Category Archives: Everything Else

But She Really Was: Gone Girl and the False Accusation

When I was reading Gillian Flynn’s novel Gone Girl—sometime in early October, right before the movie came out—there was this one plot twist I was scared of reading, and as I got further and further into the book I got more and more scared. It’s kind of the main plot twist, and I’d read spoilers, but that was before I had any interest in reading Gone Girl, so my understanding of how it was going to work was hazy. “This is fun so far, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to handle it when that happens,” I worried early on. “Oh my God,” I thought to myself, about a third of the way through, “that’s who NPH plays, oh no.” Then I got to a point where I was like, “Wait, maybe this will be okay. Maybe I can bring myself to read it if this is what happens.” And then I was like, “Oh, wow, that’s how it’s going to happen.I was glad it was going to happen. I was like, “Hooray for Amy Dunne! What a brilliant and accomplished young woman.”

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I hope I grow up to be this alert and well-coiffed!

I describe this process not to demonstrate how I developed Stockholm syndrome from drinking in too much of the brilliant prose of Gone Girl, like how you read Lolita and you’re like, “Ooh, I hope Humbert Humbert gets to make out with Lolita,” at least you are until he says something like, “You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go.” I’m describing how my feelings about this plot twist shifted because that was how I realized that everyone had lied about it.

Well, they misrepresented it.

HERE IS WHERE I AM GOING TO SPOIL GONE GIRL: Continue reading

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The Fake People I’ve Loved: My Three Imaginary Feminist Boyfriends, Michele Bachmann, and Me

Illustration by Laura Cerón MeloIllustration by Laura Cerón Melo

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
—Sylvia Plath

The story went like this: Camilo waited for me at the park next to my house every day after school. He brought Bon Bon Bum (look it up), cigarettes, and his tongue inside my mouth. He said, Quibo, qué mas? I like you. After he left I walked two blocks north to another park where Pablo under a hoodie munched Sparkies, also smoked cigarettes (although red Marlboros, so ew), and wrote me—ME who was barely twelve—a love poem. It was heaven-like. I was twelve and totally ki-lling it. My friends envied me! Should I tell you about Darío, my third boyfriend? Darío in a leatherjacket while I stroked his greasy brown hair, a leftist revolutionary wearing Zapatista shirts, a beard, etc.… I had not one, not two, but un-dos-TRES boyfriends (I know, and there you sat thinking I was just an angry lesbian).

The next day I arrived early and giddy from so much excitement at my all-girl Catholic school. Really quick: picture nuns, picture impeccable uniform, picture Jesús bleeding from the cross everywhere you look, picture this humble narrator in a ponytail and yellow headband (the 90s mi reina). Amén. Inside the classroom I whispered to all my girlfriends about my romantic whereabouts the night before. His tongue! His mouth! His index finger! His poetry! I showed them the poem, a letter, and the plastic wrap of the Bon Bon Bum as proof of my escapades. Sometimes this was enough, and by the end of first period most of them believed my triumphant romances. Other times, some girls’ skepticism made me repeat Uva Curuba Uva until my upper lip folded into two perfect semicircles proving I was not a mouth virgin, proving I was kissed the night before.

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The Feminist Bachelor Recap, Episode 4: The Princess & the Patriarchy

This week, NYC’s Snowmaggedon allowed for totally unfettered, cozy watching of The Bachelor live on Monday night, and OMG, this week’s episode was a feminist Bachelor recapper’s dream/nightmare.

You know what’s the best? Putting up a tent while wearing only a bikini.

