The inconsistent, contradictory ramblings of Scarlett the Harlot

I have a lofty goal. That goal is to read 100 books in one year. For those of you doing the math, that means I have roughly four days a book. With a little overlap, sure. Now me, I'm notorious for starting a book, seeing a squirrel or something, getting distracted and putting it down for a few weeks. Then I'll pick it up three months, weeks days later and finish it off. So this goal is more than a little lofty. Actually, it might be too big for my britches, so to speak.

That's why the first book I picked up was easy. Granted, I didn't know it was easy when I picked it up. I picked it up because It's Now A Major Motion Picture. And I have a girl crush soft spot for Ellen Page and roller derby looks badass, so I figured the book had to be awesome, right? Actually, I wasn't far off. I polished off Whip It by Shauna Cross in a day-and-a-half, which is well within my four day goal, and given that I'm ALSO doing NaNo this month (I'm an overachiever--okay, fine, I'm stupid) it was totally a blessing in disguise.

( But don't be fooled because it was a quick read, kids. )







The Endeavor: Book 1

Every now and again I pick up a book specifically because somebody recommended it to me. I don't just mean I pick it up from the book store, I mean, I go to amazon, I add it to the shopping cart, I read the synopsis, and it looks so good that not only do I order it, but I overnight it because it looks so compelling. Such was the case with Sarah Waters' Fingersmith.



Did you know if you're only overnighting one book, the overnight fee from amazon will probably be double the cost of the book, if said book is a paperback? True story.

( Not that I regret it, it's just something to note. )

I have a morbid fascination with the grotesque. Not the really grotesque stuff that I could find on the internet. I never fell for the "two girls, one cup" links floating around, and I never felt the need to look up sex with goats or anything, but I do find myself reading things that most of the people in my alto-liberal-hippie college would have sneered at.

I like Eli Roth, I laugh at dead baby jokes, and I watch Southpark fairly unironically. But I also subscribe to Bitch and Bust magazines, I live for etsy.com, and I despise the The Hills. I don't consider myself a hipster, but I'm self aware enough to know that if I looked more like a hipster I'd probably be more likely to go that way.

So I picked up The Average American Male by Chad Kultgen with more than a little ambivalence. I mean, on the one hand, of course it's something I would read. On the other hand of course it isn't. This is the first cover quote (and the one that sold me): "I can't figure out if this book is a heartfelt dispatch from the front line in the battle of the sexes or a brilliant send-up of the way the male point of view has been misrepresented by militant feminists. I suspect it may be both."

Well, I know what I want for pre-order for Hanukkah.

Checkout the awesomeousity that is BARBIE PALM BEACH SUGAR DADDY KEN.



Yes, that is his real, Mattel given name. And yes, that is his real, Mattel given dog and pink, patent leather leash.

And holy, holy God, let's talk about the white shoes, white pants and pink polo shirt, shall we? He's part of the Gold Label collection and clocks in at only $81.99! He's for collectors! He's got brushed silver hair! And a WEST HIGHLAND TERRIER! But sweet Moses on a speed boat, don't forget the green jacquard sport coat! Those sleepy eyes are ready for a good time, girls...

I wonder if he's got sold separately accessories. Like a flashy red sports car. Or a speed boat. Or a kilo of Colombian blow.

Oy.

True story, I have no appreciation for Bob Marley. College sorta over-exposed it out of me. I know the Gypsy Kings covered a bunch of his stuff and that was pretty cool, but other than appreciating him as a political figure and where he fits into Rasta culture, I could care less, seriously.

However, I defy you to not appreciate the coolness that is this video.


From the website:

playingforchange.com - From the award-winning documentary, "Playing For Change: Peace Through Music", comes an incredible rendition of the legendary Bob Marley song "One Love" with Keb' Mo' and Manu Chao. This is the third video from the documentary and a follow up to the classic "Stand By Me" and the incredible "Don't Worry." Released in celebration of Bob Marley's birthday on February 6th, this tribute to the legend is performed by musicians around the world adding their part to the song as it traveled the globe.


And the fangirl in me geeked out when I saw Keb' Mo' (I don't think he was credited--but he's the old black man rockin out in the newsboy hat and the beat up guitar). What can I say, I love an old blues man.

But yeah, take a few minutes, listen to the lyrics, watch the video, and I defy you to not sway in your seat with the music.

