November 22, 2015

Summer reminiscence

Evidently, I don’t blog anymore. Only three posts this year! My excuse is the large amount of scientific writing I’ve been doing lately. When you remove the ability to be quippy and do nothing but voice your own opinions without forethought or justification, it turns out I’m a fairly terrible writer. Soooo, when I finish staring at my computer screen for hours trying to form words into cohesive thought, I am simply in no mood to do any other writing…at all…ever again. The unintended benefit is I now have a tremendous amount to fill you in on. Shall we begin?

The 42nd Annual Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival

It was on May 2nd and 3rd this year, and it still surprises me that after attending this festival for the last four years, I can still find new and interesting things.

20150502_142941I found some gorgeous handmade glass circular knitting needles by Michael and Sheila Ernst Glass. I was assured by the artist that they absolutely won’t, say, break while I’m knitting and impale me through the hand. They were a little pricey (not that I wouldn’t realistically spend that much on needles if I were being truthful with myself) but still stunning.

I learned a new skill from woodworker Stephen Willette who makes beautiful fiber art tools. Now normally I can’t have anything to do with artisans like these; my boys would simply not tolerate exposed balls of yarn in expertly crafted wooden bowls to go undestroyed. But I bought this lovely lucet and learned how to make a lucet braid. <– That link, by the way, will take you to a YouTube video with a good tutorial…and bitchin’ soundtrack. This is a technique that apparently dates back to the Vikings and the resultant cording can be used to make just about anything: jewelry, potholders, rugs, things like that. I’ve decided, once I get the hang of making the braid more uniform, to begin with some cute neon friendship bracelets and I’ve also found just the yarn for it:

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And speaking of neon, I am absolutely thrilled that vibrant, rich colors are back in vogue. I, and my skin tone, simply cannot do pastels, and white clothing is just impractical. That is when I discovered Neighborhood Fiber Co., a local, small batch hand-dyed yarn company that makes some of the brightest, most colorful yarns I’ve found. I got their exquisite Penthouse Silk Fingering. Yarn colors are named after neighborhoods in DC and Baltimore.

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Traveling in the name of science

I attended a couple scientific conferences this summer (a.k.a Nerdfests according to the Greek) which gave me the opportunity to do some traveling for free. Well, for me at least. And of course I had to do lots of science-y things, but there was time to spare to take a look at my surroundings, and I saw some amazing things.


This is the lobby area of the Union Station Hotel in St. Louis, MO. Clearly a converted railroad station from a grander era, at night they have a subtle light show of changing color on the roof. It was an unexpected pleasure since while I don’t know much about the Midwestern town outside of the Judy Garland film, I hadn’t had high hopes.

The intensive scientific workshop I was attending in Dubrovnik, Croatia coincided with their Summer Festival celebrating music and art. This meant that in between didactic lectures and dipping into the cool, blue Adriatic, I was able to attend an open air chamber quartet performance held in an old abbey and hear La Traviata sung in the streets. Yeah, it was an okay time. The festival opened with a fireworks ceremony, and we found a tremendous spot to view it from:


And finally, a real, bonafide vacation

In September, I got the opportunity to visit the Greek’s homeland of Cyprus. Well…he was actually born in Maryland. His family is from Cyprus, a Greek isle in the Mediterranean invaded by Turkey in 1974 forcing his family to flee to the States. So, it was both homecoming and vacation. The resort town his family actually lived in is still on the occupied side and I’ve got to say, seeing most of the city abandoned and crumbling and, ironically, unoccupied, cordoned off in a “forbidden zone”, was truly haunting. Aside from that though, it was a happy and exciting trip, and I think I’ll conclude this post with some of my favorite photos from it.

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Lunatics cliff diving from off the top of the sea caves near Cavo Greko


IMG_1273 20150918_093430  It isn’t all warm, sandy beaches and clear, blue water. There were also forests and mountains that actually got pretty chilly. Our jaunts there were pretty much the only time my aggressively endothermic partner was truly comfortable.


The Greek talks nuts.

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But let’s not forget about those sunny beaches and crystal blue water…

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I know. I’m jealous of myself right now.

