previously

– The Mermaid Parade is on Saturday… but it is going to rain.

– Ever try the Wikipedia “random article” function? It takes “learn something new everyday” to new levels of excellent-ness.

– On the front page of the Observer, Sara Vilkomerson investigates the rising acceptance of male “flabbiness,” a la Vince Vaughn and Jack Black, and some people wandering around Union Square.

Jill and Michael, a trendyish-looking couple strolling through the Greenmarket last Friday, seemed to embody, literally, the whole man-flab acceptance movement. “He’s my ideal,” said Jill. “He’s big and strong and has something to grab onto. It’s the whole being-protected thing—not that I think about that consciously. You want to be with someone who can protect you.”

“I like to work out. I like to eat. I work for a living, so I don’t have a lot of time to think about those things,” said Michael, who sported a beard and chin-length long hair in addition to a bit of a belly. “I’d rather eat and drink a beer than starve myself to look like some Chelsea boy.”

BUT!

Hollywood starlets, on the other hand, shouldn’t hold their breath for a reversal in body image. “It’s never going to stop for women,” said Ms. Stern.

– And also at the Observer, a piece arguing that The Break Up was actually smart and perceptive about modern relationships and their superficiality.

In their final fight, Ms. Aniston cries so hard she can’t speak—and when she does, it’s not about how much she loved him. “I’ve gone above and beyond for you, for us, I’ve cooked, picked your shit up. I don’t feel like you appreciate any of it.” The absence of personalized affection suggests that modern relationships are often built on these fantasies of roles. But, even then, they’re obsolete fantasies when everyone knows they can move on and find someone who fits into their idea of a relationship just a little more cozily. What terribly banal disappointments! How familiar it sounds.

It still wasn’t a great movie, but I kind of agree. Naomi was annoyed because it didn’t leave her with the sugary magic of usual crap romantic comedy, but the lack of a fairy tale ending made me a lot happier than a “happy ending.” This one left me wondering why movies don’t focus on break ups more often… on the break up itself instead of characters’ success at finding true love afterwards. The actual break up, with all the addendant drama and nastiness, is much more interesting than watching pretty people frolick through their cute n’ temporary misunderstandings.

– Maybe I was just really bored today, but I was totally entertained by New York magazine’s feature on NYC etiquette. Especially the pieces by Amy Poehler and David Cross.

– Tricia Romano reports in the Voice:

It’s doubly hard to square the frequency of gay bashings with the public perception that it’s OK to be gay. “Just because we have gay TV shows and all that, these things are just a fantasy,” [DJ Honey] Dijon says. “It’s like two different realities. It’s like The Matrix. There’s the virtual reality and what’s happening in the real world. And what’s happening on the street is a reflection of what our larger government and religious institutions are doing. What’s the difference between what the government did in Iraq and what they did to Kevin Aviance? One is sanctioned and the other is not?”

– Also, yesterday Salon had a article about straight girls who make out with each other. Omigod, this is breaking news!!!

These women say it’s no big deal to kiss another woman — especially if alcohol has loosened inhibitions all around. Same-sex behavior is more accepted, particularly on campus, and proving that you’re “cool enough” to kiss another girl without worrying that your peers will question your sexuality is an example of how open our sexual culture has become. But is this staged bisexuality really a testament to a type of hypersexualized girl power — or a statement on how far gals will go to please a generation of guys weaned on online porn? And what does it mean to girls who are actually coming out as queer to see straight girls playing bi for male pleasure?

Ummmm….Girl power!

If you’re procrastinating and looking for something to read, how bout spending some time on Fresh Yarn? I just found this essay by Elise Miller, about how she slept with the lead singer of Depeche Mode when she was 15, and it is hilarious and wonderful. I love stories about smart women’s groupie pasts…

I think I have eye contact with David at least three times but I’m not one hundred percent sure. I do, however, feel a connection with him, as if it’s me up there on stage, as if we’re interchangeable, as if I’m the famous one everyone envies, which they would, if I could tell them I met the band and have a backstage pass. That, however, would be tacky. David swivels and gyrates to the point where I’m practically drooling with heavy duty lust. I lean in and shout to Karen, “I’ll bet he’s great in bed!” Karen nods and grins like, we are so fucking cool, which we are.

By the way – and this is old-ish news – Steve Almond resigned from his teaching post at Boston College because of their decision to have Condaleeza Rice speak at graduation. You can read the open letter he wrote about it that was published in the Boston Globe here. Choice quote:

I cannot, in good conscience, exhort my students to pursue truth and knowledge, then collect a paycheck from an institution that displays such flagrant disregard for both.

And then there’s Steven Colbert speaking at Knox College’s commencement. Reading the transcript makes the world seem like a better place, even if only for a moment.

A wall…across the entire southern border. That’s the answer. That may not be enough — maybe a moat in front of it, or a fire-pit. Maybe a flaming moat, filled with fire-proof crocodiles. And we should probably wall off the northern border as well. Keep those Canadians with their socialized medicine and their skunky beer out. And because immigrants can swim, we’ll probably want to wall off the coasts as well. And while we’re at it, we need to put up a dome, in case they have catapults. And we’ll punch some holes in it so we can breathe. Breathe free. It’s time for illegal immigrants to go — right after they finish building those walls. Yes, yes, I agree with me.

