Sunday, June 28, 2009
There are so many things that are offensive in this ad for Svedka Vodka, its really hard to know what to say first--- except welcome to Douche Bag Avenue. I didn't coin this term, I read it in a post on Bitch from Ashley Brittner. In it she rants about a Burger King ad; a woman, mouth opened wide, is about to take a big bite out of long meaty sandwich,
For the love of god, what will it be next? This is not Burger King's first rodeo, in terms of terrible, sexist advertising, but it might be the raunchiest and therefore the most abhor-able.
The girlbot in this ad is a machine created for pleasure. Machines are brainless. Machines are objects. Sometimes these objects are very pretty, and very sexy. All girls are built for pleasure. We want to serve you in any way we can.
This was posted on a bus stop on Atlantic Avenue. Every time I approached it, I would shield my eyes with my hand. I couldn't look at it. I seriously contemplated buying a can of spray paint and defacing it, vandalizing it in the dead of night. Yes, I would commit a crime. And I too would like to know---
who the hell keeps getting this smut on their desk and signing off on it? In past blogs, we've tackled this b.s. once or twice before, and you'd think they'd eventually get over the tired, easy, douchebag messaging.
Apparently not. It isn't bad enough that advertising has literally created a Bible of diseases and cures for menustration, pregnancy and menopause--- meaning we're sick our entire lives--- but to still have to contend with this overt, obvious douchebaggery boggles my mind.
I'd also like to know if there were any women involved in creative on these ad campaigns. My thought? Yes, there was. Otherwise, these campaigns, and others like it, would never have made it past the men's room.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I realized in that moment exactly what Marshall McLuhan meant when he said, the medium is the message. The latest and the most accurate information about a coup d'etat, a major political upheaval, was coming from a social networking site, FaceBook, and from Twitter. Not from a Walter Cronkite, or a James Brokaw. And not The New York Times. But from the same place where we preen and strut for our friends and colleagues. Talk about a shift in the paradigm.
Then, later, I did watch the unexpurgated footage on YouTube. I'm not going to post the link. I don't want to participate in, or celebrate the technological medium that has made this possible. I only wish to write a brief eulogy for a young woman who died in a very public way--- while her city was rocketed by political and religious violence.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Another blonde for this blog. Except this blonde is dead at 56. Marilyn Chambers, Ivory Soap Girl, "99 & 44/100% pure," and star of Behind the Green Door. An absolutely transgressive piece of iconic 70's pornography. She doesn't have single line of dialogue in the film. In fact, I can't remember any dialogue. She just has sex. With a group of women, and then African American boxer, Johnny Keyes. The world was agog. Lesbians! Inter-racial love! Scandal.
This blonde, according to CNN.com, grew up in Westport. That's CT to you. Upper middle class. Ran off to work in show biz. LA. That didn't work, so she danced in SF. In the meantime, she'd become the Ivory Soap Girl. Auditioned for BHGD. And the rest is history. She didn't hide her head in shame. She didn't claim to be a victim, like her counterpart, Linda Lovelace. Ms. Lovelace made a very public denunciation of her prominent role in porn history--- with Andrea Dworkin, extreme feminist, in tow.
To my knowledge, Marilyn Chambers made no such claim.
In this image, she is well into middle-age, and sexy. Her breasts spill out of her gown. She is elegantly coiffed. She's attractive, handsome. She doesn't look damaged. Or unhappy. But she did say, about her career, "it just leaves you empty." Perhaps this is what went wrong. I have to pay my respects to the woman, no matter what happened.
I don't remember where or when I saw this film. It was so long ago. But I do remember that, in its own perverse way, it gave me permission to accept the dark side of my own sexuality.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Beyond the trees, the house across the street with the white pillars is on the Historical Registry. A 92 year old widow lives there. Her name is Mary. Her home is worth about four million dollars. She bought it in 1940 for pennies. Her relatives say, Sell it, sell it. You need the money. But she doesn't care.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
He was diagnosed with a rare form of nerve cancer around his mouth. Terrible irony for a trombone player! He was told he had a 50/50 chance of surviving the operation. That he might never play again. As he went in for surgery, he told his bandmates, See You On The Other Side or SYOTOS. He survived and went on to become an even better musician than he was before. The best song of the night was a bolero, Passion, by Pedro Flores. I swear, at times, the piano, the drums and the conga were speaking the same language as the sea.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
I was encouraged that the posts reported the stats of women who decided that HRT was not for them, who had decided, as intelligent women, that they were not sick and didn't need medicine. This blog also claims a concomitant drop in breast cancer. And that's all good.
This site is powered by Google ads, and of course, this is wonderful except--- the most prominent words in the ads are: symptoms, suffering, fracture, osteoporosis. So there is still that lingering pathological subtext--- direct contradiction to the blog posts.
Do you see my problem?
A blog, a website, or an online magazine called FiercelySEXYSMART.com. The writers are women 40 and older who in addition to addressing the fallacies and the myths of older, powerful, smart women, reframe the images as well through essays and blog posts on education, politics, sex, and culture.
The reader wouldn't find a single solitary mention ad for a patch, a pill or a creme. In fact the whole idea of "illness" and pathology would be noticeable in its absence. Why? We're already inundated with this information. I'm not saying it isn't useful. I'm saying, enough already.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Last night when I googled my name, which all self-obsessed artists must do, I found that some of my posts, originally published on http://dumbonyc.com, have also been posted on the USA Today website: Transformer Has Juice and Yes, to Shades of Jazz on Noir. Hey! USA. I'm flattered. Would love some $$$$.
Also, Feminist Blogs, which bills itself as independent alternatives to the malestream media, has been posting my work as well.
Second, his blog entry, Boomer women and sex: A REVEALing new survey, part 3, contains the following text:
"Appeal to the connectedness between women. On issues where women feel naturally isolated and ignorant, remind them they are not alone."
That's right, douche bag, we share the planet with the likes of you.
"Consider not using words like vaginal atrophy."
You can use vaginal atrophy if I can use dick and brain atrophy :)
"Be discreet. Most women 50+ remain modest about sex."
How about this. Come over and I'll suck you off, film it, and post it on YouTube.com. And that's just the beginning (You're turned on, aren't you?)
Here's the real kicker about this website. It's funded "sponsored" by Wyeth fucking Pharmaceuticals. It bills itself as an online community for women over 50 who are sick and who need medicine. I'm telling you if you buy the image, you buy the pathology. Can smart women of the world unite, and get rid of douche bags like Stephen Reily, who, obviously, has sold his soul to the devil.
Mr. Reily. Thanks for contacting me. Sadly, I am not your demographic. Yes, I am over 50. However, my brains are not in my ass, nor have they ever been. I can still think for myself. I have always been able to think for myself. If you don't mind, I think I will frame my experience as a woman in my own terms:
I'm a bitch and I don't like you.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Here's Margaret in the mountains, lady of the manor, negotiating the complex, convoluted, tricky, precise arrangements for the huge 4th of July bash. Every year a huge crowd, 100+, gather for games, drinks, food and fireworks. Molly sits next to her waiting for a treat. Also my cousin Debbi asked me what happened to the PhD guy who basically felt me up on the 4 train. The next day, he pretended he didn't know me, but then again, I did the same. Game, set, match. Love. Is it not a many splendored thing?