Poetry Contests, Then and Now

Posted on August 1, 2023 by Sister Wolf

I admit I’m not a poetry lover. I don’t even like poetry. I like it better when it rhymes, like the Ancient Mariner. Sometimes I read the poetry in The New Yorker, and inevitably sneer or mutter “Jesus Christ.” I used to think it was a failure on my part, but now I’m comfortable with all of my biases.

I once had a job that involved stupid magazines with stupid ads for suckers, like devices to enlarge your breasts overnight. One of the ads was for a poetry contest, that was clearly a scam. It was something like “YOU TOO COULD BE A POET! ENTER THIS CONTEST AND WIN $10,000!”

I showed it to my young teenager and we decided to send in a poem to find out what the scam was. It was back in 1990, but I still remember laughing as we took turns composing it. Max was reading Stephen King at the time, who was a master of the idiotic mixed metaphor, and you can see the Stephen King influence throughout.

Sure enough, our poem won an Honorable Mention! and we could see it published in a nice anthology for only $49.95! We decided to pass. *If you want to try this too, go here.

Keeping in mind my disappreciation for poetry, I was excited to discover a poem by my husband’s ex-wife, my bête noire and the Anti-me. While I try to follow her monthly column in her community newspaper, somehow the poem escaped my attention until now. “Escaped my attention” is the kind of thing she would write, so I apologize, but she would have prefaced it with “hitherto.”

I won’t pretend to “get” this poem; You don’t need to get it to enjoy it, right? But once I figured out its subject, I was inspired to write my own elegy:

Ode To The Tennessee 3

What fresh hell is this! Voting
To kick them out for
Protesting

Even the fat white lady knew how
Wrong
This was. Plus

The 2 young black guys
Are so hot!
Especially the Brother with
The earring and long hair

I even followed
Him
On Instagram.

I shared it with my friend M, a published novelist and hardcore fan of the Ex’s work, and he countered with this:

Tennessee 3 braving
and behaving
No
The guy with the Afro is the hotter of the 2

Whew! I’d hate to have to pick the winner here, but I would love to pick the winner of your entries! So, (YOU TOO COULD BE A POET!) please submit a poem about the Tennessee Three and the winner will get a nice certificate! If anyone out there is an artist, you can help design it.

Don’t be shy! There are no losers, only winners!

Posted in Art, Contest, Disorders, Words | Tagged , , | 8 Comments

Nothing Compares.

Posted on July 29, 2023 by Sister Wolf

I knew this was coming but it was still a shock. When I read that Sinead O’Connor had lost her son to suicide, it was a a given that she wouldn’t stick around. Her panic and horror were familiar, and I relived it for a long time. I braced myself. And it seems like a miracle that she stayed as long as she did, a little more than a year.

Even if you never liked her, you must have recognized an exquisitely sensitive soul without much of a protective membrane. She clearly was driven to tell the truth – not tell, but shout out – without thought of the consequences. I used to be like that, once.

She told us that her son was her soulmate, the only person who had ever loved her unconditionally.  And that’s just too much of a loss. I have been there. I’m still there.

When you lose your soulmate, or your twin soul, whatever term you like to describe this, you literally feel hollowed out, less substantial, without the ballast that kept you safely rooted to earth. I’m not being poetic, just factual.

Sinead O’Connor’s death is such a tragedy because it shouldn’t have happened and yet was inevitable. There are a million tributes and think pieces now that she’s gone, and while it’s a comfort to know that she was appreciated, it has really destabilized me personally. I feel guilty for being here after thirteen years. What kind of monster am I to go on without Max?

It hurts me to write his name. It’s better to write about Lost Sons in general. I can go for weeks without hearing or saying his name. People don’t want to bring it up, unless it’s his birthday or the anniversary of his exit. I hear music that I know he would’ve liked and say aloud, “Max would have liked this.” My husband replies, “Uh huh,” but it feels wrong. He should say, “Yes! He would love it and he hears it now! He would love it because his taste was so impeccable and wide-ranging and in keeping with his brilliance! Why is he gone? Bring him back!” But it’s not my husband’s job to speak what’s in my heart.

