Twat's in a name?

The Triboro Bridge in NYC has been re-named the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge.

I think this is a beautiful thing: RFK was a great man who was taken from us too soon.

Whilst recently driving over the newly-minted RFK bridge in a cab, I couldn't help but attempt to think of roads or bridges or anything public or federally funded with a woman's name on it in either city I have lived in (or anywhere in the country). I came up empty.*

Dan Ryan. Kennedy. Eisenhower. Richard Nixon was an asshole and a crook and still gets his own library.

FDR. Stevenson. Lincoln Tunnel. Sheridan Road. O'Hare. LaGuardia. JFK. The George Washington Bridge.

The words are so ingrained in our vernacular, we forget they are actually in honor of a person.

Even honorary streets I've seen are solely men's: Mike Ditka Way. Jerome Robbins Way. Leonard Bernstein Way. Bob Fosse Way.

These men are clearly all deserving of their streets and bridges and tunnels and Ways and dysfunctional airports. I'm just curious when we'll be able to drive on a woman.

The most I can come up with is a rest stop on the Jersey Turnpike bearing Susan B. Anthony's name. (For the record, the one with Alexander J. Hamilton's name I find equally disturbing and insulting: something about naming a place where you stop to piss after someone of honor just doesn't seem right to me. I digress.)

We had the Susan B. Anthony silver dollar issued in 1979; no one seemed to like that so we switched over to the ever-popular Sacajawea gold dollar. Sacajawea, the woman who allegedly led Lewis and Clark to the Pacific Ocean, actually was just along for the ride with her husband who was hired as an interpreter. But according to all the explorer's diaries, she maintained a helpful, uncomplaining attitude in the face of hardship. YAY! :)

And NO ONE likes or USES the coin dollar. It baffles cashiers and is oft mistaken for a quarter. They are heavy, a burden and the only time we get them is when we get change at the Post Office or at the MTA.

The whole gesture also seems like a big "whoops/sorry" to the Native Americans for raping and pillaging them. Which has nothing to do with women.

SO. Who's it gonna be?

Sarah Palin Boulevard?

Hillary Clinton Freeway?

I was queasy at 6:30 AM today (or maybe I was waiting for Santa) and sipped a coke while watching MSNBC. Apparently at 6:30 AM they have some show called MODELS NYC. (Who knew?)

The whole thing is sort of stupid, but in their attempt to keep it like a news show, they noted that women models make 50% more than men models on an equivalent shoot.

Well. It's about time.

So basically the only trade where women are paid more than men (that I can think of) is apparently modeling. And probably hookerdom, though I don't want to know.

So this says to me that the only place where women are valued and have the upper hand is in their beauty.

What also was interesting to note during my 6:30 am queasefest is that Rachel Maddow, who was just awarded her own show (yay!) on MSNBC, if you blur your eyes, kind of looks like a man. Like my eyes were blurry while watching this ad today and she looked like a darker-haired Keith Olberman. Ew.

Rachel Maddow is very attractive (and extremely smart), but, to be frank, because of her sexual orientation, she is not a threat to men. She can play ball because she suits up like the boys. Ms. Maddow's show is a huge victory according to the National Center for Women in the Media. And I would agree.

Still, I dare a news network to hire a feminine-looking woman to host a political show.

The thing that apparently gives women the upper hand in American life is not allowed into the political arena because it is simply too threatening.

And when we do get our chance, it's somewhat ignored or insignificant.

Katie Couric's Sarah Palin interview is more remembered for Sarah Palin's idiocy than for Katie Couric's abilities.

CNN did let Soledad O'Brien talk during the 2008 election. Her responsibilities were limited, however. She was a veritable anchorwoman.

Or, worse, it's called out:




During this recent financial upheaval, I've been watching CNBC, which, interestingly enough, has a lot of women on their network. And they're all really attractive. A woman named Contessa gets her own show. She gets to be badass and beautiful and brilliant. Four of the eight talking heads they have screaming at each other are women and they are treated with respect. It's sort of mind-blowing and refreshing, actually.

Could it be that women are more financially adept? Could it be that women are a little more savvy? Trustworthy? Would Bernie Madoff be Bernie Madoff if he were Bernice?

But if we want to get a street named after us, however, we must succeed in the political (or military) arena.

The only female military personnel to make it to the news that I've heard of was WINNER Lynndie England who made Iraqi prisoners diddle themselves for the camera and Jessica Lynch, the P.O.W. who, apparently, was merely used as a prop in the Bush Administration's Iraq-is-Going-Well Propaganda.

The only women allowed to be attractive on political television are smack-talking republicans.
Maybe they're doing something right.

Who knows? One day we might be taking a right on Ann Coulter Way.

Vomit.







(*If someone reading this knows of a street or public locale named after a woman, please comment! I would love to be proven wrong!)

