Tag Archives: hillary clinton

Dear 3OH!3 “Don’t Trust Me”

5 Aug

Dear 3OH!3 “Don’t Trust Me”,

I’d like to chat about some of your lyrics. These ones, in particular:

“Shush girl / Shut your lips / Do the Helen Keller / And talk with your hips”

Catchy, I know, congratulations, you rhymed and everything. But let’s go back to basics:

FIRST, this is inaccurate. Helen Keller talked with her HANDS not her HIPS and she does not deserve to be denigrated this way.

SECOND, this is OBSCENELY OFFENSIVE to women. “Shut your lips”? In the words of Steve Martin, Excuuuuuuuuuuse me? I mean, come on. To anyone who thinks the feminist movement is no longer necessary, that we live in some sort of post-sexism world, that Hillary Clinton’s race for president was not affected by her gender, that just because we’ve acknowledged that Barbie’s body is physiologically impossible in real life we’ve moved beyond “women’s issues,” take a gander at lyrics that tell women to SHUT UP and MOVE THEIR HIPS and then Get Back To Me Later.

Now, if Shakira wants to share with us all the very interesting and artistic fact that her hips don’t lie, that’s a different matter. If she wants to use anthropormorphism in her song lyrics, that’s her business. Also, she’s saying nothing about her ability to speak/not speak/desire to speak in general, and she’s personally proclaiming something about herself to the world. As an individual, she has the right to claim who she is, as loudly or quietly as she wants, and with as few or as many body parts as she wants. Plus, hips should be celebrated, and they are sexy, and if there is ever an appropriate place to speak with them (lie or small talk or otherwise), it is the dance floor.

In fact, as far as I’m concerned, women can use their lips, their hips, and whatever else they want to make themselves heard.

But man, oh man, it is past time for men to be telling women to shut up. Or “shush / shut your lips” or whatever chauvinistic, godawful phrasing you are trying to pass off as SEXY?!?!?

WHAT THE HELL. NOT SEXY. NOT INTERESTING. STOP.

And if you’re not trying to be sexy, and you’re just oh-so-sincere in your desire for some peace and quiet so you can watch the game, I hope your TV lands on your left pinky toe. (I like to be specific in my wishes.)

And I am not even giving you a cheers.

MM

PS– Friend S says, “Oh, my hips have been giving me such trouble!”

Quick draw Kate responds, “Why? Have they been lying to you?”

Dear Pantsuits and Politics

2 Dec

Dear Pantsuits and Politics,

First off, congratulations to our new secretary of state. (Hi, Hillary!) Secondly, this letter is about women (and men) in politics, it’s about the things they wear and the things they (and we) say. I should be honest and admit I’ve essentially stopped watching political coverage since the election is over—hey, all the sexy stuff is done. I mean, I mean, hard work! Onward! As G told me, when I asked what he’ll obsess over now, “there’s the transition and the first 100 days and then it’s practically midterms…” Wonderful. We’re in a perma-election cycle.

But aside from that, let’s take a look back at some of my favorite observations (that’s what you do at the holidays, right? Reflect? Me too).

Reflection OnePointOh—I went to a canvassing rally at some point and spent most of my time observing the candidates’ attire. They were all saying the same thing, so I checked out what they were wearing. Keep in mind I’m in Washington state, with an all female lineup currently at the helm. Patty Murray is our resident Senator in Sneakers, or Senator-Mom in Tennis Shoes, or some other catchy clothing-related slogan. She was decked out in a sweater, khaki pants, and…sneakers. Maria Cantwell, younger, taller (by about a foot), was wearing a pantsuit. And Chris Gregoire was in black slacks and an orange jacket. She really loves that orange jacket. You know the one I’m talking about? And then there was Jay Inslee. Broad-shouldered, respectably gray. Aging despicably well.

And then there were the state house candidates.

Now, there is a difference between state and federal politicians. Some of the state politicians looked okay. Their clothes fit, for the most part, they chose dark colors, they were wearing pretty non-descript stuff…but the federal politicians—their clothes fit no matter what they chose to wear. And the price jump in haircuts was visible (shout-out to John Edwards).