I always wonder if people who learn that I lost a son are thinking, “God, what an awful mother! Why didn’t she kill herself! I myself could never survive this!” One of my half-sisters actually said something like this, making it about her. Obviously she’s an idiot so she doesn’t count.

But I’m sure that other mothers who aren’t idiots are thinking this, silently reprimanding me for my unforgivable ability to go on. I don’t blame them.

I would like to apologize! Forgive me. It’s not that I’m shallow or not heartbroken beyond repair. At first, it was because I couldn’t abandon my younger boy. I couldn’t bear the thought of shattering the lives of my family members; it seemed too cruel to put them through it. Later, it was a courtesy to my husband, as I liked to remind him. Now it’s mostly a lack of courage. If I was sure we’d be reunited, I could do it. Even if we weren’t reunited, I remind myself, I’d be passing through the same door he passed through.

The other day, I was lying in bed, looking at my beautiful antique dresser and the shit on the walls and I felt a wave of sentimental fondness for them. I remarked to my husband, “I’ll miss this room when I’m dead!” He laughed and said, “Well, that’s better than saying ‘I wouldn’t miss any of this crap’!”

But I meant it. I’ll miss a lot of things when I’m dead. To be or not to be is a daily choice, not just according to Camus:

There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest — whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories — comes afterwards. These are games; one must first answer.

and/but:

Men are never convinced of your reasons, of your sincerity, of the seriousness of your sufferings, except by your death. So long as you are alive, your case is doubtful; you have a right only to their skepticism.

I doubt that Sinead wrestled with this. I believe she followed her heart. I respect her courage and sense of purpose. If living without her boy was a battle for her, it was one battle too many. I hope he kept a seat for her. And if there’s no afterlife out in the cosmos, at least she passed through the same door. My she rest easy for eternity.

Posted in Celebrities, grief | Tagged , , , | 11 Comments

Anti-Aging Ambassador

Posted on July 8, 2023 by Sister Wolf

I decided to write about those awful Instagram ladies with silver hair, who expect a medal for going gray. They all have tons of followers who idolize them and eat up every positive, self-congratulating post about Loving Life, or practicing yoga. To me, these women seem interchangeable; they all have a silver mane that they constantly refer to, and they are all very thin if not emaciated.

So I googled “gray-haired women” to look for some images to copy. None of them excited me until I saw one who called herself a “Pro-aging Ambassador.” I never heard of this title and have no idea if there’s a million or if she’s the only one. And I don’t know what duties the ambassadorship entails. Does she travel the world giving speeches about the Wonders of Aging?  Does she chair committees?

I would like to adopt my own title: Anti-aging Ambassador. I will go around complaining about getting old (which I already do constantly, in an unofficial capacity.) I will persuade those silver foxes to wipe the smiles off their wrinkly faces.

Instead of “embracing the gray”, I will extol the glory of dyed hair. I will heartily mock the actresses who have suddenly embraced their gray. Jane Fonda, Andi McDowell, even Jennifer Aniston, apparently. They all look better with their hair dyed. Maybe they’re just too lazy to keep up the color, but let’s not act as though they cured cancer. Plus, you need to spend plenty of time to keep that silver looking soft and shiny instead of dull and coarse.

My sister has a friend who went gray a million years ago, before she was forty, and we always wondered what her problem was. Why did she just let her turn grey and straggly? Was she making a Statement? Was she saying, “I’ll show you, society, I don’t have to adhere to your beauty standards”? Her hair is still gray and we’ve decided she’s being passive-aggressive.

Being old truly sucks. There is nothing good about it. Nothing. All those platitudes that begin with, “The good thing about getting old is” are lies. “…you stop  caring about what people think of you!” “You are so much wiser!” “You know what really matters in life!”

Please. I am nearly seventy and still totally crushed if someone doesn’t like me. I don’t know anything about anything, and keep making the same mistakes. I’ve obviously learned that life is fraught with catastrophes, but I already assumed this as a teenager from reading Thomas Hardy novels. I have acquired no wisdom to pass on except “wear more shorts while you’re young!” I have opinions and policies but not wisdom. And I’m just as confused and mystified as I’ve always been. I have no idea what matters. I’d like to keep my eyesight and be able to wipe my own butt but otherwise I don’t know what ‘s important at this point when the key milestones of life have already passed.

