"simple living"

Hm. So if you start looking into, say, personal finance management, debt reduction, etc. it'll lead to the frugalistas (who I am down with) and then onward to the "Simple Living" people. Nice idea, yeah: live simply, don't buy too much crap, reuse, recycle, etc. HOWEVER, it seems like 9 out of 10 "simple living" narratives end with "and then [wifey] was able to quit her job and stay home with the kids," where, naturally, she cooks everything from scratch, makes her own cleaning products, sews everybody's clothes, and hangs her wash out on the line outdoors, etc.

It seems like the only person whose life is "simple" in this scenario is Daddy, who now has a full-time housekeeper instead of a wife with a paying job who needs him to do half the housework and childcare. Sure, there are exceptions, but this is the general arc of the simple living narrative. Also, most people who advocate simple living started out wealthy and are downsizing by, for example, selling their multi-million dollar house and moving to a less expensive neighborhood. Wow, I wish I had thought of that! I should just quit my million-dollar-a-year job, cash out my stock options, move to the country, and start making my own soap! What a great idea.

Tuh, I say, and pshaw.

which reminds me of something I heard the other day:
If housewives were paid fair wages for their labor, they'd earn over $100k a year.

Or, put another way: if you hired someone to do all the stuff a full-time housewife does, it'd cost you $100,000 a year.

Be a New Orleanian. Wherever you are.

Dirty Coast Press, Nice Shirts : Be a New Orleanian. Wherever you are.

I've got the stickers, now I need the t-shirt. People need to not be thinking that the crisis is over.

I can't even believe Chris Matthews asked our mayoral candidates, on national television, "why rebuild New Orleans?" I would've flown over the podium and knocked him out, I swear. Did anyone ask "Why rebuild Manhattan?" after 9/11? Did anyone ask "Why rebuild San Francisco?" after any of the various earthquakes? Did anyone ask "Why rebuild Los Angeles?" after the riots? Good thing Mitch & Ray are capable of taking a deep breath and actually answering such an idiotic, offensive question.

Jezebella on Tour, Act III

Act III: New Orleans, BFF's wedding, May 13 and thereabouts

Drinks on Friday at a yuppie bar, drank something called "DW Lemonade" mixed by a very cute dreadlocked bartender/mixologist. The lemonade disguises the vodka content. Dangerous stuff. The bar, now called "Bridge Lounge" is full of smug yuppies who like all those "something-tini" drinks. I used to go there when it was a filthy punk-rock venue called the "RC Bridge Lounge" with cheap PBR, wooden pallets on the bathroom floor so you didn't have to stand IN the 3" of water that inevitably backed up, and there were mattresses tied to the poles so no-one smacked into a metal pole while slam-dancing. I saw Helmet there once. JEebus, they were loud. Frankly I prefer the goombah punk rockers to the smug yuppie fuckheads. Go figure.

Saturday: the poet met the parents. Went well, I think. Bought a steam iron at Target (everybody in Metairie was in the Target parking lot that day), delivered it to the bride for wedding-dress-steaming to a hotel at the foot of Canal (everybody in Orleans Parish was circling Canal Place that day), then primping, changing, polishing, powdering, adorning, etc., GORGEOUS wedding & reception, terrace view of the river, sunset, fireworks, yummy cake, loverly. Sweet groom, happy bride, it's all good. Plus the poet looked all cute in his new jacket.

Sunday: Mothers Day, lunch, gifts, etc. then drove back home.

Fortunately there was no flying or turbulence involved.

Didn't take the poet on a "disaster tour" but he saw plenty while we were driving all around. It's still grim down there, except for pockets of activity. I hope the universe sees fit to spare New Orleans another storm this year. I can't get over how much so many people have aged in 9 months, how many marriages gone south, how many deaths of older people - not techically "storm-related" but truly: Storm Related.

one more thing

I think I might've been sitting next to Ricky Williams on my flight out of Albuquerque. LARGE dude, dreadlocks, a beard, a big T (for Texas) class ring on his left hand, and high-end kicks in Miami Dolphins colors. Actually they were beige with orange & blue detailing. Plus cowrie-shell necklace & bracelet, indicative of stoner status.

