I know the title of this post seems a direct contradiction to the last one. Not so, oh sweet morsels of the Interwebs. Not so.
There is a difference between consentual and mutually pleasurable interaction between people and just all-out objectification. But I feel like I should explain that post seperately. And I will. So, keep looking.
But in an attempt to avoid doing homework for just a little longer, I will post here a few ideas I have for fun, inexpensive and often satirical date ideas. These work between friends, or if you have a sweetheart. They're just fun ways for a dynamic twosome of any kind to spend an evening.
1. The Archie Comics Date
Wardrobe: Poodle skirts, letterman jackets, white t-shirts, penny loafers, horn-rimmed glasses.
Procedure:
Person one picks up person two in their car. If possible, shake hands with parents.
Go to drive in. Share one milkshake with two straws.
Catch a cute romantic comedy in the theatres. Both enjoy it without irony.
Person one takes person two home before curfew is up. Kiss optional.
2. The Worst Date Ever
Wardrobe: jeans, hoodies. Underwear not required.
Procedure:
Meet at corner store. Get slushies. Sit down on the curb outside the store until you finish them.
Go to the video rental place and take out the worst movie for a date ever. Suggestions are: Hot Tub Time Machine, Superman IV, It, and Harold and Kumar go to White Castle.
Swing by McDonalds, grab some nasty food.
Go home and watch the movie while eating nasty food. Coitus is proposed by asking, "Wanna doink?"
NOTE: This date should only happen between people who actually really like each other and are doing it for funsies.
3. The Closet Classy Date
Wardrobe: That old grad dress or suit you haven't worn since, well, grad. One or both parties gets all made up as well.
Set up a picnic blanket and some candles in the bedroom, on the floor.
Cook (or order in if you're kitchenphobic) a really schmanzy dinner. Get pretentious and ingredient-snobby about it.
Serve and eat it in your bedroom picnicing spot. Gaze at each other lovingly in the candlelight.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
I am not yours
I am not your pretty place to be, to see, even to understand,
Because seriously, I am nowhere to be.
Look at me!
The ears, the nose, eyes, lips ripped from bites and cheekbones displaying a past that isn't mine
What was outside of the suitcase on the way from Ukraine, Poland
England, France.
This face is constructed. I see you cut and paste, put my head on someone else's body,
put my face on your pillow.
Put my clothes on the seat of your car.
I see you!
I am not your little thing to hold,
Not precious, don't polish me.
I bite.
I wear the skirt, the hat, the stockings and the lace because I want to know how I'll feel in them.
And let's be honest, because at some point, it looked great in Vogue.
I am not your doll to poke at,
so, don't brush my hair, change my clothes, twist my head away from my body.
Don't tell me what you want me to be. Because I'll only make you unhappy.
Don't tell me I'm too short, too pale, too fat, too muscle, too bone, too woman, too smart, too funny, too quiet, too much or not enough.
Who are you?
I am not your piece of art.
I wear the warpaint of my own tribe, my mother's and grandmother's,
of my little sister and my girlfriends, of my own sense.
If I put too much eyeliner on, I'm not telling you to touch me.
I am not telling you to buy me something, to call me a new name, to guess what colour underwear I'm wearing, and I'm not asking you to parcel me up and take me home.
I'm just saying I like to wear eyeliner.
I am not yours.
I am who I give to.
I am who I take from.
You're just like me: cut and paste, pan up, pan down,
close up on the one in the middle who happens to be staring.
You're the heaviness I get every day, you're the world that is so real it hurts, and the world I hurt myself with.
You're not one man.
You're not one woman, not just one person.
What I know is that I am not yours.
Because seriously, I am nowhere to be.
Look at me!
The ears, the nose, eyes, lips ripped from bites and cheekbones displaying a past that isn't mine
What was outside of the suitcase on the way from Ukraine, Poland
England, France.
This face is constructed. I see you cut and paste, put my head on someone else's body,
put my face on your pillow.
Put my clothes on the seat of your car.
I see you!
I am not your little thing to hold,
Not precious, don't polish me.
I bite.
I wear the skirt, the hat, the stockings and the lace because I want to know how I'll feel in them.
And let's be honest, because at some point, it looked great in Vogue.
I am not your doll to poke at,
so, don't brush my hair, change my clothes, twist my head away from my body.
Don't tell me what you want me to be. Because I'll only make you unhappy.
Don't tell me I'm too short, too pale, too fat, too muscle, too bone, too woman, too smart, too funny, too quiet, too much or not enough.
Who are you?
I am not your piece of art.