Late adulthood is a time of deep reflection and introspection. If you are proud of the life that you have led, then you should feel a sense of peace. If, however, you are haunted by regrets and failures, you will likely experience despair and resentment.

According to Erikson, either ego-integrity or ego-despair characterizes the end of life for older adults. The virtue of this stage is wisdom.

Well, yes but no. Maybe it’s just my ego-despair talking, but the old people I know are all worried about diabetes and Alzheimer’s and health insurance. We can’t remember words and don’t like to crouch down to tie our shoes. Personally, I salt everything and eat lots of processed food but most of the old people I know are serious about their diet. We want either Botox or fillers and wish we could lose that roll of flab. When we watch TV and see someone for the first time in years, we scream “OH GOD, WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM/HER??” Maybe that last part is just me, but I doubt it.

For as long as you can ward off old age,  you should enjoy the use of your body and brain before they become a burden to you or someone else. Prepare for loneliness and a lack of purpose. Make sure you have all the cable channels and a good TV.

And for fucksake, commit to the upkeep of your hair and don’t believe it when your partner or children say you look great with gray hair. They’re just threatened by your lingering attractiveness, such as it is. I may be senile but my hair is glorious! I pay a fortune to color and tame it but it’s worth every penny. To paraphrase Yeats,

only God, my dear,
Could love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair.

You can let yourself go, I mean embrace your gray, if you must, but bury me blonde. Or cremate me blonde. Whatever.

Posted in Disorders, Rants | Tagged , | 14 Comments

All the Words!

Posted on July 4, 2023 by Sister Wolf

Annual lists of new words are usually a treasure trove of portmanteau and tech slang, with something for everyone to screech “EW!” about. The American Dialect Society’s list for 2022 is rich in both, predominately youth culture slang that slipped right by me, like “rizz.” I  generally like to keep up, but not knowing what rizz means was actually a blessing in disguise. In fact, it’s such an annoying word  that I’m choosing to believe it doesn’t even exist (like “goblin mode”).

Getting back to The American Dialect Society, its word for 2022 is the suffix “-ussy” from “pussy”

(as in “bussy” = “boy pussy,” now humorously attached to many
words) also -ussification: the process of creating new blended words with the -ussy suffix.

Runners-up included “quiet quitting”, “nepo baby”, “Dark Brandon”, and BFFR.

Words and terms about gender issues have proliferated in the last year, and here it’s hard not to sound reactionary in response to how difficult they are to navigate. In 2018, Amherst College posted a document titled Common Language Guide, with a 40 page glossary of terms serving “a need to come to a common and shared understanding of language…around identity, privilege, oppression and inclusion.”

Uh-oh. Here’s how the guide defines heterosexuality:

“A term developed as diagnosis of the hyper-infatuation with a different sex, first used by sexologist Karl-Maria Kertbeny in 1868…. [It] is used today to denote the normalized dominant sexual identity.”

Hmph! Now I feel a little less-than, know what I mean? I was comfortable with being hetero but now I see I might need to apologize for it. The definition of femininity is more strident, so brace yourselves. It includes the subtle admonishment, “Performing femininity in a culturally established way is expected of people assigned female at birth.” In this view, femininity is fraudulent, a performance, unless you’re queer or trans.

The  guide warns against “homonormativity,” or

the ever-present phenomenon where members of the LGBTQ+ community subscribe to heteronormative approximations of intimate, romantic and sexual lives that are the product of white, neoliberal (capitalist), sexist, transmisogynistic and cissexist norms.

And that’s fine, up to a point. That point would be the inability to converse with other humans without stepping into a minefield of acronyms designed to recognize categories of “identity.” Yesterday, I encountered the term “persons with male bodies” for the first time. Keep it up, you guys (okay, not “guys, how about “comrades?) and life will be one big microaggression.

