But how much room can a tank top or two take up? Maybe they’re even needed for soft packing. It’s basically altruism. 

And when I’m moving in a week, it’s not like I’m all of a sudden going to get real ambitious about how clean my stove is. Or try to make new friends. In other words, idle hands…

Oh. Did I mention that I’m done with graduate school? I’m FREE. Like the wind, or other things that we attempt to make work for us without pay because they have almost no monetary-valued skills. 

I’m a master of poetry. It’s like being a wizard except people give you even stranger looks when you tell them that you have a masters degree in writing poems than if you tell them you have magic powers. And you don’t have magic powers. And not even the supernerds are sure if you’re cool or lame. But other than that. The same.

MM

PS– Don’t worry, I’ll still be here post-graduation. I started this blog before entering graduate school, if you didn’t know, and I’ll continue it after. 

You know what else is perfect? The fact that Holly looks about 10 years older than her boyfriend Brendan. Eighteen-year-old boys are BABIES, you guys. Are they not drinking milk? Because the hormones in milk are not doing to boys what they’re doing to girls.

And then at 1:28, fake-Lena-Dunham goes all American psycho on her crush! Watch:

THE BRITISH ACCENT. THE “SUCK IT” FINGER. THE HAMMERED TOE. The conjunctivitis eyeliner. And then, because they couldn’t resist, they threw in the girlfight in the prom dresses. Special to Adam Best of Flicksided: while I buy the Texas Chainsaw Massacre reference, I somehow really doubt this ever “meets Sixteen Candles.”

How does this end? My prom night ended when we got kicked out of the hotel room where we weren’t even drinking (and not planning to stay the night, it was just a party thrown by my date’s first choice) and went for pancakes at IHOP and then I was dropped off at a very respectable hour. No one that I was close to lost anything that night– not toenails, nor virginity, nor sense of humanity. Maybe an earring.

What’s with this prom-horror genre? Do we have such a strong sense of prom as an American rite of passage that we’re all, “If they can ruin PROM, then nothing’s sacred?”

Please.

Read on to see how I magically work this around to Mitt Romney and Barack Obama’s childhood bullying and what it means for America: 

Even at the time, I knew prom was a bust. In fact, I don’t know a single person who pinned hopes– romantic or transformational or even sexual– on prom. We were all such a clusterf*** of having dated each other and broken up with each other and made out with each other and fought with each other and ignored each other and asked random people and prom was scheduled a month before graduation, so we’d all have to see each other in the halls for another four weeks, my god, a lifetime…

Overall, very anticlimactic.

Which is fine. By the time high school’s over, you all should be trying to get out of there with minimal damage inflicted to yourself or to others. You should all smile and hug your tormenters at graduation, and sign everyone’s yearbook with “keep in touch”— except do kids even bother to do that now, what with FB? Or is it all, “FB me, bizatch!”

But we don’t forget our tormentors, and it can be hard to forgive ourselves, and maybe we shouldn’t. Mitt Romney shouldn’t have forgotten what he did, and while the furor in this week’s news over his high school cruelties may seem overblown, it isn’t. It says something about his moral compass. (I like a strong one in my leaders, personally, particularly those given control of a gazillion dollar military industry. It’s a quirk of mine.) Steve Almond makes an elegant and heartwrenching argument for why childhood cruelties matter into adulthood in this essay: “That’s how adolescence works. It’s a place of tremendous pain and recklessness, a place where you have to pretend not to care about anyone or anything too much because to do so would release the chaos of your actual self into the world.” That doesn’t mean we don’t care. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t face consequences, even if those are only guilt and shame, visited upon us later. Go read it.

Did you hear? Barack Obama was also a “terrible grade school bully”– only, his crime seems pretty innocent compared to Mitt Romney’s. He was younger and physically, it includes nothing more than a slight shove. But you know what really matters? Obama’s wasn’t dragged out when reporters interviewed classmates. He put this story in his memoirs. Because he remembers it. He hasn’t forgotten it. Like Steve Almond, he knows it was a moment when his humanity fails him, and he holds it up to the light, and he examines it, and he expresses remorse.

