I was interviewed by Associated Press writer Daniela Flores for her article “Are You Hot Enough?”. It’s on NJ.com, and it may go national. I’ve now been told that the article was also mentioned on Tom Leykis’ talk show, and there’ll be more interviews.
Wow. Go figure.
Anywho, here’s the article, and here’s the original blog posting.
PS- GO TO ISISKALI.COM FOR NEW ARTICLES!
PPS- Yahoo News also carried it. Holy crap.
PPS to the 2nd power- Yeah, it’s on USA Today. I think it went national.
Isiskali.com is going live soon. If you have bookmarks, start a-changin’ them.
There won’t be any more updates here š¦ I’m not killing it, though, because there are a good number of incoming links. If you happen to have one, please update. Thanks!
I’ve realized lately that it’s completely possible to live in a state of non-existence. This isn’t some sort of allegorical statement- it was my reality. My reality. Due to continued mental and emotional abuse, I’ve lived half a life for nearly 29 years.
Do you know how it feels to be jarred into full and total reality? Are there words for realizing how much work is ahead of you, since you don’t even know what you truly enjoy in life? Is there a way to sum up a history of wounds, confusion, and disgust?
Cintra Wilson wrote a gorgeous piece about Anna Nicole Smith. Absolutely beautiful.
Full disclosure: ANS has had my undying love ever since she did the Guess? ads. Just so ya know.
What’s interesting is that people seem to really want to show that they don’t care, or that she was just a trashy piece of whoredom who should have been happy at the Wal-Mart. This is what I said to that (unedited and kinda angry, so heads up):
You are so much better than she was. You’re right. ANS, that tacky, blousy slut, is the very devil. She was the ripened fruit falling off the vine, while you’re the uniform-looking pear that’s hanging there, waiting. Just waiting. Waiting for what? Why, for society to pluck you from the tree, lump you with the rest of the upright, and give you the validity that you crave.
Let’s be honest here. ANS is the girl in the supermarket wearing the adorable platforms, the form-fitting skirt, and the cami top with incredibly perky breasts. Her hair is tousled, shiny, and bed-fresh. She smiles, and people stumble over themselves. The shelf-stocker doesn’t let her even reach for what she wants; he hands it to her. Her manicure and pedicure are flawless.
You stand there, moving slightly when you get hit by another shopper’s cart. The LL Bean crewneck shell that you wore that day at your cubicle mill is rumpled. Strands of mousy hair droop around you. The sensible shoes that you bought from Talbot’s hide your yellowed toes that you don’t make time to cut. The stocker frowns at you when you get close to him.
Well, they can be nice for that showy whore, can’t they? But you’re better. She doesn’t work a normal job, or have to account for herself, does she? Fucking whores like her don’t go to school; if they do, it’s for their MRS degree. Yeah, that bitch probably has ten dates this week…but you have your husband. Never mind that he’s really paunchy and quite selfish, but you’re MARRIED.
You’ve been accepted. That hour long commute into the city, lost in the crowds, shoving people just to get that cup of cheap coffee, is what is right. It’s what’s expected. It’s uniform, and nonthreatening. It’s something that doesn’t make you have to stick your neck out, because only instigators do that.
I suppose, then, that you’ve never worked a pole. It’s hard as hell. Your feet hurt. There are nice clients, and there are nasty ones. It’s hard work.
I suppose, then, that you’ve never worked at a fashion show, or a shoot. It’s tedious, dull, and sometimes painful for the model. There’s a lot of pressure. There are poses in the streets, late at night, overtime, in the cold. Paparazzi are crowding the backstage, trying to photograph your tits. It’s hard work.
I suppose, then, that you’ve never had a child in your teens, or the blessing/curse of being creative and non-traditional- too vibrant and open to be lost in a sea of cubicles and increasingly meaningless degrees.
ANS did all this. Because of that, people like SarahKay and others despise her. She is disgusting, for the very fact that she never conformed, and always fought on her own terms. She represents a spirit that you wish you could touch, but never will, due to your own fear and disdain of what you cannot understand.
In short…
Suck it, y’all. ANS lived balls out, you don’t, and she was fucking hotter than any of you could ever hope to be, or ever hope to screw. Have fun with your mediocrity.
LL Bean should be running a sale soon. Stock up now, y’all!
I’m imagining the reception won’t be that nice. More’s the pity.
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Today, Salon published an article called “A Day At The Porn Palace”. Life on the other side of the lens is quite special, boys and girls…or, should I just say boys? The article, while fun in a voyeuristic, “let’s see what the naughty girlies are up to” type of way, also seems slanted to titillate a hetero male audience. Sex work is painted as being happy and sexually fulfilling, with eternally aroused women loving everything that they do to each other.
