Friday, June 14, 2013

My favorite tweets of all time, part 4

I went on a favoriting rampage earlier this week. It seems like I favorite more tweets when I'm emotionally or physically compromised in some way – when I'm sad or hungover or there's been a mass shooting, etc. (mass shootings and hangovers seem to happen at roughly the same frequency these days). So I'm faving all these tweets and I realize it's been about six months since I posted some of my favorites. So here we go!
This is what I've been saying! We've trod all over this question before (Do women think they're uglier than they are or do they just pretend to think they're ugly for social purposes?) but I wonder, are men really invested in this idea that beautiful women don't know they're beautiful? Isn't that directly contrary to the idea, often attributed to celebrities in "the sex issue" of various magazines, that confidence is sexy? Or are songs like this just telling women what they think we want to hear, i.e., maybe we're more beautiful than we think we are? (Contrary to the message of that recent Dove campaign, studies have shown most people's mental image of themselves is slightly hotter than the reality.)
Someone recently – Alex Estes I think – was complaining that nobody had made a good NSA joke yet. This is my favorite so far, but I'll give a tip of the hat to the two below as well:

Actually the candy bar tweet might beat out Colson's.

This was from a conversation going on in response to this review in Bookforum of Katherine Angel's Unmastered. I haven't read the book, but it's obvious pretty early on that they got someone who doesn't like sex, feminism, or memoirs to review a feminist memoir about sex. I hadn't even noticed the irony of Cristina Nehring's complaining that she didn't like any of the content and to boot, it was too short (you know that old Yiddish joke about small portions, right?).
Have I included this guy in my roundups before? He's a genius.
I'm always into jokified poem tweets; see the Lemon Hound tweet in Part 3. And Belz is the master of the "Uggh" tweet. See also:
And this blast from the past (April 2012?! We were alive then?)
OK it's my fault for reading beauty blogs and Allure and shit but I feel this way about "pop of color" and "beachy waves."
I was laughing at this one for HOURS.
I saw Sommer later in the day on May 31 and she was like, "Can you believe no one RT'ed or faved that?" But I see it's become something of a "sleeper hit."
The equivalent of opening an email to a coworker four cubes down with "I hope this finds you well."
STORY. OF. MY LIFE.
Once-friend @rotatingskull actually blocked me over a GIF/JIF argument a couple weeks ago. People feel STRONGLY about this, guys. And I'm one of 'em!

OK, one more for now:
I'm not even sure what the Shock Top logo looks like, but I'm picturing a cross between the Kool-Aid pitcher and one of those suns wearing sunglasses.

Wow. I was pretty close:


Until next time. (And check out the first, second, and third editions.)
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Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Some thoughts on plagiarism, auto-plagiarism and reference

Yesterday was a weird day on Twitter. Aaron Belz, a poet I know "from the Internet," and Patton Oswalt, who I guess is a semi-famous comedian?, got into a public fight about Sammy Rhodes, AKA @prodigalsam, who all the Twitter comedians apparently hate because he steals jokes – in comedy terms, a crime rivaled only by being a feminist, I'm sure.

You can see the case for Sammy's plagiarism, if you're curious, in visual format at the Borrowing Sam Tumblr. For example:



I don't doubt that Prodigal Sam steals jokes, with awareness or not with awareness, given the body of evidence against him. I'm not about to defend him; if anything I'd suggest he steal funnier jokes. But they made two sequels to The Hangover, I'm not the barometer of comedy in America. I just want to talk around the topic a little bit, so here are some thoughts.

* There's a bit in this Salon piece about the ethics of self-plagiarism: Is it OK to reuse the same joke formats or even just rerun the same jokes? See this example where he keeps tweeting variations on "Just realized ducks can't hug and now I can't sleep" (inserting different animals). I mean, first of all, ducks can hug:


Which is why this isn't a funny joke. (And does Nickelback even have a Greatest Hits album?) But in principle, I'm not against self-plagiarism, which, when you're aware of it, is really more of a form of self-reference, and a kind of inside joke for your longtime followers, if we're talking about Twitter. I like when poets do this too, reusing the same lines in new contexts, sometimes with slight variations. I actually tell students to do this, because often they are able to write great lines before they are able to write great poems. That's why you have to save your darlings! I.e. rescue them and put them in new poems. I do this in my poems and I do it on Twitter too. For a while I kept tweeting new variations/translations of the (in)famous Rilke line "You must change your life," e.g. "You should change your life," "You gotsta change your life," etc. I wasn't doing it in the hopes that people hadn't seen my previous tweets; it's a better gag if they had seen them. Similarly, Sammy Rhodes' animal hug tweets are actually funnier if you think of them as meta-jokes or anti-jokes. I don't know if he intended them that way of course; maybe he's too sincere for that. (His avatar has New Sincerity written all over it!)