Dear Robert Pattinson (RPatz to your fans):

Full disclosure, I've started this letter off at least three times in my head and each time it began "I hate your stinking guts" or "you make me vomit" or thereabouts. But I realized maybe I was being a little unfair and decided to reign in my particular brand of raging sewer harpy. I started thinking about exactly why you make my teeth itch, that's adult, right? I mean, sure, you don't bathe. You do look like an furry-headed candy corn (cause you're head's all triangular). And your overall, broody brand of emo-surliness does not a good actor make. 

But none of these things are really your fault.

Except the not bathing thing. Dude, you've got to see to that. Even the cro-mag male beat his fur against a rock. Maybe you could...with your head... okay, okay, I can see how that would be bad.

I digress. None of these things are the "really real" reason, as my eleven-year-old cousin would say I can't stand you. The really real reason is simple: Twilight. Fucking Twilight. Dude, you were completely forgettable to anybody but the Harry Potter fans after the twenty minutes you were in that universe, but did you have to sign on for Twilight?

And there again, I can see how it arguably wasn't your fault. Back when it was just the first book and maybe New Moon, nobody really understood what a scourge on the earth phenomena Twilight was going to turn into. Sure, it had it's fans. But then, Harry Potter had fans. They weren't cutting themselves over Rupert Grint's pubic hairs or anything. So you signed on for three movies. I don't blame you. You're a "strapping lad", as the Brits say. I can use English slang, I read Dickens. You saw Kristen Bell and went "wow, she's hot", or, you know, however you guys say it. Probably has a word like "shag" or "knackered" in it.

But there were still those damn fans.

Those...whatdoyoucallem. Twihards. Hormonal bacchae, if you will. Willing to tear you limb from limb just to hear the sound of your voice, to steal the lisp from your lips, to catch a glimpse of your manly collarbones of truth--well you get the picture. I mean them's some scary bitches. And I know from scary bitches. I was thirteen once. I had my own crushes. I would cut a bitch over Isaac Hanson. True story. Of course, you never saw me making an entire family schlep to wherever the hell Hanson's from just so I could breathe the air of Oklahoma City or whatever (I have no idea how I pulled that city out of my ass to this day). But those freaks of nature Twihards are a different breed, man. They'll make their families go to Forks, WA for a family vacation and not think twice.

Want to know what's in Forks? 

A shrine to Twilight.

And a zillion girls all worshiping at the altar of Edward Cullen and throwing out random Wuthering Heights quotes completely out of context. Not, you know, real Wuthering Heights quotes because that book is actual literature and while it's also badly written, it's badly written for a Victorian novel which means it's scads more intelligent than Stephanie Meyer will ever hope to be. So they quote Wuthering Heights as it was quoted to them in Twilight and have no idea that Heathcliffe was the original emo asshole.

I guess what I'm saying Edward Robert, is that I think I get you now. If I were you and I'd suddenly stepped into a cult phenomena that nobody really saw coming and I didn't necessarily wish on myself and while I didn't mind being a hearthrob in theory (because I'm a guy) I'd want to be a hearthrob for me, and not for, you know, a 109 year-old sparkly-vampire-virgin who is completely safe and will cuddle and kiss and pet and hold a girl for months but never, you know, try to stick it in because the peen is evil, I'd probably stop bathing too. I'd do exactly what you're doing. I'd call the writer of the series a bat-shit soccer mom MORMON who basically fanficced herself and tried to touch me inappropriately in the bathroom (not that you did that last bit, I'm just offering a suggestion). Like an abuse victim I'd try to appear unattractive so no one would want me and I too would fade into the wood work. I'd probably go Ancient Greek on their asses, shave my head, dress in sack cloth, and smear my face with ashes lamenting the sad state of...I don't know, something important. I'd become a sculptor wherein I collected different kinds of poo from varying species and unveiled these specimens at a chic gallery in SoHo and call it "Abstinence Means Doing Anal". 

In short, RPatz, I'd make a point to very publicly loose my shit.

Pretty much what you're doing, only quicker and on a bigger scale.

So I'll close by saying I think I know where you're coming from a little bit. I have no idea if I'm right or not. But I feel for you man. 

My condolences,
Scarlett the Harlot

PS: did you know there's a Twilight dildo? I know where you can get some sack cloth for cheap. I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.

Dear Directors, Producers, Agents, Actors, and Fucktards,

Roman Polanski is a rapist. He is. Just because Switzerland finally decided to arrest and extradite him does not mean he deserves a walk, nor does it mean he didn't do it. I get that it smarts. I mean, he was in Switzerland specifically to go to the Zurich film festival to get a lifetime achievement award (I actually appreciate the irony, "oh, you thought you were getting a gift? Too bad, enjoy your cell!" ) but to begin a campaign to free him, to add your name to a petition, to insinuate that he didn't do exactly what he pled guilty to isn't just immoral, it's actually pretty fucking stupid.