Apparently, the document has been removed from the college website but I feel enriched by learning the term transmisogynoir (“the marginalization of black trans women and trans feminine people that is inclusive of transphobia, racism, and misogyny, and how all of these intersect.”) Now that’s a wonderful portmanteau, not as good  as mansplaining but still music to the ear.

Just yesterday, I read the word “manfluencer” and laughed out loud. Adding man as a prefix, like mancave and manosphere, is always fun, but I hunger for more and better manonyms, like the one I made up to describe male sulking: “mannui” (pronounced, duh, män-wee). At the same time, I can’t stand terms with lady thrown in, like “ladyboner,” ladyparts, or even Lady Gaga. Words can have different effects on different people, but some are universally disliked (moist) or enjoyed (gossamer). Just recently, I’ve been especially sensitive to “lived experience.” It’s so, so awful.

Young people today are inventing words that infantalize, like lil, smol, feels, and adulting, which handily explains their entire stance. Good for them. I’m just glad I can still use dope and wack to signal my feels, in case they are interested. And I have my own list of words that I’m ready to banish for 2023. Here they are:

Yassss (a perennial scourge, like “journey”)
thicc
thirsty
fam
main character
if I’m honest
GOAT
check all the boxes
understood the assignment
pro tip
cringe
fire

But here’s something to feel good about: Compared to their older counterparts, Gen Z are more concerned about how they use slang in conversation. Nearly half (46%) of Gen Z Americans worry about using slang terms incorrectly, compared to 32% of Baby Boomers.

Love to see it.

As I’m always saying, words matter! Unless you excel at interpretive dance, use them with care. Or to quote Jules in Pulp Fiction: English, Motherfucker!

 

*disclosure: Some have expressed concern about my absence. I’m finding it hard to write, due to senility and existential malaise. So don’t worry, I’m still here. Sort of. xo

Posted in irritants, Words | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Grammy Awards 2023 Exegesis

Posted on February 6, 2023 by Sister Wolf

Okay, let’s get Madonna out of the way (as if we could!) Why can’t she see what we see? Where are the loved ones who care enough to caution her about her face? I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to be pitied or laughed at. Right? But her surprise appearance revealed a gigantic blowfish of a face, with crazy milkmaid braids and a slit skirt revealing a stocky old leg in fishnet stockings. At one point, she even snapped at the audience, “You’re supposed to applaud here.” Let’s hope she doesn’t trouble us again until 2024.

It was a suspenseful showdown between Beyonce, Harry Styles, and Adele for Best Something. Album, record, I can’t remember. Bey won two awards, breaking a record for Grammys won, and she gave a humble speech with gratitude to god and her parents. Her dress was awful but at least not see-through this time. If I note that her boobs have grown with her fame, people will be mad at me, so I won’t do that.

Harry Styles performed in a tinsel shroud, and looked genuinely shocked when he won the award that Beyonce wanted.

Adele won an award for “Go Easy on Me” and thanked her son (I think.) She was thinner than ever and had an adorable fangirl meeting with The Rock, who looked like a massive Oscar Award.

That stupid Steve Lacey performed his hit song that made one wonder anew at his popularity. He has zero charisma, can barely sing, and looks like he just woke up.

Brandy Carlile pretended to be a rockstar but worse, she was introduced by her wife and kids, in a nod to LGBTQ inclusivity. No heterosexual artist was moved to display his/her spouse. She sometimes wears cool suits, but not this time.

Stevie Wonder was fantastic, performing a raucous “Higher Ground” to the delight of the black people in the audience. Can we stop letting white people attend the Grammys? They can’t even clap on the right beat.

Speaking of white people, Taylor Swift, the whitest person on earth, wore a a boring sequin two piece outfit that Bob Mackie wouldn’t give the time of day to. As always, she insisted on “dancing” in the audience, to show that she is just a fun girl after all. She didn’t perform or present anything, a huge win for me personally.

Lizzo was her usual vivacious self, performing with a bunch of huge back-up women and exuding a joy that is hard to resist, even for me. I still think she is way too fat because I’m not blind and there is such a thing as too thin and too fat.