See, this is what I don’t get. This is the movies, folks…butt plug or no butt plug. Movies are slow- really, really slow. In porn, the ladies get tired; nerves are overstimulated; people get cranky and angst-ridden from being fondled or poked in the wrong way. The whole shoot couldn’t have sailed through entirely on this shallow level. So, why isn’t this article more honest? It almost looks like Stephen Elliot is out to assuage the male conscience or something by painting this hard, difficult work as some pleasure jaunt that exists solely to catch hot, eternally horny chicks getting off.
I’ll admit to several things:
First: I now DO want to date. I want a serious relationship. I’m not afraid to admit this now, even though many people find it desperate to do so.
Second: The type of relationship that I want is going to probably be a bit atypical…
Third: I’m an incredibly strong, vibrant, and feminist woman who…er…may want to be “Taken In Hand”. Yeah, yeah, stop looking at me like that. š
There’s something about a man being a man that is incredibly sexy and right to me. I don’t want someone “sensitive” who runs around in a dashiki, getting in touch with his feminine side (there’s more to that story, but I’m saving it for a short fiction piece, heh). I want someone who isn’t going to be cowed, overwhelmed, or frightened off easily. A man that takes the lead. A man that courts me and has actual power, rather than a manner of being that seems kind of lazy and complacent.
Stop trying to change yourself for a relationship that’s not meant to be.
In our pursuit of perfect, blissful union, it’s tempting to want to tweak a couple of things to speed the process along. A trip to the salon to change your mousy brown hair to a deep, sensual red is nice. A new wardrobe that makes you feel saucy? Great idea.
A new pair of boobs and lipo to catch the attention of that Abercrombie model wannabe? Not so much.
Continue reading ’41 Things, 1/16/07: Self-acceptance is the only option’
A good number of first marriages in the US end in divorce – around 50%. After divorce, most families with children end up with the mother as the custodial parent, and the father in a very limited non-custodial role.
My father is a pretty well-known jazz guitarist. He has chubby cheeks and a huge grin, just like me. We both wiggle our right legs if we sit for too long, and we both have big, loud laughs. We’re even both Tauruses. And, like him, I was a brilliant singer blessed with a great singing voice. I so dearly wanted to be an opera singer, a working musician, just like my father.
My mother wasn’t a fan of that idea, though. From a very young age, she enrolled me in a very serious ballet school with a pre-professional company track. Yet, I always had an interest in learning how to play guitar, or even bass (my grandfather also plays, but was always a hobbyist/fill-in player). Classical music and singing fascinated me, but it was pretty sometimes to get the support that I would need to make a career happen. Oh, she believed that I could do it. But she wasn’t going to be helping me along that much.
I remember when my father left home. I also remember the screaming, then cussing, and the stony silences that would follow their arguments. Those are the obvious memories.
The non-obvious ones? That strong women don’t need men. They don’t need romance. Creative people, musicians especially, are deadbeats. And, men will never, ever stick around- even if you love them.
Continue reading ‘A father, divorce, and the 28 year heartbreak’
OK…this whole thing about feminists needing to hide away with hairy armpits and uncut hair needs to DIE.
I found a really neat blog entry by candyposes, who is a nude model that actually got turned down for a job because she’s a feminist. What, does the photog think that she’s going to snap and plaster him with NOW stickers?
The new wave of feminism is still trying to decide if it stands for open sexuality and the frank appreciation of the female form, or if it stands for restriction, censure of our own drives for pleasure and appreciation, and glorification of sensuality. We need to come to a consensus. No wonder girls are confused with what they see in the media today!
There are so many conflicting messages. Look at the Paris Hiltons of the world. Look at them showing off their coochies to all and sundry, with no real reverence for what they have between their legs. Then, look at the other side…women who fight against the rights of sex workers, or deride exotic dancers, or call miniskirts slutty and degrading. Neither view helps, and the reluctance of the old garde to acknowledge the reality of the new hobbles feminism from really becoming a solid part of American society.
Anyway, visit candyposes’ site, Feminism Without Clothes. She’s got some lovely pics, and she’s very interesting.
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It seems that the popular techie blog, Gizmodo, has stooped to appealing to geek lust. They have a pictorial of 10 female blog writers that are supposedly hawt!
Well, here’s an interesting to-do. First of all…where are the hot guys? Hey, I like man candy. I’m sure that a lot of Gizmodo’s readership like it, too, considering that it’s one of the most read blogs in the world. Second, unless the ladies are made of microchips, who the hell cares? Last I checked, Gizmodo wasn’t a rating site. It’s not “Hot or Not?”, nor is it an LJ rating group full of teens going, “Oooooh! Look at meee! Am I pretty?” They can open up a blog for geek chick love, or something, but this (albeit consensual) objectification of women in a tech blog is just plain silly. I say objectification, because…”WHERE ARE THE GUYS?!?!”
It’s always nice to be appreciated for your looks. I can understand why they would pose for this; it’s exposure for their work, and they get attention from it. Society isn’t made up of a bunch of nuns and priests. What I don’t understand is…WHERE ARE THE GUYS?!?!
The entry is here, if you want to look at their picks (and their pics).
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