Especially if you're Woody Allen. Hey Woody, how's your step-daughter wife?

Listen, I get that Roman Polanski had a tragic life. I cannot imagine what he went through as a child, he lost his mother to Auschwitz and he himself barely escaped the Nazis. There aren't words to losing your lover and your child at the same time to Charles Manson & Family. And I can even see how the former gave him a serious fear of authority and a persecution complex. This does not, however, excuse him from committing a crime. A few crimes, actually, but he pled to the one so the others would be forgotten.

This is what Roman Polanski, your hero, did: he took pictures of a thirteen-year-old girl--those pictures were topless and/or completely nude. He said they were for French Vogue, but if he hadn't said that, then wouldn't that be, oh, I don't know kiddie porn? He then gave said thirteen-year-old an endless supply of champagne and a third of a qualude. Other news outlets are calling it a sliver, but frankly there's a big fucking difference between a sliver and a third. Call a spade a spade. He then got into a hot tub with the girl while they were both naked. She, being appropriately skeeved out, said she was having an asthma attack and had to go home. He ignored her. They ended up back in the house (owned by Jack Nicholson), whereupon he put his face in her vagina even though she said no. He then proceeded to have intercourse with her. She said no. He asked her if she was on The Pill. She said no. He asked her when her last period was. She said she didn't remember. Mind you, this is all while he's fucking a doped up adolescent who asked him repeatedly to stop. When she said he couldn't remember when her last period was, he then sodomized her so she wouldn't get pregnant. The entire time this is going on, she's saying no, and asking him to stop and take her home. Needless to say, he ignored her.

That my friends is rape. It's not a little rape. It's not maybe rape. It's not even "rape". It's fucking rape. The man raped a thirteen-year-old girl. I don't care if he's Moses. He raped her. He might still be a talented film-maker, but rapist is on his resume.

He was indicted and charged and pled to "sex with a minor" which is basically statutory rape. Why? Because he knew if he didn't plead to something he'd be convicted of something worse. Then, before he could be sentenced he skipped town. For thirty fucking years.

This is not the action of a man who believes himself to be innocent. This is the action of a coward. Who rapes thirteen-year-olds.

Then, knowing if he set foot in the United States he'd be facing jail time, he went and had a merry old time in Europe, living the high life in Paris, traveling to basically any country that didn't have an extradition treaty with the United States, making movies, and giving the girl a settlement when she sued him (because he raped her). Also, he played the victim rather nicely the entire time.

And he continued to make movies.

When he filmed Lolita (irony of ironies), he famously said of his relationship with Natasha Kinski--then only 15 herself--"I don't know why you're surprised. I thought you all knew I liked them young." If that isn't a blatant disregard for the fucking law then I don't know what is.

Even if you don't want to acknowledge that the man's a rapist, you have to acknowledge the fact that he's been living on the lam. There's a reason the man hasn't been back to the United States. Because he'll be arrested for skipping town. Sad, but true. And you're right, he did already plead guilty to the rape. So he's pretty much going to be charged with bail-jumping or whatever. Good. He should be in prison.

For a while there were rumors of judicial misconduct and the possibility of an appeal. This would have happened, the LA District Attorney was even willing to let it happen. But Roman refused to show up at trial. So it didn't. He had his chance. 

Now a lot of you are saying that because the talented artist's victim wants to let it all go, water under the bridge, blah blah blah the rest of us should too. But that's stupid. For two reasons, one, he broke the law and he should be held accountable finally, and two, because it sets a horrifying president to force victims to forgive their aggressors so the aggressors won't have to go to jail. "But my son [Chris Brown?] would never do that. You should forgive him [Rihanna?] because it's just not in him to do that bad thing [beat you like it's Mario Cart?]"

See? That makes everybody uncomfortable. Except Hollywood. Because it's been a tragedy that Roman Polanski couldn't work there while he was in exile eating dry bread and expensive cheese off of gold plated dishes in his big shiny mansion in Paris. It's a horror that he's faced vilification by his peers. Even though they hid it well by giving him an Oscar and a standing ovation a year or so back. It's an unthinkable mess that he had to accept said Oscar in absentia because he'd be arrested.

Want to know how you don't get arrested? 

You don't break the fucking law.

Want to know what I think is a tragedy? 