Eighteen-year-old boys may LOOK like babies, you guys, but they’re not. They’re practicing adults and they are by turns terrified and weak and not strong enough to stand up to their friends when their friends are doing wrong and also strong enough to lead sports teams into championships and be incredibly, fascinatingly loyal to their girlfriends, boyfriends, friends, and families, and strong enough to fall in love and they’ve been deemed strong enough to go to war.

And teenage girls, well, that’s one of the most terrifying demographics on the planet.

And we may have been children, or near-adults, or in some liminal space between the two, but that doesn’t mean we have forgotten or even that we should assume forgiveness. Witnessing is all about remembering, and being brave enough to look what was done or not done squarely in the eye and admit that was a part of our life. It isn’t separate. It isn’t contained by graduation. It goes on and on.

So maybe don’t kidnap your prom date, tie him to a chair, and torture him with a drill.

MM

PS– Why is this movie called The Loved Ones? I mean, super Biblical, right? What is that?

This is totally me:

Look, it’s really hard to get into at this point. I don’t have any emotional or psychological attachment to it, and the visual effects are terrible, and the acting is worse. And we’re supposed to buy this romance thing? And that flimsy brother-sister plot device they created when they realized NO ONE thought Luke was appealing as a romantic lead so they had to throw up an obstacle and put Han-no-s Solo in that (sexual) position? WHAT IS WITH THE HAIR.

Of course, I spent the whole time watching the one movie I have seen going, “OHHHHHHH.” Right? The cultural references are so pervasive. I felt like I was watching a parody of the original. Like there was a movie that everyone loves and quotes all the time, so much so that someone went ahead and remade it, awkwardly sticking in a list of “most quoted” moments in a complete caricature of itself.

I could note here that I also didn’t see ET or Donnie Darko as a child and I stinkin’ loved those movies when I finally saw them.

I’d make fun of it more but a) it’s hard to mock things you haven’t seen and b) I don’t want you guys burning down my house. You can yell at me now. I’ll just turn up the volume on Buffy and you can let me know when it’s over. Does it make it better or worse that I also haven’t seen Star Trek but I’ve seen both Galaxy Quest and Spaceballs?

MM

Speaking of tv shows….West Wing had a reunion! A walk & talk reunion. The best kind.

Also I don’t have HBO.

Frank, by the way, is in the background muttering “Thank god” and “So can you stop telling me what all the articles say already?” Because I also have a compulsive need to click-click on any analysis about “Girls.”  

Speaking of Frank, I told him we were moving to Seattle when I gave notice with my rent check this morning. He got all huffy for some reason. “You can’t decide my life! You don’t know me! …I’m a sentient being in this relationship and I demand to have a say! Yada YADA YADA yada.”

When I pointed out how much closer Seattle is to his motherland (CANADA!), Frank settled down into a steady whine. At some point I think I heard the words, Romney can’t catch me there— ? And then it just sounded like he was quietly chanting hockey-hockey-hockey-hockey-hockey under his breath for about an hour.

Now he’s making my sandwich for lunch and sorting through what to keep of the kitchen supplies and talking about how he didn’t really like “Tiny Furniture” all that much, anyway: “Can’t that Lena chick smile? I don’t think she laughed once in that movie. Sure, I like her message about embracing your own body, but…life’s just not that bad, eh? Even if your girlfriend is an evil dictator.”

God he’s a sap and a romantic.

xo,

MM

I started wondering if there’s ever been a female host at the WHCD. There’ve been a couple: in 1993, Elayne Boosler; in 1999 Arethra Franklin provided the entertainment (one assumes she didn’t do stand-up); in 2009, Wanda Sykes. In 2005 “First Lady Laura Bush made some jokes” (from the Wikipedia article on the WHCA). 

