meryl streep

Meryl Streep may not be my favorite actress, but Streep from 1976-1979 is my fashion icon.

I can’t fucking stand Meryl Streep. There, I said it.

She always needs a prop: an accent, a cigarette, an eye roll — sometimes all three. I see her acting and I think, “Oh my god, you want another Oscar, we get it.” She’s just so precise that it’s like watching someone build something in a factory: you take a little of this, a little of that, you put it together, and you get a product, which in her case is, a “great” “performance”. Quotations marks are necessary here. Quotation marks are the soldiers that protect my opinion, and I need soldiers, because saying you dislike Meryl Streep is like saying, “I found a bag of cats by the highway and beat them until I saw red.”

Which sounds like a line from a Meryl Streep film. Something she’d say in a southern accent — oh but not just ANY southern accent — a southern accent that’s localized to one country at one point in time. Katharine Hepburn once voiced a similar opinion of Streep; that when she saw her acting, she thought, “click click click” implying that she saw the wheel’s turning in Streep’s head; that she saw Meryl act the acting, instead of just acting. I see it, too. A strategically placed pause. Click. An inflection that makes a regular line a funny line. Click. A look that makes people laugh or say “Ahhh” aloud. Click click click, Meryl.

My moment of “holy shit I can’t take this anymore” happened within the first 5 minutes of August: Osage County. I am so very glad Meryl Streep didn’t win the Oscar for Meryl Streep’s impression of Meryl Streep.

And god forbid me for being a woman critiquing another woman’s performance. I did that, once before, when I criticized Anne Hathaway for her Oscar acceptance speech (and I actually liked her Les Mis performance, her song was breathtaking). People jumped on me like I was a trampoline.

Here’s the thing: I totally get the idea of wanting to support your fellow female artist. It’s not that I want Streep or Hathaway to fail — I do not. I just can’t stand them anymore. And I hate the argument that because I’m a woman it’s somehow mandatory for me to like and support all other women and their endeavors. Why the hell do I have to enjoy everything a female artist does solely because I am also a female artist? Because I have a vagina and you have a vagina I should be your biggest fan? Hell no. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what Streep has done for women actors. And I think she’s a strong, beautiful woman. It’s just the




that drives me insane and away.


Photo: LIFE Google images



Posted in: film, let's just talk from our hearts, women






Writing this post is making me anxious, which is funny, because I’m writing about anxiety. I guess it’s funny in a Big Bang Theory way; I know I’m supposed to find it funny, and I don’t find it not funny, I’m just not laughing. That kind of funny.

I’m usually really upfront when it comes to writing about my personal life, as evidenced here and here and here. So I don’t know why this is so particularly difficult, but it is.

I suffer from anxiety. And it’s not the big things in life that make me anxious, like death or anything. Though I do get very, very anxious about my future and money.

No, it’s the little things, like…sigh…parking. Parking is the gigantic steel thorn in my soft sensitive side. If I go anywhere, the first thing I think about is parking.

And now that I’ve moved, it’s even worse. Because where I used to live, I had a guaranteed space behind my apartment. Now, I have street parking. And while I have a guest pass (until I get my parking sticker), which means I can park anywhere on the street, I am still terribly anxious, because the guest pass is only good for my block, which is about the length of a pixie cut. And if all the spaces are taken, I’m kinda outta luck. I’m afraid to leave my house. Thankfully, I work from home. But sometimes, I have meetings. And that means I have to give up my space. And that’s like asking me to die. It sounds so overdramatic — and I hate that word — and it is, and I know it is, but I also don’t, cannot possibly know.

It’s about the loss of control. I can’t control a guaranteed space on my block, the same as I can’t control my future and everything in my life, blah blah, therapist shit. I know that part. I know it’s not just the space. But it’s also the space. If I leave, there may not be a space when I get back. And then what? What will I do then? I get a horrible image of me driving around Los Angeles for hours, searching for a space that isn’t permit parking or street cleaning. I’m envious of South Park characters for their, “ample parking day and night”.