That a little girl has to deal with the scars of being raped and sodomized by a man who she was supposed to be able to trust.

That at the time Angelika Houston, who I normally love, had the nerve to say "I don't think he's a bad man, I think he's a sad man" when she was in the house for part of the time.

That people are still throwing out the tired bullshit that the girl was a Lolita or her mom was a bitch. It. Doesn't. Matter.

The girl said no.

No halfway decent mother would want her child exposed to that.

Also, the age of consent in California was sixteen. It's now eighteen. The girl was thirteen. That means she couldn't legally consent even if she had been sober. Roman Polanski broke the law.

So many people today lament the fact that the idea of justice is relative. That Justice is not color blind, or class blind, or opposed to taking the occasional bribe. I'm one of them. I can't think of a person who hasn't complained that the rich have a different set of rules. And so far, that idea has proven true. And when you think about it, Hollywood is lamenting the same thing. Only they're doing it from the opposite side of the argument. I want Roman Polanski arrested because, as a rapist, he deserves it. They want him let off because, as an artist, he doesn't. The problem is, Roman Polanski does deserve justice. Unfortunately for you people Justice for Roman Polanski is a prison sentence.

Cordially,
Scarlett the Harlot

PS: This is what a rapist looks like:

Dear Fashion Industry*,

I just want to take a minute to tell you how amazingly cool I think you are. I mean, I know we've had our differences in the past, and you might have felt that I was being a little bit bitchy to indict the entire industry as a hole for something as trivial as airbrushing (because let's be honest, everybody does it and nobody should be penalized for making someone look as young and teensy as possible) but I've seen the light. I have. Also, I was on my period that week and eating way too much chocolate. So, you know, hormones. Also, I think I was a little upset because I missed a bikini wax. I can't remember, I'm on this new diet where I only eat three crackers and one cup of water a day and my memory's a little hazy. But damn am I dropping the pounds!

Anyway, after hearing about the goings on over at London Fashion Week I had to send you a note letting you know about bygones and how we're buds now. Seriously, how terrific is it that when Mark Fast tried to put some "plus size models" on his runway somebody quit in protest and somebody else was fired? I mean, first of all, can we just call them cows? Oh, and while we're at it, can we be sure that if they have to be seen in public, we're going to put them in something that's two sizes too small with underwear that cuts them a new waist line? Because that'll ensure that they look truly craptacular in the dress and nobody is going to want to hire "that girl" to be seen with, well, normal people.

You know, this is what has made me want to be in fashion. I think you are one of the only industries in the world (second only to Women's Clinic nurses and technitions) who can look at your job description and then refuse to do it. Do you know how much I would like to get told by my boss that I had to prepare some project for a big event wherein hundreds of people are going to be looking and go "you know what? I don't feel like it today." And still be golden. That's just...astoundingly avante garde.

I mean look at that girl! She looks miserable. And she's in a fashion show! She's not just normal, model miserable. She's actually miserable. How does she get off feeling that way when she's wearing a designer dress and killer shoes? I mean sure, the dress is too small, you wouldn't let her wear a bra so we can all see her nipples, and her thong is digging into her hips in a way that can't be comfortable, but she's being allowed to walk with skinny people. I mean, what do us fatties think, that we should be allowed to wear clothes that fit or something? The absolute nerve.
I mean, okay, so granted I've got a sneaking suspician that Mark Fast doesn't so much care about plus sized models as he does about selling his clothes. I mean, the controversy over the fashion-savvy staffer who just up and quit rather than tell those girls where the freaking lipstick was is sure making headlines and making sure people know his name. Likewise, having to fire another stylist for straight up passive aggressive, bitchy behavior is enough to make me want to check out his website. I mean, he cared enough to make sure those girls were treated with respect. Even if, you know, he couldn't give them clothes that fit. So Mark Fast is officially off my myspace buddy list. I mean, how dare he. It's like those fatties expected to be treated like people or something. 

This is the thing, bottom line: plus sized models shouldn't be around regular sized models. Anybody who was in that audience will tell you that everybody was uncomfortable when those girls walked out--they looked miserable and their clothes didn't fit. So double props to you, fashion industry for making an example of those girls and being sure that everybody knows that curves have no place on the runway. 

I'll let you know how my diet works out.

Love and awe,
Scarlett the Harlot




*If you think for one minute I've gone over to the dark side and this letter is anything but absolute sarcasm then why are you reading this blog? Obviously hunger and dehydration have made you delirious. Go eat a cookie.