November 21, 2015

Exploring my own backyard…

Occasionally when I am downtown, I’ll stumble upon something that causes me to exclaim incredulously, “I didn’t know this was here!”  Even though it really is no wonder considering how expertly I take my own town for granted (See “Bad hostess“).  And upon discovering this new “hidden” gem, it inspires me to truly make an effort to explore my surroundings and reminds me that they are special and interesting places, despite being a mere Metro ride away.  Case in point: The Costume Collection at the Smithsonian Museum of American History.  The collection contains over 30,000 garments from the 17th century to the present.  How can I not know about this?  Fashion?  History?  Seriously?? The thing is, I actually love museums.  I love the rich history and old buildings.  I love the smell of them and what they represent.  So, it really is astounding.

Anyways, in an attempt to remedy that last weekend, The Greek and I paid a visit to the newly renovated Renwick Gallery. Part of the Smithsonian American Art Museum, we attended their reopening festival and were among the first people to see the tremendous new exhibition we had heard about: WONDER. [<- Click on that. You will not be disappointed.] It features nine installations from nine contemporary artists in which everyday materials are transformed into something extraordinary…including my personal favorite, a rainbow made of hundreds of strands of embroidery thread by an artist named Gabriel Dawe (see left).

It’s even more beautiful in person. And so ethereal and lifelike, it seemed like I could put my hand out and my fingers would pass right through it. [This is not naughty, by the way; pictures were encouraged.] I highly recommend a visit: it doesn’t take a lot of effort (you can be in and out in an hour) and is an exemplary opportunity to see beauty, something we should try never to pass up.



April 28, 2015

Childhood memories that go straight to your thighs…

I have many hobbies. Most are, regrettably, sadly sedentary. Just take a look at the topics in this blog: Art, fashion, needlework. Not terribly high impact and not really compatible with incorporating a treadmill…although wine + treadmill would be amusing if ill-advised. So, I remain almost obscenely unfit. Mind you, I’m not hating on my body. I have a healthy self-outlook; I just wish I was stronger and not so averse to stairs. Ahhhh, stairs…my great nemesis! Anyways, some of these hobbies aren’t simply unhelpful on this front, they’re downright counterproductive. Like baking. And lately I have really been feeling the urge to bake…and, consequently, my waistband has been feeling the pressure. (This is despite the fact that the Greek still eats easily 80% of the resulting goodies and yet remains frustratingly svelte. Surely unreasonable envy and annoyance is cardio…) And recently, the only thing I want to bake are old-fashioned cookies!

Time-tested, delicious little morsels, the perfect combination of sugar and nostalgia that leave your whole house smelling like sweet, sweet butter for hours afterward. Some people thumb through old photo albums or paw through old boxes of baby clothes, but I enjoy baking…and I hate wasting food. So, after an afternoon’s stroll down memory lane, I have 72 little reminders of childhood with a profoundly high calorie count…and a genetically ungifted metabolism that will cause me to gain weight simply from looking at the pictures of these cookies. (Like, a cantaloupe burns more daily calories than I do.)

Fittingly, all my recipes come from my old Better Homes and Gardens cookbook which has basically fallen completely apart (Are there still places where they’ll bind books for you?).

First I began with Peanut Butter Cookies. I even bought processed sugar paste (a.k.a Jif) specifically for this purpose.

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Then Chocolate Chip Cookie Bars…because I was essentially raised by Nestle Tollhouse.



Finally, I made Snickerdoodles, which, admittedly, I had never heard of until I moved to Maryland at the age of eighteen and which I actually make with avid regularity…because they’re tasty. But they are unarguably lots of people’s childhood cookies.



According to Wikipedia, The Joy of Cooking claims the name has a German origin, but “It is also possible that the name is simply a nonsense word with no particular meaning, originating from a New England tradition of whimsical cookie names”. I choose to believe the second one. What are the other nonsense cookies names, you may ask? You know I had to know: Graham Jakes, Jolly Boys, Branble, Tangle Breeches, and Kinkawoodles.

Ha, Tangle Breeches.

January 4, 2015

I’ll be homemade for Christmas

So, apparently, I haven’t written a post since July!  Now normally I would claim busy student and then proceed to gripe about how demanding and important my life is.  But I’m afraid this time I can only admit neglect.  For I have finally found that the rigorous and unforgiving workload has finally begun to bear fruit: in a desperate bid for survival, I actually became a highly enduring and efficient worker, almost without even noticing.  Therefore, when these latest holidays rolled around, I found myself able to finish all I’d intended, even while making it more involved [pats self on back].  (This might seem somewhat pompous and self-aggrandizing if you don’t know me.  But trust me, these moments when things just work out happen so rarely that these small victories  simply must be celebrated.)

