…hypothetical?

What Women Want

I have this little issue getting up in the mornings. I hate the alarm, you see. So instead of the alarm beeping I have the radio come on instead. The problem is that when the DJs have something interesting to say I end up staying in bed and listening to them instead of getting ready for work. Lately I’ve been pushing that “late” button to work because the last week or so has seen Hughsey and Kate (I know, I KNOW I hate the music too – please someone stab Fergie and that Umbrella (ella, ella, ella eh eh eh) chick with a blunt butter knife!) talking about “what women want”.

The whole discussion started with Hughsey arguing that women are too hard to figure out, they ask for too much and they’ve got it so good. Meanwhile Kate’s angry schpeil on the radio show says it ALL about what we DO and what we PUT UP WITH when it comes to men in relationships. Sometimes men have no idea about these things that go on, even when they are IN the relationship! You need to go listen to it (ignore the interview with Kevin Rudd in the first few minutes).

Hughsey and Kate Podcast

She also goes on to say that we realise when we’re loved by men but that it should be demonstrated because a lot of what we do IN relationships IS demonstrative of our feelings. Obviously we realise that there are men who do the right thing but they’re not in the fat part of the bell curve at all. They’re in the skinny end that tapers off around the 10-15% mark – just like the really horrid ones lay at the OTHER end in the bottom 10-15% mark. Just like we women are. So put down the angry “but you said that ALL men…” remark. I said nothing of the sort.

They’ve continued the discussion throughout the week with many a woman AND man ringing to confirm the truth of what goes on in relationships between men and women.

I think it was Hughsey who proclaimed “well what do women want anyway?” and that prompted the making of a list of “what women REALLY want” from men.

You want the list? I think it’s pretty good. It’s not filled with money, bling, and bullshit either – and it’s endorsed by the women who rang up and the radio station.

What Women Want*

* Acknowledgement for what we do
* To be looked after when we’re sick.
* The abolition of slavery (ours)
* To be listened to when we talk
* To be romanced (pash us passionately)
* Affection (without promise of result)
* Honesty
* Equality
* Security – to love and be loved without doubt
* Respect.

All these were discussed in a lot more detail on the radio shows and all were brought up as points that we feel there is room for improvement. What do you think? Is this what you want? Is the list complete? I think it’s spot on. It’s not shallow or tongue in cheek. It cuts right down to the heart of the matter. We want you to respect us, acknowledge us, love us and treat us preciously. Shouldn’t you?

Guys what do you think? Are you the perfect guy or is there room for improvement? I wonder what a list of “what men want” would look like? Really, what DO you want? How can we please you?

* I didn’t explain earlier that this is NOT a list about what women *look for* in a man before they get him. So not just a random guy. It’s about what we want WITHIN a LONG TERM relationship that already exists!

Me Exists

I never thought of putting posters on my walls until I was about 11 or 12 years old. Until then I had one framed picture hanging on my peach coloured plasterboard wall – it was a painting of an angel overlooking a little boy and a little girl playing in a small garden. Above it always hung a dried small olive branch. Roman Catholic: Are you jealous? hmph!

When I got to high school I realised that hey, people actually hung stuff on their walls. I credit the poster revolution that went on in my bedroom in the next few years to my devotion to Smash Hits and TV Hits Magazines. First I tentatively put up posters of New Kids on the Block and Madonna up there but soon I realised that if I had 10 posters up, I might as well have 100 posters up. So that’s what I did. I collected together all my copies of Smash Hits, TV Hits, Dolly Magazine and anything else I could find and plastered every bit of avaliable space with a poster. It looked fetching. I didn’t discriminate who I put up there btw. There was Kylie hanging alongside Alice Cooper hanging alongside Corey Haim, Motley Crue and Milli Vanilli. I wish I had a photo of it – it looked craptastic. People would come over just to stare at my poster collection like it was an art gallery.

After a year I got sick of it and tore all of them down and switched back to my New Kids on the Block fetish. That lasted until I saw the movie Heathers and all my New Kids on the Block posters were quickly replaced by Christian Slater ones. My obsession was so famed that I had people I hardly knew donating their Christian Slater pictures to me! I picked a new poster to kiss each night before I went to sleep. To quote the movie Buffy the Vampire Slayer All I wanted to do is graduate from high school, go to Europe, marry Christian Slater and die. yeah, that about summed it up.

