Stuffed Shirts and Pompous Windbags

There’s a nasty-looking little Chinese restaurant in the East Village with a handwritten sign in the window—a dirty window, too—that says ‘our chef is very famous in London.’ But not in New York, or anywhere else outside of London.”

Great line, and great concept from Claire Messud's The Emperor's Children. It's one I'm coming to relate to more as the weeks go on. I've observed that certain members of human society thrive on sharing with me ad nauseum the details of their accomplishments a few years back as if its somehow relevant to me or my casual aquaintance with them. Sorry dearie, if you don't have a curriculum vitae, your experience with 1994 is probably not overly interesting or worth basking in your own reflected glory over. You could go make a CV and I'd be happier to read it since it would take less time than hearing about it from you over and over and over. Please get over yourself, or better yet go do something besides hoping we will all be impressed by your achievements that stopped rather abruptly fifteen or so years ago.

You certainly don't care to hear about what I was doing in the nineties, but I'd like to tell you if I thought it would spark you to retire to a hole somewhere and leave me out of the boring details. It's something like the way women decorate their homes with wedding pictures and dried flowers until they are mostly replaced with baby pictures, and those are eventually mostly changed out for graduation pictures and pictures of grandkids. Only your wedding flowers have shed their petals all over the floor and you have yet to vacuum them up!

While you prattle on about how wonderful you were back then, and we sit there smiling and nodding and squirming inwardly at your boasting we sometimes wonder what your reaction would be if we took the competitive bait. We weren't sitting around waiting for you to show up back then, we were busy. I know I was. One particularly event filled year for you was the year I spent taking 21 credits, working full-time and a second job to boot. I was competing for a pageant title, perfecting my interview skills, and working out for a couple of hours a day. Oh yeah, I also had a boyfriend turned murderous sadistic stalker to hide from in the midst of my highly predictable and punctual schedule. In that same sememster, I aced my instrumental performance juries, and turned out some of my best creative work to date. That was also the year I was recognized by Up With People for my extensive volunteeer work in libraries and schools. I'm sure you never heard me mention that though, I've been somewhat engaged since then with other things.

In the real world, no one really puts Eagle Scout on their resume, they've done something better by now, and it certainly isn't dinner conversation unless its with your own little Scouter. But wait...I know, your chef was famous in 1994.

Vehicles of Patriarchy

High heels, I loathe you. Oh sure, you are pretty. You make my calves and booty look so voluptuous, yet you make my toes and arches ache and blister. Who decided that open toed sandals should be made of shiny leather which will rub, rub, rub the skin off my feet? You can't wear socks or hose with them, you can't even put on a bandaid for padding without it showing through. Who was that man, I'd like to punch him in the face. And you know it was a him. You know a woman would have considered toe friction and bunion avoidance. She also would have considered arch support and a surface to balance on wider than a pencil. She also would have considered that if your right leg is 1/32nd of an inch longer than your left, this manifests in incredible pressure on your right big-toe joint in high heels. The male designer of course, never got past the idea of calves and booties.

I can't get away with wearing my Columbia hiking shoes except on casual Fridays anymore, people are starting to talk. My flat oxfords don't cut it with summery skirts and capris, so I bought some lovely, bone colored open toed dress shoes for work. They were beautiful, feminine shoes that would have done Minnie Mouse proud. I envisioned the women at work saying "great shoes!" I thought about how I empowering it would be to be two inches taller. I put on the shoes and they felt decent at the store. When I got dressed this morning I realized that there was going to be some serious pain by the end of the day. By breaking out the bandaids I was able to spare my pinky toes. I thought the joint by my big toe would be OK, but as the day wore holes into my feet, I came to rue the day I found them on display at Shoe Pavillion.

Of course today was also one of those wild goose chase days at work. I couldn't just sit at my desk and slide the shoes off except for when I walk down the hall to the vending machines for bottled water. No, of course I had meetings outside the office. I had to walk up and down the stairs six times, carrying my 30 lb briefcase with me. Chivalry is dead, none of the office guys so much as glanced at my case let alone offered to carry it, but high heels survived the feminist movement to curse us into our graves. And of course, my meetings were no shows so I had to back and forth it up and down the stairs all day long. You can't walk quickly in them because its too painful. Walking slowly means more steps with the inane rubbing with each step. Hans Christian Anderson was prophetic of high heels when the Witch told the Little Mermaid her every step would feel like knives slicing her skin. I think she would have thought twice about becoming human had she realized it was not an exaggeration.

