Lolita (1962)

I have a series of books and films saved on Goodreads and Netflix, respectively, that, while not exactly my cup of tea, are listed because you're supposed to see them. For whatever reason, these pieces of work have been added to the echelons of "must experience." I just recently watched A Streetcar Named Desire and, one day in the near future, I'm going to read some Hemingway. Lolita is one of these "musts". I watched the 1962 Stanley Kubrick production, considered, I believe, the best adaptation of the 1955 novel of the same name. And, while I can't say I was eager to watch a movie about a middle-aged professor's obsession for a teenage girl, it was on the list and it wasn't as terrible as I was fearing.

Hysterical Women

Have you read The Yellow Wallpaper? By Charlotte Perkins Gilman? If not you can read the short story here or listen to the Suspense radio play, starring Agnes Moorehead. This short story is the chilling journal of a woman suffering from "hysterics", forced by her doctor husband to undergo a "rest cure" in a country home for the Summer and her subsequent descent into madness. Kept shut up in the house with little to no mental stimulation, our narrator writes, in secret, of her boredom, malaise, and the strange wallpaper of her prison, I mean, bedroom. Imagination, paranoia, and eventually a complete disconnect from reality follow. It is an early example of feminist literature and a prime example of an unreliable narrator. It is this unreliability that makes The Yellow Wallpaper so terrifying, in my opinion.  The audience can never quite be sure if the wife, our narrator, is driven mad by the neglectful and perhaps nefarious dealings of her husband or if her madness is inevitable and her paranoia merely a symptom of the disease.

This uncertainty is one of my favorite elements in a good suspense, the eerie of not knowing. Daphne du Maurier's My Cousin Rachel is another great example of this. In this novel, young Phillip, the ward of his older cousin, Ambrose, leads the comfortable life of confirmed bachelorhood. But Ambrose, while wintering in Italy for his health, makes the acquaintance of a long lost cousin, Rachel. Much to Phillip's dismay they marry and in the year or so following, Ambrose writes of his joy, then his failing health, and, at last, his suspicion of Rachel. Ambrose passes away and Rachel comes to England with his possessions, to return them to the estate, which Phillip has now inherited. Phillip, mistrustful of this woman, welcomes her to the estate and is surprised to find her beautiful and charming. Any misgivings he had of her are easily explained away by the brain tumor which caused his cousin's passing. Phillip's love for Cousin Rachel blossoms but is made uneasy by little occurrences - a missing note from Ambrose about Rachel's extravagances, an unsigned will leaving the estate to Rachel and her progeny, and a certain "healthful" tea Rachel gave to Ambrose to ease his pain when he was ill, made from a poisonous plant. To this day, after many read-throughs and movie-sittings, I cannot tell you if Rachel killed Ambrose or not. And that uncertainty is what keeps me coming back for more.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love a straight-forward, moustache-twirling, scheming bad guy too. As in the film Gaslight, where our heroine is driven to mental instability by the underhanded plotting of her husband. By making noises in the attic and dimming the gaslights when she is the only one at home, evil-husband convinces his wife that she is going out of her mind and, of course, insanity has always run in the family. When she finally breaks, he'll have her committed and inherit her vast fortune all for himself. Muahahahahaha. He even goes so far as to rent the house next door to complete his evil plan. Which really, is all unnecessary because this story is set in the late 1800s/early 1900s and he would pretty much have control of her fortune anyway. Just saying.

It's About Us

It's been a few months, about time for me to harp on women's issues again.

Have you seen The Color Purple? Don't worry, neither had I but you should, you totally should. Don't get me wrong, this movie is a challenge to watch and is emotionally taxing but you'll be a better person for having seen it.

Top Ten "I can't believe I'm listening to this drivel"

There are some terrible songs out there. Insipid songs, boring songs, songs with no musicality. But there are some songs that are terrible on principle, whose lyrics suggest some pretty awful things. And I hate myself when I sing along because, damnit, they're catchy too.

10. S&M (Rhianna):
Sticks and stones may break my bones
but chains and whips excite me
For someone with domestic abuse in their past, I feel like this was a bad choice. I mean, it's a bad choice no matter what, songs about fetishes rank high on the TMI scale, but, particularly if you've suffered physical abuse, it seems to be in bad taste.

