It’s All Shit

It’s been a while since I’ve watched South Park. My relationship with this show has always been weird, mainly because I love it, and everything Parker and Stone do, but when I see them in interviews, I’d like more than anything to punch them in the teeth (especially Stone, no idea why).

Being a feminist probably has something to do with it: South Park, while more progressive than a lot of shit on American and Israeli TV, is still pretty brutal to women, and very forgiving in a ‘boys will be boys’ sort of way to just about whatever their male characters do. They might comment about it, now and then, or have some fairly feminist episodes, by they’re no Sarah Haskins.

Even these days, when I went to watch most of  seasons 14 and 15, there were moments that were too much for me. The porn and rape jokes, and the objectifying of women just usually made me want to close that window and never watch the show again. And then it usually builds up to a pretty lovely and clever climax, and I forgive Stone and Parker, even if I do want to shoot them in the balls.

Now,  this probably does make me sound very much like a humorless feminist bitch. While a feminist, who reads feminist blogs, and doesn’t even like Tim Minchin very much on that very basis, I still feel the need to assert the fact I have a sense of humor. To do this in the best way, I’m going to perform the amazing literary trick of using an example from the show I was just complaining about for sexism. Because I am amazing.

The shit-shots in South Park’s You’re Getting Older (I know, a month in internet-land is about six years, but bear with me) are more or less what I see when confronted with TV and music that I don’t consider excellent. I can still listen to it, but the shit will always be in the back of my mind. South Park defines this as being a cynical asshole, which I can’t really disagree with.

When it comes to comedy, the Brits have probably spoiled me beyond repair, especially with programs like Peep Show. When my best friend tried to show me episodes from The Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother, all I remember is that everyone was much too pretty, and not a single dead dog was eaten. It wasn’t even depressing. Clearly, it’s shit, and that was what I saw.

There were other examples of me just not getting it. I’ve stopped seeing any kind of merit in silly puns on T-shirts – another friend’s love – and can’t watch Israeli TV without getting incredibly angry and nauseated.

And the irony in this situation? To get over all of the shit that makes me angry, I’ve been listening nearly non-stop to Parker and Stone’s latest thing (I haven’t forgotten Bobby Lopez, but I think Avenue Q is basically perfect, anyway), The Book of Mormon. It is probably the funniest and most uplifting musical I have ever listened to, and certain songs often make me tear up. When I watch Stone and Parker being interviewed about it, I don’t even want to shank them in the penis.

How to Ignore Your Country and Still Stay Informed

There’s no easy way to say this, but a lot of shit is going on in Israel right now. For political analysis of the geo-political situation, I recommend a blog called not this blog, what is wrong with you, I’m an idiot. Why I write about it, is mainly because it’s impossible to ignore, and fairly depressing.

So, today will be that post about ignoring the country you live in, while still maintaining grasp upon reality. Kind of.

1. Don’t watch TV, or listen to the radio

This one should be obvious. Considering all army-related news come from the IDF spokesperson, anyway, there is absolutely no reason to do so. All of your favorite songs and programs are on the internet, so why would you even want to turn those boxes on? They lie.

2. Blogs and Twitter: Your new CNN

They might not be completely accurate at all times, but neither are mainstream news. Bloggers, at least, usually have good intentions. All news are biased in their own way, and you’re likely, just as I did, to follow accounts that agree with your political views. This is perfectly fine, because while informing you, they’ll be upset and happy whenever you are.  You’ll be informed, but not constantly furious.

3. Get a life

Politics aren’t everything in the world. They might be what eventually decides if a missile blows your head up, but you have so little influence that it doesn’t matter if you take interest or not. Interest is my keyword here: Have many of them, so you’re not just stuck with political blogs and Twitter accounts from Gaza. Find a book series to obsess about. Follow celebrities on Twitter. Get into fights on what’s better, a contratenor or contralto (more on my interest in classical music in my next post, An Analysis of Motifs in Verdi’s Don Carlos). By the time you’re scourging Youtube for videos of that favorite hunky baritone, you’ll forget all about Iran’s nuclear program.

