Living La Vida Alpo

I'm just sayin'...

I have not had one grain of sugar in the last 13 days.

I have also not gifted anyone with the privilege of a new asshole for the last 13 days.

This has been accomplished via the herculean depths of self-restraint, of which I had no idea I possessed.

I will be graciously receiving the congratulations, awards, and monetary gifts that I so clearly deserve as a result of my sacrifice and self-torture right here in the comments section for the rest of the day.

Any gifts containing refined carbohydrates, however, will be promptly shoved up the giver's left nostril.  And twisted counterclockwise.

That is all.

Yeah, lick that pumpkin!

One of my commenters asked the other day: "What did you think of the PETA ad for the Superbowl that was rejected? I thought it kicked ass."

Well, yeah, it did kick ass.  And a few other body parts as well.  I saw it a week or so ago, and thought about posting it, but had mixed feelings about a commercial that promotes vegetarianism via female titillation and was clearly designed to be rejected and therefore garner publicity (which is why PETA makes the video readily available to the public).

Here it is, if you really wanna see (and um, slightly NSFW):

'Veggie Love': PETA's Banned Super Bowl Ad

Anyway... it is sexy, and hot, yes.  And man, does it ever put vegetables in a new light.  And it doesn't take itself too seriously, which is kinda nice, considering that the women in the video are sexual placeholders.

So in terms of a spot that 1) gets your attention 2) sears itself into your memory 3) effectively promotes its message: veggies=sexy, it works.

But in terms of any real substance, I wasn't that crazy about it.  There wasn't anything particularly new or exciting that we haven't seen already -- I'm still fuming over the GoDaddy spots of a few years ago.  (BTW, did y'all hear about the lawsuit against Hooters?  A group of men are suing for gender discrimination because they weren't hired as servers -- Bwahaha!)

But then again, if it's really designed for a Super Bowl slot, then it fits right at home with all the other masculine humor lite that we see during football games.  So yay for PETA, I guess.

What do y'all think?

WTF link of the day

In this story out of Pennsylvania, a mistrial was declared in the case of Iman R. Sharif (charge: assaulting a woman and then breaking into her apartment a week later) because the woman, who is deaf, had to testify via instant messenger.

Prosecutors didn't get a sign language interpreter in time, and despite protests (and rightly so) from Sharif's defense and incomprehensible sentences and technical goofs, the testimony went ahead as scheduled. 

Only after lunch did the judge finally decide to call it quits.  Who knows -- maybe he was really hungry and didn't come to his senses until he ate?

Looking forward to looking back...

I'm having one of those moments -- y'know when you're working or doing whatever, and the music is in the background and all of a sudden a song comes on that perfectly expresses what you're experiencing or feeling right then?  Yeah.

Lyrics here.

Venus Video... ooh, pretty.

While gathering links for my previous post, I came across this video (NSFW again, I'm on a nude kick, I guess), thanks to Reverse Cowgirl's gushing.

It's called "Headache," and is clearly working off the Venus de Milo trope. It's serenely beautiful and yet a little disturbing. 

Or maybe that's just me -- I really, really, really can't stand the idea of feet touching me.

But anyway, it's mesmerizing.   And long.  I think it's on a loop or something. 

I can just imagine this piece projected on the wall, playing endlessly at some artsy fartsy event and annoying the hell out of people 'cause they're trying not to look at the boobs or where the hands and feet are going... or going batshit every time the strings hit that high tweening note.

Go see.

NSFW -- American Apparel ads revolutionize pornvertisement with pubes

(and btw, when I say NSFW, I mean all the links here, just about, are also NSFW.)

American Apparel (y'know, the so-called anti-establishment indie fashion company that was sold to an investment firm last month) is no stranger to the feminist blogosphere, spurning myriad discussions about whether their images are appropriate. 

Especially on Jezebel, which has thread after thread of posts that ask "American Apparel: sexy or sexist?"

