I refuse to labor today. Therefore I didn't work on this post much. IT IS MY RIGHT AS AN AMERICAN.

It's Labor Day! Our nation's most ironically-titled holiday. Hooray!

As it's Labor Day, I really should celebrate by not-laboring. So someone else really should come over here and do my laundry, dishes, housecleaning, and write today's blog entry, so I'd be free to finish the book I've been reading for two weeks, watch a little television, and make my lunch appointment without rushing around like a maniac. WHY AREN'T YOU ALL JUMPING IN TO VOLUNTEER. This is a fantastic opportunity.

Fine. 

Let's talk about things that are upsetting. How is this different from what I do on any other day? IT ISN'T.

First: True Blood.

(spoilers, so if you're not up on, and caught up to, last night's episode, skip ahead. Or just read, because you know what? IT ISN'T WORTH YOUR TIME.)

True Blood was one of my favorite things when it first came out. I'd read the series; other than the silliness quotient (rather high at times), it was entertaining and enjoyable. Season One was one of the best shows on television. Alan Ball, I was convinced, could do no wrong. Yes, Sookie was a complete numbskull and Bill annoyed the piss out of me, but the cast of supporting characters was amazing enough that you could ignore the two of them and just daydream about Pam and Eric when they were on doing their "Sookeh! Beeel!" bullshit and all was well.

Season Two was a crapfest, and no one understood really what was going on there. Orgies! All the time! So many orgies! Bloody orgies with old people whose bodies were not enjoyable to look upon! Supporting cast was still fun, but the orgy thing (which I'm pretty sure was Alan Ball thinking, "People? They like the nudity! Let's have lots! Plot? Eh. Whatever") was exhausting. 

Season Three was better - not back to the glory that was Season One, but better.

And now we're in Season Four, and it is not only a crapfest, it is an ENTIRE CRAP ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT-BUFFET. Witches - which aren't a bad idea - have taken over the plot. And they are ridiculously stupid and the plot is poorly written with holes you could pilot the Titanic through and none of the previously saving-grace supporting characters are even acting like they're supposed to and are being given enough screen time because IT'S ALL ABOUT THE EFFING WITCHES. Someone asked me if they should watch an episode they had DVR'd and I told them the best thing I had to say about the episode was that Jessica's hair was shiny and sometimes Jason was funny, a little. And that was being kind, because Jessica's hair wasn't that shiny and Jason wasn't that funny. Alan Ball checked OUT for this season. It is AWFUL. An example: last night, the witches were attempting to kill all the vampires (as they have in almost every episode this season.) Sookie didn't want this to happen so she decided to use her magical fairy hands to stop them and flashed the witches with fairy light. OK, fine. But the head witch got angry and put Sookie in a ring of flames that kept moving in closer to her as punishment, attempting to kill her. Sookie - whose magical hands can restore memory, erase curses, knock people off their feet, etc. - just stood there, whining for help, crying out for "Beeel! Eric!" over and over, and not doing anything to help herself. OK, so you're able to save all the vampires one second, but unable to save yourself immediately after? Why is that, exactly? Pam asked Eric and Bill why they were going to risk the entire vampire race for "a gash in a sundress" last night and I completely agree (and I heart Pam because apparently she is the only voice of reason in the entire town.) Seriously? Sookie has NO PERSONALITY. She just sits there looking pretty, puts out, and once and a while yells at people and has fairy hands. Wow. Totally one-in-a-million! Unfortunately, the fire did not kill her, so we're still dealing with her nonsense and whining and inability to choose between lovers and whatnot.

Also, they FINALLY killed off the head witch, who has been the most annoying character alive for the entire season, and then BROUGHT HER BACK TEN MINUTES LATER. Alan Ball! I kind of want to punch you in the throat right now.

Next: J.C. Penney.

Last week, J.C. Penney - totally on the pulse of fashion! - came out with this shirt for children and teens:

The tagline on the website read: "Who has time for homework when there's a new Justin Bieber album out? She'll love this tee that just as cute and sassy as she is."

