Close Listen: Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” Glorifies Rape Culture, Is also Catchy

Oh, Robin Thicke.

Oh, “Blurred Lines.”

“Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke (who, I will admit, is super sexy) is everywhere these days.  The song, upon first and somewhat-distracted listening, is another generic pop song about sex or dancing or something…  It’s really catchy and it’s got some sonic soul.  The aesthetics of the song itself are groovy and cool.  If I hadn’t listened closely, I would probably like this song.

However, taking the time to listen to the lyrics provided me with the sadly not-so-shocking truth: “Blurred Lines” glorifies rape culture, portrays women as objects without agency, knowledge, or power, and suggests a problematic passage of women from one man to another.

Take a listen for yourself.

Wait… Before you do that, we need to talk about the video too.

THE VIDEO

The unrated version is below – very NSFW.  The video features three disaffected models wearing flesh-colored thongs…  As in, ONLY THONGS.  The boobies are out.  The models are sort of dancing.  It’s really rather weird.  Imagine what it was like to film that video.

Oh, so I just walk from side to side not really doing anything while these guys sing?  Okay.  Oh, and I’m naked.  Oh, I get a thong.  Great…

Awkward…

They let her wear clothes (sort of) but turned her into a road, on which they could drive their toys.

These very pretty, young women are strutting around while fully dressed men – all in suits –  perform a smarmy song around them.  It’s uncomfortable and everyone looks uncomfortable.  The women are making an effort to cover themselves some of the time, other times enjoying the bouncing… I guess.

At one point, one of the girls is holding a goat.  They’re wearing 90s shoes, plastic, and other weird stuff.  The men are all being horrible.

Ugh… Here it is.

BLURRED LINES – UNRATED – ROBIN THICKE, PHARRELL WILLIAMS, T.I.

THE LYRICS

The problem continues.

While the song is largely, well, stupid.  It’s a poorly written song about wanting to bang a hot chick.  We’ve all heard a lot of songs about this and many of them are offensive, reinforce stereotypes, and the objectification of women.  Even female artists participate in this a fair amount of the time.  Women often sing about how hot and desirable they are…  Men sing about their dicks.

The thing is, it’s a real problem to talk about women’s behavior meaning they want or need sex.  Consent is what’s sexy.  A girl dancing in a sexy way doesn’t mean she wants or needs to suck some dudes wiener. 

Women are allowed to be sexy, sensual, hot, attractive, pretty, and alluring without sex.  Nothing but consent is consent.  That’s just how it is.  Seeing a woman from across a room and having a feeling that she might “want it” doesn’t mean she really does.

Writing a song that repeats “I know you want it” six times per chorus sends a bad message.  It teaches young men and women that  seeming like they want sex is enough to consent actual sex.  But that’s not okay.  Sex should be something all participants agree to USING WORDS.  Not using eye movements or nods.  Telling men that they can tell when a woman wants sex by the way she dances isn’t helping anyone.  That’s teaching men that they know better.  They know something women don’t know.  Women need men telling them when sex should and will happen.

Except… WRONG.

The Chorus
And that’s why I’m gon’ take a good girl
I know you want it
I know you want it
I know you want it
You’re a good girl
Can’t let it get past me
You’re far from plastic
Talk about getting blasted
I hate these blurred lines
I know you want it
I know you want it
I know you want it
But you’re a good girl
The way you grab me
Must wanna get nasty
Go ahead, get at me

 

James Franco Is Bad at Poetry

Note:  This is a poem from the Inauguration, which I know was a few weeks back.  It just took me a long time to process this and I really didn’t want to read this whole poem again.

My brain is broken.  James Franco has broken my heart and brain.  I love poetry.  Therefore, I now hate James Franco.  He has called himself a poet, somehow joined many graduate programs in creative writing, and he is demeaning poetry consistently.  This is what happens when you give a spoiled child the means and praise he’s received.  He thinks he is a good poet.  He is so, so wrong.