I’m a fucking mess over a parking space.

This is illogical, I know. And believe me, I’ve had people say to me, “Are you fucking kidding, get over it.” But when you suffer from anxiety and the things I do, it’s not that easy. I would love to be a normal person who doesn’t feel like they’re controlled by a parking space. I feel like a motherfucking alien who just landed on Earth and is learning the ways of its people. On Saturn, parking is everywhere, Earthlings. What have you done?

I know there are people in this world far worse off than I am. I’m not suggesting I have it the worst. I live in beautiful Los Angeles with great friends. I have both legs. Both legs! I have a fantastic boyfriend.

But I also have a flawed mind. My brain is out to get me. It finds things no one else would be anxious about, and it multiplies them. And it won’t leave me alone. It goes something like this:

BRAIN: “Did you put on the parking brake?”

ME: “Yes, of course, I always do.”

BRAIN: “But what if you didn’t this time?”

ME: “That doesn’t make sense, Brain, I always do. Ever since that accident.”

(Long story short, we lived on Mulholland Dr. when I was a kid, and the neighbors above us on the hill didn’t put on their parking brake and their truck rolled down the hill which crashed into a tree which crashed into our breakfast nook window where we were eating dinner. My brother fell to the floor. If I hadn’t gotten up to go to the bathroom, I could have died, as I was sitting right in front of the window. That story wasn’t very short, sorry.)

BRAIN: “But what if you didn’t, and your car crashed back into the car behind you which crashes into the car behind that one which crashes into the car behind that one and before you know it, you’ve ruined Los Angeles?”


BRAIN: “No, you.”


(Looks in window, parking brake is up.)

ME: “See? Told you, Brain, it’s FINE.”

BRAIN: “Get in the car.”


BRAIN: “Get in the car and make sure.”



ME: “What?”


And it goes on. And I get in the car. And the brake is fine. And I leave the car. And I go back to the car again, just to make sure.

I know, okay, I know: it’s just parking. It’s not possible that I’ll be driving around for hours without a place to park. That’s not how life works. Maybe that kind of shit happens to Werner Herzog, but not to me. I’m just a girl, standing in front of the Internet, asking it to love her.


Who else has anxiety? How do you cope? Let’s use this post to help each other.

Photo by me, via Instagram, @apocalypstick.

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Posted in: fear and loathing, let's hug it out, let's just talk from our hearts, Los Angeles


Do you need help finding a man? Joe Bonomo would like to offer his dating advice with his 64 page book titled How To Find Your Man from 1954. Want to find and keep “Your Man”? Follow these tips!

1. Start by filling out a handy chart of “yes” or “no” questions.


Here are the questions (and Joe asks that you fill them out twice. First before reading the book, and then after.)

1. Sure you want to find him? (Sure.)
2. Are you ready for him? (Oh yeah.)
3. Are you mentally relaxed? (Hahahahahaha.)
4. Are you honest with yourself? (Sure.)
5. Can you be honest with him? (Oh yeah.)
6. Are you feminine in appearance? (…what?)
7. Do you look happy? (Well not when I’m having panic attacks, which is fairly often.)
8. Can you share? (Yeah unless it’s my stuff.)
9. Want a guy who’s not quite perfect? (Are you hitting on me, Joe?)
10. Are you prompt for dates? (I try my best, I swear!)
11. Is your outfit complimentary to him? (Yes, I spied on him before our date and matched my outfit accordingly, down to the tie.)
12. Do you want him tailored to fit your idea of Mr. Right? (Who is Mr. Right, really?)

So how did you do, ladies?

2. “Thank your stars”.


