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Category Archives: famous people

Do you think the internet has an Outrage button like Staples’ Easy button? BOOP! OUTRAGED!

Apparently my outrage button was broken over the past couple of weeks.

The internet has been ALL KINDS OF OUTRAGED lately. I mean, it usually is? Don’t get me wrong. The internet is always a little bit up-in-arms about something. I don’t know if we’d recognize it if it wasn’t. It’s actually ironic Dad thinks so little of the internet, as he (and his RIGHTEOUS CONSTANT FURY) would fit right in. He’d troll comment-boards with the best of ‘em. HE WOULD USE MANY ALL-CAPS!

But the two biggest outrages that happened (well, they’re not the “biggest” but they seemed to take up the biggest amount of Twitter/Facebook real estate)? I tried very hard to be outraged by them and just wasn’t. OK, fine. I didn’t try very hard. I think you’re either outraged, or you’re not.

So either I’m mellowing in my old age, or my outrage button has gotten worn out with the constant pushery. That may or may not be a euphemism; take it as you will.

Who can guess the two biggest outrage OUTRAGE WE ARE OUTRAGED! outrages that have been all over the interwebs in the last couple of weeks? Anyone? I mean, you won’t win a prize, or anything, but you can say you guessed correctly. I’ll give you bragging rights. I have no way to prove you right or wrong. And honestly, it seems like a silly thing to lie about.

If you guessed one of the things was the Miley Cyrus debacle, YOU ARE CORRECT.

I went days without watching this. Why? I didn’t care. (I still don’t. Not much at all.) I am old enough that Miley Cyrus and her ilk hold very little interest for me. She’s some Disney chick who’s trying to be a legitimate singer now, yeah? OK. Fine. Whatever.

Then sj was all, “Oh, just WATCH IT” and I was like “FINE I WILL” and she said, “Also watch the new Lady Gaga video” and that I gladly did, because that woman makes me happy. She is the best kind of kooky. And that new video is OFF THE HOOK. At one point she’s like a swan-thing. It’s INSANE and I LOVE it.

So I watched the Miley Cyrus video. OK, well, it’s not a VIDEO, it’s a clip from the MTV music awards. I like how MTV pretends it’s still relevant musically. That’s so cute of them.

I would show you a video of this, but there are none on the YouTubez. Just do a search, if you haven’t seen it. I’m sure you have. EVERYONE has.

Here were my thoughts while I was watching this.

  • Those teddy bear costumes look hot. I mean, WARM-hot, not sexxxxy-hot.
  • Why is Miley Cyrus sticking out her tongue so much? It makes her look dim.
  • This isn’t a very good song. She has a lovely voice. Maybe she should stick to ballads.
  • Is she wearing a fur bathing suit? My goodness but that’s impractical.
  • I think hair-horns are an odd choice. Are the kids doing this nowadays? Hair-horns and mismatched socks and getting drunk on hand sanitizer?

    Also, YES. I KNEW she was reminding me of someone. HAIR HORNS ARE A MISTAKE IF THEY REMIND ME OF THIS JIM CARREY CHARACTER, MILEY.

    Also, YES. I KNEW she was reminding me of someone. HAIR HORNS ARE A MISTAKE IF THEY REMIND ME OF THIS JIM CARREY CHARACTER, MILEY.

  • Someone should have told her this was a terrible idea.
  • OMG, Robin Thicke looks really embarrassed to have to share the stage with Miley Gone Bad. When he sang the “you’re a good girl” line, he couldn’t even LOOK at her. You probably have to work pretty hard to embarrass Robin Thicke; I mean, he thinks “hug me” and “fuck me” RHYME, for the love of Pete.
  • Robin Thicke is wearing a Beetlejuice suit. Now I want to watch Beetlejuice again.
  • Stop doing that with that foam finger. That’s not what those are for. YOU DO NOT KNOW WHERE THAT HAS BEEN.
  • So THIS is twerking. Huh.
  • This makes me feel 150 years old.
  • Seriously, doesn’t this young woman have advisors who could have said, “This is a hot mess, girlfriend?” Because it’s like a spoiled child’s birthday party entertainment. “I want bears and a foam finger and a girl with HORNS in her HAIR and a BATHING SUIT MADE OF FUR!” and the rich kid’s parents are all “sigh sigh OK Sir Thomas Jamieson the Third Esquire.” It’s just all so MESSY. There’s TOO MUCH GOING ON. It’s making me scratchy and giving me ADD.
  • The audience looks really uncomfortable. I’m sure if I knew who any of these people were, it’d be funny that they’re all sitting there with poker faces on (p-p-p-poker faces) but mostly it’s just a bunch of people I’ve never seen before looking like they’re being forced to watch a mental breakdown. UN. COM. FOR. TA. BLE. (People kept posting a photo of the Will Smith family looking shocked, but I didn’t see them, and I actually – I KNOW! – know who they are, so maybe that was only if you were watching live, I don’t know.)

    I just want to say, the Will Smith family really are beautiful, aren't they? My goodness but genetics were kind, there.

    I just want to say, the Will Smith family really are beautiful, aren’t they? My goodness but genetics were kind, there.

As you can see, nowhere in this was I all “I AM OUTRAGED!” A lot of people, apparently, were. People cried racism (I’m not going to speak to that; I personally didn’t find it racist, but I’m also not going to vilify those who did.) People cried sexism (which, honestly, I’m not seeing…unless we’re talking about Robin Thicke. He did seem to be a little uncomfortably touchy-touched up there.) People were all “SHE IS OUT OF CONTROL” and “SHE IS ON DRUGS!”

Here are my thoughts. What do you mean, you don’t care. I don’t CARE if you don’t care. It’s my blog, I get to pontificate. Pontificatilly.

The kid grew up in a Disney bubble. It doesn’t seem she ever really had any constraints put on her, from her family, her handlers, etc. I mean, she needed to behave, for Disney, probably, in order to keep her contract – they sure do like the squeaky-clean image over there…but this was a multi-million dollar kiddo. I think she pretty much had her run of the place.

There used to be countdown websites to when she was legal, you guys. These were run by gross old pervs. I am not even kidding about this.

There used to be countdown websites to when she was legal, you guys. These were run by gross old pervs. I am not even kidding about this.

Then she grew up. She quit being a Disney princess and the real world knocked on the door and she was all, “I NEED TO STAY RELEVANT.” She’s, what, 20? People that age think relevance = being talked about. (Hell, they may be halfway right.) So she decided to do a thing on a highly-televised show that would generate a LOT of buzz, and that thing kind of made her look like a weirdo who stuck out her tongue too much. But she IS being talked about. So…she probably thinks it was successful. Will it translate to album sales? Don’t know. I’m not a record executive. I thought the song was terrible, but I’m not in the target age-range for that song, now am I? The last music I spent money on was Leonard Cohen. Did I mention I’m old? Yep. Old.

Here’s a sad thing: I kept watching her eyes. She didn’t look like she was having fun. She looked like she was planning her next move; like she was tactically strategizing where to move next, what would shock people most. She also looked a touch panicked, like the brooms got out of the sorcerer’s apprentice’s control. But she didn’t look like she was having FUN, dammit. Shouldn’t she be having fun? I mean, this is (I assume) her chosen career? I like to see performers having a good time. Like, with real smiles, that touch their eyes; with real laughter on stage. That makes me happy. That they’re getting to do what they’re passionate about for us. That it’s not just for a buck. That makes the artist in me happy, and I’m happier about dropping money on their music or shows.