As a person who writes poetry, I find him offensive. There are real poets, full-time poets out there who write incredibly beautiful, meaningful poetry that is art and not simply narcissistic rambling. In some ways, he may help bring people to poetry, but if he uses his notoriety to write sub-par, high school-level prose-poems, he isn’t doing the field any favors. People already scoff at poetry; he’s giving them more reason to do so. This is the poetic equivalent to painting a circle on a canvas and charging $100,000 for high art.

If James Franco represents poetry, then poetry is dead.

Randomly, even if verbally, pointing to things in a room doesn’t make your poem illustrative.  It just means you looked around a room.  Poetry is more than a listing of thoughts, or the action of hitting “Enter” on your keyboard.  Poetry is supposed to be art, and this does not qualify.  This is a the live-journal of James Franco pushed onto thin, tall pages.

Art is not an annotated bibliography and vice versa.  James Franco seems to think that he is smart, talented, and unique enough to justify his thoughts alone as art.  Just because you write it and you think you are great doesn’t mean you’ve made something good.  It barely means you’ve made anything at all.

From Kate: “This isn’t even pragmatic or pretty prose.  This is what would happen if poetry had an abortion.”

We must pay special attention to the poem’s end; not just because he gives himself an Oscar for a black-face portrayal of Obama’s “core goodness,” but also because he tells us that “[He’d] let the writer put in all the political crap.”  By saying this, it is as if Franco might actually be aware that he’s not a real writer.  Sure, he’s discussing a fake future movie that someone would write about Obama and then actually cast a white stoner…  But, he doesn’t seem to get that he is “writing” at the moment.  He took the time to google Asheville, but he didn’t take the time to google the president.  Here are some of the last lines about this movie: “I’d let the writer put in all the political crap, / And the specific things that he was up against, / All that stuff on CNN and the Huffington Post, / And I’d say the lines that were written, just like Obama / Reads his lines, but what would really put the role over / Would be the goodness at its core. / That’s what will be remembered. / Yes, his race, no one will forget. But the soul too. / I’d win the Academy Award if I just captured that.”

The vagueness of these lines enrages me.  Poetry is not vague.  He sounds like a person with no knowledge who has randomly decided to pontificate about President Obama.  “All that stuff on CNN and the Huffington Post…”  What stuff?  Which issue?  Are you speaking of his race, his policies, his debate performance, war, economics, anything?  Also, he says that he would “… say the lines that were written, / just like Obama…” almost as an afterthought, as if we, the readers, are supposed to assume that Franco is such a gifted actor, he could easily say lines “just like” the president.

Key Features of Narcissism and Overall Badness:

  • The poem features a striking lack of imagery.
  • The poem lacks rhythm, meter, and music.
  • The poem consists of the thoughts of an easily distracted, wannabe-educated, possibly high hipster with a grandiose self-image.
  • The poem seems to have to remind itself that its purpose is to honor the 2013 Inauguration of President Barack Obama.
  • It’s basically an encyclopedia entry (think wikipedia in a book).  He just explains to us what is significant about Ashville.  He seems to think that every detail of his life and the things that he knows are interesting.  He is wrong.  “Asheville is the place where the Black Mountain College once stood / And helped birth Rauschenberg, Twombly and Johns, / Cage and Cunningham.”
  • He talks about Obama knowing him from the Spiderman movies: “He [Obama] knew me from Spider-Man.”  I’m sure Mr. President was trying to polite; it’s not like he’s your biggest fan.  Get over yourself.
  • Celebrity name dropping without reason.  We’re all excited for you that you got to meet President Obama, Katie Holmes, Tom Cruise, and Claire Danes.
  • The poem ends with James Franco winning an Oscar.  That means that when James Franco thinks about other people, he quickly finds a way to think about himself.
  • The whole poem is about James Franco thinking about how James Franco is like or related to President Obama.  If I were to write a poem about a tree and I kept comparing that to my acting career, I would be a douche bag.  My point is that James Franco is ruining poetry and he’s a douche.