Joe suggests thanking your lucky stars and basically chilling the fuck out. “Have you ever noticed, that often, when you try to play the hardest…you can’t win the game you’re playing? But, when you don’t give a darn, it falls into your lap? That a job promotion…a salary raise…a nice present comes expectedly? When you’re relaxed, you’re more attractive to your friends, your boss…and the guy you’ve just met.” Hey, maybe it’ll happen to be all three! I gotta give Joe props for assuming that some women actually have — gasp — jobs.

3. Be feminine.


This one is very important to ole Joe. You’ve just got to be feminine or you’ve got no chance, no matter how many lucky stars you’re thanking. Not sure if you’re feminine? Here’s a handy checklist!

  • “Do you remember daintiness, at all times?” (I knew I forgot something, I thought it was pants, turns out it was daintiness!)
  • “Can you wear slacks or shorts and still be girlish…and do you avoid them otherwise?” (I regularly avoid pants, yes.)
  • “When you’re dressing for an evening date, do you avoid mannish suits?” (No, I like to wear my gigantic David Byrne suit.)
  • “Do you always remember that white gloves, or a white collar, should be spotless?” (Great, now I need to buy white gloves.)
  • “Do you take the time to use a drop of perfume…to put on a piece of jewelry…Not too much of it please!” (Shut up, Joe.)
  • “Do you watch your posture…never sprawling or slouching?” (I’m actually trying to improve my posture, yes.)
  • “Do you remember not to stride…to walk with a spring that looks as if you like to dance?” (I’m pretty sure only Disney Princesses can walk this way and get away with it.)
  • “Do you watch the way you use your voice in conversation?” (No I CANNOT CONTROL THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE.)

The book also suggests that you should look happy. “…You actually have to learn to live happily as a single person before you can expect to live happily married.” That’s actually good advice! “On the other hand, don’t go overboard!” Damn it Joe, we were so close.

4. Don’t be late on your dates. But if he is, try to deal with it.


Joe points out that some rascally girls love to be late for dates, so as not to appear “too eager.” But Joe thinks you should be courteous. If you wouldn’t want him to be late, then you shouldn’t be either. But what if he is late? “Give him a chance to explain. If he is never on time, you’ll soon decide whether you want to be bothered with him…or whether you’re so far gone for him that it’s part of his nature you’ll learn to put up with.” So basically, deal with it, gals.

5. Dress to impress.


To find your man, you’ve got to look good. Like, really good. Before going on dates, you need to ask yourself, “Do you look as though you have taken care with your grooming? And your dress?” (NEVER SLACKS, LADIES.) “Or do you look as though any old thing would do? Of course it’s best never to overdress…but don’t be timid either! Look special so he’ll know you think he’s something special.” Buddy Joe notes that “dressing appropriately doesn’t necessarily mean expensively. Like all gals today, you already know that.” Hey, thanks for giving us the benefit of the doubt. For once. Just don’t you dare forget that, “wearing clothes that are fresh and spotless is a compliment to Your Man!” (And yes, Your Man really is capitalized in the book.)

Oh and in case you were worried about this, the book assures you, “you don’t need mink!” But you should know how to sew. “Wait until he admires your bouse…and then let him know you’re pleased he likes it, because you made it yourself.” Don’t bother with fur, learn to sew, got it.

6. Follow and memorize these “six simple rules”:

  • “Be lovely to look at…at all times.” (ALL times? Aw, man.)
  • “Have a ready smile. He may see it…even though you haven’t noticed him yet.” (What? Is he hiding?)
  • “Budget your times to include Your Man…whether you’ve met him yet or not.” (Joe, you cray.)
  • “Budget your energy…in the same way.” (k.)
  • “When you meet him…charm him with sincerity and your own natural sweetness…accented with care for your appearance and disposition.” (UGH, WE GET IT JOE, WE ALL NEED TO LOOK HOT AND HAPPY.)