After Twitter went utterly and completely bugshit over it, J.C. Penney discontinued the shirt, but the point is - IT MADE IT ONTO THE WEBSITE. This was marketed to young girls.

If it didn't result in so many people being furious at the store, I'd assume J.C. Penney (who, let's face it, really isn't super-hip or buzzed about at the moment) had done this in a trolly, "it will get people talking and any publicity is good publicity" way. And maybe they did? They seem like they're run by old people. And maybe old people think "Oh, the Tweeter! We have to get people Twitting about us on the Tweeter. This will do it!" I don't know. It doesn't seem like this could be for real, does it? I mean, this looks like a joke t-shirt. Like something you'd see on a super-ironic hipster, or a homeless person who found it in a dumpster.

We had Teen Talk Barbie in the 90's with her "Math class is tough!" and we have Maggie Goes on a Diet coming out in October which is rumored to encourage our teenage girls right into eating disorders and, in real life, we had my freshman year science teacher, when I had trouble understanding a concept and had asked for further help with it, telling me not to bother - "Girls don't have a brain that's wired to understand science" and my Physics teacher, a few years later, telling me a variant on the same thing: "Physics is for boys; it's ok that you didn't do as well on the test, because you're a girl, and physics is too hard for girls."

Stand still, young girls. Look pretty, young girls. Be quiet, young girls. Smile big, young girls. Don't fight, young girls. Don't try, young girls. Don't worry, young girls. Be perfect, young girls. Be nothing, young girls. Be empty, young girls. Don't bother, young girls.

Young women of the world: society is going to continue to put you down. It is up to you to fight that. Guess what? You are just as capable as a young man of doing well in school. You are just as capable as a young man of doing well in stereotypically MALE courses - math, science, computer science, effing WOOD SHOP, if that still even exists? - as a young man. Until we no longer accept things like this, they will keep happening.

Also, Justin Bieber? Really? Sigh.

Now, to balance out the negative: two things that are shiny-awesome:

First: hope for a new generation.

Banned Book week is fast approaching, and we'll discuss that more when it gets here, but I found this the other day and it just made my heart soar.

There are kids who are making a difference out there. There are kids like this one who are running an illegal banned-book library out of an empty school locker. (And, even better? She didn't include Twilight in her secret library. You know, because it isn't literature. I love this kid.) She's probably going to get caught, but you know what? She did it. She believed in something and she did something about it. This kind of kid is the reason I don't completely despair about the state of society. Her parents are raising her right, too. I don't want kids? But I'd want this one.

Second: Red State.

As mentioned in the past, I'm a huge Kevin Smith fan. His new movie, Red State, is out on VOD this week, so last night, when I couldn't sleep, I rented it and watched it.

It's not a typical Kevin Smith movie, first off. There are Kevin Smith touches - dialogue is dense, well-written and crisp; monologues are typical Smith (which some people might hate, and he can be a bit heavy-handed, but I love them); camera work is beautiful (which may not as much be Smith as the cinematographer? I have a theater background where it's all the director, so I'm not sure.) 

It's not a comedy, though. I'll try not to be too spoilery, but if you want to remain completely spoiler-free, probably go to your barbecue now?

At heart, it's a thriller. Three boys are lured into a cult-like fanatic religion and the ATF shows up on rumors of automatic weaponry being amassed. It's upsetting. Really, really upsetting. Bloody and gory-upsetting, yes, but crazy fanatacism upsetting, which I find scarier any day than clowns or zombies or creepy children jumping out from behind things with knives.

The cult leader is based on that nutbar Phelps from the Westboro Baptist Church (but ISN'T him, as Phelps is actually mentioned by one of the law-enforcement officers.) And if you think Phelps hates homosexuality...wait until you meet this guy. You might think it's over-the-top - but it's not, not really. There are people like this. And that's horrifying. It frightened me to the point of tears.

The violence is realistic and very bloody. If you have an issue with that, don't watch it. There's a little humor, but not much. Lots of stars - Kevin Alejandro from True Blood, John Goodman, Melissa Leo, Kevin Pollack, apparently Marc Blucas but I never saw him or recognized him, Kyle Gallner from Veronica Mars, Stephen Root, Betty Aberlin from Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, Jennifer Schwalbach. 