This doesn't read "fun" to me. This reads "oh, this seemed like a REALLY good idea in the planning stages, you guys."

This doesn’t read “fun” to me. This reads “oh, this seemed like a REALLY good idea in the planning stages, you guys.”

If anyone told her this wasn’t the route to take – that there are other artists that started out young, and have carried reputable careers into their adulthood, like my beloved Justin Timberlake, or that there are other artists that reveled in shock-value, but still didn’t put a hot mess like that on the stage – like Madonna, or, yes, Lady Gaga – she didn’t listen, I guess. I was twenty once. I knew everything once, too. And I look back on that age and I just shake my head. I think a lot of us do. We were not all-knowing, at twenty, as much as we thought we were. I would imagine being a millionaire twenty-year-old is even worse.

Or maybe they didn’t dare tell her. Maybe she has a gang of sniveling yes-men and women around her.

Or maybe everyone genuinely thought this was a good idea. (This…yeah, I don’t think this is the case? But I’m putting it out there. It could have happened.)

I know a lot of people immediately went the OTHER way, too, and were all “DON’T YOU SLUT-SHAME HER! SHE IS A WOMAN! SHE GETS TO DO WHAT SHE WANTS WITH HER BODY!”

Yup. Not saying she doesn’t. Not at all slut-shaming her, and you’re right, she is a woman. Don’t even know that she’s slutty. (Is she known for sluttiness? I know there was a smoking-pot-no-it-was-just-salvia scandal a while back, but only because Saturday Night Live told me about it. That’s where I get most of my current events, much to Dad’s chagrin.) Just saying a furry teddybear bathing suit seems ill-advised, is all. So did my lace-edged footless tights in high school, which I also thought were sexy. I take that criticism.

Also, I am confused by this twerking situation. I discussed this with my high-school-senior cousin J. last week. I figured J. would have her finger on the pulse of the youth of Merka, being ONE of the aforementioned youth.

“I don’t know about that. I like country music,” said ever-practical cousin J., who is a ray of pure sunshine, and I want to put her in my pocket and save her from the sufferings that life will undoubtedly heap upon her, because she’s just goodness and light, and you totally want to protect that, you know?

Then Dad was all, “I KNOW ABOUT TWERKING IT WAS ON THE REAL NEWS!” and to my UTTER HORROR, he stood in the parking lot, put out his hands as if he was holding onto a walker, pooched out his ass, placed his feet far apart, and WIGGLED HIS BUTT. He looked like he was playing a game of charades and he was miming “old person who lost his walker and needed to get to the handicapped bathroom, stat.” Cousin J. and her adorable boyfriend utterly lost their shit. So. Thank you, Miley Cyrus; my father did twerking in the parking lot of the TGI Fridays last week because of you. HE DID THE TWERKING YOU GUYS. (Kind of worth it to see adorable cousin J., whose utter dream in life is to be Ariel at Disneyland – SERIOUSLY SHE COULD NOT BE CUTER, SHE WOULD BE THE BEST ARIEL – just collapse in gasping giggles all over the back of her mom’s SUV, though.)

Cousin J. would be better than this. She is just the best thing.

Cousin J. would be better than this. She is just the best thing.

So, in summation:

  • I think the Miley Cyrus thing was stupid.
  • The Miley Cyrus thing made me embarrassed for her.
  • I think the Miley Cyrus thing was musically questionable.
  • However, I failed to be appropriately (per the internet) outraged by the Miley Cyrus thing.

    Kind of how I felt about the outrage. Sorry. (Also, I LOVE YOU JON STEWART!)

    Kind of how I felt about the outrage. Sorry. (Also, I LOVE YOU JON STEWART!)

We’ll continue with the other thing I failed to be outraged by tomorrow. Or the next day. Whenever I decide to blog again. I have these somewhat-busy evenings lately. That makes me sound like a lady of the evening, but it’s much less here’s-your-one-chance-Fancy-don’t-let-me-down than that, I promise. Just ended up with things to do after work lately, and that’s my blogging-time. In the meantime, you can try to guess what it might be. (Protip: if you guess Syria, you’re wrong. I don’t know anything about potential wartime scenarios. They make my head hurt when I try to figure them out, and when Dad tries to explain them, there’s a lot of shouting. It’s not Syria. Sincerely.)

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You’re gonna carry that weight; carry that weight a long time

I was a skinny kid. Photos of me from back then are all pigtails and smeary glasses and I’m usually covered in mud. And I’m sometimes brandishing things like frogs or buckets of mucky water, for whatever reason. I probably had a plan for those buckets. Maybe I was going to put the frog in them. I don’t know.

Then puberty hit. You can’t fight science, people. I come from hearty peasant stock on both sides of my family. Dad’s side are all, in his words, “built like tops – big on the top, skinny on the bottom.” (I attempted to explain to him that’s not exactly how tops work, and also we don’t spin very well, but he was all “WE ARE LIKE TOPS!” so who am I to argue with him?) and my mom’s side are all built like the Goddess of Willendorf. Curvy doesn’t even begin to explain it. Genetics decided I needed a little of both, apparently.

Now, Dad had been heavy growing up, and teased about it mercilessly. He lost quite a bit of weight when he married my mother (who was, and remains, thin; she’s the only one in her family that is.) Dad saw that I was starting to gain weight and immediately feared that I was going to be teased about it at school.

His solution? Constantly watch everything I put in my mouth, tell me how disgusting being fat was, tell me I needed to be working out and/or being active every single minute of every single day, tell me I was never going to find anyone to love me if I was fat, and call me things like “elephant.” If I got upset about this, he was genuinely confused. “I just want you to be happy,” he’d say. “I just want you to be pretty and thin.”

Now, I don’t know what size you’re imagining me in high school, but if I remember correctly, I was about a size twelve. A twelve. I was probably around…oh, I don’t know. 140 pounds, maybe? 150? Just about the thinnest I’ve ever been in my adulthood, anyway. I certainly wasn’t fat. And I’m fairly tall. 5’8.

I WAS COMPLETELY NORMAL.

However, years and years of being told, by the person you love and admire most in the whole world, that you are ugly, fat and worthless, take their toll. My self-esteem, never overly good to begin with, wasn’t getting much better.

Senior year, I was tired of being so ugly and fat (although I was neither – I look at photos of myself from that time and think “GOOD GRIEF, WHY DIDN”T YOU REALIZE HOW GORGEOUS YOU WERE?!?!”) and went on a crash diet. This diet was basically a bowl of cereal at breakfast and a can of Chinese vegetables at dinner. Sometimes some chicken. No lunch. This was what I ate every day for about 8 months. I worked out for hours at a time daily. I lost about fifty pounds. I could see my hipbones and my ribs and my cheekbones. My collarbones were so prominent I would sometimes accidentally bump them and leave bruises.

It was the first time my father ever told me I was beautiful. He followed it with “See? All you had to do was lose weight. I knew you were beautiful underneath that.”

I was starving. I had headaches constantly. I was tired all the time. But I was THIN. Boys were paying attention to me. One of my teachers told me, “Don’t you dare ever gain weight again. Don’t you DARE” which at the time I was all “Aw, nice!” and now, looking back, I’m all, “Um. CREEPSTER!”