Some of my third-stage feminist friends claim makeup is a vehicle of patriarchy, a snare set by men to keep us subservient and superficial. No, I love Estee Lauder and Mary Kay. They have never prematurely aged me. They have protected me from melanoma and give me some color on days when I feel like the walking dead after a long night with a sick toddler. They let me experiment with a new look for a $14.95 tube of lipstick instead of $90 cut and highlights and they are completely reversible. Men of the metrosexual persuasion are even catching on to the benefits of tea-tree oil and concealer for the occasional unsightly blemish.

High heels however, have given me nothing back. They have sent me to the choiropractors office for an adjustment and a $120/hour sacro-cranial massage to relieve the headaches that travelled up my sciatic nerve to my skull. They slow me down to the pace of a tortoise forcing me to do my work twice as fast to make up the time. And when I walk in the door and I see my husbands eye travel up me from ankle to shoulder I kick the infernal things off in disgust. Not on your life after the day I've had with these blasted shoes. Please pass the ibuprofen, and honey, next time you catch me glance at the spring shoe display at Macy's please steer me toward Sephora instead. You'll thank me later, I promise.

I Vote for Plan B

Scientists at Johns-Hopkins University have developed a genetically modified mosquito that is better able to survive than mosquitoes in the wild. The plan is to release the mutant mosquitoes who are hardier and through natural selection, they will eventually take over and other mosquitoes will die out. They believe this is a good idea, because the genetically modified mosquitoes are immune to malaria.

I'll tell you the problem with the scientific power that you're using here: it didn't require any discipline to attain it. You read what others had done and you took the next step. You didn't earn the knowledge for yourselves, so you don't take any responsibility for it.
-Dr. Ian Malcolm, Jurassic Park

While 300 million people contract malaria each year, and 1 million die from it, this could potentially avert the malaria problem. Except that the malaria the genetically superior mosquitoes do not spread is a form that makes mice sick, but not people.

Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should.
-Dr. Ian Malcolm Jurassic Park.

Does anyone really think its a fabulous idea to release genetically mutated super-bugs into the environment? I don't know of anyone who personally enjoys being bitten by mosquitoes, having mosquito bites, or being infected with encephalitis or West Nile virus. Malaria is one of our concerns, but malaria in people, not in rats!

It's almost as if they think that having more mosquitoes will make things better. I've never had mosquitoes take all my blood before, I suspect the population of Africa (where Malaria is most rampant) could supply more blood to the mosquito population than they are currently. So is the idea that with only half the mosquitoes now spreading disease, we will feel better about that-and somehow not notice we are getting twice as many mosquito bites? (I don't think that reduces the odds of contracting Malaria much.)

What is so great about discovery? It is a violent, penetrative act that scars what it explores. What you call discovery, I call the rape of the natural world.
-Dr. Ian Malcolm, Jurassic Park

Um-kay, maybe rape is a little extreme, but there has to be a better solution than the introduction of genetically engineered micro-vampires into the food chain. It's only a matter of time before the little devils mutate to become invincible, organize and take over the world-right after we all die of some undiscovered prion that the genetically modified mosquitoes do carry, but the scientists did not notice when they concocted their little scheme.

Enter Plan B: Scientists at Hebrew University have annihilated their mosquito population by spraying a sugar based pesticide on acacia trees. Female mosquitoes need blood to reproduce, but they need sugar for energy. Mosquitoes are picky about what they eat, so its been discovered that we can selectively spray only the flowers and plants they find attractive-not the ones that are part of our food supply.

Call me crazy, but the idea of a mosquito-less world is very appealing to me. No more choosing between wearing eau deu Deep Woods and dying of West Nile Virus...no more paying $150 every three months on Canine Advantix for my dogs.

I don't think the John's Hopkins research has gone to waste, maybe they could generalize their research to creating genetically modified honeybees that have no stingers, but who also create more honey. Its a win-win situation for Winnie the Pooh, and for those of us who have to carry an Epi-Pen in the spring and summer.

Continuing on a Theme

Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul.