Also fat, but horribly full of himself was the new Sam Smith 2.0. Recreating himself as a sex-crazed diva, he arrived with a crew of gender fluid creatures dressed in blood red gowns with weird vampire makeup. His performance was deeply disturbing. He is no Lil Nas X, alright? I officially never want anything to do with him.

Best new artist went to Samira Joy, a woman with a beautiful voice who I plan to learn more about. Yay for beautiful voices!

A salute to 50 years of Hip Hop was mostly great, even though I’m too lame to know most of the artists. At least they seemed authentic and in the moment when they performed.

What else? J Lo and Ben sat near she stage, so we were treated to his dour expression and her attempts to look like she was enjoying herself. Lose him, J Lo. It’s going to be exhausting to keep his spirits up.

As for fashion, Tems (above) looked gorgeous in Vivienne Westwood, Cardi B looked great in a blue avant garde ensemble, Pharrell Williams was pimpin hot in red leather and fur, Laverne Cox looked amazing in black and gold faux-croc, Miguel, who is actually really talented, wore an awful faded denim get up, and even though I can’t stand her, Doja Cat wore a great black latex gown with matching gloves.

There was a big finale featuring a bunch of rap artists sitting at huge table piled with a million pounds of fruit. Jay-Z rapped furiously about either god or himself, I couldn’t tell, but it seemed good. DJ Khaled ruins everything but not this.

Okay? Sorry it was so blah but it’s not my fault! let me know if I forgot anything.

 

 

 

Posted in Celebrities, Fashion | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments

Elon Musk: What a Fucking Cunt™!

Posted on December 16, 2022 by Sister Wolf

I am reviving my dormant What a Fucking Cunt™!  feature for a cunt who richly deserves this honor and really leaves me no choice but to revile him… Elon “I’m a cunt” Musk.

It would be nice to be able to go about my business without my ire being aroused by every little thing, and I’m trying. But how can one ignore the concerted effort by Elon Musk to make everyone hate him? One cannot, even if one rarely uses Twitter and doesn’t give a shit about Tesla.

I am torn between wondering what is wrong with him and wishing he would get some comeuppance for his stupid behavior. There is a three part documentary on BBC that apparently delves into his childhood and family life to try to explain the person he is now. One reviewer called him a big baby who is stuck in the mindset of a vindictive 12 year old. He was bullied relentlessly in school, which might account for his need to bully his employees and everyone who doesn’t genuflect to his Genius.

But just as Trump probably has good reason to be a hateful narcissistic piece of shit, Elon doesn’t get a free pass.

I first heard the name Elon Musk from my kid, many years ago, who said he was a brilliant inventor. I didn’t hear anything else until he started impregnating people, although clearly he was world famous for other things. I sort of admired him when he hosted SNL and announced that he is autistic; what a boon to the community to be associated with a successful CEO instead of Rainman! I thought in my innocence.

But now I worry that people will think Elon is an asshole because of his autism, whereas there is no connection. Kanye himself is now trying to assert his self-diagnosed autism as a reason for his “outspokenness” as though being a Neo-Nazi is a feather in his cap.

Let’s be clear: people with autism can be assholes just like people without autism. Narcissistic assholes and bullies must be judged on the basis of their behavior unless they are in the midst of a psychotic breakdown.

If you’re not up to date on Elon’s shenanigans, he has just kicked a bunch of reporters off of Twitter, accusing them of doxing him and endangering his safety. Then, Linette Lopez, a journalist who tweeted about the time Elon was sued for doxing and harassing one of his critics, was summarily suspended too. So instead of being a worldwide space for public discussion, Twitter is now a toy where a troubled billionaire can air his grievances and punish detractors, while tweeting shit like “Wow, Twitter is on fire today!”emoji emoji. YES, bitch, because you’re beefing with everybody, that’s why.

So in short, Elon has turned out to be a whiny fascist whose ego can never be satisfied, who seems to revel in being hated.

Why do people think it’s an accomplishment to be hated?? Kanye’s stans are thrilled by his current status as provocateur-in-chief of pop culture, but here’s what I think. Unless he’s willing to shit onstage like GG Allin, he’s nothing special. Same with Elon Musk.