I think you can see where this is going. Can anyone maintain that kind of diet and exercise regimen in the long-term? And not get scurvy? And not go CRAZY? I mean, I couldn’t eat ANYTHING. I was counting the calories in CORNSTARCH. I’m not even kidding you about this. This is not a way to live a life.

I gained the weight back over about a year. I felt terrible shame. I’d let everyone down. I was disgusting. I was ugly and fat again. I had no self-esteem; I didn’t like to go out in public, I didn’t like to go out with my friends, I didn’t date because who would have me? I drank a lot, though. Liquid courage, right? Mmm-hmm. Works every time, except when you start needing it for everything, ever. Like getting out of bed in the morning, or to get to sleep at night. Or for everything in between.

I’ve fluctuated in weight ever since. Sometimes I’m heavier; sometimes I’m lighter. And here’s the thing; as I age, it matters less to me. I still don’t love what I see in the mirror every day; I still see photos of myself and think, “Good grief, that’s an unflattering photo.” I still have residual shame. I still think “If only I was thinner, life would be easier, in a million different ways.” But it’s not a daily thing. It’s not even all that often anymore.

And before you start to hate him, Dad understands, and has repeatedly apologized, for what he did when I was younger. I often think most of parenting is a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants affair. He really, truly thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was stopping me from the ridicule he’d experienced as a teen. He didn’t realize – and did anyone, back then? – the long-standing effect that kind of treatment would have on my psyche. I’ve forgiven him. He doesn’t say a word now. And he’s said, without prompting, many times since, that I’m beautiful – no matter what size I am. He loves his daughter.

We live in a culture where it is not allowed (well, it still happens, but it’s not appropriate) to make racial jokes, or jokes about someone’s sexuality, or mental illness. But we’re still allowed to make fat jokes. Because fat jokes are funny. Fat PEOPLE are funny, right? Because, well, we CHOSE this. We chose this because we eat ALL the Twinkies and chips and cake and pie and sit around all day doing nothing. We chose this, and because we are fat, we are lazy and we also smell. Of course we do! And sometimes we fall. Ha ha! How funny!

So the best thing to do is make fun of us. To shame us. Because, as this VERY scientific study proves, it’s the only way to make us get off our lazy asses and get thin. Thin and therefore healthy. Oh, because, I don’t know if you’re aware – if you’re fat, you’re immediately unhealthy. There’s no such thing as a healthy fat person. We’re all one HoHo away from our first (or second, or third, or last) coronary. So the thing to do is shame us. According to this “prominent bioethicist” (I don’t see “ethics” coming into this at all) what you should say to any fat people you know, I mean, if you care about them at all, is “If you are overweight or obese, are you pleased with the way that you look?” Because of COURSE they’re not! And they just didn’t realize it until you shamed them! Oh, what a favor you are doing for them. They will thank you on the finish line of their first triathalon! They will shout your name from the top of Kilimanjaro!

Or they might tell you to shut your nosy piehole. Because I’m going to tell you something right now, and if you take anything away from this, I want it to be this.

My body, his body, her body, their bodies – anyone’s body but your own – ARE NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS.

I don’t care if you’re fat-shaming them, thin-shaming them (yes, it exists, please read sj’s amazing post about it, and the comments, and I know from personal experience, as I have a dear loved one who has constantly been picked on about being too thin, which she can help JUST about as much as I can help my body shape, so it’s real) or ANYTHING shaming-them, or if you say you’re doing it because you’re worried about their health, or what, exactly, your impetus for putting your nose in someone else’s business is. You have no right. None. You have no right to tell them they should lose weight (unless you are their doctor, and even then, sometimes, it gets worrisome, because there are some doctors who prescribe weightloss as an easy out for everything from asthma to a sprained toe because they don’t treat the patient, they just see a fat person and think, “I KNOW WHAT’S WRONG IT IS FATNESS!”); you have no right to say things about their lifestyle choices, their clothing choices, who they’re dating, what they’re eating, how loud they’re talking, or anything whatsoever. Keep your eyes on your own test, buckaroo. I’m sure you have something you’re not proud of. Would you like someone walking up to you and saying, “Man, that’s a huge nose you have there. You should get that surgically reduced. You know, for health reasons.” Or, “I noticed you have a very small penis, Man I’m About to Have Sex With. Have you thought about getting that surgically enhanced? You know, for health reasons?” IT WOULD BE THE SAME THING.

Here’s some Fun With Fat-Shaming. Don’t even think I didn’t research the hell out of this.

First, we have Kate Upton. Who is, I think we can all agree, STUNNINGLY GORGEOUS.

She also really likes bikini shots, so it was hard to find a photo of her clothed. Hell, good for her. She is smoking hot.

She also really likes bikini shots, so it was hard to find a photo of her clothed. Hell, good for her. She is smoking hot.

Well! Were you also aware she is “well-marbled,” “thick,” “vulgar,” and – this one’s my favorite – a “little piggie?” Or – well, how about a whole paragraph of hate? Sure!

Huge thighs, NO waist, big fat floppy boobs, terrible body definition – she looks like a squishy brick. Is this what American women are “striving” for now? The lazy, lardy look? Have we really gotten so fat in this country that Kate is the best we can aim for? Sorry, but: eww!

YES! She has been called out as too fat to model by a VERY reputable blog site called Skinny Gossip. Two things I loathe! People who judge others’ bodies and gossip! (Also, she tagged the post with “fatties” and “thunder thighs,” because, well, why not?)

Guess why she’s not model-material? BECAUSE SHE’S NORMAL-HUMAN SIZED. Well, no. She’s actually quite a bit less than normal human sized, as normal humans are, what, a size 12 now? 14? Something like that? I don’t think she’s that size. But she’s not waif-thin, and apparently, Skinny Gossip thinks that’s what size you have to be to model clothing.

Psst, Skinny Gossip, MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. She’s stunning. And it can’t possibly make you feel any better about yourself to call people pigs, can it? Really? Do you sleep well at night knowing you put something like that out there in the world? That kind of hate?

Next: employees at CVS will now be forced to take a BMI test and a blood-glucose screen to remain on their healthcare plan, or risk a fine. Why?

The company’s rationale? Coercing employees to submit to health testing will provide incentive for workers to get—and stay—in shape.

Huh. “Coercing.” Forcing, really, because the fine is $600 and they don’t pay much above minimum to work at CVS. And what happens once you take the test? Do you have to see a counselor about your totally fat fatness? Are you told if you don’t lose weight, you’ll be let go? Are your test results posted in the breakroom next to a photo of a bag of Cheetos with a red circle and a line through it? WHO KNOWS.

Or, how about, let’s fat-shame our children with this new ad campaign? Because there’s nothing that kids need more than to be shamed. I mean, it’s worked out so well for me, right?

Please read the article that accompanies this photo. It’s kickass. It has excellent examples of fat-shaming. HEARTBREAKING examples. And, sadly, TRUE examples. People think it is ok to walk up to perfect strangers in the grocery store and QUESTION THEIR FOOD CHOICES.

(True story: I had a woman come up to me in the grocery store and tell me she worked for Herbalife and they had an excellent line of diet pills I might like to try. First thought: shame. Second thought: WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE. Second thought won out over first thought; I told her I was not at all interested in a pyramid scheme for products that don’t work in the first place, and I was sorry she felt the need to walk up to strangers and judge their body type, and walked away. She was offering them to the next woman that walked past as I checked out. So apparently my words meant nothing.)