At first I thought: no way is a professional football player flying Southwest Airlines, which is all coach seating, all the time. But then I thought: well, Ricky Williams is not your average pro ball player. And then, on the way down, which was far less turbulent than the way up, he tapped me on the shoulder and said in the sweetest deep voice "Are you doing better this time?" I was, but only becaues the turbulence was much less alarming. It was sweet of him to ask, and that voice is nearly unmistakable. So either it was Ricky Williams or his doppelganger.

Jezebella on Tour, Part Deux

The weekend of May 6th, I went to New Mexico. Never been to the Southwest, actually. I've skipped right over from Austin all the way to San Francisco. This time I flew into Albuquerque, which I do not recommend to the faint of heart. Those effin mountains make for a bumpy mofo of a flight. I think I nearly grew an instant ulcer on the way out of there.

The sky is big there - you can see for miles. It sounds obvious but it's weird when you're used to being able to see, at most, down the block. I got talked into upgrading to the convertible at the rental place, and it was worth every one of the $33 it cost me ($11/day extra). Brand-spankin-new Chrysler Sebring with two, count 'em, TWO miles on the odometer. Push-button convertible top, so you flip a few handles, push a button, and the top is down. Or up. Easy-peasy. The sun, though, is really bright, so I had to keep the top up from 10-2 and wear a lot of sunscreen for early morning and late afternoon drives.

Went out to Shiprock, and did not take pictures because, really, what's the point? You can point the camera and shoot all you want, but you'll never get the scale of it into a photo. I did however, take pictures at Aztec Ruins National Park, which is actually an Anasazi site (ca. 1000 AD). I asked the park ranger if they'd ever change the name and she sighed and said "Probably not. It's just too late." The guys on the self-guided tour who were walking behind me, one of them kept saying "The aztecs did this, the aztecs did that..." even though every last bit of signage & interpretation BEGINS WITH "This is an Anasazi site." It was hard not to correct him, over & over. Blowhard.

Pics, herewith:





I always think of Cezanne when I see a curving lane like the one in the second picture, his "Turn in the Road" paintings (there are several). This landscape could not be any less Cezanne, however. I wonder what he would've done with such scenery, such brownness and aridity.




I did keep seeing things that made me think of O'Keeffe. I don't have the vocabulary for the geological formations of the southwest, but I think these might be called arroyos:

How to stop rape:

It's pretty simple, really:

Only rapists can prevent rape

A lot has been said about how to prevent rape. Women should learn self-defense. Women should lock themselves in their houses after dark. Women shouldn’t have long hair and women shouldn’t wear short skirts. Women shouldn’t leave drinks unattended. Fuck, they shouldn’t dare to get drunk at all. Instead of that bullshit, how about:
If a woman is drunk, don’t rape her.
If a woman is walking alone at night, don’t rape her.
If a women is drugged and unconscious, don’t rape her.
If a woman is wearing a short skirt, don’t rape her.
If a woman is jogging in a park at 5 am, don’t rape her.
If a woman looks like your ex-girlfriend you’re still hung up on, don’t rape her.
If a woman is asleep in her bed, don’t rape her.
If a woman is asleep in your bed, don’t rape her.
If a woman is doing her laundry, don’t rape her.
If a woman is in a coma, don’t rape her.
If a woman changes her mind in the middle of or about a particular activity, don’t rape her.
If a woman has repeatedly refused a certain activity, don’t rape her.
If a woman is not yet a woman, but a child, don’t rape her.
If your girlfriend or wife is not in the mood, don’t rape her.
If your step-daughter is watching TV, don’t rape her.
If you break into a house and find a woman there, don’t rape her.
If your friend thinks it’s okay to rape someone, tell him it’s not, and that he’s not your friend.
If your “friend” tells you he raped someone, report him to the police.
If your frat-brother or another guy at the party tells you there’s an unconscious woman upstairs and it’s your turn, don’t rape her, call the police and tell the guy he’s a rapist.
Tell your sons, god-sons, nephews, grandsons, sons of friends it’s not okay to rape someone.
Don’t tell your women friends how to be safe and avoid rape.
Don’t imply that she could have avoided it if she’d only done/not done x.
Don’t imply that it’s in any way her fault.
Don’t let silence imply agreement when someone tells you he “got some” with the drunk girl.
Don’t perpetuate a culture that tells you that you have no control over or responsibility for your actions. You can, too, help yourself.

yogabeans!

yogabeans!

I am speechless with glee. "Your internet source for plastic action figures demonstrating ashtanga yoga."

don't miss it.

