Oh Faramir, What Have They Done to You?

Finally saw The Two Towers with hublet today, and enjoyed it very much for the most part, changes and all. I'm not a total book purist when it comes to Tolkein, and I think the changes Jackson's made in the story are defensible, except for this one--WHY did they tamper with Faramir's character? In the books, Faramir brings Sam and Frodo to Ithilien, realizes what Frodo carries, and then just lets them go. There's no weird detour to Gondor, Faramir's actions show him to be Boromir's foil so that you get more understanding of both characters, and most importantly, Faramir demonstrates that he should be the rightful heir of Gondor, because he is able to resist the ring like Aragorn.

Yes, the movie Faramir comes around in the end and does the right thing, but the change in the WAY in which he does so seems to weaken the character. And I can't figure out why they would make that change--it's not necessary to demonstrate that men are weak, and we'll be seeing Minas Tirith in Gondor a lot in the next film, so I'm just left scratching my head at the whole thing. Weirdness. Guess I'd better re-read the book before my second viewing. Yes, I am that geeky. And on the plus side, I love what they did with Gollum.

Off a-travellin' this weekend, so probably no posts 'till Sunday or Monday.

Men Are Evil, and Other Lies My Mother Never Told Me

Because she wasn't a freaking idiot. From the always excellent Critical Mass, this illustration of the politics and profitability of sexual harrassment cases. It's about an elementary school, fer cryin' out loud! When I was in elementary school, we had "kiss dares" that today would probably result in suspension due to the creation of a "hostile environment." Oh wait--let me correct that statement--it would result in the males' suspension. Did I mention that the girls were the ones doing the kissing back in my misspent youth? Yeah, well, I guess we hadn't been told that we should be hapless victims by the militant feminist industrial complex yet.

Here's the thing--we insist on sexualizing increasingly younger and younger generations of girls (just go to any department store and TRY to find a shirt that actually covers your six-year-old daughter's navel), we saturate the media and airwaves with sexual images, and when children see and imitate the actions that these images portray, suddenly it's sexual harrassment and somehow all the fault of men.

I get the sad, sinking feeling that I'm gonna be a bit of a pariah in my neighborhood school system, because I'll be damned if they're going to tell my son that he is evil or weak or too "male" to know better simply by virtue of the testosterone in his veins.

I Just Want Some Pants. Is That So Hard to Understand?
Warning: The following post contains gratuitous overuse of the word "ass." Read or skip accordingly.

Would someone please tell me when the women of America took a vote and decided that what we really needed to be taken seriously and to empower ourselves in the workplace was turbo-slut wear? 'Cause I must have missed that vote, and I'm more than a little annoyed about it. See, I just want some new pants. Preferably some nice, khaki-type pants, suitable for work or a casual outing. And I'd really like for those pants to actually cover my ass. I didn't think that requirement was optional, you know, for PANTS, but then I've been a little distracted lately, so that's why I'm thinking I missed the great Ass Covering Referendum of 2002.

There can be no other explanation for the fact that every pair of pants I recently tried on clung firmly to my hips, regardless of how I tried to make the waistband match my waist. Okay, let's get a couple of things straight: I am neither ancient nor obese, but I am a mom, and not interested in reliving my college years through sportswear. Nor am I interested in perfoming an impromptu impersonation of a plumber every time I bend, sit, twist, move, or breathe. And while I do appreciate the occasional cool breeze on my face and other normally exposed body parts--my posterior is neither accustomed to nor eager to feel mother nature's breath. I have never been, am not now, nor will I ever be a fashionista. So please, manufacturers of clothing, keep me in mind when you're making pants. They don't have to be fancy, they just have to perform one essential function--keep the elements away from my ass. Thanks so much. Sincerely, Big Arm Woman.

And while I'm at it, can I just mention this to our well-meaning yet ultimately deluded by Cosmopolitan Magazine co-eds? I do not ever want to see your ass. Okay? Do we have that? Why do you insist on showing it to me? I have no interest in your super-cute thong underwear. Frankly, I can't see how you wear those things, because they chafe an area that should never be chafed. Ever. And do not accuse me of being prudish or out-of-touch. This is your ASS we're talking about, not Michaelangelo's David. Come to think of it, I wouldn't want to see him doing plumber chic, either. Plus, you don't have to look at your ass. I do. You are forcing your ass on me, and frankly, it's rude, because your ass? Is not all it's cracked up to be.

As an aside, just because low riders come in a size 26 doesn't mean you should purchase and wear them in a size 26. If you purchased those low riders in a size larger than eight, you need to turn around and go home right now. Don't tell me not to look at your ass, because it's taking up the entire horizon. There is no avoiding the ass that is yours, that is hanging out, that is mocking me with its crackitude. I hate your ass. Really.

I'm also not interested in your cute little belly shirts. One in ten human beings has the body for these shirts, and the entire 10% lives in CA or NY and is employed as a model. I promise. Ditto for the lace-up front jeans, the ripped-and-held-together-with-big-safety pins jeans, the jeans with splits down the side from knee to ankle, and just about any other too-tight, too small, see-through item of apparel that you can purchase at 5-7-9 or Razzle Dazzle or any other cheap trendoid place of sartorial doom.

How are normally intelligent, active young women being deluded into purchasing glorified hooker wear that allows no movement whatsoever? There is no bending in this clothing, lest you pop a seam. Likewise, no running, sitting, or breathing hard. God forbid you sneeze-passerby will have to hand you your bra and panties while averting their eyes and dialing 911 for the fire department to come dislodge your pants from the treetops.

Listen to me. Just because you CAN be half-naked, doesn't mean you should be. This crap is not fashion-forward, it's France's revenge for no longer being a superpower. Don't give in. Give pants a chance.