Let’s start with the group date. The date card said “let’s do what feels natural,” which spurred highly philosophical conversation addressing what “nature” is anyway. “What does he mean by natural?” one womyn asked. “Natural beauty?” pondered another. And Mackenzie, in fully mascaraed and eyelinered hypocrisy, said right to the camera, “most of these girls aren’t very natural in the way they look.” Thank goddess though, no one was forced to not wear makeup, and instead they just were brought to a lake, where they spent the night camping. Funny Canadian Kaitlyn took off her bikini bottom and jumped in the water, and Hot Virgin Ashley took off her top. Beautiful Widow Kelsey was not having it—she called the whole experience “a date for bimbos,” and continually dissed the whole camping experience, brattily calling the lake a “hellhole” and claiming that it doesn’t compare to her native state’s Lake Michigan. Then she gets stung by a bee, and the camera panned down to her incredibly wide thigh gap. Continue reading

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FUNNY FEMINISM #2: Failing, Falling and Jumping In – The Comedy of Sarah Adams

A monthly column, Funny Feminism features conversations with feminist-identifying artists who use humor in their creative work.

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It's Easy to Be Pro-Choice

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I’m a very busy lady. This lifetime I plan to do the work of 600 lifetimes. I don’t have a linear scope. It’s all mashed up in there together. I do everything at once. This is just the business of being Sarah Adams. And that is the work of high comedy. Mostly because I’m just a dork. Just accidentally funny because I’m falling down. And even though I look like a stylish babe, I’m really just an overgrown child fumbling around. So I have to primarily focus on that. Just feeding and bathing myself. Wiping my nose and making sure I have lunch money. With what little time is left over, I give people psychic readings, I sew clothes, I write a horoscope column, I emcee events, I’m active in city government, I’m a nearly professional coffee drinker, I give people tattoos, I make movies, I’m an activist, I run a fashion label with a retail location, I’m a really bitching DJ AND I do stand-up.”– Sarah Adams

33-year old Olympia, WA comedian Sarah Adams remembers her first stand-up performance very clearly. She performed with a PowerPoint presentation, which provided visual gags such as an image of a brick wall behind her. While Adams admits she’s “seen enough stand-up to know that there’s some weird shit out there—it’s a very generous art form,” the ubiquitous brick wall background helped mark what some might see as performance art as stand-up comedy.

At her first performance, Adams remembers hearing her name announced as she walked out to the stage and purposely falling down, using the struggle to literally stand up again as the icebreaker for her first stand-up routine. This part of the performance wasn’t planned, but occurred to Adams in the moment, like so much of her material still does. Continue reading

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The Feminist Bachelor Recap, Episode 3: Jimmy Kimmel & Jealous-Kissing

“One of my wives is punk as fuck.”

This week’s Bach featured the very special guest host Jimmy Kimmel, a delightful reprieve from Chris Harrison. The episode began with him sneaking into Chris’s bedroom and waking him up, and Chris pretending to be totally surprised. Then they greeted the ladiesssszzz, and Kimmel made some funny jokes that commented on the ridiculousness of the whole Bachelor scenario: “I’m going to help Chris make his decision by making love to each of you.” LOLZ. And some jokes that took it a little too far like “If anyone would like to join me in the bedroom…” Ew, Jimmy Kimmel. Continue reading

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Revisiting Raven: Thoughts on Zora, Nina, and Take-Down Culture

One of the bits of news from 2014 that I keep wanting to revisit is the Raven Symone brouhaha. Remember when Raven said the notorious words “I want to be labeled a human who loves humans, [and] I’m tired of being labeled. I’m an American; I’m not an African-American, I’m an American,” and the internet went batty? I know, so passé. It’s 2015 already. But in 2015 I want to make a plea for thoughtful and sisterly discourse on the internet (and in general). To me, this means returning to old conversations where we may have responded impulsively; it means thinking twice. And then three or four times more about things. In this spirit, let us return to the scene of action: the Oprah Winfrey show on October 4, 2014. Continue reading

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15 Books I Can’t Wait to Read in 2015

With the new year comes a new crop of totally amazing reads. Here are some I can’t wait to get my hands on:

1) Where the Words End and My Body Begins by Amber Dawn
(Arsenal Pulp Press)

9781551525839_WhereWordsEndAmber Dawn’s known for her award-winning memoir How Poetry Saved My Life and her novel Sub Rosa, which reads like a feminist pulp novel/fairytale about sex workers. Where the Words End and My Body Begins, Dawn’s first book of poems, pays homage to legendary and emerging queer poets including Gertrude Stein, Christina Rossetti, and Adrienne Rich with a series of poems written in the 15th-century Spanish glosa form.

