Defs, Maybs? The Turning Point of Election 2008.

Consider the following seemingly unrelated events:

1.) Ryan Reynolds' new rom-com Definitely, Maybe opens on February 14th and is an instant box office hit.

2.) This past Tuesday, Obama unexpectedly sweeps primaries in Wisconsin and Hawaii by broad margins in nearly every voter category.

UM DUH.

Screw rhetoric, Ryan Reynolds is Obama's best weapon yet.


Enter: naive young Wisconsinite, bright-eyed, fresh out of college, and brimming with early '90's-style excitement to move to the Big Apple and work for the Clinton campaign.

"Bill Clinton will save the world!" he assures himself as he takes one last longing look at the Midwestern landscape he is never to visit again. "Besides," he adds, "I hear girls in New York give KILLAH rim jobs."



The movie is set up as Reynolds reminiscing his boy-meets-world-and- various-vaginas-along-the-way story to his not even 10-yr old daughter, who insists on knowing the source of her cynical Dad's sadness and how he fell in love with her Mom. He begins to tell her the story of all his sexual exploits of yore, changing the names of the players so his daughter can try to guess who her Mom is in the story. It brought back fond memories of when my Dad had "the talk" with me-- handing me a hardcover version of What's Happening To My Body and laying me down for a non-fiction bedtime story/game about "all the fine ladies who gave your Dad Blow-Js when he was younger" and I had to figure out which slut was Mommy. I finally discovered Mom's alias after a particularly detailed narrative and excitedly shrieked, "That one's her! That's her!" Dad smiled, patting my head, "You're so smart! How did you figure it out?" "Because," I responded, "that's the same way Mom sucks her sugar-free fudgesicles!"

In the forthcoming sequel, Definitely: OH YES OH YES, Reynolds teaches his young daughter to masturbate, like the Swiss do!

Anyhow.

As Reynolds relates more and more of his descent from the bright, eager boy he was in the early '90s to the loveless bitter person he is today, it becomes increasingly clear that there is only one party is to blame for his unhappy life: The Clintons.



As the Clinton years march forward, Reynold's love life spirals downward perfectly in line with Bill's love life. By the end of the Lewinski scandal, Reynolds is bloated and lonely on the couch, after several women have left him. His illusions of love and life are shattered and he's throwing his leftover Chinese takeout at his former idol who's on TV insisting "I did not have sexual relations with that woman."

When Reynolds meets up with his old campaign friends for his 30th birthday party, drunk and depressed he shouts: "I would never vote for him again!"

For a full 90 minutes, the movie is basically nudging the audience with its elbow, jeering, "Remember that guys? Remember how bad the Clinton years became? DO YOU REALLY WANT THAT AGAIN? Isn't it just painful to rewatch?

More importantly: DO YOU WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR RYAN REYNOLD'S UNHAPPINESS?!!! DO YOU REALLY THINK HE SHOULD BE TELLING HIS DAUGHTER ABOUT HIS PAST SEXCAPADES? LOOK WHAT CLINTON TURNED HIM INTO- A PARENTAL NIGHTMARE!!!

Moreover, when the retelling of his story prompts Reynolds to go out and find the girl he still loves after all these years in a sweeping grand romantic gesture, the object of his affections is his one non-Clinton supporting past flame: the girl who, through all of the '90s, bitched about marriage and the patriarchy, and screamed that Clinton was no better than any other political schmuck.

And that girl was:



(Definitely....okay, Maybe.)

Obama/Reynolds 2008?

Great Moments in Patriarchy.

When I was a hot young thing of six, I used to take baths. Naked.... Fully naked.

If you don't remember, "baths" took place in showers, only you could sit on the floor because there weren't battling colonies of chlamydia and SARS fighting VIRAL WORLD WAR XVII under the no-slip mat. Somehow getting married and living in a house in the suburbs keeps the tub as pristine as a wedding day virgin. It's, like, the power of love or the Sam's Club quantities of bleach readily available. Whichever.

Often I took these "sitting showers" with my sister. (Interesting tidbit: Sitting Showers is my official hippie moniker). We were both naked during these sessions.

Fully Naked.

(Sorry, I am trying to attract more "hits". Since Jessica Alba got pregnant I've lost my core audience of readers coming to my blog from a "Jessica Alba, perfect vagina ratio" Google search, which I find to be a troubling sign of the patriarchy. I'm sure her vagina is still a wonderland, dudes. PREGNANCY IS NOT THE END OF A SEXUAL BEING, okay?)

