Thursday, January 7, 2010

Tut tut tut

I had to just post this piece from Huff Post about H&M and Walmart destroying clothing that doesn't sell. Right away. This is really shameful and not at all Thrifty. Don't act like this.

I think I will wear all the clothes I found in the garbage (or at least at the thrift store) today.

More thoughts later....

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Blue Mountain's Got Me Seeing Red

So, I have been an angry young lady lately and I blame it on Blue Mountain State.

Lately some ads have been popping up on the subway platform for Spike TV's new show and they look like this:

Now, I don't have a T.V., so I don't know, I thought maybe I was just hypersensitive to the sexism that is rampant all over television and print media, but it turns out I am not the only one who is upset. Bowery Boogie points out that one of these posters on the LES was vandalized with the statement "This is what rape culture looks like."

I was struggling to find the words to say how this poster makes me feel, and that pretty much sums it up. Thanks, stranger with the Sharpie™.

What Bowery Boogie also tells us is that Spike TV got in touch to say that their poster was paying homage to the movie poster for M*A*S*H, the 1970 film about the Korean War.

Alright. M*A*S*H is pretty sexist, but let's linger for a moment on the differences:

M*A*S*H was made in the 1970s and it is about a war that took place in the 1950s. People were mad sexist in the 50s.
(case in point <--) That's right, years before Mad Men, and you see how mad sexist those guys are.

Blue Mountain State, on the other hand, is not a retrospective. And supposedly, we are less sexist than the 50s, or even, say, the 70s.

M*A*S*H is a Robert Altman film. Blue Mountain State is a Spike T.V. show. 'Nough said there.

The guys on M*A*S*H were surgeons who could get away with all those hijinx because they were saving soldiers injured fighting for the U.S.A., and no one else could do what they did.

Um, the guys on Blue Mountain State are college football players. Now, I love football (Steeler Nation, wooty woot), and I know sometimes it can feel like a game saves your life, but, well, you catch my drift.

Just sayin'.

Anyways, I said to myself, let me give this Blue Mountain thing a look-see, maybe it is not that bad.

You can watch the preview yourself, but if you don't have the stomach for it, let me point out some of the highlights:
  • Where do you come from? YOUR FATHER'S BALLS!!
  • What will you do with the other team? Crush them and use their VAGISIL AS LIP BALM
  • What will you do? GO DEEP!
  • Why is that girl giving you a blow job? Because she hates her father!
  • What is the worst thing you can be called? GAY!

Where do we draw the line? I'm not sure exactly, but it is hard to see the line when it is yards behind you. Ahem, Spike, you are like at the wrong end zone.

So, this Blue Mountain State business had me so annoyed that I started talking with my husband--my self-identified "feminist" and "queer, but straight" husband with whom I can usually carry on a great conversation about such things. I was unable, however, to talk about it without wanting to repeatedly stab the chicken I was preparing. And no, I don't have my period. ha ha.

We took a breather from the conversation. I had to kick him out of the kitchen so I could cook dinner.

I know, right? How can I solve the world's problems, and look hot, and cook dinner, all while carrying on an intellectually stimulating and important conversation with my husband and preparing my womb for babies?

Well, that, folks, is what we are here to find out.

Lucky for me, when I went to check on the oven temperature for cooking the chicken, I also found guidance on dealing with my plumpy bod and my saggy, saggy eyes.

I am so glad that the internet consolidates these things.