9. Tonight (Enrique Inglesias):
I'm not even going to put the lyrics for this one. If you haven't heard the song, you can find it. Essentially, it goes something like "I'm [profanity for intercourse]-ing you tonight." Buddy Holly and I have a theory that as we lose all modesty or skill for innuendo, music will eventually just describe the sex act in scientific detail. To be fair, it won't just be in music. There is a distinct regression in the sexual innuendo used in James Bond films. In the twenty-two Broccoli franchise films we've gone from such delightfully clever repartee as "That's a nice little bit of nothing your almost wearing" or "I won't be needing these" (said of oysters on the half-shell) to "I don't like cock fights." *facepalm*

8. Don't Trust Me (3oh3):
Shush girl, shut your lips,
do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips
I think this one is pretty self-explanatory. Not only a slander at Helen Keller but pretty much all women. This is right up there with Dr. Pepper 10's great 'not for women' advertising campaign.

7. Peacock (Katy Perry):
Katy Perry took a lot of flack for I Kissed a Girl, another catchy tune that many find questionable, but that song has never bothered me overly much. She isn't my favorite artist but I also wouldn't call her the worst, I enjoyed Friday Night and Hot N Cold. But this song was inexcusable. A terribly flimsy innuendo without a hint of wit. I'm also not really sure what the song is supposed to achieve, except for the wild panting of fanboys everywhere, of course.

6. California Girls (Katy Perry):
We'll melt your Popsicle
Yeah, I know, two strikes against her. I also dislike Fireworks but only because it's trite and overplayed. This one is not to be confused with the California Girls of the Beach Boys. The lyrics here are not the worst though the tone of the song seems to suggest the loose ways of the feminine population in California. It's really the music video that is so offensive - the disturbing fantasies of a Candy Land fetishist.

5. Just a Toy (Tommy Sands & Annette Funicello):
In this movie, Mary Quite Contrary and Tom Thumb make a visit to Toyland (amongst other things). Whilst helping the Toymaker make toys for Christmas. As they clean up the toyshop for the evening, Mary begins to sing about a doll and what her life must be like, waiting for the joy of being found on Christmas morning and finally belonging. Then Tom begins singing:
I love to see 'neath my Christmas tree
one special doll meant for me.
Smiling eyes, silken hair
you'll need such loving care,
you're just a toy.
You were planned and designed
with one person in mind,
to hold you and keep you forever,
and you'll live for the love
and the happiness of
this lonely boy
and each night he will say
in a whimsical way,
you're just a toy.
Yes, you, my beloved, are an inanimate, immobile object that can neither think nor speak. You will "live for the love and the happiness of" your predetermined mate. Each evening he will whimsically mock your static circumstance.

4. Bobby's Girl (Marcie Blane):
When people ask of me
what would you like to be
now that you're not a kid anymore
I know just what to say,
I answer right away,
there's just one thing
I've been wishing for...


I want to be Bobby's girl,
I want to be Bobby's girl
that's the most important thing to me
and if I was Bobby's girl,
if I was Bobby's girl,
what a faithful, thankful girl I'd be.
Aspiring, from a young age, to be the girl of a particular guy seems like aiming low. No other aspirations? No desire to see the world? Or make the perfect souffle? No bucket list? Just Bobby's girl, huh? Mk, then.

3. Baby It's Cold Outside (various artists):
Widely recognized as the Christmas date-rape song, owing much to a single line, "Say what's in this drink?", though "The answer is 'no'" is a nice follow up too. But, despite it's questionable lyrics, it remains one of the most popular Christmas duets in existence. The most upsetting of these is the She & Him version with a role reversal.

2. Wishin' & Hopin' (Dusty Springfield):
You gotta show him that you care just for him,
do the things he likes to do,
wear your hair just for me,
'cause you won't get him,
thinkin' and a prayin',
wishin' and a hopin'
I love this song, I do. It's so much fun, especially as the credits for My Best Friend's Wedding. But it is a truth universally acknowledged that the only way to get your man is to change everything about yourself for him. Hide your personality, forget everything that you enjoy, mold yourself to your love.

1. Standing on the Corner (Dean Martin):
This hurts the most because I love Dean Martin so very much. I sing along to this every time I listen to my Dino album, it can't be helped. But it is so creepifying and awful:
Standing on a corner watching all the girls go by,
standing on a corner watching all the girls go by.
Brother, you don't know a nicer occupation,
matter of fact, neither do I,
than standing on a corner watching all the girls,
watching all the girls, watching all the girls go by.


