I want to make it clear right up front that this is not a post about bodily fluids. I mean, I could write a novel about that, if you want — but I don’t think you do. If you are squeamish or simply not interested in the secretions of others, know that this is a safe place.
However, we’re coming up pretty quickly on my son’s first birthday, so I’m about to get very mommy-blogger in this bitch and reminisce about the day he was born. And, more specifically, what it was like for ME. (I’m only about six months removed from being a legit Millennial, so yeah this is about me. Duh.)
The funny thing about being in labor is the tricks your memory plays on you. Time kind of stretches out and loops back on itself, and it’s hard to keep track of what’s happening and in what order.
(Also, I don’t have any basis for comparison, but I assume this whole time-shifting, memory-warping experience is amplified if you’re on magnesium sulfate — which I was. Here’s my one-sentence review of magnesium sulfate: “I’ve never in my life been so unhappy to be so high.” Once magnesium sulfate gets a Yelp page, it will be hearing from me.)
So in the interest of family history, I feel the need to write down the few ephemeral labor memories I have left before they go the way of Brian Austin Green’s hip-hop aspirations, or Jordan Knight’s solo career. (Which reference is timelier? Neither.)
This is a post about my mom, because DUH IT’S MOTHER’S DAY, but I’ve already distracted myself with the title. My sister used to work with a woman who thought that “quintessential is when you have five of something” (e.g., quintuplets), and so now I’m worried people are going to think I think that, too.
I know what quintessential means, guys! It’s only a coincidence that there are five of them! Continue reading
In case you didn’t know, Beyoncé is amazingly beautiful and exceptionally talented and outlandishly famous. Beyoncé is a triple threat who can sing and dance and act. (Dreamgirls aside — if you haven’t seen Obsessed at least twice, you and I probably have nothing to talk about.) Beyoncé is married to Jay-Z, who is also outlandishly famous, and together they are very wealthy and successful and in love.
By all reasonable measures, there is no way in which Beyoncé has not attained excellence. The only possible negative that’s even tangentially related to Beyoncé is the difficulty one faces in trying to buy tickets to one of her shows, but this is just an unfortunate side effect of Beyoncé being one of the most sought-after women in the world.
So, you might say that Beyoncé’s chief flaw — the one she would have to cite as her “biggest weakness” if she were ever to interview for a job as shift manager at a Ruby Tuesday — would be, “There is not enough of Beyoncé to go around.”
(She could also say, “Beyoncé sometimes talks about herself in the third person,” but a valid argument could be made for this as an endearing personality quirk.) Continue reading
We could go on for days about the massive crimes against humanity committed by my pasty-skinned people. Slavery, the Holocaust, the Spanish Inquisition, the Trail of Tears, the Salem witch trials, and the Tuskegee experiment — we are just skimming the surface of a densely woven tapestry of broad-spectrum, grand-scale assholery.
Also, does “institutional racism” count as just one single crime against humanity? Or is that multiple counts? (Asking for a friend.)
In recent decades, however, organized acts of flagrant racism have fallen out of public favor. This has left many white assholes rudderless, flailing out on their own to commit smaller-scale atrocities in a generally disorganized manner. For whatever reason — the changing of seasons, perhaps, or the shifting of the moon’s gravitational pull — there has been a very visible wave of these high-profile racists lately, and it’s become a real embarrassment to the respectable bigots who prefer to discriminate on a classier, more dignified, systemic level. You know — like civilized people.
And sure, it’s easy to single out and condemn the old white guys throwing around loaded phrases like “those people” and “better off picking cotton” and “Heil Hitler.” But what about the quieter forms of white aggression that surround us on a daily basis? What I mean to say is, what about our crimes against pop culture? Continue reading