Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is an intriguing guy...[he] asks great questions and answers others with style, flair, reason and wit. On the blogroll he goes. Make him a part of your regular blogospheric reading. I certainly will.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Common Sense Junction: Misha @ Anti-Idiotarian never ceases to amaze me. He keeps finding other good blogs. I went over to A.I. this morning for my daily Misha fix and he had found this guy named Morgan Freeberg in Fair Oaks, California, that has a blog, House of Eratosthenes. Freeberg says its "The Blog That Nobody Reads" but it may now become the blog that everybody reads.
Jaded Haven: Good God, Morgan, you cover a topic from front to back with a screwy thoroughness I find mind boggling. I'm in awe of your thought proccesses, my friend, you're an exceptional talent. You start by throwing in the kitchen sink, tie in someone's syphilitic uncle, bend around a rip tide of brilliance and bring it all home in a neat, diamond dripping package of an exceptionally readable moment of damn fine wordsmithing. I love reading you.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
Philmon: When Morgan meanders, stick with him - he's got a point and it'll be worth it in the end. He's not a hit-and-run snarky quip kind of guy. The pieces all fall into place like tumblers in a lock and bang! He's opened a cognative door for you.
Rightlinx: Morgan at House of Eratosthenes is one of the best writers out there. I read him nearly every day because he manages to provide an interesting perspective, even though I don't always agree.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
One of the female persuasion clinging to a discipline, throughout an entire lifetime, against grooming herself to offer aesthetic pleasure to the male. The resulting pulchritude is less than a zero. It isn’t even what one can call “ugly,” at least in comparison to other human specimens that have achieved real and superlative ugliness. It is more of an extreme on the spectrum of give-a-damn about visual appearance, and it is extreme toward, and beyond, the light end.
Of, or pertaining to, the visual appearance of a Femcrone.
So many constants in the equation; where to start? “No makeup” does not adequately describe the makeup-less condition. It is a face that takes great pride in never having been near any makeup since, possibly, ever. Think of your hair when you forgot to brush it — there is “unbrushed” and there is “looks like it’s never been touched by a brush.” Even better, think of Dracula and a cross. That is the relationship between the Femcrone and makeup. The wrinkles seem to be almost accentuated, as if she’s undergone surgery to make them deeper. Nose: potato. Eyebrows: inelegant and untweezed. Grin: Something strange going on here, like it’s upside-down, with the wrong set of teeth showing. Hair: Aw that’s easy, ponytail all the way. Just make sure it’s un-sexy, not like Heather Mitts playing soccer or something like that. This is not a fun-sporty or sporty-fun ponytail, it is strictly a ponytail for low-maintenance. Ponytail or a bowl-cut, something decidedly non-feminine, like everything else.
It is a special, paradoxical brand of neglect, one that requires intensive effort to be maintained.
Recounting my encounter with a Femcrone yesterday, who didn’t like my “Worst President Ever” tee shirt, at the Hello Kitty of Blogging I said…
…[O]ne lady showed her testosterone by confronting me…with “you forgot Bush!” I do mean her testosterone. Had that Hillary Clinton hairy-upper-lip look going on. Why do they all have that?
Must be a sad way to live. Three years in, the only way you can defend your Golden God is to say “the other guy was worse,” knowing full well that if you were to argue the point you’d have your ass handed to you. I just said “No, including all of ’em, this one’s the worst,” and walked on.
Why do they all have that, anyway? Answer: It’s a uniform. When a military unit, or a company workforce, or a school clique wears a uniform, it is less an actual “uniform” and more a suite of expectations among peers. Well, that’s what this is. Except it is an expectation toward a dearth, rather than an abundance, of drive. Like I said: Neglect that paradoxically requires intensive effort. We saw it for the last several years with Sarah Palin, didn’t we? A pretty lady who gives a damn about her appearance — how many people inferred she must be a lightweight, a dingbat, an non-serious candidate based in large part on the fact that the lady puts some effort into her appearance, and has more than her share of natural gifts with which she can work?
How many women in positions of real power have we seen in the last twenty years…women who, from all we know about them really are dingbats! — but such a narrative never really quite took hold, because they’ve taken special care to put together an appearance that says they don’t care. Bloated bod, pantsuit for a wrap, with a cauliflower face peeking out on top. And the lesson has been learned. Everywhere you look, in our “university districts” now, there’s a face that looks like some kind of vegetable left on a sun-soaked windowsill for a few days. The look of knowledge and authority! According, anyway, to somebody.
Paging Burt Prelutsky…what did he say?
Frankly, I don’t know what it is about California, but we seem to have a strange urge to elect really obnoxious women to high office. I’m not bragging, you understand, but no other state, including Maine, even comes close. When it comes to sending left-wing dingbats to Washington, we’re number one. There’s no getting around the fact that the last time anyone saw the likes of Barbara Boxer, Dianne Feinstein, and Nancy Pelosi, they were stirring a cauldron when the curtain went up on ‘Macbeth’.
The dingbat look.
Have we reached the point where women have to look dowdy and frumpy in order to be taken seriously? It seems, at least in some social circles, as if that is precisely the case. I wonder if there is any hope for us? What if we were to wake up one morning, coming to our senses, realizing “We want to empower conscientious, driven women; it takes conscientiousness and drive for women to make themselves up and look nice; therefore, we should be drawn to the ones who make themselves attractive.” Is that within our capacity anymore? Perhaps that would leave quite a few of these wrinklepusses out in the cold; the Femcrone look is one worn on the skin, down in the facial bones, and every layer of tissue in between. It has the look of permanence about it. Like once the wearer achieves that full sense of dedication to the Femcrone mystique, the wrinklepuss look must be worn to the coffin and into the Great Beyond.
At least, that seems to be so. Maybe not? Maybe a “teen movie makeover” scene could be re-enacted and they’d emerge from the beauty parlor, swirling the silky hair around in slow motion, looking like Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly? Anything’s possible, I suppose, but some things are harder to envision than others.
I should hasten to add — “gentlemen” have their own look going on in the ultra-liberal college towns. One day, I should come up with a word to describe that, as well. Envision Santa Claus possessed by a demon, or just found out someone stole his scotch from where he’d been hiding it. White beard, white mustache, black eyebrows, and pick just any tuft of facial hair you like, you can hide flashlight batteries in it where they’ll never be found. But that’s a post for another day.
Update 11/2/11: Litmus test: If girls in bathing suits are offensive to you, you’re almost certainly a Femcrone.
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