I’m going to go ahead and answer this here since the email address you posted is obviously fake.

Dear Tony (if that is your real name),

Ya know, being from the south I’m used to backhanded compliments but I have to admit, this one really takes the cake.

First off, I’m willing to bet you’re confusing me with my kiss my ass fairy which is in actuality a model for a Halloween costume - but I am a pretty girl with an occasional shitty attitude. What, exactly do you think the cute huffy hedgehog thing is about?

So you basically said I have a shitty attitude for such a pretty girl. Then something that hinted that being perpetually optimistic despite horrific circumstances is the epitome of femininity?

That’s the most amazingly unrealistic naive controlling attitude towards women I’ve heard in a while. And I’d like to point out, yet again, I grew up in the south I know weird fucked up attitudes towards women.

Dude, even June Cleaver farted and got pms. They just don’t show those episodes, ok? Women are human beings and, as such, we’re allowed to have all kinds of feelings and natural functions. I say if “the prez” is allowed to have verbal diarrhea all over the television I’m allowed to spew anger on my weblog whenever I see fit.

I just want to get this straight about what a woman in Tony-world is supposed to be:

- Women are not allowed to have leg, armpit, or pubic hair but the hair on top of our heads is to be perfectly coiffed with nary a hair out of place - even at high winds or during a bad depressive episode or sugar crash.

- Women are not allowed to wear anything other than flowery dresses cinched at the sixteen inch waist with an apron which, I have no doubt, is edged with rickrack.

- Women are required to wear heels, but they’re not allowed to be taller than a modest, boxy quarter to half inch heel. Or a wedge heel on those informal or vacuuming days.

- Women are not allowed to express an emotion other than sheer joy when her scary tuna and ham casserole comes out perfectly, her husband comes home at two am stinking of scotch with another woman’s lipstick on his collar, or when the dog takes an enormous shit in front of the tv.

I’ll try to keep that in mind.

I read a story once about an artist’s model who married the world’s most famous critic. This was the guy that decided what was or was not fashionable in their country. He was the authority on art, music, fashion, food, you name it. And she was supposed to be the world’s most beautiful, charming, alluring woman. They were the match of a century.

On their honeymoon night he became utterly nauseous at the sight of her pubic hair when she came to him in their marriage bed. These were not the days of a bikini wax nor were they the days when sculptors or painters would reflect anything other than the idealized beauty of the model’s face and form. Venus de Milo has no arms nor does she have any body hair whatsoever - including the partially exposed pubic area. Headless Winged Victory has no armpit hair under the severed arms, no hair on her exposed legs. This critic, while a complete authority on what is beautiful had never seen a real woman in the nude - just artists’ renderings of them sans a single strand of hair except those on her head.

Their marriage was never consummated. And the model ran off with an artist who had been secretly in love with her all along.

Moral of the story? Don’t marry the critics - marry the artists.

Thanks for your (stupid, boring, cliched, sad, old, tired, and really annoying) comment, there Tony. Unfortunately there’s already a person who holds the official title of “Tony the Bastard” in this household or I’d give it to you. How about “Tony the Fuck Pig”? I think that suits you nicely.

Thank you for calling.

(in case you’re worried, the scotch/lipstick thing didn’t happen here it was just a vivid example of the varying circumstances during which we’re supposed to keep happy brave-faced attitudes)

Watched The Door in the Floor last night and I have to say it was one of the better film adaptations of a novel I’ve seen in a while. It was based on the first third of what is probably my second favorite Irving novel (this being my absolute favorite) so I was a little nervous to see what they’d done with it - especially after the severe disappointment with the alleged adaptation of my favorite book. But the general mood is there. It wasn’t exactly the way I’d envisioned the story as I was reading it. It was better.

Jeff Bridges (who I used to regard as a dork with a famous name but one that was far less dorky than his brother) plays Tom Cole, asshole sexaholic dad, to perfection. I’m not a huge Kim Basinger fan but I think this very well might be the best role I’ve seen her play. While I loved LA Confidential I didn’t really think she put as much into her part in that as others seemed to believe. A former model playing a prostitute? Big whoop. But she was great in this - totally absorbed in grief. And the Fanning child (not Dakota, her younger sibling) is a precious and sweet Ruth. Not much substance there but what’s really interesting is this is only the first part of the story - but it shows how it helped mold the adult she is in the flash-forward second two-thirds. That’s my favorite part about this movie. Usually when a film ends you have to imagine what happens to the characters after the credits roll but in this case you can go read the rest of the book! Brilliant! This was far better than I expected. And that is rare.