When I was a kid I used to put on this turquoise dressing gown from the seventies (it had ruffles at the cuffs, collar and the hem and because I was nine it trailed behind me like a train of awesome) and sit in my rocking chair three feet from the television and watch musicals. I thought that turquoise dressing gown, coupled with a ruffly top/high-cut-shorts combo teddy thing made me look tres chic and beyond sexy. In retrospect I think I looked like a twee Ms. Hannigan from Annie.

Anyway, I would sit and watch these stories and rock and rock and rock and transport myself to another place. I would say the lines of the character I wanted to be, sing songs with her, and completely rewrite the story in my head so it wasn't so saccharine and Broadway-ish. I would imagine the main characters and wonder what happened to them when the camera panned away. When the audience wasn't watching.

Did Anna and the King have an illicit affair? 

Did Maria find out about the Captain's hidden kink? I mean really, there had to be a reason why he was so attached to that whistle.

I drove myself crazy with these thoughts. And then there was fanfiction.

One of the things I love about this new fiction genre, Fiction Retold, is it's basically Publisher sanctioned fanfiction. I mean, nobody ever tries to rewrite the novel of somebody still living (except maybe the continuation of the Godfather series) but you end up with things like Mr. Darcy's Daughters and Wicked and God knows what else.

And while they're cool, they never really recapture my wild childhood thoughts because they're just continuing the same story, aren't they? 

Enter Eileen Favorite's The Heroines.



( Onto the review, but really how awesome a name is Favorite? )

I just got finished watching The Boy in the Striped Pajamas.

Not going to lie, I tend to collect WWII movies. Mainly because I like the clothes and the music. I've never been this moved by one before.

Just... there aren't words.

Because, obviously what little girls need is a pole-dancing doll.



And yet, when I say little girls are being sexualized at too-young ages (what with the padded bras, thongs, and makeup peddled to them via Bratz) I get blank stares and the Scary Feminist With No Sense of Humor label.

Does anybody else think it's truly bizarre that the doll looks like a miniature Jackie Kennedy?

Dear Fashion Industry,

It's me again. I know you're surprised to hear from me considering the last time we had words. It wasn't pretty, I'll admit it. And it's hard to look someone in the eye after they've basically told them to sit on it and rotate. I know. I feel for you. But I'm back. This time with links.

What I'm talking about is the recent hullabaloo over the September issue of Self Magazine and Kelly Clarkson.



For those of you looking at that cover and saying "Wow, Kelly looks great." I think you should know, that's not Kelly Clarkson. That is a digitally enhanced image of Kelly Clarkson. This is Kelly Clarkson:



Self shaved, tucked, slimmed and hid the real Kelly to make a pretty cover. Note the obvious size differences in the upper arms, the chin, and the way they stuck a big circle over her ass to hide, well, her ass. And they're proud of it. To hear Lucy Danziger tell it (Lucy's an editor at Self and the blogger who's entry you'll read if you click that link) they love Kelly's "style" and her "love of her body" and her "joie de vivre", which is a bit strange considering they Photoshopped all that right out of that picture. One of hte awesome things about Clarkson is the way she embraces who she is and rocks her body and wears great clothes no matter what her size. Self had the ability to truly showcase that. Instead they chose to hide behind the bizarre idea that "a cover tells a story". To which I find myself asking, "what story exactly?" If I look at that cover, the story I'm seeing is a picture of a faux Kelly next to a REALLY BIG AD for how to slim yourself down. Oh, and a thing at the bottom about body confidence.

More troubling, if you continue reading that convuluted excuse for a lie that is Lucy Danziger's blog entry she goes on to say that she photoshops her own pictures if she's going to be say, sharing them with her peers. What the hell does that say about the industry in which she works and what shes' been made to think about herself. Should she really be working for a magazine that's supposed to be ostensibly about finding yourself or gaining self esteem or whatever it is Self even stands for? 

Airbrushing in the fashion industry is certainly nothing new. I think my generation especially has internalized the idea that beauty standards are impossible to such an extent that not even the models can live up to them. Of course we know that the cover shot isn't really what that woman looks like. Remember when Faith Hill was on the cover of Redbook and they basically erased her face? At the time, Jezebel did a truly hilarious, and truly depressing, breakdown of the pictures. In fact, airbrushing has been around so long they don't even airbrush anymore. Now, because we're in the digital age they do something totally different with a Raster image editor. Anyhoodle, you're they fashion police so you already know all this. My point is that the problem has become so pervasive that certain political parties have started to get involved.

