The Brant Boys Suck

I read an article about the Brant Brothers on Gawker a while back and it still haunts me. Vanity Fair profiled these pretentious, spoiled little sh*ts in September of 2012, and God I wish they hadn’t. I could’ve lived my entire life never knowing these things exist.

The sons of mogul Peter Brant Sr. and supermodel Stephanie Seymour are—I’m convinced—devils. Peter is 18 and Harry is 15 and they say things like this (quoted from the New York Times interview they did earlier in the summer of 2012):

  • “I might be gay,” he now tells Sales. “I’m both, kind of, a little bit….” “I do both, and, you know, I’m cool with everything. I don’t like to be defined. I personally don’t think that you can be. I’m undefinable.”
  • “From now on when people ask me what I ‘do’ I’m just gonna say icon,” 15-year-old Harry wrote recently on the boys’ joint Twitter feed.
  • Speaking about Suri Cruise: “And it’s all coming from her,” Harry remarks. “She’s always got some ‘do. I love her hair.” “Clearly she’s just an awesome person,” Peter agrees. “And she always has some, like, sassy frog slippers.” Harry continues, “And, like, jammies in the restaurant.” Or as Peter remembers, “Didn’t she have some ladybug boots? I was like, I need those.”

Kill me. Kill me now. This is horrible. Why? Why do I give a crap about these douchebags? I don’t, but I know about them and since I don’t like to suffer alone now you know about them. I really can’t figure out why this country is so obsessed with celebrity. They’re just people with more money and a better life than you. Are we so masochistic in this country that we have to rub our own noses in thing we don’t have? I don’t know anymore…now if you’ll excuse me I have to go prowl the Richkidsofinstagram tumblr and cry while I count 34 Dom Perignon bottles floating in an indoor pool. That’s a year’s rent.



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Thank Yew: My Thanksgiving

photo of turkey pictures
So, I’m not going to rant about how half of the history that they teach in elementary schools is horrifying lies. Or even really complain about how when Lincoln founded the US’ Thanksgiving as an official national holiday with a specifically prescribed date, his statement of the subject makes it sound like a holiday for Americans who are of Abrahamic faiths.

Because, you know what? Unlike more official religious holidays, Thanksgiving is really just an American holiday, with its religious undertones purely optional. Even if, as my family did, you only celebrate the Santa-and-getting-what-you-want side of Christmas (I refer to it as “Santamas”), you still probably call it Christmas and may have noticed what the first six letters of the holiday are. You still hear crazy people who believe that any cashier giving them a generic religious greeting rather than one specific to their own religion is contributing to the collapse of America and dooming the world to catastrophe. Thanksgiving is just, well, Thanksgiving.

And speaking of Thanksgiving, have you heard this nightmarish song from the same total weirdo who produced Rebecca Black’s Friday? Patrice Wilson’s latest victim . . . I mean “client/star,” is Nicole Westbrook. I had it in my head all day on Thanksgiving—until I listened to Songs For An Evil Queen, a two-disk playlist which my best friend recently and painstakingly assembled especially for me because he is the best person ever.

I do not really like Thanksgiving food. I mean, cheese does not really factor into the meal very much. Or at all. I like cranberry sauce (but mostly I love the cranberry sauce that I used to get from Boston Market. That stuff was the best and way better than canned or homemade cranberry sauce, though I have not had it in a decade), but until I was in my early teens, I just did not see an upside to Thanksgiving. Sweet potatoes? No thank you. Stuffing in which my mother has hidden mushrooms and who knows what else? I’d rather die. Green bean anything? Don’t insult me.

And then I discovered that Hidden Valley Ranch dressing is a magical serum that transmutes uninteresting meat like turkey into a delicious food. Specifically, a delicious vehicle with which to ingest ranch dressing. It can’t be just any ranch, though. Hidden Valley. Other ranch dressings are … nightmarish imposters.

I should know. At this point, I am an expert in ranch dressing.

After the meal, usually cooked by my mother (this year, it was the two of us, my grandmother, my eldest aunt, and my mother and aunt’s cousin who is delightful but whom I see much less frequently). This was the first Thanksgiving since the family dog died (she passed away on the fifth of October of this year), and the fourth Thanksgiving since my youngest sister died (e. coli at the NC State Fair; fortunately, the livestock are now separated from where children are allowed to go. It would have been nice if they had done that before 2009). My youngest sister, Jaime, died on 2 November 2009 and would have turned fifteen on the twenty-eighth of November of that year, so Thanksgiving often falls on an awkward time for my family.

This year, I had a wonderful time with my relatives. I drank a bit too much delicious wine and the pies were not opened until it was just me with my mother. When I am done writing this post, I am going to go eat a slice (read: one quarter of the entire pie) of blackberry pie, because hot damn pie is delicious. After I was done visiting family, a wonderful friend of mine came over—after having more than one Thanksgiving—and he and I watched Justice League because it is an awesome show that we both missed out on when it first aired.