So, anyway. Yes, that’s an ad campaign for (well, against, I guess) childhood obesity, targeting overweight children. Because they probably aren’t aware they’re fat. So let’s do a whole ad campaign for it. That’s a good way to help kids with positive self-esteem. Way to go, guys.

Of course, there’s also good old Southwest Airlines, who expect their fat passengers to spring for two seats. And even their not-so-fat passengers. Whoever THEY deem as a little too fat. They SAY it’s if the passenger can’t put the armrests down, but as Kevin Smith found out a few years ago, that’s not it at all – it’s racial profiling, only with your weight. It’s fat-profiling. He was able to put his armrests down; the passengers on either side of him told the flight attendant they had plenty of room. They still kicked him off the plane. And when he got back on a later flight that they hurriedly put him on once they realized who he was and that he was tweeting millions of people about this practice, they fat-profiled another person, then put her in his row, so she’d tell him about it, and he’d know it wasn’t just him, and feel better.

DEFINITELY taking up way too much room. He should have purchased the WHOLE DAMN PLANE. *eyeroll*

DEFINITELY taking up way too much room. He should have purchased the WHOLE DAMN PLANE. *eyeroll*

Yes! Because nothing makes us feel better than to be shamed in front of a crowd of people than to do it to someone else. NOTHING. (I read his book Tough Shit recently which went in detail into the incident, and my heart just broke for him. Because no matter what you think of Kevin Smith – you all know I think he’s fantastic, but you can hate him if you want, just don’t tell me about it, ok? – when that happened, he was just an average guy, being fat-shamed in front of a full airplane of people. Worse, he was a FAMOUS guy being fat-shamed in front of a crowd of people, and if it was an average guy, it might be a laugh or two, but with a famous person, it’s news, you know? He took control of the news and labeled it “too fat to fly” himself – he’s very good at self-deprecating – but it hurt. Of course it did. Because no matter who you are, where you are in the world, being shamed for your body size is not something you can laugh off. It just isn’t. The shame should be on Southwest Airlines, not the people they’re profiling.)

Then there’s this. I can’t embed a Facebook thread, so sadly, you will have to click. Here’s a screenshot, though, because pretty pictures, right?

Now, you have to click to see the comments. The comments are really what makes this. Because this STARTS OUT as normal, then this person shows up who hates fat people. HATES THEM. Only, no no! She doesn’t HATE them. She has MANY FAT FRIENDS! (Does this sound at all like someone who makes a lot of racist comments, then says, “What? I’m not a racist! I have MANY MANY BLACK FRIENDS!” Yeah, to me, too.) So she starts writing things like “no, it’s a known fact that all fat people are unhealthy and many doctors refuse to operate on them because, well, they’ll just die on the table. Because, well, fat, you know?”

Don’t worry. There are some kickass commenters on there. They give her the smackdown. She doesn’t ever shut up, but they win intelligence. She doesn’t win anything but idiocy and mouth-flappery.

This is, by the way, called “concern-trolling.” It’s like being a troll, only you’re pretending it’s because you CARE. Isn’t that nice? A whole new way to be a douchecanoe!

Sara, from Laments and Lullabies, wrote an amazing post recently about fat-shaming, which you all should read. Her post, and the terrible comments on that Facebook post up there, were what finally made me realize I needed to write my own post. Here’s her post. You should all a., read, and b., comment. Oh, and c., follow her blog.

There are more. There are so many more. But this is edging into way too many words for a Saturday territory, and also I’d like to get to bed at some point.

I will leave you with some bullet points. Because, who doesn’t like bullet points, am I right?

  • Other people’s bodies are none of your business. Keep your words off them. Unless you’re telling them they’re beautiful. Everyone likes that shit. Even if they pretend they don’t.
  • Pretending you’re “worried about someone’s health” is not an excuse for commenting on someone’s weight, whether they’re heavy or thin. Again, see the first bullet point. Even if they’re naked with you, their size is none of your business. Whose business is it then, Amy? THEIRS. No one’s but theirs.
  • Making fat jokes is a., not funny, and b., lazy. There are actual funny things in the world to point out. Like misspellings. Who doesn’t like a good misplaced apostrophe or missing comma? The answer to that is NO ONE.
  • To reiterate what we learned in the first bullet point: before making a comment about someone’s weight, please think the following quietly to yourself: “What is my least-favorite attribute. Now, would I like someone to loudly mention it and say it is ugly and/or unhealthy for me to have, and publicly shame me about it?” The answer to that question is always no. ALWAYS.
  • Also: if you think you are too fat, and everyone’s judging you, and you’re ugly, and OMG I CANNOT LEAVE THE HOUSE, guess what. No, seriously, guess. Hardly anyone even notices. The only people that do are assholes. And who cares what assholes think? I hope you don’t.
  • Finally: I’m going to tell you something I’ve learned in my old age. Ready? Shh, don’t share this one around, it’s kind of radical. WE ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL. I know! Every single last one of us. Fat. Thin. Tall. Short. We’re a lovely bunch of coconuts. Except – there is one thing that makes you ugly. Guess what that is? Hatefulness. Being hateful. You can’t be beautiful with hate in your mind, soul, or mouth. So get rid of that, and guess what? You’re gorgeous again. And everyone will see it. I can see it right now! Whoa, babe, dial that back, you’re blinding me with it.

We’ve become a culture of shaming. We’re rape-shaming and we’re slut-shaming and we’re thin-shaming and we’re fat-shaming. It’s repulsive and this shit’s gotta stop. Like, immediately.

Stop shaming anyone. Including yourself. You are beautiful. The people around you are beautiful. No one should be shamed for how they look. The next time you look at yourself in the mirror, be amazed at how gorgeous you are. And tell the people around you how beautiful they are. Don’t allow them to blow it off and say things like, “Oh, I look like a cow in this top” or whatever, either. Nope. Not today, buckaroos. Tell them they’re beautiful AGAIN. Until they actually believe it.

Then, all of that stuff? Do quadruple that for your kids. Make sure your kids enter the world with the strongest self-esteem possible. They’re going to need it, and you can help them with that.

We might be surrounded by shame, but we can combat that with love. Is that the opposite of shame? Don’t care. For our purposes it is.

Love you guys. You’re gorgeous. Every last one of you.


…the status is not quo. The world is a mess and I just need to rule it.

sj alerted me to this and I do not approve. (Of the story, not of sj. I approve of sj most wholeheartedly.)

Apparently, there is a website called WND. I didn’t know it existed, either. Don’t feel bad. “WND” stands for World Net Daily. They find news and then tell you about it from a conservative viewpoint. Oh, I know about this! It’s called Fox News. Dad fills me in on this every day. I’m totally up on the conservative viewpoint and the mockery thereof. It’s both fair AND balanced, you guys.

So WND (I keep wanting to call it WWD and wonder where the fashion is, yo) decided the latest person they hated is – ready for this? Neil Patrick Harris.

NO NO NO. That is NOT ALLOWED.

See, I don’t know if you’re aware? But NPH is gay. YES IT IS TRUE FACTS! He is married to a lovely man and they have adorable twins.

He’s also a talented actor, onstage and in movies and on television, and seems, in interviews, to be a very well-spoken, intelligent, and interesting person. He also sings and dances beautifully and is very, very funny. Seriously, his hosting stint on Saturday Night Live made me laugh until I almost choked. If stupid nbc.com played nice with WordPress I would show you. Instead, here’s a link. And another. (First link is NPH doing this Doogie Howser musical thing – I can’t even explain. Roommate C. and I were in TEARS of laughter. And second link is NPH doing a Broadway skit. Both are worth the click, promise.)

