Sunday, March 04, 2007
Thursday, March 01, 2007
The Almighty Idiot Box
Last night I found myself watching the premier of “America’s Next Top Model” (hey, I get 5 channels…that was the best option). I watched one hour of the two hour premier, and found myself absolutely disgusted. First of all, because, and I say this in the nicest way possible, these were not attractive women at all. And I mean body image aside, I’m just talking about their faces. Not attractive. Not even a little cute. Maybe one or two of them out of the twenty or thirty girls I could consider beautiful, but I really expected that a national television show which auditioned thousands of girls across the country would have more impressive results.
But on top of that, not one of them seemed to have any redeeming personality qualities. Granted, I only got to know them for one hour, but I was audibly groaning and scoffing in disgust at the tv. I am of the belief that even the most unattractive people become gorgeous by having a beautiful personality, and vice versa, the most stunning women become utterly repellent with nasty personalities. And even though I tried to give them this benefit of the doubt, there was beauty neither inside nor out.
And as they strutted around in their I-have-bigger-handkerchiefs-than-that bikinis, very few body structures could I find appealing, most entirely too skinny to be attractive at all, and keep in mind the camera adds ten pounds!
And yet, something inside my feminine brain still looked at my own body and part of me compared myself to them, and I didn’t measure up. Despite my conscious and audible disgust, some automatic part of me still coveted this “beauty”. And admittedly, I worked just a little harder during my workout this morning. WHY?? How does this make any sense at all?? It doesn’t. And yet it’s there, and it exists.
No matter how content and secure a woman can be with her body image, we live in a world that worships the almighty idiot-box, and with that we allow the media gods to hand us our ten commandments that we should live by. Thou shall be beautiful to those who must look at you, and thy beauty is defined as zero fat, zero muscle, 5’10’’, and layers of makeup, hairspray, and padded bras. Thou shall make enough money. Thou shall be powerful. Thou shall be sexy and desirable.
Whatever that means.
But on top of that, not one of them seemed to have any redeeming personality qualities. Granted, I only got to know them for one hour, but I was audibly groaning and scoffing in disgust at the tv. I am of the belief that even the most unattractive people become gorgeous by having a beautiful personality, and vice versa, the most stunning women become utterly repellent with nasty personalities. And even though I tried to give them this benefit of the doubt, there was beauty neither inside nor out.
And as they strutted around in their I-have-bigger-handkerchiefs-than-that bikinis, very few body structures could I find appealing, most entirely too skinny to be attractive at all, and keep in mind the camera adds ten pounds!
And yet, something inside my feminine brain still looked at my own body and part of me compared myself to them, and I didn’t measure up. Despite my conscious and audible disgust, some automatic part of me still coveted this “beauty”. And admittedly, I worked just a little harder during my workout this morning. WHY?? How does this make any sense at all?? It doesn’t. And yet it’s there, and it exists.
No matter how content and secure a woman can be with her body image, we live in a world that worships the almighty idiot-box, and with that we allow the media gods to hand us our ten commandments that we should live by. Thou shall be beautiful to those who must look at you, and thy beauty is defined as zero fat, zero muscle, 5’10’’, and layers of makeup, hairspray, and padded bras. Thou shall make enough money. Thou shall be powerful. Thou shall be sexy and desirable.
Whatever that means.
Friday, February 23, 2007
You Can't Please Everybody
So it’s the evening after our annual C3 Conference, and my brain is still a little crispy, but I realized I have not updated my blog since before Valentines Day and as a result, some of you have been leading humorless and boring doldrums of lives, awaiting the dry sarcastic entertainment that is the Crys McDonald Show. Thus, I am inspired to share the following story.
My cat, Duncan, is spoiled with a capital S. He has more toys than any animal I know, and would never dream of doing something charitable like box up the ones he never plays with and donate them do the less fortunate starving cats living in Africa. But he is spoiled because I love him, and I want only the best for the fuzzy little hairball (who occasionally tries to suffocate me in my sleep by curling up on my face). So, this week I decided to purchase some of that wet cat food in a can for him. I have never fed him this kind of cat food before because I always see the commercials of the pure white fuzzy himalayan eating it out of a wine glass on a red velvet pillow, and even I refuse to go to such lengths of spoilage. But, I recently read an article about how wet cat food is actually healthier than dry kibbles (I even looked for the organic brand, but no luck), so I bought three cans of varying flavors to bring home to his royal highness.
Tonight, it was no surprise that his majesty was at my feet within microseconds of the sound of a can opener. I put down this new tasty treat next to his dry kibbles, and Duncan immediately starting chowing down. Surprised he didn’t turn up his finicky nose at the cuisine, I left him to his dinner. A few minutes later, I came back to see if he ate his scrumptious snack.
Turns out he licked off all the juice and left the food.
This is my cat, ladies and gentlemen.
My cat, Duncan, is spoiled with a capital S. He has more toys than any animal I know, and would never dream of doing something charitable like box up the ones he never plays with and donate them do the less fortunate starving cats living in Africa. But he is spoiled because I love him, and I want only the best for the fuzzy little hairball (who occasionally tries to suffocate me in my sleep by curling up on my face). So, this week I decided to purchase some of that wet cat food in a can for him. I have never fed him this kind of cat food before because I always see the commercials of the pure white fuzzy himalayan eating it out of a wine glass on a red velvet pillow, and even I refuse to go to such lengths of spoilage. But, I recently read an article about how wet cat food is actually healthier than dry kibbles (I even looked for the organic brand, but no luck), so I bought three cans of varying flavors to bring home to his royal highness.
Tonight, it was no surprise that his majesty was at my feet within microseconds of the sound of a can opener. I put down this new tasty treat next to his dry kibbles, and Duncan immediately starting chowing down. Surprised he didn’t turn up his finicky nose at the cuisine, I left him to his dinner. A few minutes later, I came back to see if he ate his scrumptious snack.
Turns out he licked off all the juice and left the food.
This is my cat, ladies and gentlemen.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Solo Valentine
So I realized that next week will mark my fourth non-date valentine's day in a row. Now, any normal female spending this particular evening with only the tv and her cat might start to ask themselves if they are giving off some kind of male-repellant vibe, or if are they not attractive, or maybe what is wrong with them, or for the very confident, what is wrong with men that they don't notice said woman's fabulousness? Now I'm not going to say those questions haven't worked their way into my own head every now and then, I'm only human. But perhaps the quiz I took below entitled "What Does Your Candy Heart Say" might have a more self-affirming explanation for my dry spell?
| Your Candy Heart Says "Get Real" |
 You're a bit of a cynic when it comes to love. You don't lose your head, and hardly anyone penetrates your heart. Your ideal Valentine's Day date: is all about the person you're seeing Your flirting style: honest and even slightly sarcastic What turns you off: romantic expectations and "greeting card" holidays Why you're hot: you don't just play hard to get - you are hard to get |
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
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