So, I'm still funemployed* and the roommate has purchased the complete series of Sex and the City**. I just watched "What Goes Around Comes Around" and had that old familiar feeling--part of the episode made me go, "that is so my life," and another part made me go "ugh."
The first part, of course, concerned Miranda. An extremely handsome detective is totally into her, and she's so intimidated by the fact that he's "out of her league" that she ends up getting sloppy-drunk on a date and convincing him she's an alcoholic. Har. This is a problem she has more than once--suspiciously hot guy genuinely likes her and she somehow messes it up***. Which sometimes makes me roll my eyes, because guys who are hotter than me are sort of my favorites. I don't always know what's wrong with their eyes, but I shrug my shoulders and capitalize. But then Miranda drunkenly roars this:
"I'm no Mena Suvari, but I'm great in bed!"
First of all: Mena Suvari? So random, thus adorable. Also, I TOTALLY relate to that. The whole "compensation" thing. When I say it to myself, I tend to say it with genuine confidence--it DOES make up the difference, I think--but there's still the need to say it.
And then Samantha fucks a virgin and he falls ridiculously in love. Blah. Some of us virgins were totally capable of having an awesome first time without getting artificially attached.****
Look! A whole post and I never once needed "I had to wonder..." Suck it, Bradshaw.
*Though I'm moving to London in September to go to grad school so woot!
**And has given me carte blanche to blame its presence in our apartment on her should any gentleman callers balk.
***Though another time the guy seems to like her BECAUSE she doesn't know she's hot, and when her self-esteem gets boosted he bails. Yes, I'm a Miranda buff.
****Though, to be fair, the one time I know that I slept with a virgin, he did seem to get at least sort of attached.
Friday, June 20, 2008
More Love/Hate With SATC
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
"Sweet Lady New York, you're the fifth whore at this table."
So, someone from Feministing didn't like the Sex and the City movie, which is not so interesting unto itself, but it did remind me of the only SATC spoof I've seen that I actually liked: an old SNL skit featuring Christina Aguilera as Samantha. Xtina is the best part of the skit, but the whole thing is pretty good--Amy Poehler's expressions of shock are very SJP. I hope you all enjoy. Yay puns!
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
A Traitor To My People
My people, of course, being third-wave pro-sex feminist women. I say specifically women because, well, this post is about my vagina. Namely: the fact that I don't know it that well. My vulva and I are good friends, but the inside stuff is more of a mystery.
This came to my attention recently because my roommate uses Instead cups rather than tampons*. She offered me some to try, and, at least six months later, the box is still sitting on my dresser, untouched. Frankly, I'm afraid that if I use one I won't be able to get it out. I mean, Carrie Bradshaw's diaphragm got stuck once, and she's used to using one!
I admit it, I'm a little squeamish down there. I masturbate a lot**, but I generally use vibrators or massage shower heads or that Vibrance razor I once bought because I was going on vacation and that's all CVS had left***. I also usually use some sort of penetrative device (I hate the word "dildo"), but I rarely use my fingers. My hand simply does not arouse me--plus it's hard to focus on giving pleasure and receiving pleasure at the same time**** and it distracts from the process worrying about my own prowess. No one wants to worry they're bad in bed while they're in bed with just themselves.
It's a chicken-and-egg thing: do I not masturbate with my fingers because I'm squeamish, or am I squeamish because I don't masturbate with my fingers? Whichever the reason, it makes me feel kind of bad. I'm supposed to be a proponent of vagina power. And I am. But a Good Feminist should know her own anatomy, right? Female genitals are, culturally, regarded as very mysterious--a sort of sexual Rubik's Cube. And it's true I get off pretty easily, and only need to explain so much to my gentleman callers, but what about my lady callers? If I don't even interact directly with my clitoris that often, leaving it up to something inanimate, how do I effectively please a girl?
In short, and to be blunt, I wish I were more comfortable sticking my fingers inside myself. For reasons both practical and theoretical. Perhaps that will be my Second Half of the Year's resolution.
PS: I know I haven't posted in forever. I tried to make up for it with extra footnotes.
*She gave me permission to say this on my blog. Though that was awhile ago so I hope she remembers.
