Monthly Archives: December 2012

Lovely and amazing.

Watching the remake of The Parent Trap with the Girl. I’d forgotten Natasha Richardson starred in this. She was so beautiful and talented. It makes me so sad. She is missed.

Tis the season.

So Christmas is over and I’m learning to type on my new Kindle. The things that were driving me crazy before the holidays are still driving me crazy, but it’s easier to ignore things amidst the hustle and bustle. If and when I think too deeply, I decide it much easier to just go shopping.

I did that today. I’ll do it again tomorrow.


I’m still here, in case you were getting worried. The holidays are brutal on my already poor time management skills. I’m not abandoning you again, I promise.

Just wanted to check in and say hi. Oh, and happy belated Festivus.

This cold is really getting in my way.

I wish I could stop coughing. It would make concentrating a whole lot easier. I find that I’ve been watching Elementary to fill the void left by BBC’s Sherlock. It’s unbearable, save for Jonny Lee Miller.

I suppose there are other things for me to discuss that are more pressing than my current Benedict Cumberbatch withdrawal. I’m tired, sick with sorrow for the families in Connecticut, angry at the political opportunism that has inevitably swamped the airwaves.

I don’t believe in coincidence, not when it comes to this administration and guns.

And when I stop coughing, I’ll discuss at length.

I’m still sick. Yuck.

So I’ve been sick for the last week and it sucks. More than anything, this stupid virus makes me tired, which I find very inconvenient. Of course, I have done my makeup and taken a shower every day, regardless of how much my head feels wrapped in wool. I still feel pretty, dammit.

While I’m convalescing, here’s a question to ponder: Why? Why hide the survivors?

What aren’t we supposed to know?

I feel pretty.

I’ve been listening to Dennis Prager on a semi-regular basis, and he mentioned recently that last week he spent some time discussing whether it was important that women strive to look their best and not “let themselves go.” I decided then and there, (I was in the parking lot of my gym), that I must write on this issue. because it happens to be close to my heart. (Or my ego. Potato, potahtoe.)

Do I, a modern gal, believe that it is my responsibility to look good for my man? (Or any man?) I am the woman who has threatened to shave her head on several occasions because she rejects the oppressive, patriarchal and arbitrary standards of conventional beauty, after all. I lift weights daily. I have callused hands and more gym clothes than regular clothes. I swear a lot.

Hell yeah I think women have a responsibility to look good, whether for your partner or for yourself. Ultimately, taking care of yourself is not really for anyone else. I personally hate leaving the house without makeup, partially because I do not have the unbelievably creamy, heavenly skin of Benedict Cumberbatch (guys can have beautiful skin too, you know), but mostly because I feel equipped to take on the world when I feel pretty. (Here I should note that my makeup philosophy is one of enhancement rather than masking — be the prettiest you, ladies, not the prettiest drag queen.) So yes, I wear concealer to the gym in the morning. I don’t like to wear masks and pajamas around the house during the day. I don’t like to lounge around unshowered and greasy until noon. I get up, shower, and put my makeup on. I work out. I try to eat well. I take care and pride in how I dress regardless of where I’m going or doing during the day.

I wear running skirts to the gym.

I know a lot of girls who think that it is their right and prerogative to relax their standards a bit after they’ve “secured” a male, and they could not be more wrong. You don’t have to maintain your birth weight throughout your entire life, or even look as “good” as you did in high school (I am so much better looking in my thirties than I was in my teens), but acting like you give a shit whether your partner finds you attractive is imperative. It’s a matter of respect. It says, “I still care what you think.” But a lot of women don’t really care what their partner thinks after a certain point, because a lot of women in our society feel they are entitled to do whatever the hell they want, and that no one — not even their partner — can say otherwise.

I think the most controversial aspect of this is the idea that if a woman lets herself go and then her partner steps out on her, that it is partially the woman’s fault. While looks aren’t everything in a committed relationship, they’re still important. It is said that women are less concerned with physicality than men and while I’m sure that is generally true, it isn’t true in my case. I’m shallow, so shoot me. And I feel that if I’m this shallow, I should assume that everyone else is, and act accordingly. At least look like you’ve made an effort, ladies, because at some point, they’re going to notice someone who does.

Having a vagina does not entitle one to anything, other than a little old-fashioned chivalry. (Yes, I do want the door opened for me, even if I can lift more than you.) We live in an age of mixed messages, and while I spend a lot of time talking about the mixed messages given to men in our society, it is just as bad for the women. You’re perfect the way you are, but you need to be under 100 pounds to be anything more than invisible. You don’t need a man, but you must do everything in your power to secure one. Love is all you need, but he/she better make over $200K a year, drive a nice car, have perfect credit, and be someone of some importance before you even consider that first date. Men have the attention span and intelligence of a jellyfish, but you can totally let yourself go once you get him to commit. Because you deserve it, all of it, everything. And no one can tell you otherwise or they are sexist.