First, I managed to get all my Christmas cards out on time…ugh, except for one (!) because it required the Greek’s personalization. <– Not my fault.  These are my favorite, simple and charming and hand pressed on heavy card stock from Steel Petal Press; I buy them every year:



Aaaannnddddd I got to use my new Scottish sealing wax  that I found last Renn Faire.  I originally wrote about finding my antique wax seal 2 years ago, but the accompanying wax I bought with it just sucked all the fun out of it.  It felt like I was melting cheap crayons, and the seal looked like shit.  I literally choked a little when the Renn Faire vendor told me the price, $22 for a single 4-inch stick!  But he told me it was a traditional sealing wax, made in a much higher quality than you normally find, and guaranteed me 30-40 seals per stick.  I bought it in a lovely metallic green color and have no complaints.  It’s sold by K Dopita Studio online; you have to call a number to place an order, which is adorable.


I made a pair of scarves for my sister and my mom…and in sufficient time to get pictures no less.  My Ravelry profile has frustratingly stagnated at 5 projects for years because I can never finish something in a calm and timely enough manner to remember to take a picture.  I know, I know, a tragedy of narcissistic proportions.  I’m glad you agree.  Little Jack absolutely insisted on being in the photos…as you can see from the defeated expression on his face.

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The Greek was a tremendously busy boy this holiday.  After many years of pleading on my part, a summer trip to the Maine woods (bien sûr!) finally convinced him to grow a full and luxurious beard, which, when you’re a Greek, takes about an afternoon of effort.  Unfortunately, beards are itchy, so he set about finding a solution.  With a lot of internet research and a little bit of experimentation, he made himself a beard balm.  Seriously, it’s so shiny and silky now that his face looks like a black panther!  And since facial hair is de rigueur right now, he was able to make beard balms for nearly every male he knows as Christmas presents this year.  And with essentially only a few modifications to that recipe (a little less beeswax, a little more essential oils, and some time spent in a standing mixer), he was also able to make jars of whipped body butter for the females.  For a first effort that came down to the wire time-wise (no lie, we were spooning them into their containers on Christmas Eve morning), they turned out wonderfully.  What am I saying, they were fabulous, period.

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And since I always cite my sources: This is where he got his balm recipe.  This is where he got his butter recipe.  And this is where he got the recipe for the scent (it’s Fall Foliage).

IMG_1129Finally, I always conclude each holiday post with my New Year’s drink.  New Year’s is my favorite alcohol holiday since it’s one of the few occasions where you give yourself permission to drink bubbles all night and worry about the headache later.  (Side note: Evidently, it’s the bubbles that amplify the effects of the otherwise typical alcohol hangover and are responsible for the so-called “champagne headache”…although apparently you don’t get it with REAL Champagne [insert derisive snort].  It has to do with the quality of the wine used or the way the grapes are pressed or something, blah, blah.  Mostly it’s a fantastic way to sound snobbish.) This year, it’s Gruet Brut.  Unfortunately, I was uncommonly popular this year and actually had plans, and I don’t think we ever popped my sparkling wine that night.  Don’t worry about me though…PLENTY of others to be had and I poured myself into bed (i.e. the sofa) at just before 4AM.  Jesus, is that really how I intend to end a post?  Well, I have nothing else to say sooooo yes.  Yes, it is.  Ah, well.


July 30, 2014

A (sexy) gardening question

Coriandrum sativum - Köhler–s Medizinal-Pflanzen-193.jpgA pioneering study in 1954 found that rodents with electrodes implanted in the pleasure centers of their brains will repeatedly push a button to provide electrical stimulation to that area, neglecting adjoining buttons that dispense food and water until the poor creatures die of exhaustion.

This hard-wired, evolutionary push towards reproduction extends to even the lower kingdoms, for which “pleasure” cannot be experienced.  I have long known that when trying to grow herbs, you have to pinch off the buds that grow at the tops of the stalks.  Because plants, like rats (and humans), preferentially spend their energy trying to spread their seed, as opposed to growing the leaves that would permit photosynthesis, both essential to life and the tasty portion I’d like to snip and use in my cooking.  But despite our habitual herbal castrations, I still end up with these wiry, unflaggingly flowering plants…and flavorless food.  So, my question is this: besides daily de-blossoming, what else can I do to discourage my herbs from chasing tail?  Bonus points for clever wordplay or hilarious analogies involving horny teenagers or misbehaving pooches.