**You're shocked.
***It worked! Though it required some will power. I removed the blade, obviously.
****The 69 position? Overrated. Not bad, just a little silly.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Guest Blogging (Sort of) SATC
My roommate Katey is a movie critic, and actually knows about the film industry (unlike, say, me). She'd suggested I post about the recent hyperbolic uproar that the new Sex and the City movie has caused among the male critic-and-blogger population. BUT, she just blogged about it herself, and did a much better job than I could*, so I'm just going to repost it here. And now, ladies and gentlemen (and others), I give you Katey Rich:
This week I've been lucky enough to witness a large-scale panic among men of all ages, races and nationalities. They're not being threatened on any physical level, nor are any of their loved ones in any real danger. But the way they're reacting, you'd think everything precious to them, from possessions to family members, was in mortal peril. And the evil force they fight against isn't a human, or an animal, or some vague global threat-- it's a goddamn movie.
I'm talking, of course, about Sex and the City, a movie that has sent the largely male population of movie critics and pundits into paroxysms of panic. Blogger Jeffrey Wells, never one to shy away from woman-hating, says of the movie, "scratch any woman who says she liked it off the list. For anything." Variety reported, with a straight face, that most men would "rather be shot than sit through the movie." Even we at Cinema Blend offered up our help: "We don't want you to fall prey to the same threat that so many will succumb to this weekend, so we at Cinema Blend have put together our top five excuses for men to get out of seeing Sex and the City: The Movie.
Seriously, dudes, what are you so afraid of? Sex and the City, as a movie, is as good as Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull-- a revival of an old hero, with mixed results. It's better than most of the chick flick crap that gets put out there, and, even for its poop jokes and gratuitous male nudity, isn't half as offensive as something like Epic Movie. Really, if you've seen a handful of episodes from the original series, you know exactly what you're in for-- Sex and the City the movie is pretty close to five episodes of the series, give or take a few sex scenes and narcissistic voiceovers.
So what's the problem? Sex and the City has been a well-known, television phenomenon for a decade now, and anyone who hasn't caught a re-run of the show can at least name the four main characters without too much trouble. Men have been able to handle the existence of Sex and the City without feeling in personal jeopardy, but as soon as those four women head to the big screen, all hell breaks loose. The very idea that a movie starring four women, targeted at women, could be the #1 movie this weekend-- well, it's inconceivable to the men who run the movie industry.
No, seriously, most people actually can't conceive of it. Fantasy Moguls has the movie peaking at $95 million, whereas most people who know any fans of the show realize half the women in America will turn out for this movie this weekend. The last movie starring women to top the box office with Baby Mama, with an opening weekend of $18 million. Sex and the City will cream that record, and yet, no one seems willing to admit it.
Listen, boys. We saw Cloverfield with you. We laughed right along with you at Superbad and Talladega Nights. Some poor souls among us even got dragged to Good Luck Chuck and The Fantastic Four on opening weekend. Chicks sit through guy movies all the time, and we don't complain, because that's all there is. The movie industry is dominated by the men who make movies and the boys who see them, and women settle for the scraps they're handed in-between the summer tentpole blockbusters. So really, how dare you bitch and moan when there is one weekend dedicated to a movie that mainly appeals to women? One summer weekend out of twelve? Wow, you're really being deprived.
Mostly, it's sad and terrifying to see the blatant fear men have shown toward anything vaguely feminine and related to this movie. Granted, the marketers have chosen to deck the advertising out in nothing but pink and sparkles, when genuine fans of the show know that's not really what it's all about. But, guys, you've been into Victoria's Secret. You've seen a woman decked out in pink and—gasp!-- sparkles and appreciated the results. Your eyes didn't burn out of their sockets, and your penis didn't melt away. It probably won't happen at a viewing of the Sex and the City movie either, no matter how many pretty dresses float by on the screen.
I get that if you're not a fan of the show, the movie may be boring for you, or may seem superficial and all that is wrong with American consumerism. But don't blame the women who love it-- ahem, Jeffrey Wells-- and don't assume you understand the appeal. Millions of women from all over the world, and all kinds of backgrounds, have found something to love in this show. Even some men enjoy it too. At a certain point you have to take a break from calling the rest of the world idiots, and wonder if maybe you're just missing something. Something pink, sparkly, funny, touching, and just a little bit fabulous.
*NB: I have not actually seen the movie.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Breaking News In Teargate
I actually started this post awhile ago, and am reviving it now because Clinton's getting more heat for once again showing emotion--this time there was liquid actually in her eyes! It was again in response to someone saying something touching, and the backlash is again swinging between "she's too weak to lead" and "she's faking it, that Machiavel." Shouldn't we all be over this by now? Le sigh.