My dad used to tell me a(n often told) story about a clown shoveling shit after the circus.

A guy walks up to the clown and says, "Why do you do it?" to which the clown responds, "What, and give up showbusiness?"

I oft think of this story when I am doing shitty jobs in the theatre.

I turned on the TV last week to watch my friend, who is a Rockette, perform on the on the Today Show. (I'm sure I have a problem with the sexist nature of the Rockettes but I can't take on everyone right now.)

While waiting to see my friend, I stumbled upon the idiotic (4th) hour of the Today Show.

It's clearly targeted to women who aren't working and can't talk about anything intelligible or intelligent.

It's hosted by Kathie Lee and Hoda Kotb, (a woman whose name I did not know until now after I googled her so I could write this blog). Hoda seemed very sharp and articulate.

Kathie Lee was a hot mess, but that goes without saying.

They did, however, bring on an accomplished (black, though it doesn't affect this story) woman doctor, Dr. Jennifer H. Mieres, who is the head of cardiology at NYU and the spokesperson for the Go Red Movement for Awareness of Women's Heart Disease. She was talking about how to identify heart disease early in women. She told the story of a woman whose doctor misdiagnosed her and spoke about the things to do to prevent this from happening.

And then Kathie Lee complimented her on her shoes and socks, calling her "One sexy doctor."



Why do we do these things? Why must we undercut ourselves when we're doing well?

It's not just women; men can be simple as well, certainly. I once dated a guy who knew every Chicago Bears play from 1985-1998. Useless.

But if women say smart things, can't we just let it be?

Yes, Michelle Obama dresses fierce. But she's also brilliant. Can't we listen to her talk instead of talking about what she looks like?

I think we need to shift the dialogue, ladies. Re-prioritize if we are to progress.

Back to Hoda. So apparently she started out as a Dateline correspondent and before that, worked for CBS in Cairo, Egypt.

But today on Today, Hoda is going to get a bird-poo facial.

That's right. Shit on her face.





I turned off the TV, discouraged.

IS THAT ALL THERE IS?

Flash forward to today--I'm getting a ghetto manicure/pedicure and I think I recognize a woman about to get a massage. I recognize the voice. It's Hoda.

I have to ask.

"I have to ask, are you on the Today Show?"

"Yes."

"Ok, because I think I saw you getting a bird-poo facial?"

"Ugh yes, that was me."

"How'd that work out for you?"

"I don't know, I took it off five seconds later."

"Yeah, I was gagging."

"They were saying it was from some fancy bird--"

"Right, some Japanese bird--"

"But basically it's piegon poo. It costs like $500.00"




What, and give up journalism?

We Shall Overcome, Betches.

I just had a rehearsal during which a lovely nebbishy pianist told me I am like the Gloria Steinem of the theatre. Because I have a million things going on and 1001 projects to do. And I'm probably on my way to go meet with Hillary Clinton.

He doesn't read this blog, so I wasn't sure what he meant.

He was paying me a compliment.

Perhaps he was: the way to make shit happen is to go out and do something. I'm a woman making shit happen and so are they. I am proud to be put in a sentence with them.

I have recently become a believer: we have put a black man in the White House; one day there will come a day when I'll just be called a Director.

But until then, I'll take the Hill and Gloria similes.

Don't be a Dumbass

I want to take a minute to talk about stupidity.

I don't discuss politics on this blog, purposely, and I fear I'm toeing the line, but here goes.

So this guy, Scott Eckern, who is a devout Mormon, just was forced to resign from being Executive Director of California Music Theatre/Sacramento Music Circus. He gave $1,000 to support Proposition 8 in California. This was put on public record, and he has been Found Out.

He says he didn't know.

I don't have a lot of money, but if I were to donate $1,000 to a cause, I might find out what it is.

So he is being attacked based on the presumption that that he did know, which he sort of revealed, ish, when he said it was a personal and religious matter. Which it is.

And now there's a witch hunt and I think he has become the focus of a lot of (justified) anger about the Proposition being passed. This deluge of anger might be slightly misplaced, but maybe not.

Regardless, if you work in the industry with lotsa gays, you might want to think about how it's going to look when you support a measure that has been considered harmful to those you employ. It was a bad political move for him, and now he is suffering the consequences.

Equally disturbing to me is the fact that he hits on women incessantly at his theatre, but no one's writing those letters. (I am only able to call this out now because another group took him down.)

I digress.

I'm learning that men are very silly, and I wonder if Scott Eckern didn't even notice the gays. I wonder if he just looked at the ladies ta tas and ignored all the flaming queens belting Dreamgirls in the dressing room.

He is one of those, with a ring on the finger and a twinkle in his eye...straight men, tolerant or not, just don't seem to be that interested in gay sex.

There are like 5 straight men in the theatre (and now there are 4) so this evidence is purely anecdotal.