*********************************************************************************

Obama in Asheville

Asheville, North Carolina, is the birthplace of Thomas
Wolfe and the sometime residence of F. Scott Fitzgerald
When he visited Zelda at her institution;
He stayed at the Grove Park Inn, a grand stone edifice.

On the phone once, Cormac McCarthy lamented
The two added wings and the spa, and marveled
At the original structure, They pulled the stones
From the mountains and brought them down on mules.

Soon after his fortieth birthday, Fitzgerald attempted suicide
Here, but couldn’t shoot his own head, drunk, I guess.
Later, after he was actually dead, from alcohol,
Zelda perished in a fire at her institution, one of nine.

*

Asheville is the place where the Black Mountain College once stood
And helped birth Rauschenberg, Twombly and Johns,
Cage and Cunningham; now I think it’s a Young Men’s Christian Association.
On the wall of the Grove Park, they have pictures of the famous guests;

I’m not up there, but Obama is. I was asked to write something
For the inauguration of his second term, but what could I write?
I was in Asheville, studying writing, but not the political sort;
I write confessions and characters, and that sort of thing.

I wrote my friend Frank about what I could do, but he was unresponsive.
I went to class and then the little burrito place where they know me,
And finally at night I got Frank’s email on my phone and pulled over
On the side of Warren Wilson Road, past the school barn with the WWC —

That I couldn’t see in the dark — right before the school entrance;
A little spot where there’s a path that leads to a lake called Snake Lake.
First I called my class at UCLA, and told them to watch Apocalypse Now,
And that it used Heart of Darkness as a model, and that we’d watch

Eleanor Coppola’s Hearts of Darkness, the making-of, the following week.
Then I read Frank’s note. He said he was sleeping twenty hours a day,
With no symptoms except that he desired sleep
And just a little more sleep. He’s in his seventies.

Then he said that my poem was a difficult task.
How to write about a man written about endlessly;
A man whom everyone has some sort of experience of;
How to write so that it’s not just for the converted.

*

I met Obama once, in D.C., the Correspondents’ Dinner.
I was the guest of Vanity Fair, guided through D.C. by the wife
Of Christopher Hitchens, when he was alive. We went to Hitch’s place,
He had books from floor to ceiling, and said he had read

To Borges, when he was blind, Old Icelandic Eddas—
Then we waited in a private room with the likes of Tom Cruise,
And Katie Holmes, and Claire Danes. When Obama entered
The crowd converged. Finally, I got to shake his hand,

He knew me from Spider-Man. I asked him for advice,
I was scheduled to give the commencement speech at UCLA
And there were some undergraduate knockers against me;
He had been denied the usual honorary degree by Arizona State

Because he hadn’t accomplished enough, so I wondered
How he dealt with detractors. He smiled his smile and said,
“Humor.” Well he’s damn right, and I wonder how much
That stand-up comedian is laughing in the face

Of this big country. Because he is one man and we are many,
And a great servant of the people—he’s a president, not a king—
And doesn’t need to face what King Charles once faced.
(Frank suggested I examine Marvell’s semi-inauguration poem for Cromwell:)

That thence the Royal actor borne
The tragic scaffold might adorn:
     While round the armèd bands
     Did clap their bloody hands.

That most famous stanza, and then:

But bow’d his comely head
Down, as upon a bed.

And he was beheaded, good-bye Charles.

*

If I were to act in the film about Obama,
All I would need to get down, aside from the outer stuff—
And I know that’s important—is his essential kindness,
I’d let the writer put in all the political crap,

And the specific things that he was up against,
All that stuff on CNN and the Huffington Post,
And I’d say the lines that were written, just like Obama
Reads his lines, but what would really put the role over

Would be the goodness at its core.
That’s what will be remembered.
Yes, his race, no one will forget. But the soul too.
I’d win the Academy Award if I just captured that.

