Naked Faced

At the laundromat, folding clothes.
Daytime television is on. It's Days of Our Lives, a show that I remember watching with my mother when I was a child. After a catty dinner scene in a restaurant, it's time for a commercial break.
Soap is no longer the starring sponsor...but I'm not sure that we've come very far.
Almost every commercial is for a beauty product. I listen to the slogans from behind the television and feel like I hear them for the first time.
Whispered: 'Maybe she's born with it...'
Sung: Maybe it's Maybelline.
(You're jealous of her...is she naturally more beautiful than you? No! You can purchase something that will give you the same powerful, illusive beauty)

'Secret Deodorant--Because You're Hot!'
(Their website has polls for 'hottest gadget', 'best way to keep your body smokin' hot' and 'best hangover breakfast'. I'm so glad that someone is providing a spot for young women to share their interests!)

And the last one I remember, an ad for under eye shadow-reducing cream.

Okay, I haven't been watching television for awhile now. And things really haven't changed that much...I remember these commercials, as well as shows like '10 years younger'. And perhaps I'm a touch more sensitive because I'm getting older, and closer to the possibility of....well, y'know...















Crazy catladydom.
Art is wonderful. Some people see the enjoyment and application of makeup as artistic, and I agree that it can be. I have a problem with the distance that the regular use of makeup puts between the private person and the public person. I have a problem with how it makes you dependent on it, and causes others to feel inadequate.
The most skillful application of makeup is supposed to appear natural, which creates an unattainable illusion of perfection. It creates a short leash for women...chaining them to their purses and to their handmirrors and to the bathrooms of whatever establishment they're in.
These are not original opinions, but I believe them to be true. Restating them here is the equivalent of rubbing my own back and saying 'There there, the entire world isn't crazy.'
!Hazzah!

Watch What you Watch

I'm not sure if it was watching Lawrence of Arabia right before bed or eating most of an aero bar while watching Lawrence of Arabia right before bed, but last night I dreamt that I was captured by my enemy.
She was dressed like a desert nomad, and shot me twice between the eyes at close range.
I felt the shots as I remember them being described in a Hemingway story: as white lights flashing behind my eyes, and a feeling of all my senses being overwhelmed.
After she'd shot me twice and I didn't die, I begged for my life.
"It's a miracle that I didn't die," I said.
"...just please let me live whatever kind of life I'm going to have."
She was about to shoot me again when I woke up.

Oversensitivity.

There are loads of things I don't understand.
This image, for example. It was the desktop on the public
computer at work for a few days. At first, I thought it was funny.
I wondered if it was a part of some kind of viral video or joke that I'd missed out on.

I have to use this computer every few days for some tedious time clock adjustments. Very shortly I got sick of looking at this crotch-grabbing plastic-clad party beast.
I started to think of it as a veiled insult to women, and started to be offended by it myself. But why?
One part of me looked at this as a harmless image. Kind of cute, composed well, definitely not going to change the course of art history. The tired, frustrated part of me started to see it as an indicator of an imbalance of attitudes in the workplace. A piece of humour that was inconsiderate to half of the population and half of the employees.
Is it about pancakes? Is it about breasts?

Either way, I couldn't stand to look at it anymore. Sometimes I'm so sensitive to this kind of thing that I make myself want to throw up.
I replaced that image with this one.

It wasn't your fault

It wasn't your fault that I quit smoking.

It wasn't your fault that I had cravings. I told myself I could have anything I wanted, as long as it wasn't a cigarette.

I apologize sincerely for eating a piece of your hiney.

I promise to try not to do it again.

love,

liz

Let's link internets

I don't even remember the chain of searching that led me to discover this video.
I wish I were alive and watching television when this came out...if only to figure out what the original appeal was. It's labeled 'comedy'.


I was also directed toward a number of facial hair related sites last night that you may find interesting.
The Handlebar Club has an extensive membership from all over the world, and includes a FAQ with questions like 'What is a moustache cup, and where can I find one?' as well as a recipe for homemade moustache wax.
Mybeard.org allows you to cruise user profiles of men who are bearded and proud, and looking for friendship...or more?
And The Beard Community claims to host the world's largest community of bearded images. Like this one.

I also spent some time living vicariously through someone else's family life here.
Thanks again boingboing for reintroducing me to my inner stalker.

And last, but not least. Relive, with me, fond memories of the quality commercials that appeared on tv while I was in Japan. Cute, sexy, entertaining, and ridiculous, I believe that the song is about 3 o clock snacktime at the office.