A city kid by nature, I am oddly fascinated by animals and bugs (as long as they aren't in my house). Plus, it seems particularly appropriate to dedicate my mix to critters during the season of camping and hikes.
Check out my tribute to all things wild after the jump!
"Real Housewives of New Jersey" cast member Danielle Staub seems to be on the receiving end of a whole slew of attacks from whiny exes these days. Whether she's being dragged through the mud as a "coke whore" by her ex-husband Kevin Maher or being exposed Rick Salomon style by her gripey, attention-crazy ex-boyfriend Stephen Zalewski, this crap is all over the internets lately. Granted, it does not seem Staub is exactly the role-model type anyway. Even on this very blog her character has come into question. And yet, I can't help but feel a little sorry for this woman. Is it her own fault because she signed up to be on a reality show? Or should these douchebags just shut the hell up and go away already, because no one deserves their private sex lives played out for the world to see? More after the jump!
When I first saw Bethany Hays's work at a student show, it was the work that stood engraved in my mind out of many talented students work. Maybe it was because of the innocent, playfulness that I could relate to as a mom who spends her fair share of time with kids books, or maybe it was the form of the painting–rich colors, light patterns and shapes that teased me. In any case I was hooked.
Sunday I joked to my husband that it was Father's Day, "Time for your lecture from the President!" But it's only a joke to us because my daughter's dad is in her life and that we have the "ideal" family going here. It's not a joke that far too many kids are living without their fathers. And I don't mean not living in the same home, but kids who can't remember the last time their dads came around to say hi. I have too many men and boys in my life who just don't know their dads.
Gossip blogger Perez Hilton was allegedly assaulted Monday night in Toronto by Black Eyed Peas member Will.I.Am and the band's tour manager, Polo Molina. The altercation apparently began when Will.I.Am asked Perez to stop blogging about his band. Perez responded by calling Will.I.Am a "faggot." Assault ensued, as did a barrage of media coverage.
Gay rights groups and celebrities alike are weighing in with their opinions on this GaySlurGate, from GLAAD to John Mayer to Ice-T. But what's the real story here? Is it, A. That Perez Hilton, an openly gay man, used a gay slur against another man? Is it, B. That Will.I.Am, a prominent cultural figure, allegedly assaulted another man in public? Is it, C. That one of these men (Hilton) is gay and the other (Will.I.Am) is black? Or is it, D. That the whole thing was covered in real time on Twitter? How about, E. All of the above?
As a quick side note, it appears that most of the coverage of this incident does not include the word "faggot" and instead says things like "the gay slur" and "f****t". It is my belief that if we are going to report on issues like this we must be able to discuss them, so I am choosing to use the actual word. My apologies if it offends.
not really sure where the term "vagina music" originated. The first
time I heard it was in Nicole Holofcener's awesome film Walking and
Talking, when a male character complained to his female car-trip
cohorts, "Are we gonna listen to this vagina music the whole way
there?" ("Yes!") The second time was almost a decade later, on an
episode of Six Feet Under wherein one of Claire's art-school friends
demands , "You guys are gonna have to change this vagina music
From these, we can infer that vagina music = music that others feel subjected to and wish to avoid.
Nonfictionally, in my own life, it's come up in less
confrontational instances, usually in discussions of the famed Michigan
Womyn's Music Festival—which was originally founded to showcase what
was specifically called women's music—or the once-mighty Lilith Fair.
I used the expression just last weekend to refer to a band playing
Portland's Pride festivities whose skinny jeans and self-conscious
rattails screamed '80s synth revival ,but whose amps bleated out
something much more Indigo/DiFranco.