Yesterday morning this lady came to my tiny Brooklyn apartment to shoot some pix for an upcoming spread in the Washington Post. I woke up exhausted and puffy due to a miserable weekend of preg-related body stuff (I'll spare you). I spent like an hour doing my hair and make-up but only managed to look passable. And all my decent clothes are of course unwearable due to the massive growth in my midsection. All I have are these little poofy maternity blouses that basically scream "goodbye hotness, hello lactation!"
Throughout the shoot I kept trying to look severe and wolfish, like "yeah I know there's a baby growing in me but my plays will EAT YOUR SOUL." But she kept making me smile. "Big smile, that's it, bright eyes..." At some point I said rather timidly, "should we try for, I dunno, something a little um darker?" She was like, "No... You have a nice smile, let's stick with that."
And of course I encouraged her to take some tightly framed head and shoulder shots so I can maybe use the photos again, lest the world think I am perpetually knocked up... but the belly seemed to be a delightful addition to the photo shoot, so I'm pretty sure that's out.
Afterwards I perused her website and found this:
I'm like, come ON. Winehouse gets to give Badass-Face but not Callaghan? Sure, I'm not hitting the pipe on Youtube or beating my husband with a two-by-four in a drunken row... but just because my body may have temporarily lost its edges doesn't mean my work has... so let's get CRUNK, mofo!
That's what I should have said. Rather than slathering on more lipgloss and giggling like a Fraggle.
HOWEVER. If I were someone looking at a photo of me perched on the edge of a bathtub with that carnivorous glare AND an enormous pregnant belly, I would probably be a little frightened for the child. No one wants so see that. We want our future-mothers to be glowing, open vessels, ready to nurture the world. Right?
Ah well. At least I didn't barf on her light meter. Although that woulda been kinda badass-ish... right?
Anyone?
Hi. Go read this. Then let's talk about it. Isn't that how people start shit?
Related... we're gonna try cloth diapers. We read this horrifying statistic about how plastic diapers comprise two percent of all landfills. Even the Seventh Generation disposables take 300 fucking years to bio-degrade.
We're also trying to get in on this summer vegetable exchange in our neighborhood, where we pick up deliveries from local farms. We currently get boxes of veggies from Urban Organics, but I'm pretty sure those bananas they give us each week weren't grown upstate.
We're awesome. We are FUCKING AWESOME. We're gonna save the goddamn planet. We're burning a bonfire of all our bad habits, people... come get high on the fumes of our righteousness.
Seriously? I have no idea how to talk about this stuff. I can't even bring it up with my closest friends, some of whom have admitted they would rather live with the low-grade guilt of their choices than deal with the inconvenience of green alternatives. So how does one discuss this without sounding/being sanctimonious or assholey? Is posting a thoughtful article on one's blog enough? (No.)
Man, suddenly everything feels dire to me. Probably because I'm reading this. Don't read it if you are easily terrified... it'll mess with your (my) head.
I can think of at least six things off the top of my head that are terribly terribly wrong with this toy. You can too, I'll bet.
My immediate thoughts:
- How long can a child play with a slutty horse before the inevitable occurs? And which doll will be the victim of this assault? (My money is on Cool Shavin' Ken.)
- What could that horse POSSIBLY be carrying in its purse except hay and shit? (Oh, and mascara, I suppose.)
- How is that horse even carrying that purse?!!
- Do we really need another example of how Paris Hilton has oozed her way into our collective unconscious?
- Is the blatant sexualization of farm animals back in vogue? And why?
- HIGH HEELS?
- What could that horse POSSIBLY be carrying in its purse except hay and shit? (Oh, and mascara, I suppose.)
Feel free to add to the list... though I'd wager it's about infinite.
If she were a better singer, do you think we'd notice the drummer less? Or do you think he wouldn't feel the need to overcompensate?
At any rate, why didn't he share his stash with the rest of the band?
Selfish little munchkin.
(Minute three is the glory zone, BTW...)