Then I became interested in AFL football. I will call this the dark period of my life. Obviously if you live in Melbourne you have to have to follow an AFL team. It’s the rules. My dad went for Fitzroy Lions (who merged with the Brisbane Bears and became the Brisbane Lions), my mum half heartedly followed the Carlton Blues and after a visit to the primary school by the great (if not slightly psychotic) Alan Jeans, bro and I soon became a devout Mighty Hawks supporters. Okay, devout was not the right word, more like I just followed them like any girl follows a footy team (with a yahyahyah whatever philosophy). Then I got hormones and discovered Shane Crawford – who back before he became a dickhead was a rookie for the Hawks. I’m ashamed to admit it but soon I became one of those girls that knew ALL the stats – heights, weights, goals kicked, premierships lost and won, home and away games – everything. I put posters of my beloved Hawks on my wall alongside the Christian Slater ones and prayed to god to let the Hawks win and to let me please, please, please marry Christian Slater when I grew up. Later, after I denounced god; the Hawks have finished in the bottom 8 ever since and Christian Slater has proven himself the world’s biggest loser. woo.

When I hit year 11 and Interview with The Vampire came out at the movies I put a big IWTV poster up on my wall and became obessed with vampires (I still have that poster folded up somewhere). To be fair, I actually became obessed with vampires in year 2 at school. I remember the very moment. I came across this book at the library that was all about vampires (it was a picture book) and I don’t know what happened, but as I turned each page I realised my destiny was to become the mistress to a vampire. What the hell kind of 7-8 year old thinks up stuff like that? I hope that if I ever have my sperm doner baby she doesn’t turn out like that. Anyway, E and I would sit in out shared Lit class quoting Interview with the Vampire all lesson (much to the dismay of Mr M who would have liked it better had we quoted King Lear). Of course, Christian Slater was in the movie so that helped fuel that fetish along further.

After that came the 60s phase. I changed the theme to all B/W Elvis, James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, and other assorted icons. I framed a lot of them. I drew some of them also and put those up. I had a little cut out picture of Andy Warhol from a magazine, I put on my mirror. When the Warhol exhibit came out here a year or so ago I was fascinated looking through all his bits and pieces. He was a hoarder – On a level, I can relate.

When I hit uni I didn’t have posters on the walls I had photos. Pictures of my friends and family. Funny tongue poking out photos of trips down to the beach and arms around eachother singing type drunken snapshots of half faces.

As you grow up things get more personal, I guess. The precious photos go into frames the people you’re mad and and never want to see again get put back into the albums or torn up, like you’re trying to erase memories. Things that are meaningful remain.

I have a postcard picture of Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday speeding down A Roman side street on her scooter stuck somewhere on the edge of bookshelf. It’s one of my all time favourite scenes in one of my all time favourite movies. I’ve always identified with wanting to escape and be someone totally new. The postcard came courtesy of friend S during 1998 when she went to Rome for a holiday. She sent it back with a message saying that she knew I would love that photo. I did. I do.

I also have a postcard sized picture of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossom – apart from Stary Night, one of my favourite paintings of his. When I went to the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam I tried in vain to look for a print to take home but couldn’t. I can’t find one accessable here either. In any case, until I can afford to get a canvas reproduction of it, the postcard will have to do.

A birthday card (a few years old) with Mae West on the front looking sultry as usual. “I used to be Snow White but I drifted” is the quote on the front. When G handed it to me a couple of years ago she said exclaimed that when she saw it she knew I had to have it. lol. I don’t know about that, but it’s a little piece of inspiration for me anyway.

Then there is the painting of John Waterhouses The Lady of Shallot, which is also one of my favourite poems (Tennyson). I wouldn’t say I’m a Arthurian nut but I love the King Arthur mythology and especially the story of the lady of the lake. Such a sad, sad tale about love and loss.