You think you’re a badass, Elon? Shit onstage or get off the pot!

Posted in Celebrities, News, Rants, revenge | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Balenciaga Crimes Against Humanity

Posted on December 6, 2022 by Sister Wolf

All the commotion about Balenciaga’s new ad campaign with children is totally misplaced, besides being just stupid.

Where are the complaints about their awful pantaboots worn to death by Kim Kardashian??

Where is the outrage?

These fucking pantaboots are so egregious, and worn by KK, they are an abomination. They probably cost a million dollars, they make your feet look enormous, and how do you wash them? Everything about them is just aggressively awful.

And yet it’s the ads with little kids that has the entire internet going nuts with inflated umbrage and puritanical pearl-clutching. Balenciaga has been forced to issue several apologies for the ads, evidently confirming that they are inappropriate child porn, and vowing to implement a barrage of “safeguards” so this will never, ever happen again.

Where the outraged masses see bondage paraphernalia, I see classic old-school punk.

Look at this stupid bear, for example. It’s punk, not B&D! Jesus Christ, people of Earth. Get a grip.

Sometimes, pornography, or inappropriate images, is in the mind of the beholder. I think the kids in these ads are cute. They are not sexualized, in my opinion, and there is nothing seductive about them. But the furor is off the charts, rife with allusions to pedophilia and child trafficking.

I would like to have seen a fraction of this outrage in response to the children separated from their parents at the southern border. Children in cages weren’t as incendiary as these kids with teddy bears. Instead of aiming some well-deserved wrath at Kim K for her fucking pantaboots, the internet condemned her for being too slow to denounce the brand currently most associated with her. She finally expressed her concern, even though she dresses her young children in heavy gold chains that she hastens to label as “real.” Her tone was mild but dutifully sanctimonious

Not too long ago, I spent time with my friend’s two year old daughter, who was running around their living room naked. The adorable little girl was making hilarious faces at me, and I took a couple of picture with my phone. I showed a picture to a family member, who accused me of imposing child pornography on her. I was genuinely shocked; all I saw was the funny expression, without noticing the body parts. We had a heated argument, that ended up with both of us threatening to ask our therapists to weigh in on it.

Her therapist sided with her, while mine sided with me. I can guess where they’d stand on the stupid Balenciaga controversy. But me and my therapist would be right.

What do you and your therapist think??

 

Posted in Celebrities, Fashion, Horrible Stuff, News | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

Voracious Content Consumer

Posted on November 20, 2022 by Sister Wolf

A few weeks ago, the New York Times published a long piece about an awful socialite nobody’s ever heard of and called her “The New Queen of L.A.” One of the descriptive terms applied to her that I enjoyed was:  Ms. Staudinger is a voracious content consumer.

In the same conversation, she’ll recommend a documentary on music in 1971, a book on Los Angeles in 1974 and a TikTok she saw about brain vibrations.

Whoever she is, there were 650 comments complaining about her lack of appeal and importance. But I now refer to myself as a voracious content consumer, because I can’t stop trying to consume “content” in the hope that I will become a better person once I know everything about everything.

This compulsive consumption takes up nearly all my waking hours. I subscribe to fifty thousand newsletters covering politics, art, pop culture, psychology, books, even one from a Christian Ministry for its philosophical essays. I have to read all of them or at least scan them. I get the NYT online, and I have to read all the breaking news, then I have to decide which features to read: the Op-Eds, the heartbreaking human interest pieces, the latest celebrity-adjacent suicide, the film reviews, the health tips, the latest tech, the bemused shit about Those Kids and Their TikTok, and more. Basically, everything but sports. Thank god I hate sports.

Then I have to open all the email from shopping sites that promise to help me look like a French It-Girl. Then I have to scroll through Instagram before googling Pete Davidson.

I still worry that I’m missing  something important. It makes me anxious. But I haven’t been able to stop or even cut back in this stupid endeavor. My brain is filled with information that I don’t have time to process or make use of.