Fun fact: the only repeat performer (as far as the chart shows) is Al Franken, in 1994 and 1996 (Conan O’Brien being the gingermeat in that particular Frankenwich).

Interestingly, this “tradition” of a comedy host is fairly new. In 1945, the first year of the dinner, they had “performers” which included Frank Sinatra. The chart then skips to 1969– was the dinner not held?– when it notes that “President Nixon personally requested the Disneyland Golden Horseshoe Revue.” (There’s got to be some good jokes in that.) It’s only in 1991 that recognizable “comedy hosts” start performing as such, and even since then, sometimes the dinner has relied on spoof videos or split the duties between more than one entertainer.

So it’s only very, very recently that there’s been a hint of rivalry between the “two” comedic performances: the president’s, whoever he (or, I hope, someday she) may be, and the host’s. And in fact, it’s only since Obama took office that this “rivalry” has gained any footing in the sense of it being a true competition. For while the quality of the jokes may be the same (as I mentioned, both obviously hire writers, and there’s no requirement that a certain number of the jokes be the speaker’s own), comedy is all in the timing…and Obama is our only President with a certain instinctual one-two count. 

Now, President Clinton has a sly-dog sense about him, and one can imagine that Presidents like Bush and even Teddy Roosevelt were fond of pranks, but Obama is somewhat known for being able to make (and take) a joke.

One likes to imagine he’s enjoying the night with that big ear-to-ear grin of his. One likes to think of Obama as being the funniest, smartest guy in the room, even when put up against paid, professional comedians who do this every night of their lives. One likes to forget that he’s President and see him as the guy on the basketball court, the best roaster at the company or family annual dinner. And that’s ok. But it isn’t true.

Because last year, we found out that while he smiled through the WHCD, he had men on the way to kill Osama Bin Laden. Because, according to this Los Angeles Times article, last night he wasn’t so sure about where he was supposed to be: “‘Seriously, guys, what am I doing here?’ Obama asked off of the stage at the beginning of his speech. ‘I’m the president of the United States, and I’m opening for Jimmy Kimmel?…Why am I telling knock-knock jokes to Kim Kardashian? What is she famous for, anyway?’”

I don’t mind if Barack Obama wants to do his job. If he just wants to take care of business. I wouldn’t mind if he never told another joke, never slow jammed the news again. I get why everyone loves that clip, but I aligned with Jon Stewart’s reaction, who appeared embarrassed by it and said, “Mr. President, you’re the president. You don’t have to do this shit anymore.” By which Stewart seemed to mean both “stupid stunts to get votes” and “late-night tv.”

Still, I’m not criticizing. I understand that this is what President Obama has to do to win, that politicians must wear many hats, that especially in an election year he must appear relatable. But in case you were tempted to think he’s the best comedian in the room: he’s not. He’s the best politician, the savviest game-player, the one most willing to do whatever he has to in order to get it done, almost…dare I say it….as changeable as Mitt Romney’s policies? 

I’d like to see another female host for the WHCD, now that I’m an adult and paying attention. Ellen Degeneres? Amy Poehler? (I’d suggest she do it in character as Leslie Knope, but my feeling is it doesn’t make a difference). Tina Fey? Kirsten Wiig? Maya Rudolph? I think we can rule Sarah Silverman out. Julia Louis Dreyfus? Samantha Bee? Betty White?

Who vets the choice, anyway? Obviously the year Stephen Colbert hosted for the Bush administration, someone dropped the ball (or didn’t pick up on the joke). Does the White House vet the entire speech? So then who takes the fallout for the failed joke? The comedian, supposedly…but doesn’t everyone in the audience know? Didn’t Jay Carney look like he was about to have an aneurism, or at least slide off his seat and under the table? And Kimmel was throwing softballs.

