Repress Yourself

Tired of paying hundreds of dollars in therapy? Fed up with prescription pill addictions and office furniture couch-sores? Has your psychologist stopped seeing you since you made a pass at him? Or maybe you're an amateur analyst and are looking for a chance to gain experience as an advice columnist. Bloggers: substitute these posts for therapy sessions and readers: comment away.

29 November 2005

Clean and Bright

Last week I heard on NPR a special on the anniversary of the release of "The Sound of Music" as I was getting ready for work. And they played a snippet of "Edelweiss." And my eyes started watering to the point where a bit of my mascara ran.

The thing is, there is no reason for this. I have not lost anybody recently who it would remind me of (and I'm sorry, Darci.) The movie has never really meant anything special to me. I am not suffering postpartum depression.

This is pretty much me. I cry about once every three years, but I get choked up, constantly, for no reason.

That's all I got today. That, and I am wearing a hat made out of tinfoil to keep the government's rays from entering my brain.

21 November 2005

these foolish things

It's weird how memories work.

You know how you have specific memories tied to events and songs and things that don't make sense?

When I was in high school I lived at a lake and one day I was driving around with a friend of mine and we were singing along with the radio to Dude Looks Like a Lady. It only happened once. It's not like that was a favorite song - it was just a random event.

Then I was in Texas a few weeks ago and went to the lake where I used to live. And I was in the car, and we turned a corner and I saw this one house that that I've driven by a million times, including the one time that I was randomly singing Aerosmith with my friend one day a hundred years ago. And as we drove by, I immediately started singing Dude Looks Like A Lady in my head. Because of the one random time that that happened 15 years ago.

It seems my memory of a house I've driven by a million times is forever tied to a random, and not even significant event that occurred once. And no one, not even my friend who was in the car singing along, would understand why.

Last night I saw Steve Martin playing banjo on TV and I started crying because it made me think of my dad who just died. Because the first time I ever watched SNL I was 4 and Steve Martin was hosting and my dad was excited to see it, and he told my brother and I all about Steve Martin and how funny he was. And he let us stay up late to watch it. And Steve Martin played the banjo. And we watched SNL every week after that. And so now when I think of Steve Martin playing banjo, I remember my dad letting me stay up late to watch him on TV. And I started crying.

Then I started laughing because I'm retarded.

17 November 2005

Everyone Else Likes Sex Too

RE: Blowjob literature

I agree that all these books about women and all the sex they are having is kind of wack. Without getting all meta-feminist about it, the idea of women’s empowerment seems kind of watered down lately.

If you, as a woman, make your own choices and define your own sexuality on your own terms, you’re all empowered. Of course, if you, as a woman, act in a self-destructive manner, make unwise choices, or adopt the entire buffet of male-dominant, frat-boy, corporate degradation as your modus operandi, you’re STILL empowered. Essentially, anything a woman does without being forced at gunpoint is “empowering”.

“I refuse to accept the roles society has set for me as a woman by making my own choices about my identity, my career choices, and my personal social relationships. I’m empowered!”

“I choose to be a stripper and reverse the course of the dominance and oppression of the male gaze by owning my own sexuality. I also subvert the role of capitalism in the commodification of sex by making lots of dough. I have a vibrator. I’m empowered!”

“I chose to work all day perpetuating wealth inequity at an investment bank, and then go out to bars wearing a t-shirt that questions the intelligence of other women, get drunk and act exactly how Maxim magazine has conditioned all these overpaid office workers to expect a woman to act, and then give one of them a blowjob in the restroom. I’m empowered!”

I’ll buy the first one, in the classic feminist sense, and I’ll even buy the second one, in a Second-Wave, “the sistahs are doing it for themselves” kind of way. But you see my point. There appears to be an unlimited supply of women, at least in midtown Manhattan, the cultural home of ‘Sex & the City’, for whom any act whatsoever, from marriage to buying a box of envelopes at the drug store, qualifies as a bold, kick-ass blow against the patriarchy. Girls rule! I’ll take three of these $4 cups of coffee, please. Take THAT, oppressors!

I guess this kind of griping is more of a critique of consumerism and its ability to absorb and cheapen any expression of the human condition (see also: feminism, songs about heroin, punk rock, war, etc.). Or maybe I am just crabby.

16 November 2005

My Guiltiest Pleasure

I just realized what time it is: its the time of the year when dated, made-for-TV Christmas movies play at all times, day and night. Hooray!!

You know the ones: the overworked publishing exec who hasn't got time for a boyfriend is visited by the invisible spirit of her younger self... At first she's annoyed and tries not to look too crazy in front of other people, but soon she realizes all the things she's been missing out on, and stands up to her boss, or stops stealing ideas from her assistant, or whatever. And the guy whose book she's editing goes from the most annoying man ever to Mr. Right. And then she calls her brother on Christmas, and instead of him telling her to go fuck herself, he lets her come over for dinner.

Or some old man is ruining Christmas for an entire town until a little girl touches his heart and he decides to forego the billion dollars in profit he was counting on and instead, buys her a pony. And his son marries her Mom.

It's basically always a modern-day, Lifetime network A Christmas Carol, but with D-list actors and commericals. And they're all the same. "Will there still be a Christmas this year, Mommy?"

I'm writing one where Jared Leto is going around town, giving all the young girls HIV. Then a judge sentences him to intern for Juliette Lewis's organization which has finally raised enough money to travel to the North Pole, find Santa Claus, and convince him to cure AIDS.

The scene where he breaks down in the barn is so killer. Rudolph nuzzles his tears, and Leto finally realizes that he doesn't want to die.

10 November 2005

Opposize it!

Today I started a conversation with, "I saw Carrot Top on Regis and Kelly this morning..." and you know what? I didn't implode.

So tonight, I'm going out to see a friend of mine be a DJ. I know. That's against my rules, too. But I figure, considering how my day started, this could actually be "opposite day" and I should act accordingly.