I'm the cat that got the cream.
Haven't got a girl but I can dream.
Haven't got a girl but I can wish,
so I'll take me down to Main Street
and that's where I select my imaginary dish.


Standing on a corner watching all the girls go by,
standing on a corner giving all the girls the eye.
Brother, if you've got a rich imagination,
give it a whirl, give it a try,
try standing on a corner watching all the girls,
watching all the girls, watching all the girls go by.


Brother, you can't go to jail for what you're thinking
or for that woo look in your eye,
standing on the corner watching all the girls
watching all the girls, watching all the girls go by.


Okay, folks, what songs have I missed. What awful song can you not help singing along to?

Bride Wars

Next on the list of movies I meant to see when they came out but am just now watching year's later, Bride Wars, circa 2009.

First off, for having two such, moderately big-name leads, Kate Hudson and Anne Hathaway, I thought the male supporting cast to be intriguingly lower-caliber. Let's have a run-down, shall we?

Fletcher - Chris Pratt
Also known as: That guy from Parks & Rec

 

Daniel - Steve Howey

Also known as: That redneck from Reba

Nate - Bryan Greenberg
Also known as: That kid from The Perfect Score

Bride Wars is about two twenty-something best friends who have been obsessed with their wedding days since the tender age of about seven or so. They have dreamed of June weddings at the Plaza Hotel all their lives. In the meantime, while waiting for the "right one" to come along, they've miraculously managed to become a lawyer and teacher respectively. Liv, an aggressive go-getter lawyer, has Daniel, whom she expects to propose any day. She even finds a Tiffany box in the closet but he has not asked. Emma, a teacher, is quiet and trod on by co-workers. Her boyfriend, Fletcher, asks her to marry him before Liv gets her Tiffany ring, prompting Liv to essentially force Daniel into proposing. How perfect, both friends are engaged. They'll be each other's maids of honor, of course. They arrange to meet with Marion St. Claire, also known as Murphy Brown, the best wedding planner EVER. They're in luck, three dates are available at the Plaza in June. Liv takes the sixth. Emma takes the twenty-seventh. Bliss!

BUT! Oh noes! Angela, the assistant, booked them incorrectly. They're BOTH booked on the sixth! What will they do!? How will they overcome this terrible mistake! A double wedding? What about a double wedding? EVERYONE suggests a double wedding. Why? Because that makes sense. But, Liv and Emma, refuse to have a double wedding, it's supposed to be their day. One of them will just have to live without the Plaza. Their relationship immediately deteriorates. Like instantly. They will spend the next forty-five minutes or so doing terrible things to one another, simultaneously planning their own and sabotaging the other's wedding. 

On June 6th, both women wish to reconcile but are too proud to do so. Liv tries to undo her last attack on Emma, switching her video montage, but is foiled in her attempt to make it right. When Emma walks down the aisle to a video of her college spring break trip, she ditches her own wedding to go get in a cat fight with Liv across the hall. Then Emma realizes she doesn't want to marry Fletcher, that she's settling. So Emma & Fletcher say goodbye and magically she's free to be Liv's maid of honor. And start up a relationship with Liv's brother, Nate.

It all happens kind of quick. It is also all easily visible from MILES away. And, while I understand that this is a romantic comedy and meant to be taken lightly, I am really uncomfortable with some of the messages in this film. Particularly regarding marriage and women's views toward it.

First off, the obsession. These girls are consumed with marriage. Check that, with weddings, because it doesn't seem like either of them has any focus on a point past that day. It's amazing they manage to hold down jobs. There also is a very unhealthy attitude of judging one's self-worth on marriage status. When other friends hear that Liv and Emma are engaged they turn to pills and binge eating. That's healthy. 
Toward the beginning of the film, Liv and Emma are in attendance at a mutual friends' wedding, which obviously is not good enough because it's not June and it's not the Plaza. Indeed, a good wedding should be extravagant and expensive and is really more about the reception than the actual marriage ceremony. The bride of the day, already drunk, is already looking forward to a lonely and dissatisfying marriage. She will be divorced by the end of the movie. But that's okay, it's only her first. Seriously, they say that. Apparently there's a number of divorces you reach before people should give you condolences. And then there's this chestnut from Marion St. Claire: 
A wedding marks the first day of the rest of your life. You have been dead until now. Were you aware of that? You're dead right now.
Jesus, let's throw a rendition of Dean Martin's Your Nobody Till Somebody Loves You in there too, shall we?

