Archive for the pop culture Category


Posted in pop culture, social commentary, writing with tags , , , , , , on April 15, 2010 by kimmy

Here’s to the ladies who’ve got them.  I’m not talking about the stick-thin wafers slumping down the runways in Milan, but the proudly curvaceous who swing them with abandon.  Who wants to hear the disingenuous complaints of the underweight as they struggle to squeeze into size two jeans?  What a yawn.

Must we all look like a 12-year old geeks?  Was junior high so traumatic that we can’t leave it behind?  I don’t know about you, but asexuality holds no special appeal for me.  I’m no more interested in the hairless boy icons of Twilight than the faux sexuality of Victoria’s Secret models.  It’s doubtful Lili St. Cyr would have made the V.S. cut though she was the most popular lingerie model of the 1950s.  Then again her main employer, Frederick’s of Hollywood, never concealed what it was truly selling.

There’s something dangerously sexy and powerful about a set of unapologetic hips.  Not the sliced-down, photoshopped Demi Moore hips that beg the viewer to turn away from their real purpose, but the round, in-your-face, contrary-to-your-obnoxious-linear-thinking pair that challenge your belief system.  If they weren’t a threat, then why all the effort to reshape them?   There’s not enough Spanx in the world to compress them all. 

These are HIPS, people… childbearing and bootylicious, not scrawny Boy Scout shanks.  They are the cradle of life, the comfy lap, the orgasmic ground zero from which all movement springs.  And if you don’t believe that they can propel the inert, then you’ve never seen Shakira set hers loose on stage.  There might be scores of people, if not all on occasion, who lie… but these don’t.

It’s an odd phenomenon, but as women pulled away from shirtwaist mentality and embraced feminism in the 1970s, they dumped all vestiges of outward femininity.  Bras, girdles, corsets, stockings, slips, dresses and heels all given the heave-ho in an effort to not only catch up with men in the workplace, but to look like them, too.  Women in figure-enhancing clothing were considered counter-revolutionary, subject to party purge and sent off to labor camps… also known as home, where they toiled as housewives and mothers.   The choice to become a stay-at-home mom was considered inferior since natural processes paid nothing and couldn’t be performed by men.  Sad really that equal rights became less about equality than vilifying the female archetype.

Who said women were without power?  Religious authority?  It’s preposterous.  Women are and always have been equal to men; it’s only the unsure who quote doctrine to justify their action.  Or cower behind prejudice because they are terrified of being partnered with an equal.

Equality doesn’t necessarily mean homogenization.  What a boring world it would be if everyone looked and behaved the same.  Women are not built like men and isn’t that marvelous?  Despite the continuing effort of fashionistas, nature hasn’t caved and altered genetic predisposition.  But then… there are some things which even the dogged can’t change.

Consider the catsuit.  Designed to accentuate dips and curves, would it hold the same appeal if Adam West was wearing it in lieu of his cowl?  What about burlesque?  Tim Curry might have looked bi-scrumptious as Frankenfurter, but his best Jane Russell efforts were no match for the original.

Not that we have to reach into the dim past to find icons.  Beyoncé, Jessica Biel, Jennifer Lopez and Kim Kardashian all sport some seriously powerful motors that even personal trainers can’t whittle down.  Why should they?  A beautiful ass is always an asset.

Tired of those catcalls, girls?  Do you cringe whenever someone refers to your bottom as fat?  Sick of shopping in the junior department and finding nothing but preadolescent diapers?  Count yourself lucky.  You’re on top of the evolutionary pile.  Go ahead and take a seat, preferably atop all those whiny little bitches who can’t hold up their jeans without a belt.  Let them snicker; it’s the only way they can hold back the tears.



Posted in pop culture, social commentary, writing with tags , , , , , , , , on December 28, 2008 by kimmy

Critics love The Wrestler.  Why wouldn’t they?  They love to see actors humilated, then begging professional forgiveness by immersing themselves in the most punishing roles.  It makes them feel vindicated for their early, but misplaced praise.  Critics hate to be proved wrong.

Oh, how they watched in despair as Mickey torpedoed his career by choosing silly films and running off to do something else for a living.  What’s really amazing isn’t that he chose to be an athlete, but that his decision mystified everyone.  Is the entertainment world so obsessed with its own importance that it cannot imagine something outside itself?

Now that he’s safely back in the fold, presumably humbled by his detour into real life, it’s fashionable to laud his work.  What?  Were they concerned that the foray into plebian activities would rob him of his ability?  I guess they forgot he was the same man who convinced Kim Basinger to put on a blindfold.

Okay, he got a little carried away with the plastic surgery… but who doesn’t in that town?   It’s the people who decline to freeze or chop up their faces who are in the minority.  Besides, it didn’t stop him from stealing Sin City out from under Clive Owen and Bruce Willis.   Who cared about those two when Marv was on a one-man rampage to avenge the death of the beautiful and compassionate Goldie?

Why should we mourn the body of work he might have produced?  The work right now is superb… made even more believable and poignant by his courage to walk away and come back without false modesty.


Posted in pop culture, rants, social commentary, writing with tags , , , , on November 2, 2008 by kimmy

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the insufferable Gwyneth Paltrow -pictured here with fellow attention-seeker and ersatz yogini Madonna- announces the ultimate cure for mediocrity. 

Sadly it does NOT include her plans to retire from film.  Instead she has launched a stunningly self-congratulatory blog,,  brimming with vague Heloise-esque tips for living a proper life.  “My life is good because I am not passive about it,” she scolds, admonishing the indolent reader.  “Don’t be lazy.” 

Alas, what can the unwashed masses do but hang their bovine heads in shame?  We have nothing to show for our miserable efforts.  Not many of us boast Oscar statuettes, trim thighs, and chic bi-coastal lives.  