* I feel like you could make a case that almost anyone has plagiarized a bunch of their tweets, consciously or not consciously. A couple of weeks ago I was blabbing on Twitter about the silliness of user reviews for books on Goodreads and Amazon (as expanded on here); this was part of the tirade:


Today, Teju Cole tweeted something quite similar – about as similar as Sammy R's jokes are to some of their alleged predecessors, anyway:


Notice that TC's version got wayyyy more favorites! Anyway, it's possible that he saw my earlier tweet, because he does follow me (cough, humblebrag), but I don't think he did, and even if he did, I wouldn't care that he was "borrowing" the format, probably unintentionally. I mean, he was responding to a real Amazon review! ("The Odyssey was a much better book. Skip this one if you can, you get a good summary of it in the Odyssey, it'll save you some time.") And I'm sure someone or several someones thought/tweeted the same thing about some other book before me. Thoughts, especially when limited to 140 characters, come in templates and tend to have a lot of overlap, both structurally and content-wise. Does that make it OK to knowingly steal from people and try to pass their work off as your own? No, of course not, I'm just pointing out that what superficially looks like plagiarism could easily not be.

* I remember there being a controversy when Last Orders by Graham Swift won the Booker Prize. Someone accused him of plagiarizing As I Lay Dying. Almost 20 years later I'm still astounded by the stupidity of this. It's very obviously an homage, a book-length reference to the Faulkner, an update of the story using the same form and characters. You can read and it enjoy it without knowing that, but crying "plagiarism" here is like saying Clueless plagiarized Emma. Again, I'm not saying that Sammy Rhodes' Twitter feed is full of sophisticated allusions. I never followed him but from the examples I've seen I doubt it. However, when you've got a culture that is trigger-happy when it comes to accusations of plagiarism, it's easy to miss nuance and subtlety on the level of reference/homage/pastiche. People seem especially doltish about this stuff on Twitter; see all the people who missed the barn-sized irony in the Iliad tweet above.

* For more laughs, I recommend the 3-star reviews of Hamlet on Amazon, where you'll find such scintillating criticism as "It is Hamlet, what can you say. It is what it is" and "the play, as plays go, is simply just so-so."
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Tuesday, June 4, 2013

The '90s Revisited Part Whatever: Aerosmith Videos and Romeo + Juliet

John is in Connecticut and I've been home alone, which seems to trigger cravings for "comfort media" rather than comfort food. Accordingly, I can't stop reliving my teen years. This weekend, I noticed The Man in the Moon is on Netflix Instant. Remember this movie? It was Reese Witherspoon's first role, and I hadn't seen it since junior high. It's an okay little flick about two sisters competing for the attention of the same guy, "first love" and all that. I'm thinking, due to recent life stressors of one type or another, that my body just wants to cry, because I started basically sobbing during the scene where Sam Waterston walks around the truck and hugs Dani. Earlier the same day, I was crying uncontrollably at the end of the lunch lady episode of Chopped, so clearly I'm just looking for any excuse to emote.

Anyway: The love interest in The Man in the Moon is played by Jason London, and that made me want to rewatch some of those Aerosmith videos from the '90s, the era when music video budgets were growing exponentially and MTV even told you who directed them. The first one I watched was "Crazy," which was weird because the imagery at the end of the tractor going around the field with no driver, and the splashing in the pond, echoes TMITM so closely that for a second I couldn't remember what had made me think of the video. But it wasn't the tractor, it was Jason London, who is not in this video, but in "Amazing" (the one with the virtual reality theme).



