You should check out The Hairpin! #complaints
OMG! Old Jezebel lives!!! Thank you so much for this.
I've loved Tina Fey for a long time, but this season of 30 Rock has got me jumping ship. I completely agree with what you're saying - and for me the problem isn't so much that she makes jokes about stereotypical women stuff, it's that those jokes aren't funny anymore. This season has been one unfunny "pathetic woman" joke after another, and last night's effort to poke fun at her critics just came off as forced and really, really stale. That period joke in the cold open left me gaping at the TV, waiting for something I could actually laugh at. And the fact of the matter is that even if she sees Liz Lemon as herself in some alternate reality, there are millions of women out there about whom she is perpetuating negative stereotypes. We were able to overlook the base offensiveness when she was funny, but now...it's mildly infuriating. Also, there are subjects that are funny that don't revolve around a woman being ugly or single or sexless or baby-less. And FOR GOD'S SAKE, stop pretending that Liz Lemon is fat or that there's anything wrong with her body at all. Soon all us actual fat bitches are gonna come kick her scrawny ass.
Oh, and as a woman who is into women...Olivia Munn is not my kind of hot. Or funny. I definitely wouldn't do her. Any time she appears on The Daily Show is a time I change the channel. And that new show? God-awful. So thanks, Tina, for foisting her upon us to an even greater degree.
Also, and this has little to nothing to do with the post, but this is the first article I've read on the site since the format change and it may be the last (I saw it on Facebook and linked directly, it's the only way I could have found it). I hate the new format with the fire of a thousand suns - it's completely unnavigable and I think it's tragic that my old favorite blog now resembles a loosely-assembled pile of corporate vomit. The writing hasn't changed, but my ability to stomach the layout (or even find my favorite articles) has. I would have sent this in an email to the editors, but tried unsuccessfully to find the masthead.
Oh, and as a woman who is into women...Olivia Munn is not my kind of hot. Or funny. I definitely wouldn't do her. Any time she appears on The Daily Show is a time I change the channel. And that new show? God-awful. So thanks, Tina, for foisting her upon us to an even greater degree.
Also, and this has little to nothing to do with the post, but this is the first article I've read on the site since the format change and it may be the last (I saw it on Facebook and linked directly, it's the only way I could have found it). I hate the new format with the fire of a thousand suns - it's completely unnavigable and I think it's tragic that my old favorite blog now resembles a loosely-assembled pile of corporate vomit. The writing hasn't changed, but my ability to stomach the layout (or even find my favorite articles) has. I would have sent this in an email to the editors, but tried unsuccessfully to find the masthead.
I hate that they're making an American version, AT ALL. There is no need for it because the Swedish versions are mind-blowingly awesome, and that role belongs to Noomi Rapace. Period. End of story
it happens to men, too - I once knew a guy who was chopping up a ton of habaneros, went to pee, and ended up taking four showers with very little result. was coincidentally talking to my coworkers about this very issue today, and one guy immediately said, "You have to dip it in milk, you know, like teabagging!" and then made a squatting dunking motion. smart enough, but still totally hilarious.
I love you, Dodai, for saying what I've been feeling. Fuck this year, bring on the next one.
Just break down and spend the 24 bucks or whatever on Tarte LipSurgence from Sephora. I've been using stains since I was 12, and this is the best I've ever found. WORTH IT.
However, I know how you feel about false advertising. That old tube of promising mascara or illuminating blush or eyeshadow mousse that lingers because that gimmick was just too strong to resist. I have been there, friend.
However, I know how you feel about false advertising. That old tube of promising mascara or illuminating blush or eyeshadow mousse that lingers because that gimmick was just too strong to resist. I have been there, friend.
My grandfather has a problem with updating his language, a fact made clear to me by his constant references to "Orientals" even after a conversation explaining how that term was similar to "Negro" (a word, mind you, that my grandmother occasionally used before she died) and shouldn't be used in this day and age.
Also, he thinks that full body scans/constitutionally violating airport patdowns are necessary to save us from terrorists. THAT was a fun conversation.
Also, he thinks that full body scans/constitutionally violating airport patdowns are necessary to save us from terrorists. THAT was a fun conversation.
Yo, I was at this show! It was so fucking awesome, I almost died from dopeness. The freestyle was definitely a highlight - and the comedy was superb, as always. This dude is gonna be a star, mark my words.
oh, that guy is WAY hotter than David Boreanaz. what city does he live in again...? :)
@IWantYourSass: For no good reason I can think of. Hot, talented, charming...he'd be perfect as Nick.
Perfect. I just watched An Education the other day, and she was spectacular. Been my choice for the role ever since her name was mentioned.