These ads include:

• an apparently pranked billboard on which a sketched woman is fingering herself, with the tagline, "Safe to say she loves her tube socks,"
• a woman wearing only tights, legs spread and bent over so the first thing you see is her ass, with graffiti scrawled on a tiled wall that reads: "I wonder why women get raped?" (genius)
• a model with a prominently featured spandexed cameltoe who flashes the camera full-on,
• and, what seems to be the latest: a bona fide porn starlet (the beautiful Sasha Grey, among others) models umm... breasts?  No, that's not it.  Barely covered pubes? Nope... oh, yeah: socks (here and here).

There's all manner of opinions out there about these ads, about whether they're great for battling what one woman called North American nipplephobia, or whether they further objectify the women they portray.

Frankly, I don't care either way. 

Trust me, when I see a naked woman with her finger in her mouth, the last thing I'm gonna think is: "Oooh, let's go shopping!" 

And of course, it's not about that anyway.  It's about searing the brand into your brain, which, actually, is pretty well accomplished from the looks of the feminist blogosphere.

But dammit, I'm upset no one's stated the obvious: this one right here, the Sasha Grey ad with the pubes that several people are freaking out about?

How freaking cool is it to finally see something resembling natural hair on a woman in the media?  And a porn star to boot?  I don't know about you, but the only pussies in porn that I'm familiar with are waxed and shellacked until they look like little girls. 

And the idea that little girl pussies sell?  Scary.

Maybe that says more about me and my naivete when it comes to women in porn (or in mainstream media, for that matter), but I'm saying it anyway:  That's some beautiful pubes right there.

But I won't be buying the socks.

Details, schmetails.

"Time for luuuuunch!"

"What do you want?"

"nelly batter and nutep."

"No, Leah, it's peee...nuuuht... buuhhhdder."

"NO!"

"Yes, try it with me.  Peanut... butter."

"and nelly!"

"And juh-juh-juh... jelly."

"Butter nelly and eenup."

"Do it with me.  Peee-nut... budder.  and.  Jelly.  Good.  Okay."

"NO!  You're wrong!"

"No, really, it's peanut butter and jelly.  I swear."

"NOOO!"  *real tears form*

"What?"

(switches to ASL) "Bread forgot you."  (back to cueing) "Peanut butter and nelly... AND BREAD."

This body ain't no wonderland.

Triceps, biceps, upper and lower traps, rhomboids, delts, glutes, hamstrings, lats, and abs.

Who knew I had them? 

But, yes, I do, and I know this because right now they are burning and screaming and trying to abandon my body.  It's mutiny.  And I have nothing to blame except that yoga class I took yesterday morning.

This is a class that is described as focusing on "basic beginner postures with more attention and refinement of body alignment principles. Sitting, standing, basic twisting postures and gentle backbends are practiced."

Basic and gentle, my ass.  I'd like to rewrite their class description for them, but I don't think they'd allow cursing in their brochure.

I'm just surprised my neck is feeling fine, 'cuz I was doing a lot of craning around trying to see the teacher's face.  This is a studio that was recommended to me by my Momsie, and she recommended this specific teacher, who'd said she'd be willing to pay attention to me and make sure I didn't miss anything.  Sure, sure.  I passed for hearing in that class -- she barely looked my way.

Oh, and Mom?  Next time you send me somewhere to meet someone and say it'll be easy to talk to her, you might want to mention the little, teeny, tiny detail that the teacher has a freakin' ISRAELI ACCENT!

I'd cross my arms and pout now, but that'd hurt too much.

The Pepperoni Princesses

in honor of a very special birthday, featuring girly-girly pink subtitles:

Catch me, I'm falling...

(Everybody now: The look in your eyes/ took me by surprise...)

In three short weeks, she's gone from a sobbing heap of winter gear clinging to the wall to this excited flurry of limbs skittering her way inch by inch across the ice. And every time she sees me, peering nervously through the rink glass, the sloppy toothless grin knocks me over.

The transformation from helpless ice worm to tentatively confident bladin' grasshopper makes me so proud, I could just bust my bra straps.