But it's not just the weddings that inspire unhealthy attitudes. By mid-sabotage-montage, it is entirely obvious that Emma and Fletcher will not work out. Mostly because we're basically told in a voice-over from Marion St. Claire. While Liv turns to Daniel during this stressful and zany time, finding solace in his understanding that he loves her but what she really needs is her best gal pal, Emma finds only silence and impatience from Fletcher. I was disappointed that they chose this route. The signs are so obvious to everyone else and, though I understand she's busy ruining Liv's wedding, Emma never stops to notice how dissatisfied she and Fletcher are, how much they aren't working things out. That is, until the day of the wedding. Hell, she's even walking down the aisle and it takes a full on white-tulle rumble to make her question if she wants to be with Fletcher. I recognize that these sorts of self-revelations happen in real life (probably not as often as in movies) but it is, again, instantaneous. They have been in a relationship for TEN years and there is not even a discussion of trying to work on their relationship. They're just done. Good, good. Best not to try and work things out. 

As Liv and Daniel dance and Emma and Nate flirt (Seriously!? You just broke up with your fiance less than an hour ago. You were about to say "I do"), Marion St. Claire once again bestows her wisdom:
It was quite a wedding and, as I stood there watching, I realized something I'd forgotten a long time ago. Sometimes in life there really are bonds formed that can never be broken. Sometimes you really can find that one person who will stand by you not matter what. Maybe you will find it in a spouse and celebrate it with your dream wedding. But there's also the chance that the one person you cna count on for a lifetime, the one person who knows you sometimes better than you know yourself, is that same person who's been standing beside you all along.
While poorly worded in my opinion, I guess I like the sentiment. That kindred spirits come in more relationships than just your spouse. I feel like this was the one genuine virtue in this film. 

On a more whiny note, while Anne Hathaway is a decent actress, I have a difficult time believing her in adult roles. She has not physically changed from her role in the Princess Diaries. She maybe got taller. I have a feeling accepting her as Catwoman in Dark Knight Rises and Fantine in Les Miserables is going to be a challenge.

Anyway, maybe I would have like that movie more if I'd had more wine. I'm going to go watch Penelope again. There's nothing to snark in Penelope, it's too whimsically wonderful.

Roly-Poly

I woke up at 5:45 this morning (blerg) to take the dogs for a walk (what was I thinking?). It was actually quite nice, cool and quiet. Well, mostly quiet. We have a lot of dogs in our neighborhood and raised something of a fuss. Anyway, it was good even though I am now regretting it. What was interesting to me was that I saw a BILLION roly-polys on the sidewalk. Maybe not a billion. A lot. All of them were hurrying across the sidewalk and I got the impression these were the drunks of the roly-poly world, staggering home from the local bar. God knows what they were up too all night but they're going to get it from their roly-poly wives when they get home. I'm sorry, that was sexist. Women can be addicted to alcohol too. Maybe some of them were women. Er, female. Roly-polys aren't asexual are they? Maybe there were some roly-poly prostitutes among them. I couldn't really tell and didn't think to ask. Anyway, roly-polys live much more exciting lives than I previously thought.

UPDATE: Wikipedia's entry for roly-polys is sorely lacking in any information regarding their sexuality or family life. It also makes no mention of the epidemic alcoholism to be found in the roly-poly community. Silence is the enemy, Wikipedia.

Splendor in the Grass (1961)

Buddy Holly and I watched Splendor in the Grass last night. I Netflixed it because it is supposed to be one of the first films to openly address sex, in particular teen sexual angst. It is definitely a pioneer of the time and included the first French kiss on film (factoid!). It is also supposed to be the movie that redefined Natalie Wood as an adult actress, transitioning her from former teen stardom. I don't know, I still prefer her in The Great Race. For all its touting of sex and sexual repression, the sex part does not last very long. Really, it might also be titled How Not to Handle Your Hormones. I spent quite a bit of this film with my mouth gaping. Keep in mind, I had had two glasses of Moscato by the time we started this film, so that may have been an influence.