Tobey Maguire, however...no way. I actually think my choice would be Joshua Jackson, but he's sadly not really a movie star.
Tobey Maguire, however...no way. I actually think my choice would be Joshua Jackson, but he's sadly not really a movie star.
@dammit.girl: that is exactly what ran through my head. oh, Eve Whitman, always stirring up trouble.
Are you crazy? Her hair is red, the same color it's been for months.
I had pink hair for years, and the only person who ever thought it was red was a colorblind old man. I assume you are not, so I am confused.
I had pink hair for years, and the only person who ever thought it was red was a colorblind old man. I assume you are not, so I am confused.
"Other rappers diss me
Say my rhymes are sissy
Why? Why? Why?
Why exactly? Whatcha why?
Be more constructive with your feedback, please
Why? 'Cause I rap about reality
Like me and my grandma drinkin' a cup o' tea
(There ain't no party like my nana's tea party
Hey, ho)"
- Rhymenoceros/Hiphopopotamus AKA FotC, but really, it could be Kanye, couldn't it?
Say my rhymes are sissy
Why? Why? Why?
Why exactly? Whatcha why?
Be more constructive with your feedback, please
Why? 'Cause I rap about reality
Like me and my grandma drinkin' a cup o' tea
(There ain't no party like my nana's tea party
Hey, ho)"
- Rhymenoceros/Hiphopopotamus AKA FotC, but really, it could be Kanye, couldn't it?
Well, my worst living situation wasn't with a roommate who was a peer. It was with my study-abroad host lady (not host mom, there was nothing maternal about her), Barbara.
When I first arrived in Amsterdam for my college semester abroad, I was pretty stoked on Barbara, a German transplant in her late 30s. She let me smoke weed in the house, and we had a few fun nights watching movies together.
Now, I'm an introverted stoner who likes to write, read, watch tv, and get high and listen to podcasts while playing mahjong solitaire. After about a month or so, she began asking me why I never went out. This, to begin with, was untrue - I did go out to bars or restaurants or coffeeshops to hang out with my friends. I was, however, not only relatively poor but also suffering from depression and what may have been my only bout with seasonal affective disorder, thus I didn't go out every freaking night. So I told her that I liked staying in and hanging out with myself, which is true. And she told me that since all the other students she'd had stay with her had been crazy party kids, that I was a freak and there was something wrong with me.
In the middle of the semester, my group took a 18-day trip to Berlin and Madrid. When I returned, it was like Barbara had seen what her life was like without me and she liked it better that way. She told me I couldn't watch TV in the living room when she was around. She told me she didn't believe in bisexuality. She told me again that I was a freak. And then there was the meat incident.
Barbara occasionally took the train to Germany to visit her family. One afternoon, I returned to the house from hanging out with my friends in Vondelpark, smoked a little pot and headed down to the kitchen to find some dinner. Barbara and I only ate together a few times a week now; otherwise she would leave me money for food or tell me there was meat and potatoes or pasta in a pot on the stove. On this occasion, there was a pot with a few pieces of stewed meat - I took one and went upstairs to watch some Lost and eat my dinner. A while later she came and knocked on my door; I let her in and she demanded to know if I had eaten the meat on the stove. I said, yes, I had, because I thought she had put it out for dinner, like she had many times before. She screamed at me that her mother had made her that meat and she had brought it all the way from Germany and I was no longer allowed to eat anything in the kitchen without direct permission. She acted like I had eaten it because I was greedy and mean and wanted to spite her.
A few weeks later, when my parents came to visit, she refused to let them see the inside of our house. Her words were something like, "Because I don't care about you, I don't want these people in my home." I left the room and broke down into tears while doing the dishes.
It got to the point where we basically never spoke unless we had to. Thank god the weather had finally gotten nice and I could just ride my bike to one park or another and experience my deepening loneliness through the mask of legal hallucinogenics. Finally, it was three weeks before I was set to go home, and Barbara was going on a blessedly long vacation, returning just three days before I left. It was at this point that she informed me that she didn't want me there when she came back. She was, though she had been paid to provide me housing for the full term, kicking me out early. This meant I not only had to pack up all my shit early, I also had to sleep on the couch in the program's classroom, stuck in limbo for a few days, AND figure out a way to get me and all my crap to the airport (this ended up being far more difficult than it sounds). By this point, I hated a whole lot about the Netherlands, and I just wanted to go home. Despite being seriously depressed, painfully lonely, and on the verge of a mental breakdown, I never cried in front of Barbara. I just spent two much-improved weeks without her, packed up my stuff, seething with the kind of anger I only experience around truly cruel people, and left without seeing her again. Then I filled out a detailed and scathing host evaluation and had a long conversation with my program leader to ensure she never gets to make money off of poor college students again, and got the fuck out of there.