It occurs to me that, while I've mentioned crying several times, I haven't really talked about the phenomenon. I remember an episode of Sex and the City (I know, I know) in which the ladies talked about mens' fear that they'd start crying at work. Someone asks Miranda, "Haven't you ever cried over a brief?" and she says, "Yes, in the privacy of my office." Later in the episode, Samantha (a stranger to the phenomenon) cries after a job interview in which the perspective boss says he can't hire her because of her sexual history. She tells him off, and manages to make it into the elevator just before the tears escape. She gets the job.
Anyway. My theory is, some people are cryers. I definitely am--and it's a total nuisance. But yeah, it probably won't shock you to learn that I don't think crying is a terrible thing or something to be ashamed of. Sometimes we might feel a little ashamed, because we're human and crying is not always fun, but all in all, who cares? Men should cry more. It's very therapeutic.
Every now and then I think about who has actually seen me cry. I cry a fair bit--not ALL the time, maybe once a week on average, and sometimes it's just a few tears of frustration rather than full-on waterworks. But it's interesting making a list of people who've seen me CRY cry. Certainly anyone who's ever stage managed for me. I think my roommate has seen me flat-out cry four times, if last weekend counts. My college friends, back when I drank way more and we were all involved in each other's business, probably caught me weeping every other weekend*, but otherwise I THINK that the vast majority of my crying is private. I call it "watering the couch." So if you see me cry, you're either close to me, or have somehow backed me into a serious corner**.
Then there's crying at work. At this job, no one has ever caught me crying, and it's only even happened a few times. At my job in Texas it happened once, in front of my boss, and it was AWFUL--mostly because I had no idea why I was crying. It was a slightly tense conversation, but I didn't even feel like I was crying--more like my eyes were mysteriously leaking. I realized later that it was the first time ANYONE in Texas had seen me cry. That thought was a little depressing...it meant I wasn't close enough with anyone to really let go.
So, Leave Hillary Alone!
*Hi Michelle!
**Or you're my poor Psych Research Methods professor and Bush has just won re-election. She was very nice about it.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Fictional Ingrates
My roommate and my neighbor and I have a Monday tradition. First: dinner at our local bar cuz food is half-price on Mondays. Second: How I Met Your Mother, which is an awesome show, and is by and about graduates of our alma mater. Third: Neighbor Steve buys beer, we flip away from The Big Bang Theory as quickly as possibly lest it injure our brains, and we watch the second half of Chuck*. We have never seen the first half of Chuck, due to HIMYM, but we very much enjoy the latter half. Every time we tune in, a gun is pointed at somebody's head (and sometimes something's threatening to blow up!). It's like skipping to the sex scenes in a romance novel. (Though we are still planning to by the DVD when it comes out and have a party where we watch only the beginning of each episode.)
However, last night's episode betrayed me. Not the main plot, the plot with Chuck's Dorkier Friend Morgan (a male Morgan). They all work in a Buy More, a big electronics store in a strip mall, and apparently something embarrassing happened with Morgan and the hot (and Asian! which is TV code for hot) sales clerk Anna. I of course don't actually know what happened but whatever. Then, as this is TV, Anna comes to like the less-attractive Morgan and they make out. Morgan is excited because Chuck was in a relationship, and maybe he was feeling left out or something? Cuz when Chuck breaks up with his girl, Morgan immediately goes on the Buy More FUCKING LOUD SPEAKER and casually rattles off, "Anna, it's been great but it's just not working out." (Or something to that effect.) Obviously, it's far better for he and Chuck to be single together (cuz y'know, THAT was going so well for them) then for Morgan to score with someone seriously cool.
WTF, mate? Morgan sorta gets his comeuppance (Chuck reveals that he's actually getting back together with his OLD gf), but it still pissed me off. That is the worst TV dumping since Berger left Carrie that Post-It note. Roommate Katey, less miffed, fondly noted the homosexual bond between male friends, and its frequency on TV. And, true. But. What a douche! I am personally laying a curse upon Morgan's head: may he never again feel a woman's touch, as he is incapable of truly appreciating it. I spit upon you! You have lost all ability to arouse empathy OR sympathy, which is half the point of a Dorkier Friend!