Sunday in New York

Another favorite movie during this crisp Autumn time is Sunday in New York. This 1963 sex comedy stars Jane Fonda as Eileen, who has taken a leave of absence from work to visit her brother in New York after being thrown over by boyfriend, Russ. The crux of the break up was Eileen's resistance to premarital relations and Russ isn't the first beau she's lost to her old-fashioned ideals. Eileen is convinced she's the last 22-year old virgin on Earth. Eileen's brother Adam, a philandering airline pilot, swears he himself is as virtuous and that her suppositions of commonplace immorality are all wrong. In the course of her first Sunday visiting, Eileen meet-cutes Mike (Rod Taylor) on a 5th Avenue bus. They spend the afternoon together and, after getting caught in a downpour, make a run back to brother Adam's apartment to dry off and have some hot drinks. It is during their afternoon's conversation that Eileen finds the negligee of one of Adam's girlfriends in the closet and she realizes his lie to her. Fired up by her brother's betrayal and tried of being protected, Eileen makes a pass at Mike, which he gladly accepts, until he realizes this is her first rod-eo (cowboy). Cut to the pair in bathrobes, Eileen on the couch crying and Mike stalking around the apartment, smoking like a chimney. A girl has to start somewhere but it's not going to be with him. While recovering from their failed seduction and Mike waxing eloquent that Eileen's a nice girl and should stay that way, Russ (boyfriend) appears and eagerly proposes to his berobed love, before turning to Mike and greeting him as Adam, presuming him to be Eileen's brother. Well, the ruse would work just fine, but, of course, actual-Adam now appears and has to be played off as a friend to fake-Adam-Mike. Actual-Adam is quick to pick up on the situation and none too happy at the idea of his sister alone in the apartment with a strange man. Farce ensues as the trio struggles with how to tell Russ about the mistaken identities without losing the marriage proposal.

P.S.

When I started this blog, I really had no idea I would end up writing so much about gender issues. This is not something that has directly impacted my life or something for which I feel great depth. In the past few years it has become more important to me and, of course,  I care about equality of the sexes but I would not consider myself an active feminist. My life's hope is, in fact, what I consider to be the antithesis of most feminist theory. I want to be a stay at home mother and a homemaker. I want women to have the choice to be both or either, to rule the work place and make the same money as men, to be a homemaker, or to be a kick-ass working mom who does it all, but I, personally, want to garden and cook all day. I feel like Mona Lisa Smile best described this angle of feminism in the character of Joan (Julia Stiles), who happily gives up a chance to study law to be a wife:

Joan Brandwyn: Do you think I'll wake up one morning and regret not being a lawyer?

Katherine Watson: Yes, I'm afraid that you will.

Joan Brandwyn: Not as much as I'd regret not having a family, not being there to raise them. I know exactly what I'm doing and it doesn't make me any less smart. This must seem terrible to you.

Katherine Watson: I didn't say that.

Joan Brandwyn: Sure you did. You always do. You stand in class and tell us to look beyond the image, but you don't. To you a housewife is someone who sold her soul for a center hall colonial. She has no depth, no intellect, no interests. You're the one who said I could do anything I wanted. This is what I want.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I won't always be harping on the rights of women or transgenders or minorities. That's not the intent of this blog. I'm sure it will come up; lately, it seems to have come up quite a bit.

Reverse Chauvinism

Disclaimer: I do not like cancer. I am all for cancer research and awareness. To the best of my abilities, I understand and empathize with the havoc that cancer wrecks on an individual and their family.

I am very apologetic when I say that breast cancer awareness really turns me off. An entire month is devoted to this pink rally, the NFL is swathed in pink during the month of October, and, with each year, I become a little more desensitized to this particular form of raising awareness. I understand that breast cancer is a terrible thing and that women need to be aware of the risks and remember to be on the look out for problems. But, frankly, the same could be said of any cancer. In fact, breast cancer perhaps has a distinct advantage in that it can be looked for at home, unlike, say, ovarian cancer or liver cancer which require a medical examination. All that being said, I also understand that breast cancer awareness is going for a fresh approach and trying to capture women's attention but, all the same, I don't agree with their methods. I have no issue with reminding women of the risks, I have a problem with the how. "Save the tatas", sure it's catchy and just a smidge risque, no issue there. But you lose me on the facebook fake outs - one year it was bra color, one year it was where you put your purse, this year it was something about how many weeks along you were and what candy you craved. How does this help? I'm not sure how "confusing all the boys, teehee, teehee" raises awareness for breast cancer. Now there's this, a fun new phone app that reminds you to examine yourself for breast cancer, in the form of a hot guy. I don't have a problem being reminded to check myself but do we have to objectify men to do it? This app is just as appalling as the JCPenney Van Heusen commercial that gets guys to look at suits by watching a busty woman heave herself out of a pool. How can we as women be so up in arms about being evaluated for our base physical attractions and then turn around and do it right back?