I’ve Been Too Hard on “Skinny”

A while ago, I wrote a post about how amazing Beyonce’s thighs are, which remains indisputable.

However, what I also did in that post was talk about thin, skinny, little thighs as “unnatural” and less than ideal.  That’s not fair either.

I do think that glorifying unhealthy weight – on either end of the spectrum – is dangerous.  It is dangerous to glorify being so thin that for most people to achieve it, they would have to starve themselves.

Thin thighs are not “unacceptable,” “horrible,” nor are they somehow inherently “bad.”  It is not bad to be a thin person.  No one is a villain simply having thin thighs.

What is bad and scary, then?

It is bad and scary to push a body to extremes.  It is bad to glorify thinness above all else.  It is bad to glorify unhealthy habits that push people into unhealthy weights.  Just as a person can be too fat, a person can be too thin.  Both are bad.  The thing, not a lot of people are striving to be fat.  A lot of people are spending their days and nights obsessing over being thin at any price.  A lot of people have blogs and tumblrs devoted to “thinspo” with all kinds of ways to get skinny.  There are too many little girls and women out there who hurt themselves to achieve a level of thin that is not healthy for them.

That said, making thin women the villain is wrong.

Thin women just so happen to be thin.  Many people want to be thin, and that’s okay.  But wanting to be thin, or wanting to have Beyonce’s thighs, at any cost… that’s scary.

Also, Beyonce is amazing.

Bodies should be allowed to be as they are.  When society pressures us to go against our bodies, society is wrong.  Love your thighs.  Even if they chaff and wiggle.  Even if they’ve never touched.

This Music Is Bad: will.i.am feat. Britney Spears – “Scream & Shout”

Two untalented “musicians.” Roughly 400 computer programs. 15+ Producers. And one incredibly mediocre, nothing song about itself. I’m so tired of meta-music.

This music is bad.

Why are people writing songs about the songs they’re writing.  I don’t need you to tell me during your song that when I hear said song, I will want to ask the DJ to turn up the music.  Let me figure it out on my own.  I have ears and a mouth.  I am capable.  I am fairly certain that these musicians are not trying to address pop music on the meta level; instead, I believe pop music has actually become so self-obsessed and tired that it must continuously reference itself.  If the musician doesn’t tell us to turn up the music, how will we know?

Also, why is Britney Spears referencing herself in this song?  They are sampling, “It’s Britney, Bitch.” from her “rough” phase.  Why bring it up?

“When you hear this in the club, you gotta turn this shit up.”  

Thank you so much for telling me what to do in when I hear this song.  Next time I’m in the club, squirming my sequined body on the dance floor, and I hear this song, I will scurry to the DJ booth in my 6-inch heels (read: slowly and carefully), scream into his/hers headphoned ears that she/he has “gotta turn this shit up.” Why?  Well, because clubs are always playing those will.i.am songs far too quietly.  I mean, will.i.am is prolific, philosophical, and deep, man.

This song sounds like a slow and sad eulogy for a euro-trash computer-generated porn star.  That, or the imaginary girlfriend of a coked-out wannabe dj living in the bowels of Los Angelos.  This song couldn’t be sadder.

It sounds like two old, nearly washed-up almost-musicians… Oh, wait.  It is two old, nearly washed-up almost-musicians.  It is lazy, tired, and entirely bland.  Perhaps, it is aggressively boring.  So boring it reminds me of these two assholes who hang out with my boyfriend’s friends.  Those two are real dummies.  They would probably like this damn “song.”

 

To my point, here are the full lyrics.  Careful, you might get blown away.