There are so many more, little memoirs of trips and excursions where I picked up bits and pieces. A tin plaque of an Absynthe Robette poster – a present from Fashion and Artist Cousin. A Venetian mask from an overpriced store in Piazza San Marco that is now hanging on a wall. A card on a bookshelf of John Travolta – not because of him but because of the quote “don’t touch the hair”. Perfect. A small faerie pendant with an amethyst inside – because it reminds me of a day out with my friend S when I was 15 to a country market where a young man totally surprised me by giving me such a sexy look that I actually realised right then in that moment that I wasn’t a kid anymore. A cut out of Audrey from Breakfast and Tiffanys – because I love that movie, A tiny Salvador Dali because I like surrealism, A miniscule Pollock to remind me of a trip to the Tate, A Tori Amos cut out from a mag because she is divine, and not to mention Van Gogh’s Bedroom – again one of my favourites. There’s A picture from The Beatles’ Abbey Road, because they are wonderful and a map of the London underground, because I never thought I would get it, but I did! All these small bits and pieces are scattered everywhere, on the fridge or on a bookshelf or on a wall somewhere.

So many memories wrapped up in stuff. I don’t think I’ll ever be one of those minimalist girls who have white walls and with nothing on them. I need to be surrounded by vital reminders of who I was and am and want to be. I don’t know if that’s a weakness of character, and mostly I don’t even think about it that way. But once in a while I’ll walk past the pendant and smile or dust over the Waterhouse and remind myself to always be true. I don’t keep me all inside. Me exists everywhere.

It probably doesn’t hang in a gallery anywhere and that’s what makes it special. So what’s your you-art?

you get so emotional baby.

Last year I wrote a post about how disgusted I was by the rape and subsequent posting of that FILMED ASSAULT of that young girl on YouTube and then the selling of that DVD to the local High Schools.

For those of you who didn’t click on the link above let me outline this for you.

A young girl, with developmental delay was lured into a clearing by a group of boys where she was filmed being penetrated, urinated upon, SET ALIGHT, spat at and laughed at (ie: tortured).

The movie given a title Cunt: The Movie was then distributed and sold by those boys to students in local high schools for around $5 in the community where that girl lived.

That film was then posted on YouTube where it was viewed thousands of times.

This didn’t happen in Iraq or Afghanistan by the way, it happened in Melbourne’s western suburbs.

The boys were apprehended, after a search – some even dobbed in by their parents. The boys pleaded guilty.

Well, this week the verdict is in.

What do you think they deserve? They pleaded guilty. They are guilty. They are disgusting.

Hm?

Nothing. They get off. Well the ones who have already faced court have anyway.

Oh right, yes they need to attend a course which deals with how to treat women with respect but apart from that little is done by way of punishment. I’m sure handing them a shiny present like escaping punishment will really teach them a lesson.

I’m just at a loss for any real way to convey how horrified I am by the light hand being dealt these boys. PARIS HILTON WENT TO JAIL FOR DRIVING WHILE HIGH, these boys RAPED A GIRL, FILMED HER TORTURE and then SOLD IT. They PLEADED GUILTY and they are let off.

Should they be rotting in jail? Yes.

But why aren’t they?

How can guilty men NOT be convicted justly in a court of law? A court of law which is set up supposedly to protect men as well as women. Not just men.

And I have to ask the real question – how can women EVER trust in our system of law (and law enforcement) to keep us safe from crimes such as rape and aggravated assault when it’s evident that even the guilty don’t get a conviction?

Already we are too scared to report these crimes in the first place. Statistics show that the number of rapes that are reported only indicate a VERY SMALL fraction of those rapes that actually DO OCCUR. Furthermore even when the crime is reported not many convictions seem to happen or if they do, they aren’t ever long enough or harsh enough. After they get out, many rape again, and again. Indeed according to recent article in The Age

CONVICTION rates for rape in Victoria may have fallen below 1 per cent of all rapes committed, based on an examination of police records combined with government surveys and courts data.

Why is this happening?

Do women matter so little in this world that crimes committed TOWARDS us (as yes, I am personally affronted by this, and you should be too) are swept so carelessly under the carpet? This is something we need to address.

