{ Monthly Archives }
July 2008
- Follow-Up: Last weekend’s post elicited a pair of comments regarding opposite ends of the half-plus-seven boxplot. We’ve got inadvertent cougar hunting in Seattle and a generalized fear of prison in the Dakotas. My advice to both: Look at her shoulders. I’ve advocated the aesthetic appeal of womyn’s upper arms for at least a decade now, and now I’m advocating their probative value. Luckily, summer is the time for halters, camisoles, and tank tops.
Though I originally thought it might be amusing to go into some depth on this topic, that approach now strikes me as a crass overindulgence in objectification. Keep your eyes peeled, and you’ll see what I mean soon enough.
- Engineers in Stiletto Heels: I found a moment yesterday to look in on The Park Bench, and a journey down the proverbial rabbit hole was quickly underway. This post addresses the issue of this Newsweek article about these Nerd Girls. With all due respect to the Park Bench, a forum I hold in pretty high esteem, I had a slightly different reaction to the source material.
For starters, the Nerd Girls, in building their website, succumbed to the impulse to affix bells and whistles before tightening the nuts and bolts. Yes, the design has a certain overarching spiffy-ness, but it doesn’t seem that anyone bothered to make sure non-alphabetic characters were being displayed correctly. Also, the blog posts appear to conform to the facile uniformity of corporate advertising.
More importantly, this is a misallocation of the word “nerd.” Whereas these girls are portrayed as being eloquent, fashion-forward, and interested in hard science, the dictionary definition of the word “nerd” emphasizes social ineptitude. Thus, these are not, in fact, nerd girls, but simply high-functioning young women. Props for that, but please stop misusing my language (American English).
Lastly, I’d like everyone to recognize that this is just one more organization (Nerd Girls, Inc., funded by IEEE) among a myriad of such endeavors already engaged in encouraging everyone BUT white males to seek higher education. Who among us will be responsible for stopping corrective social justice efforts before they simply invert the previous unjust order?
- Passive-Aggressive: No, I will not comment on the Favre/Vikings affair.
- Another Rabbit Hole: This post on Slate’s XX Factor makes a non-comment on this post on Jezebel (which I do not frequent) that seems to soften this segment from National Public Radio (NPR), entitled “Sex Without Condoms is the New Engagement Ring.” I don’t have ages for any of the people involved, but the whole thing reeks of a perspective gap between people slightly older than myself, who were children when AIDS was a scary new bogeyman, and people either my age or slightly younger, who were indoctrinated with what I’ll call the “condom imperative” while society checked the spread of HIV and developed functional treatments. I think the NPR piece is a bit too serious - as one might expect. If you’re only going to experience one of them, I’d go with the Jezebel post. It may be poorly edited, but it’s personal, poignant, and amusing. Basically, it reminds me of something Sarah Hepola might write.
- Young Adulthood: Sometimes, I like to read about psychological theories. It’s a way to objectify and assess myself that won’t necessarily involve guilt over the pizza I just ate. According to Erikson’s Theory of Psychosocial Development, “young adulthood” lasts from ages 28-40. The good news is that, despite how I may feel on a college campus, I have 12 more years to be young. The bad news is that this period’s definitive psychosocial crisis is defined as “intimacy v. isolation,” and I plan to be parked in front of my laptop all weekend. Maybe I can resolve that crisis next week.
- I’ve just been informed that a British horror flick named Donkey Punch (DP) opened in theaters this week (18 July). Yes, the first death occurs by way of the film’s eponymous sex act; mayhem ensues. Basically, imagine Hostel on a yacht - only the torture has been replaced by a half-dozen nervy teenagers. The only critic’s quote used in the trailer (available from A/V Club) tags DP as “The sexiest most shocking film of the year.” Perhaps that critic didn’t see Zombie Strippers.
[Note:] In my brief search for the official DP site, I got distracted by, among other things (Google “Donkey Punch”), the explanation of a donkey punch on Fox News.