It wasn't what I was expecting at all - but it was very powerful. And very upsetting. I recommend it. But don't go into it expecting it to be like anything you've seen from Kevin Smith before.

Happy Labor Day, all! Enjoy the day off. Barbecues! Alcoholic beverages! End of summer! Last day for white pants! (I can't imagine even owning white pants. That would be such a mistake. Can you IMAGINE the things I would spill on them? Disaster! Waiting to happen!)

The Pursuit of Happiness. Where do you think you're going? GET BACK HERE HAPPINESS.

I was informed recently that someone is no longer going to read my blog because “you’re so angry.” At first, this was kind of sad, and I thought, probably I should start posting rainbow unicorn kitten toddlers or whatever it is that society deems “cheerful.”

This came up when I Googled “pictures of something cheerful.” This is a PHOTO FAIL. No one wants cupcakes or cookies like this. Why would you do this to cake? Cake means no one any harm. Cake is your friend. Cake just wants to love you! Well, I suppose if you ate scads of cake, you would get fat, but that’s not cake’s fault, that’s your own fault, don’t go blaming cake for that. Cake doesn’t want to be turned into something evil like this! Mean! This is just mean! And full of trickery! Like, you’d say to someone, “hey, want some cake?” And they’d be so excited! Cake! And then you’d give them this? No. That’s a betrayal. The worst kind, too. A dessert betrayal. You don’t just bounce back from one of those.

First, let me just address one thing. If you think every single thing I say on here is completely true, well, that’s so nice! And how do you manage to make it through every single day without falling victim to various tricks and traps that the world has set for you? I don’t know that anyone, anywhere, is 100% truthful on their blogs. There are things I leave out, because listen, I don’t think most of you are looking for a trail of breadcrumbs so you can find my place and be waiting for me one night under my bed with a straightrazor? But who knows, really. So I’m not giving you directions to where I live, you know? Similarly, I’m not using people’s real names, because that’s rude and I can’t afford any sort of lawsuit. And, finally – and take a deep breath, because this one’s going to hurt – are you ready? Really? Are you sure?

Sometimes I exaggerate for effect.

I know. I’m sorry. Did I just blow you mind a little? Here’s the thing. One of the things I hate most in the world is being bored. Therefore, I assume you hate that, as well. Be honest: if you had a choice between a blog entry starting with one of these two sentences, which would you choose?

“I was driving home from work today and I saw they’d started construction on the new police barracks”

OR

“I was driving home from work today and I saw they’d started construction on the new police barracks, which made me wonder if my drive home from work was going to be fraught with po-po on every corner from now on, and listen, sometimes I’m not on my A-game on my drive home from work, and I’m a little distracted what with being sprung from the fifth circle of Hell, and awesome after-work tunes on the radio, so I’m bopping along in my sauna of a car that’s been sitting in the sun all day looking like a deranged sweaty escaped lunatic, so probably I’ll be writing this from jail once the barracks is completed, please send cigarettes and stamps.”

I guess some of you might choose the first sentence, although I do have to wonder why those people are reading my blog, because there aren’t too many sentences as straight-forward as that here. The second sentence (despite being a run-on – yes, I know it’s a run-on, I majored in English, thank you very much, it’s a run-on for dramatic effect, that’s a thing, it’s allowed) is more fun. And it’s more me. I go off on tangents. Sometimes they’re angry tangents. Am I really as angry as I’m portraying? Well, yes, sometimes I am, I suppose. But sometimes it’s funnier to say “I wanted to use my ninja skillzzz to punch him in the neck” as opposed to “he mildly perturbed me.” So listen. Not to send my meeeeeellions of readers off in a tizzy of “liar liar,” here, but I exaggerate. ‘Tis true. And I’m pretty sure you’ll find most of the humorous blogs you read do the same thing. Because as much as we wish a clown car of awesome would unload blog content in front of us on a daily basis, it just doesn’t happen. (NOT REAL CLOWNS. METAPHOR CLOWNS. UGH.)  Sometimes? You have to use your brain and come up with some of your own.

