I am part of the demographic that idolizes Tina Fey.
Maybe “idolizes” isn’t quite the word, but I know there are a lot of women who see a lot of themselves in Liz Lemon, her semi-autobiographical 30 Rock character. In Liz we see someone who cracks jokes to mask her insecurity. Someone whose best efforts not to embarrass herself always end in humiliation. Someone whose desires to be a successful and “liberated” woman clash with her biological clock. Someone who really has no idea how to apply eyeliner. And so on. And people like me are grateful to Ms. Fey for letting us know that we’re not alone. Because we’re all a little bit neurotic.
Which is why I have mixed feelings about this month’s issue of Esquire, the cover of which features Tina Fey handcuffed to a cop and “TINA GONE WILD: A Hard Night Out with America’s Funniest Woman.”
“The idea of the photo shoot is something like my wild night out. The irony being that I don’t do that. I got an e-mail [from Esquire] with a list of the potential setups, and my e-mail back was like, Well, I need to decline being handcuffed to a bed. I won’t straddle anyone. I won’t make out with a cop. There are certain things, I totally get them as a premise. And they’re all good fun, and if I were a young single model, they would be appropriate, but, you know, I’m a mom. And my kid’s going to find this someday. I don’t want to be handcuffed to a bed in Esquire. What are you nuts? I’m not going to make out with a cop that I’m handcuffed to. I got to get my kid into kindergarten. I guess that’s more of a Montessori way of learning, when they handcuff you to things.”
But when I look at the pictures, I don’t really see the irony. Reason being: it’s a magazine for dudes. Sure it’s not on the same level as Maxim (a magazine that keeps appearing in my mailbox, gratis, despite numerous cancellation requests). But isn’t Tina Fey beautiful enough without needing to be thrown into these forced-looking Sexy Party Lady situations in goin-clubbin’ makeup? Yeah, she looks smokin’ hot and all… but she looks completely unlike herself.
For example:
esquire.com
I mean, what the hell is this? This is Esquire’s idea of irony? What about this photo invokes anything about the woman it depicts? A taxidermied fox? Really?
The dramatic makeup, the sexyface™ – her recent Vogue cover looks au naturel compared to this. And Vogue distorts women’s appearances – during and after photoshoots – to the point that they’re practically unrecognizable.
And don’t even get me started on the airbrushing. Particularly on the cover. Did they juxtapose “TINA” with “SEXIEST” that way to imply that she is the sexiest? Or that they made her sexy, as though she wasn’t before? (Yes, we people who arrange words on paper do think about these things.)
But then I think “Well, she posed for the photos. Maybe she even cleared them for press. Obviously she doesn’t have a problem with it.” And I wonder, “Am I projecting? Do these photos bother me because they contradict perceptions I rely on for self-validation? DO I NEED THERAPY?”
This story is totally ridiculous. Lindsay Lohan is suing E-Trade for $100 million because the baby in the latest (and funniest) talking baby ad is named Lindsay and the fact that she is a “milkaholic” is defamatory. I didn’t think it was about her when I first saw the ads. Heck, the idea didn’t even cross my mind. But now that you mention it, LiLo…
With my iPhone, this blog, my Twitter and Facebook accounts, and now this handy little guy, I like to fancy myself as something of a citizen journalist. Of course, I’m a journalist “by training,” so says my diploma – but I always preferred the reporting part to the information-gathering part. In other words, I hated interviewing.
But if I happen to witness something I get a big rush from being the one who gets to put it out there, like when the fabric store near my house burned down and my pictures were on Twitter before any news crews made the scene.
Friday night our search for a bar to replace Dish as our weekend hangout led us to the Bayou, which has a laid-back atmosphere, big TVs and some pretty legit gumbo. I went in to order while Brian stayed outside and talked to some people he knew. A few minutes went by, and he called me to say he’d walked across the street to check out the fire at Sidestreet. So I ran out there with my little Flip cam and took some video. And I tweeted what was going on.
And yes, I concede that it is a little weird that I’ve been witness to two serious blazes in the past year. I guess I’m just lucky.
Anyway, I got a call Monday from a reporter from one of the local television stations who’d seen my video on Facebook and wondered if they could use it and if I maybe could give a soundbite. So I did. And I won’t again.
The whole thing just made me a little sad. Not because the bar’s gone – I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been there. I just couldn’t help thinking back to my j-school days, going back and forth with video-averse professors.
“They have the upper hand on us, because they can distribute news immediately. We have to wait ’til the next morning.”
“BUT they don’t have time to interview and fact-check – we get more time to build a stronger story.”
And now the guys who used to have the “upper hand” are asking lil’ ole’ me if they can use some video I posted on my Facebook page and get some quotes – three days later.
It’s just easier to carry on as a roving news vigilante than it is to suppress all my pie-in-the-sky HOPES! for the POTENTIAL! for news organizations if they just EMBRACE THESE NEW METHODS! when I get too close to the “pros.”
Because talking about it’s a lot easier than doing it. I think that applies to, well, everything in life. It’s freakin’ frustrating.