I would venture to say that Scott Eckern lost his job because he is just another horny man.

Open your eyes. Stop looking at our tits. There's a world around you.

Jesus. Titty-Fucking. Christ.

(and Joseph Smith, too.)

Jazz Hands.

People.

Hello people.

I am sick but have been beckoned to write.

When I was 12, I was asked to write a review of the movie Curly Sue for my middle school newspaper. I went to a pre-screening at Deerbrook Mall and took a notepad. I was all excited.

I wrote the review on my IBM and printed it out on the paper with the perforated holes on the side you have to pull off. I turned it in.

Months later (this wasn't the most timely of publications) some douchebag 8th grader comes in my 6th grade homeroom looking for me. He told me my work had been plagiarized and that it wouldn't be in the school paper.

I was sort of shocked then and when I think on't now, which I recently did, I am appalled.

Was it REALLY that good?

Maybe it was: I'm a good writer and I ended up being the editor-in-chief of my High School paper, yada yada; I write this blog and you're reading it, etc.

Ok, so I was a good f'in writer, even at 12. And there I was being told I was doing something worthy of suspension, were it on an actual class assignment.

They never showed me the review from which I had allegedly "stolen" my material. This was pre-internet--I tried digging through the Tribune myself to find it but to no avail.

I have become a director as a grown up; it makes sense to me that I might have had a critical eye as a kid.

(Godforbid that should have been encouraged.)

Was it cause I was a young girl? What if I had been a young boy? Who knows? I do recall learning in Psych class that there was a study that showed teachers respond to boys with a "yes, and," and that girls get a one-word response. But this, rather, was a two-word response:

"Step off."

I was reminded of this now because I'm getting a lot of: "Who the fuck are you?"

I think it's because I am short and yes, say it with me, that I'm a woman.

So the next time you see a 5'2" cute jewess or gentile or black or white or asian or latina, don't doubt her abilities.

Assume greatness and deduce from there.

Thanks. :)

Love & The City.

Now there's a show I'd watch.

Crack Whore

I think that if chiropractors owned who they were they wouldn't get so much crap from the medical community.

I'm sitting there, today, getting cracked and adjusted and manipulated and handled by a guy who calls himself "Doctor," and I'm like, this guy isn't a "Doctor." He doesn't even play one on T.V.

But chiropractic is the most effective treatment I've had for my ailing joints and muscles.

Dude, you're not a doctor: you didn't cut open a cadaver, you didn't do a residency, you haven't watched someone die. You crack me and make me feel better. So why not just call it out? You're taking on the name of a very serious profession that requires years and years of training and expertise and they, rightfully so, aren't thrilled about it.

And furthermore, don't try to tell people that what real doctors do is wrong and that Western Medicine is evil--just do your thing. I get these hippie-dippy emails in my inbox from a chiropractor about how medicine is bad and pills are bad and run from MDs because they will eat your children.

Please.

Call yourself an "Alignment Specialist," or a "Pain Management Technician."

I leave and I feel eight inches taller, my legs don't feel like they are in my armpits and my shoulders are lower. It's a beautiful thing.

It's a good lesson, I thought, to own who you are. Because you might actually be better than what you are trying to be.

Dot my Tees and Cross my Eyes

I have found that I am attracted to good punctuation.

This is weird, considering it's, well, particular.

I am in contact with a writer (on one of the internet dating situations) at the moment, and I find his good punctuation attractive.

I had noted in my JDate profile years ago that I was looking for someone who "knew the proper use of the semi-colon."

An adviser heard that and said, "Well, there was a man in a small village in India who knew that when the fish swam in shallow water, the Tsunami [of 2004] was coming and he got his entire village to the top of the mountain and every one of them survived. I bet he doesn't know the proper usage of a semi-colon."

And I heard what she said. And since then I have been trying to challenge my own notions of what "intelligence" is: that it can present itself different ways and sizes and shapes. Which, of course, it can.

But these emails from this writer have sort of gotten to me, and I'm revisiting why I like it. Perhaps it's because it shows attention to detail, a particular sort of gesture that says "I am specific!" Perhaps it's because it's a sign of intelligence, a sign of being well-bred, a sign that someone can, yes, I'm going to say it, provide for me in the sense that He will be a source of intelligence and wisdom (to complement my own, of course.)

I have revisited the notion that good punctuation is not a sufficient condition for attraction, but (as my father would say) a necessary one.

And I don't live in a small village. So screw that.

Thanks But No Thanks

I'd like to note that when I changed my Facebook status back to "Single" (nothing had changed in my life; I just felt like putting it out there) I get pay-per-click ads on my page about weight loss.

I don't get them when "I'm in a Relationship" or my status isn't noted.

Therefore, by the transitive property, some advertising genius has deduced that Single=Fat.

