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The primary reason(s) your blog(s) did not meet our guidelines: Inappropriate Content Or Advertising: Obscene or Disgusting
And I totally concur that one can be obscene without showing any flesh:
You see? I showed a lot of restraint in the choice of that picture. There's a lot more flesh showing in the Abu Gahraib flickr set.
And one can be disgusting without mentioning sex. Three words: Ken Mehlman dances. (Points to commenters who tell us what dance he's doing.)
Or one can just be funny and sexual and adult and honest and still not be offensive. I think this is hilarious:
And one can always let an angry baby do the talking for you. Here you go, Blog whatever the hell your name was:
Perhaps I am unique in seeing no inconsistency between my love for Baby Jesus and my public denunciation of our current leadership as a bunch of a sociopathic fascist fucking assholes.
And so sorry, I don't think some start-up traffic increasing widget company is going to change my mind.
and remember you don't need any special equipment. You just need to download Skype here and be able to type letters on a keyboard. Hope to see you there.
I'm running this today because for a certain newly-minted nine-year-old boy There Is Very Little Else That Matters Except We Have To Wait Nine More Days For The DVD Release. So we can watch it with the director commentary "on." No I am not making that up.
Apparently the latest cream of cool band. Great vid, but I coulda done without the building exploding at the end. I mean, I like art museums. and there's too much blowing up stuff.
Whoever directed this video has attended to at least one installation fo' sho. The installers usually find one point in the project when it comes to them that, given that it's three in the morning and the installation still isn't half ready, they could instead blow the whole exhibit up with half a stick and call it "carnage art". In fact, let's dedicate this song to Morse.
Okay Youtube is giving me shit. Watch it here and sorry 'bout that.
Seeing as I'm probably already on double-secret probation from certain concerned feminist blogger's collectives... for my panties, references to titty-fucking, not to mention my occasional admiration for things George Will has said, I might as well come clean and admit the rest.
Yes he is a douchebag. And yes, from the safety and comfort of your laptop screen*, the two young women have, as the auteur of HCwDB, Douchebag 1, would say, "poetic boobies of boobage poetry."
*In other words, you don't have to attempt conversation with them about YOUR latest post quoting George Will. Do. Not. Attempt.
I can only read HDwDB about once a week. Otherwise my sides hurt too badly. And you are either like me and applaud DB1's book deal as a victory for all of us, or you think it another end of civilization as we know it. Okay.
2. I'm addicted to the morning drive show Lex and Terry. Not only is it occasionally eye-rolling sexist (Drunk Bitch Friday is particularly unfunny on the face of it, I admit) it is a, (gag) ClearChannel product. And I can't get enough.
Lex and Terry are guys. They talk sports, and I don't know what they are talking about, and I absorb the testosterone like a sponge anyway. They give love advice to men and women. (And in a great irony, they seem to assume that all of their women callers are hot chicks and their men callers are douchebags, unless proven otherwise. Women callers who clearly use men or are otherwise treating fellow human beings poorly get called on it. Men callers who claim to be in monogamous relationships are told to behave like adults. It's very refreshing.)
Sue me. I can't get all uppity about two guys whose website has a countdown clock like this:
3. I love love love certain men's magazines.
Yeah Maxim (aka the magazine for guys who can only aspire to be douchebags) stays on the magazine rack unread. But given the choice between Mother Jones and Esquire, I pick the "Women We Love" issue every. single. time. Ditto for GQ. The November issue of Esquire is typically good, and not just for its profile of Dennis and Elizabeth Kucinich (which is not online, dang it). I love their section called "The Vocabulary": "Yeatsian pounce" is reading Yeats or other like poets to "warm the cockles of both her heart and her loins." Hardly something that would impress a "hot chick" but would a "brainy chick" if you did it right. And then there's "Yoko," who is this,
But is also:
(n.) nickname for any woman who is a major force in her husband's personal and public life, significantly shaping his image and career through force of will, personality, or a whole lot of red hair. Can be added to the last name for comedic effect: "Yoko Bryant," "Yoko Kucinich."
