Jenna Marbles is one of my greatest pleasures. My thoughts on Jenna Marbles are almost unequivocally positive. I started watching her channel when she posted “Some Idiot/How Sports Bras Work” about Yuksul Aytug’s truly idiotic comments about female Olympians and have watched every single main-channel video since then. Jenna Marbles is basically the highlight of my mid-week.
And I get that she says stuff that doesn’t seem particularly enlightened to leftists and feminists and people who are invested in social justice. She got reamed after making a video called “Things I Don’t Understand About Sluts,” and I totally agree with the objections to that video, but I don’t know. At the same time, I find it tremendously condescending when the feminist movement (as much as that’s a thing) singles out a woman for “internalized misogyny” and decides to tell her what she should be thinking, if she would just enlighten herself and get on their level. The same thing happened this week with Beyoncé’s 2014 retrospective video “Yours and Mine,” because she said that men and women balance each other out, and defined herself as a feminist and humanist in a way that many feminists and humanists believe is naïve (at best, and ignorant at worst). It’s a demand for female public figures to be perfect feminists — as majority feminism would have them be — straight out of the gate, and it gives no slack, leaves no room for growth, and turns women who are powerful, outspoken, self-possessed, and confident away from feminism. Just look at Amanda Palmer, who just last month decried a “radical, violent brand of feminism” that, let’s be honest, a lot of feminists who consider themselves (OK, ourselves) “moderate” have engaged in, in some capacity. Keep reading »
I don’t know what I expected to happen when a rubber band ball is sawed in half, but I certainly did not anticipate feeling a mixture of delight, fear and revulsion. Like, I am oddly terrified of, grossed out by and dying to touch whatever is happening on my screen right now. [IFL Science!]
I have a Shelf of Oddities (yes, I capitalize it in my head) that contains a toy bust of a Black Barbie, a miniature black Frank Kozik Gipper Bust, a School House Rock soundtrack, a vintage Franc, a chunk of pyrite, a bag of semi-precious rocks (mostly also pyrite), a paper knife, the rubber-band detritus of having performed Lygia Clark’s “Estruturas Vivas,” pieces of a broken sonic screwdriver toy that held someone’s weed before I scavenged it from their garbage, a six-sided die that has no 1 or 6 but two 2’s and two 3’s, a small vial of gallium (a metal that melts at extraordinarily low temperatures), a tungsten drill bit, dozens of pins that I had to take off of my backpack before I started traveling, and — here’s the important one — several pieces of multi-colored, multi-flavored hard candy that I took from Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ “Untitled (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)” and pocketed instead of eating, as theoretically one is intended to do.
“Portrait of Ross” is a pile of 176 pounds of a candy called Fruit Flashers that’s usually housed in the contemporary wing of the Art Institute of Chicago. It’s 176 pounds because that’s the weight Ross Laycock, Gonzalez-Torres’ partner, was when he was healthy, before they both got AIDS. It’s a metaphor for Ross’s body, and viewers are supposed to take a piece of candy — by so doing, the body deteriorates. Keep reading »
Meet Sara X, who has INSANE pec strength and can percuss her boobs to Mozart. As usual, I have questions:
What is this?
How is this even possible?
How much does each boob weigh? Keep reading »
Novel idea: if, for any reason or due to any twist of fate, one stumbles across a container labeled “Pandora’s box,” refrain from opening it. We all know what happened last time, right? There shouldn’t have to be a next time for something that, as legend goes, is responsible for giving us all of the world’s ills. Jason Airey, 37, fell unconscious and later died after opening — yeah, you guessed it — just that container. Keep reading »
Is it just me, or does the concept of an owl cafe not quite possess the same appeal as their predecessor, cat cafes? A bird of prey is not exactly my ideal coffee ‘n’ crumb cake companion … but as Japan would have it, “fukurou” cafes offering owl-themed food and drink are all the rage, with certain establishments even permitting patrons to pet the owls in residence. I’m interested in hearing what Amelia has to say about this. The owls are not what they seem. [Worst. Nightmare. No. That is all. -- Amelia] [via Refinery29] [Photo: Lonely Planet]