4. Play pretend

Do you live in a country that had trending topics on Twitter? If so, develop an obsession to another country (see item #3), and change your trending topics to match. Now that you’ve turned of your TV, you can watch whatever you’d like online, thanks to the magic of piracy, too. I am an anglophile. My Twitter tells me of things to do in London this week, and what’s new at the Royal Opera House. When I sit at my computer, I don’t live in Israel. I might get annoyed at things that happen here, but five minutes later, I could get excited over that new production of Peter Grimes that the RoH is planning, or just shut off everything and watch QI. Citizens of the internet don’t need passports to cross the border.

I could write a few more pointers to those who are still confused: How helpful music and a set of good headphones are, how comedy saved my life during the War in Gaza, and generally, how it’s just best to ignore it all, really. I could do that, but I haven’t listened to The Book of Mormon’s cast album in nearly an hour, and the radio is on. On the next death report, I’ll hopefully be dancing to Hasa Diga Eebowai.

Bloodbath

The thing about Israel, as much as we like pretending that we have a mild climate, green meadows, and a functional democracy, is that it’s really 70% made of desert. This means that we don’t have plenty of water: The majority of it comes from a large lake that is never, ever full .

We are constantly reminded that there is not enough water in Israel, and that we absolutely have to save every last drop of it. Even if we’re having a rainy winter, even if Tel-Aviv has been flooded again because they haven’t fixed the sewage system since 1968, and even if the Hermon just had the biggest snowstorm in history- Taking a bath is basically treason.

Now, since there is no capital punishment for treason in Israel, we’ve moved to the second and third best options: Guilt and money. If you waste too much water, the  PSAs alone will make you want to die for endangering your country. The water bill, as a safety net, will make sure that you won’t be able to afford food, and starve to death.

Now, what is especially hard for me about the no-bath rule, is that a soak makes it about 46635 times easier to shave your legs.  This is the only way for me to remove hair from my legs, because of extreme sensitivity to pain. If you consider this too much information, leave the internet and go bake oatmeal cookies. And now I’m back from a week in Paris, in a hotel room that had a bathtub.

In France, being depressed as I was, I took a bath nearly every day. During one of them, I thought, those hairs are getting a bit long. I should shave them. But the thing about me and hair removal isn’t just my pain sensitivity- I’m also very, very clumsy. And yet, still thought it would be a good idea to shave my legs after a bath, in a bathroom I shared with my sister.

It all seemed to go smoothly, at first. At least until I went out and discovered I’m standing in a giant pool of blood. The floor towel looked like I’ve murdered a maid who ignored the ‘do not disturb’ sign. I’ve left bloody footprints all over the bathroom, and without first aid at hand, used half a roll of toiler paper to try to stop the bleeding. And then my sister came back.

It’s a weird situation, facing your older sister in a room full of blood, spouting from the smallest shaving cut ever. She was graceful, and just made sure I knew I’d be cleaning that up, and that I should just keep pressing the toilet paper. I guess that’s what older sisters are for.

Matured French Cheese

Go on, Shir! You’re fun and witty, aren’t you? You should open a blog and be a beacon of light in our grey life on internet-land. This is what literally no one has been telling me lately, as I was holidaying in Europe.

It’s rare to encourage anyone to write a blog, these days, because it’s not 2005. Is it because I’m a little older now, or because 14-year-old bloggers have gone off the face of the internet? Are they all of Facebook now, letting out their angst in one-liners? It feels as though blogs have lost their justification to be bad, because now it’s just us mature, smart people writing them.

I’m not very smart, or mature, and expecting that is like expecting Glenn Beck to speak a coherent and well-supported argument. It’ll just end in tears. As I write, for example, I’ve just returned from a holiday in Paris. What did I do in Paris? I stayed in my hotel room, depressed out of my mind.

It could have been my family, the extensive travel (we were after a week in London, which was lovely), or just the French people who kept being French, but I felt completely depressed for three days. I could not bring myself to leave the hotel for any reason other than chocolate.

However, it also left me with wanting to write. It didn’t matter what about, how much, or where. I now have a blog, and since I’m not 14, I’ll try to angst here as little as possible. So why do I want this? For the joy of writing, to let out my thoughts, and share my ideas.

This is, of course, complete bullshit. I want fame and comments and likes. Love me. Love me. Please oh please love me.