year-old faggot and squeezed the life out of him.

Reading your letter, FFF, was like hearing from that 12-year-old faggot again. You made the same mistakes at 12 that I did, but whereas I wanted to avoid the potentially painful consequences of crushing disapproval, you wanted to avoid the potentially painful consequences of unplanned pregnancy. We both ran away from our desires in order to protect ourselves from the pain we feared. But our youthful attempts to avoid the possibility of pain by denying ourselves love and intimacy only succeeded in bringing down upon us the certain pain of aching loneliness and cold emptiness.

So, FFF, just as I had to get out there and risk being disowned by my family, getting tossed out of my church, and contracting a potentially fatal sexually transmitted disease in order to find physical comfort, emotional gratification, and sexual contact, you're going to have to get out there and risk getting pregnant, contracting diseases, and getting hurt to find the physical comfort, emotional gratification, and sexual contact that you need. There's no other way. Will you find love if you start taking risks? Maybe, maybe not. But I guarantee that you won't find love sitting on your ass in your apartment obsessing about pregnancy and downing pints of ice cream.

You can do this, FFF. If I could kill that scared 12-year-old fag, FFF, you can kill that dumb 12-year-old cunt. Just wrap your hands around her throat and squeeze.

Fight for your right.

"This week, the Senate begins debate on the Marriage Protection Amendment [Federal Marriage Amendment]. And I call on the Congress to pass this amendment."

- George W. Bush, June 5th, 2006, 1:45 p.m.

I HATE THIS MAN.

Tips for how to shake things up here.

And the real state of the union here.