Exposing Anti-Choice Abortion Clinics

AlterNet: Rights and Liberties: Exposing Anti-Choice Abortion Clinics

This is an article about the people trying to get tax dollars to bully, harass, threaten, and otherwise torment women who are facing unwanted pregnancies. They offer no counselors, no medical services, and no help should a woman decide not to have an abortion. Why are tax dollars supporting these? Shouldn't this kind of false advertising be illegal? They shouldn't be able to call themselves a "clinic" if no professional services are available.

Click the linky for the whole story.

Jezebella on tour

Last weekend: Boston. Gorgeous spring weather, crispy-cool, great food. My god, the food. Papa-razzi for wonderful Italian food, Legal Seafood for, duh, seafood, and a Thai place I cannot recall the name of. Our fearless leader introduced me to the best Chardonnay ever, made by Cakebread. Lovely stuff. I may never be able to drink another Chardonnay again.

I spent Saturday afternoon at the Boston MFA, a fine institution with some excellent American art and a large terrible Gilbert Stuart painting of a horse's ass:



And when I say "horse's ass" I mean that literally, as you see. The picture is hung so the horse's ass is eye-level, right next to the Presidential Camel Toe, also eye-level. All of which is damn near life-size, so it's a real freakin' eyeful, I tell ya what. It's most unfortunate and really inexplicable. Fortunately the MFA holds many other much more enjoyable things to counterbalance the Early American Horse's Ass.

My latest art history crush

NPR : Chasing Down History and the 'Thieves of Baghdad'

Matthew Bogdanos spoke at the AAM convention this past weekend in Boston, and was spectacular. He spoke for over an hour, without notes, while striding all around the giant hotel ballroom, and he *owned* the room. What happened at the Iraq museum is more complicated - and perhaps even more depressing - than what most of us learned in the mainstream media. At least one of the three main robberies was an inside job - a DEEP inside job, and more than half of the things stolen are still missing.

He's a colonel in the Marine reserves, a Manhattan Assistant DA, and a scholar of the classics. I think he should be the new pin-up boy for museums. He peppered his talk with quotes from Socrates, from Twain, from Shakespeare. Nice.

I haven't read his book yet, but I bought it right after the lecture and had him sign it. So far, I've read one chapter, and it's good. Profits go to the Iraq Museum, which needs money desperately for staff, for conservation, for repair, for the continuing search for stolen artworks.

Most of us learned in grade school that civilization was formed at the Tigris & Euphrates rivers, remember that? Yeah, that's in Iraq. Many of Western civilization's greatest ancient artworks are at the Iraq Museum - or were until 2003. It's easy to forget this kind of thing, the news keeps on rolling and the networks stop reporting, but Bogdanos is doing a fine job of keeping the illegal trade in antiquities, and the tragedy at the Iraq National Museum in the public eye.

A Harmless Woman

Louise Bourgeois

There are oh-so many reasons to love Louise Bourgeois' work: it is good to look at AND wickedly funny & insightful. I just ran across this in a Christie's catalog, a Harmless Woman.

Why harmless? She has neither legs to walk on, nor arms to fight, nor a mouth to speak, eyes to see, nor a brain to think. She is a fuckbot, pure and simple.

Of course, she's not a woman, either. She's just a mound of acquiescent flesh.

She leg-presses 400 pounds!

State of the Secretary - New York Times

Now, I don't know much about Madeline Albright, but any 69-year-old woman who can leg-press 400 lbs is a badass.

Damn!

saturday's smarm definition, paraphrased

Boy: Wait, wait, when does "flirting" turn into "smarming"?

Girl: When it becomes clear that the flirting male is doing so to get into your pants, not just to be charming. It is particularly smarmy when said male has a wife or partner and therefore has no business trying to get into your pants.

Boy: Okay, thanks. I wasn't clear on that

Girl: That's today's definition. Don't expect the same answer twice.

new favorite bumper sticker

"I'll be a post-feminist in the post-patriarchy."

Pretty much says it all, I think.

(thanks to KA in NOLA who notified me of this gem)

democracy & despotism: Redneck Mother unearths a gem

Redneck Mother: But they have so many letters in common!

Watch the whole thing, and tremble. We are on the slippery slope to despotism, and if anyone showed this in a public school today they'd get stomped by the godbags. If anyone showed it on TV, they'd get hassled by the godbags and righties. If, bog forbid, PBS showed it, it'd be more fuel for the "PBS is commie" fire.

