Weinergate 3: The Prequel

So, apparently this controversy still won't die, because now people are at the stage where they chronicle past politician affairs.  Mostly, I've been avoiding this, because I don't need to be encouraged to look down on politicians anymore than I already do.  But then someone decided to chronicle women in power who have affairs, and since I am interested in the history of women, I had to at least read this. 

The woman who piqued my interest the most was Victoria Woodhull, a presidential candidate in 1872.  I guess my ignorance is really showing, because I didn't even know we had women running all the way back then.  (And how awesome we did: women were running before they vote.  Try to tell me now that women didn't care about politics.)  The only women I could think of who ran were Jeannette Rankin and Shirley Chisholm, both who ran during the last century.   
Also, I need to research more on this crazy case involving Aimee Semple McPherson. It sounds like a Lifetime movie set at the turn of the century, though I find myself sympathetic, because she campaigned for William Jennings Bryant, and there's I love about that guy. 
Some of the behavior does strike me as rather stupid, such as Jacqui Smith apparently claiming pornography on an expense report.  Er...that's a bad idea.  A even worse idea?  Taking the blame for what was apparently really the husband.   

Out with Erin and Carrie

Since I couldn't find Carrie and Erin when I first got there, I just went to watch the band.  The people at this thing were sort of making me wonder about this place.  There was a young girl wearing what looked like a little girl's dress from the 1840's, with vertically stripped tights a la Alice in Wonderland.  She had all of her hair on the sides of her head shaved off, and just the top of her hair was growing down around it asymmetrically on one side, curled and bouncing in a way that indicated it must have been sprayed with massive amounts of hairspray.  And then she had a nose ring to complete the look.  Her boyfriend looked like an Edward Gorey character, but with an emphasis on pedophile-like creepiness.  There was another woman wandering around wearing no shirt but tape X's over her breasts, and then a suit jacket over that, and was carrying a massive, professional camera.
All of this is to say that I was really wondering where the hell Carrie had gotten me to come.  When she told me about this, it sounded fun, but being here now made me wonder what the appeal for Carrie was.  There was not her kind of place at all.
The band played, and the first woman, the one who was rocking the little girl Alice-punk look screamed out occasionally to the band, telling them she loved them.  "It's because we love you!" she yelled them at one point. 
Near the end of the set, Carrie and Erin found me.  They were both surprised to see me.  They tried to talk to me, and I really should have just left, but the band was good, and I really did want to hear them.  Erin and Carrie's loud talking clearly annoyed some of the people around us. 
Once the band finished, we wandered around a bit.  There was art on the walls, and I pretty much hated everything I saw. 
Carrie is rather fearless when it comes to talking to people.  She just went up to this woman, an artist, named Val.  Carrie just talked to her.  When she introduced herself, I made some jokes about Madonna and first-name basis. 
Val's husband, Curtis, was particularly friendly.  We had a nice time talking to him.  He was sort of floppity looking, like Juicebox, but with darker eyelashes and taller, but just as lean.  Unlike Juicebox, he dressed in clothes that showed off how skinny he is, which is the exact opposite of what Juicebox does. 
Val and Curtis had a very attractive friend with them, but he sort of disappeared.  What a disappointment.  After a while, so did Val. 
I get the feeling Curtis was mostly just talking to us to be nice, not because he was genuinely interested in what we had to say.  This struck me as a little embarrassing.  I would rather not be patronized. 
Eventually people sort of dropped away and left, and near the end, Erin and Carrie and I decided to leave.  Carrie got the art she had bought, wrapped up in bubble wrap. 
We wandered around for a while.  The cold was really bothering me, and I wished I had a warmer coat.  Erin wanted to get something to eat, and we ended up at this greasy spoon. 
The waiter was weirdly rude to us.  He was an older man, and asked for separate checks made him said he would only make two separate checks, not three.  We weren't far from a university, and a large one; I'm sure he's been asked to do that before. 
I had a burger and fries and was mostly happy with that.

Last Letter

Found this great little blog post discussing the publication of the a poem Ted Hughes wrote about his wife Sylvia Plath.  I'm a big Plath fan, and although Hughes is a good poet, I hate him as a person.  I think it's pretty telling that his companion after Plath died also committed suicide later on.  This sort of thing also reminds me why I'm so glad feminism exists, because it gave women permission to take care of themselves and not sacrifice always for their husbands at the expense of their minds and well-being.  Talented young women are far less likely to kill themselves now, and for that I am entirely grateful.  We need those talented women to create art, music, and books that forces us to see the suffering and strength of modern young women.