If it’s Friday, it must mean Leftovers . . .

“Oh if we lived only in human society
with its cruelty and fear
its apathy and exhaustion
what a puny existence that would be” ~ Julie Cadwallader-Staub, from “Blackbirds”

Society is never happy . . .

The feminine ideal of underweight, rail-thin young women has not always been the case. The woman on the right in the ad above (you know, the good body) would be called “chunky,” “fleshy,” and “bovine” by today’s beauty standards. But whose standards, exactly?

Towit: the definition of beauty or how to be a beautiful woman is a social construct which today is largely perpetuated by the media. But there was always some kind of societal standard to which women were admonished to strive: Remember Rubenesque? That was way before social media, but look at the art of the period: fleshy women, replete in sensual splendor. How about Marilyn Monroe et al’s curves? That post-war definition carried over into the 60’s until it was replaced by one woman: Twiggy, a name that speaks for itself. A lot of young women today have never heard of Twiggy, but what her emergence as an icon did for/to women remains with us today, but in a much heightened form.

A prime example of this social insanity occurred last year when some twit on a blog called Skinny Gossip decided to critique Sports Illustrated cover model Kate Upton: “Skinny Gurl” (such a creative handle) described the leggy, 5-foot-10 Kate Upton as a “little piggie” with “huge thighs, NO waist, big fat floppy boobs and terrible body definition.”

But this was not supposed to be a post about positive self image and the like, so I won’t go on and on and on even though I could. Anyway, such a post would be much better researched and put together . . . So people, puleez, for the love of gawd, shut your mouths about other people’s bodies. Yes, you, woman in South Dakota who handed out fat notes to kids on Halloween . . .

Meh . . .

I don’t have to imagine it . . .

Truer words were never spoken, Mr. Serling.

What happens when I unexpectedly land on a site with articles about animal abuse and make the unwise decision to peruse just a few . . .

image

I was trying to distract myself after looking for articles in which beautiful women whose rib cage bones were not all jutting angles were called “fat.” Perhaps I should have stayed on those sites because the animal site killed me, and because I can be kind, I’m not going to provide the link to the heartbreaking site or the stupid skinny site.

Thus Spock Zarathustra (from George Takei’s tumblr):

See Serling above . . .

as if I need yet another reason to love Jessica Lange:

This is a woman to be reckoned with under the best of circumstances (slapping Kathy Bates anyone?). I especially like her approach to power: “in charge everywhere.”

More later. Peace.

Music by Bob Schneider, “40 Dogs (Like Romeo and Juliet)”

                   

The Fair

Before the gates opened, before popcorn
and cotton candy drifted down throats

like sweet and salty summer evenings
of childhood, before the townspeople

confessed to the music and lights,
the Ferris wheel baskets swung empty

in a slow arc, one by one, offering color
to the sky — red, yellow, orange, blue.

Just roving boys, what else could we do
but follow the sandaled feet of girls

out to the fair to buy them rides
until our pockets turned up penniless,

until we lost them in the dark
the way sparrows will fly from you,

until our last walk past the fun house
mirrors stretched our bodies like gum,

when we caught ourselves looking
back at ourselves for the first time.

~ Hank Hudepohl

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2 thoughts on “If it’s Friday, it must mean Leftovers . . .

  1. My Internet has been so slow… and the wireless so iffy… and I’ve had test after test. (Coming up Monday: dilutions & alligations test. Yuck.)

    But, I’ve been following along… Trying to keep up with F&L… Enjoying your posts, trying to follow the links and read the articles… Enjoying the art – I feel like I’m getting some culture! I wish I had more time to focus on it all. Things are going to fly now until the end of the semester…

    I don’t have any magic secrets in my eyes. I wish we could walk together…

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