Now we can relax, because GP has come to share the wealth of her vast experience.  By ingesting these nuggets of wisdom, we will live richer, ‘more nourished’ lives, lives which prior to her second coming were devoid of worth. 

It’s easy to become deluded in Hollywood.  Even more so when the starlet in question has led a life of extreme privilege and nepotism.  Her life, without question, has been charmed.  But it is not the result of hard work and determination, but of luxury and preferential treatment.  To claim otherwise is simply pandering to the reader.

It may come as as unpleasant suprise to Ms. P, but most adults are rational and know perfectly well how to manage their own lives.  They also resent being lectured, especially if the mouth in question is a snivelling elitist who spends 3 hours a day in the gym. 

It’s a pity that she doesn’t spend an equal amount of time working on her head.


Posted in musings, pop culture, social commentary, women, writing with tags , , , , , on October 9, 2008 by kimmy

It’s not the deep thinker who’s featured on the cover of Maxim.  I doubt Bella Abzug was ever photographed wearing a corset and push-up bra.  And even though countless actresses, entertainers and debutantes whine about their political causes and despair of being taken seriously, they rarely make a public appearance, whether it’s a Starbucks run or premiere, without displaying the ‘girls’ to their best advantage.

Not that I really blame them; what can a gal do?  It’s not the inside of our heads that turns heads.  Just today I listened as a friend complained about her obnoxious sister-in-law, a shrill uneducated harpy who spends her time emasculating her husband and sulking.  Yet despite these conditions, her husband remains devoted.  The story made me wonder….What could make a man lose his reason and become enslaved to a woman clearly his inferior?  Could it be… the tits?

It’s not so farfetched an explanation.  Where can one go where tits are not?  A monastery?  Newspapers, television, maga and webzines all feature some starlet du jour with an impressive rack.   Cup sizes often become more familiar than names.  Is it really important to actually know their names anyway?  Their tits always enter a room before they do; perhaps we should acquaint ourselves with their projections first.

Not long ago, sizeable tits were unfashionable.  Sleek perky tits that bounced under halter tops and sweaters were desirable.  Knockers that required support were old school. Women were admonished with the warning that unless the trusty pencil, slipped under a boob, hit the floor within 10 seconds they could no longer be seen in public unless both tits were safely encased in grandma’s torpedo bra.

Lucky for today’s rack enthusiast, that old wives tale has been forgotten or at least ignored by the stacked.  The aerodynamic qualities of the breast lend themselves well to both social climbing and career building.  And the cost of a boob job is significantly lower than obtaining an MBA in finance, something to consider now that the dow has slumped to all-time lows.

So, congratulations to the ambitious and well-endowed!  The loss of common reason is your gain, ladies!   Enjoy the ride while you can because there will come a day when even surgery can’t lift your tits out of your shoes.


Posted in pop culture, social commentary, women, writing with tags , , , on August 6, 2008 by kimmy


Is it just me, or am I seeing triple?
Cate Blanchett, Nicole Kidman and Naomi Watts, three Australian actresses earnestly channeling their inner Brigitte Bardot.  If they weren’t all in a rush to declare undying friendship, I’d suspect that there is more than a healthy rivalry between the lot.
Observe the Battle of the Icy Fashionistas, each one more glamorous, more severe, more impossibly skinny than the next.  With each red carpet stroll, the three inch closer to the stylist’s vision of gender neutral.
Even in retro hairstyles, they Marcel en masse.  Cate feigns indifference as Nicole becomes increasingly blonde and Naomi struggles to keep up.   It’s not an easy feat yielding to the stylist’s blade as it slices and dices character into homogenized bits.



And why use gestation as an excuse to become fat and unrecognizable?  Surely not these fashion-forward Moms!  Black might be slimming, but it’s still the number one color choice for the stylish celeb who cannot abide the thought of capri pants and oversized t-shirts.  Swollen ankles and stretch marks?  They’re only for the plebs who can’t afford spin classes and live-in doulas.


Posted in events, musings, personal, pop culture, public confessional, social commentary, writing with tags , , , , , on June 15, 2008 by kimmy

No, I’m not referring to the gaffe during the Greece v. Russia game this afternoon. I’ll leave the post-mortem to the hand-wringers and bloggers in Europe who must be either dead drunk by now or texting congratulations to each other.  Isn’t it just like the inept to take pleasure in the mistakes of their betters?  

But I digress.  Tonight, I’ll leave my knife in the drawer because I’m not complaining about Saturday’s dismal performance.  In fact, the game didn’t interest me at all.  It was so lackluster that I fell asleep a few times.  But what troubles me is the cruel blow that Nikopolidis dealt me today.

Martina, my BFF in Germany, posted a series of pictures showing said goalkeeper in action and I suddenly realized that the cornfed men of my sturdy Midwestern world would no longer suffice.  I cannot live with the predictability of the blue collar man or the vulgar pretensions of the white.  I am ruined.

And Antonios is to blame for my misery.   Before the revelation,  I was resigned to mediocrity.  My world was narrow and expectations limited.   Who has time to dream anyway; the pressures of life suffocate them.  But now it’s too late.  I’ve started dreaming and plotting and envisioning, and I can’t seem to stop!  It won’t be long before I bust out of my cell…

What’s to become of me?  I can feel that question bubbling up like a canker sore, the last vestiges of the Calumet mindset nagging at me.  Doesn’t life have to be laid out like a grid before you, each step carefully constructed and every contingency preplanned?  What if the sky should fall in?  Shouldn’t plenty of worry and anxiety be factored in?  There’s nothing like despairing over a future that will never be realized to make you feel like a true Midwesterner.

Everything has changed now.  Nikopolidis broke my heart from its confines and I don’t know where it’s headed.  But for the first time in my life, I don’t care.