But! Out of respect for those of you (if there are any still here, I suppose) who are upset I am too “angry,” I went to a very nice website today called 1000 Awesome Things. You know it is nice because there is a pretty landscape photo on the top. These are things that make people happy! And so I thought we could discuss them! Won’t that be nice? I TOTALLY CAN BE NICE. AND ALSO HAPPY.

#995 Finding money you didn’t even know you lost. OK! This is a nice way to start out. This makes me happy. This often happens to me when I put on a winter coat for the first time when it’s started to get cold out again in the fall. I’ll pop my hands in the pockets and bam! I find a dollar bill, or something. That’s nice! A nice, happy thing.

#964 The day when you first realize you can drive. Happy! Although I was given permission to drive before I could actually do so in a safe fashion. I obtained my driver’s license through trickery. I failed the first time, because I cannot parallel park. Also because the guy giving me my test was an ass and mean and took points off because I drove too slowly in a 30 MPH zone. I drove 28 in a 30 and he was so up-in-arms about that. Seriously? I would think that driving slowly and cautiously though an AREA where CHILDREN ARE is a GOOD THING. So the next time I went back, I wore a very low-cut top and a mini-skirt and I giggled a lot and had a different test proctor and I bent forward a lot so he got a good look at the girls and poof, I passed. Sure, this is not something a person should technically be proud of? But I got my license. There’s no rule on the books that says you can’t use all of your assets to your full advantage when you’re a nubile 17-year-old. (Side note – I still can’t parallel park. I will seriously park a mile away from where I need to be and walk rather than even try to parallel park. I have depth perception issues. But you know what I rock? Three-point turns. Bam! ONE! TWO! THREE! Awesome at them.)

#841 When the categories on Jeopardy are right in your wheelhouse. I love this. This is the best. My favorite is when there are, right in a row, categories like “Broadway Musicals,” “Horror Novels,” “State Capitals,” “Commonly Misspelled Words,” “Pork Products,” and “Saturday Night Live Actors.” Because this I can do. Not a sports or history or date category in the bunch. I’ve GOT this. An addendum to this: this is even better when you happen to be watching it with people who don’t know you very well. You look BRILLIANT. They look at you like you are a GOLDEN GODDESS. (Side note: I will, one day, be on Jeopardy. I’ve auditioned three times, once in person, twice online. And dammit, I’m not going to die without having the chance to face down Trebek. I refuse.)

#828 Remembering what movie that guy is from. I’m excellent at this. Even better, I’m excellent at it with very little info. I delighted my coworker the other day when she said, “That guy! You know. The one? With the scar. Who I like? Adventurous.” And I said, without hesitating, even though we’d never discussed him, “Harrison Ford.” I like figuring it out, and I like helping others do the same.

#709 Waking up to the smell of sizzling bacon. There is nothing that is not perfect about this. NOTHING. You know what would make it more perfect? If you didn’t have to get out of bed to eat it, and if your current flame brought it to you while you were still all comfy-cozy under the covers. Bacon & blankets & boyfriend. And then maybe some boning, because let’s be honest, bacon in bed is a total aphrodisiac. Yes, please.

