Well, that was refreshing. Tiring, but ultimately refreshing. The lake is still there, as are the potholes. The drivers, I’m sorry to say, are not accustomed to seeing cyclists at this time of year. It made me wonder if I were run over and killed, if some cheesy local reporter would write, “Ironically, among her last words were a blog posting saying that she intended to ride her bicycle in the unseasonable January warmth.”
Sometimes it’s helpful to think like a journalist. Thinking of your life as a series of embarrassing headlines keeps you from doing many stupid things: MOM NABBED FOR SKINNY DIPPING, say.
So there was this giant butt in this morning’s newspaper. Go ahead, click the link and find the picture — I’ll wait. Back now? (Ha! Back now? I crack myself up.) That is, indeed, a very big, round, badunkadunk. Honestly? I think anyone given that particular serving of the genetic soup should treat it the way this girl is — proudly. I mean, it’s not like it’s something you can hide. And she does have a tiny little waist, eh?
I guess it goes without saying the woman is black. African American women have, I’ve notice, approximately 78 percent less anxiety over how fat they are at any given moment, for which I credit a famously curve-approving culture. (I mean, look at the list of big-butt songs with that story; do any of them say, “You’re a big fat butt-havin’ pig”? No.) If not fat-approving, certainly not fat-phobic.
I’d like to have that badunkadunk. For about a day. I wonder what it’s like to sit on — would it feel all cushiony? Any longer than 24 hours, though, I fear I’d start making mistakes, like knocking over endcap displays in grocery stores if I turned too fast. I’m sure you’d need a special operator’s license.
Enough of that.
I really was going to write about Mrs. Alito’s tears. Not the fact that she had some, which is unremarkable, really, but the reaction to them. There was some particular guffawing from one side and some really dishonest tut-tutting from the other. I mean: Really, REALLY dishonest. To read some of this crap — and I can’t even link to it, because it’s such …OK, here and here will show you a representative pair…requires you to turn off your brain. Totally. You have to forget that these are the folks who can’t stop talking about Hillary Clinton’s dykey lack of femininity and how about that Donna Shalala woof woof and of course there’s this by Kate O’Beirne:
I have long thought that if high-school boys had invited homely girls to the prom we might have been spared the feminist movement.
Note to everyone: When you talk like this, guess what, you don’t get to flutter your fan and get the vapors when people make fun of your nominee’s wife for crying at a public hearing where, heaven knows, no one ever says anything mean.
Is it Thursday already? It is. Have a good weekend.