PLUS, come ON, how many actors are happy to make fun of themselves in a stoner movie?

“Yeah. It was a total dick move on my part. That’s why I’m paying for your burgers.”

AND AND AND! Come on. JUST COME ON. He was in the BEST INTERNET MUSICAL EVER!

“Did you notice that he threw you in the garbage?”

THE MAN IS A NATIONAL TREASURE.

So anyway, NPH did the following ad for the Superbowl:

And WND said NO NO NO! This is EVIL! HE IS MOCKING OUR HERO, LORD, and SAVIOR!

I have nothing against Tim Tebow, but apparently the Christian right has decided he’s their spokesperson? Worrisome. I think you already HAVE a spokesperson. JESUS. My mom told me that and I have to believe her, as she is my mom.

So! By wearing this crap on his face with the dates on it (apparently this is called “eyeblack”, who knew) NPH is “…pushing a gay agenda …and…mocking Christians at the same time.”

OH! Is THAT what he’s doing! Well. Isn’t THAT a whole bunch of things to be doing all at once like that, how very multitasky!

(Also, if you want to see a cross-section of super-awesome humans? Read the comments on the WND post. OH MY OH NO. “REPENT REPENT!” says the very first one. Um. You repent for gaybashing, I’ll repent for whatever it is you’re judging me for, bub.)

Shit. Well, if NPH is too gay for the Superbowl, then so am I. I AM SPARTACUS. I’m totally boycotting it this year.

What’s that? I boycott it every year because I refuse to watch it because it’s sports and I hate sports and this is really not a BOYCOTT, per se, if I’m doing something I would do ANYWAY and just SAYING it’s a political statement?

Well. Aren’t YOU judgey. That’s very rude of you. Huff, huff.

(For the record, guess who can enjoy sports? Gay people. Straight people. People with no legs. People with two heads. People with red hair. People who wear too many gold chains. People who like their pizza with black olives. People with penises. People without penises. People with both penises AND vaginas. Tall people. Short people. Fat people. Skinny people. People who wear sweaters with kittens on the front. People who like dairy. People who are lactose-intolerant. In short: ANYONE AT ALL.)

There’s no gay agenda. Well, no, I take that back. There’s totally a gay agenda. The gays (yes, I’ve talked to all of them) would like the following:

  • to be treated like productive members of society, no matter who they love
  • to be given the same rights as everyone else
  • to not be beaten up for who they love (or called names on the street, or given dirty looks, or be made to feel unsafe in any way)

That’s pretty much it. I don’t know if three bullet points make an “agenda.” I mean, I’m on a board of directors. We have more bullet points than that on our monthly board meeting agendas.

Listen. I don’t care about a lot of things. But if you don’t like NPH, at least a little, I think your heart might be dead. He is just pure joy, this guy. He isn’t furthering ANYTHING. He’s the star of one of the biggest shows on his network. I bet half or more of the people who watch his show don’t even KNOW he’s gay. He doesn’t even play someone gay ON the show. And the photo above is from a promo clip on his network, who would be stupid not to use one of their most recognizable faces for publicity purposes.

That’s it. That’s the agenda. His network wants people to watch the Superbowl; they used one of their resources to get people to do so. I don’t think they were mocking Tebow. Little known fact: people were using that eyeblack shit before Tebow came along. IT IS TRUE.

Dear WND: please to be getting a life. You make me sad and also angry. You are small-minded and hateful people and at some point you have forgotten that we’re all human on this rock in space and there’s no room for that kind of thinking because it’s 2013 and we don’t need to put up with it anymore.

In short, WND, feel most free to bite me. Grow the hell up.


At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought.

So you know how I’m obsessed with my stats, right? Shut up, all you other bloggers are, too. Don’t even pretend you’re not. You might be all “oh, I blog just for FUN and I’m really just writing for ME” but you totally dig into that stats page and see how many people are reading and where they’re coming from and how they found your blog just like the rest of us. Just like you people that say you don’t stalk Facebook profiles. EVERYONE DOES THIS. That’s what they’re FOR. That’s why you should LOCK YOUR SHIT DOWN, YO. Unless you want EVERYONE to know what you’ve been doing since you joined Facebook, including potential enemies and people who are checking out their competition and also maybe killers. Do you WANT to be stalked by killers? No, not THE Killers, as in the BAND, I’m sure The Killers have better things to do. REAL LIFE KILLERS. If you don’t, LOCK YOUR SHIT DOWN. I mean, I don’t LIKE it when I go to stalk someone’s page and it’s locked down, but I grudgingly RESPECT them and I don’t think they’re a MORON. Or at least as MUCH of a moron.

That’s tangenty and not at all why we’re here today. Oh, stop making fake shock-faces, you love my tangents. I don’t think that’s a euphemism. Unless you’re a mathematician, I guess. Ken’ll know for sure, I suppose. You know how on Jeopardy when Alex is all, “we’ll have to ask the judges?” That’s how I feel with euphemisms. I have to be all, “Ken? Final ruling, here?” (Hint: it’s a safe bet Ken will rule yes on the euphemism. He usually does.)

So the other day, I was poking around in my stats and like five people had come here from some blog that looked real and not spammy (lately I’ve been getting a lot of random hits from male enhancement sites and also real estate sites? Cut that out, I mean, I appreciate the traffic but what the hell) and so I clicked on it.

Then I was promptly confused as to why these people wanted anything to do with me.

So it’s this site that’s all about economics? But yo, this is a SMART SITE, you guys. This guy is NOT DICKING AROUND. And it’s not that false-intelligent stuff? It’s REAL intelligent stuff. Like, you’d read this in a magazine and then if you were me you’d probably be all “where’s the Entertainment Weekly, I didn’t understand a word of this.” (Also, check out his about page. He’s totally like a musician and Australian and shit. I like this guy a lot.)

Now, I think you’ll all give me the benefit of the doubt when I tell you I am an intelligent woman. I have three degrees, graduated valedictorian from my high school, and don’t even say “yo” or “ZOMG” in real life. I KNOW. Try to contain your shock, please. I’m actually QUITE intelligent. More so than I come across here.

But economics (and to a lesser extent, politics) goes right over my head. Don’t get it. Not even a little bit. And if I were to attempt to talk about it I would be like Billy Madison when he tried to talk about the Industrial Revolution and compared it to the Puppy Who Lost His Way and everyone was dumber having heard his response. (Oh, shush, it’s only like the funniest movie EVER, you guys.)

KNIBB HIGH FOOTBALL RULES!

I took an economics class in high school. Want to know what I remember from it? Here, I’ll tell you.

  • The teacher was a dreamboat. TOTAL DREAMBOAT. He was right out of college and had the blackest curly hair and the bluest eyes that crinkled when he laughed. I just stared at him in awe of his perfection, sincerely.
  • We did this thing where we had imaginary money and we had to purchase stocks and then over the course of the semester see how they did. Dad was all, “Buy McDonald’s, everyone loves burgers.” So I did. I think I made like $5 overall and I felt like Scrooge McDuck swimming through his silo of money.
FIVE DOLLARS WHEEEE!

FIVE DOLLARS WHEEEE!

