Bratz Suckz

I wrote this in response to a bit in Sirens on what everyone knows, but no one will talk about -- the unsettling horror of Bratz dolls, and how they just won't go away:


I think the most obnoxious and troubling thing about the Bratz phenomenon is the whole concept of manufactured sexuality's being what -- and all -- girls should strive towards. I see such a simultaneously watered-down/pumped-up version of sexiness permeating young women's culture that it makes me want to throw a flat-heeled shoe at my television. Which came first, the chickenhead or the egg, is up for debate, but Bratz definitely reflects the mentality of the day.

Barbie was ridiculous, but in that head-cheerleader sort of way. She was every Molly Ringwald nemesis on the surface, but sometimes she had a heart of gold, and at the end of the day, even if you still wished you looked like Barbie, you could find solace in knowing that your brain helped texture your non-perfect looks, and that was cool -- better, even. Plus like (the author) said, sometimes Barbie was an astronaut.

Bratz? In my opinion is way more subversively harmful. Because Barbie represented a very specific, unattainable beauty that at least if you didn't have, you could realize that and get on with your day. Bratz IS ethnically diverse, so the dolls DO send the message: "No matter what your cultural heritage, here is your one-stop-shop on The Rules Of Being Hot." And it's like that creepy scene in "Mean Girls" where Rachel McAdams's prepubescent sister is gyrating to Kelis. Barbie had big boobs, but gave off an air of innocence. Bratz dolls send the message that all girls have to do to rock in this world is wear revealing clothing, pile on a shitload of makeup, and of course -- and most obnoxiously -- cop an attitude.

I may be "old," but my sister is 16, and I am horrified on a consistent basis, seeing the crap girls get fed, watching how self-consciously they dumb themselves down in order to be considered "cute." And that's not exactly a new thing, but when paired with a "Be a bitch! Oh, and try and look like a hooker, mmkay and tHe b0yzzz wIlL LUVVVV u" guide on how to conquer the world with your meaningless vagina? Well, my skin crawls and my brain melts with fear for the future.

In summation: Bratz sucks balls. Figuratively. And if someone doesn't smack 'em upside the head and force them to -- in no particular order -- read a book, eat a sandwich, and put some clothes on -- literally. Sexuality is a potentially beautiful thing, but as with art, you need to study and learn the real thing backwards and forwards before you can try to harness it and make it your own.




©2007

Goodbye, and Thank You, Levittown

So you know that scene in "Father of the Bride," where Annie is despondent and doesn't know how to go to sleep because she is all nostalgic and at a loss? And like, she knows that it's all for the best, and that she's going somewhere better, but she just feels uprooted and sad? That is kind of how I feel tonight.

On the one hand, I know that I should ostensibly go to bed, because I have a lot of work ahead of me. I'm moving out on Wednesday, and there is a lot to do. On the other hand, I'm very filled with emotion and nostalgia. See, it's my last "night" here in Levittown. In my apartment. By myself. Tomorrow, Javier will be here with me, because he is awesome, and helping me hardcore with the move, but tonight was the last night that I made the drive home from Boulder Creek to a place that I could call my own.

That is one of the weirdest things for me, I think. I've had several important-to-my-life jobs over the years, but Boulder Creek is the only job that I got while living in my Levittown apartment. It's ten minutes away. When I got a break at work, I could go home and watch "Boy Meets World," or take a nap, or just feel re-energized because my home was so close by and meandering through the freak show that is the Best Yet Supermarket fed my curious nature with unsettling fuel.

When I left work, it was only a moment before I was re-immersed in my territory. Sometimes that meant stopping at my 7-11s for beer, cat food, and/or Stouffers® frozen dinners. Sometimes that meant stopping home real quick to get ready to go to Sidelines or some other 10-minutes-away gathering place with my co-worker friends.

Levittown was the first place since 1988 that I felt I was "home." I grew up in Merrick, and not only did I know my neighbors, but I knew ALL my neighbors, and when we weren't swimming in the Warnos' pool, we were playing SPUD and Kick the Can for as long as we could until it got too dark and our parents made us come inside.

I liked that. I missed that. In Baldwin, where we moved to in July '88, I didn't have that anymore. Granted, our house was nicer, and Lord knows that I was mad psyched to live within walking distance of a book store.

But the book store closed down, as did the TCBY, and at the end of the day, as much as I love my family, I deeply missed that sense of community that you see on TV and that I had come to take for granted in Merrick, where the community was doing well, what with the home ownership and all, but also in Merrick, a lot of my friends' parent(s) rented the houses, and despite all the snottiness that did exist in the schools, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that when we got home from school, we could all bond together on our block and play games, and best of all, "cut through yards" and not only did no one get pissed, but they were happy. Even if they didn't have children, it was like, "Oh, the kids are playing, carry on, kids!" The adults with kids welcomed us with open arms. The adults without kids knew our families and asked us about our lives. It was awesome.