~Marilyn Monroe

Social Prostitution

Social Prostitution is the name I've coined for the sociological phenomena in which people sell themselves by doing whatever they are encouraged in exchange for money, fame, or attention. The most obvious culprits are professional athletes and celebrities but chances are there are some relatively well-evolved social prostitutes right in your own neighborhood-think office politics, the parents who promote their child's disability for sympathy and respect, and the gal down the street who is happy to help in an emergency--as long as everyone in town knows about it and praises her for it.

Celebrities don't just act dysfunctional, we actually encourage them to be dysfunctional and we reward them duly. The most obvious and tragic recent media example is Anna Nicole Smith, whom we have rewarded handsomely for the entertainment her life has become.

She is reinforced not for fulfilling societies values, or encouraging us to better ourselves, but for being a prime entertainment source. In the end, she lost everything, her volition was lost to drugs and addictions, the life of her son, and eventually her own life as well. Her family and friends mourn while the media and legal system debate over her estate and the parentage of her daughter. We as a society are the ones who continue to be entertained by her personal tragedy; the fame and money we award her certainly leave her empty and used, even in death.

What will bother people about this viewpoint is the idea that as a society we encourage people to create and then publicize their dysfunction. The fact is, we do, and what does that say about us? We put a premium on dysfunction and there are plenty of people willing to step up to the plate. How much of Anna Nicole's life outcome was chosen and how much did we create for her? For a person who doesn't sing, dance, act, or compete in sports, there is a premium on popularity. If your name isn't being googled and you aren't in the tabloids you may fail to exist. Without your fame, you may lose your money, and you will lose your prestige and your stream of attractive and possibly powerful suitors. Keep yourself attractive to the media and you will be compensated for as long as people enjoy watching you. The game becomes a question of how to keep the attention on yourself. Certainly the tabloids won't go away when they serve such a vital purpose to those they exploit; tabloids may very well be resented by celebrities for the fact that what they expose is the social prostitution itself.

When society pays your paycheck, and there is a premium on deviance you have choices-you can step up to the plate, you can get a new job, or you can just wait and see which auditions come your way when you aren't in the top 20 internet searches. Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, and Kobe Bryant all caught on very quickly and jumped on board.

We reward celebrities and athletes who lie, steal, molest children, rape, and even murder with more attention and legal excuses instead of consequences. We even compensate those who lose or gain a few pounds. We punish those who refuse to play by concocting false accusations and suspicions-"she's not above the game, she's actually a closet lesbian, her marriage is in trouble and she's addicted to painkillers..."

Being an entertainer is more than a job, its a life and even when you aren't on the court or the silver screen you will entertain us. Don't worry, you will be rewarded for your hollow and coarse life with a seat on the A-list and better chances for the next multi-million dollar contract.

Wicked is as Wicked Does

Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
Author: Gregory Maguire
Reviewed by Florinn Johannsen





Originally published in 1995 by HarperCollins, Maguire's Wicked is experiencing a reawakening following its modification and release for theatre in 2003. The benefit of being late to review this novel is that outside of the initial hype, one is able to create a less-influenced opinion of Maguire's work. It also creates a spectrum for level of agreement with the prevailing themes in other interpretations of the book. The most common is whether Maguire was able to adequately resolve his premise: evil defined.

The book is a view into the inner sociological and political atmosphere of Oz under the Wizard's rule. Portrayed as a place of civil unrest and political manuevers ranging from the Powerful's manipulation of traditional rituals to outright Fascism and oppression of societal groups. The characters are archtypal and static. Frex, a clergyman desperately fighting an influx of neopaganism is reminiscient of Kingsolver's Nathan Price in both his zeal and his cluelessness. Melena is a superficial and immature woman whose marriage to Frex was an ill conceived attempt at rebellion. An heiress to the title Eminent Thropp, her choice to marry down has rendered her a lonely hermit in a village that enjoys her only in gossiping about her. Their first child, Elphaba, destined to later become the Wicked Witch of the West was conceived, born, and baptized under dubious circumstances and her life continues to be a struggle. She is not only awkward, ugly, and possesses an uncannily sharp set of teeth, but her skin is also a bright shade of green. Her personality is dark and introverted even as a child, (her first word was "horrors!") and she is deathly allergic to water. Melena and Frex don't care for her and have as little to do with her as possible. Any attention Elphaba does receive from Melena is limited to emotional abuse and blame for her mother's failings. The small measure of affection she does receive is from her abrasive nursemaid Nanny and a transient named Turtle Heart who moves in and ensues separate romantic relationships with both Melena and Frex.

Galinda, later known as Glinda the Witch of the North is placed as Elphaba's roommate at college and there is a clear archtypical difference between the two. Elphaba is dark, serious, and studious. Glinda is preoccupied with clothing, her social standing, and attractive men. Elphaba's sister Nessarose, (or half sister as the case may be,) is witty but handicapped. Her physical inadequacies contribute to an overdeveloped sense of self and a warped morality. She is given the infamous ruby slippers as a gift from Frex and Elphaba's hurt at being overlooked again is intense. Nessarose's shoes become a symbol of her control and oppression of the Munchkinlander people she rules over as the succeeding Emminent Thropp.

Infuriated by the injustices around her, and irritated by naivete of the general citizenship of Oz, Elphaba disappears to sympathize with an activist group and eventually becomes part of a cell that employs violent means targeted at political revision. The oppression and atrocities she has aligned herself against are backed by the Wizard and the resistance is terminated by Gestapo-like military force. Elphaba's character has a gradiose social empathy that doesn't quite compensate for her deficits in interpersonal expression. Her relationships are strained or even ignored in favor of animals and her political quest to right injustice.

An old schoolmate and handsome Vinkan prince named Fiyero becomes Elphaba's lover. His purpose in the book appears to serve as a window to the soft part of Elphaba's heart, the man who is able to see her not as a terrorist but as a person with a sense of justice and humanity that is warped only by the society she is surrounded with.

Finally, a travelling pagan Dwarf and an old woman called Yackle appear in various scenes of the book, acting as an oracle and typically presenting their predictions and advice through charged and deviant sexual symbols. A frequent source of negative reviews of Wicked is the extreme use of sexual metaphors, some even claiming Maguires use of kinky sex was a ploy to sell a book and its premise through eroticism. This being the case to me seems unlikely, the sexual content serves as a wake up call to the characters and the readers given that that Fiyero's illicit affair with Elphaba while his wife and harem sit at home in the country is hardly shocking in light of our sexually charged society. Perhaps Maguire felt the other scenes were a necessary albeit extreme way to get his point across. An interesting contrast to the charged sexual content of the book is the fact that Maguire's main character refuses to acknowledge her own sexuality fully, never expressing complete confidence or comfort with her lover, never acknowledging her pregnancy or son's birth--coincidentally the same aspects our society refuses to acknowledge as sexual.

Whether or not Maguire is able to adequately define what evil is, he certainly achieves defining what it isn't, which in the case of the book isn't Elphaba, the Wizard, or even Dorothy who ultimately is Elphaba's demise. Elphaba's personal quest in the second half of the book is one searching for forgiveness. The Wizard's self loathing is his motivation to oppress others and his downfall. Dorothy is from start to finish self centered, unaffected, and refuses to participate with or develop unkindness in her own character. What is most remarkable is that none of the characters in the story experience development in their personality toward change, rather their original characteristics are honed by their circumstances. Elphaba becomes more misunderstood, darker, and depressed as the story goes on. Glinda becomes more oblivious and superficial, Fiyero becomes more appealing and understanding, and even Yackle becomes more mysterious and unreachable, and simultaneously more influential.

Underneath the shroud of guilt, struggle, and depression Elphaba lived her life with, the underlying question for her is whether she is a volitive being in her own life, or whether she is controlled by unseen forces: Madame Morrible her school marm, the Wizard, or the mysterious Yackle who tends to be present at the key moments in her life. Her insistence on independence and stubborn refusal to change her purpose or methods (she appears to be the only character in the book with a psychological awareness that includes metacognition) often seem to be the one thing that is holding her back, ultimately she is her own oppressive force.

Although the plot of Wicked is weak, (which may be a given as we already knew the ending) the character study and interaction were the most clearly defined subjects and the overriding theme was a question not about evil, but about locus of control. The repetitive questions about the definition of evil fueled this theme and propelled the story forward. Sociological structures and political statements become a means of describing the premise rather than premises in and of themselves. Maguire's ability to flip character expectations succeeds in making a Wicked Witch endearing.