Not in this country of course. America's too busy being afraid of fat and old age. No, but in Great Britain, Parlimant is talking about making advertisements have disclaimers if they've been airbrushed specifically so we'll know we're not looking at the real thing. Think about what that would mean for a second--instead of seeing pretty, perfect Tyra Banks or Jennifer Love Hewitt on the cover of whatever magazine and being completely appalled when we see them on the beach in the tabloids. Why? Because the tabloid picture is the real, candid shot. That's what they really look like after all.

But you people. I swear.

Okay, so in response to the whole British Parliament/Photoshop Disclaimer thing, Nigel Barker felt the need to weigh in:

The reason why talent in the modeling industry is so young is because of this desire to have flawless-looking women. But with good retouching, you can have older-looking women working longer. You can show her maturity, but perhaps you don’t show every wrinkle and line. What you are seeing are older models having longer careers that they never would have had because of retouching.

Really Nigel? You're going to make it sound like you're doing the models a favor? Wow. That's big of you I guess. But I find it really fucking douchey of you to claim that you (the fashion industry) have no control over what goes on the covers of magazines or what is deemed hot or attractive. I call serious shenanigans.

Do you remember a while back there was a little book published called The Devil Wears Prada? Remember how the story was the writer was actually an assistant to Anna Wintour, head fashion editor at Vogue and Goddess of Garb? Remember how Anna's PR people denied that she was a bitch to work with but she still showed up at the premier of the movie wearing Prada? My point here is that in that movie, based on the book, based on reality, there was this gem of an exchange between Andy the Assistant and fashion hick and Miranda the Garb Goddess:

Miranda Priestly: [Miranda and some assistants are deciding between two similar belts for an outfit. Andy sniggers because she thinks they look exactly the same] Something funny?
Andy Sachs: No, no, nothing. Y'know, it's just that both those belts look exactly the same to me. Y'know, I'm still learning about all this stuff.
Miranda Priestly: This... 'stuff'? Oh... ok. I see, you think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don't know, that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue, it's not turquoise, it's not lapis, it's actually cerulean. You're also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar De La Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves St Laurent, wasn't it, who showed cerulean military jackets? I think we need a jacket here. And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of 8 different designers. Then it filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic casual corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs and so it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of stuff.

In all honesty I hate quoting a tell all but there it is. You people control everything. You know you do. Maybe not Nigel Barker personally, he's too pretty and he's just a shutterbug, but if Anna fucking Wintour suddenly decided that size was sexy and put Steve Tyler's other daughter on the front cover of her magazine without making her go on a crash diet to get down to 150 pounds (like she did Oprah--true story, look it up) then trust me when I tell you other magazines would follow suit. Suddenly plus size would be in. Kate Moss would be out of work. Young girls wouldn't feel like they had to go on a diet in the third fucking grade. I could find clothes that actually fit in straight sizes. There would be dancing in the streets.

It wouldn't be considered politically subverssive to be fat.

How fucking bizarre is that?

Here are a few statistics for you:

• It is estimated that 8 million Americans have an eating disorder – seven million women and one million men
• One in 200 American women suffers from anorexia
• Two to three in 100 American women suffers from bulimia
• Nearly half of all Americans personally know someone with an eating disorder (Note: One in five Americans suffers from mental illnesses.)
• An estimated 10 – 15% of people with anorexia or bulimia are males

Upset yet? Well how about these:

• Anorexia is the 3rd most common chronic illness among adolescents
• 95% of those who have eating disorders are between the ages of 12 and 25
• 50% of girls between the ages of 11 and 13 see themselves as overweight
• 80% of 13-year-olds have attempted to lose weight

Or these:

• Rates of minorities with eating disorders are similar to those of white women
• 74% of American Indian girls reported dieting and purging with diet pills
• Essence magazine, in 1994, reported that 53.5% of their respondents, African-American females were at risk of an eating disorder
• Eating disorders are one of the most common psychological problems facing young women in Japan.

Here are some celebrities that have been diagnosed with eating disorders:

I think that if pressed, or even asked nicely, every fat girl (and guy) has at least one story to tell where the outside world has made them feel like complete and utter shit for even existing. We're the side kicks. The comic relief. We're a-sexual fashion accessories for skinny friends, like the Gay-Boy Best Friend ™ or the Sassy Friend of Color ™ who dispenses sage advice and the occasional bitch slap where appropriate. Incidentally, any and all of these stereotypes can bleed into one another depending on the time, setting, and dress code. 