Reflection TwoPointOh…—Maria Cantwell looks like Maggie Gyllenhall and even has some of her same mannerisms. It’s disconcerting. Especially until I realized who she was invoking.

Reflection TwoPointOh!—Patty Murray, Maria Cantwell, and Jay Inslee all looked professional. They all looked well dressed and coiffed. But it was easier to look at Jay Inslee, to listen to his voice, and think, now that’s a politician. That’s how ingrained my image is of an aging yet still strong (and oh-so-male) Representative is. Somewhere in my zeitgeist, probably in the same place that thinks I would like to ride horses (damn those 1950’s novels), I still think my Representative, my elected voice, is somebody’s grandfather. Not mine, obviously. But that kid down the block, who everyone was jealous of, because their grandfather was young-ish and played tackle football and told really cool war stories and let the kids taste his beer. Oh, and is a powerful man in Washington, DC during the week.

Really? That’s who I want speaking for me? What? Where does this come from? Oh yeah. The zeitgeist.

Reflection Three—I have the feeling my counting system is not super consistent. Also, I’m going to ignore any references I could make to Sarah Palin’s wardrobe budget here. (People! We judge our female politicians by how they look! No wonder! Plus she was shopping with Cindy McCain = Beer Money! No wonder!) All right, moving on.

Let’s just have a quick chat about Matt Taibbi in Rolling Stone. Who said that Hillary had flabby arms and then was surprised or annoyed or something that made him feel the need to bring it up again in another article and add in the fact that Erika Jong had said something about him and his mother and Freud on the Interwebs. Let’s recap:

Matt Taibbi: yada yada Hillary has flabby arms yada yada yada.

Erika Jong: Matt Taibbi wants to have sex with his mother.

Matt Taibbi: yada thing other thing “ancient plastic surgery survivor/sex-novelist Erika Jong” got mad and said this thing when I said Hillary has flabby arms other thing yada

I’m paraphrasing. Except for the part in quotes. Which I have to respond to really quickly with the words of Steve Martin. Actually, this is kind of my response to all of it: Excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me?

Why were you commenting on Hillary’s arms? Why describe them as flabby? First of all, in her orange pantsuit, you cannot even see her arms. Secondly, if you (Matt Taibbi) are going to try to tell me that it’s the same thing as saying (President-Elect) Obama has big ears, back up and hold it right there. It is not the same thing. I’m not going to explain all the reasons why. This is not, actually, Sexism or Feminism or even Political Correctness 101. Saying Hillary’s arms are flabby is a blatant example of the kind of misogynistic pinching that went on under the table throughout this entire election.

So, G tells me, yeah, but Matt Taibbi knows he’s being sexist—he just does it anyway. Okay… but does he know why it’s a problem?

Erika Jong is known in other places (like The New York Times, most literary circles, and English departments across the country) as a groundbreaking novelist, poet, and essayist. Does he know why calling her an ancient plastic surgery survivor/sex novelist is a problem?

Here’s a list of real questions:
From Geraldine Ferraro to Hillary Clinton to Sarah Palin….what’s it mean? I like to partner this question with the following: What has John McCain done to women in politics in this country? What about women in general, with the way his VP pick validated and normalized all the misogyny people had, apparently, just been waiting to pick up and throw? (It’s sort of like with Hillary they were disguising the pitches as sliders. Sarah Palin just made it okay to go ahead and aim for the batter.)

How far do inflammatory comments on the part of either side get you? And how much do they just make you seem like an asshat?

And how well does it serve you to join in the media pigpile by having more of a developed style than a cohesive worldview? (See Scarlett Johansson in Dear Woody Allen Movies. Unless you have her lips, I don’t recommend it as a long-term strategy.)

Also: how did feminism get assigned the same ending as racism and sexism?

Pantsuits. Carry on.

MM

PS– I really can’t tell you if this is fan mail, a thinking of you, or a disciplinary memo. Maybe it’s a customer complaint. Stop trying to categorize everything. Just let the zeitgeist sing.