Is the case for women so hopeless that we’ve stopped fighting? No one says anything – are we scared or scarred? Furthermore, why aren’t our fathers, brothers, husbands and people who love us, publicly up in arms about it? Why is it that of the few voices that speak out – almost all of them are those of women? Sorry to be overly cynical but if we’re not being heard in the court room then certainly we’re not being heard in the public arena. Obviously these are not just a women’s issues anyway. These are issues that people should TALK about, both men and women – but sadly no one ever wants to.

This shit has gone on long enough – this is not a girl being overly emotional and hysterical here. We are being wronged.

Stubby

Last night I was out to dinner with the girls when E brought up a cardinal sin she had made that made her husband give her the silent treatment. Hubby is a reasonable, lovely, responsible, man with a good sense of humour. He’s an Aussie bloke but not in the offensive ocker manner. So she’s telling the story of her downfall while I was sitting there hoping she hadn’t done something too stupid – girls do stupid things all the time you see – but when she finally revealed the truth of the situation I just sat there dumbfounded.

She borrowed his best stubby holder (his bucks night stubby holder), took it to a house party and accidentally left it there. A stubby holder (for the uninitiated) is a cylindrical piece of wetsuit type material that you put around the base of a bottle of beer (a stubby) so that when you hold it;
1) your fingers don’t get too cold
2) your beer doesn’t get too warm.
Apparently Australians spend a lot of time with beer in hand so ..yeah it’s an essential part of Aussie life. Hubby was NOT happy when he found out about this and told E in no uncertain terms that she was to get it back immediately. When her brother in law found out he also gave E a serve about it. When E brought it up at dinner last night the girls all made that ooooooooooooooooeeeerr sound that means “you’re in trouble, baby”.

I, was the only one who had no idea what everyone was in such a tiz about. I do realise that blokes love their stubby holders and how useful they can be when it’s a cold winter night and you don’t want your hand to freeze off (beer hand) but I had no idea to the depth of man-love for this simple invention! I just assumed that stubby holders were things that bogans were obsessive about but that the rest of normal society wanted to distance themselves from as much as possible (in the name of good taste). Apparently not my dear M, apparently not!

C said that her partner has a collection of stubby holders that he would never let anyone he didn’t like or “trust” use and instead bring out the the cheapo ones for the plebs. L said that one bloke she knew would hide his “good” stubby holders when he was having a house party so that they wouldn’t get stolen. E added that her hubby had a collection as well.

Well, blow me down with a feather. I am completely shocked about this facet of Australian bloke-land that I had no idea about.

What say you? Do you (or your bloke) have a stubby collection that they/you are obsessive about? Do stubby holders exist outside of Australia or is there some other irrational bloke thing that men in the Northern hemisphere are obsessed with? Girls, what do you think of stubby holders – Friend or fashion crime-Foe?

Guest Post!!!!

Hi,

My name is (allegedly) Mark Philippoussis, but you may know me more commonly as The Poo. No idea why people call me that, apparently there’s a double entendre in there somewhere but I don’t know what that means either.

I went to school at some famous College in Melbourne. It’s basically a private school for people who have more money than brains and where a lot of drugs are bought and sold (allegedly). Aces! Not that school mattered much to me, mind you. I always had one vision, one goal, one dream and that dream was to become the world’s greatest casanova.

Dad thought I should have a fall back career so he coached me right into the Australian Open Tennis Championships. I told dad it was a no-go but he wouldn’t have any of that crap. He wanted me to have a good career, one that would be stable and see me through to retirement. Professional tennis is not very demanding and therefore perfect for that so I reluctantly agreed. Soon I was winning tournaments but it was distracting me from my true goal of (allegedly) romancing young teenage girls so I picked up my game on that instead. At first this was okay because, I too was a young teenager – but now that I’m 31(ish) I find it hard to explain my (very alleged) love for the young ones. No one is buying “I just tripped and my (alleged) penis fell into her (alleged) vagina” anymore. Mostly because it’s alleged or sumthing.