Almost safer to claim you never read the thing before it went live. 

chuckles and yokes,

MM

This means that someone actually noticed that women buy and read a) romance novels and b) smut. Maybe it means that someone noticed that women have sex? I doubt it, though. That seems farfetched.

For whatever reason, this particular one has caught on and women aren’t “ashamed” to pass it on to their friends. As the Jezebel article says, “Another anonymous woman said that her friends were obsessed with the erotic novel, which was the first of its kind that they felt comfortable discussing openly. ‘Women just feel like it’s O.K. to read it,’ she said. ‘It’s taboo for women to admit that they watch pornography, but for some reason it’s O.K. to admit that they’re reading this book.’

I keep picturing moms in the grocery aisle opening their raincoats or reaching a hand between their torso and their front-carrying baby backpacks to pass the e-code to the book off. They slide by each other saying, “Oreo’s? Oh, no, honey, those aren’t good for you.” 

Look, this is what we’ve known since the kindle arrived: that electronic reading would make smut more widespread– or at least, more often read in public. 

But still, I’m unclear on why women who weren’t “passing” their smutty books around before this one suddenly feel compelled to share Shades of Grey. Do they feel like it’s “ok” for some reason in this case? Do they feel like it’s so good it would be selfish to keep it to themselves? Shades of Grey, despite what these women may think, is not the first of its kind.

Yes, women don’t often discuss their favored arousal media. It’s still pretty taboo. Is it because unlike porn, which we all assume men are watching, we don’t assume our BFF has a stash of smut? So trading favorites requires first a confession (and an unpredictable reaction) before getting down to brass tacks? But how often do men sit in the boardroom or watch their kids on the soccer field being like, “You catch Jessica Rubber’s latest stretch act in Cumby?”

WAIT! Before you leave due to the awfulness of my made-up porn pun:

1. Did I mention IT DOESN’T SOUND SEXY? Or like a healthy expression of sexuality?

The smut in this novel– which is supposed to be an exploration of BDSM, remember– doesn’t even sound that risque. One of the women who writes at Forever Young Adult (who, yes, spends her time reading and reviewing young adult literature, so it should’ve been pretty easy to push her literary sex boundaries, since one can imagine she mostly reads awkward make-out scenes) says, “Y’all. Y’ALL. Look, I knew this book was not going to be good, OBVIOUSLY, but I thought AT LEAST the sex scenes would be good! Or at least so shocking that I was a little bit prudishly appalled by them. BUT NO…Ugh, I actually turned to my boyfriend this weekend (why was I reading this while with my boyfriend? I don’t know) and told him that the sex in this book was turning me off sex entirely. (His response?  ’Let’s find you something else to read.’)”

And obviously all of the sex takes place in a monogamous, heterosexual, committed relationship that is based on love. That is the only way women like their sex. 

Did I mention that she’s a virgin when they meet? She hesitates to commit to his demands because, while she loves him, she doesn’t know if this is what she wants/likes. He makes her agree before she ever has sex for the first time. Healthy! 

2. Did I mention that IT’S FAN FICTION?

Christian and Anastasia are based on….drumroll….

EDWARD AND BELLA. The author even cops to this, saying that the book “reimagined the Bella and Edward love affair set in contemporary Seattle, Washington with Bella as the young college graduate virgin and Edward as the masterful billionaire with secret sexual predilections” (from the Jezebel article). WHOOOOOOO. This is in case Stephenie Meyer’s G-rated prose isn’t to your liking. (Which– remember– Meyer’s Mormon. This is why Bella and Edward only kiss until they get married. But after they get married…Edward breaks the headboard and leaves Bella covered in bruises. Sure, Meyer skips writing the play-by-play of actual sexing, but.) So 50 Shades of Grey steps in like a superhero!

Just like all that Harry Potter fanfic: that sexual tension between Harry and Snape can’t just go unresolved, guys! Just like how we really, really need to see Elizabeth give Darcy a good old-fashioned BJ because we can’t imagine it in our heads if that’s what we want to see.