And it stops me from writing! I can’t tell if the stuff I’m dwelling on is interesting to anyone but me. And I don’t want to regurgitate the accepted wisdom of the day. Because we live in “an Attention Economy” according to a billion think-pieces.

Here’s what is foremost in my mind though:

How long will Donald Trump be tormenting us with his existence?
Why won’t Gym Jordan wear a jacket?
Are they kidding about Hunter Biden’s fucking laptop?
Why does Elon Musk want the whole world to hate him?
Is Morpheus8 better than Softwave?
Is silicone really that bad for your hair?
Why aren’t religious people concerned about who made god?
Why did Jane Aldridge marry that creepy gay guy?
Why do we take antidepressants when they’re only slightly more effective than placebos?
Why do people now say “If I’m being honest” instead of “to be honest” ?
Why is everybody writing about the crisis facing men and boys?*
Can we value any experience without documenting it?
Why can’t we explain the persistence of antisemitism?*
Why are people still impressed by luxury brands?
What happens when young people aspire to be Influencers instead of astronauts?
Why can’t we ever get enough of Jeffrey Dahmer?

* I plan to write about these topics because they continue to fascinate me, as soon as I stop voraciously consuming more content. Do you think I should bother? Let me know.

Meanwhile, I’m compiling a file of all-new stupendously egregious denim! Stand by for that too.

Posted in Disorders, irritants, Words | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

Infinite Stupid

Posted on October 22, 2022 by Sister Wolf

We were watching a true crime drama about a gullible family who let a pedophile into their midst like inviting a fox to a hen-house, and my husband was exasperated. “Oh please, no one is that stupid,” he complained. I started to defend the family, saying that ultra-religious people in a small town might actually be that naive. Privately, I wondered if he was right; maybe the story was exaggerated for dramatic effect.

Later, we watched part 2 of The Vow, a documentary series about a cult whose leader made women get branded. The members of the cult were people with money, relatively sophisticated people with jobs in Hollywood or tech or marketing. I couldn’t believe how stupid they were to buy into this guy’s shit, when he is so clearly a manipulative little conman.

The next day, I read something about Trump supporters and then it hit me: People are SO FUCKING STUPID! I mean, the level and scope of stupidity all around us is just staggering.

Were people always this stupid? Did they just hide it better? Are we so desperate for a guru or daddy or deity to guide us that we’ll surrender all logic and critical thinking?

I’m at the point where if someone doesn’t despise Donald Trump, I don’t want to waste time on them. They’re too stupid. Recently, two acquaintances have explained to me that they don’t really hate Trump because “They’re all the same.” They elaborated by stating that all politicians are corrupt, blah blah blah. So they’re telling me that a cold is like Ebola? Where is the sense of proportion or discernment?

It’s not a Tribal thing; it’s not that I only like people with my politics or opinions. It’s just the stupidity. Make it stop!

I have started following the Kanye West debacle, because as in most debacles, it’s hard to look away. Actually, in this case I am constantly refreshing my google to see if I missed anything. I know you’re thinking, Ha ha, look how stupid YOU are! But I will only admit to an immature fascination with spectacle. And crazy people.

I am pleased to say that now even Anna Wintour is done with him. Today, he said that denouncing him only proves his point about Jews controlling everything, an old antisemitic canard he has evidently stumbled upon in his mania.

I am so fascinated by Kanye’s meltdown that I’ve started following an account on Instagram that covers everything he says or does. I’ve seen all the video clips that were edited out of his recent interviews, and he is one angry dude operating on some kind of messianic delusion, burning all his bridges as fast as he can.

The real stupidity here lies in the comments from his fans. The more antisemitic and aggrieved he is, the fiercer is their support. He speaks the truth! He’s the only one brave enough to call it out! Watch out, the Jews gonna kill him! Every millionth comment, someone will express  dismay. I praised one of these people for trying to explain antisemitism, and I received this reaction: “You’re an OLD cat lady who will die alone!” (LOL, I hate cats.)  She turned out to be a white lady who keeps showing her pregnant belly and her flock of Aryan looking kids. At least she’s open minded enough to stick up for a deranged Rap icon.