Bless America.

GAY, Dear

So I'm sitting in a Starbucks, attempting to get work done but am interrupted by the irritation of an engaged couple talking to what is most likely their priest or minister. "I want a location where you can see the Hudson," she swoons. "My mother and I have a love/hate relationship," she blabs. "My dad is 90% Italian, his [indicating her fiance] name is more Italian than mine but I'm ACTUALLY more Italian."

This was amusing to them.

I thought, what a great match, both equally bland, and they've found one another.

Except I look up and he's clearly gay. I know it. They're on their way out and I want to shout: "HE'S GAY."

But who am I to destroy their marital bliss?

A friend I know got married to a man on whom she cheated, repeatedly. I reluctantly went to the wedding and during it, wanted to SCREAM: "RUN. SHE HAS CHEATED ON YOU ALREADY."

Now they're in couples therapy two years in and, well, she's cheated again.

He knows about it, apparently.

Again, who am I? Maybe people LIKE having gay husbands. Maybe weak people LIKE having a wife who cheats. Maybe it keeps things interesting.

Maybe I'm the one who's boring.

Get a Room

I got angry, as I am wont to do when I feel helpless, at the National Museum of Women in the Arts, a very sad, small museum in Washington, D.C.

The walls are bare, basically, when you enter, save a few effortful paintings sparsely placed. The main exhibition hall felt ripe for a luncheon. (There was plenty of room.)

Upstairs there was an exhibit on the modern female artist that basically was porn. There was vagina everywhere. And it wasn’t even artistic vagina. It was just vagina.

A woman took photos of herself from all angles, naked, tracking herself losing 10 pounds. Lots of pornographic photos in glass cases. A sculpture about childbirth by a German artist of a lance violently piercing through, well, a vagina.

Eh.

If our only way to create as women artists is to respond to the way we are being treated as women, does that merely propagate the struggle? Can't we just be artists?

(They couldn't have put up Julie Taymor's gender-unspecific Lion King puppets?)

I angrily scribbled on a comment sheet on the way out: “How are we to progress when all you show us is porn????” and signed it “a female artist from New York.”

Perhaps I caught the museum on a slow day, but I fear this is not so.

Virgina Woolf says a female writer or artist needs a “Room of One’s Own” and a financial sponsor with unlimited funds if she is to make her mark. The reason this museum is so pathetic, she would argue, is because women have been given the role of having babies and get distracted, naturally, by the patter of feet and the sound of small children running about our homes.

We may have lost a female Picasso to breastfeeding; we may have missed out on another Shakespeare to chamber pot training.

Our artistic history is slim because we have been given a full-time job by nature.

In her essay, Ms. Woolf sites passages where Jane Austen and other female writers who did get on the map actually got interrupted, distracted from their work. It’s quite remarkable. You can see it in their writing.

Therefore, if we are to succeed, we need a Room to Ourselves.

Twyla Tharp had a barn in upstate NY. Susan Stroman built a studio in her apartment. I have the dance studio at Equinox, a gift basically granted to me by my generous parents. But then again, the walls are windowed and I get leered at when I bust a move. So that doesn't really count.

I am guessing that Ms. Woolf's implications are that men don't need this Room because they already have it. We need to overcome our places as the "childbearing ones" and as the "weaker sex." We need an extra boost.

I have left New York for a month to come to the suburbs of Chicago to give myself a Room. I have started a theatre company where I will be creating the theatre of my dreams. And I am fortunate enough to have this Room.

Still working on the endless funds.

you can't always get what you Want

It has been brought to my attention that, based on my last blog, I expect too much of people.

This is probably true.

But then, I wouldn't be me. :)

At the Phoenix airport...

The fiancé has a garnet ring on her finger, is reading a wedding magazine and the guy next to her has eyed me. Twice.

I didn't even look that hot.

How does this all work?

Olga, the incredibly skilled aesthetician and entrepreneur who waxes my eyebrows told me: "Always keep men guessing. No matter what age. When you become loyal they become bored."

Had garnet fiancé already become loyal? Had she left a maxi-pad face-up in the garbage?

How does the romance end?

I get it: men like to look.

I wouldn't want my fiancé looking at someone else.

Women are seeking the very thing men despise, according to Olga. And yet we are expected to join in harmony, for

ever

and

ever.

That's not intelligent design; that's just cruel.

Little Miss Bossy

I find it interesting to note that women, when in charge, are referred to as "bossy." When a man is in charge, he's "The Boss."

I've never heard of a "bossy man."

I'm a director in theatre and I have started my own company. To that, some guy on match.com responded: "I bet it's really hot when you get all bossy."

Our language is slanted so that when women defy our roles as submissive or lovely and passive and become leaders, we are a problem.

I'd like to change that.

Just call me "Boss."

No need to make it an adjective. :)