Except for the free exchange of information on the internet, the US is on the downside of each of the scales that help assess where a country is on the democracy-despotism spectrum. The categories: power, respect, wealth, and freedom of information. It's a blunt instrument, to be sure, but still pertinent today.

We don't seem to have made a lot of progress towards democracy in the last 60 years, looking at it this way. I have to qualify that, though, because women and people of color and children do have more power & respect than they did sixty years ago, at least legislatively speaking, but then again, in 1946, they were starting at zero on those scales.

The doll people

The doll people kind of scary. Through no fault of my own, I have been assigned the task of having an antique doll restored and cleaned up for display. So I Googled "doll repair" and now the word "doll" has no meaning to me. Firstly, they don't just do "doll repair": they have "doll hospitals." Also, the doll people NAME their dolls: Lucy sits by the fireplace in her rocker; Charlie needs a new pair of shoes; and so on. So that's kind of creepy.

And then there are the total doll restoration people, with before & after pics on their websites.

Before: a dingy pile of limbs and a hard-to-recognize head with some ratty strands of fiber attached. Maybe a chunk of lace.

After: totally repainted, restuffed, restrung, redressed, new eyes, new teeth, new hair... when does an antique doll stop being an antique doll? And if you're going to go ahead and totally repaint - re-invent - the whole doll, why bother with the original limbs? I don't get it.

It's just kind of creepy, you know? With the glassy eyes and the strange puffy little hands and their weird accessories, I don't know how anyone can live in a houseful of them.

I had a few dolls when I was a kid - they had a rubbery plastic smell emanating from their pink skin, as I recall - I was fond of them but they weren't cuddly at all. I preferred a stuffed animal for toting around. I'd probably stop in my tracks if that smell wafted towards my nostrils again. Sorta like when I smell my grandfather's pipe tobacco and am taken back twenty years or more. He died ten years ago, quit smoking a pipe years before that, but I know that smell anywhere, any time. They say smell is the strongest memory trigger there is. I bet newly refurbished dolls don't smell like themselves any more.

much has happened this last few weeks

1. I passed my dissertation defense. That would be DR. Jezebella to you.

2. Threw a wedding shower. It involved cooking for two days but was worth every moment. I think it was the honoree's public debut as bride-to-be and she enjoyed doing the Fun Bride Stuff without having to do any of the planning.

3. Slept for about a day and a half.



now, to much more serious business, I wish to make a few comments regarding the movie "Mystic River." Yes, it is dark and complex and beautifully acted, and tragic. It should've ended about 10 minutes earlier, however. Until the last two scenes, I hadn't really noticed the female characters. They were minor supporting roles, as the story was really about the male leads. Okay, fine. But then, when it comes time for them to step up, it's revolting. First Sean Penn's wife, Laura Linney, tells him that even though he has done a horrible thing - several of them - it's okay with her because, gah, I can hardly even think of it without gagging, "You're the King! You could rule this town!" "you are the king"?? Bog, who says that? "Honey, you just killed an innocent man but it's okay that you did it because you're the king. Let's fuck!" Revolting. As background noise, she was fine, but holy crap, this is not how women talk.

Second, the character played by Marcia Gay Harden. Her husband, a profoundly damaged man, has just been murdered by his childhood friend. First, Laura Linney dismisses her with a put-down about "what kind of woman thinks that about her own husband?" Well, everybody ELSE thought he killed the girl, why not her? And then there's the closing scene: a parade. Happy family one (Sean Penn's) is on the street. Happy Family Two (Kevin Bacon's), freshly reunited, also on the street. Then there's that pathetic widow, weakly Marcia Gay Harden, skulking around, embarrassed to exist, and the Happy Families ignore her, act like SHE is the embarrassment, not the murderer and his family. Not the cop who has chosen to cover up the murder, and his family. No, the widow, she's the one who shouldn't be there. It's revolting, it really is.

I have to wonder how Marcia Gay Harden could tolerate such a shit role - well, Laura Linney, too - how did they have the stomach to be so patently unlike actual women?

And so this is how the movie ends. Happy families, widow who obviously ought to disappear... all on a nice spring day. Because, really, wouldn't the neighborhood be nicer if that widow, who reminds us of, you know, icky things, would have the decency to just disappear? Nobody wants to see a woman without a man.