When I won my first few big games at the open I bought myself a Lamborghini and a Hummer. People wondered why I would need a car like a Hummer in Melbourne, but these people obviously don’t know what a rugged terrain it is out there. It’s jungle and crocodiles everywhere! And I mean EVERYWHERE!

Anyway, dad was (allegedly) getting angry that I was spending all my money on cars and girls so I fired him as coach. Then I started losing games and my knee went to shit. But I’ll give you the hot tip – even though I was already a washed up tennis has-been (at 26ish) I was already primed for my true calling of casanova. Aces, I was loving myself sick!

I (allegedly) admit that I may have been a shithouse tennis player with a lucky serve but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s treating the ladies fine.

Ask any of my girlfriends and they’ll tell you what a catch I was (and still am). Don’t ask Delta Goodrem though. I know she had cancer and needed “support” from me at the time because I was her “boyfriend” and “one true love” but dude, PARIS HILTON wanted to have (alleged) skanky anonymous SEX with me. I’m talking PENIS and VAGINA. Would you pass that up? Girlfriend is fiiiiiiine (and totally classy). No idea how the media got a hold of that one.

Then I (allegedly) got involved with a…err …girl but kept it on the down low up until she turned 18 and then it was ON. Suddenly we were all set to get married and have a big fat Greek wedding except ..it didn’t happen. She wasn’t even Greek!

I was a bit sad about that. She was perfect for me. I mean, she was just out of high school..but she was still perfect for me. Come to think of it, I didn’t really know that much about her – but she was HOT, SMOKIN’ HOT! My friends are like, ‘Poo, you need to settle down with women who have substance and start looking for qualities in a girl that go beyond the superficial’ and I’m like “It’s not just about their cha-chas man, I totally care about what they wear too, I care about their hair, and hot sex. I’m the least superficial guy I know. I live in Las Vegas guys. I’m totally about keeping it real”. They just shake their heads and feel sorry for me for some reason.

The truth is, I really *don’t* get why I haven’t married and settled down yet. I’m TOTALLY open to falling into true love with a girl as long as she’s young and hot and an 11 out of 10. I may be a (allegedly) a bozo with a crap personality and a washed up career with nothing to offer a prospective wife and future mother of my children, but I deserve a hottie, dammit. I just don’t get why I don’t get everything I ask for. It’s soooo unfair!!!

Anyway, I was playing with my new little puppy a few months ago when I got a call from my manager. He said “guess what the Age of Love is?” and I’m like (totally made up) “Bazza, mate I have no idea..what? Is it.. like 15 and a half?” and he’s like “not over the phone Mark… And no, it’s the new television show you’re going to be staring in! We’re going to find you a wife!”.

I was sooooo excited I squealed.

After we taped the first episode of the show the producers explained how the show is going to have me picking through two important demographics of women. Young hotties and old hags. I’m thinking “this is going to be sooo easy”. They were like “the first group consists of women who are over the age of 40 and the second group are in their 20s” “Sounds good” I said…“That’s the old ones taken care of but what about the young hotties?” They explained that the 20 year olds ARE the young hotties! Whoa…what? WHOA.

This sounds like it’s going to take a bit of getting used to. Wish me luck!

Vent

I have become the unhinged woman

I tell this to a friend as I watch the cars piercing through the cold night. Taillights reflecting off the wet black road.
The Saturday night club-babies stand outside on the wet pavement and smoke their fags. Their laughter and conversations are just a strange mime from this vantage point.

I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown – but didn’t – and now I think I’m dealing with the inevitable hibernation that comes with not wanting to face reality.

I want to forget I exist.

G is sympathetic, relaying a story of her own brief dive into madness – the lack of decision making ability, the feeling of helplessness, the constant anxiety.

I feel anxious too. I feel like the world is closing in on me and that being on holidays is a welcome relief but soon it will all be back to reality.

Quit, stop, be happy.

She says, as though it’s that easy.

You have a husband, security and support – you have other things you can do. You can quit, stop and be happy. I live in a different world where stopping and quitting means drowning.

It’s different. You’re speaking from an ivory tower.

I think the last bit.

Did you quit, stop and be happy when you were becoming unhinged?

I say that part.

No…

Ahh. I see. Easier said than done, right?

