For the record is pronounced GWIMP, mainly because you can’t make W&N go together to make the right sound. No-matter-how-hard-you-try.

#GWNP (isms):

"OMG that pug is soooo cute? Should we eat it? Does eating pug make us fat? Do you love it? Should we steal it and eat it?"

#GWNP (isms):

"Will this fried chicken make us fat? Should we eat it?" "Do you think this cat candle is cute? Should we buy it?"

GWNP

Girl Who Needs Permission. Or for short. They’re everywhere (mainly walking thru my neighborhood to get to or to the bar.)

"I’m open-minded about sex. I’m not above reproach; if anything, I’m below reproach. I mean, if I was caught in a love nest with 15 12-year-old girls tomorrow, people would think, yeah, I always knew that about him." Allen pauses. "Nothing I could come up with would surprise anyone," he ventures helplessly. "I admit to it all."

Guess who? Woody Allen, folks. Woody-fucking-Allen, that POS.

From his People Magazine Interview circa 1976

http://www.people.com/people/archive/article/0„20066950,00.html

Keep the child molester’s popcorn flowing, boys.

It’s amazing (appalling) to me that a woman, who was a young girl when this happened (seven at the time), who has NOTHING to gain from telling her story, is being taken to task as a liar and a spotlight chaser. It’s a bullshit side effect of living in a culture that believes in rape shaming, victim shaming, and that hazing, bullying, and sexual assault are a man’s ‘god’ given right. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of people not believing the victim and holding this dirty, little man on high because he puts his masturbatory fantasies on film and sells tickets to a few insecure men/women.

Read Dylan Farrow’s story here.

As well, the fact that Mia Farrow is also being chastised for protecting her children by being called a vindictive ex, is also disgusting.  A mother doesn’t ‘invent’ stories of sexual abuse, that will totally fuck with her child/children’s psychology for the rest of their lives, because she’s pissed off at the man.  It’s demeaning and ridiculous to think so. 

(I’m sure there are some bad moms out there who would do this, but it’s not the norm.)

Hollywood protects its money-makers: Mel Gibson, Alec Baldwin, Polansky, Woody Allen because it’s protecting its bottom line.  If you don’t see this, if you don’t understand this, keep buying tickets to their films and perpetuating violence and abuse.  It’s what we, as Americans, understand, right?  Let’s let Hollywood keep us in our place, guzzling Coke (or is it Pepsi now that Coke let the immigrants sing our song) and chugging buckets of popcorn.  Their cost vs. risk analysis reports tell them that we’ll be dead before we can sue.  

Keep the child molester popcorn flowing, boys. 

I really wanted to get behind this article about a white dude feeling bad about being a business retreat at a Plantation in South Carolina, but I just couldn’t for two reasons: 

1. He feels SO bad about his bad decisions and the act of keeping quiet while on the trip that he wants everyone to feel sorry for HIM and to retroactively show what a good guy he is for getting up and singing with the black folks who were serving him and 2: It’s Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.  Not Sweet Low.  You lost me there, pal.  Do your research.  If you write an article about how much you know about slavery, the black struggle, and your southern experience, at least get the name of one of THE most famous songs in the history of history right.  It just shows that this is more about you and your guilt than it is about the black people you feel sorry for.

"On the desolate beach that is the lot of the contemporary book reader, the footprints of one companion can still be found. They belong to the writer, who needs the reader not just to pay her or his wages but also to give meaning to their words. As John Cheever put it: “I can’t write without a reader. It’s precisely like a kiss — you can’t do it alone.”"

Here’s the conundrum:  Let Amazon publish everything (even all the shitty books, of which there are many) or let Big Publishing be more selective and only publish the best. 

It may be my age (I’ll be 38 in February), but I remember a time when you worked you ass off to be the best or at least in top 25% of the best.  Why is there anything wrong with that? Martin Scorsese didn’t just spring from a the flower of his mother’s loins, a genius.  He worked and studied and honed his craft.  Virginia Wolfe spent countless years studying the world and her mind, in a room of her own, before it drove her mad, in order to write a sentence, or a paragraph, or volume.  Walt Whitman was persecuted and ridiculed.  Toni Morrison wrote about suffering on the wings of poetry.  Dostoyevsky, Kafka, Nin, Tolstoy — geniuses, wordsmiths, professionals.  Many of the above even self-published: Whitman, Nin, Wolfe, but they didn’t do it until they were ready.  They didn’t just throw a pile of schlock filled paragraphs with really bad formatting, grammatical, and structural mistakes (I’m talking at you E.L. James) out into the world to make a quick buck. 

Words used to be used to teach, love, bring light to the darkness surrounding us/blinding us (slavery, immigration, abuse, mental illness, politics), to educate us, and yes, to entertain us.  Now the publishing machine is equivalent to a well-oiled laundering operation. 

The longer we allow junk in, the more junk we will become (you are what you eat).  Let’s bring back competition.  Harvard allows in 20% more students than they used.  There is no need to drop our standards in the book world, just because the people have grown ignorant.  Screw the ‘platform’.  Screw Facebook.  Sit down, monkeys, and work at your craft.  Stop half-assing everything and spend a few precious moments away from social media to give a damn about the power of art. 

Let the Publishing companies be choosy.  It’s their fucking right.  And they were right, by the way.  And if they choose you, feel good.  Feel elated that you were the top of the crop.  You worked hard to get there.  Be proud.  Have pride.

(Also know that the occasional ‘memoir’ from Snooki is going to pop up, but the sales from that book, gave you your bonus, editing, and marketing budget.  Deal with it.  Snooki made you money and now YOU make you money.)

Please stop publishing crap.

Sincerely,

Mel Robertson, a now patient, diligent, and learned writer who previously chose to self-publish a piece of crap before it was ready to go out into the world. 

Happy Sunday, ya’ll

kathydawsonbooks:

I love all of these books—what a great round-up!  I never thought of myself as a fan of sci-fi, but clearly I am.

What I love about his man is that his good deeds, his gentle humility, his compassion, and his soft and kind sense of humor are making him into a celebrity.  The same can’t be said for those we usually hold up high (Ke$ha, Miley Cyrus, Snooki, The Kardashians, et all). 

I hope this means that the world is changing again, moving away from plastic communication and community (the internet), our out of control consumption/consumerism, poverty, sickness, fucked up political system, and in general our hatred for one another. 

Let’s make more folks like the Pope into celebrities.  We’ve gotten into a place where celebrity is what changes our minds/lives, so let’s at least make it good, use it for something worthwhile.

(Mel exits stage left after hopping down from her soap box)