I would like to address an event that’s near and dear to our hearts–read: a raging controversy in some circles and up for passionate debate–the Miss USA pageant. Yes, that one, run by Donald “These are the most beautiful women…oh and I guess I should say they’re smart too…did I mention I’m rich?” Trump. I’m not gonna dissect pageant culture right now, except to say that the whole discussion of beauty standards still applies (except that, ya know, there’s no androgyny in this line-up). Instead, I’m gonna jump right into the important stuff: they made a music video. That’s right, all the contestants dusted off their mime skills, busted out their best dance moves, and jammed to Carly Rae Jepsen’s musical classic. As Carly Rae would say, you should know that, so if you have no idea what I’m referencing, go watch and then continue reading.
1. South Carolina is wearing gold sequins. Approve.
2. I love NY because she’s miming/dancing like she lives for these moments (0:29) and I’m liking the bold purple and green~~props to you, NY.
3. Who is the awk man at 1:29 (boy band import?) and, more importantly, 1:57? Anybody else reminded of a bad werewolf impression?
4. New Mexico is working it while riding backwards on an escalator (1:41). Skills.
5. If I were in this, I would be Virginia at 1:48. Yep. All of the time.
6. Oh heeeeeeey there 1:26. Can we talk about the massive dose of queerness that just popped up? Now they’re dancing at 2:45~~this is love.
7. There are matching bikinis.
8. Dear Donald Trump, until you came into this video, I did not miss you at all. Why the awk cameo at the end? You’re fired.
WordPress tells me that I have readers in the USA, the UK, Pakistan, Germany, the Philippines, and Puerto Rico. Welcome, everyone! Now to business. I would like to draw upon your collective creativity and knowledge to help me solve a most urgent problem. *drum roll* How can I watch The L Word without being subjected to the outrageous shenanigans of Jenny Schecter? She starts off okay, but by halfway through the series, she needs to go. By the final season, she’s unbearable. As Diane Schipley wrote in The Guardian in 2009, “the death of whiny egomaniac Jenny was
probably long overdue.” (That does not need a spoiler warning–season six premiered three and a half years ago.) Suggestions?
My solution? Bypass The L Word all together and instead watch Noah’s Arc. So many gay men. So much awkward flirting. Let’s see how long I can stick with that. It’s dramatic and entertaining, but the patronizing macho power plays really put me off.
On to the good things in my life:
1. I actually made breakfast. Real “I’m home now and have access to a fully stocked kitchen and super fabulous professional stove” breakfast. The house was filled with the sugary scents of cinnamon rosemary artisan French toast, stewed bananas on the side, all sprinkled with crushed pecans and drizzled with maple syrup. Last night I had pennette with homemade pesto (my mom grows basil). There’s also been an exponential increase in the amount of homemade guac and chips since I returned home. I’ve missed cooking…
2. My mom (of her own accord) bought the new Allison Bechdel book: Are You My Mother? I promptly
stole borrowed it.
3. This. All of this. Who’s in Chicago? Hit me up. We’re gonna find out who these people are (already got one of them), where they are, and when we can party it up with them. Let’s go drink champagne and get you laid.
For the newbies who don’t actually know me in real life (and yet are somehow magically here reading my blog—thank you), I just graduated from Mount Holyoke College.* What happens when you graduate? All of a sudden you have to move four year’s worth of accumulated stuff home. Oh the joy. To solve this problem, my mom and I loaded up the car and drove from western MA all the way to Chicago.
While on the road, we stopped at an Ohio diner for breakfast. The menu listed Tabasco sauce as it’s own meal item. What is this? Toast options included rye, wheat, etc., and Texas toast. “What is Texas toast?” I asked the waitress.
“Oh, it’s man toast” she replied, as though this were the most obvious response in the world. “Ya know, bigger.” She held up her thumb and first finger to show us that Texas toast is sliced twice as thickly as regular bread.
Me in my head: “Did she just say ‘man toast’? Wtf is this? Who comes up with these things? I must’ve misheard.”
My mom and I shared a look across the table. Judging by her expression, not only had I heard correctly, but Texas toast was apparently a legit thing and this definition was to be taken seriously.
Me out loud: “Oh. Umm I’ll have rye, thanks.”
It was then, staring down at my placemat that doubled as a menu with more product placement than I could handle (Minute Maid orange juice, Premium crackers, Tabasco hot sauce), that I realized my true calling: to chronicle these incomprehensible moments that life hands us—these adventures through heteronormativity.
*The liberal arts haven of critical thinking, sexual and gender fluidity, and optional clothing located in the fine hamlet of South Hadley.