SCREAM AND SHOUT
will.i.am featuring Britney Spears

Bring the action

When your hear us in the club
You gotta turn the shit up — You gotta turn the shit up — You gotta turn the shit up

When we up in the club
All eyes on us — All eyes on us — All eyes on us

See the boys in the club
They watching us — They watching us — They watching us

Everybody in the club
All eyes on us — All eyes on us — All eyes on us

I wanna scream and shout and let it all out
And scream and shout and let it out
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh
I wanna scream and shout and let it all out
And scream and shout and let it out
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh

You are now now rocking with 
will.i.am and Britney bitch
Oh yeah  — Oh yeah — Oh yeah
Bring the action

Rock and roll
Everybody let’s lose control
On the bottom we let it go
Going faster, we ain’t going slow-low-low
Hey yo
Hear the beat, now let’s hit the floor
Drink it up and then drink some more
Light it up and let’s let it blow

Hey yo
Rock it out and rock it now
If you know what we talking bout
Turn it up and burn down the house ha house
Hey yo
Turn it up and go turn it down
Here we go we go shake it
Cause everywhere we go we
Bring the action

When your hear us in the club
You gotta turn the shit up — You gotta turn the shit up — You gotta turn the shit up

When we up in the club
All eyes on us — All eyes on us — All eyes on us

See the boys in the club
They watching us — They watching us — They watching us

Everybody in the club
All eyes on us — All eyes on us — All eyes on us
I wanna scream and shout and let it all out
And scream and shout and let it out
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh
I wanna scream and shout and let it all out
And scream and shout and let it out
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh

You are now now rocking with 
will.i.am and Britney bitch
Oh yeah — Oh yeah — Oh yeah
Bring the action

It goes on and on and on and on
When me and you party together
I wish this night would last forever
Cause I was feeling down and now feel better
It goes on and on and on and on
When me and you party together
I wish this night would last forever
Forever forever ever ever

I wanna scream and shout and let it all out
And scream and shout and let it out
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh
I wanna scream and shout and let it all out
And scream and shout and let it out
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh
I wanna scream and shout and let it all out
And scream and shout and let it out
We sayin’ oh we oh we oh we oh

You are now now rocking with 
will.i.am and Britney bitch

Stop Calling Mindy Kaling an “Up and Coming Comedienne.” She Has a Show. She’s Up. She’s Come.

If I see one more fucking article or blog post about how Mindy Kaling is “up and coming,” I’m going to lose my fucking mind.

SHE HAS HER OWN SHOW.  IT’S CALLED “THE MINDY [F’ING] PROJECT.”  SHE’S MADE IT.  SHUT UP.  SHUT UP.  SHE IS AS SUCCESSFUL AS ANY MAN COULD HOPE TO BE.

I mean, she has her own show…  Right?

the mindy project

Also, she’s been a head writer and a cast member for The Office for almost 10 years.  They hired her at 24.  She’s established.

young mindy kaling writing for the office

Oh, and she wrote a bestseller.  BEST SELLER.

kaling_211

When dudes get their own shows, do we call them “new” or “up and coming?”  NO.  Now, they’re just famous, rich, and successful.  Mindy Kaling is famous, rich, and successful.  We need to accept that women can be successful, not just nearly successful, not just almost successful.  Women don’t get the same credit.  They have to prove themselves over and over again.  Men, however, only have to prove themselves once – maybe twice.

I mean, really, are we waiting for her to get rid of her boobs and become John Hamm?  By the way, John Hamm is not an up-and-comer, and he doesn’t even have his own show, and his show is on cable.  (I think it’s very good, but you get my point here.)

When Louis C.K. got his own show, people weren’t sitting around saying: “Wow.  He’s almost comparable to other successful comedians.  We should watch him to see if he gets more successful.  What a nice young man.”

Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Martha Stewart aren’t the only successful women in the world.  Many, many women have “made it.”  They didn’t “make it” with an asterisk, or any ifs, ands, or buts – they just fucking MADE IT.