The main point of all these videos was pretty much "Alicia Silverstone is hot" (with a side, in the above case, of "My daughter is hot, too"). Watching this and "Cryin'," I remembered how intensely, at the age of 14 or 15, I wanted to be pretty – but really, not just pretty, desirable.



I wasn't savvy enough back then to break this shit down on a feminist level; all I knew about the male gaze was that it was important. The crap you watch after school when you're 14 indoctrinates you: GIRLS MUST BE HOT.

Relatedly, check out these excerpts from the diary of a 15-year-old girl obsessed with Leonardo DiCaprio in the mid-90s; on November 2, 1996 (my 17th birthday!) she writes:
I have come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a Romeo. I’m still crying. There is no guy that beautiful who will come and declare me his love the moment he sees me. There is no guy that beautiful who would die for me. I don’t think there is a guy that gorgeous who will ever kiss me. I hate William Shakespeare.
And the next day:
Today I was in an awful mood. I cried sporadically (alone) and blamed my mood on tiredness when my parents bugged me. But the truth is: I’m obsessed with Romeo and Juliet. 
I keep rethinking scenes from the movie like when they first meet. Romeo is looking into a huge fish tank from one side when his eyes meet Juliet’s through a coral reef. Romeo follows her head with his—nose pressed against the glass. It is so totally believable that they had fallen in love. I’m miserable.
Which reminds me, I rewatched Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet last summer, and that scene is quite amazing (in no small part due to the love theme performed by Des'ree):



Lara Ehrlich's diaries really capture the poignancy of the pre-boyfriend years. (See also My So-Called Life.) I remember feeling unwanted so exactly that it's somewhat difficult to believe I was going around being wanted like two years later. At 15, it feels like your life will NEVER HAPPEN. Then suddenly you're 17 and sexually assaulted the first time you get drunk.

Ladies, talk to me about your '90s feelings. Who were your celebrity crushes? Is there a word for that particular adolescent desire to be desired, not even by anyone in particular?
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Sunday, June 2, 2013

My new favorite thing

is this eye shadow palette I got for $5 at T.J. Maxx:


Isn't it beauteous? It's the e.l.f. "Little Black Beauty Book (warm edition)." Like my 64-pack of crayons, the pleasure I'm getting from this is as much purely aesthetic as it is functional, meaning, using them will be great (I've dipped into two shades so far; you can the surface of the medium brown one up from the bottom in the far-right row on the left-hand panel is marred) but I really just like looking at them. Colors! I might just attack that aqua at two over, three down when I head out to Jazz in the Park later today. That's the other thing about this palette, it makes me feel like I'm playing Battleship.

I have a confession to make: I have a T.J.Maxx problem. About once every six weeks I can't resist driving to T.J.Maxx (the one I go to is like 8 miles away, which makes it feel all the more illicit) and blowing like $100 on fancy hand soap and other sundry crap. The last time I went, it was more like $200 – I found some great Paige jeans and the floral Tahari dress that I wore to my "wedding," both heavily marked down but still somewhat expensive. Yesterday, in addition to my summery Battleship palette, I got some gold leather flip-flops ($12!), red glitter nail polish in a shade called "Merry Me" ($3) and a bagful of fancy soaps-n-crap, including a big tube of Bliss body butter in the vanilla bergamot scent.

I bring this up for smell people, because I think the Bliss body butters have the best scents of any body products I've tried (excluding beauty product versions of actual perfumes). I also own the blood orange & white pepper and lemon & sage scents, but the vanilla bergamot is remarkable in particular because I normally revile vanilla scents in lotion. What you get here is complex enough to be a real perfume – the bergamot is actually bitter! And the vanilla isn't too sweet – it has nuances of licorice and root beer. Would you believe: It kind of smells like a slice out of Shalimar. You might need to get some.
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Friday, May 31, 2013

Mini-reviews: M.Micallef revisited + 2

The last five or six perfumes I've tried from M.Micallef have left me pretty cold (see the Vanilla Collection and Ylang in Gold), so I was about ready to give up on the line when I came into a decant of Nasreen, thanks to a fellow Perfume Posse reader, and a sample of Le Parfum Denis Durand Couture by way of the company. I don't know if they've changed perfumers or what, but these two are way more my speed.