7. Wear a lot of makeup, wash constantly, and worry about your neck.


Guys, Joe is OBSESSED with ladies’ appearance. He thinks women should wear makeup and be very clean, always. Want to follow his skin regimen? “Twice a day, give your face a bath…using a soft washcloth. [...] Never wash your face with hot water! Use lukewarm water to start…and finish with cold. Cold water makes a velvet skin!” Okay I’m totally pro being clean and washing your face, but the way he describes. the whole thing is a little, “it puts the lotion in the basket”. Check out his makeup tips: “When you’re applying foundation cream…remember the way you do it is important. Rubbing around and around, or carelessly up and down…won’t do anything to prevent sagging and stretching. [...] move up the neck, never down.” NEVER DOWN, NEVAAAAR!

He is also very obsessed with ladies’ necks. “A man looks at a horse’s teeth to tell his age…he often looks at a woman’s neck to see how wrinkled or dried up it is…for the same reason.” Wow! Charming!

There are more pages spent on appearance in this book than on anything else.

8. Say “yes” to everything.


I get his point here: “You won’t find him by sitting home alone.” So what can you do? “Be available. Try having a Yes campaign! Say ‘yes’ when knock-kneed Susie at the office asks you home to dinner…her brother Joe may be handsome!” (I’m dying here. “Knock-kneed” Susie? And we get it Joe, you’re a catch.) “Say ‘yes’ when boring cousin Kate asks you to a party at her house…it may turn out to be the time when you meet That Guy who definitely doesn’t bore you!” Who the hell are these people??

9. “Budget your energy”.


Joe is getting up in our face here. “Must you really spend Saturday afternoon window-shopping…when you have no intention of buying?” The hell do you care, Joe? Well his problem is we could be using that time to find Our Man! And by the way, you should take his advice as soon as possible. Joe suggests you even do it “today“. And don’t waste your “emotional energy” either. If you break up with some clown, buck up and get it together so you have good energy for when you meet Your Man.

10. Go out more, do more things, meet more people.


Joe suggests that in order to find the man you want, you have to go where he wants to be. So if you want a man who likes music, go to a concert. Joe is even forward-thinking enough to suggest that women can be interested in politics and that you should “join your favorite political party and attend meetings and rallies” if that’s what you’re and your dream man are into. But he also suggests folk dancing and attending church regularly, so he’s keeping it balanced. And if you have a dog, use it to your advantage. Take it to a dog park and get the dog to hit on a guy for you.

Ultimately, though some of these tips are horribly old-fashioned to the point of being offensive, some of them make absolute sense. What do you guys think of these 1950′s dating tips?


Originally posted by me on The Gaggle.



Posted in: dating, vintage advice

Lucky Bloke condom





Hello everyone! Did you know it’s National Condom week until the 21st of February? I didn’t, but now that I do, I thought we should celebrate by giving away a sample pack of FREE CONDOMS from Lucky Bloke! Lucky Bloke is a site that sells the best of the best condoms, and also reviews them. They’ve been featured on Huffington Post for tips on safe, awesome sex.

I’m giving away 1 condom sampler pack of your choice! There’s 16 different packs to choose from (!). Each pack contains 12 condoms and some packs have extra goodies, too! And if you’d rather have a lube sampler pack, you can! Each pack has a value of $18.99. That’s nearly $20 worth of free condom-y goodness.

Lucky Bloke condom

You could win the “Sexy Superhero Hook-Up Survival” Kit!

How To Enter

It’s really easy to enter (that’s what she said). All you need to do is answer this question in the comments: if you could name your own line of condoms, what would you name them? My favorite answer wins! Be creative.

So don’t be shy! To enter, you don’t even have to use your real name (though if you win, I’ll need your info.) You could win FREE STUFF! FREE IS GOOD. Note: this contest is WORLDWIDE! Anyone — ANYONE — can enter! And as many times as you like.



Posted in: contest/giveaway

Uncommon Goods

I don’t doubt for a second that women are harder on ourselves than men. We’ll stare at our thighs and let out a stream of curse words that would make Joe Pesci say, “Whoa, chill out.” We’d stay stuff to ourselves guys would never even dream of saying to us. When men fail, they tend not to take it as personally as we do.

