The scandal du jour is General Petraeus and his biographer which, unless you’ve been living under a rock, you probably already know about. The slow and skinny of it is Petraeus started an affair with his biographer, Paula Broadwell, who got jealous over Petraeus’ friend, Jill Kelley, and started a firestorm of shit.
This is like an episode of Dallas. Petraeus has known Jill Kelley for a really long time. They’re family friends and he helped her sister win a custody battle by writing a letter on her behalf, nothing out of the ordinary there, except it’s completely shady and sort of an abuse of power. Then Petraeus starts jogging with Paula Broadwell and suddenly she’s his biographer. She’s following him around like a dog in heat for her “story”. I say that in quotes because I’m pretty sure the book she wrote was just a perk of having an affair with the four star General.
Paula Broadwell gets wind that at some point, at some time, maybe Jill Kelley and Patreaus did some under the table stuff. No, literally the story is maybe they had some “sexy touching” under a table…but maybe not. Anyway, it’s enough to make Braodwell go “Fatal Attraction” on her and send a “threatening email”. Hey I get it, I’ve seen a girl giving my guy the eye a little too often and in my head I’m making her bite a curb but I don’t but it in writing to her I vaguely mention it on a blog. Petaeus is a cheater so why wouldn’t he cheat on Broadwell? That doesn’t excuse a grown-ass woman sending threatening emails to another grown-ass woman about the man she’s having an affair with. Affair’s are supposed to be quite…email is concrete evidence.
Kelley gets the email and gets all nervous, rightfully so she’s probably seen Fatal Attraction. She emails her other friend who happens to be an FBI agent. He sends Kelley topless photos of himself…I’m not really sure why maybe because while investigating he learned that Kelley had exchanged 20,000-30,000 emails of a sexual nature with General John Allen, who is the U.S/Nato Commander in Afghanistan and a picture is worth …
I normally don’t care about celebrity scandals because … well … why would I? I am never shocked when a marriage falls apart or when someone cheats with a co-star, but I must say this “Robsten” cheating scandal got to me, so now I am going to deconstruct it for the rest of you who also probably don’t give a crap about it, either.
Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson had been dating for three years, and they never once talked about their relationship, or even really confirmed that they were together. They seemingly had figured out how to be young and coy and a celebrity, to boot. Then pictures surfaced of Kristen and her Snow White and the Huntsman director, Rupert Sanders, in car behaving badly. Um, very badly.
Rupert Sanders is a forty-one year-old married man and father of two. It comes as no surprise that he would want to hook up with a twenty-two year-old starlet. That’s a given. However, it is extremely strange to me that a twenty-two year-old, multi-millionaire starlet with (according to People magazine) a very attractive boyfriend would want to hook up with a forty-one year-old father of two. Who is not so very attractive.
Look, I’m not a saint—I’ve had my fair share of bad life decisions, and I’ve also been twenty-two. When you’re that young and getting a lot of attention you can get swept up in it, but I have never understood purposefully hurting that many people. Sanders’ wife played Kristen’s mother in the film and two months before these pictures surfaced Kristen had taken Sanders’ eldest daughter out for ice cream. This is where I start to have a problem.
Like I said, I understand being twenty-two and getting caught up in a moment. I can even understand getting into an affair when you don’t know who you’re hurting. I can let you use the “out of sight, out of mind” defense. “I never met his wife; she wasn’t a real …
It’s wasn’t Charlie Sheen’s possibly deranged, potentially BS and certainly attention-seeking behavior that has disturbed me over the last week or so. It’s been the way in which this behavior has been greeted largely as a joke — with phrases like “winning” and “tiger’s blood” being used as punchlines and Sheen in general being greeted with smirks and a record number of Twitter followers. One man even immortalized Sheen’s insane media blitz with a particularly ugly tattoo which he said was the talk of the bar after he got it done. Perhaps more confusing and disappointing was Jezebel blogger Jessica Coen posting an article about how she “Played Phone Tag with Charlie Sheen,” pretending she was interested in a job as a “Goddess” at Sheen’s newly-christened Sober Valley Lodge, even sending a photo …
I had no desire to read Eat, Pray, Love when it was a book, and I have even less desire to see it now that it has been made into a film. I was content to argue that my lack of interest was because, for whatever reason, the film just didn’t appeal to me, but after hearing comedian Jim Norton’s sexist review of the movie, I’m beginning to worry that it has something to do with the stigma attached to “lady films.” Especially “lady films” in which the lady in question is trying to find herself – not just to get a man.
My favorite movie of all time is Stand By Me. And while I vehemently argue that it’s because the film so perfectly encapsulates that moment of childhood right before gender really started to matter, I also admit that I hate its explicitly female counterpart Now and Then with a passion. We already know that female comedians are absent from the big screen, but what about dramatic actresses? Is it that female protagonists are less interesting, or just that less interesting films are typically made about them? I know that this is hardly a groundbreaking argument, but Norton’s comments infuriated me, if for no other reason than because he seems to suggest that a woman’s spiritual journey of self-discovery is frivolous, irresponsible and – worst of all – boring.
First, there Norton’s completely unoriginal misogyny about the unimportance of a woman’s self-discovery:
“I was the first one to start clapping, because I didn’t know if she would overcome. It was heartbreaking, these yoga scenes, and I’m sipping my chamomile tea and I’m lactating and I’m thinking about my vagina and motherhood… And then she finally realized what she was supposed to realize, and I don’t want to spoil it for everybody, but it was inspirational.”
Yawn. We get it — women’s films are boring and they’re all about emotions and junk. Where were the guns? Where were the nameless hot chicks?