Sheesh. Nerds today.
*And then we watch Heroes and as much as we can of Journeyman before getting bored, but that's irrelevant to the post.
Friday, November 9, 2007
You've got some nerve!
As in, because I'm ripping off another one of their articles and showing it to you.
A friend of mine (hi Kyle!) emailed me with a question about sex-positive attitudes in Second Wave versus Third Wave feminism. I sent him a way-too-long email in response, but anyway: It brought me back to Carrie Hill Wilner's essay on Nerve, I, Slut, which talks about the sexual liberty that characterizes the Third Wave--and how this liberty is often twisted into something cartoonish, inauthentic, a new standard to which we must pretend to adhere.
Also, it talks about Sex and the City, and how the show did NOT represent Wilner's sexuality, or that of her friends. I have had trouble articulating this--I have mixed feelings about the show, which I find entertaining but also grating and somehow irking. Wilner puts it well:
There is one episode that exemplifies the difference between what SATC espoused and what I did. It was called "Boy, Girl, Boy, Girl..." and Carrie's plot was that she was dating a slightly younger (late 20's?) guy who reveals he's bisexual, and has had a long-term relationship with a man (plus two with women). FIRST of all, I was alarmed by the squareness of the show's stance on male bisexuality--even Samantha says "dump him." But Carrie goes with it, and ends up at a party with all his friends, who get introductions like, "This is Sue, she's having Ryan and Bob's baby" or whatever, and who've all dated each other in various gender combinations, and Carrie's getting skeeved. Then they all play spin the bottle, and Carrie for the first time in her life has to kiss a girl--played by Alanis Morissette. The kiss isn't bad or good (Carries says it "tasted like chicken"), but she realizes this is not her scene and bails.
So, my problem? I would much rather hang with those crazy kids who freak Carrie out so much than with Carrie and her Gucci-worshipping, pseudo-enlightened friends. (And let's not even talk about Candace Bushnell herself, who just seems awful.) For one thing, I doubt any of my female friends will make it to 33 or whatever without having kissed a girl.* And while when I first saw the episode I conceded that I'd be a little weirded out to be in a social circle where everyone had dated each other, that is actually starting to become my reality so I can't complain. But the real point is, not only do these non-Carrie people have a GENUINELY open attitude about sex and sexuality, they seem to spend more time having sex than talking about it, unlike our Fab Four. I mean, spin the bottle? Awesome. Hopefully the guys made out with each other, too, but SATC would never show us THAT. (Actually, do they ever show us two guys kissing? I'm not sure.)
I did, however, love Miranda. And still do. Miranda was the actual feminist, incredibly smart, loved her job and excelled at it, had a baby and married on her terms, when she wanted to, to the best guy we meet on the show, and basically Has It All. She is also the only one who seems genuinely comfortable with both relationships AND casual sex, and manages to date a black guy with it being all, Look, She's Dating a Black Guy! And Cynthia Nixon was the best actor on the show. Her plotline in the above episode actually redeemed it for me,** as it concerned her insecurities about whether she was female enough, which is something a lot of successful women grapple with. So, kudos to her, but blah to the rest of the show for being so self-congratulatory while also being so narrow.
*Especially since I have probably already kissed them.
**And may or may not have made me cry.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Sex and the City: SO OVER IT [Spoilers, like you care]
Things have been leaked about the upcoming SATC movie. Namely: that Charlotte is pregnant and Carrie gets married, presumably to Big.
WTF??? These facts have officially made me dislike this movie. (Before this, I didn't care.) The WHOLE POINT of Charlotte and Harry adopting was that Charlotte ended up with the family of her dreams...but not her expectations. She learned to build a life outside of the WASPy visions she'd grown up with--even Carrie's final voice over said something about building a family different than expected!
As for the marriage--what I liked about the ending of the show was that it didn't specify whether Carrie and Big were going to get married. Carrie had said that, after the Aidan fake-out, she wasn't sure she ever wanted to get married, and the show's ending preserved the possibility that they would be more of a Susan Sarandon/Tim Robbins-type couple--life partners, without the societal label and the expectations it brings.
I've always had mixed feelings about this show, but I liked that it posed the idea that there are different ways of ending up happy. Some people get married, some people get married more than once, some people find love in different ways.
If Samantha and Smith get married, I'm demanding my money back. Not that it's likely I'll pay to see it.
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