 Le Parfum Denis Durand Couture – This bewitching perfume opens as a bubblegum floriental, with the juicy-spicy quality (tangerine and cinnamon) of Sacrebleu, the powdery rasp of Loulou, and a bit of the woody toastiness of Le Maroc pour Elle. It's supposed to be orange blossom, but to me the main floral accord smells like rose and jasmine, topped off with a big old glob of honey. There's a metallic edge (what Angela at Now Smell This calls a "metallic tang") that I think of as the meeting point between jasmine and honey. With the powdery notes and honeyed white florals, it's distantly related to Love, Chloe, but without the crassness. This is restrained, not overly sweet, and with just the subtlest hint of furry animal warmth. To me it smells like hammered gold, shimmery but not flashy. Tres chic!

Nasreen – Nasreen is just the kind of thing I always immediately like: a jammy, apricotty rose with saffron and honey, giving it that same metallic edge as Denis Durand. It's sweet and sly in equal measure, not the gourmand you might imagine seeing "gingerbread" in the notes, but a sexy, nutty (vetiver?), smoky orientalized rose. The word "smoldering" comes to mind. There's something scratchy about it, too. Not itchy – it's as though smelling it could scratch an itch at the back of my throat. I love what Micallef is doing with texture in these two scents. If DD is hammered gold, this is a snakeskin clutch, buttery soft but only between the scales that catch your fingers.

By the way, a quick note on oud: Nasreen is supposed to contain it, and some reviewers have sworn they smell oud in Denis Durand as well. I suspect, as I've noted in the past, that none of the recent "oud" releases actually contain oud; I also suspect that "oud accords" are created in part by association. Rose, saffron and oud are so often seen in tandem that rose and saffron together (plus woody notes like incense and patchouli) automatically conjure the idea of oud. But for me, unless there are peaty and/or petroleum-like characteristics (see By Kilian Pure Oud, which smells downright toxic), it doesn't read as oud, and these two perfumes are too smooth to trip my oud sensors. That doesn't mean other people aren't smelling oud; it just means "oud" doesn't really refer to one specific thing. So are they oud perfumes? Sure, why the hell not.

Here are a couple others I've been testing lately:

Smell Bent Little Miss Panda – Lime (think Green Otter Pops – seriously, the top note IS Sir Isaac Lime) plus slightly musky tropical flowers. It's simple, bright, clean, refreshing fun, perfect beach scent material. Makes me want to wear a white bikini. Alas, I've never owned a white bikini and have never had the tan to pull one off. Which reminds me, I lost about half an hour of my life looking at pictures on this tribute Tumblr of models from the '80s and '90s (discovered via Alice Bolin). Isn't Kate Moss just the prettiest person alive?


Also, check out Angelina Jolie with "HER OLD NOSE" (I always hear that phrase in the voice of the plastic surgeon from Space Balls):


I keep forgetting that all of the beautiful people have had nose jobs. Really, all of them.

Anyway, one more:

Yves Rocher Comme Une Evidence – I received a mini of this in a package years ago (from Mals, perhaps?), tried it once or twice, liked it, then put it away and forgot about it. Something made me think of it recently – I was craving something fresh and delicate for spring – and I pulled it out and tried it again. It's actually lovelier than I remembered, and looking it up I see that it was done by Annick Menardo. No wonder this is good. It reminds me obliquely of Guerlain Insolence EDT, but don't let that give you the wrong idea – it's similar in structure but not style. The floral accord is rose, violet, and lily of the valley, getting most of its character from the fruity, green aspects of violet and violet leaf. (Violet leaf is one of Dawn Spencer Hurwitz's signatures, and sometimes CUE strikes me as a budget version of her La Vie en Rose.) It's very feminine and soft and just slightly powdery. This isn't a perfume-lover's perfume (too fresh! too wearable! too office-friendly!) but it's instructive to compare this to something like Champs Elysees; the balance is so much more comfortable. Good luck figuring out which version I'm talking about, though, because I sure can't.
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Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Expanded tweets

Going beyond 140 characters on some stuff I have tweeted lately:

Something I think about a lot is the attitude some people seem to have that if you claim to be a feminist, you should have read a lot of feminist theory. I feel like this is a wildly limiting view of feminism. John and I hate when Republicans use the word "elitist" for anti-intellectual agendas, but this is elitism. Feminism isn't a college major; it's a way of life! I really feel like the principles of feminism are discoverable from very basic, limited information, like geometry. You know? It's all there! Which is not to say that reading theory isn't nice, just that it's not at all a prerequisite to being an active feminist.