The first night I spent in Levittown, it was the July 4th weekend of 2006. And I'd come from an apartment in Merrick, which was nice for the nostalgia aspect, but the community was pretty closed and stand-offish. My new apartment on Coachman Lane was different. There was a big biker block party, and the whole street just erupted into this fantastic, loud chaos, and I knew I was home.

Because at the end of the day, as much as I do dream of at some point having lots of money? I like living in a community. The first six years of my life were spent in an apartment building on Front Street in Hempstead, and that was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. Race meant nothing. Financial status meant nothing. BULLshit meant nothing. What meant SOMEthing was how well you treated the people you lived around.

Those are my roots, and that is why I have loved living in Levittown. Yes, there is the horrifying turn onto Hempstead Turnpike from Jerusalem where everyone just loses their minds and all you can do is try your best to not get killed by old ladies and teenagers playing "Pole Position" with their second-hand Jeeps.

But there is also a setup that no one talks about, wherein you can do what you need to do to pay your bills and buy your essentials, and everything is just there and nobody makes a big deal about it. When I first discovered the wonder of The Bus while living in Baldwin, I was SO CONFUSED and so annoyed by the fact that the nearest bus was almost a mile away. When I asked why this was, and was told that basically, the more self-important the neighborhood, the harder it is to get to anywhere practical because the more money you have, the more you don't want to be tainted by people just trying to work and buy toilet paper and send their kids to school? I was only 15, but I was incredibly indignant. If people didn't have enough money for a car, why should they have to walk so far just to get on a bus? And also, what I didn't realize at the time but felt from my own perspective, what is that saying to the kids? Either you need to develop your own tenacity, or you need to get your parents to buy you a car, or you need to give up and realize the only place that your town wants you to get to is The Spot so you can drink 40s and smoke blunts, because society doesn't want you anyway.

(I'd feel like I was being more hyperbolic if I hadn't witnessed these mentalities firsthand.)

So I was very happy when I moved to Levittown, to live on a road where I had to slow down every day because kids were playing hockey in the street. That is AWESOME. Kids SHOULD be playing hockey in the street. Older people SHOULD be sitting out on their porches/front yards every day. Neighbors SHOULD be talking to each other, and giving a crap about their neighborhoods.

And there SHOULD be parks. I live -- for another 36 hours -- next to a park that has a playground, and grass, and hosts multiple Little League games. THAT is great. THAT is awesome. THAT -- if you're lucky -- is life.

It's not my life yet. I hope yet. Because if I am ever blessed with a family and children, I want it to be in a place where my kids learn to be humble while experiencing the greatest joy and the fullest childhood experiences they could possibly have. I want them to play in the street, and make friends in their neighborhood, and sure, play videogames and reap all the benefits of the life I want to give them, but all while knowing that what's most important is learning to be good, kind, loving people.

I'm getting ahead of myself, but this is all within the emotions I have about leaving Levittown. I am going to miss being ten minutes from work. I am going to miss being five minutes away from A.C. Moore and the movie theater, and my old school that doesn't exist anymore, because South Shore Christian School has my heart, and is right next to Shannon's old house. I felt good holding down the fort in spirit for her.

I am going to miss being in a community.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am extraordinarily blessed and loved to be welcomed back into my family's house, and I love them and can't wait to be with them again. This past year, I've been struggling so hard financially that I've barely gotten to see them. Same with my friends, who have been patient with me and understanding of my AWOL status with remarkable aplomb.

And I am VERY psyched to be living around the block from Javier, who has been incredible in every way as I've struggled hardcore just to stay afloat.

There are definitely great things about moving back home, or I wouldn't be doing it. I know that moving back with my parents is the right thing to do now. On paper, is it embarrassing? Sure! I'm almost 32! But one thing that the past 32 years has taught me is that some people play the game of life straightforward and end up in a great place for it.

Sometimes, life presents itself as a seemingly impossible challenge, like one of those maddening plastic, shift-pieces-around one by one till you get it right puzzles. I've always adored puzzles, but HATED those kinds of puzzles. But at the end of the day, I have to remember the three Biggest Life Goals I have always reiterated to my mother: 1) I want to be a good person. 2) I want to be a good wife. 3) I want to be a good mother.