Let’s change that.

As someone going through what we call a “transitional period” (read: “I feel like a total fuck-up” period), I have some tips how how to not feel like a total failure, even though you may really, really want to.


So, you gained some weight.

This one sucks because no one can tell you “oh it’s all on your head” if the dress that fit you 2 years ago now seems like it was made for a doll. “WHO IS PUTTING DOLL CLOTHES IN MY CLOSET?” you want to scream. If it doesn’t zip, it doesn’t fit, and that’s just how it is. Firstly, as with all “failures” don’t feel bad about feeling bad — you’re allowed to take a moment to wallow even if it’s over not being able to fit into a skirt that’s honestly kind of ugly to begin with. So take your moment to feel bad.

NOW you have to change your current thoughts, feelings, and behaviors so that you set yourself up for a better future. That goes with any “failure.” You wallow, then you pull yourself together. Make a plan to exercise every day or every other day — or just start with once a week. Just plan it. Then do it. Then for every day you work out, put a sticker in your planner or write a big fat X. Then watch your progress grow into a sea of stickers or X’s. Go out and buy healthy foods. Start cooking for yourself at least once a week. Just start.

Sometimes, even if our clothes don’t fit, the weight gain is only visible to us. No one else can tell. We are really our own harshest critics and only we know how our clothes really fit. They might feel tighter but people don’t have X-Ray vision — they can’t tell the way you can.

And maybe it’s enough for people to notice. Okay, so what? It’s not like you drowned a bag of kittens. You decided to eat indulgently and not work out. That’s actually not a crime. That’s actually totally okay. But if you’re unhappy with it, change it. Don’t whine about it and then not change it. That’s the worst.


So, you lost your job.

This one sucks because losing your job can mean huge life changes, like having to move. Some of us are okay with big changes. Some of us resist it and hate it with everything we’ve got, like a cat in a costume.

In most cases, your job loss was not personal. It’s not like you were let go because no one liked you. And let’s say you got fired because in fact, it waspersonal. Guess what? That was a terrible work environment and you’re going to be a better person for not being there. The only way to handle a job loss is to spin it until you find the bright side. For example, now you can focus on what you really want to do. Maybe it’s time to make big career changes. Maybe now you can follow your dream. But really, do more than follow it — hunt that motherfucker down. Turn this loss into a gain.

And maybe you’re going to have to make sacrifices, like selling a major item, moving, or taking on a crappy part-time job until you find something. And it’s okay to be upset by that. But you can’t be upset about it every day for the rest of your life. You just can’t. You can, but you’ll have no friends left and you’ll be completely miserable. Is that something you actively want to choose?

You’re not a failure because you lost your job. Lots of people lose jobs. You’re only a failure if you let it define you as a person. You are not your job.


So, you got dumped.

This one sucks because it is personal. It’s the most personal thing in the world. Even if someone says, “It’s not you, it’s me” they’re still talking about you. How can you not feel hurt?

Once again, take time to mourn the loss of the relationship. Cry, shout, do what you have to do to keep yourself from holding onto any anger or sadness inside. Don’t keep it all inside. It will explode later at the company picnic when Deborah takes the last corn on the cob. That bitch. Let it out now.

Then start to heal. Think about what you learned from the relationship. We always learn something. Maybe it’s as simple as, “I’ll never date guys under 24 again.” Fine. Go with that. Just take something, anything and learn from it. Grow from it. Don’t let it make you bitter. If you let it make you bitter, you’re turning your future self into an asshole. No one likes the asshole who is caustic about relationships and uses every opportunity to bash their ex. Write about it. Make funny videos. Turn it into something positive. Even if it’s just a funny tweet. That one tweet is something good and positive, and that’s exactly what you need.