I was thinking about why I don't care at all about Goodreads (recently, of course, acquired by Amazon). And it's because random schmoes aren't very good at evaluating things aesthetically. They are, however, pretty good at evaluating function, especially if the body of reviewers is large enough to cancel out some of the noise of stupidity. So if a product has 100+ reviews, you can feel pretty confident in the star rating. Amazon's system whereby viewers can vote on whether a given review is helpful or not makes those ratings even more valuable. Star ratings on Goodreads, however, are close to absolutely meaningless. First of all, there's star inflation, especially on books from smaller presses, because no one wants to hurt the nobody-author's feelings; the most successful the author, the more likely that someone does want to hurt their feelings.  Most any book I have ever looked at on Goodreads seems to have an average rating between 4 and 5 stars. In any case, I really don't care what these random people like. If a friend recommends a book, sure, I'll check it out, but a stranger? Who cares? This is related to the argument I made about criticism in my recent essay on Kate Zambreno, i.e., no one cares about your aesthetic opinion until you show yourself to be a smart and careful reader.

HOWEVER. Some smart Twitterer pointed out that Amazon reviews on books can be helpful in rare use cases such as when you're trying to decide between translations. I also think they could be useful for functional books, like a cookbook or manual. Just not so much for fiction, poetry, creative etc.
Almost every time I've felt that I was in contact with the sublime, I was looking at something really huge: an enormous painting, a gash in the earth, whatever. Occasionally, the sublime is something really small, like the Thorne miniature rooms at the Art Institute in Chicago. But size is involved there too. I don't think I've ever brushed sublimity with something medium-sized.
Get it? They're all ends of other names. Innovation!
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Thursday, May 16, 2013

Do you think of yourself in terms of a "type"?

Do you think of yourself in terms of a "type"? As in, "He's totally my type," or "Nah, she's not my type." Do you know whose type you are?

I was just emailing with my friend Liz and realized that I do think of myself as a type (i.e., not for everyone), but I don't think I'm necessarily very good at predicting whose type I am. I sense that some savvy people walk into a party or "da club" and know immediately who would be interested in them. In general, until I see ample evidence to the contrary, I just assume I'm not your type.

What's the norm here? Do most people have this figured out?

This isn't dating research, obviously; I'm a married woman now! (I guess?!) Just idle curiosity.

(See also "Some notes on beauty" parts one, two, and three.)
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Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Still unstable after all these years

A few more pieces from The Self Unstable are up at The Offending Adam. I love Whitney Holmes' introduction:

With what voice do I want to read out loud from The Self Unstable? Do I read with a full-throated Poetry voice or a playful wink-wink voice or with the voice of an oracle or a mystic hippie fortuneteller? I can’t decide, and maybe that’s part of the instability to which the title of this work alludes. Who is the self in these declarative prose poems? Elisa Gabbert uses the force of her tone and sentence structures to create authority, despite the fact that the identity of the speaker is neither fixed nor always recognizable. At the junction of aphorism, confession, and armchair philosophy, these prose poems delight in their ability to make profundity flippant and flip profound. Gabbert writes, “History is the news via consensus.” The speaker here doesn’t say anything we don’t already know, nor does she say it in a new or nuanced way. This axiom could, at first, be met with a little eye roll, with a “duh.” But Gabbert subverts the power of her declarative tone by playing with the declaration: “And then they add mood music.” And then I laugh out loud.

I reviewed the proofs for these pieces about voting and violence and history and war and the news during the week of the Boston marathon bombings. I was in the coffee shop in Golden where I spent many mornings this semester (I had finally stopped thinking of years in terms of semesters, when John started teaching college). John's intermittent vertigo and dizziness prevented him from driving for several weeks, so on days he felt well enough to teach, I would drive him to his 9 a.m. class and work down the street, drinking iced coffee even on the days that it snowed. We listened to the news obsessively that week, though half the time John couldn't hear it. Reading those pieces again, it struck me that my poetry has never seemed more topical or politically relevant. But weeks have passed; perhaps they're irrelevant again.

