gender isn’t everything. it also isn’t nothing. which is what our haste to say it isn’t everything tends to imply.
immediately we downgrade it. in trying to make it less important we make it unimportant. so that, to discuss the experience of being a woman, i have to admit that being a woman isn’t the whole of my experience, and yet establish that experience as being valid enough to warrant discussion so that you won’t dismiss me for wanting to discuss it, whilst also making it seem like i don’t think it’s everything to such an extent that you won’t want to read what i’m about to write because (1) you think it doesn’t apply to you or (2) you hate my tone.
to lure you in as a reader, as a writer i must strongly scent this conversation with notes ofque sera sera and c‘est la vie.
i’ve written before about paperdolls. about how they are sometimes so haunting and we should all be using them to teach history because their pathos seems a particularly useful pedological tool. but i’m realizing i’ve not thought enough about dolls more generally. because, you guys, DOLLS… they really capture something about the human condition, no?
now i’mma do this real quick, ya’ll. because you know we have been here before so rumors about people’s sex lives are pretty much old hat to us, non?
today: ET and MR. conveniently, both 5′ 2″ (ish) [though do not quote me on that because i’m going on memory. this is a factoid i have not looked up. ET may have been 5’1″… or was that princess margaret? never mind. JASON PRIESTLY IS 5′!!!! see this is what happens when i write a blog post after 6 p.m.]
i’ve been working with movie magazine for YEARS and, after awhile, one gets rather inoculated to the crazy. and so looking at this copy of july 1969’s TV star parade, i was initially like, ooooh, everyone looks sort of like stained glass, and was prepared to leave it there. BUT NO WAIT.
i read the daily mail on the regular because it’s pretty much where all gossip stories start. so i’m aware of the mail’s howshallwesay… COLOSSAL PROBLEMS. but every now and again, there’s an especially egregiously awful article for which britney is required to express the resulting spectrum of emotions.