This reverse chauvinism has always made me uncomfortable. In college, some of the girls on our hall put up a hot guy wall, cutting and printing out pictures of buffed up men with their shirts off (in response to the fraternities wall of porno women). My roommate and I, equally bothered by this homage to male looks, put up pictures of men we respected and why. Men like Gilbert Blythe, Mr. Darcy, and John Addams, men who showed deference and respect to the women they loved, men who were attractive but for so many more reasons than just their face or physique. Physical attraction is understandable, natural even, but does it require that we slaver over the opposite sex like animals in heat? Haven't we as the human race outgrown this behavior?  No? Just me then? Okay.

Good Idea - Bad Idea

Does anyone remember The Animaniacs? Well, they had a segment called Good Idea - Bad Idea that featured Mr. Skullhead in various contradicting situations, e.g. That was my favorite Animaniacs sketch.

Well, today I present to you,
Good Idea: Making awesome art.
Bad Idea: Insulting half the population.

Modern Woman 2

You may or may not be aware of the DC Comics reboot. If you are not aware, DC Comics is issuing a reboot of their comics, all of them. In this reboot they have stated a desire to broaden their target markets and provide comics for more minorities. In an attempt to broaden the comic market to women they have rebooted the Catwoman and Red Hood and the Outlaws comics (among others I'm assuming, but these are the ones in the press). For more on this situation please check out these blogs:
Comics Alliance: the review getting the media attention, not particularly safe for work
Ms. Snarky: a slightly less vitriolic response but none the less powerful
Michele Lee: perhaps the most meaningful response DC could choose to listen to

In any event, Buddy Holly and I have been discussing this situation since 9:30 this evening (it's 1:00). He is now zonked out asleep because men seem to have the ability to go from 60mph to 0 in a few seconds flat. I meanwhile am wide awake. We discussed a lot of things both directly related to the DC reboot and wild, unrelated tangents but the reason I'm typing to you in a dark living room now is because one facet of this situation goes back to my previous post.

In this strange, transitional period where equality between the genders is, at once, a "Well, duh" situation and yet not widely practiced, I am bothered that equality for women has really just led to more work for us*. We are expected to not only be "chefs in the kitchen, ladies in the living room, and whores in the bedroom" but also well-adjusted, ball-busting, go-getting workforce powerhouses. Who has the time? I'd be delighted to make my living as wife/mother/mistress but give me the space to do so. Let's get one thing straight, being a homemaker is a career and being a mother is a full-time job. So if you want me to keep the house clean, rear the children, and have a nutritional supper on the table by six, then let me quit my day job. If you expect me to be woman enough to manage a household then be man enough to afford it. Because there is no way in hell you can expect me to work the same hours you do and come home to manage all the chores you are too tired to do.

Also, as a side note, Gentlemen, women generally have a running list of things that need to be done going in their heads. It is often distracting. If you helped check a few items off that list, we'd have more time to think about sex. It's hard to get your engine revving when you just remembered the towels need to be folded. And I'm sure you'd say that the towels could wait and they probably can but it will still be in the back of a woman's mind, niggling and distracting her from the pleasure at hand. Just something to think about.

As a final note, I would like to ensure the readers that Buddy Holly is not a chauvinistic prig. He felt the Comics Alliance article was a bit too harsh, especially in light that the artists/writers are at the whim of corporate marketing and marketing dictates that sex sells, especially to a predominantly male audience. We agree that the broader issue underlying this symptom is a problem (one not easily remedied) and that, while the execution of "sexually liberated" female characters was not well done, it is not fair to kill the artistic messengers (they don't know any better).