Movies almost never live up to my expectations. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is a good example of this. I fully expected to adore this movie - seemed like a perfect combination of confusing plotline, pretentiousness, and schmaltz that usually tear right through me. But I’d heard entirely too much hype and, frankly, Charlie Kaufman’s eccentric plot structure tendencies are starting to wear on me a bit. Or maybe I was in a bad mood. Nah. It was entirely too gritty and whiny to be considered optimistic, too blindly romantic to be truly interesting. And I wanted to just slap the shit out of Kirsten Dunst. But that’s nothing new I usually do. This may seem totally plastic but I thought the most interesting part about it was Kate Winslet’s hair as a character device. A lot more interesting than that standard writer’s crutch of using weight as an intrinsic character gauge. Doesn’t mean I like her though: she reminded me way too much of a crazy friend of mine in art school who is doomed to never have a healthy relationship because the minute she gets what she wants she doesn’t want it anymore. I honestly didn’t like anyone in the film. So why would I care what happens to them? Takes a lot of work to make characters sympathetic and interesting at the same time. But it can be done.

Napoleon Dynamite was funny in parts. But what the fuck time period was this supposed to be set in? Has there been some sort of resurgence in trapper keeper, side ponytail, camper van driving sad 80s style that I’m unaware of? Because I totally thought this was set in 1985 until the the references to online chat rooms came up. Even then I kept thinking surely they were referencing old dialup bbs services that were just starting to pop up then. But there were entirely too many contemporary pop culture references to make that stick. Doesn’t matter. Ultimately that was only one aspect in a series of details that made me uncomfortable. I’d heard a lot of comparisons to Welcome to the Dollhouse (talk about a movie that made me extremely uncomfortable) and that really rings true. A mouth breathing nerd shunned by even other nerds with annoying relatives. Man that guy has the adolescent whiny sneer down pat though. The brother blossoming with true love was funny. And Pedro. Pedro friggin rocked. Ok, it was alright but I don’t think I’d make a big effort to watch it again.

My mother-in-law (whom I never fail to criticize whenever I can) has a really interesting talent. No, calm down, a good talent this time. Every Christmas she buys me a sweater I would never ever buy for myself. One I usually look down at in the box and say “hmm. ok. well that’s….nice?” But what’s funny is I almost always end up trying it out on those infamous laundry days, finding that I really like it, and wearing it. Witness the red fleece vneck.

I don’t (usually) wear red. Really up until this past inexplicable pink phase whenever I go out in public I’ve stuck with black, sometimes khaki, usually a crisp white button down shirt. Now I just wear black, sometimes khaki, usually crisp white button-down shirts, and pink. (The punk rock pajama party cat wear is my little private home thing. I like people with layers to them ya know?)

So it seems that my tastebuds change way more often than every seven years; maybe it’s my fashion taste that only changes roughly once a decade.

Anyway, in 1998 (I think) my mother-in-law gave me a red polar fleece vneck sweater. Which has become like the perfect family christmas party sweater. Especially in New Mexico and especially when I was still smoking. Here in the land of 70 degree days 30 degree nights the key to survival is layering: wearing a camisole with a built in bra under a white men’s undershirt (optional) under a button down under a sweater under a coat. Get hot? Remove a layer or two. That polar fleece shit is warm in the snow but somehow I don’t overheat if I keep it on indoors - which is a rare treat in any shirt really. The red was festive but I could still just pull it on over a button down shirt and look nice. And somehow she chooses the right size too. So I should have a little more faith in her annual christmas sweaters right?

Nope. Every year I am baffled by the sweater purchase until I actually wear it. And sometimes it takes a few times even then to appreciate the usefulness of the sweater.

I was even more dubious about Xmas 2004’s purchase: a cream knit cotton blend poncho. Have to admit I’ve done a good bit of mental mockery of this poncho fad - mostly involving the surreal quality of women trying to look like shepherds while still wearing spiky slut shoes. This retro 70s fashion turn just makes me laugh and laugh. Most fashion trends look like epic jokes to me anyway.

I have seen photographs of my sister and I in matching lime green crocheted poncho/tam o’ shanter sets in 1977. I believe there were also some brown vinyl zip up boots involved as well - which very well could have come from the sears catalog. So when I first read of this poncho resurgence my attitude was: “I am a 70s fashion veteran I don’t need to relive the horrors.” Have to admit, while I envy all these crazy feminist knitters out there I have done a bit of snickering over the poncho patterns.

