It speaks to me on a profoundly deep and meaningful level.
Archives For Cartoons
Now stop that, it’s not that kind of blog post today.
There are many things I’m good at. I’m not too modest to admit it. In fact, I know I kick ass at a lot of stuff. There are, however, many things that I am not good at. I don’t mean things I just don’t do that well. I mean things that I really and truly suck at doing. Beyond the point of redemption.
For instance: I cannot draw. Seriously, even my stick figures are ridiculously, comically bad. Even if I were to take art classes for the next 10 years, I would never draw, paint, sculpt, or take photos beyond the level of a ham-handed 3-year-old. Clearly I was not genetically engineered to be an artist. I just don’t have the eye or the talent for it. And that’s okay. That’s why there are people like her and her and him, to name just a few shining examples.
I have the world’s worst poker face. Even Helen Keller could figure out exactly what I’m feeling and thinking. If I don’t like something, I can’t disguise it. It’s not just that I don’t want to disguise it—although that’s part of it—I really can’t disguise it. The expression on my face, my body language, and/or the tone of my voice will give me away every single time, no matter how hard I try to rein myself in. I may as well just have a visible thought balloon hovering over my head that says, “Fuck you.”
Most people I know can I do simple arithmetic in their head. I can’t. I’m very good at math in general, but I can’t calculate stuff unless I do it on paper. Want to see me look like a deer in the headlights? Ask me to figure out everyone’s share of the restaurant check without paper or a calculator. Mr. Weebles can add up all kinds of shit right off the top of his head, while I sit there like this:
I can’t whistle. Every once in a while I can but it’s usually by accident. I also can’t make cartoon popping noises with my mouth. I wish I could because I think those noises are funny. And I can’t roll my r’s, so I’ll never be able to speak any Romance language without sounding pathetically American. Mr. Weebles can do all of these things. He’s the ultimate triple threat, really.
I can’t open boxes and bags without destroying them. I try, I really do. I follow the perforations, I tear where it says “Tear here.” But invariably I end up mutilating the package and spraying the contents all over the room. This is usually followed by “MOTHERFUCKER WHY CAN’T I OPEN BOXES LIKE A PERSON?!?!?” You can always tell which boxes I’ve opened because they’re the ones that look like this:
So these, dear readers, are but a few of the many mad skillz I do not possess. Tell me, what do you suck at?
We saw The Dark Knight Rises this weekend. It was awesome.
After the movie Mr. Weebles and I talked about Catwoman. I was underwhelmed by Anne Hathaway’s performance but Mr. Weebles liked her. (There’s a shocker.)
Then we got to discussing “Catwoman” and “Cat Lady.” Both are used to describe females with a feline association, but they have very, very different connotations indeed.
Catwoman conjures up a certain image and attitude, whether she’s the original cartoon version, or whether she’s played by Eartha Kitt, Julie Newmar, Michelle Pfeiffer, Halle Berry, or Anne Hathaway. Catwoman is sexy, bad, sly, and very agile.
Cat Lady, on the other hand, is not what you’d call sexy. She likes cats so she can’t possibly be bad. She’s probably not very sly.
And if she’s agile, it’s only because she needs to be to avoid constantly tripping over Muffin, Babykins, Whiskers, Sir Floof, Mittens, Stripey McStriperson, Arianna Fluffington, Blacky, Chairman Meow, Buttons, and Mrs. Puff.
Should you find yourself in the unenviable position of not knowing whether a female of your acquaintance is Catwoman or Cat Lady, here is a quick guide for your reference:
Catwoman: Wears an exotic perfume, something like Shalimar or Opium.
Cat Lady: Wears a heady mix of catnip, Febreze, and tuna juice.
Catwoman: Her wardrobe has a lot of leather, rubber, and thigh-high boots with stiletto heels.
Cat Lady: Her wardrobe has a lot of bathrobes, sweats, and ratty slippers, all liberally covered in cat fur.
Catwoman: A wild animal in the bedroom.
Cat Lady: Has a lot of animals in her bedroom, but none of them wild. Except for that time Mittens thought Cat Lady’s vibrator was an intruder.
Catwoman: She’ll cut you and you’ll never even feel it.
Cat Lady: She’ll apologize profusely for the scratches inflicted by Buttons, he was just playing!
Catwoman: Speaks in a throaty, seductive growl.
Cat Lady: “Who’s a good baby? You are! Yes you are! Oh yes you are.”
This was inspired by Mooselicker, who mentioned both Dr. Seuss and Abraham Lincoln in a comment on my last post. It gave me the idea to rework the Gettysburg Address as a Dr. Seuss poem. I like to think Lincoln would have appreciated it. And the message is just as relevant today as it was in 1863.
‘Twas eighty and seven years past, so they say
That our founders created the US of A
With all of us equal! The Wuggles! The Fuzzins!
And even our naughty Confederate cousins!
Now there’s a war and it’s bad and it’s sad
But a time will soon come when we’ll all be quite glad
That our nation still stands and our country’s still here
And we’ll all drink a toast with a mug of Sneetch beer
These bravest of soldiers did not die for naught
We need a do-over to do what we ought
So let’s have no more of this Civil War folly
And remember our government’s purpose, by golly
Of people! By people! For people! Yes!
But right now this country’s one heckuva mess
I want for this country a sort of rebirth
So all these nice freedoms don’t perish from Earth.
The movie Brave premiered this weekend. And while I don’t have much interest in seeing this film, it has major significance to me: its main character, Princess Merida, is the first animated heroine with curly hair.
Look at all those wild, glorious curlicues! Do you have any idea how revolutionary this is? In all other animated films, the heroines have straight hair—maybe with a slight wave, but that’s it.
I, Madame Weebles, have curly hair much like Princess Merida’s (except not as long and not as orange). And I love it. But it took me a lonnnnnnggg time to get to this point. Like most other girls with curly hair, I wanted straight hair when I was growing up. As a child of the 70s, I was obsessed with Cher’s hair in particular:
I wanted that hair so badly. I was fascinated by how smooth and shiny it was. It was hypnotic. It was nothing like the frizzy, unruly mess sitting on my head. And despite the popularity of the perm during the 70s and 80s, there weren’t a lot of curly-haired celebrities to look up to. Look at who I had to choose from:
With role models with this, who needs enemies?
I spent many years fighting with my hair to make it straight. My weapons of choice were the hair dryer and chemical relaxers. But my curlicues never surrendered. They were masters of deceit and cunning, lying in wait. Before I left the house every morning, I’d do a final check to make sure my head was a curl-free zone. Then, a while later, without warning, SPROING!!!! One of those little bitches would pop up. Then another. And another. Until I looked like this:
Finally, I realized I had no choice but to wave the white flag. You win, curlicues. I can’t beat you. I laid down my hair dryer and made peace with them. I made offerings of conditioners and gels. Now my curls and I are BFFs.
I’m struck by the fact that there still aren’t a lot of curly girls out and about. Even now, with more diverse looks and ethnicities being embraced, you usually see women rocking the curly hair in movies and stuff only when it’s intended to convey a certain look—wild, exotic, sinister, whatever. Now sure, curly girls are good at causing all sorts of mayhem, but why limit us to that role?
That’s why I’m so glad Princess Merida and her Brave curlicues have debuted. Own it, sister!