For those keeping score at home, this guy not only
cheated on his cancer-stricken wife
conceived an illegitimate child
had an aide cover up the whole affair by claiming paternity
but… wait for it…
MADE A SEX TAPE?
“There was one tape that was marked ‘special,’” Andrew Young told ABC News’ Bob Woodruff in an exclusive interview, describing his discovery of a tape in Hunter’s trash. “It’s a sex tape of Rielle and John Edwards made just a couple of months before the Iowa caucuses.”
This guy could have been our President. Instead he is the official spokesmodel for Bad Idea Jeans. All I can say is… wow.
I really wish I could be surprised about what’s going on in Tiger Woods’ life right now, but I can’t seem to find it in me. Throughout ESPN’s constant interruption of my Thanksgiving-weekend sports watching all I could think about was how stupid he, his wife, his PR people and the Entertainment-Sports Complex must think we are. Because I can’t be the only one who thinks “OK, bullshit” when some Sportscenter zombie tells me one of the richest people on the planet ran his car into a damn tree AND a fire hydrant and “no foul play was involved.”
God forbid, someone as perfect and vaunted as Tiger Woods would drive drunk at 2 am. That would make him too much like the rest of us plebs who make stupid decisions. Only it turns out Mr. Golf Wunderkind/Racial Barrier Breaker/All-Around Saint is a philanderer. And a fairly unscrupulous one at that. And I hate it for his wife and their adorable exotic-looking babies with the precious All-American names, who, as paid as they’ll soon be, are victims of this insane crushing celebrity albatross that “society” has wrought.
This is what happens when you tell a man for most of his life that he can have everything he wants. Maybe at first he’ll doubt you, he’ll say “Everything? Surely not.” But the more you give him, the more he will believe that’s true. And then he will start to take everything he wants. And this is why a wife – even a stunning Swedish supermodel – isn’t enough. Why Rachel Uchitel lined up a stable of skanks (come on, they’re skanks) for Tiger to use at his disposal.
All day I’ve been comparing this to what happened to Steve McNair and thinking about how lucky Tiger is that one of his flings wasn’t crazy enough to do something drastic. Perhaps Tiger was just more straightforward, better at managing expectations. We’ll never know. The point is, as despicable as these behaviors are, we are enabling them. Maybe if we stopped treating celebrities like they’re a species above human, they’ll stop thinking they are. And I’m not just talking about infidelity. I’m talking about DUI and domestic assault and traffic tickets and theft and being polite to waitresses.
Besides entertainers, athletes, and maybe politicians to a lesser extent, who do we put on a pedestal for being talented? Who gets the red carpet rolled out everywhere he goes for being good at something? Heck, I’m good at a few things; I just haven’t found a way to parlay those talents into a million-dollar enterprise. Until then I guess I can’t expect a cop to pull me over for speeding and say “I’d give anybody else a ticket, but you are just so good at making graphs in Adobe Illustrator. I am a huge fan of your horrible puns and your lunch blog. Have a nice day and drive safe.”
I know sad tales of young college grads struggling to find work “in this economy” (if I had a nickel for each time I heard that phrase at work, I could retire today) are trendy right now, but the coddling and glorification of bad decisions has got to stop. First I heard a story about a woman who was suing her university because she couldn’t find a job. Then I read this profile of these twins who apparently thought Sex and the City was a damndocumentary in the New York Times and… well, see for yourself.
…the brassy, effervescent Barry twins, 24, always envisioned their young adulthood in New York City as a lush time of stimulating work, picturesque travel and a rich social orbit. …
She works as a bartender, three nights a week, at Dive 75 on West 75th Street, making about $800 a week. Katie had been working at another bar, but was fired in June after landing in Cancun to begin a vacation. Her boss said she played the music too loud. …
Could they not have found someone who’s actually struggling for this story? For one thing, if you make $800 for three days of work weekly, you’re not unemployed. You just aren’t doing what you want to do, which makes you no different from the millions of people all over the world who hate their jobs. I know plenty of people who would love to take in $3200 a month. Obviously it’s enough to afford a trip to Cancun so what is the problem here?And why not try, oh, I don’t know, looking for work outside of New York? Maybe with a less-dense population and a lower cost of living? And most importantly – available jobs?
Nobody owes you a job just because you graduated from college. Or because you’re cute and blonde, for that matter. People discover their degrees are useless when the economy’s good, too. You just take what you can get. Go ahead and keep looking but don’t expect people to pity you because you’re not at your dream job. But you know the saddest thing is – somebody at the Times thought they were captivating enough to profile, so it’s only a matter of time before E! gives them a reality show.
Just what message is the London Fog company sending by airbrushing Gisele Bundchen’s pregnant belly out of the photos in this ad campaign?
I can think of a few. First, you obviously can’t sell anything without working a naked woman in there somewhere. But more troubling is the promotion of this idea that pregnancy is something to be ashamed of and hide – even if you’re one of the most beautiful women in the world. If you watch the video of the photoshoot, she’s barely showing. You know, if they just tied the damn coat at the waist like people do when they actually wear trenchcoats you probably wouldn’t even be able to tell that she has a little Bundchen in the oven. Maybe I’d be more inclined to buy London Fog’s marketing director’s claim that the airbrushing was to protect her privacy if she wasn’t, you know, practically naked. Props to Gisele for working through her pregnancy, but she’d probably be setting a better example for women if London Fog didn’t erase all the evidence. Yes, ladies, it is ok to gain weight while you are expecting. In fact, most doctors encourage it.