What I've learned is that 2) and 3) are nothing without 1), and that really, 1) is the ultimate goal each of us is left with at the end of the day, all things being equal. And no matter what, what I REALLY want is to make other people's lives better, especially kids'. I'm going back to school to teach kindergarten, and I'm glad that it took me this long to decide on that, because kids deserve teachers who really care about them. And on that note, I want to keep writing, and ideally give back to kids what I got when I was younger -- survival through joy, and invigoration through creativity.

I am glad to be working towards that. I am grateful to Levittown and its community for reminding me of its importance.

I'll miss you, Levittown purple-walled apartment. Try and calm the ghosts down for the future tenant(s).





©2007

I'm on Youtube!

OMG, seven years ago I did an episode of "Realm of Never," this public-access show that's kind of like "Twilight Zone" -- very over-the-top, weird stuff. I had a great time, but never actually watched the episode ("Deadline"). But I just came across a promotional video for the series, and I'm in it twice. It's so bizarre! And I can't even believe I'm putting it on my blog 'cause I won't even let Javier watch the video of me being Britney Spears and singing "Baby, One More Time" in front of 500 people. But my particular episode was more soap opera-y than others, and it's just cracking me up, 'cause the years that I was acting, I tended to do more comedies and period pieces than soap stuff.

I do have to say though that I really like Chris DelGaudio's stuff, and working with him was a lot of fun. I would have done more, but I was working and he lives really far away.

This House...Is Clean?

So when I was living in my second Merrick apartment (the one before this one), I remember trying to download "Like Humans Do" by David Byrne, 'cause I think they played it on "Lost."

However, my iPod would not accept it, and my iTunes would not play it. But there it was, in my computer.

Fast forward to November 2006. My computer had broken, and my friend Brian was kind enough to give me his old one (thanks Brian!!!). So I didn't have my old stuff on this computer, obviously.

Or did I?

I didn't actually CHECK to see if "Like Humans Do" was on Brian's computer. I mean, why would I? It's not his type of music, and like, I couldn't even play the song, so whatever. Plus, it didn't make me all reflective and inspired like Rilo Kiley, nor was it obnoxious enough to warrant blasting in my apartment like my tried and true "Appetite for Destruction," or Eric's Children of Bodom songs on his page, or Marc's insurmountable Standalone Player (RIP, also WTF! No offense to your Slick River song, which is of course awesome).

So but yes, none of my other songs were on Brian's computer, so why would a song not even on my radar persevere?

On top of THAT, that hard drive (? I think? Something bad happened.) crashed, and I lost everything. Bad, because...well, that's bad, but good, because Javier was able to basically build me a new computer thanks to his *connections* and technical savvy! Which also meant that the kibosh was finally put on my mysterious Bloodhound virus.

But I lost everything. Imagine my SURPRISE then, when just now, I'm fiddling around with my Windows Media Player. It seemed lonely, and now I realize that it was trying to tell me something.

I go to the drop-down list just out of curiosity to see if maybe I got some free music, since I don't know how to use iTunes without erasing my iPod and really it's a wonder that I don't fall down or burn myself even more often than I normally do, 'cause functioning in life is like a broken second language to me.

But so guess what was there! The ONLY TRACK! "Like Humans Do" by David Byrne.

!!!!!!!

Which means that this apartment is particulary hardcore. As you all know, I've been haunted before. But never twice in the same apartment, unless you count the omnipresence of Jolene the Ubiquitous Ladybug of Oneonta, but that wasn't really haunt-y so much as cute relief from the horror of life.

I think maybe what's going on is that this apartment doesn't want to let me go. As further proof, I was totally going to take a shower like two hours ago, but kept procrastinating and am now writing a blog. But I have to get going! I have to move on Wednesday! Good grief!

But WHY does the apartment not want to let me go? Because awwww, I anthropromorphize enough without thinking that my pretty purple walls will be sad when I leave.

Or perhaps, what's going on is a mystery that I was meant to solve! I mean, this IS the apartment where I watched "Veronica Mars." Maybe the apartment had high hopes for my sleuth skills, and though I let it down by having "Gilmore Girls" on a permanent loop, not to mention that day I just watched monkey movies with Javier, it realizes that this is its last hope to get my attention.

But what is the mystery! Is it like that book I loved when I was younger, I can't remember the name and Google and I aren't friends anymore, so I don't know the exact title, but it was about a girl named Darcy who solved a murder mystery because the people who were murdered acted it out in her dollhouse. AWESOME.

So the bottom line is, that I don't even know how I'm going to manage to pack and move all my stuff by next week, and now on top of it, I might have to solve a murder? I don't even have a dollhouse! (Sadly.)

Wish me luck.





©2007