Dear Morning After

6 Nov

Dear Morning After,

I’m not sure exactly what to say. I was caught up in the excitement last night—it was dark, and the stars were out, there was music playing, and your voice sounded so calm and reassuring. You said all the right things. I didn’t want to stop to think, and even when I paused, I was too overwhelmed with emotion to think about what it meant.

Even now, when I go over what happened in my mind, things seem hazy. When I thought, I don’t know how this is going to work, I don’t know how my Heart(land) and Brain(land) can be reconciled, you said that you heard me. That you were listening. I said, It’s just been so long since I trusted a president, and you said, I will tell the truth. I thought, but we still have so far to go, we still have so much to do, what happens if we can’t do it all? What happens if you can’t live up to every promise?

And I woke up, and I looked at your picture on the front page, and I don’t care what happens next. Because you look like the same person today that you were last night, and the day before that, and that smile on your face is enough to put one on mine. And yes, I am terrified that you will be ineffective, that you will not be able to live up to your promises. You are just a man, just like every other man that has ever walked through this door. Presidents are all just men. Perhaps that’s why I wanted Hillary to win (at least it would be a change of pronoun). So what happens when it’s not the next morning, and the post-election glow wears off, and you go to Washington, and you can’t do everything? I believe you are strong enough to live through it, without a doubt, but am I? Can I go through this heartbreak again?

But somehow, I’m not sure I care. I know you’ve said some vague things, and I have yet to truly get to know you, and I should have asked what hope and change meant, how you intended to back up those sweet nothings. I know that half my family and friends think you’re more liberal, and the other half think you’re more moderate, and I am not sure, exactly, who you are. But none of that matters. Last night when I heard you speak, for the first time in a long time, I thought, I feel safe again.

And damn, you looked good then, and you look good now. So. Favorite meal? Favorite movie? (Because the last guy, I knew it was over when he said peanut butter and jelly and Austin Powers 3. No point in sticking around for the crossword there.) I’m not sure I remember how to do this. But I want to try.

I usually start with the comics, but today I think I’ll start with the front page. I’m feeling brave. How are you feeling this morning, Mr. President-Elect?

Yours,

MM

Dear Bill

27 Oct

Dear Bill,

You know that you will always be important to me. How could you not be? Even before I truly knew you, one of the first times I saw you, I felt drawn to you. “Why’s Bill on TV?” I asked my parents when I was eight. They laughed, and corrected me—we don’t call politicians by their first names, they said, you should say Bill Clinton or the President. But it felt right.

I know a sixteen-year-old who shook your hand, went home, and told her mother, I know why Monica did it.

I too know why Monica did it.

You are inexpressibly charming, a southern Democrat for the ages. The way you massaged that interviewer’s wrist last night is such a classic example of the way you make people want to give you what you want. When you talk, the enticing accent of Arkansas washes over me as I remember our times in Brainland and our vacations in Heartland, and I almost cannot go through with what I know I must do.

Bill, it’s over. There’s someone else. I have learned so much during our time together, and will never forget what you have taught me about how a face should look when one is praised publicly (half seduce-you-tonight and half yeah-that’s-right). But I was young when I fell for you, and I know now that it was just a crush. My new relationship has not been easy, but it is real and it is based in an understanding of adult responsibilities. We have common interests and are willing to do whatever it will take to make it work. Bill, I am in love with your wife Hillary.

You are charming, it’s true, but she is a fighter. I cannot resist the determination in her voice, the grit in her teeth, the way she loves me and my stories. Who else could make a comeback after what you did to her, could capture the white middle-class and the Black and the Hispanic vote, who else could morph into a shot-and-a-beer kind of gal while wearing an orange pantsuit and pearls? I think she wears animal print underwear beneath those jacket buttons. It makes her strong, it makes her audacious. It makes her want it all, and so she hungers after health care and money for the soldiers in Iraq, she craves not just relief for student loans, but rights for workers. And yes, things aren’t going her way right now, but she is still my candidate.

I hope you can forgive me. I care about you very much and wish you well. You will always be my first politician.

All my best,

MM

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