Kathe Kollwitz at the Acadia Art Gallery
They’re mercilessly sharp, irreverent, and funny; they’ve been featured in the Tate Modern, Pompidou Centre and the Venice Biennale. They’ve been solicited to produce art for the Washington Post, have launched devastating billboard critiques of sexism and racism in the Oscars—and they’ve just invaded the East Coast for the first time, wearing gorilla masks, of course.
Dating is a difficult and often awkward situation that we insist on throwing ourselves into time and again until it gets so bad that we will marry anyone to get out of it, isn’t it? I recently went on a date with a man. The date went from going well, to not going well, to going well again, and finally ended well… I think. There was a kiss at the end of the date, that’s good, right? And a request for a second date (surely, that’s good). Then two days later a two line email (not so good) saying I’ll call you when I am coming to town again (ummm). Fine? Then nothing (not good). For two weeks (bad). Then a text message (boooo), saying that things have been very busy and he will email soon (weak). Then the email comes (whatever),
I went to the fair last weekend. Coupons for the rides were one dollar each!! You may be thinking that that sounds reasonable? However, you must factor in that no ride at the fair actually takes one coupon – even kiddie rides are more than one! It took three tickets to ride the Tilt-a-Whirl. Four of us got on the ride, so that means we paid twelve dollars for one two minute ride (it might also mean we’re suckers)! Twelve dollars for a carnie ride?? What the heck?! Bracelets (unlimited rides, for those not so well-versed in the fair lingo) were $25! Just a few days ago, I posted an article on this site about how old I don’t feel, and now I am going to age myself and say: in my day. Here it goes: in my day, a bracelet was $8! Of course, I never seemed to have $8, so the bracelet was still way outside of my financial grasp. But now, a family with two kids at the fair would have to shell out fifty bucks for a day of unlimited riding! Admission for two kids at Canada’s Wonderland is sixty! I just don’t think the Orono fairground and Canada’s Wonderland – the land of wonder for an entire nation – are on the same amusement level, so why the comparable price? I looked around at the ride workers and none of them seem to be wearing three-piece suits – not a single Rolex to be seen – so it isn’t a strong Carnie-union driving up the cost of my ticket. Buzz Hargrove is nowhere in sight.
Last week, a friend and I ventured to the Rockin’ Rodeo. We wanted a girls’ night to drink and dance, and it was student night at the Rodeo (meaning that as university grads, we were cougars) so off we went. At the bar, we sat down and not a minute later were pounced upon. Yes, pounced.
I’m always surprised when I get checked out at meat-market type bars. It’s not that I have such low self-esteem that I think myself undesirable even to the most thickly beer-goggled. I just think that what I’ve got going on for hotness has no currency in that setting.
Having a birthday as you get older is supposed to be something you dread. It’s in almost every Hallmark card: jokes about incontinence, Alzheimer’s, wearing diapers. All very funny… actually, having visited my grandmother in the nursing home, I can tell you, it’s not actually very funny at all (until your second visit. Then it’s hilarious). So according to the cards, we’re all supposed to be fearing aging and lamenting our misspent youth; but I don’t fear aging at all.
Writing about the difference between women and men may not be the best inaugural article for A Boston Marriage—but we’re doing it.
We recently heard a story that left us wide-eyed and speechless (not an easy feat), and offered us such insight into men’s reality that it seems a shame—nay, a crime!—not to share it.
Here’s the situation: out to dinner with two male friends, a female friend of ours had the opportunity to take part in a conversation where one male, we’ll call him Justin, complained that he had recently received a “half blow job.” The other male winced, but the female asked for clarification. Justin explained that his partner performed oral sex, but as he neared climax, she gave up.
Last week, I took in Moncton’s AC/DC show. I saw a lot of boobs.
Don’t write me off as a humorless prude. I’m not puritanical. I’ve danced in burlesque numbers and publicly performed orgasms in The Vagina Monologues. Also, I’m no concert virgin or rock’n’roll hater. I’ve enjoyed many riotous shows and eagerly anticipated AC/DC. Earlier this summer, I saw libido-drenched KISS and last summer I saw the lascivious George Thorogood—I ate up both shows. The last reason not to write me off without a fair shake: I like boobs. Not just in the self-affirming “women have beautiful bodies” sort of way, but in the I-roll-around-with-men-AND-women, so-I-like-like-boobs way.
I lost my tweezers two weeks ago, but I didn’t want to buy new ones right away because I thought the old ones would turn up again. Do you know what happens if I don’t have tweezers for two weeks? My high school eyebrows grow back. That’s right. It looks like two caterpillars are crawling across my face. What was I thinking in high school? My parents owned a mirror. I looked in it every day as I brushed my teeth. Was I never startled at two fuzzy insects crawling along my face?
Polly Precautious was a pragmatic gal when it came to copulation. She monitored her cycle, submitted to annual pap tests, took The Pill with regimented regularity, and ALWAYS used condoms—until she started fooling around with women. Polly was so surprised at this development that she didn’t pause to consider protection. Besides, with men she only broke out barriers for what she thought of as ‘actual intercourse’ and, in lesbian land, she figured no penis meant no problem. Oh, Polly.
I tried eHarmony a few months ago. Not so much to find my life partner, but to get my 29 point personality profile. You’re now thinking that I was lying to myself by saying that I’m not trying to find my partner on eHarmony, I mean, the commercials are certainly compelling. Maybe I do want to attack a 6 foot canvas with the love of my life, with drywall dust all over us. Perhaps I long for that geeky Chemist with the heart of an artist. Oh Tanyalee, your love is just that little bit too… perfect? No, scripted.
Bella groaned and rolled over in her bed. The bright sun streaking across her room had woken her earlier than she’d intended to rise. The brightness in the room told her it was going to be an exceptionally sunny day in the usually gloomy town of Forks. Bella curled up, sinking deeper into her bed, enjoying the warm cocoon of pillows and sheets, thinking of what she would do with this unexpected day of sunshine. As her mind raced over possibilities, she thought “Maybe Edward and I can go out on a picnic!”
I did some volunteering recently for a local fringe theatre festival, and quickly realized that every volunteer has a different reason for giving so generously of his or her time. Most of the high schoolers were there to get their required volunteer hours to graduate. Some volunteered for the access to free shows. Others were retired and liked to be doing work-type things, apparently. Still more were doing it for the company provided by the other volunteers – a chance to get away from their many cats. And then there were ones like me – I did it for the resume.