You’re only a total failure if you allow yourself to stop growing. And how do you grow? By learning from mistakes, facing change, and doing things that scare you. (At least, those are some ways.) Accept your loss, mourn it, then move on. Because you owe it to your future self. You owe your future self success, even if present self feels nothing but failure. Ignore present self. Think about future self. What do you want to do for her?


Photo credit: Uncommon Goods. Originally posted on The Gaggle, by me.



Posted in: i guess this is advice, let's just talk from our hearts, life lessons

Indeed. Photo by me.

Indeed. Photo by me.

Dylan Farrow, Woody Allen’s adopted — I hate to even make the distinction, but I know if I don’t include the word “adopted” people will jump on me, as if the word “adopted” makes everything better — daughter, recently came out with an open letter detailing the sexual abuse she suffered under Woody Allen when she was 7 years old. Before I get to that, I think it’s important to provide some historical context. Though Woody Allen was accused of molesting his daughter, Dylan, in 1992, it went largely ignored compared to say, Roman Polanski’s crime — people heard about it, and knew about it, but didn’t really react like they did with Polanski. At the time it happened, Vanity Fair did a long story, detailing accounts by Maureen O’Sullivan, Mia Farrow’s mother, who says she saw inappropriate activity like Allen rubbing sunscreen where he shouldn’t:

One summer day in Connecticut, when Dylan was four and Woody was applying suntan lotion to her nude body, he alarmed Mia’s mother, actress Maureen O’Sullivan, and sister Tisa Farrow when he began rubbing his finger in the crack between her buttocks. Mia grabbed the lotion out of his hand, and O’Sullivan asked, “How do you want to be remembered by your children?” “As a good father,” Woody answered. “Well, that’s interesting,” O’Sullivan replied. “It only lasted a few seconds, but it was definitely weird,” says Tisa Farrow.

A baby-sitter also had her own strange account:

Dylan was on the sofa, wearing a dress, and Woody was kneeling on the floor holding her, with his face in her lap. The baby-sitter did not consider it “a fatherly pose,” but more like something you’d say “Oops, excuse me” to if both had been adults. She told police later that she was shocked. “It just seemed very intimate. He seemed very comfortable.”

Dylan told her mother that her (adopted) father, Woody Allen, had sexually abused her. Although the whole thing turned into a horrific media circus, it would have been so much worse had the internet exploded around that time. What most people remember about Woody Allen from the 1990′s is that he had an affair with, and went on to marry, girlfriend Mia Farrow’s (adopted) teenage daughter Soon-Yi. He seemed completely bewildered that people were so upset about his actions. Here are some excerpts from an interview with Time magazine, in which he famously said, “The heart wants what it wants”,

Q. Your movies always explore these types of emotions and motives. You must have sat up one night and thought about the problems you might cause dating the daughter of a previous lover, a mother she doesn’t like?

A. I didn’t think about her not liking Mia. I did think that, well, she is the adoptive daughter of my previous girlfriend, but that didn’t mean anything to me. It didn’t manifest itself in any significant way. She was a grown, sophisticated person. She was raised in New York.

Q. You’re a guy who can find moral dilemmas in a broken DON’T WALK sign. Didn’t you see some here?

A. I didn’t find any moral dilemmas whatsoever. I didn’t feel that just because she was Mia’s daughter, there was any great moral dilemma. It was a fact, but not one with any great import. It wasn’t like she was my daughter.

Q. Did you ever discuss with her, “What is Mom going to think of this?”

A. Mom would have thought more or less the same thing if it had been my secretary or an actress.

Q. Come on!

A. There is a different psychodynamic here, without any question, but the difference is one of small degree. If I had said to “Mom” — it was actually “Mia” that she called her — I’m in love with my secretary, there would have been some version of the same thing.