In the end, I am glad that articles and posts like the above-stated are being made. They are small steps in bringing equality to realization. Now is not the time to be quiet and compliant and I hope that DC will take these responses into consideration. There is already a female fan base and we have asked for strong, powerful, sexual heroines. Don't give us prudes, that's not what we're asking for, but don't feed us male fantasies and then tell us they should be our own. I don't need to see a Batman butt-shot but I also don't need to see Catwoman (or Starfire) shagging anything that moves. Give me a woman who is aware of her sexual prowess (and uses it to her advantage) but not one who is defined by it.

*I am also bothered that sexual liberation means that women can now be sluts without the previous shame consequences. Why didn't we instead raise the bar and expect male sexuality to be beholden to higher standards? An example, in Iron Man 2, Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) and Natalie Rushman (Scarlett Johansson) are entering the expo center. Rather than viewing this from above or beside, we watch from behind and below. It is a deliberate cinematic choice to watch their tight, pencil-skirt clad asses ascend a set of stairs. Brief, entirely unnecessary, and it drives me crazy. To make this situation right, I do not want to see a towel-clad Robert Downey Jr. or his butt in a nice tuxedo. I don't need to be stooped to a lower sexual level to even the playing field. I'd rather they removed these altogether. I don't need to see any one's butt whatsoever and frankly, neither does anybody else.

Modern Woman

I spend a lot of time (more than I would like to admit) feeling guilty for my lack of domesticity. I'm not nearly as crafty as I would like nor am I the accomplished cook, letter-writer, writer-writer, or gardener as I would hope. Flipping through Sunset magazine and watching Primal Grill and America's Test Kitchen only serve to assure me of my shortcomings. But this afternoon, as I drove home from grocery shopping (I hate shopping on Sundays) I had a reality check. I work a forty hour week, as does Buddy Holly. I am up at 6:30 every morning to make sure the furries are fed before heading to work an hour early, so that the husby and I can carpool and save on money. I spend my day taking care of a house, God's house ya'll. I manage to keep our house clean which is quite the feat with four dark-haired life forms shedding hair and cells. I manage to try one new recipe per week. It might not be everything I had hoped or even that good but I try something new.
So, this is me saying that I'm done feeling guilty. Yeah right, I'll have plenty of self-degradation parties in the future. But when I do, I'm going to remember this. So no, I might not be as good a cook as I would like, but chicken Kiev requires time that I just don't have right now. No, I don't have the English garden in my backyard that I have sketched in my journal but come Spring I will find a Saturday to dig up the crepe myrtle and plant some geraniums next to the mailbox. No, I don't have the time to decorate our home and make the improvements we've discussed since we moved but it's comfortable and ours. I'm not crafty, I can't make harvest candles or Christmas wreaths or personalized stationary, but I have a knitting basket next to the couch and I sometimes use it. I'm not a published writer and my novel is currently on hiatus but I'm writing here and when I'm done writing this post I'll go work on my short stories. Maybe one day I'll be a stay at home mom, maybe one day I'll home school, maybe one day I'll have so much time on my hands I'll be bored and I'll take up scrap-booking (against all my better instincts). It's not likely but maybe one day. Now, if I could just fit in some exercise, I would really feel accomplished.

A hot cuppa

When it comes to cooking, Betty Crocker is my go-to gal. Just this evening she gave me a fantastic recipe for sage potatoes. Many Christmases ago my brother, Snur, and wife gave me the vintage Betty Crocker cookbook, circa 1950. This is the coup of cookbooks, the climax of culinary compendiums! This is the Betty Crocker that provides not only recipes and a guide to setting your table but tips on how to maintain personal outlook  ("While children are napping, do something refreshing. Write, knit, or listen to pleasant music"), how to maintain health and posture during chores ("Alternate sitting down tasks and stranding up tasks. Don't be on your feet too long at one time"), and how to refresh your spirit ("Notice humorous and interesting incidents to relate at dinnertime") (pg. 431). It is only missing a page on how to mix hubby a cocktail before he gets home ("Remember Ladies, no man wants a slothful wife!") (the cookbook doesn't actually say that) (I kind of wish it did). This is my absolute favorite cookbook and I use it any chance I get, simply because it's vintage. I love anything old-fashioned. Buddy Holly would say that I'm actually just a hater, particularly of anything newer than 1965, which is factually incorrect because I love Back to the Future and have a deep affinity for Grooveshark, thank you very much.