Then the credits roll, I see "Written by Clint Eastwood" and I figure it out: he's never actually listened to a woman in his life. He knows how men talk - and he's good at writing them - but he only knows how to write what he wants women to say. As in, "You're the king." Who says that shit, for reals? Go figure, a 70 year old guy never heard a woman speak - not really - in all his life. It shows in his writing.

So anyway what these last two scenes do is completely wreck and ruin what had been a really good, powerful, complex movie. Sure, it was about men (what isn't?) but until then the female characters were at least inoffensive.

In conclusion: anyone wishing to rent this movie is advised to TURN IT OFF as soon as Laura Linney starts smarming all over Sean Penn in the bedroom after he confesses to her. No good will come of watching the rest.

redonk Britney sculpture

Okay, so, I go to the official announcement website on this alarming sculpture of Britney Spears giving birth, and I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the art critic quotes are spurious. There is no Colin Moynahan at the New York Times, and Cheryl Bowes of the Chicago Trib compiles the personal ads. The gallery "capla kesting" can easily be rewritten "caplake sting". The artist, while having actually produced the thing, is having us on in order to get attention. The last group show he was in was called Fountain - after the Duchamp sculpture - and so the whole "pro-life" press release, combined with fabricated quotes from major news sources - tells me he's having a laugh. Smart, really: anything to do with abortion or pro-life gets extra attention. And naked women get attention. As do pop stars. The thing itself is revolting, but he's no Jeff Koons, who tops pretty much everbody in the revolting excess/starfucking department.

here's your linky:
VERY NOT SAFE FOR WORK Britney Spears thingy

The City without the Sex

I've been catching occasional episodes of the PG-rated Sex and the City on WGN lately. I never got caught up in it as must-see TV, since I don't have HBO and haven't for years. I just can't bring myself to spend that much money on TV. Anyway, I'm finding that the City without the Sex is just fine with me. I don't feel like I'm missing anything. On the whole the show is pretty entertaining, with a few flaws typical of all TV shows: the women are unnaturally thin, they never seem to go to work, they have lifestyles that far outstrip their probable salaries, and they're obsessed with Finding the Right Man. On the other hand, every so often a totally perfect moment occurs, that I love.

To wit: the episode in which Charlotte announces that she is going to quit working. Why? Because she is married, and Trey suggested it. The response from all three friends is unanimously negative, but nuanced.

Carrie keeps looking at her sideways as if she's announced a plan to do something unsavory (purchase a Nigerian child to keep as a maid? Wear shoes from Payless? Something undeniably unacceptable in Manhattan-world). She clearly is appalled but doesn't want to hurt Charlotte's feelings.

The redheaded lawyer looks shocked. Speechless. Can't even spit out what's wrong with it.

And Samantha says that she better be damn sure this is what she wants, because the women who will want her job are "22, perky, and ruthless." Which is true.

Charlotte says it'd be nice to spend more time reading, working for charity, and, ohmigod, taking pottery classes. It's clear that she knows she's being ridiculous, and none of her friends approve but they don't want to be unsupportive. And it's clear it's because her husband wants her to be a pretty pet, not a career woman.

Granted, this is a bourgeois problem to have - how many women have this choice? How many have satisfying lucrative careers? But once they have the career, why give it up to loll around painting coffee mugs? I've never quite grokked Charlotte as a gallerista; she's too sweet and indecisive and immature. Real gallerists have to be aggressive salespeople with strong visions and lots of bank. I think she manages a gallery, which means she's not responsible for the bank, but that means she has to be a badass administrator and people-wrangler. Charlotte doesn't appear to be any of these things. But, in the imaginary world of Sex and the City, it's her job, she's good at it, and she's going to give it up for... what?? Nothing, really. I haven't seen enough of the show to know what happens when she & Trey divorce and she has to support herself again. I hope at some point the difficulty of hopping back on the job market after a break is addressed.

What I loved, though, is the entirely negative response to the notion that a woman would give up a successful, lucrative career for no good reason. Being married to a rich man is not a good reason. And that is why, despite the flaws, I dig Sex and the City. They want to Find Mr. Right but that doesn't mean they would give up everything else once they find him.

Now if only those women would look as if they actually ate the lunches they are eternally lingering over.

Panda Cam!

Giant Pandas - National Zoo| FONZ

When the patriarchy gets me down, and Mississippi God Damn gets on a roll, and I need a little smile on my face: PANDA CAM. It's like Prozac for your eyeballs.