This one certainly isn’t handmade but just a plus-size wal mart brand - Denim Blues or something - and even though I don’t consider myself much of a clothing label whore it takes a lot for me to admit this in such a public forum: it’s lightweight and, dare I say it, kind of cute. Not too heavy, certainly not itchy, the perfect thing for me to wear at the computer. And somehow it goes so well with this pure grace scent. Both simple and a little modern.

It still makes me look like a shepherdess. But I’m wearing big pink fuzzy slippers instead of big spiky slut shoes. Not a fashion victim am I!

Score: 7/10

Pretty good; it seems you know your JavaBeans from your fava beans, your slashers from your Slashdotters.

Can’t believe I missed Chikatilo after all the Bio/History channel watching I’ve done.

Can you Tell a Coder from a Cannibal?

via + via

Here are some of my favorite finds from the weekend. A few oldies.

News

Finally! A study that actually says something worthwhile!

Do you Suffer News Fatigue?

Relax, you just survived the statistically most depressing day of the year

Art

Eugenio Recuenco is a painterly photographer

Sas Christian takes those schmaltzy big-eyed paintings and makes them even spookier.

The completely insane world of Kozyndan

Music

Download a great sample from Today’s Listening to.

The next generation of aging rockstars

Style

Horrible homes from the Brass Age

It Came from the 1971 Sears Catalog

Fun

Terry Jones lays his views bare

The White Stuff

Misc Asian Multimedia Amusements

Show Me Show you Kikkoman KikkoPOW (English Translation) (Official Kikko Man Site?)

Boba Fate - take a photo of your boba tea and get your fortune!

Dessert menu: Koo-ki Chocolate Sushi, Crispy Candy Sushi Snacks, Twinkies Sushi.

I thought it might be true before, now I’m sure of it: the people behind yourdictionary.com have gotta be Democrats.

not to mention yesterday’s word of the day: crapulence

The good news: I’m alive
The bad news: I’m never eating sag paneer again.

I don’t think it was food poisoning (as Cody does) because I’ve been feeling queasy on and off for a week. And no it’s not that either. Actually I think this is the next evil phase of the cold/flu that wouldn’t die - the stomach edition. I could go into a lot more details but trust me, you don’t want to know that such a delicious spinach and cubed farmer’s cheese dish could become a projectile from opposite human orifices at the same time like that. A bit tmi there eh? Well, just thank your lucky stars you weren’t there you might’ve gotten hit.

During a two hour lull in the waves of nausea yesterday I took some self-portraits and monkeyed around with them in photo impact. Don’t you love that nauseated wan look? Almost like those early nineties’ Calvin Klein ads if you ask me.

There are several more in the photo journal.

Bowie now

Which David Bowie are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I’ve been leaning towards a new perfume style lately. For the last three years I’ve been using Clinique Happy. In my twenties I liked spicier perfumes: Chanel Cristalle or Borghese Il Bacio. Before that I had more romantic taste in perfumes. In high school I wore Eau de Gucci, Crabtree & Evelyn Spring Rain, or patchouli oil (shut up). Way way back in junior high I loved de la Renta Ruffles which is long gone.

I’ve been moving towards simpler perfumes the last year though. And oddly enough my favorite bath goodies have usually been made for babies. Like that healing garden baby stuff (which has been discontinued dammit), johnson and johnson bedtime baby bath, or burt’s baby bee stuff.

I think it’s mostly because the baby products don’t have nearly as many perfumes. And since I’ve quit smoking the more subtle scents are enough for me now.

I wanted to try that trio of simpler grace scents from philosophy but 90 bucks is a whole lot for perfumes I haven’t tried yet. So I split the difference and bought the solid trio for 45. Unfortunately it arrived right in the middle of my cold so I couldn’t smell them for about a week. Now I can’t get enough of the pure grace scent. It’s so clean and sweet.

Wtf is going on with me? Switched from coffee to tea, wearing pink and baby scents. But at least I still listen to kickass music.

Remember my little hedgesanta game? Well, I saved the names I didn’t draw in December in a little box and have been planning to do one drawing a month this year. Let’s hope I can remember (and afford it) every month.

This month’s lucky winner is Fiona! I’ll be picking out a little bauble from her wishlist and sending it off today.

Oh, if you signed up before and would rather have a donation made to a charity in your name instead just let me know and I’ll update it in my notes. Then if I draw your name I’ll just post which charity you wanted and a link to your site. k?

More prezzies:

I could kick myself over and over for this, I missed my favorite Bad Kitty’s birthday! Gaaah! So please go wish her many happy returns and convince her I’m not an oblivious forgetful ass, even if I kinda am. I’m working on a present for her that I promised a long time ago so hopefully that will make up for it! (And hopefully I can finish it tonight because I’ve got a job to work on tomorrow.)