Making an effort to look good is a matter of respect. Respect for yourself, because by spending time in the ritualized act of beauty (I love getting pretty), you are investing time in yourself. You are telling the world that you are, in fact, worth it and you know it. It’s also respect shown to your partner, because you are telling him/her that what they think of you still matters, and that you’re okay with that.

Make an effort, get your butt off the couch, get your hair did, invest in some nice, well-constructed clothes that fit. And above all else, resist the call of the sweatpants, not just for the sake of your other half, but for ours too. I don’t want to see that when I’m at the store at 6pm on a weeknight.

[I know I'm going to get shit for my use of he/she, him/her, but I don't care. That's how I roll, bitches.]

Wow! Thanks.

So, wow. Thank you Rightwing News for putting the Hyacinth Girl in the meaty part of the curve for its “60 Best Conservative Blogs for 2012.” That’s exciting, especially when I was “retired” for a significant part of the year. When one has few connections and little exposure, it can often feel like toiling in obscurity. It’s nice to get some positive feedback.

What I try to do here is offer an intelligent and thoughtful (though I am unafraid to go as low-brow as a chav in imitation Nike) commentary on whatever the hell is going through my mind at the time I sit in front of the computer. Sometimes said commentary devolves into diatribes with rant-like features, but I try to exercise restraint. I really do.

So now I’m going to try to make you proud, my merry band of devoted contrarians. You guys are why I come back.

This is what a feminist looks like.

Camille Paglia in the Hollywood reporter. This woman has an amazing mind, and I kind of worship her.

Of course.

I really get tired of asking this question but it must be asked: Where are western feminists? Where’s the outrage?


I have a friend who I don’t see all that often and rarely spend time with but who has a fascinating mind. When I actually talk to him — whether via text, email or the rare times I see him in passing — I usually leave the conversation full of ideas for this place. We don’t always agree, but I kind of enjoy arguing. Recently, he brought up the role of feminism in redefining our cultural concept of what it is to be a man (these sorts of things are literally the only things we talk about; I’ve known him for years and can’t remember his birthday) and its impact on our society as a whole.

If you’ve been hanging around here these last few years, you’ll know that the emasculation of the Western male by the modern feminist movement is one thing that will get me going. Oddly enough, I consider myself a feminist in that I believe in equal pay, protection, legal rights and socio-political rights for women. Modern feminism absolutely rejects my kind, however, for I believe that women and men are actually different in more than a physiological sense, and that women are not superior to men. Men are not disposable or unnecessary, and the propagation of the belief that they are has led to serious social decline. Men — real men, not developmentally-handicapped perpetual adolescent Maxim boy-men — are necessary toward societal stability. Chuck Palahniuk wrote in Fight Club that we were seeing the rise of a generation of men raised by women. While that’s true for my generation, the generations that have followed have an even greater challenge. They are a generation of men raised by women and ineffectual, self-proclaimed beta males or men whose concept of masculinity comes from “man card” posturing and our oversexualized yet curiously repressed porn culture.

(At this point I must refrain from careening off onto my “repressive oversexualization of modern American culture” rant. Let’s put a pin in that.)

“Man card” posturing and self-proclaimed beta male status may seem polar opposites, but they are two sides of the same coin. We (culturally speaking) have assimilated the often contradictory but ultimately damaging definition of masculinity proffered by the modern feminist movement, thereby relegating men to either second-class citizens (beta male) or senseless brutes ruled by their basest desires. I don’t think men as a whole fit into either category. I think they’re more interesting than that.

(Resisting the urge to rant against the “princess culture” I see in so many of my female peers. One’s sex does not entitle one to act like an asshole with impunity.)

Popular culture in the West is a mixed bag of idiocy and brilliance. Sorting through the wheat and the chaff is overwhelming and ultimately, I fear, futile. I’m not convinced that the story of the West will have a happy ending. Rome’s story didn’t. Perhaps one day soon we’ll be building our hovels out of the stones of the Colosseum and pushing our carts to market along the ancient roads built by a once-great civilization.

You see, I’m an optimist.

The internet gods do not want me to post.

I am having technical difficulties, and for that I apologize. I sulked about it for a full 24 hours, and then decided that I was altogether too pessimistic and apathetic to attempt a rewrite. Last night I decided to watch BBC’s Sherlock and then go to bed. Sometimes I’d rather spend the night with Benedict and Martin and forget about the rest.

The most recent post eaten by the web made reference to Bob Costas’s idiocy (found here) and the increasingly insidious grasping hand of the State (here). Keep your damn hands off my guns and my texts, thank you very much.

I’ll try again tomorrow. Again, I apologize. (And I will be spending some time with Benedict and Martin again tonight. That’s an irresistible duo.)

I could have made and effort.

SO this is the second time WordPress has deleted my post. I am looking into it.

OMG I’m going to cry.

Somehow my entire previous post got deleted before I posted it and I have no time to rewrite it. I’m sorry. I’ll have to do it tonight when I get home.

Long game.