(I’d like to point out here that this is actually a subgenre of fan fiction called slash fiction whose primary purpose is to make the character’s bang their nasty bits together. Fan fiction, as a greater category, is anything that adopts someone else’s characters and continues their story with the new author’s vision.) 

3. HUGH HEFNER IS ASHAMED OF US.

All of which leads me to this: women may not be ashamed about passing this book around but they should be. Not because it has anything to do with sex. Not because it’s softcore porn. Not because it’s BDSM. Not because they’re getting their jollies from an e-book. Because it sounds poorly-written and not sexy. 

Now the publishing industry is going to think this is what we want. Now they’re going to make it into a movie. It contributes to this whole social regression to a time of sexual oppression (rhyming!). Don’t know what I’m talking about? The media is calling it the “war on women.” (If we rebrand it as a “war on sex” do you think more people will get outraged?) Come on! We’re disappointing Hugh Hefner!

Don’t disappoint Hugh Hefner. Read better smut than 50 Shades of Grey. Find a sex blog you like and share it today.

xxx,

M

So I went on a date a couple of weeks ago. Nice guy. Wore a button-down shirt to our coffee date. Let me pick the time and place (oh come on, did you expect me to wait for him to do it?). Brown curly hair, brown eyes. Graduate student in history (my undergrad major). According to his email, which was basically an online dating profile: “Hiking, playing frisbee golf, and drinking lots of Twinings black tea are the hobbies I’m most involved with at the moment.” 

Obviously, halfway through the date we started talking about Twilight. He asked me my favorite poet, and I said Elizabeth Bishop. This was the only question he asked me all night. The rest of time he spent answering my questions with interview-ready responses. When I asked why he went back to graduate school, he gave me his “list of qualifications” off his resume, did not ask why I was in graduate school or anything about what I was studying, and then he said, “I feel like I’m at an interview!”

To my credit, I didn’t mock him. Then.

Therefore I was desperate to string my one question out as long as possible, so I said, “Of course, a little farther down the line of favorite things to read…you know, Bishop at the top, but about ten down you find Twilight.”

He hung in there. “Of course,” he said, “that makes so much sense.” Or something like that. The fact that I can’t recall the conversation perfectly (one of my greatest skills in life) tells you pretty much all you need to know about how things were going at this point.

“No, really,” I said.

“Totally,” he said. I nodded. “Oh…” he said. “Really.”

I love talking to people about how much I don’t hate Twilight. You can find just a few of the reasons here. I think Stephenie Meyer writes a nice, clean sentence that doesn’t get in the way of me chanting make out make out make out. And no, I don’t care if it’s with Edward or Jacob. I just think people should make out more. I’ll save the rest of my reasons for when we talk face-to-face. I find it’s a good litmus test, and I don’t want to ruin it before I have the chance to see if you turn red or blue. So I told him that yes, I have in fact read all 4 books, but woefully have not yet made time to catch up on the movies. 

He said— I kid you not— “Well, I guess all this really does is reflect badly on me, that I’m judging something before I even give it a chance.” He said this sincerely. About Twilight. As if the hype hasn’t give him a pretty good idea of whether it’s his cup of Twinings black tea.

I should’ve known: in the email he sent me asking for the date, he wrote, “If I had one wish I would ask that the everyone on the globe have access to quality education considering many of the world’s problems are due to ignorance.”

I really, really hope he gets that Mr. America sash. That’s such a good answer. 

xxo,

MM

I do what all the celebrities do and I talk about drugs and bodily functions.

See? I’m just like Alec Sulkin.

Seriously, if you need more DMP in your life, get in the Twillage and let’s be neighbors. I’m maaaaaybe half-fluent in twitterspeak so it’s sort of like watching the drunk baby:

love,

MM

I just don’t feel like it’ll be the same. More “corporate” and less “drug-fueled hallucinatory hippie fest.”

PS– Mom, is that you???

PPS– I really think it might be.