Caryn James spends more than 1,000 words picking at Jennifer Aniston in the Times. It’s a seriously weird sort of tirade, kind of catty (and I hate that word) disguised as critical:

The relationship with Mr. Vaughn itself may have cost Ms. Aniston sympathy. In terms of her image it doesn’t even matter if that relationship exists; the public believes it does. And while replacing Mr. Pitt with a new trophy guy would have seemed like vindication for the wounded princess, instead she has reached beneath her on the celebrity food chain. Mr. Vaughn seems smarter than his on-screen persona, and his mega-hit “Wedding Crashers” gave him some Hollywood clout. Still, nobody says, How did she get him? Just the opposite.

Speaking of Jennifer Aniston, I love what the av club has to say about The Break Up:

It’s like watching the “we were on a break” episode of Friends stretched to feature length, and without the blessed relief of commercial breaks or the promise of Seinfeld around the corner.

Gwynne Watkins has a cool take on that movie Hard Candy, which looked like it could be good, if not for… well, some of what she points out.

Recently, a Dateline special got parents up in arms about the dangers of MySpace. The fear: those suggestive photos teenage girls may be noticed by, well, men looking for suggestive photos of teenage girls. Yet considering how badly they want to protect these girls, neither the MySpace protestors nor the producers of Dateline nor the makers of Hard Candy seem interested in what the teenage girls are thinking. And that seems to me to be a crucial oversight. Why is a fourteen-year-old girl’s totally normal sexuality more frightening to look at than the stunted deviance of a pedophile?

The fancy new issue of Bookslut has interviews with Anthony Bourdain, Hal Niedzviecki, Hillary Carlip, Salvador Plascencia, Charles De Lint and George Saunders, and the column I wrote wherein I help prolong the debate about that stupid “best work of fiction in the last 25 years” list (Mike Schaub calls it “the New York Times’ most regrettable decision since hiring Judy Miller”).

Anya Kamenetz has been writing about “generation debt” for the Voice for over a year, and since I’m about to enter a life of debt myself (at least once I get around to applying for those student loans), I’m getting interested. Her book – Generation Debt: Why Now is a Terrible Time to Be Young – is just out, and I might need to read it. Except I’m sure it’s horribly depressing, like most doses of reality. Also, she is also my age, and a columnist for the Voice, and has written a book, so it makes me feel a wee bit inadequate. But I was talking to someone a few weeks ago who said that the national debt has been shifted onto students in the form of interest on our loans… and shit, that is an important thing to think about. Anyway, in yet another accomplishment she has an editorial in today’s Times about shitty internships. I’m glad to see it. I’ve never had an internship and don’t really want to. You can do internships in my grad program (“my” grad program… weird), and are encouraged to, but um, I’d rather work. You know, for money? Kamenetz writes, “Instead of starting out in the mailroom for a pittance, this generation reports for business upstairs without pay.” Nicely put, and what a crappy deal.

Hey, how’d you like to read a totally depressing feature about men dealing with life after coming back from Iraq? What if I told you it came with new photographs by Eugene Richards, my most favorite photo man?

Yesterday Audrey and I had a beautiful day hanging out in Central Park. Then we went to a random Irish pub, where we met 2 marines who were in town for Fleet Week, and proceeded to drink with them for about three hours. Aud managed the military small talk like a pro, but I had to have two drinks before I could figure out that particular kind of banter. The best moment was when Audrey said, completely straight-faced, “So, what’s the most powerful weapon you’ve ever fired?” Now I know more than I ever wanted to about the symbolism of a marine dress uniform, along with a few other things. In case you were wondering, those shiny shoes hurt their feet a whole lot. I told them they should try stilettos (as if I ever do), and my North Carolina soldier looked down at my legs, which ended in $3 flip flops on my filthy feet and said, “Yeah, but stilettos make y’all look a lot better than we do in these.” Touché.

There’s nothing like some good old fashioned rage at the literary establishment to get a girl’s blood pumping on a gray Thursday morning:

Early this year, the Book Review’s editor, Sam Tanenhaus, sent out a short letter to a couple of hundred prominent writers, critics, editors and other literary sages, asking them to please identify “the single best work of American fiction published in the last 25 years.”

According to those surveyed, the winner is Toni Morrison’s Beloved. Hooray, I guess. What a huge surprise. But that’s pretty much the last time a woman writer appears on the extended list. Out of 4 runners up and 17 “Books That Also Received Multiple Votes,” Philip Roth is cited 6 times, Don Delillo cited 3 times and Cormac McCarthy twice (for a total of 4 books – including a trilogy). There’s also John Updike and Raymond Carver and Denis Johnson et al, but the only other woman is Marilynne Robinson for Housekeeping, a “book that also received multiple votes.”

Aside from this tally being pretty disgusting (but – blah blah – not surprising), a good question is, why bother? WHAT IS THE POINT of choosing one book that is the very best out of the countless numbers published in the last 25 years?

A.O. Scott has some interesting things to say about that in the accompanying essay, but he also never stops to wonder about the lack of women on the list, though he does note the lack of young(er) writers. He’s usually one of my favorite critics, partly because he is so damn smart and versatile – he’s the film critic, and he writes for the Book Review all the time! He was on book leave, writing, it turns out, a book about the American novel! But come on. I don’t understand why people do surveys about things with such obvious and terribly boring results.

For the record, the judges consisted of 38 women and 86 men. I don’t necessarily think that more women judges would have meant more women as “winners,” but I do want to point out that 38 to 86 is not any kind of balance, even if it looks a lot like it when compared to the results that group came up with. Not that anything as simplistic as “balance” is the goal here anyway.