Okay, I see your point but you’re going to get into trouble if you keep going like this.

I pick up my coffee cup, bring it to my lips and blow into the chocolate coloured mixture below until the steam billows towards me, warming my cheek bones and nose.

It’s not the what.

I say slowly.

I know exactly what to do. What is easy. It’s the how that is hard. And the ‘what if’ that scares me. I need tangible answers to my dilema and I don’t know how to answer them myself. If I did, it wouldn’t have come to this. It annoys me when people give me a what and then stand back wondering why I haven’t just done it. Maybe I just want to vent. Maybe I just want the support of knowing that I have friends who don’t need to be saviors they just love me enough to want to be there for me. Why would they be frustrated if I never asked for their opinion in the first place anyway? I just want their ears.

Because they’re arseholes.

We laugh.

Maybe.

I’m sorry, you’re actually right. I remember when I was in rut I had a lot of people telling me what I needed to do, but not many people were there to actually help me though that when it came down to it. There are a lot of people out there who will tell you something to make themselves feel like they’re ‘helping’. when really, they’re self serving “oh look, I try so hard to help but they just don’t listen – what ELSE can I do?.

G gives a mock angelic look.

Exactly.

M. I don’t know about “the how”.

I look up – half smile and half sigh.

Neither do I. And thanks for admitting that. It’s a hard one to know.

I’m paid good money not to be ignored

I’m about to admit something here: I don’t hate Courtney Love. I know, isn’t everyone supposed to hate her?

Sure, she’s a completely delusional, lipstick smeared, liposuction loving, botox injecting, peroxided to the shithouse, bitchy, slutty, fame-whoring, Lying, over opinionated, messy, allegedly talentless crackhead. But I don’t hate her.

I can’t say I love her either but I sit somewhere between appalled and fascinated on Courtney Love. I get this distinct feeling about her that for a lot of people she’s the girl you fuck but don’t ever tell anyone about. As a big Nirvana fan the pairing between Kurt and Courtney seemed a little strange to me – she was always so volatile and explosive in her pain and lashing out at anyone who would listen whereas he was contemplative and kept the pain in his stomach. Maybe they each complimented that side that each of them lacked. I don’t know.

I remember reading Kurt say this

They actually tried to beat us up. Courtney and I were with the baby in the eating area backstage, and Axl walked by. So Courtney yelled, “Axl! Axl, come over here!” We just wanted to say hi to him–we think he’s a joke, but we just wanted to say something to him. So I said, “Will you be the godfather of our child?” I don’t know what had happened before that to piss him off, but he took his aggressions out on us and began screaming bloody murder. These were his words: “You shut your bitch up, or I’m taking you down to the pavement.” [laughs] Everyone around us just burst out into tears of laughter. She wasn’t even saying anything mean, you know? So I turned to Courtney and said, “Shut up, bitch!” And everyone laughed and he left.

That was of course, about the run in between Kurt and Axl Rose at the MTV Music Awards. I remember reading that and thinking that Kurt and Courtney sounded sort of like a team – which is cool. Then of course there are the rumours that she stole his songs, cheated on him and had him killed. You can’t win.

When Kurt died she both crumbled and then built herself up out of the ashes like a Phoenix. If you were paying attention around that time the whole thing was utterly heartbreaking and amazing at the same time. Did she exploit his death? Yes probably, but I don’t know if it was all her choice either – not even Kurt could get away from the media (try as he might) as they, (he so eloquently put it) ‘raped’ him. The spotlight was always going to be on her post-Kurt. Perhaps Courtney raped them back, or held up a mirror so her spotlight reflected brighter than ever. In any case she was both crucified and revered by the media – they simultaneously praised her and then stabbed her until the bile came out..then they praised her again.

I was entering my mid teens when she exploded everywhere and I guess you could say I was angry at the world. The same year that Kurt died my own father died too – and the music around that time was shall we say – appropriate – to feed my own feelings of displacement and anger at life. Courtney Love was nothing if not relevant.