That is all I know about economics. I know we’re having multiple fiscal crises all over the world but have no idea WHY or how we’re going to go about FIXING them. I only know the exchange rate of Canadian dollars and pounds and Euro because I grew up near Canada and because I have people in Europe and the U.K. and sometimes out of curiosity I like to Google that shit. (For your information: one Euro = $1.32 MERKAN dollars; one Canadian dollar = $1.01 MERKAN dollars; one pound = $1.62 MERKAN dollars. So you’re worst off if you go to London and best off if you go to London, Ontario, if you are from MERKA.)

Also, can I just bitch for a minute? Why is MERKAN money so boring? Foreign money is SO PRETTY.

Also, can I just bitch for a minute? Why is MERKAN money so boring? Foreign money is SO PRETTY.

So that’s what I know about economics. Nothing.

So this is the post I was getting hits from. So I scrolled through it (I attempted to read it, but it was like Charlie Brown’s teacher to me…wah, wah, wah…and I felt bad, because it’s really well-written, you guys. Like, this guy can WRITE. It’s just…written in another language. The language of SMART people who talk about SMART things) and then I started scrolling through the comments and someone mentioned “he’s like Lucy with the Football” and I thought “oh. Oh, shit. I am getting hits from this because THEY PROBABLY GOOGLED ME AND ARE MOCKING ME BECAUSE I SCREW AROUND ON HERE AND AM NOT THE SMART PEOPLE” but they TOTALLY did not. They were VERY NICE. See?

I like that whatever the “MNE brand and community” is could learn a thing or two from me. YEAH BOYYYYY! Wait, is this a good thing? *Googling* No idea, that Google search was fruitless. I’m going to just assume it’s a good thing. It SEEMS good therefore it IS good. In your FACE, MNE brand and community!

Also, I like new internet friends. So I totally commented and told them I would write them a post but I know nothing about economics and also would go off on tangents and I think one person was happy and one person was trepidacious.

One was tentatively impressed with my Kevin Smith love. Well! We will get along JUST FINE, then.

One was tentatively impressed with my Kevin Smith love. Well! We will get along JUST FINE, then.

HI NEW FRIENDS WHO ARE SO MUCH SMARTER THAN I AM ABOUT MONEY AND/OR GLOBAL MONETIZATION!

(Are you all so impressed with my use of the word “monetization” there? I know, right? I don’t know if I used it CORRECTLY but don’t even tell the smart people that.)

Dear smart economicy people: I know a lot about the following things. Theater, wasting large amounts of time on the interwebs, interspecies animal friends, writing long emails and being ferociously protective to people I love, how to make people laugh, the correct use of semicolons, blogging daily, my very unintelligent but loveable cat, how scary clowns are, how much I like chocolate but dislike garlic, and all things Kevin Smith and Joss Whedon.

I do NOT know a lot about the following things. Economics, politics, war, building things without an instruction sheet that comes in the box, what makes a car work, why people insist on doing very stupid things even though they are very intelligent otherwise, and sports.

Except "The Mighty Ducks" movies. I know a lot about these. What, they're totally inspirational, bite me.

Except “The Mighty Ducks” movies. I know a lot about these. What, they’re totally inspirational, bite me.

However, in a STROKE OF FATE AND OR KISMET AND OR MAGIC!, secret-sibling Ken sent me this secret searchy game-like thing the other day because he wanted me to investigate this person because he thought I would find him intriguing and also it was the most fun until it got frustrating and I couldn’t solve it because my Google-fu totally failed me because it’s very HARD to search things in LANGUAGES that you don’t SPEAK, yo, and come to find out THE GUY WAS A VERY FAMOUS ECONOMIST. On the same DAY! How does that even HAPPEN, I ask you? I didn’t even TELL Ken about this blog of new friends who are now probably so embarrassed they even accidentally found my FAQ! Ken is filled with magic. Utterly stuffed. (Yes, yes. Euphemism, Ken. Euphemism.)

So now I know about this person named Albert O. Hirschman who died last week and was VERY IMPRESSIVE. Seriously, you guys, he wrote like a kabillion books – all of which, I’m sure, were I to attempt to read them, would read like Charlie Brown’s teacher to me, because economics = TOO CONFUSING. But ALSO, he was German, and went to school at the Sorbonne and other fancy places, and then – GET THIS – fought in the Spanish Civil War! How bon vivanty is THAT? And – AND – check THIS out that I found on Wikipedia: “After France surrendered to the Nazis, he worked with Varian Fry to help many of Europe’s leading artists and intellectuals to escape to the United States.” Well! THAT is exciting, right? We have movies about that board game Battleship and we don’t have a movie about this?

He then taught at U.C. Berkeley, Yale, Columbia, Harvard, and the “Institute for Advanced Study,” whatever that is.

Listen, this guy sounds both fancy AND bon vivanty. I can see why Ken was impressed. (Also, little known fact? Along with being bon vivanty, Ken’s super-smart about things like politics and economics. I bet he could read that blog and totally understand ALL of it. Good, Ken, do that and give me an Econ for Dummies recap or something, ok? Thanks, you’re the best, I’ll repay you with…um…teaching you about…shit, I’m pretty sure anything I know anything about you’re already pretty schooled on. Sorry.)

So, there! See how I know like ONE THING about economics? Impressed? Yep. Thought you might be.

New friends, I am glad to have you here. Please do not be put off by the ZOMGs or the yo-ing. Sometimes we talk about other things. Like…um…Helper Mules, and…sciency stuff…and sex…and…

Sigh.

Bye, new friends. It was nice knowing you for like three whole days.

(If you are at all into economics, I totally do recommend the blog. It might sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher to me, but I know good writing when I see it, and it is written very well. I suppose if you know things about economics, it’s probably the best thing.)


I am illustrious and also notable. And Dad is New Found Landing.

I have TWO very exciting things to talk about today. One Dad-related, and one ME-related. Because it’s all about me, jellybeans. ALL ABOUT ME. Well, and Dad. Also Dad.

First: you know how we weren’t counting chickens? Well, let’s see. One, two, THREE chickens. Some chickens have come home to roost.

Uno, dos, TRES POLLOS!

A few weeks ago, my most lovely theater friend C. sent me an email. “Amy, do you want to do this?” she said. “They invited me, but I’m unavailable.”

It was an opportunity to be part of a panel being held at one of our local theaters (one of our BEST local theaters) – a panel of local critics, talking about the critieria for critiquing new works of theater. The other panelists are other local critics. BIG DEAL CRITICS. Friend C. said, “email these people back and tell them you’re taking my place” and I said, “um…I think I should be a little more humble than that, C.” and she said, “I never got anything I wanted in life by being humble, Amy.” C.’s a spitfire. I want to be her when I grow up.

So I sent off the email and the guy said they’d get back to me and I waited and I waited and I thought, “well, they don’t know who I am. So that’s ok. Even though I want this. I want this very badly.” But as I’ve mentioned, me and good things are not on the best terms, always. So I’ve learned not to hope much. Well, I still hope. That sounded depressing as hell. Of course I still hope. I just play it close to the vest. Because if you blab about your hopes and they don’t come through, then you are sad and people think you’re a loser and blah blah blah counting chickens you know the drill. Plus your poor little heart gets all crushed-like.

Stupid feathery hope.

But on Friday at work, I got an email saying, “Amy. YES. We would VERY MUCH like you to be part of our panel. Send us a bio, we’ll start sending out publicity.”

I AM PART OF A PANEL. An “illustrious” panel, no less!

Wait, wait, I’ll show you. Just a minute.

