Ingrid: GOOD MORNING!
about the Articles, as they will henceforth be known
me: well, I will open up that email IMMEDIATELY
Yes, sometimes, I do. But people are more often assholes (see Exhibit A). And in actuality, not really. It’s all the same issue. I simply want to be a member of a race that behaves fairly and lovingly in all situations, whether it be towards children, other adults, our pet dogs, or rats in a sewer.
And please don’t tell me that animals are getting too much from us when millions are still being raised in anguish then slaughtered in fear and pain every day just to fill our fashion whims and clog our bodies with the poisonous energy of suffering. I don’t give a shit that Leona Helmsley left her dog millions (which has now been whittled down to $190k per year so the grandkids can have some, P.S.) because there are scores of other dogs being tortured in fighting rings and dying without homes. There are animals being stuck on hooks and skinned alive for their fur while I type this. So yeah, I simply don’t give a shit anymore whether people think PETA goes too far, or whether it’s ethical or not for the ALF to damage lab property. I’m still sending them my hard-earned cash.
I guess I’m saying I have reached the point where I am more ready than ever to make the changes necessary for me to sleep at night. I suppose this means I’ll have to give up the meat-fests at Mike’s, the last place I’ve allowed myself to continue the indulgence. The man makes a tasty barbequed rib, let me tell you. But it’s becoming increasingly clear to me that if I am not part of the solution, I’m part of the problem. So I guess I should thank Jessica Simpson for making me so pissed off today that I feel up for a little more commitment.
ADDENDUM MUCH LATER IN THE DAY:
I should probably add that I typed this fairly quickly at work, after seeing on the news that Bush is calling for a lift on the ban on offshore drilling (wow, great idea), then reading a well-written letter to my boss (rightfully) questioning her use of fur in the Sex and the City movie, then watching various co-workers get way, way too excited over MTV coming into the store to film Paris Hilton, who I do like, but come on.
I just felt like, “Really? Really? We’re going to change our clothes and shove our noses up her ass now? Is that actually necessary for our happiness and well-being?” Paparrazzi manned the front of the store, big guys in suits talked into headsets, and the whole thing just bummed me out with it’s vapidity. And then I saw this dumbass photo of Jessica Simpson and hit the ceiling.
I don’t hassle my friends over their food and clothing choices, and I sometimes make shitty ones myself. I still eat meat sometimes and I have a few leftover vintage fur jackets I don’t have the heart to get rid of yet. f I sound preachy or strident I apologize, it’s just the lack of consciousness that this photo represented to me that set me off.
Mike and I took a stroll on Ludlow last night and it’s worse than ever. Seriously, they should just change the name of the street to Fraternity Row. And I know my boss is partially responsible for the Sex and the City wannabes roaming in herds and squealing at each other at extremely loud decibel levels, so in some strange way they’re actually paying my salary, but I would like to take a tazer with me and just zap each one of them as I stroll along the crowded sidewalk. How satisfying would that be??
And speaking of bad fashion, I’m not really a fan of Cathy cartoons, but this sums up the industry completely:
I’m in this weird gray area where I work in fashion but I’m a rock chick. So my rock and roll friends think I’m super fashionable and my fashion co-workers think I’m just rock and roll and don’t give a shit about fashion. Are the two mutually exclusive? In some ways, they should be, because fashion, as much as I love it, is retarded. It starts out as art, i.e., someone’s love of beauty and/or form translated into a garment, but it ends up with people paying far too much for status items, which to me is kind of sad. Plus it encourages and supports asswipes like this guy:
But rock and roll is about an image as well, and often dictates fashion. Or at least it did before everyone started looking like this:
Mmm… break me off a piece of that! NOT.
Aaaaand, in other random Raff brain news, I’d like to lodge a complaint about the feature on myspace that allows you to block all mail from people not on your friend list. I often get mail from people that I can’t answer because they’ve chosen that setting. It’s so dumb. You spend 10 minutes writing a response and then it won’t go through. Cut it out people! Or at least stop writing strangers not on your friend list!
And lastly, my friend Janet gave me this tiny book last year, knowing about my weird love of all things Posh, and every time I see it sitting on my dresser I think it should be shared with all of you. I would carry it in my pocket as the title suggests, and whip it out at parties to share with friends and family, but it must be preserved in it’s pristine condition. So it stays home. But I’ve got a little time this morning so I’ll scan a few pages for you.
All right. Gotta go get my nails done. Posh likes a nice manicure.
Me: It’s okay…It’s another woman, isn’t it?
Drew (rolling eyes): Yes, that’s right, Mary. You found me out, it’s another woman.
Me: You’re wracked with guilt.
Drew: Yes. Wracked with guilt.
Me: And you’re torn, you don’t know what to do because you don’t want to hurt me.
Drew: You’re so intuitive. It’s like you can see into my soul.
Me: She’s younger than me, isn’t she?
Drew: Well, who isn’t?
Me (slapping him on the back of the head): Ass!!
Drew (in Tony Manero Saturday Night Fever voice): Ya know, I work on my hair a long time and you hit it. Why do ya gotta hit my hair?
For those of you who didn’t see it, it was a clip of me on the Morton Downey show from a million years ago with a tag underneath it calling me some random goth chick, while touting all the boys that were featured on that episode and completely pretending CSFH were not one of the featured bands.
I get really pissy about shit like this because it dogs every female in and around metal and at this point in time it’s absolutely ridiculous that it continues to exist. CSFH gets featured in the Encyclopedia of Metal and the text underneath states that guitarist Bobby Gustafson came up with the idea, essentially wielding us as puppets from behind the scenes. We get mentioned in the Jane’s Addiction book as skanks who hung out with the Hell’s Angels. I don’t even think it even states that we were an actual band. There’s a mass email that goes out with a listing of all the metal shows in the area and the guy who writes it almost always references women he sleeps with in the most derogatory of terms. It goes on and on. So sometimes I get a little touchy.
There are wonderful, non-sexist guys out there though, and I need to focus on them. Like Lemmy for instance. And all the guys in my top friends list. Yay for you!
Oh, and P.S.–Dano, stop spilling the T. You know I had it all removed years ago and my driver’s license says I’m a girl now!