Personally I can tell you I've had family members (who were, ironically just as large or larger than I was) tell me to stop eating because the food would go straight to my ass, I've had strangers off the street ask me if I'd ever considered Weight Watchers, I've felt rage at the fashion industry, and I've had to wear my grandmother's clothes in the sixth grade because that was the only thing that would fit me. So I'm a little aware of America's diet-centric culture and exactly how it relates to me specifically for good or evil.

Now, some would say that we in America are obsessed with our Causes. We've got civil rights, womans' rights, gay rights, and we've also got the fat acceptance movement, although I'm only just now hearing about it and I'll bet you probably haven't seen it blaring on your television either. Apparently it's been around since the 1960's. But in our thin-obsessed culture is it any wonder that CNN isn't wanting to have it's leaders talk about their beliefs? Of course not, CNN is too busy pushing the obesity epidemic.

Obviously I'm still a little bitter.

Okay, so by chance I stumbled upon this great community called fatshionista a few months ago. They're obivously big believers in fat acceptence. Through that community I heard about awesome bloggers Marianne Kirby and Kate Harding. Now Marianne and Kate have written a book.



( Dude, check it out, I finished a non-fiction book! )

Les Paul died.

And it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye. ~Miss Piggy


Here's the thing: unlike most women of my generation I didn't like Sex and the City. I was sortof offended by He's Just Not That Into You''s message of "just be a bitch and you'll get a guy", somehow hidden in the mantra "don't waste the pretty". So color me a little biased when my new book club that I just joined a week ago (and had three days to read their chosen book) told me their assigned book was How to be Single by Liz Tuccillo, an editor of Sex and the City and co-writer of He's Just Not That Into You.

To quote Carrie, "There is a God. And he's got a wicked sense of humor." 



( Self-help book it ain't. )

I grew up on the beach. This made me laugh a lot.



Also, go visit twolumps.net

I have a  new obsession. It's this great little blog by two girls who embrace their love of the romance novel. They write really intelligent, spot on reviews and I've yet to pick up a book that they gave a grade of "B" or higher and not been impressed.

On the flipside, when they dis a book that's also usually completely spot on and the two books (so far) that I've read because they said they sucked are so horrible that it borders on the laughable.

Case in point, Maverick by Lora Leigh. Sarah got maybe fifty pages into it and quite because it was so bad. I didn't believe ANY book could be that bad, so I bought it. And I just finished it. And I gotta tell ya--she was right. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know there are a LOT of horrible romance novels, but I've never read a published work (with the notable exception of anything written by Stephanie Meyers) that read like bad fanfiction.

Until I read Maverick by Lora Leigh. Lora Leigh is apparently a very prolific writer who's been published numerous times before this. Also, apparently her books are like crack to some people. And yet certain passages of this book were so horrendously, awesomely shit-tastic that I had to put the book down and laugh in stunned disbelief (and actual mirth at the unintentional humor) before I could pick it back up again.

Now, a wise man on the interwebs once said that a book shouldn't be judged by how "good" it is, but by how it makes you feel. So in all fairness it couldn't have been that bad because I did keep reading it and it did make my stomach do the jumpsies in a few places, but make no mistake--it was poorly written, it used every bad romance cliche out there, and quite a few stereotypes to boot. 

So rather than write a regular review, I'm writing a helpful Top Ten for anyone interested in writing a decent piece of romantic fiction so hopefully they can learn from Miss Leigh's mistakes and this tripe will never be recreated in fiction again.

( Scarlett the Harlot's Top Ten List of Crap to Stay Away From )</div>

"I've always thought Marilyn Monroe looked fabulous, but I'd kill myself if I was that fat."--Elizabeth Hurley

Dear Fashion Industry--

Fuck. You.

It wasn't enough that you had to set a completely unattainable beauty ideal--seriously, how is having the body of a ten-year-old-boy sexy?!--but now that you think you've got to spend a little extra money you're going to stop making "plus sized" clothing altogether? You've got to be kidding me. So what're we supposed to do? Walk around wearing potato sacks? 

Listen, I get that there's a recession going on and things are expensive but take a minute to think about what you're saying when you've got the nerve to imply larger sized clothes cost more money because it takes more "yardage". Big girls aren't that big. Even those of us that are morbidly obese don't have to actually wear a circus tent. So things cost more money, why not add a few extra dollars to the price tag? Trust me when I tell you, we buy clothes. We have to. Public nudity's a crime. Especially for us apparently.