 

 

2) Houses by Nikki Wallschlaeger
(Horseless Press)

SONY DSCI love how Nikki Wallschlaeger’s poems travel from building to building, room to room, from the exterior to the interior, from the often female-embodied everyday to the vast and looming social world that surrounds us, filled with problems and possibilities: “I have children that need lunches in the morning so I love them best.  I also love lipstick and Europe, and the things that dead men say.”
Wallschlaeger’s first full-length book Houses is coming this May. Until then read some of her knockout poems here and here and here.

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Why I Won’t Be Watching the Oscars This Year

Dude Oscars

Let me start by saying that I love the Oscars. I love them more than the Olympics. More than watching the ball drop in Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Only slightly more than the Golden Globes. I’ve hosted countless Oscar viewing parties. Participated in, and won, multiple betting pools. Spent hours watching red carpet coverage and cried at every “In Memoriam” tribute. It is the one live television event that I truly care about. The only thing that kept me from watching last year’s live broadcast was the fact that I spent the night in the hospital with my husband because he had fractured his jaw. And when we returned to our apartment the next evening—even though I already knew who had won and which of Ellen DeGeneres’s jokes had flopped—I still watched the whole damn thing on Hulu.

Ever since I was a little girl, Oscar night held a glamour and excitement that I can only compare to Christmas Eve. In my family, we didn’t watch the Superbowl; we went out to our favorite pizza place because it would be empty and my parents hate waiting to be seated. But staying up late to watch the Oscars was tradition. Billy Crystal was like a God to us and we still talk about his big opening numbers. Like that time Billy arrived on horseback! The time when he was wheeled onstage Hannibal Lector-style! Even today I could watch his various “It’s a wonderful night for Oscar! Oscar, Oscar! Who will win?” medleys on YouTube for hours. My mother and I played a game during every thematic movie montage to see who could name as many of the films as possible. I even loved the ridiculous choreographed dance numbers. After the last award was given, I would return to my bedroom and practice my own heartfelt acceptance speech while standing on my bed in my nightgown. Continue reading

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New Sleater-Kinney Video for “No Cities To Love”

One of my favorite music videos of 2014 featured California indie dream rocker Jenny Lewis singing her song “Just One of the Guys” backed by a celebrity-studded band, including Kristen Stewart and Anne Hathaway. Now, there’s new Sleater-Kinney video for the title track from their surprise album No Cities To Love (what do you call a surprise album when the surprise party’s over?), and the band has “asked some of their friends to film themselves singing the title track”:

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The Feminist Bachelor Recap, Episode 2: Sexy Virgins & Strong Single Moms

Our future husband wears his hoodie zipped just slightly above half-way up at all times.

This week’s episode kicked off with Kimberly, the woman who was rejected at last week’s Rose Ceremony but stuck around to talk with Chris just cause she’s sure she’s that special. We know that she isn’t, and that Chris doesn’t like when girls have brown hair. “Ick,” he says when he sees brunettes, and closes his eyes and grimaces. (Just kidding, Chris actually has said at several points, “brunette, blonde, I don’t care—it’s all about the connection.” Wow you guys, can you say FEMINIST?!) Chris worries about what kind of message it will send to the other women if he lets I’m Sure I’m Special Kimberly stay another rose ceremony cycle, but his BFF Chris Harrison assures him: “this is your life; there are no rules.” And so he lets Kim stay, to the horror of the other women.

We learn that Farmer Chris is staying in a house right down the driveway from where the ladiesssszzzz are lodging, and Host Chris basically encourages the womyn to break into Farmer Chris’s house by repeatedly saying “Chris lives right there” and “there are no rules.” Two gals do break in later in the episode; they like look at Farmer Chris’s motorcycle and it’s really boring. The only interesting part is that the girls are both wearing bikinis, and for some reason one of their lower halves keeps getting blocked out by one of those black censor bars because apparently her swimsuit does not cover her ass nor her vulva. Continue reading

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