Drowning in stupidity, I have turned to Middlemarch, which I read as an 18 year old stoner. It was great then but even better now, because I’m more appreciative of the narrator’s stinging wit. Thank god I can still read, when I’m not watching crime TV or scrolling on my phone. Mostly, I am trying to navigate through the daily ennui of being an old cat lady who will die alone, so writing this has been cathartic.

How are you surviving the stupidity? Confessions or helpful hints? Let’s hear from you!

Posted in Celebrities, Disorders, Rants | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

She’s Glad Her Mom Died

Posted on August 24, 2022 by Sister Wolf

I’m Glad My Mom Died is the title of a new memoir by a former child actress I’ve never heard of, and it’s a best seller. It has received more attention than any other recent book that’s not about Donald Trump, and the response to it seems uniformly favorable.

For all I know, Jeanette McCurdy is a good writer. But it’s the shocking title that seems to please reviewers most. How daring of her! Good for her! The book is a chronicle of abuse by a terrible, exploitative and seemingly mentally ill stage mother whose conduct sounds like something from a Grimms’ Fairy Tale.

But now the mom is safely dead from cancer and Jeanette is sharing her story of suffering and redemption all over the internet to hearty accolades, not least from others who hate their parents and share her bold sentiment. A piece in the Huffington Post reveals that “it’s not uncommon to feel that way.” Uh-oh.

Naturally, as a mother I find this chilling. As a mother estranged from an adult child, I can’t help feeling the title embodies my worst fears. I know my adult child wants nothing to do with me for reasons only he understands. I mean, I know I wasn’t perfect and I yelled a lot. And abuse is in the eye, and narrative, of the self-proclaimed abused party.

But it pains me to think that my death will actually be celebrated, you know? I guess it won’t matter since I won’t be around to be horrified.

Back when I learned about forums for adult children who hate their mothers, I had to stop looking at their posts when someone admitted to feeling no grief upon losing their parent. They weren’t exactly proud of their reaction, like Jeanette seems to be, but rather a little defensive. The other mommy-haters on the forum reassured the griefless adult child that they looked forward to the death of their parent and the relief it would bring.

Since I can only speak for myself, and my own narrative of my experience as both a mother and an adult child of a mother, I guess it’s not for me to judge these damaged victims of bad parents. But it seems like the title “I’m Glad My Mom Died” is somehow acceptable in today’s zeitgeist (sorry!) of proud victimhood and trauma survivors, whereas the title “I’m Glad My Daughter Died” would never be published, let alone applauded.

Is it because it’s reasonable to hate your mom but not your daughter? What about “I’m Glad My Dog Died” or even “I’m Glad My Neighbor Died’? None of these work, do they?

My guess is it’s because the Awful Mother is now a staple of our cultural landscape, from Carrie to Mommy Dearest and beyond.

Mother’s can’t win, is my feeling. The best of us are still not good enough, although Donald Winnicott disagrees. (More about the concept of the good-enough mother here.) Our mistakes engender bitter resentments that time cannot eradicate for many. But it’s my belief that whatever you do as a parent will be wrong. All you can do is try your hardest to make the best decisions you can, to get help if you see you’re fucking up, and to love your kids unconditionally.

I’ve come to forgive my mother for her shortcomings and her bad behavior with the awareness that she was a complicated person shaped by her own difficult childhood. I’m not glad she died; I’m screwed up but I’m not heartless.

Jennette McCurdy tells an interviewer somewhat self-righteously that she’s “done the work” to earn the right to her title. Whatever that means. Is she sorry she was born? I’d like to ask her that. Because she owes her existence to her mother, which is not nothing.

And now she’s making a fortune by speaking Her Truth about her mother. She also complains in the book about her Nickelodeon co-star Ariana Grande’s greater success, which could lead to another brave best seller if Ariana could only die.

Just kidding! You do you, mommy haters.

Thoughts and insults, anyone?

 

* Giaquinto di Corrado Bottega, Medea, 1752, Hinton Ampner National Trust

 

Posted in Art, Celebrities, grief, Horrible Stuff, Words | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments