Thursday, June 05, 2008

I presents, my presentation.

First before I present my presentation (that totally has a point and it's not just me being crazier than usual) welcome my Fatosphere Homies. Put your feet up, pop a beer, have a donut, eat some cheese and feel free to put them on the glass and send me a picture.

Also before I begin can I Just say that listening to late 70's soul and disco makes it so your day cannot go wrong. I am seriously trying very hard not to get up do the hustle, and add in some post millennium booty shake for reals yo. If there were fewer people at the office I totally would.

Okay so sorry my darlings but before I get to the serious we need a booty shake break.

The weather here is gloomy and damp enough to make my joints ache so as I have previously mentioned, this is a situation that calls for booty shake.

Proceed to get your groove on, feel free to demonstrate your spectacular lack of rhythm if you indeed lack it. Doesn't matter if you has booty or not, that thing that's in your seat, shake it. Or if you can't, shake whatever is hand. I present, Chic Le Freak.

And okay another digression but I have a firm belief that there are certain kinds of music it's impossible to be upset while listening to. And I'm not talking like personal emotional shit that's happened to you this is a vast generality I know but it's a theory.

Zydeco. Have you EVER seen an angry Cajun booty shaking to some Zydeco? No because it is impossible. I dare you to listen to some Buckwheat Zydeco and not just feel happy.

And please remember folks. I use the term booty shaking as a celebratory I'm motherfucking happy and am going to project that by shaking parts of my anatomy in love and joy. Don't get it twisted.

Okay now really back to what I wanted to talk about.

I want to talk about presentation and what it means and doesn't mean to me and why I am not conflicted about it at all.

I was musing the other day while looking at this tshirt from Tshirt Hell. And yes before anyone gets frothy I know a lot of people hate that place. I think some of that shit is funny. What I was thinking about is how I tend to turn my back on throwing around political terms when it comes to how I present myself to the world.

Why do I do that?

Tell you the truth I can't put my finger on it in a meaningful way other than my serious aversion to anything that sets off my DO NOT WANT radar. I don't know why my radar will go DINGDINGDING but it does. I can deal with that.

That said I realized a few years ago that the things I find delightfully funny, absurdly ironic and that make my inner 9 foot tall silver glitter afro wearing drag queen go OH HONEY YES! Can be (and is often viewed) by other people as some radical political statements.

Holy. Shit. Man.

Whoa. When this dawned on me (don't ask me how I didn't figure out it out previously) I actually stopped wearing a few things because I was like (no really you have to picture this) *OMFGWTF WUT WUT OMFG* doing that while running around in little circles trying to figure out how to be responsible about presenting what can be construed as whatever radical statement.

Where I failed then as I do sometimes now, is that I don't actually have a deeply radical political agenda when I decide to wear a tshirt that says I love My Pussy or says something about balls. Yes that is my big secret.

That said there are a few things that are absolutely purposeful fuck you's.

For instance.

If I am ever able to comfortably excite the corporate world in pursuit of my writing or whatever else I am getting the words "Fuck You" tattooed on the inside of my right middle finger. Why?

The most honest explanation is that I have a deep and abiding dislike of being in the mainstream workforce where I feel like I have to spend time conforming and settling in order to get along and make the filthy lucre.

Actually if you want to know the most basic truth about who I am as a person and my political stance. The message is brought to you by the letters F and U.

Frankly I have always been in some way or another an oppositional fucker. I also have a very strong and sometimes bullet proof sense of self and of where I stand in this big wide world. Hence, trying to sway me in a direction politically speaking is hard going.

Anyone who has a desire to see a party line toed I am not your homie honestly. I will question, challenge etc until I am satisfied. Sometimes (this is a personality flaw) I am not nice about it.

All that said, if you want to know why I am wearing something or doing something feel free to ask. I am glad to talk about it. What I am not glad to do is have anyone try to drill their reasons for doing something into my headpiece. If I say because I think it's funny/sparkly/pretty/OHBOOBIES that's probably exactly why.

Moving along.

MoPie posted this tidbit about Madonna and her self proclaimed fat thighs. Honestly my initial reaction was eye rolling however I have to wonder if Madonna suffers from that terrible affliction where people believe that a womans thighs are in fact fat if they are not small enough and shaped so that there is a concavity betwixt them.

This leads me into something that I've talked about previously on occasion. (see this recent entry for some of my musings on fetish art)

I was perusing Deviant Art recently and happened upon a photograph where the photographer made quite a point about the model being in the "curvier" section of his models.

The model is a fairly fit looking woman with a slight pear shape, flat stomach, muscular what I would call athletic looking thigh parts, medium boobies, clearly serious hip to waist ratio.

What bothers me is the use of "curvier" as a euphemism for bigger/fatter. A large majority of this photographers subjects are extremely very thin with the (thesedays)fairly ubiquitous boyish shape, no pubes look.

Why is it necessary to have the warning qualification that the model isn't stick thin? The model in this particular photo is not fat by any stretch of the imagination but because she isn't more like the standard model there is the qualifier.

I find that tiring and a serious turn off. Just like when in the mainstream media any non skinny performer of any sort has the qualifier tucked in there, portly, chubby, etc etc.

Can you imagine if people started doing that in regular conversation? Picture this

You and your homie run into me on the street and you want to make introductions.

You: Oh HAY Shannon this is my *deep breath* female, bisexual, monogamous, red haired, European American, average height, fat, Democrat, flat footed, furry arm pitted, Jewish friend with no benefits or other sexual component.....

Me: *blink...blink*wut?

I know it's ridiculous in that amount but if you were showing me a picture of your aforementioned homie would you feel the need to tell me all that? Or warn me of fatness or armpit hair? Or would it be easier and more enjoyable to just sayL

You: Shannon, look at this picture of my friend.

Me: Wow she is awesome.


My point here is that at some point we human types are going to have to give up all these bullshit monikers we've assigned each other because as people get more diverse it gets way over complicated and frankly I think it's fucking dumb.

So please. Really.

I really think that making a point of ignoring the splashy useless adjectives that are pinned to people to keep them in a comfortable labeled wee box is mother fucking radical. Moving on.

My homies do any of you read VenusZine? Ever since the long ago demise of Sassy I have been pining for a kick ass magazine I can get into. However most magazines I lose interest fairly quickly because I am picky about good and interesting writing and not just the same old sucking it in broken down doll models.

Is it any good?

And along with my warblings about art I want to talk alittle about my still forming attempts at photography.

Lately I've been looking at a lot of interesting self portraits. I want to learn to really see myself.

So I am pretending to be an artiste.

And the following photo is not artistic but very me.


Homo Out.

1 comment:

DavitaCuttita said...

I loved this post.

The classifications must stop. It's just one of those things I force into my "up with this fuckery I will not put" piles for filing.

Oooh, and I also loveloveluverz M.I.A and disco seventies music too. Because hey, if you're gonna dutty wine you might as well break shit n' bring it, ya know?

Oh. And the flickr pics are totally layin' the hurt down on meh with teh awesomerzness.

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