Stop Taking Those Mirth Control Pills! Burn Your Bras (Not Literally, Just Insult Them In a Public Forum)!

Well, first of all!

I am putting together this show, which I am beyond excited about…
(Clicky on it to make it bigger! It’s worth it!)

Definitely get yer tickies in advance. Buy ’em here.

The fantastacular poster was designed by the formidable Clay Yount, who also happens to illustrate the comic, Rob and Elliot (a must-read), which comedian Hampton Yount writes.

On the subject of the ladies…

I am on a feminist kick this week. I think because, two days ago, I finished reading the Nora Ephron book of collected essays, Crazy Salad. Then yesterday morning, I read this critique of Sex and the City Movie reviews, which described most of the reviews as being male-centric in their perspective and analyses. In other words, subscribing to patriarchal norms and tropes such as the inappropriateness of crying over break-ups and eating brunch with your girlfriends to discuss their latest life news (i.e., how emotionally overindulgent of them).

Then I just started reading this article on how The American Girl doll series is a hallmark achievement that everyone can get behind…even chauvinistic overlords.

Por ejemplo, “Look at one of the dolls, and you see a kind of anti-Barbie, a sturdy, nonsexualized body whose proportions are more or less those of a real girl. (Since 1998 American Girl has been part of Mattel, which is also Barbie’s corporate home.) Her clothes are both practical and authentic, and her activities are a healthy mix of chores, games and career preparations.

Chores, games and career preparations! That’s what it’s all about!

But basically everything feels like a mild form of oppression right now. Literally everything. Even harmless stuff such as fashion (hahah, SNARKASM). I saw this well-dressed guy the other night, and I don’t mean a tux or nothing. His outfit just smacked of style all the way down to how his jeans sort of lazily clung to the mouths of his neon-retro sneakers. The vintage low-slung jeans, the plain white T, the well-thought-out jewelry. It was the perfect package. I can’t even get one sneaker to stay in line, and I’m a girl! Sorry, Betty Friedan.

Look though!



HAIR MOP (new haircut a few weeks later…)

But my birthday is tomorrow, and birthdays smell like empowerment. At the very least, you can stroll into any business and demand your free ice cream cone, no matter what said establishment actually sells. Ice cream might be the last item on Home Depot’s inventory, but if it’s your special day, they’re at your beck and call to procure you a delightful dollop in a waffle coat, and at no charge to your good self.

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