Capital Region Media Notables Selected 

for 

 CRITICS CIRCLE 

Jeffrey Borak, Amy Durant, Michael Eck, Bob Goepfert, Byron Nilsson, James Yeara & Benita Zahn Join the New Play Discussion 

Two Plays and Musical Dominate More Than 120 Submissions;

Grammy-Award Winning Composer Tops Musical Selection

Albany, NY – October 29, 2012 – In the first joint artistic venture for both organizations, Albany-based Capital Repertory Theatre and Proctors of Schenectady have called on the expertise and experience of six Capital Region notables in the field of theatre and entertainment for a professional dialogue on new plays received as a result of a statewide invitation for new work as part of an inaugural NEXT ACT! NEW PLAY SUMMIT.

Special Events include CRITICS CIRCLE 

The NEXT ACT! NEW PLAY SUMMIT includes special daytime events designed to shed light on new play development including discussions with the featured artists. Complimentary refreshments will be available at all events.

The highly anticipated CRITICS CIRCLE panel discussion will take place on Sun. Nov 4 at 1 – 2:30 PM at Capital Rep. Capital Region subject-matter experts in theatre will comprise the Circle: 

WNYT news anchor BENITA ZAHN will moderate the Critics Circle, which will include JEFFREY BORAK (Berkshire Eagle), MICHAEL ECK (critic and frequest contributor to the Times Union, BOB GOEPFERT (The Saratogian), AMY DURANT (Daily Gazette), JAMES YEARA (Metroland)and BYRON NILSSON, (Words and Music blog and Metroland contributor). 

According to Capital Rep’s Artistic Director Maggie Mancinelli-Cahill, the contributions of the Critics Circle will be an invaluable asset to the festival.  “Being able to bring insight to patrons, artists and playwrights about the process of reviewing a new play is a part of the “circle of life” for new work.  We have an illustrious panel of critics, who all care about the arts in the Capital Region and take their work very seriously.  This is a wonderful opportunity to get behind the scenes for an insider view of issues facing art critics today.”

About the CRITICS CIRCLE Contributors

Broadcaster BENITA ZAHN will serve as moderator for the New Act! New Play Summit ‘s Critics Circle.  Ms. Zahn co-anchors News Channel 13 Live at 5 and 6 with Jim Kambrich. Her outstanding work has garnered numerous awards, including being named one of the 100 Women of the Century by the Albany-Colonie Chamber of Commerce; the Arthur Kapner Spirit of the Chamber Award, a three-time Emmy nominee, NYS Broadcasters award recipient, Gold Medal and Bronze Medal – New York Festival’s International Television, and the Distinguished Communicator Award from American Women in Radio and Television. An avid runner, Benita also is active in regional theatre. Her theater credits include performances at the Fort Salem Theater, Albany Civic Theater, Schenectady Civic Theater, Schenectady Light Opera and Park Playhouse. She also is a member of the Singer Anchors – with WRGB (CBS 6) anchor Jerry Gretzinger and WNYT  (News Channel 13) and Jessica Layton. The trio originally joined melodic forces with Jay Kerr at the Fort Salem Theater to produce a fantastic evening of song and banter.   Since their debut at the Cabaret at Fort Salem Theater in November, 2009 they have been successfully touring the area.  Their holiday show is booked at Vapor and The Century House. Benita is on the boards of Kelly’s Cause, Building on Love, which supports Ronald McDonald House and Park Playhouse.

JEFFREY BORAK has been the Berkshire Eagle’s entertainment editor and theater critic since April 1986.  Before coming to the Berkshires in April 1986, he covered city hall in Beacon and then Poughkeepsie, N.Y, for the Poughkeepsie Journal, before becoming that newspaper’s entertainment editor and theater critic. Mr. Borak has acted and directed with community theaters in Wappingers Falls, N.Y. and Poughkeepsie, and acted with Ghent Playhouse and Albany Civic Theater. He lives in Pittsfield, MA, with his wife, Judaic mixed media artist Wendy Rabinowitz.

MICHAEL ECK has been commenting on art and culture in the Capital Region for nearly 30 years. A freelancer, he has been the Times Union’s chief theater critic since 1992. (He also has contributed music reviews and general features to the paper since 1986). Nationally, Eck has written for Backstage, Billboard, AOL, Amazon.com, The Austin Chronicle, Fretboard Journal, Southwest Airlines Spirit, Los Angeles Times Syndicate, No Depression and many other publications and websites.

AMY DURANT has a B.A. in Theatre from Binghamton University and has been working in theater, both onstage and off, for over 25 years. She has been the Artistic Director at Albany Civic Theater for two years and has worked on a number of their productions over the last eight years. She is also a theater reviewer for The Daily Gazette. She has worked at a number of theaters in her career and is proud to call the Capital District, with its rich arts culture, her home. 

BOB GOEPFERT  A local arts critic for more than 30 years, Goepfert is a former executive director of the Palace Theater in Albany.  His reviews can be found in the Troy Record, the Saratogian and on air at WAMC.   

BYRON NILSSON  has been reviewing theater, music, dance, movies, restaurants, and more since 1984 for such area publications as Metroland, the Schenectady Gazette, the Albany Times-Union and writes a blog Words and Music. He is a professional actor and member of Actors Equity SAG-AFTRA and the Dramatists Guild. His plays have been performed at Ensemble Studio Theatre and the NY Fringe Festival.

JAMES YEARA has an MA in Theatre Education and has been writing about, producing and directing theatre for 25 years.  He is a mainstay critic at METROLAND and founder and producer of Wit and Will improv troupe. He teaches theatre and dramatic literature at Bethlehem High School.

Are you so excited/impressed right now? I AM PART OF AN ILLUSTRIOUS PANEL. Look at these PEOPLE! And our moderator is a NEWSLADY! I have always wanted to meet the fancy theatery newslady. Everyone says she’s very nice. (She also acts. That’s why she’s also theatery.)

So I have to talk in front of a PAYING AUDIENCE OF PEOPLE. Not JUST people. FANCY PEOPLE. The people that attend this theater are the fanciest. It’s a very nice theater. Luckily, I’m talking about a thing I know something about – I’m in charge of choosing the new work for my theater every year, plus I review plays, and you all KNOW I’m very judgmental, so I’m not going to have to either make things up, or just sit there quietly and nod. But still. SCARY.

I’m Willow with the stage fright. Not when I’m ACTING. When I’m PUBLIC SPEAKING.

Yes. Yes, I know. I used to act. I used to get up in front of LARGE ROOMS FULL OF STRANGERS and TALK. At LENGTH. I also blog daily and talk to STRANGERS. I know this. However, acting/talking in character (even if blog character is pretty close to Amy) is nothing like getting up in front of people and being YOURSELF. I sometimes have to get up and do the curtain speech in front of my theater, and the curtain speech is like two minutes long, and I have to PEP TALK myself before that damn thing, and I almost HYPERVENTILATE. Here’s a secret: I’m a total introvert. I’m PETRIFIED of this.

However! My four years of theater training (that I will be paying for for…well…the rest of my life, let’s be honest) and my…let’s see…yep, 25 years of FREE theater training (I did my first show when I was 13. THIRTEEN! Can you even imagine? Little 13-year-old me. Aw, me) have taught me a lot of things, but one thing that is very important and I have used it in a million billion places.

I’m very good at pretending I’m not scared of things.