When Hilary Clinton wins the 2016 election, are we going to sit around and talk about her like she’s ALMOST there, almost made it.  Having a vagina doesn’t make your success any more or any less temporary.  What else do people think will happen?  Having boobies shouldn’t mean you have to wait to get credit from all the dudes who like touching boobies – who, by the way, are probably way too intimidated by the success of those boobies to feel good about touching them.

It is harder for women to make it in Hollywood as writers.  It is harder for women to make it in politics, business, engineering, and many other fields.  That does not, however, take away the power, the position, or the accomplishments of these women.  It does not make their successes more vulnerable or their power less permanent.  We should be, and perhaps are, even more impressed with their triumphant success over rooms filled with dicks and dick jokes.  Ladies have to work a little harder.  Ladies have to prove themselves continuously.  Ladies have to show that they can be strong without being bitches, and that they can be sexy without being stupid or desperate.  Men can be gross or fat or assholes or hardasses or softies or whatever with so much more ease.  I know that some men will take offense to this – they should.  It’s awful that this is still true in so many offices and writers’ rooms, etc.  Change it.  If you are a man and you don’t like this point of view, challenge it.  Think about the women in your field, the women in your TV.  How many are there?  What are their positions?  What are your opinions of them?  How do the men around you talk about them?  If it’s sexist or unfair, speak up about it.  If it’s not, then YAY!  I’m wrong and happy to be.

mindy kaling sag white dress sexy

My point is that women’s success seems to be compartmentalized into “women’s success” instead of just success.  Mindy Kaling isn’t “one to watch out for.”  She is literally someone you can currently watch on TV– on her show — which she created — which she writes — in which she stars.  

She deserves a little more faith from the media.  She’s a pretty big deal.  Deal with it.

I don’t care, but now I know. Pop Culture Edition!

Here are a list of things I don’t care about, but I know now.  Now, you get to know too.

  1. Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez broke up.  She dumped him.  He is not coping well.
  2. Justin Bieber’s pants are absurd.  See AMA performance.  (Google it yourself.)
  3. David Petraeus is a man whore.  Info.
  4. Snooki has a baby.
  5. Mitt Romney’s family is huge.  See photo below.
  6. Jessica Simpson looks great.  She lost all the baby weight.  Here.  Also, photo below.
  7. That reminds me, Jessica Simpson had a baby girl and named her Maxwell.  Maxwell.
  8. Apparently, Nicki Minaj might have butt implants.  I’m pretty neutral on this.  I will not research it.  Feel free.
  9. Taylor Swift cut her hair, or wore a wig.  Here.
  10. James Bond is a sexist and probably a rapist.  “What a shock!,” said no one.  This is just so disappointing.

Romney Clan:

 

Jessica Simpson:

A Hobo is not a Halloween costume

Halloween: the chance, once a year, to pretend to be someone you’re not. I like to think Halloween costumes say a lot about a person. They also say a lot about what we think but never say.

Take this, for instance:
I saw a picture recently of friends of friends of friends dressed up for Halloween. They were supposed to be homeless, complete with “Will Work for Food” signs, tattered jeans, and worn out flannel. Similarly, I see people every year wearing sombreros and telling people their costume is “A Mexican.” Or folks who stick some feathers in their braid and throw on a pair of moccasins to be “An Indian.”

Not okay.

Halloween apparently is not only a time to “be someone else” for a day (or two, or three, depending on how many times you celebrate), it’s time to let our collective, offensive, racist American id run wild because it’s hopped up on too many Reese’s peanut butter pumpkins and Four Loko. Do I think these people mean to be offensive? No, likely not. Really they just want to shotgun some Busch Lights and hook up with the cute guy in the “Where’s Waldo?” costume. Being an historical figure (who is, perhaps, Native American or Mexican/Latino) would be one thing, but to say “I’m (ethnic stereotype – regardless of negative, neutral, or positive implications)!” is short-sighted, foolish, and–well–racist.

