Oh Me, Oh
I don’t care about Beyonce

I’m afraid to tell my female friends that I don’t care about Beyonce. Not that I don’t LIKE Beyonce. Not even that I don’t care FOR Beyonce. I just don’t care ABOUT her. But for some of the ladies in my life, this isn’t enough. Despite the fact that she is a beautiful woman (which I believe) and that she is one of this generation’s foremost vocalists (which I also believe) I just don’t give that much of a crap about Beyonce.


If her song comes on at a party I’ll tap my foot, maybe mouth the two or three verses I know. But to other women at the party, the sound of Love On Top or Single Ladies will suck them into a hair-flipping, booty-shaking state of manic flailing and shrieking that I find amusing at best, but not something I feel inspired to join. I can’t feel the big deal.


If her name comes up in discussion, a web of praises is spun. Words of admiration, as if to proclaim her a deity, but also words of protection, as if Beyonce was the daughter of this female collective. Which is maybe why I’m so nervous to state that I just don’t care about her; I don’t want to insult anyone else’s God or child. But Beyonce is neither my faith nor family, and somehow the tight leather outfits aren’t doing it to convert me. Also I don’t find Jay-Z attractive, so.


I should also mention that I am every inch a “girl’s girl” and would much rather spend quality time with the female friends in my life than with “the guys.” So this isn’t a girl prejudice. With any other topic I’d be thrilled to admit intimate details. Nonetheless, I’m afraid to tell my female friends that I don’t care about Beyonce.  

I vividly remember my parents watching this on TV when I was a kid. I didn’t know who Madonna was at that time. I walked in at the part where Madonna said her ambition was “to rule the world,” and for months I was terrified that the planet would be occupied by a poofy-haired army that would force us to wear cut off t-shirts and fake beauty marks. Maybe we would have been better off.

I just found a first draft of a letter I sent to Weird Al in 6th grade:

Dear Al,

I’d just like to tell you that you are GREAT! Just on Thursday, you performed at the Garde Arts Theater in Connecticut. I don’t live too far away, but unfortunately I was un-able to see you. (Two people from my school went though!) In fact, my school is pretty crazy about you! We are a Catholic school and most people would predict us to be pretty, ugh…NORMAL! But we have weird in our blood. My 6th grade class mostly likes you. My friend brought in “Running with Scissors” to school. I reckognized your face from your show which my brother used to watch! (Oh yeah, my brother Will is OBSESSED with the song Fat. But we can’t find your album Even Worse in stores!) Well anyway we loved your parodies! We’ve watched you on VH1 about 100.5 million times and also on MTV, it never gets old! I started writing parodies of my own! I sent them with this letter! I hope you like them, feel free to use them. I can’t sing for beans! I really hope you get to read this because I’ve been told that stars like you think fan mail is junk and you throw it all out. So I would be happy if you read it Thanx alot!

Sarah age 12

P.S. I’m glad you didn’t become an architect. You’re better  at this!


Steve Jobs: Mastermind of technology. Pioneer of design. Icon of minimalist fashion. Genius of love (I’m speculating). Everything you touched turned to gold. You will be so missed. Oh, my heart.

Dear Jenny and Johnny,

Don’t get too big for your britches. Before you ever came along, there were Mary and Freddie:

The original cryptic hipster duo. 

What I Saw at a Renaissance Fair

Today I went to a Renaissance Fair, and though I appreciate fringe hobbies, I don’t think the middle ages are my scene. I realized that there are two types of people who attend Renaissance fairs. There are people like me, who just go for the jousting and ale. And then there are the people who get dressed up in Medieval fineries. This is their Christmas, because that’s really who they are inside. They look just like you and me in normal life but on fair days they get to be the wenches and black fairies they truly are, and we are lucky enough to spectate. I don’t think I’ll go again, but there sure is a lot to see. This is what else you will find at a Renaissance Fair:

  • men in dresses/skirts
  • hipsters
  • screaming children
  • turkey legs
  • countless tortured breasts misshapen by ill-fitting corsets
  • screaming babies
  • people who say things like, “this is heart music”
  • leather
  • creepy dolls
  • ceramics 
  • long, scraggly white hair
  • screaming parents who scream at their screaming children
  • smoky air
  • high pitched vibrato 
  • quidditch, for some reason
  • creamy soups in bread bowls
  • owls

I kind of want to tell these people to just have an orgy and get it over with, but I’m half glad that we, the borings, are also invited.

Bangs: Addendum

Over the weekend, I was reminded that I was once compared to a be-fringed actress who plays a character on television named Shar Pei, which is also the name of a kind of dog. In conclusion, I will never be getting bangs.



I need new hair and I’ve been toying with the idea of bangs. The reckless side of me is curious about how this would look but most of me thinks it would be a horrible idea. And yet, my friends are encouraging me to cut a set. Claire said I should find some celebrity dopplegangers and judge from there. So I formed a hypothesis: If I got bangs, then I would look just awful. Then I collected some data.

Sometimes people tell me I look like Sarah Jessica Parker. I wonder if those people realized that this is a universal insult. Luckily I am a woman who thinks Sarah Jessica Parker is beautiful, and furthermore, she has great hair. So bangs couldn’t be bad on her, right? So then I found this photo:


This is bad, right? Those bangs are so bad. Her face on the right looks like a completely different face with bangs! I already have a chronically unrecognizable face. I can’t be getting bangs and turning into a completely different person. People need to know who I am sometimes. Then I thought maybe this is just a poor comparison, or maybe she was having a bad bangs day in that photo. So I found another:

Still the worst! SJP Looks bad with bangs.

Someone also once told me that I look like “the fat girl from DeGrassi:”

I have never seen DeGrassi and didn’t know who this was so I had to look her up (if someone could explain to me how/why this person is playing “the fat girl” that would be great). I scoured the internet for photos of this girl and NOT A ONE featured her with a fringe of hair over her forehead. Clearly bangs do not work for her an her publicity team has gone above and beyond to ensure they never plague her visage.

Yet another celeb I have been compared to is “the mom from Breaking Bad.” (Wow, friends, is there no end to the compliments you’ll give me? So far I look like a horsey, fat, middle-aged mom. I should just quit.)

So apparently I resemble this person, which I think is untrue, though not an insult. Regardless, this is yet another “celebrity” that has no web-accessible proof of any banged-ness of any sort. Probably for good reason!

Finally, once (ONCE! only once) someone compared me to Claire Danes, facially. No I am not diluted enough to think I look like Claire Danes. Maybe if I died my hair light blonde and never ate and got veneers and cha-chaed on eyelash commercials and stole pregnant ladies’ husbands I could look like Claire Danes, a little bit.

That said, this is the closest possible photo I could find of Claire having even a suggestion of a fringe, and it looks a little sweaty.

In conclusion, all my “celebrity” “dopplegangers” look horrid with bangs, and therefore, I would too. So my hypothesis is correct. Also, my friends all hate me and are plotting behind my back to make me look stupid and ugly. Thanks, guys. Thanks a lot.