Also, Disaronno, my favorite beverage on the planet, was involved. On the rocks, of course. I did not make it into an amaretto sour like some kind of . . . monster.

And, of course, I considered the things for which I am thankful. No one at our table prayed openly or anything like that; that has never been a part of my Thanksgiving experience, though my grandmother and aunt, at least, are Christians. We mostly exchanged stories, most of which we had all heard before. Old people are adorable.

I considered the things for which I am thankful. A non-exhaustive list? I am thankful for my magnificent friends who are the only reasons for which I have not given up, moved to as cold of a place as I can find and found some life-sucking job that will pay me enough that I can play video games and, in all likelihood, reach five-hundred pounds through simply no longer having any motivation to interact with other humans in person. Even just keeping in contact with them online is enough to keep me sane. Or close enough.

I am thankful for my wonderful and absolutely out of her mind insane mother. She is all kinds of weird but she cannot help it.

I am so thankful that I have a computer that works, and works well. Computer troubles leave scars in your soul.

It has been such an honor to write for Zelda Lily and I absolutely love doing it. Even on weeks like this one when I almost forget until the last minute because my schedule has been crazy.

I am writing a book (the first part of a series). I am so thankful that it is coming along nicely, that I have a detailed outline of the book’s events already assembled in order and a clear idea of where the series is heading. I am especially thankful that my unreasonably awesome best friend is my collaborator. He is so brilliant and, while I would be writing even without him, the stories and characters and settings would not be the same without him. Plus, he’s often the voice of reason when we are blamestorming, and that is all kinds of necessary. I hope that, next year, I am thankful that we are done writing this book and that we have found a publisher.

I finished the first draft of another chapter just before writing this, in fact.

I thanked the Gods for being awesome, but I did so in private.

I am especially thankful that President Obama was reelected. Thankful that I will never have to say “President Romney” unless I write a story about a gloomy alternate universe.

Happy belated Thanksgiving, you beautiful people. I hope that you enjoy your delicious leftovers if you still have any.



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‘Peace, Love, & Misunderstanding’: A Film Review

photo of peace love and misunderstanding poster pictures It’s been a while since there’s been a good, strong, well-done feminist film and I’m excited to say that ‘Peace, Love, & Misunderstanding’ is one of them. It stars Elizabeth Olsen, Catherine Kenner, and Jane Fonda, which is a winning combo, ladies.  This movie chronicles three generations of women who are trying to find a way to understand each other after years of familial disintegration. Written by Joseph Muszynski and Christina Mengert and directed by Bruce Beresford, ‘Peace, Love, and Misunderstanding’ is a film about understanding, multi-generational empathy, and learning from both your mistakes and your success.

I really liked this film because I’m a young feminist who has recently become very close with my grandmother, who is not a feminist in any way. I think Zoe’s (Olsen) struggle in being a young feminist is interesting to watch as she navigates through both her grandmother and mother’s relationship (the two haven’t spoken in 20 years).  Zoe’s mother (Keener) is the complete opposite of her mother (Fonda) and has never allowed her children to meet their grandmother. But when marital problems hit, she packs up the kids and heads back home to her mother (‘Hope Floats’, anyone?). Over the course of a few summers, they get to know each other and begin to repair a very fractured relationship, all the while learning about each other and life itself along the way.

Feminism is present in many forms in this film. Grandma Grace is a second-wave feminist flower child who loved the 60’s and free love and feels women should do whatever they want and feel is right. Diane (Keener) was born at Woodstock—and has rebelled against it ever since. She is an uptight New York lawyer, highly educated and financially self-sufficient. She sees her mother as a flippant selfish woman. Then there is young Zoe (Olsen) who’s somewhere in between both of them. Her feminism is not fully formed yet, and watching it mature is the fun of this film.

I really liked the idea of this film because feminism itself is so fragmented and dysfunctional. You have people like us that think you can be feminine and feminist then you have people that think you have to be very masculine to be feminist. You have slut-shaming and slut walks. People who think that being a stay-at-home mom is feminist and some that think only if you are self-sufficient and making your own way are you a feminist. It’s a very confused path and this movie illustrates that with its multiple generations and nuances of relationships. Anyone who enjoys feminism and chick flicks should probably check out this movie.



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Chelsea Clinton Knows the Value of Family … Do You?

photo of chelsea clinton pictures photos pics

There is no question that Chelsea Clinton is a poised, articulate, admirable young woman.  Somehow, against all odds when you consider other children that grew up in the White House glow, she has managed to avoid tabloid drama and pretty much any sort of negative press whatsoever.

And while her parents, former United States President Bill Clinton and Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton, unquestionably own a great deal of the credit, Chelsea herself …

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