I wear the warpaint of my own tribe, my mother's and grandmother's,
of my little sister and my girlfriends, of my own sense.
If I put too much eyeliner on, I'm not telling you to touch me.
I am not telling you to buy me something, to call me a new name, to guess what colour underwear I'm wearing, and I'm not asking you to parcel me up and take me home.
I'm just saying I like to wear eyeliner.
I am not yours.
I am who I give to.
I am who I take from.
You're just like me: cut and paste, pan up, pan down,
close up on the one in the middle who happens to be staring.
You're the heaviness I get every day, you're the world that is so real it hurts, and the world I hurt myself with.
You're not one man.
You're not one woman, not just one person.
What I know is that I am not yours.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
From a Relic
If we had been an ancient thing,
I expect we could have looked back,
been beautiful in our retrospective way of thinking.
Antiquated, made into sepia.
Appreciated from a long way off,
something so uncomplicated,
a place to be yearned for,
when you learn to miss what you never had.
Good old days.
Our age would have been struck in bronze,
hammered out in the way we knew.
A love letter to anthropology.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been an ancient thing,
a grainy image burned on paper
by light that has long since died,
pressed like leaves between the pages of a book,
we would be relics, permanent.
Gracing the walls of our generation,
first laid into soft graves,
now made hard by the treads of the younger.
Good old days.
Our faces would have made people look twice,
a postcard to our greatest grandchildren.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been an ancient thing,
I know we would be so curious
of the child and their childhood,
the first steps into the world, kicked over
by the inevitability of ageing.
Appreciated from a long way off,
something so uncomplicated,
a place untouched by knowing.
Good old days.
When we knew the world worked one way,
but never the other.
Our games and rhymes are told by you now.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been some ancient thing,
I think we would have thought longer,
much longer about how it would all fall away.
Antiquated, made into sepia.
Our statues tarnished by the filth we could not know,
our buildings broken by wars we did not see.
We became a place to be yearned for,
a gentle past without these complications.
Good old days.
Leaving our world, our spaces,
and falling into our own plots of earth,
then falling further,
into the real innocence, the place of no connection,
leaving to you, only our remains,
to do with what you will;
our present lives
to become your impermanent past.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
I expect we could have looked back,
been beautiful in our retrospective way of thinking.
Antiquated, made into sepia.
Appreciated from a long way off,
something so uncomplicated,
a place to be yearned for,
when you learn to miss what you never had.
Good old days.
Our age would have been struck in bronze,
hammered out in the way we knew.
A love letter to anthropology.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been an ancient thing,
a grainy image burned on paper
by light that has long since died,
pressed like leaves between the pages of a book,
we would be relics, permanent.
Gracing the walls of our generation,
first laid into soft graves,
now made hard by the treads of the younger.
Good old days.
Our faces would have made people look twice,
a postcard to our greatest grandchildren.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been an ancient thing,
I know we would be so curious
of the child and their childhood,
the first steps into the world, kicked over
by the inevitability of ageing.
Appreciated from a long way off,
something so uncomplicated,
a place untouched by knowing.
Good old days.
When we knew the world worked one way,
but never the other.
Our games and rhymes are told by you now.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been some ancient thing,
I think we would have thought longer,
much longer about how it would all fall away.
Antiquated, made into sepia.
Our statues tarnished by the filth we could not know,
our buildings broken by wars we did not see.
We became a place to be yearned for,
a gentle past without these complications.
Good old days.
Leaving our world, our spaces,
and falling into our own plots of earth,
then falling further,
into the real innocence, the place of no connection,
leaving to you, only our remains,
to do with what you will;
our present lives
to become your impermanent past.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
Sunday, October 3, 2010
FML Hot Chocolate
So, if life is getting ya down,
and you don't want to leave the house ...
make this and feel better.
2 tablespoons cocoa
1/3 cup milk or light cream, heated
2/3 cup hot water
1 tablespoon sugar
pinch of chili powder (optional)
In a mug, mix up the sugar, cocoa and a just a little water to make a paste. Pour in the milk and mix until combined. Add the rest of the water, and you are done. Life's a little sweeter now.
And yes, chili powder thing TOTALLY stolen from Chocolat.
and you don't want to leave the house ...
make this and feel better.
2 tablespoons cocoa
1/3 cup milk or light cream, heated
2/3 cup hot water
1 tablespoon sugar
pinch of chili powder (optional)
In a mug, mix up the sugar, cocoa and a just a little water to make a paste. Pour in the milk and mix until combined. Add the rest of the water, and you are done. Life's a little sweeter now.
And yes, chili powder thing TOTALLY stolen from Chocolat.
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