- Objectifying Women: In the past week, I celebrated the 7th anniversary of my 21st birthday. I don’t know whether I’m getting older or middle-aged(?) women have been getting hotter, but, more and more, I find myself appreciating the aesthetic appeal of ladies near the upper limit of my half-plus-seven boxplot (21-42). Am I alone here? Is this a sign that plastic surgery has become more widespread than I imagine? If that’s true, do I care?
- Admittedly, the preceding bullet point was inspired in large part by Gabrielle Anwar’s involvement in USA’s Burn Notice, which is in heavy rotation in anticipation of the 2nd season premiere. You may recall her from, say, Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead (”Girls who glide need guys who make them thump.”) or Scent of a Woman (”I’m in the ‘amazing’ business.”). Needless to say, playing a former IRA officer predisposed towards summary execution is a bit of a change for her.
Review - Burn Notice: Imagine The A-Team (”If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire…”) updated for contemporary Miami with more attractive people and more action. If you’re saying “that analogy can’t work without Mr. T,” then you should know that Burn Notice gets its comic relief from Bruce Campbell of Army of Darkness (”This is my boom stick!”) fame. As far as mindlessness goes, it’s pretty amusing. It also shows how far USA has come (or not) since the days when it was best known for Silk Stalkings marathons.
- Review - Swingtown: I don’t know whether or not this is a non sequitor, but I doubt I’ve ever met someone who was an adult in the mid-seventies who’s said, “Gee, I’d really like to re-live that decade.” I’m beginning to see why. Admittedly, I enjoyed the first episode enough to set a series recording, but now it just sort of plays in the background while I, say, write blog posts. The long and short of it is that I just can’t identify strongly enough with any of the characters to, umm, care. That’s not a good sign.
- Not Exactly Objectifying Women: As I enter my last week (for the foreseeable future) surrounded by undergrads on a college campus, I’d like to pause for a moment of appreciation. I have in the past and will continue to protest the oppressive heat of GA summers. However, let us not overlook the benefit of sultry weather: less clothing. I believe I can speak for the majority of the (male) population in saying that generally, as a spectator, less clothing is more better. The appreciation does not stop there.
I was struck the other day with the thought that, while “less clothing” translates into “more free time” (among other things) for me, such is unlikely to be the case for the lady folk. I mean, let’s say you’ve got shoulder-length or longer hair - even if you keep your natural color (which seems uncommon these days), there’s maintenance to be done. My stance toward makeup and manicures may be oppositional, but I can respect that they take time. Here’s the kicker: body hair. Man, I barely find time to shave my face once a week; finding time to shave one’s legs, etc. (speculative) must take some real contortions of schedule. For that, I would like to express my respect and appreciation.
- XX Factor Update: I know I keep going back to this well, but I’m a thirsty boy. I’m guessing that, on some level, reading Slate’s feminist blog helps prevent any guilt I might feel about my complete lack of contrition over openly enjoying testosterone, upper body strength, and all the other things which make manhood a pretty sweet deal. More to the point, the XX Factor contributors, for all their learned-ness, tend to make valid arguments so conversationally as to disregard their gaping holes.
This week, the ladies spent a few column-inches whining about Victoria’s Secret’s marketing techniques - specifically, the Very Sexy line of undergarments. A few thoughts:
- Is the whole Pink brand really targeted at middle and high school-aged girls? I just assumed it was for undergrads, since those are the youngest women I see. If the former is true, that’s borderline reprehensible. It’s also a great way to build brand loyalty.
- I’ll concede the value of maintaining the VS initials, but “Behind every very sexy woman is a Very Sexy bra” isn’t the right tagline. For one thing, the important part of a bra (as far as I know) isn’t behind you. Why not “Every very sexy woman needs the support of a Very Sexy bra”?