I like new words and stuff. I also like letters sections that have the cahones to run "Context-Free Highlights from Letters We're Not Running."
All of this brings me to two life experiences. I remember in 9th grade thinking I would go to Smith College (I was a legacy, my paternal grandmother was class of '20 and great aunt somewhere around there, too.) By tenth grade I realized that every friend I had was a boy. I didn't talk to girls at school very much at all. Ever. I did not apply to Smith.
I also remember when the National Museum of Women in the Arts opened several years ago. My mother, an artist and a fine one her own self, said she would not want to be included in such a project. She called it a ghetto.
Not gonna separate ourselves from the menfolk, is what it means. Take it, Patty Loveless:
There are lots of women's writing essays about male language power versus female language power. Ursula K. LeGuin's Bryn Mawr commencement address in 1986 is a classic example.
You came here to college to learn the language of power - to be empowered. If you want to succeed in business, government, law, engineering, science, education, the media, if you want to succeed, you have to be fluent in the language in which "success" is a meaningful word. ...
Is that what this is about though? That good funny writing based on politics and social commentary must somehow come from dominant paradigm (meaning male) language?
I don't think that's it.
It's true, dear reader, I do not know exactly where this essay is going, but I don't want it to turn into a 1980's graduate school paper: Blogs, Boobs, Brains and Bravery: Humor and Gender in Early 21st Century Electronic Media. Don't make me write what I wouldn't want to read. No, this essay is all about ME.
And yet someone (okay yeah a guy) told me recently that the appeal of my blog to male readers is that many men can't talk politics with their girlfriends and I'm a surrogate. Oh really?
I've been working on this post for about three days and as one friend told me, "Leonardo said art is never finished, only abandoned." So here. We'll continue this conversation in comments.
Jezebel (of course) (and tip of something tasty to baabaabaab for sending it to me xo)
Activists are sending women's underwear to the Burmese junta responsible for killing all those monks because, among other retarded things, the dictatorship believes touching a woman's panties will "make them lose their power."
She was proof positive that classy could be teh hott. And of course, her passing is a good excuse to run this one. "Nobody ever sent me the way you do." Dang, Girl.
1. The Chinese Government, who took time out from ignoring lead contamination on their exported Happy Meal toys and Boy Scout paraphernalia to complain that the Dalai Lama is visiting The White House.
2. The White House, which is "downplaying" the visit.
Because I don't suppose his holiness the Dalai Lama will do so his own self, on his behalf and in the name of my country I am following the instructions on this video to the letter:
Blogger is gonna have a "scheduled outage" at 4 Pacific, they say. I remember the good old days when unscheduled outages happened every five minutes! We blogged barefoot in two feet of snow and were grateful to be able to download an occasional .gif image of a thinner, blonder Britney that we would mash with Windows Paint to a picture of John Ashcroft letting his eagle soar. I'm telling you, kids today don't know blogging like we blogged.
Sigh. At 6 Pacific 9 Eastern and do the math in between we have Skype Salon. Please join us it doesn't take Skype equipment, you just need to download Skype here and click the box above. Hope to see you there.
Because seriously, when I turned on NPR at 8 this morning and the first words outta Nora Raum's** mouth were "Condoleeza Rice" I knew I could turn the radio off with impunity. The rest of the day's decisions should be so easy.
Nora Raum reads news for NPR part-time and is a bankruptcy lawyer the rest of the day. She clearly accomplishes more in a day than the Secretary of State. Just saying.
I wish my inbox had a nice pair of satiny knickers but instead it was just another article giving me a reason why I should hate Joe Lieberman. Got plenty of those, thanks.
I'm putting on Nicole Belle's apron (hyuh like I don't have my own...layering?) and tending to the C&L kitchen today. Nice about Al Gore. Have a good one.