When I first arrived in Amsterdam for my college semester abroad, I was pretty stoked on Barbara, a German transplant in her late 30s. She let me smoke weed in the house, and we had a few fun nights watching movies together.
Now, I'm an introverted stoner who likes to write, read, watch tv, and get high and listen to podcasts while playing mahjong solitaire. After about a month or so, she began asking me why I never went out. This, to begin with, was untrue - I did go out to bars or restaurants or coffeeshops to hang out with my friends. I was, however, not only relatively poor but also suffering from depression and what may have been my only bout with seasonal affective disorder, thus I didn't go out every freaking night. So I told her that I liked staying in and hanging out with myself, which is true. And she told me that since all the other students she'd had stay with her had been crazy party kids, that I was a freak and there was something wrong with me.
In the middle of the semester, my group took a 18-day trip to Berlin and Madrid. When I returned, it was like Barbara had seen what her life was like without me and she liked it better that way. She told me I couldn't watch TV in the living room when she was around. She told me she didn't believe in bisexuality. She told me again that I was a freak. And then there was the meat incident.
Barbara occasionally took the train to Germany to visit her family. One afternoon, I returned to the house from hanging out with my friends in Vondelpark, smoked a little pot and headed down to the kitchen to find some dinner. Barbara and I only ate together a few times a week now; otherwise she would leave me money for food or tell me there was meat and potatoes or pasta in a pot on the stove. On this occasion, there was a pot with a few pieces of stewed meat - I took one and went upstairs to watch some Lost and eat my dinner. A while later she came and knocked on my door; I let her in and she demanded to know if I had eaten the meat on the stove. I said, yes, I had, because I thought she had put it out for dinner, like she had many times before. She screamed at me that her mother had made her that meat and she had brought it all the way from Germany and I was no longer allowed to eat anything in the kitchen without direct permission. She acted like I had eaten it because I was greedy and mean and wanted to spite her.
A few weeks later, when my parents came to visit, she refused to let them see the inside of our house. Her words were something like, "Because I don't care about you, I don't want these people in my home." I left the room and broke down into tears while doing the dishes.
It got to the point where we basically never spoke unless we had to. Thank god the weather had finally gotten nice and I could just ride my bike to one park or another and experience my deepening loneliness through the mask of legal hallucinogenics. Finally, it was three weeks before I was set to go home, and Barbara was going on a blessedly long vacation, returning just three days before I left. It was at this point that she informed me that she didn't want me there when she came back. She was, though she had been paid to provide me housing for the full term, kicking me out early. This meant I not only had to pack up all my shit early, I also had to sleep on the couch in the program's classroom, stuck in limbo for a few days, AND figure out a way to get me and all my crap to the airport (this ended up being far more difficult than it sounds). By this point, I hated a whole lot about the Netherlands, and I just wanted to go home. Despite being seriously depressed, painfully lonely, and on the verge of a mental breakdown, I never cried in front of Barbara. I just spent two much-improved weeks without her, packed up my stuff, seething with the kind of anger I only experience around truly cruel people, and left without seeing her again. Then I filled out a detailed and scathing host evaluation and had a long conversation with my program leader to ensure she never gets to make money off of poor college students again, and got the fuck out of there.
@kathleenitis: No, you didn't offend me at all! I actually think your comment and the caption on your photo were some of the best at expressing both sides of the issue; I just felt like chiming in. Here's to friendly dialogue!
PS your costume was awesome.
PS your costume was awesome.
@trampkin: I understand your point, I just think there's a way to have that dialogue without putting down people who do like to show off their "hawt bodies" and disparaging anyone dressed somewhat provocatively on a holiday that originated with haystack orgies simply isn't it. :)
@kathleenitis: There is a way to celebrate creative and original costumes without disparaging those who "could care less about Halloween" or women who enjoy being creative and original but also enjoy being sexy. That was not achieved here. While the intent might not have been slut-shaming, , the end result certainly is. And the fact of the matter is that this anti-revealing-costumes rhetoric has been perpetuated for awhile...I wrote this blog post [183percentawesome.blogspot.com]
(on my old blog, I'm not trying to sucker you for pageviews or anything :) ) two years ago. It sucks that Jezebel is still trying to make me feel like shit about my personal apparel decisions after all the time I've been a loyal and loving reader.
(on my old blog, I'm not trying to sucker you for pageviews or anything :) ) two years ago. It sucks that Jezebel is still trying to make me feel like shit about my personal apparel decisions after all the time I've been a loyal and loving reader.
@Ligeia: You and me. We get it. :)