Thanks to Whitney and to Andrew Wessels for featuring my work.

*

In other "news": My pal DB just sent me a link to an article in The Atlantic by the guy who teaches the "Navigating Pornography" course at Pasadena City College. He sort of lost me here though:

Part of equipping students to navigate porn means giving them the tools of feminist analysis. Pornography traditionally revolves around the production of images of women for the pleasure of heterosexual men. Feminist critics like Andrea Dworkin, Gail Dines, and Robert Jensen help my students to see the ways in which porn can construct and reinforce misogyny. At the same time, my students examine the limitations of familiar feminist anti-porn critiques. Research suggests that nearly as many young women as men watch (or, if you prefer, "use") porn for masturbation fodder, making it increasingly difficult to characterize porn watching as a primarily male pastime.

If you click through to the links in the highlighted section, neither of them says that "nearly as many young women as men watch porn." According to the second link, which hyperlinking protocol suggests should include the relevant stat: "In the first three months of 2007, according to Nielsen/NetRatings, approximately one in three visitors to adult entertainment Web sites was female; during the same period, nearly 13 million American women were checking out porn online at least once each month." If 1 in 3 visitors were female, that means 2 in 3 were male. Hence, twice as many. How does half as many translate to "nearly as many"? Is that the new math?

Have I mentioned how much I hate The Atlantic? Of course I have. Nevertheless, this comment thread about chickens gave me great pleasure this morning:

Chickens are highly sentient. They form long-term friendships. They seek pleasure. They have good memories. They learn to play video games. They grieve (I've seen it). They have empathy. They play. They are curious. They understand object permanence sooner than a human baby does. They are aware of others, which is more important than self-awareness. 

Chickens play video games?
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Sunday, May 12, 2013

Mothers

I don't go in much for Hallmark holidays, but I do love my mother. I like old pictures too. This is my parents at their house in Madison, Wisconsin, before I was born. Aren't they adorable?


And here's an old snap of my father's mother, Dorothy. Pretty lady:


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Friday, May 10, 2013

Tale of a Thursday elopement

Yesterday started off as a pretty normal day ... except that it was raining. In Colorado?! So ironic! (Alanis was right.)

Things got a little weird around 3, when we headed down to the county clerk office to pick up this phony-looking Old West–style thing:


We had a little time to kill before our 5:15 appointment with the judge, so we swung by Beast & Bottle on 17th for a little liquid courage.


The bartender there used to work at Encore – our favorite spot in Denver before it closed – and called out, "Hey, Boston!" when we walked in.

The sun came out just in time.


Phew, irony-free wedding.


The judge was super nice. Whole thing took about ten minutes. I cried!

Then a funny little security guard who didn't know how cameras work took our picture:


We took advantage of the evening light and got a celebratory drink on the roof of the MCA.


Then we went to our favorite sushi place. It was delicious.

So, yep, we're married now.


Quick FAQ:

  • Please please don't anyone feel left out. We literally decided to get married on Monday, made the arrangements on Tuesday and told only our families. There was no one at the ceremony but us. But we love you all and want to celebrate with you when we see you.
  • No, we're not registered anywhere! We're also not going on a honeymoon and we don't have wedding bands yet ... I do have a lovely family ring from the Cotters that I'm going to wear once it's resized for my elfin fingers.
  • No, I'm not pregnant, really.
  • One of my most viewed blog posts is "Why I don't want to get married." In principle, I still believe all that. I also don't think our relationship will be functionally different in any real way; we've lived together for 6+ years. Here's what tipped the balance: John has been having some pretty serious health issues. If he should ever take a turn for the worse, I want to be sure I have the legal rights to see him in the hospital, make decisions, etc. I'm not getting any younger here either. So I want to be sure that the various powers that be see our relationship the same way we do, and (unfortunately) that requires making it legal. These aren't the happiest, most romantic circumstances in the world, I know, but we made the most of it anyway.
  • I guess I have to start calling John my husband now?! I've never liked the words "husband" and "wife," but oh well: "boyfriend" sounded pretty infantalizing. 
  • I know my perfume people will be curious: I wore Sweet Redemption. John wore Chergui. 


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