Is there anything funnier than tiny cat pants?
It seems unlikely, but my goal in life is to find out.
posted by Aunt B at 2/14/2005 07:11:00 AM
Like Donnell Alexander says, "It's about completing the task of living with enough spontaneity to splurge some of it on bystanders, to share with others working through their own travails a little of your bonus life." But, it's mostly the kind of place that folks looking for "girls and cars" stumble across by accident.
Aunt B
The Butcher--My youngest brother, who lives with me and works as, you guessed it, a butcher. He knows everyone in town.
The Recalcitrant Brother--Our middle brother, who lives in rural Georgia and has a kind of movie star life, if that movie star is Burt Reynolds in Deliverance.
The Reverend--Our Dad, a Methodist minister, perpetually three years from retirement.
Mom--Our Mom. She doesn't get a funny nickname because our mom will not stand for funny nicknames.
Mrs. Wigglebottom--My dog. She's got terrible manners.
The Corporate Shill--Or The Shill, as we call her. My friend from college who was constantly getting me into trouble and going to parties she neglected to tell me about where cute boys would ask her "Where's Aunt B.?"
The Legal Eagle--The Shill's husband.
The Super Genius--She lived next door to me my freshman year of college and we've been friends ever since my first day on the floor.
Miss J.--My first adult friend, meaning the first lasting friendship I made after college. She was my roommate in grad school.
Her Lover--Her Husband.
The Divine Ms. B.--Miss J.'s sister and one of my heroes, because she's brave and funny and mystic and fearless.
JR--My oldest friend. I've known her since I was in the second grade.
Elias--JR's husband and the person who's musical tastes have most strongly affected my own. Oh, how I long to be cooler than him!
The Professor--My closest friend here in Nashville. She's a genius, but she'll never tell you that.
The Man from GM--I've known him since I was 16 and he still hasn't forgiven me for telling him I was a vegetarian when I wasn't.
The Redheaded Kid--No one knows where he comes from or where he goes when he leaves here. I assume he's the Butcher's friend. The Butcher assumes he's mine.
6 Comments:
This is what the "old school rabble-rousing feminist" is doing now? Talking about who's better looking, Eve or Gwen Stefani? Dissing a female artist because she's too skinny? Focusing on her LEGS instead of her freaking MUSIC? Oh, good show.
I only hope that as you typed "good show" you were also clapping slowly and sarcastically, like a true evil genius. Otherwise, it's just no fun to fight with you.
So, going forth under the assumption that you were, indeed, dissing me both in words and sarcastic clapping, here's my response:
You can what Gwen Stefani does "music"? Please. Jay-Z did the whole "take a song from a Broadway show older than most of your fans and rework it into something the kids will dance to" thing a lot better with "Hard Knock Life."
Stefani, with or without No Doubt, is not that great a musician. Her lyrics are about as amusing and insightful as my high-school diary.
Her whole stake in being famous is built primarily on her "look"--first as cute, broken-hearted athlete-cum-pin-up girl singing about her ex-boyfriend, and now as some kind of bulemia-chic pirate clothing designer who sings about how fucked up her relationship to her husband is.
If she presents herself as first being some kind of trend-setter and only second as some kind of musician, I have every right to critique how I think that's working out for her.
Imagining feminism as some kind of austere, "proper" way of interacting with the world that straight-jackets a person into being free of all complexity and contradiction is no good--are you suggesting that I'm in the wrong here because, by snarking on Stefani, I'm not being a "good girl," er, "good feminist"?
Seriously, at what point can we move beyond the "good girl/bad girl" dichotomy? Refinishing it and calling it "good feminist/bad feminist" doesn't change the fact that it's the same old two roles for women under the surface there.
As to Eve and Gwen, god, I have eyes. Am I not allowed to see?
Aunt B -- You may think less of me, which is frequently the case when I, uh, go about my daily life buying crap from the Pottery Barn and $70 Tocca candles (kidding!) but I have to confess: I love Gwen. I love her attitude, I love her simple lyrics and catchy beats, I love that she loves the f-word.
But you're so right -- that shit looked raggedy at the Grammy's.
Seventy dollar candles?! Do they light themselves when they sense you are trying to get laid?
That might be worth $70!
Remember that conversation from ages ago where L.E. and I went to look at this house that was for sale and the wanker who owned it would say, in every damn room "and here we've got the Aveda candles going" and he was just such an ass and I wanted to scream -- if you wanna impress me, trot out the Tocca candles. I've read InStyle, I know what Jennifer Aniston has on her nightstand!
Only, that was problematic because not only are they $70 for a freaking votive but seriously, I get made fun of plenty -- I don't need to admit to reading InStyle. We went on to discuss the stupidity of yupscale assholes, which I remember fondly because I cherish those moments when you call me clever.
It's true -- the Shill lives for props from Aunt B.
You crack me up. Perhaps you've forgotten that you've always been the cooler one, the one who had the various mysterious boyfriends and obnoxious entanglements and I'm the one who taught young TKEs that drunk girls will pee where they please.
But I do think you're funny as shit, as always.
Post a Comment
<< Home