I was going to write a post about how Flight of the Conchords are playing in Nashville at the Ryman April 10, how that’s on a Friday, and how I’m going to go and it’ll be totally awesome.
But then I read this post on Jezebel about the woman in California who recently gave birth to octuplets (for you viewers at home, that’s eight babies at the same time) and my feelings on the issue take up far more than the 140 characters Twitter allows.
Now, I am pro-choice so I respect her decision to decline “selective reduction,” although I find it slightly hypocritical. And I don’t agree with the eugenic practice of limiting the number of children a family can have.
But a bunch of other issues involved have me asking: WHAT?
A lot of my friends have kids. Some are single, some have partners, but the one thing I am sure that they can agree on is that raising a child is difficult. Infants require nearly undivided attention. Hell, most kids are practically indecipherable until they’re like three years old. The crying starts, and then the guessing game: “Are you hungry? Are you sleepy? Do you need a clean diaper? Are you gassy? What the hell is wrong with you? By God, speak English already!”
Imagine that mulitiplied by eight, paired with a new question: “Which one are you again?” Now imagine doing that by yourself. Now imagine caring for those eight babies, plus a seven-year-old, a six-year-old, a five-year-old, a three-year-old, and two-year-old twins. There aren’t enough hours in a day to give each child the attention he or she needs. When do you go to work? How can you pay for anything but childcare? What about health care, because multiples have greater health risks? How are you helping your five- and-six- year-olds learn to read? Your two- and three- year-olds potty train? What about when it’s time for them to go to college?
Now I’m sure said woman’s parents are more than willing to help. My grandparents helped my parents out when I was wee, and I’m sure when I have kids, both sides will offer up whatever assistance they can give. But there has to be a limit. My mom’s had to deal with me and/or my sister under her roof for going-on 26 years now. I like to think that once my sister graduates college and moves out, my folks will get to start living for themselves again. I would like for them to stand back, dust their hands off and say, “Call me if you need anything, but…my work here is done.” I wouldn’t dare be so selfish to expect my mother and father to welcome even one baby into their home – much six or eight or 14 – if I have proven myself so unable to be self-sufficient that I have to live with them. And if I did, my mom would be like “Bitch are you nuts?”
Here’s what really gets me though:
What doctor says, “Well, you’re not married, no partner, you live with your parents, you’ve got six kids under the age of ten, SURE I’LL GIVE YOU FERTILITY TREATMENTS!”? That sounds like a GREAT idea! We’ll give you a show on TLC and you’ll be set for life!
Or Mariah Carey is an idiot. For the record, I lean toward the latter.
Here’s a picture of Mariah in Japan, via A Socialite’s Life. Click for the full-sized image:
In case you can’t read it, that thing she’s signing says “I’ll Be Lovin’ U Long Time.” Has nobody in Japan ever seen “Full Metal Jacket?” You know, that movie that established “Me love you long time” as the official catchphrase of stereotypical Asian hookers? Am I the only person who finds this just a teensy bit offensive?
Today it was announced that in June, Rent will be closing on Broadway, after a 12-year run.
In light of this announcement I feel that it is time, finally, to get something off my chest.
When I was in high school I was, among other things, a thespian. Every year, the department organized a trip to New York City for spring break. We’d do the Ellis Island thing, skate in Central Park, shop a lot, eat copious amounts of Italian food, cheesecake and bagels, and see a bunch of shows. We saw Blue Man Group both years, which was cool, because this was before they did the Intel commercials and everyone knew who they were. Junior year we saw Amadeus, Phantom of the Opera, and the Lion King. Senior year, we saw Seussical, Kiss Me Kate, and as you may have guessed, Rent.
All the other theatre nerds were so excited. A couple alums even came on the trip to “chaperone” because they had seen it two years prior and loved it that much.
As for me, I was just hoping seeing it live onstage would prove me wrong. Because I tried to listen to friends’ copies of the soundtrack and I thought it was the goofiest thing I’d ever heard. Walking out of the theatre, I concluded that it was also the goofiest thing I’d ever seen.
Yes, it’s true. I hate Rent.
I’m not a musical hater; in fact, my favorite plays (Cabaret and Kiss Me Kate! if you must know) are musicals. Aside from the Puccini influence I hate everything about Rent. I hated the dialogue, I hated the songs, I hated the set and the costumes, and most of all I hated our director’s “roommate” (I mean, who did they think they were fooling, anyway?) reciting all the words along with the actors, whom I also hated. Of course afterward all my friends were all “Wasn’t that awesome? Didn’t you love it Jen?” and I was like “Yeeeeeeah, it was… great….” Well I hated it. I hated it the whole time.
And that’s all I’m going to say about it. Good night, Rent.