Inside, I’m hiding in the pots-and-pans cupboard with my cat, but on the outside, I’m loud and I’m brassy and I’m all smiles and I’m happy and wide-eyed and confident as hell. I realize in telling you this, I’m totally blowing my cover, but there it is. I’m really, really good at playing a character when I need to, and that character is Confident Amy. (And when I’m comfortable with someone, I don’t need to play Confident Amy; Confident Amy is naturally there, and THAT’S nice, because it’s a lot easier to not have to ACT like I’m confident and just BE confident. Acting is EXHAUSTING. You know how people are all “actors are LAZY!” Nope. Acting is EXHAUSTING. You have no idea. It’s a lot of work, wearing someone else’s face and mannerisms for an extended period of time.)

Anyway, there’s the scoop. Next weekend, I’m not working Assassins for THREE OF THE FOUR DAYS. I know! I will miss it. Thank you, friend K., for being my fill-in light person. I love you so much. Also, you are very good at talks and advice and making me giggle, and you are one of my favorite people in the whole world, and I am so glad I know you. So, anyway, next weekend, one day I’m reviewing a show; one day, I’m ushering at my theater; and one day, I’m talking in front of a large room filled with people about theater in some REALLY FANCY COMPANY. Which I think makes ME fancy company, right? HOLY HELL WHEN DID I BECOME FANCY. Even if it’s only for the one day. BRIEFLY fancy.

I promise I will not forget you when I am a fancy person. Well, except Ken. I’ve already told Ken I’ve begun to forget him. Who’s Ken, again? Bon vivant what? Friend in Germany who?

KEN IS NOT AMUSED BY MY SHENANIGANS.
(I totally ganked this from the interwebs, Ken. Because your face makes me laugh like a moron. Wait, that came out wrong. KEN I LOVE YOUR FACE. Just, THIS EXPRESSION is very funny. There. That’s better. Kind of.)

OK, now DAD news. Dad is in NEW FOUND LAND! I’ve been missing him all week. I have to write a blog about where Dad is, because he sent me a website to his hunting tour place, and it’s…well, it’s filled with accidental hilarity, I can’t lie. But I can’t access that from here. I’m at the theater, you see. No internetting here. We’re getting ready to open the matinee. The house should be opening any…minute…now and the show starts in 20 minutes and then I have to run to Staples before it closes and print some things because my home printer is not working. You can put all the ink in it, but then it says “NO INK NO INK.” Well, you are a liar, printer, and I hate your face. I will talk about the printing of things at a later date, maybe. They are chickens. Uncounted chickens. I have to print some uncounted chickens. At Staples. Won’t they be surprised when THOSE pop out of the printer all uncounted-like and buck-buck-bucking around.

So Dad’s been calling me every day and I have missed EVERY SINGLE CALL and that’s been so sad but last night I went to bed at 3am (don’t ask, you wanted a blog Sunday, didn’t you? Then I had to stay up until 3am) and was SUPPOSED to sleep IN but then Dumbcat decided he wanted to snuggle at 8:30ish so he was all “mreeeow? Purr. Meee? Mooo? Purrr. Meee! Meee! MEEEEEoooooo!” and headbutting and he was SO CUTE even though SO ANNOYING so I woke up to pet him and then I was awake. So then the minute I got up he immediately occupied my warm spot so I SEE YOUR NEFARIOUS PLAN, MY BOY. VERY evil. SO evil. So later I woke HIM up to cuddle with HIM. See how HE likes it. (He liked it very much. He was so happy he DROOLED.) So I wandered around the house like a zombie-person and then the phone rang all “PRIVATE NAME PRIVATE NUMBER” at 9:15am and I was like, “WHAT THE HELL NO” but I answered it because if it was a telemarketer, I wanted to shout at them. But it was DAD! From NEW FOUND LAND!

He was all, “Well, I GUESS YOU HATE ME” and then I had to explain that I was working on a play and he was all, “NO PLAYS YOU ARE UNEMPLOYED” and I said “Dad. DAD. IT IS ASSASSINS” and he was like “I didn’t know there was a play about that assassin friend of yours” and I said, “NO. It is my favorite musical of ALL TIME and I have wanted to work on it for TWENTY YEARS and sometimes you have to DO things even if the TIMING is not the BEST” and he thought about it for a minute and then agreed. This is why I have the best dad. (Also, I want a play about Ken. How much fun would a bon vivanty assassiny musical be? Someone write a musical about Ken. The lead character has to play a ukulele, though. That is non-negotiable.)

Let’s just look at this photo of John Lennon playing a ukulele for a few minutes, ok? Because it makes me happy.

Anyway, Dad will lose cell phone reception soon, as he is going into the WILDS looking for MOOSE so I won’t talk to him for a couple of weeks or something. I caught him up briefly on all the fanciness going on in Amy-land – he was duly impressed – and he told me he rode a very big ferry and didn’t even fall off one time – and I was duly impressed. (Right before he left, someone drove their van off a ferry, which I think is kind of hilarious. Not on PURPOSE. By ACCIDENT. I know. It’s all very sad. But also kind of funny. I don’t think anyone DIED or anything. THAT wouldn’t be funny. I mean, I have a dark sense of humor, but it only goes so FAR.)

Here’s a van being rescued after falling off a ferry. Aw, van.

Dad and I talked for about 10 minutes and it was very nice and I miss him like crazy because Dad gets me more than anyone else because, other than the insane political divide we’ve got going on, we are (shh, don’t tell) VERY SIMILAR. All of my weird personality quirks, like the chicken-counting and the insane crazy crippling loyalty to our very very few chosen loved ones and even the we’re totally introverted but VERY good at pretending we’re not when we need to be so no one knows we’re not? All Dad-things. I might look like my mom, but this personality is almost 100% Amy’s Dad. (Which makes Mom INSANE. “Why didn’t you get even a SINGLE ONE OF MY TRAITS?” she will ask. I have no answer for this. Not a one. It’s not like she wasn’t AROUND for my childhood. If anything, she was around MORE, as Dad worked and Mom was a stay-at-home-mom until I was 12. Genetics and nature-vs.-nurture, they’re funny things, right? Right. Also, Amy’s Brother is just like Amy’s Dad, too. So…sorry, Mom. You lost the genetic lottery. I don’t know what to tell you.)

This is a very long blog post. I’m at the theater, what the hell else am I going to do? I’m typing inbetween looking up and watching the show. I’ve watched it 6 times in a row now and I’m not even a little bored, by the way. This is a very, very good show. Sondheim’s on my list of people I want to meet someday. It’s a short list. The Clintons, Stephen King, Joss Whedon, Sondheim. Kevin Smith was on the list but I met him so I got to cross him off. Although I WOULD like to meet him someday where I didn’t act like an asshole weirdo stalker-person. I WAS SO STAR-STRUCK MY WORD. (I’d like to meet a lot of other people – a LOT – but those are the IMPORTANT ones. Oh, well, of course, this list does not count my real-life far-flung loved ones, who I would give my left arm to meet. That’s understood, right? Right. I don’t need that left arm anyway, it just gets in the way and I’m a righty.)

Ooh, you know what Sondheim’s beard means, right? That’s right. Bon vivant.

OK. This needs to come to an end. So there’s Dad-news. More Dad-news to come soon. Later in the week, maybe? And AMY-news. Such exciting Amy-news. This week’s been great. Assassins and being on a panel and then this uncounted chicken thing that I can’t talk about yet and other various awesome things. Just a great week. Love you, week. Thank you, week. I needed you, week.


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