There’s a certain responsibility that comes along with picking and putting on a costume; any costume you wear inevitably says something about you and your attitude toward other people. Choosing insensitive costumes matters. Just ask the employees of Steven J. Baum’s firm in Buffalo, New York. These geniuses thought that it was a good idea to dress up as homeless people and create fake sections of foreclosed homes at their office Halloween party. Are you outraged? Yes, you likely are. And so should you be. At the same time, however, these people dressing up as homeless people for Halloween is not much, if any, worse than when people who aren’t legal actors in the foreclosure crisis do it.

This Halloween, dress up. Go out. Drink Four Loko to your little heart’s content, and stuff your face with Kit Kats, Snickers, Reese’s pumpkins, and everything in between. Just try not to be your own id.

The Many Faces of Willard (Mitt Romney)

I think we’ve all seen Mitt Romney’s face.  It’s creepy.  It’s not always creepy, but it’s usually creepy.  He just seems like he’s plotting something sinister.  You know, besides forced transvaginal ultrasounds, banning civil rights, making millionaires more millionaire-y, and being generally unaware of actual-incomed people’s lives.  (Some of us make less than $50K… like a lot of us.)

FACE TIME

Here’s Mitt Romney freaking out.

 

Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. 00011101010100101111010101011101001010101001011101010101001111

 

Romney likes to get adventurous with his fashion choices from time to time.  After all, he did get pretty darn adventurous with his dog’s travel plans during a family vacation.

 

In case you were wondering, this is what a sad and ponderous Mitt Romney looks like.

 

This is what Mitt Romney looks like when he’s just plain sad.

 

Young Romney looks pretty good.

 

Mitt Romney ate a lemon.

 

Sometimes Mitt Romney farts.  Everyone farts.  It’s okay.

Brown faced and white faced.

He loves binders, and he’s excited.

 

Sometimes Mitt gets mad, gosh darnit.

 

Sometimes, the Romster feels scared and vulnerable and worried and maybe a little angry too.

 

He’s like, “Ermahgerd!” You know, he loves taxes.

 

But, wait.  What would his face look like if it was even tinier?

 

Romney likes to change his mind… a lot.  He’s pretty darn flippity floppity.

 

However, we must mention that there is no Romney face creepier, more disturbing, more intense, more deafeningly intense, and incredibly fierce than the Josh Romney face.

 

 

 

THE BEST CAMPAIGN AD OF ALL TIME

OH MY GOD.  I LOVE THIS SO MUCH, SO DAMN MUCH.

First, I love sarcasm.  We definitely don’t get enough of it in politics.

Second, this shit is funny.

Third, … how else do I put this? … IT’S A FUNNY CAMPAIGN AD!

Fourth, now I’m picturing Mitt Romney punching Big Bird.  This is a good moment.

 

You can stop whining about how hard it is to be young now.

More and more often, I’ve been seeing articles bemoaning being in your twenties (in particular, Thought Catalog and the HuffPost Blog love making lists on this topic). I wrote a goofy version (at least I like to think so) myself–far less, well, serious and doom-y. But I’m really, really, REALLY getting tired of people bitching and moaning about being twenty-whatever in combination with one of the following:

A. Not having a job. I get that this is frustrating. I do. Having a degree that you worked hard for and that you can seemingly wipe your ass with sucks. However, there is not some sort of cosmic significance to your lack of employment. We have a shitty economy. We are, realistically, in a rec(depr)ession, and you’re pretty much at the bottom of the ladder. It is, yes, adversity that you have to work through, but plenty of other people have worked through it before you. It is not something special for our generation, it does not make you better/unique/more self-aware. You’re also the one who refuses to do menial labor because you’ve been fore fed some bullshit about it being below you for the last two decades. You annoy me. Shut the hell up already.

B. Being single. And drunk. And single. Okay, I get it. You’re lonely. And you’re verging on being a full-blown alcoholic. This has nothing to do with being in your twenties. Being drunk and lonely is not a profound experience, nor is it the special property of the young.