I don't think you realize what a chore it is to shop when you're not a regular size. It's not just the public humiliation of the dressing room, though there is that. It's having to dig through racks and racks of size 2's and under to find one article of clothing in my size. It's the annoyance at realizing the "plus size" section is actually also the maternity section. It's buying maternity clothes because they're actually more fashionable than "plus sized" clothes--what the hell is that Target? women who are only temporarily fat get to look cute, but those of us who are actually fat have to dress like somebody's grandmother?--it's knowing that even if we go to stores that are specifically for women that are our size we're going to have to pay $40 for a tee shirt when skinny girls can get the same tee shirt (only better made and better looking) for less than half the price at a pricey boutique.

And let's talk about "plus sized" fashion.

I sew. I know how to make my own clothes. And I know what looks good on my body type. So how come people that have a degree in drape seem to think the only way to make a full-figured body look good is with an empire waist? That doesn't look good on everybody and frankly, I don't like every single article of clothing in my closet being a "wraparound". It makes me feel like they don't make buttons big enough for me. And then there's the ruching, those little built in ruffles are only flattering for so long. And the dresses and shirts with the sewn in parts for the boobs. Lookit--I know where my boobs go, I don't need a cloth diagram. And frankly, sometimes my boobs are too big for those little cut outs. Do you know how tacky it is to wear a top with tit-ruching only your tits are flying south of the border? That's not sexy, that's sloppy. And we don't really have a choice because almost every jersey knit thing at Lane Bryant and Avenue has those kinds of things conveniently sewn in to give the appearance of... what exactly? We've already got boobs. Of course, ours are naturally big so they're not necessarily perky, but that doesn't mean we want to feel like we're sportin' cow udders, you know?

I understand that you're trying to run a business and you only care about your bottom line, but completely ignoring 56% of women is not a good way to go about it. Okay, a lot of working class moms with kids won't be interested in shelling out however much for Anne Klein, but they're not really your target demographic anyway, are they?  I would say your target demographic is twenty to thirty something singles and professionals and frankly, I'm a twenty-five-year-old single professional who happens to be fat and would like to look amazing at work. Is your stuff pricey? Yes, but I'll pay it. Why? Because I'm single and I don't have a family to support so I'll have arguably more money than your average working-class housewife who's got three kids and a husband to dress. And because I've got to wear something and one pricey button-down is worth more to me than ten not-so-pricey button-downs from Wal-Mart that are going to shrink three sizes in the wash.

Actually, that's another thing. Just because you're making clothes for fats does NOT mean that you should buy cheaper fabric or skimp on design. If I pay $40 for a tee shirt from Lane Bryant, I don't want to throw it in the wash and find out that after one wear I have to give it to my skinny next door neighbor because it's shrunk so much I can't wear it. That's enough to make me not shop at Lane Bryant. So maybe you're seeing a cut in your money not from lack of people shopping, but from crappy product. Just a thought.

And speaking of crappy product, I'm fat not blind. You should be able to design a fun and flattering outfit for a fat girl without having to drip it in added embellishments. Lace and sequins and cameos and flashy metallic screen prints make it look cheap and like you weren't trying. Or worse, cheap and like you felt the need to cover me up, but you knew I wasn't going to buy a potato sack so you made it shiny. Because fat girl are like magpies or something.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that we're consumers too. Just because we don't fit your ideal body type (and frankly who does?) does not mean that we don't deserve respect. You've made it blatantly obvious through your products and your marketing (why are "plus size models" only size 8?!) that you think we're somehow less than. You've ignored us. You've given us crap not even our invalid maiden aunts would wear and we've had to buy it because we don't have another choice. You've chosen to believe that to be fat is to be shameful even though many of us are happy in our size and actually aren't trying to diet away our pounds.

For all this and more I say fuck you.

Yours,

Scarlett

On Sunday, May 31 2009 Dr. George Tiller was shot dead at his church--just as the service began.

For those of you unfamiliar with Dr. Tiller (Pro-lifers called him Tiller the Killer) he was one of only three late term abortion providers in the country. He'd been a target of right-wing groups for years because he insisted on providing care for women who needed it. His clinic was bombed, he himself was shot in both arms once before, and his family received numerous death threats. That's not counting, of course, the "petty" clinic vandalizations and protests he and his employees had to put up with on a daily basis.

This is major news. Check out what the NY Times has to say here, and various blog posts here, here, and here.

To be quite honest I don't know enough about the situation to accurately write about it here, and I don't think I could write eloquently on it anyway as I'm still too flabbergasted.

So instead I'll use this space to write about my own personal views on abortion and the pro-life crowd in general.

( Read if you dare. )</div>