I listened to and enjoyed Hole’s early albums Pretty on the Inside and Live Through This (rather crassly released a week after Kurt died) as well as My Body the Hand Grenade. I read her interviews in various Rock magazines trying to piece together a coherent picture of her, and of Kurt I guess. I just couldn’t – she was too random. Sometimes she was eloquent and clever and other times she was just a mess. A complicated woman to enjoy. Maybe it was just easier to hate her – she was oft accused of being ugly or fat, or a feminist or a plagiariser, or talentless, an exploiter and annoying. Yes, much easier to hate her but …I couldn’t.

She was too interesting to hate. Always falling apart and then sewing herself up again. She said what she thought and to hell with who heard about it. I’ve lost count of how many people there have been that deny they had anything to do with Courtney, but there she was again, spilling the beans on everyone. Plus, she never seemed afraid of being ‘un-lady like’ (try writing whore and slut on your arm and see where it gets you in the lady stakes) – except when she put on a suit and let Barbara Walters interview her. Soon after that, the hair became more natural looking, the makeup applied properly, she started crossing her legs and keeping her boobs in – and of course, lost about 20 pounds. That’s when she came across as afraid.

This is interesting about those messy women – not being feminine means being loud, obnoxious, messy, opinionated, out of control, ugly and fat – all of which Courtney, pre-Barbara interview was accused of being. And of course, all of which could be used to describe a great deal of male rock stars. There is an incredible double standard which Courtney herself has addressed on numerous occasions. For a girl, not being feminine will get you laughed at, or worse infamous instead of simply famous. The double standard is never more apparent when someone like Courtney goes from a mess to a prize. Suddenly no one had a bad word to say about her – she was Milos Forman’s IT girl and Vanity Fair wanted to do nice interviews with her for once. It didn’t do her persona any harm mind you and she knew what she was doing. Musically she was nothing at this point, in my opinion she lost it when she put on the suit – but then again, finally she was accepted,even if it was only for a short time.

But musically speaking there’s another can of worms…

There aren’t that many women who can delve into rock music without sublimating their guitar holding with pristine femininity. The accepted kind of female rock musicians look like Hollywood starlets – think Gwen Stefani, for instance – now there is also the look gritty in 3000 dollar jeans look. Love conquered and addressed this with a kind of whorish child image (Kinderwhore as it was termed) – too small dresses, ripped panty hose, mis-applied make up, turned in feet. She looked like a 3 year old who had gotten into mummy’s drawers but acted like a male rock star – maybe she was just drug fucked and it wasn’t intentional at all – though much of Love’s antics did seem intentional.

She held her guitar like it was her penis – that is she held her guitar like male rock stars hold a guitar. She totally eclipsed her male co-writer Eric Erlanderson in presence and voice. I remember her saying once, to explain her behaviour that her gynecologist diagnosed her as having too much testosterone. Granted – that’s how she acted it’s just that she was held more accountable than her male co-horts. The one big difference between her and any male rock musician out there was that she wasn’t afraid to be political when it came to gender.

Hole’s first LP Pretty On the Inside was IMO loud, messy, confronting and brilliant. Kim Gordon produced it and I have a hell of a lot of time for Kim Gordon. Then she took up with Kurt and was accused of stealing Kurt’s music to write the album Live Through This. Again, another confronting and brilliant album (no matter who wrote it). Post-Kurt, Hole was busy on the touring bandwagon etc, and so they released My Body, The Hand Grenade a collection of b-sides, covers and rare tracks – eclectic and enjoyable (also The First Session and Ask For It). Then she took up with Billy Pumpkin (again) and was accused of not writing her album Celebrity Skin. Personally I think if you don’t want to be accused of writing an album then this would be a good one to be accused of not writing, Billy is credited on many tracks but except for a few great songs, it’s a stinker. Then there are her solo efforts. I can’t say I’ve bothered with them. I’ve been disappointed with her for a while. What can I say? I miss the volatile mess.

She’s been linked with people like Michael Stipe, Billy Corgan, Evan Dando, Alex Cox, Edward Norton, Evan Dando, Trent Reznor, Rodney Bottum, Kim Gordon, Jennifer Finch, Kat Bjelland. Some of those people *hate* her with a passion some of them will defend her forever. There must be something about her, eh?