As my Mom gingerly washed our pre-nubile limbs she would sing to us, as moms are apt to do, especially moms with terrible singing voices like ours. We had a song for almost everything. Brushing teeth was enjoyed to the tune of "Brush ur teeth! Sh Sh ShShShhhhh" (use your imagination for the musical qualities). We also all had personalized bedtime lullabies. Mine was "Pretty Little Lauren, Meow, Meow, Meow" which taught me to paw like a sexy cat so I could get started with my plot of sexual- world-domination-resulting-in-matriarchal-rule, just as soon as my breasts grew in nicely.

In the bath, my Mom sang the song based on the 1921 movie The Sheik as she sudsed our hair and instructed us to close our eyes. The Sheik, of course, was one of the great feminist silent films of the early twentieth century. A feisty, independent Englishwoman goes galavanting through the Arabian desert, much to the consternation of her male English peers, only to be kidnapped by a Sheik and made his sex slave. The white dudes are all like "Well, she durn deserved dit!" and the once feisty, now besotted Englishwoman is apparently so taken with her rapist's arabian serpent that she falls madly in love with him. This is a rom-com, my friends. Pretty much like Knocked Up.

The song went as follows (also with chords, if you want to learn to play it like I am right now!):

I'm the sheik of Ar - a - by;

Am7 D9 Am7 D7 G Bm7 Am7 D7
Your love be - longs to me.

Bm7 Edim Bm7-5 Am7 D7
At night when you're a - sleep,

Am7 D9 Am7 Cdim G Fdim Am7 D7
In - to your tent I'll creep.

G6 Bm7-5 Edim Cdim Am7 D7
The stars that shine a - bove

Am7 D7 C7 B7
Will light our way to love;

E7 Fdim E7 A7 Em7 A7
You'll rule this world with me,

Em7 Am7 D9 Am7 Cdim G
The sheik of Ar - a - by.


During the "into your bed, I'll creepy, creepy, creep" line Mom would run her hands up and down our stomachs, tickling us and making us erupt into fits of giggles. Rape insinuations are so fun! Please hire me to write a Modern Love column--"What The Sheik Taught Me About Orgasming."

I don't blame mothers, because that is retarded, but I will admit that it took awhile to shed myself of my Sheik-based notions of love, that is, the idea that I should fall in love with anything that puts a dick inside me. Now I just fall in love with anything that goes inside me with my consent, not excluding gynos, abortion vacuums, tampons, and various dildos. It's the endorphins, duh.

But for other women who escaped being Sheikified at an early age, there is hope for you. I offer this video from The Son of The Sheik, the 1926 sequel, as a lesson of what to watch out for. Notice the "I'm Going To Rape You" eyebrow expression. Also, be aware that you should never put yourself in the situation where you are in a silent film, because you CAN'T SAY "NO" IN A SILENT FILM, and the courts will fuck you over on that.

On Getting Stuff Done

"I told myself I can't poop until I finish this sentence."- SarGo.

Yes, pleases.

Right now if I had a choice between Obama winning the primary and our nation's leading scientists designing mint chocolate chip ice cream that would burn more calories than a 4 mile run when you consume it, I would choose the ice cream probably. I'm just trying to be honest here.

But if it was a choice between Obama winning, and a scientifically designed mint chocolate chip ice cream that was like, 30 calories per serving, I would choose Obama. Hands down.

Sunday Night Poetry

Fuck the SuperBowl,
Why is no one on Scrabulous--
Fuck that Brady dude, I do not like his looks,
Answer the phone Dad, I have a tax question,
Fuck the Super Bowl,
I guess I will rent the Dragon Wars,
which is dubbed "D-Wars"
which sounds like a YouTube porno wherein dicks are made to look
like dragons,
then they fight each other,
and maybe blow "fire",
I wish I were watching that,
Fuck the Super Bowl,
though I would like some chicken wings.
Is it possible to still be drunk from last night?
Don't answer, just fuck the Super Bowl,
my roommate is making brussel sprouts,
please play your effing turn in Scrabulous.

Things I Learned From The Romanian Abortion Movie At The IFC

1.) The Eastern bloc can suck my tittay.

2.) Abortion should be legal!

3.) The senior discount at the IFC during the day is superb. The old lady behind us in line, when she heard our tickets cost $11.50, exclaimed loudly "I could buy a lobster in Flushing for that much!"

4.) Abortion should be legal!

5.)A five-month old fetus kind of looks like a Cherry Sour Patch Kid.

6.) Sociopathic men often manifest their psychosis through misogynist power plays (i.e. the abortion doctor screaming "Fucking bitch, I will eat you for dinner!" before performing the procedure).

7.) A boyfriend in a white-washed denim ensemble, though kind-hearted and merely misaligned fashion-wise, will never really understand reproductive rights.