#691 When you flip to a radio station just as a song you love is starting. Coincidentally, this happened just last night when I was driving home. For some reason, my favorite radio station during the day turns into crazytown at night. Like, experimental jazz, and one time, some song about candy bars that was dirty, like “I put my Baby Ruth into her Kit Kat and she said Oh, Henry.” I can’t listen to that without wanting a shower or to gouge my eardrums out with paperclips, so I flip around aimlessly on my drive home when I’m out at night. Sometimes I find Delilah. I like Delilah because her callers are sad sacks and she is clueless to their needs. “I have 14 kids and we live in a shack and have no running water, can you play something for me, Delilah?” and then Delilah will play “Groovy Kind of Love” for no apparent reason. But last night, the retro station, when I flipped there, was playing the New Kids on the Block’s “Hangin’ Tough.” And you bet your ASS I turned that up and rocked out. I know ALL of the lyrics to that. My first concert was the New Kids. Before that NKoTB crap, too. With my first real boyfriend. I know! Totally romantic. Until he broke up with me just before Valentine’s Day because he thought one of my best friends was interested in him and then she wasn’t but we were still broken up and that kind of sucked but was best in the long run because that growth spurt I always was hoping he’d have? Didn’t. He’s still like 5’4 and I’m pretty sure that you don’t get a growth spurt when you’re in your mid-thirties. This story wasn’t really going anywhere so if you’re hanging on for some moral or something, you’re kind of out of luck. “Don’t cross our path ‘cause you’re GONNA get STOMPED!”

#412 The air just before a thunderstorm. I’m 99% sure, in another life, I was someone who worked outdoors, because I am like a barometer, and I just come alive when there’s about to be a storm. When I lived out west, the best thing ever was monsoon season. Sideways rain. The sky turned maroon and mauve and orange and pink and purple. The air was just charged with electricity and excitement. And it smelled so goddamn good you just wanted to go outside and eat it all up.

#366 Little kids showing you their muscles. A kid I knew once came up to me and asked me, in perfect seriousness, if I had purchased tickets to the gun show. (Shut up if you know where this is going. I didn’t at the time.) I of course said, “What gun show?” And he made a muscle and said, “This gun show! You’re gonna need a ticket to look at THESE guns!” I laughed so hard I snorted. Yes, it’s kind of dumb. But that kid SOLD it. Props, kiddo.

#328 The smell of a library. If they could bottle this (minus, I suppose, the sweaty smell of some of the people standing in line sometimes – please, please, deodorant? It’s not too much to ask, and there are coupons, often. Here! I will give you one. It is MY PLEASURE!) I would wear it like perfume on a regular basis. Old paper and history. That is the smell of the library.

And I’m adding one of my own – sorry, list, but if you think “All of the things that come out of a pig” and “Pain” are things that are awesome, and this isn’t on there, well, maybe you’re not as awesome as you think you are? Hmm? Think on that awhile!

#Eleventy-oneth: The feeling in the pit of your stomach right before a show you’ve worked on starts. You put a lot of time into it; you know it’s good; now it’s time to share it with people. It’s a completely indescribable feeling. It’s a little like the butterflies you get when you realize you’re falling in love and a little like the nausea you get when you’re about to move to a new town where you don’t know anyone but you know it’s the best thing you can do.

There. SEE? I am not completely and totally filled with hatred. Also? I really, really like cheese. Almost all types of cheese. And office supplies, especially pencils. And snapdragons. And how my nephew says my name, now that he relates my name as an abstract to me as a person. And you! And you, blog reader. I totally dig you. Except if you’re annoying, or one of those people who has no respect for personal space? Then we’re through.

That Kind of Girl

Last week, a Twitter friend posted a link to this article saying he approved of it, and agreed with it.

My first thought, embarrassingly enough, was shame. Because I related to the woman she’s calling out in the article. Because I am the woman she’s calling out in the article, to some extent. I may not meet all of the criteria, but the basic bones of that woman are mine. My self-esteem, irreparably damaged by years of bullying, is still not strong enough to stand up to an attack. “Oh,” I thought. “Oh, everything I love is wrong. Everything I thought I loved is just what society is telling me to love because I am angling to get a man. Oh. Look how weak I’ve been, how infantilized, without even knowing it. This woman is a real woman, so she must know.”

Then I slept on it. And I woke up enraged. Because we Etsy-loving, Converse-wearing women, who are all cutesy-cute and twee? We are also capable of rage. And it does not come out as rainbows and kittens and sunshine.

Who the hell is this woman, to tell me what I like is wrong, to tell me that what I enjoy is society trying to make me into a little girl? Who made her God(dess) of all things? Who put her in charge of feminism, and told her that her way is the only right way? That sounds a lot like dictatorship to me, actually.

