In yet another entry in my one-person attempt to override the portrayal of women/queers/everyone else in dumb tattoo magazines like "Inked," I present Ana Maria Ventura, a totally awesome San Francisco high school teacher who has many incredible tattoos. The description that follows, in her own words, is in regards to a fantastic piece on her arm and involves Spain, big questions about home, and bats.
So, Halloween is upon us once again. Or, as I like to call it, "The Night of a Thousand Gagas."
You guys! SO MANY PEOPLE are going to be Lady Gaga! You can find tips on how to be the Gaga of your choice; you can design your own Gaga; a close friend of mine is getting into the spirit by manufacturing multiple Gaga costumes for a Gaga-themed party.
The appeal of the Gaga costume is undeniable. For one thing, it is easy. It goes (a) blond wig, (b) sunglasses, (c) the most absurd thing you can think of. Do you have a leather jacket? Would you consider wearing it with a swimsuit? Lady Gaga sure would! BLAM, Halloween costume achieved. But then, there's another factor: the fact that the entire "Lady Gaga" concept is, basically, a Halloween costume already. Gaga just wears it all year round.
Meet Majka Burhardt. She is a professional climber and writer who is especially committed to seeking out "first ascents and cultural connection." A guide for nearly a decade, Burhardt has led a range of climbing disciplines, from high-altitude mountaineering expeditions to multi-pitch alpine rock climbs. She lives (most of the time) in Boulder, Colorado.
It's like The View except we can't get Lily Tomlin to return our phone calls.
It's time for a new episode of Bitch Popaganda! Tune in as Andi, Sara, and Kelsey discuss sexy Halloween costumes, feminism and weddings, and just why in the world America is in love with Glee. Listen by clicking on the player embedded here, by visiting our archive.org page, or by subscribing to Bitch on iTunes.
To commemorate the end of Bed, Bitch and Beyond and to honor those naughty Halloween costumes that currently are flying off the racks, I bring you a very special, very sultry, totally Kenny-G-free compilation of sexy jams. Turn down the lights and turn up the mood music.
The saga of Lily Allen just keeps getting sadder. Not so ago, she announced that she was probably going to quit making music (though her publicist denied it), and deleted her anti-file sharing blog after it was deluged with angry comments and criticism from the sort of people who believe that having to pay for someone else's work is one of the greater and more terrible forms of oppression. This week, she decided to quit, not just her blog, but the entire Internet: she's reportedly left MySpace, Twitter, and even e-mail.
Lily Allen is shutting up. Lily Allen is shutting down. And I don't even know that I blame her.
Tonight's Law & Order episode will be based on the murder of Dr. George Tiller: a late-term abortion provider is murdered while attending church. The episode, titled "Dignity," will have "some significant twists of plot and character, with police officers and assistant district attorneys sometimes taking forceful stands on one side of the abortion debate or the other, only to later express doubt when their involvement in the case becomes more personal."
Ugh, you know when you've been hired as an editor at Playboy, a job that is only given to the most talented, intelligent, amazing dudes ever, and they make you write the bios for the stupid Playmates? Like, completely wasting your talent and intelligence and amazingness on some brainless woman who's just a "blank slate with cleavage"? John Blumenthal sure does. Oh, what's that? You don't know who John Blumenthal is? Hmm...that's weird, because according to him he's pretty much the greatest thing ever. But according to us, he's the recipient of this week's Douchebag Decree (highest honor, yet, Johnny, I'm sure). Read more about his painstaking minutes talking to those brick walls with boobs after the jump!
I admit it: I thought the cacophony following the rape charges against NFL star quarterback Ben Roethlisberger was going to be louder. You could say I "Steeler-ed" myself for it, actually. Last summer's charges that Big Ben raped a woman at a Lake Tahoe casino-hotel cued a throwdown that's typical when a high-profile athlete is accused of such a crime--victim-blaming and chest-puffing defenses of Roethlisberger were the least of it. Feminists and others with common sense spoke up loudly when ESPN issued an absurd "do not report" memo to its staff, and when the Lake Tahoe hotel was charged with covering up the rape. Whatever the results of the charges, no one was going to get away with propping up the architecture of rape culture.