C. Feeling directionless and using your blog to whine about it. Blogging always straddles that strange line between making your point and getting whiny in order to elicit sympathy from total strangers. One thing that is true about many people in their twenties (but also true of many teens and even a boatload of baby boomers) is a need for constant reassurance/confirmation from their social circle. Why else would social media be so addictive and so conducive to the humblebrag?

D. Being too far or too little self-aware. It depends on who you ask on this one, but for all the time you, author of blogpost/article, are spending reflecting on being in your twenties (instead of oh, I don’t know, living them) I sure hope you’re erring on the “too much” side of this equation. Honestly, quit taking yourself so seriously. Chances are, by the time you hit your mid twenties, you’ll experience something that will change the way you see the world or yourself. That’s healthy and appropriate. Whether that’s losing a beloved grandparent, having to break off a long-term relationship, or even getting a first phone call from a collections department, all of these things can force you to crawl out of your (supposed) vodka-induced coma from part B of this list and re-evaluate your shit. It’s called life, and it is not special or particular to being a young adult.

E. Whining about being broke. Your parents are paying (or stopped paying) your rent/grocery bill/phone bill/bar bill/healthcare bills (think Lena Dunham à la Girls). You live in New York/L.A./Miami/Chicago. Um. What did you think was going to happen if you moved to a HUGE metropolis and had, if we refer to part A, NO JOB? Shit is expensive! I hope your parents have already paid off the house they have in Happytown, USA because even a shitty studio apartment in some of those places is probably going to have them forking over twice as much as they did for their mortgage. Give me a break. Stop acting like they’re obliged to be paying for your dumb ass to live the high life while remaining totally oblivious to all of the benefits you do have, like parents who are not only willing but able to help you with your rent.

F. Jerking off to your own perceived intellectual, social, and cultural superiority. We get it. You have clever Tweets. Who knew so much wit could be packed into a mere 140 characters? Your Instagram photos each have the perfectly selected filter for the five hundredth picture of your cat, or the one where you’re holding up a half-drunken PBR at some skeevy neighborhood bar you like because it’s “pure” (that is, you’re the only person under forty inside of it). Your Tumblr is both thought provoking and delightfully cheeky in the 21st century intarwebs sort of way. You’ve read (and get) Derrida and Naked Lunch. You need to remind your Facebook friends how brilliant and unique and clever and unique and underground and unique and unique and unique you are. Did I mention you’re unique? And your blog, OH! Your BLOG. It is so deep and meaningful and there’s just so many feelings you need to discuss.

The biggest problem is that there’s a good chunk of “twenty-somethings” who aren’t anywhere near this obnoxious, self-righteous, self-absorbed, and arrogant.

We live on our own. We have jobs. We pay our own bills. We might have put ourselves through college. We aren’t stressing that we don’t have the newest version of the iPhone. We still don’t really “get” Twitter. We’ve (self-consciously) learned how to resist the humblebrag. We take care of our parents, financially, physically, or emotionally. We appreciate cheeky internet humor as much as the next guy, but don’t feel compelled to base our entire self-worth on it. We, too, sometimes drink to much, have a crisis of conscience and confidence, and really–really–enjoy watching Girls. We just don’t take to the virtual streets and feel it’s necessary to tell the world each passing detail of our lives, or record them in photographs, preferring to experience them without a camera lens in our face or our fingers racing across the touch screen of our phone to check-in on Facebook 24/7. And quite frankly, we’re sick and tired of getting lumped in with people who do act those ways and do those things. I’m looking at you, New York Times.

So, let’s be real. Being in your twenties, like being in any other conveniently-named age range, has its ups and downs. Sitting around pampering your bruised ego on the internet or looking for affirmation of your feelings and your self-worth from your peers, known or unknown, is a (bad) choice, not a feature of an age group. It’s okay to feel pissed off because you’re unemployed or because you can’t find a boyfriend; it really is. But it has nothing to do with your age.