Here are the things, in case you didn’t click through, that Ms. Klausner says are not proper for a “real” woman (with stars after the ones I especially enjoy):

Ukuleles, cotton candy, bunny rabbits*, Whoopie pies*, craft fairs*, kitten ephemera, shopping on Etsy* (shopping on Etsy is economically intelligent, supports small business, and you get one-of-a-kind jewelry. What exactly is there to dislike about this? Because she mentions it a number of times. Did an Etsian TP her house or something?), Converse sneakers* with mini skirts, birds*, tattoos that you won’t grow into (the illustration was a perfectly normal rabbit tattoo, actually classier than most, so I’m not sure what this meant), women with Masters Degrees searching for life partners (I’m not starring this, but I do have a Masters Degree, and I guess a life partner would be ok?) , rainbows* (who the hell doesn’t like rainbows?), Girl Scout Cookies* (again, everyone likes these), laughing a lot*(um, Julie Klausner, it’s like you HATE AMERICA), rompers, Skittles Sours, glittery lip gloss, lip gloss that tastes like Dr. Pepper*(shut UP JULIE KLAUSNER, Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers = the best lip gloss in the world), LA Noire, frozen yogurt*, pigtails*, Ring Pops

And here are the things that she insists you must do, as a “real” woman:

Read something written before you were born, stand up straight, own one piece of jewelry you didn’t buy on Etsy, use capital letters in an email to a guy you want to date, let the guy take you on a real date (rather than a walk or to play Xbox), go out with a friend for wine, watch a movie with no early-90’s nostalgic appeal

There are a couple of good points made here. Rompers are only good if you are under the age of two, and, yes, please, for the love of all that’s holy, read something written before you were born! Stand up straight! Use capital letters (and punctuation! And grammar!)

But don’t tell me I’m infantilizing myself if I like these things. Don’t tell me I’m less of a woman if I do, or that I’m doing them to get a man (because hey, if I am? Spoiler alert: IT’S NOT WORKING.)

Upon the re-read, I came across this sentence, which stood out to me:

“Not that his idea of you should influence your style, or your sense of self-worth. But I feel like in a way, it already sort of has?”

OK, HIS idea of you shouldn’t influence your style, or sense of worth. But HER idea of you – Julie Klausner’s idea of you – should influence you. Because she is the feminist ideal. She is what you should aspire to be. She is right, and you are wrong, and silly, and what you like is infantile and juvenile and all kinds of incorrect, so shame, shame on you for thinking you liked it because you have personal choice in the matter. You chose what you like because society molded your childish little brain into thinking you should like those things, and also to get a man, not because you like it. Because you are stupid, and you are weak, and you are not a real woman. Not if you like these things, you're not.

So listen. Most of my jewelry comes from Etsy. I own more pairs of Converse than any other type of shoe, although I’ve stopped wearing them as often because they’re aren’t as comfortable as they used to be. I have a tattoo – I like to think I didn’t need to grow into it, because I chose it, I designed it, and it rides my shoulder proudly as the first thing I did for myself when I moved out of my home state years ago.  I own more Lip Smackers than lipstick, because I’m too pale to carry off lipstick without looking like I’m trying to play dress up (and failing).

And I laugh. A LOT. More than I cry, actually. And you know who makes me laugh the most? Other women. Who don’t fit Ms. Klausner’s ideal mold. Who are quirky and intelligent and flawed and absolutely the most amazing people. I wouldn’t trade a single one of these women in for this elusive ideal, this boring, stodgy, ideal woman who apparently wears K-Mart jewelry, doesn’t laugh, drinks too much, watches foreign films, and reads no modern literature. I’ll take my women, my brilliant, pigtailed, Girl-Scout-cookie-eating, stuffed-animal-owning, anime-watching, video-game playing kindred spirits. And we’ll laugh - a lot. Because we’re perfect, just the way we are. And we don’t need anyone to tell us otherwise.

"The universal social pressure upon women to be all alike, and do all the same things, and to be content with identical restrictions, has resulted...in terrible suffering in the lives of exceptional women..." --Anna Garlin Spencer