- The XX Factor participants assert that “sexiness is best characterized by confidence and good health,” which is complete tripe. I would like to cite every insecure model with an eating disorder or chemical dependency issue as evidence. Maybe they’re taking a broader definition of sexy than Merriam-Webster, but, by standard convention, sexiness would seem to be a subheading of “beauty,” which is generally accepted to be in the eye of the beholder. Yes, that’s disempowering, objectifying, and kind of abstractly perverse. How about this solution: teach your daughters and sisters not to see themselves as sex objects.
- My understanding of the brassiere may be somewhat perfunctory, but the 100-way convertible bra strikes me as counter-intuitive. If your goal is to provide lift, separation, and general support, shouldn’t each garment have one implementation allowing for most ideal accomplishment of those goals? The whole “convertible bra” concept strikes me as an engineering fiasco
- How many people have seen the ads for NuvaRing? (I know, I know, but between being tired and reading emails, I didn’t realize I was watching commercials until the jingle unnerved me.) When they first said “medicated vaginal ring,” I wondered whether it was specific to a labial or clitoral piercing, but the website clarifies it as an insertion device which may dislodge, for instance, “while…straining during a bowel movement, or during intercourse.” Somewhere, someone is including this - as well as the potential implications for oral sex - in a horrifying comedy sketch. The website also assures potential users that “NuvaRing cannot go farther than the cervix.” Having neither a vagina nor a cervix of my own, this strikes me as akin to someone saying “push that up your nose - there’s no way it’ll hit your brain.”
- The ladies of Slate spent much of the week engaging in discussion inspired by an article in Oprah’s O magazine entitled “Divorce Dreams.” (Though the full article appears to have been hidden from the internet, a portion is available here.)
Some would say that, being an unmarried man, I’m out of my depth when pontificating on the lives of married women. I cannot disagree. Nevertheless, I would be remiss if I brought this dispute to your attention without adding my two cents. The article in question, “Divorce Dreams,” describes its author’s husband thusly: “like every other male I know, he is a Moderately Bad Man.” My suggestion? Re-examine your notions of good and bad. Is this a question of goodness or acceptability? If you’re extrapolating to say that about half the world’s population is, at best, “moderately bad,” then you should consider the possibility that your perceptions are a bit out of whack. Once you’ve got that nailed down, you might benefit by acting to improve your situation; it’s just a thought.
More broadly, this strikes me as an issue of Second-wave feminism v. (what I’ll somewhat ignorantly call) Post-feminism. The arbitrary distinction I’m imposing is between those who assert that women have been oppressed because men are actually inferior (readers of my old blog may recall my view that second-wave invective is, at best, tiresome) and those who really just want sex and gender to become non-issues. I’ve read some pretty low-brow men’s magazines in my time, but I’ve never seen a man with enough brass under the hood to openly crap on his wife/girlfriend for the benefit of the reading public. If you think it’s okay to do that to your husband - or to encourage other people to do so by printing such palaver, regardless of its accuracy - then you should realize that you’re speaking very loudly to your own disbelief in gender equality.
- What’s probably more disturbing about the preceding bullet point than either the originating article or the amount of time spent dwelling on it is the fact that at least one of the otherwise respectable women of Slate’s XX Factor was reading O magazine.
This month’s feature, I shit you not, is “Men! What are you thinking?!” I was thinking the writing couldn’t possibly be as banal as that premise, but that assertion was quickly disproved. With the possible exception of David Granger’s FAQ, all the responses available online are facile, humorless and either explicitly reverent of womyn or self-deprecating on behalf of all men. (Granger eked out an exemption purely on strength of wit, and that’s saying a lot.) Yes, Maxim and its ilk are equally superficial, but, whereas Oprah peppers the prose with intimations such as “Spirit, to me, is the essence of who we are” (I suppose there are lesser people to plagiarize than Aristotle.), juvenile men’s magazines are up-front about being superficial - as are fashion magazines such as Vogue. Therein lies their redemption, such as it is. Humbug, Oprah. Humbug.
- [Unrelated:] Mark your calendars. Choke, the next of Chuck Palahniuk’s novels to be adapted to the big screen, hits theaters on September 26th. Personally, I’m still debating whether or not to re-read the book as a warm-up.