(“Come on!” indeed.) On Saturday, February 1st, Dylan Farrow posted an open letter to The New York Times, asking the reader,

What’s your favorite Woody Allen movie? Before you answer, you should know: when I was seven years old, Woody Allen took me by the hand and led me into a dim, closet-like attic on the second floor of our house. He told me to lay on my stomach and play with my brother’s electric train set. Then he sexually assaulted me. He talked to me while he did it, whispering that I was a good girl, that this was our secret, promising that we’d go to Paris and I’d be a star in his movies. I remember staring at that toy train, focusing on it as it traveled in its circle around the attic. To this day, I find it difficult to look at toy trains.

[...] What if it had been your child, Cate Blanchett? Louis CK? Alec Baldwin? What if it had been you, Emma Stone? Or you, Scarlett Johansson? You knew me when I was a little girl, Diane Keaton. Have you forgotten me? Woody Allen is a living testament to the way our society fails the survivors of sexual assault and abuse.

Everyone caught up? Now, to get to my point. I am, or rather, was, an enormous Woody Allen fan. I found relief and solace in someone who was so talented and so much more neurotic than I am. That poster I posted at the top has been with me through 3 different houses and apartments. I have a vintage Annie Hall poster that I’ve had since I was a teenager. I loved Woody Allen. I loved his films, his writing, his whole persona. I heard about the abuse claims, but I thought they were just that — claims, made even more exaggerated by media hype and a resentful ex.

After reading Dylan’s letter, I can’t even look at his face. I understand how some people could. Some people can separate the artist from their work. I thought I could, but I’m starting to think that is impossible. The same person who came up with the witty dialogue in Annie Hall is the same person who molested a 7-year-old girl. He is the same person who still makes her feel like that scared little girl in an attic, unable to even glance at a toy train without feeling horror.

Let’s be honest here: this is a very inconvenient truth about Woody Allen for Woody Allen fans. It’s like when he first preyed on Soon-Yi; It was easy for me to reason, “Well, he didn’t actually adopt Soon-Yi and she wasn’t technically his stepdaughter either; he didn’t even live with Mia and it wasn’t illegal.” That was a very easy thing to do, and I did it. I didn’t even bother to read up on the story. I didn’t even know he took nude photos of a teenage Soon-Yi and hid them in his room. Being ignorant is easy.

It would be far easier to ignore Dylan’s letter, or to believe the piece written by a Daily Beast editor who supports Allen and claims he is not biased, despite the fact that he directed Woody Allen’s documentary and makes every appearance of being in his inner circle. It would be easier, though far more awful, to blame the victim or not believe her, though she has absolutely nothing to gain by showing her face and telling her story. It would be easier for Woody Allen fans to click the little “x” on Dylan Farrow’s piece and click the play button on a DVD player and enjoy their hundredth viewing of Manhattan (a film in which Allen’s character has a relationship with a teenage girl).

It’s easy to say, “it’s unfair of her to call out other actors, they had nothing to do with this.” It’s easy because we view actors as people who are above us. Who have rules that do not apply to them. Because, were Woody Allen the boss of a shoe store in a mall, everyone would be horrified and would congratulate Dylan Farrow for coming forward. If Cate Blanchett was someone who sold shoes in his store, we would say, “Come on now, you don’t need a job that badlyShame on you.” But we don’t, because Cate Blanchett is a famous actress, and Woody Allen is a famous director.

So while it’s far easier to ignore what Allen has done, I cannot. I believe Dylan Farrow. I believe that taking nude photos of his girlfriend’s daughter and then seducing her was wrong. I believe in the judge’s decision to take custody of Dylan away from Woody Allen and to deny him any sort of contact. I believe that something truly awful happened, and I believe that it is easier for Hollywood to celebrate Woody Allen and put Diane Keaton on a stage to accept an award on his behalf.

By ignoring this, we are turning our backs on that 7-year-old. We are telling her that we prefer her abuser’s entertainment for our enjoyment over her inconvenient truth. Is that really something we want to do?



Posted in: let's just talk from our hearts, movies




How To Pack

I was supposed to be packing, but instead I made a video on how to pack. Hint: prioritize your spices.


Posted in: video