Currently she has botoxed and lip suctioned her way into oblivion. She’s been trying on that conforming cloak again but it’s not working – she is now absolutely the kind of mess that isn’t going to work at all. It’s a different kind of mess to the one she started out with. It’s like she has no idea who she is anymore. Or maybe I have no idea – in any case – I can’t connect. Lots of people hate her but I don’t. I can’t say I enjoy her current musical flavour though but once upon a time she was really exciting. It’s hard to believe now, I know, but I guess you just had to be there.

Teenage Whore – Hole

Violet – Hole

20 Years in the Dakota – Hole

click for song

Drown Soda – Hole

Click for song

The attack of the Viper Woman

She’s that girl no one trusts with their boyfriend. Even she will even admit that girls don’t like her but I just don’t know why. I’ll tell you why. She’s the Viper Woman. You probably know her. She’s competitive when it comes to men, she’ll flirt with your boyfriend, hell – she’ll flirt with any man you say you’re interested in and in fact at a party she pretty much ignores all the women and makes a beeline for the men. She thrives on the attention. It would be fine if she wasn’t such a destructive person. Bottom line – she’s only in it for herself.

A few bottles of red into the evening conversation turned to her. We had already exhausted those well worn topics like: What the hell do men really want in a woman – and does she really exist? (more perplexed than ever), ‘Why the hell don’t they just ring when they say they will?‘ (The answer is fuzzier than ever), Where do they go when they disappear? (Narnia?), Stupid shit we’ve done while drunk (am incredibly good and never done anything stupid) and the ever glorious ‘Why best girlfriends are so great’ conversations – so it was inevitable that after we got onto friends that talk would quickly turn to enemies soon after. This is where the Viper Woman came in. The conversation took the dangerous journey into ‘women you can’t trust’ territory. ooooo

*cue flash of lightning, thunder crash and spooky organ music*

C turned storyteller for a while leaning right forward into the Tim Tams as she related the tale of her ex-best friend. I grab a slightly melted Tim Tam (…for the road). The making of the Viper Woman started with simple game playing. C and her friends would walk into a bar and soon after Viper woman was making a beeline for all the men C happened to be interested in. I take a sip of my wine – the warmth filling my mouth (and mind). This is beginning to sound familiar, you relate a tale of a girl you know that did something very similar. C sits back and picks up her wine glass at the blub, she takes a gulp and then licks at the trickle of red on her lips. I always knew I couldn’t trust her she says measuredly but I never thought she’d do it to me.

The story goes on, C explains how Viper Woman emerged when the men were around. She never talked to her friends when they went out together – she had a goal; men – lucky them, but not so lucky for the friends. After a while C began picking men at random in the bar and casually mentioning she thought they were lovely – even if she didn’t think so – it was a test you see. Cue Viper Woman. Soon Viper Woman had slept with every boyfriend of all her so called best friends. She justified it by saying that if those men had been “good ones” they wouldn’t have been tempted. Perhaps quite true, but that doesn’t make her any less of a bitch now does it?

Before she slept with C’s boyfriend Viper Woman made sure she told C exactly what was going to happen. After a night out together (VW, C and the boyfriend) she strolled up and told C that she was going to go home with him. C remarked that if Viper did this then she would be down a friend. C said that she would never speak to her again. Viper smirked, turned around and walked out of the club. C was true to her word. She never spoke to her again.

The last C had heard Viper Woman was unhappily married to a man who she was paranoid was sleeping around on her. Obviously a girl like this has no girlfriends to confide in and be supportive, and while the men loved her once upon a time, they only did so because they wanted to screw her – so no friends found there either.

C finished her tale and I am still holding the same Tim Tam that I was when she started. I take a bite and chew. So, these guys.. Did they have any idea of what a bitch she was? C shrugs, I doubt it, of if they did they certainly didn’t care.

Wow.

Have you ever been friends with or stung by a Viper Women? Are you one yourself?
Men: do you notice Viper Women in action, and do you actually care?
And is there a male equivalent of a Viper Woman*?

*I mean apart from Rick “Jesse’s Girl” Springfield