Good God… We are most certainly in The Bad Place. It was hard not to projectile weep yesterday.
Everyone needs to rush to their nearest public library and read both Kant and Lysistrata right now. And, WTF? If the actual FBI investigation had lasted as long as Susan Collins’s social studies disquisition… There might be some evidence to support the multiple claims that this pasty bro-bag is unfit for a lifetime appointment to any job… nevermind the highest court in the land. The whole thing makes me want to rage donate… The best curse I heard on Twitter was, “I wish her (Collins) a lifetime of wet socks.” Wet socks (along with damp bath mats) are the worst and so I wish the GOP an eternity of them. How do you like them apples, you hillbilly Mothertruckers?
I remember being a girl, watching Anita Hill from our tiny town in northern California and thinking then, “Why doesn’t anyone believe her?” The saddest thing is that in all this time nothing has changed. This whole “We-believe-something-happened-to-Dr. Ford” line but that she’s somehow damaged or “mixed up” because “it couldn’t be our guy,” when there are so many people attesting to his antics just tells us that nothing has changed. We still don’t believe women… not at work, not at home, not in the doctor’s office. Republicans… Fate and fury are coming for you because… WAY to step on ALL the women—and a fair amount of men.
“If you want me, I’ll be in the bar…” —said Joni Mitchell to just about everyone.
It’s a look I’ve seen both my daughters give me so many times. It’s the very same look I gave my own mom. Man, if mothers don’t always get it in the end.
The other day my Biffle pointed out (well before I’d had any coffee) that I was finally a Marvel supervillain on Jessica Jones… I was so ready to be completely delighted even though (in truth) I had trouble getting into Season 1 of the Netflix series mostly because I was trying to get less peeved about everything in life and the last thing I needed at the time was more bitter, bourbon-chugging role models. Alas, this is the villain my BFF sent me…
Thanks a lot, Marvel… As the dreaded Alisa Jones, embattled mother of Jessica, an experiment of whiteboy medical hubris, never mind a cautionary icon of female rage, you couldn’t even give me a good suit? No leather? Just some fucking Chico’s casual wear, a poorly tailored coat, and a bad wig? Couldn’t my namesake at least have some product? And why did she have to kill the only righteous sister on the show? Ruth Sunday may not have been everybody’s fave girls’ trip companion, but we needed her. And why couldn’t Tiffany Haddish play the lady trauma surgeon? As a real girl who had her face almost entirely rebuilt just three years ago, I needed me some Tiffany H right about then…
I give Janet McTeer points for trying, but the whole of Season 2 left this exiled mother asking: Okay, so is female rage here totally genetically encoded (mom genes, ha) OR is it more a matter of superpower-gifted-freak status engendering a lifetime of exclusion, estrangement, bullying, and bitter alienation? Some blend fundamental to the female experience? Is this the reason mothers pull back from their adolescent daughters? So that their darlings don’t necessarily become them? All of the above but jeez… were there ever so many brands of lady angst this season… Between Jeri deciding to completely Armageddon her life after her diagnosis to Trish’s pathologically pathetic power vaping to her own malignant narcissist of a pageant mother… we are an irritated lot. Still, we make it work for us—until it suddenly doesn’t. In all the years that have elapsed since Alisa’s accident, why didn’t Dr. Karl think of trying some PTSD-oriented VR therapies? Com’on, Marvel. Get with the times.
I loved that all the episodes were directed by women, but oof… some of the parallels to my own rag and bone life were palpably cringe-worthy.
Still in exile writing, but happy Pagan, Passover weekends, Lovelies… xoxo – gg