As coverage of this horrendous woman-hating event unfolds, it is important to continue to focus on the misogynist nature of Sodini's actions. This was a hate crime against women, and should be labeled as such. More coverage of the sexist nature of the shooting and the ways in which we as feminists can begin to process it (and encourage the media to do the same), as well as some historical context for gendered hate crimes, can be found by visiting the following links:
This shooting (one of the many violent crimes targeting women over the past several years) is a tragedy, but also an opportunity for issues of misogyny and violence to be addressed in the media. How do you feel about the coverage of this event so far? Is the gender-based nature of Sodini's actions being properly highlighted? What are you hoping to see from the media in terms of future coverage? Please share your thoughts in the comments section, and continue to do so as more information is released.
Americans love our fast food, and you know what we like most about it? It's not the trans fats, or the corporatization of farming, or even the ridiculous amount of waste the packaging generates (so if you guessed one of those, you're out of luck). Nope, our favorite thing about our favorite type of food is... offensive commercials! If it weren't, then why would EVERY f*ing fast food chain in the country advertise its plastic-y foods with a ridiculously offensive ad campaign?
So, in honor of America's apparent love of offensive fast food commercials, we're having (wait for it...) AN OFFENSIVE FAST FOOD COMMERCIAL SHOWDOWN! The contestants for this showdown include a date-rapey toaster oven, a Warrant-loving park pervert, and a booty-shaking creeper in a king mask. Four ads enter, one ad leaves! Which will reign supreme as the most offensive fast food commercial? YOU MAKE THE CALL! (Oh, and warning: These ads contain ads)
Our first contestant is an ad for Jack-in-the-Box smoothies:
I'm sorry, did that man in the bobble head just call menopausal women "street rat crazy"? WTF? More, after the jump!
I have been struggling all morning trying to decide if your new video is worth blogging about. While I understand that you consider yourself to be a satirist from whose biting commentary no celebrity is safe, I personally find your methods of cultural critique to be boring, trite, and always misogynistic. For those readers who have not yet seen the video for your new song "We Made You," here it is:
According to askmen.com, one way to subtly tell your female partner she's packed on a few too many lbs (you know, besides having a conversation with her about it) is to "Sabotage her chair" by removing some of the slats or screws. That way, when she sits down on the chair and it breaks, you can shame her into thinking it was because she's too fat! It's a win-win! (I am kidding.)
Read more about this Top 10 list (and learn more ways to subtly tell your lady that she's a "grumpy lard-ass") after the jump!
(Oh, and in case it was unclear, the image above is from the askmen.com piece. Thanks, guys!!!)
I know that I posted a get-ready-for-tomorrow's-Douchebag-Decree-by-reading-about-another-douchebag piece last week, but this week finds me with yet another d-bag on the brain (or rather, the YouTube channel). Enter Asher Roth and his music video "I Love College."
Although this video is full of weird college/frat/gender stereotypes and cheesy lyrics about partying, for some reason I can't stop watching it. (It might be the uber-collegiate sample of Weezer's "Say It Ain't So" that plays throughout.) Is this video a postmodern parody of a hypermasculine, idealized version of the college experience? Or is Asher Roth just another creeper who is one beer-pong championship away from sexually assaulting someone? And either way, why is it so weirdly compelling? Watch the video and make the call, after the jump!
cock rock: To some, the term conjures up images of rock gods in white jumpsuits, long hair haloed by a rainbow of lights, fans waving their Bics in unison as an immaculate guitar solo screams out from a tower of amps. To others, it evokes backstage legends of drugs and debauchery, the triumph of malecentric hedonism over social conscience, the unapologetic celebration of sleaze. To still others, it’s shorthand for memorable riffs with a backbeat that makes you want to throw some devil horns and bang your head.
A film studies professor once told me that everything you need to know about a movie is revealed in the first five minutes. This is particularly true of The Stepford Wives.
In the opening scene of Bryan Forbes’s 1975 original, Joanna Eberhart (Katharine Ross) takes a long, scrutinizing look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her reaction is one of mild surprise, then subtle resignation, as if she’s thinking, That’s me?…Oh, well. She appears wistful and introspective as she walks around the silent Manhattan apartment that has been emptied for her family’s move to the suburbs. Compare this to the start of Frank Oz’s 2004 version: Joanna (Nicole Kidman), a powerhouse network executive, struts like a supermodel up to a podium, delivers a self-congratulatory speech, and previews the coming season’s reality shows to a huge industry crowd. The mood is loud, flashy, and in-your-face. The difference between the two scenes is night and day, and therein, as my professor foretold, is everything we need to know.
When i was 8, my father organized a present for my sisters and me to give my mom for Mother’s Day: a pressure cooker, wrapped up with other fun kitchen items like tea towels, pop-up sponges, spatulas, and an apron. It seemed like a good idea—Mom was the one who was always in the kitchen, and this was the day to celebrate her. But the minute she opened her present, even I knew we had the wrong idea.