July 18, 2014

Festivals and finals

IMG_1050So, the last couple months were hell (See: “The world didn’t end“).  Not only did I have my qualifying exam but an additional gauntlet of scholarly tasks leading up to it.  But it wasn’t all bad.  I made time to do a couple fun things in the early summer (You know, before the soul-sucking malaise of the weeks just before the qual wouldn’t permit me time to properly eat or bathe.  Did I have to make things so hard on myself?  Absolutely not.  But I did, and the bitterness remains.).

Anyhoo, this included some lovely festivals.  (I’m kind of a dork; if this is news to you, you haven’t been paying attention.)   As always, I attended the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival at the beginning of May.  But this time, I thought, instead of posting the same old photos I do each year, I’d introduce you to some of the new things I discovered this time around…



Firstly, there was Melissa Jean: an online store based in Marcellus, New York that specializes in handmade porcelain buttons.  I know, I know: buttons are not technically a new, amazing discovery.  But you see, I’m a relatively new knitter and very much still learning, so most of the time my money’s spent on buying the basics.  However, I am increasingly finding, to my delight, that as my skill set expands, I am able to accumulate more advanced accoutrements.  And not to be overdramatic (read: to be as dramatic as possible), my realization at that moment at the festival that I may be ready for buttons was, in a word, revolutionary.  So, my partner-in-crime Sarah and I giddily snatched up as many buttons as we could hold, the ones by Melissa Jean being, by far, the most charming.

Melissa Jean - Handknit Design IMG_1035

Now, this next finding was a true novelty.  The booth for Loop the online fiber store had all kinds of unique textiles to look at.  They had these spun skeins of batting in an array of vibrant colors that dispensed from the center, which makes the unspun fiber far more workable.  And perhaps it’s just me and my laughably pitiful spinning skills (I suck), but that is a definite plus with how tricky roving is to work with.  They also a bunch of other funky fibers, like these cords of unspun fiber tied together with string; the especially interesting ones had chunky beading or even Treasure trolls woven in (these things, for the young folks).

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And speaking of spinning, we also had the opportunity to get a tutorial from a lovely lady at The Spanish Peacock.  She showed us how to use these supported spindles that come with these lovely, divotted wooden bowls for spinning on a surface.  An attractive option to the clumsiness of a drop spindle or the seemingly impossible difficulty of a Turkish spindle.  I was especially taken with a deep blue one (pictured below), and I very much had to resist the urge to immediately possess it.  In a dear-God-I-think-I-may-actually-die-if-I-don’t-buy-this kind of way.  I just had to keep reminding myself that the grace and deftness with which she spun the thread is not included with the purchase of the spindle, and, with regard to spinning, I suck…hard.

Supported Spindles Untitled

Ah, another successful festival in the books…without the same well-worn assemblage of photos… Okay, fine, one baby alpaca photo.  It’s tradition!  Her name is Wanda.


July 16, 2014

The world didn’t end

Aaaaannnnnnddddd I survived!  To catch everyone up, you may have noticed that I vanished after April.  This is because it was my turn to endure the tortuous, graduate school rite of passage…the qualifying exam.  Also known as the comprehensive exam, prelims, or the ninth circle of hell.  It is widely regarded as the worst experience of grad school (my vote can now be included in that- I’m declaring it with still a few years to go) and has, outwardly, a seemingly insufficient payoff: I get to pursue a Ph.D.  But wait, you may say, wasn’t that what you were already doing?  Sadly, no.  During the first two years, you must acquire the knowledge and then prove you are “ready”.  Yes, that rigorous, merciless raking-over-the-coals was rewarded with, effectively, a “Yeah ok, you can stay”.  And yet it is EVERYTHING to a grad student.  We’re insane.

One does not simply   pass the           Qualifying Exam.

You guys, that was my first meme!

Anyways, I am now a third year and right on track for the idealism plummet that, so I am told, leads to an actual, semi-successful career in the sciences.  All-in-all, I’d call that a win!

 <– Truth

April 11, 2014

Birthday baking

Because I am stubborn as an ass, I took the trouble to blog about how after nearly two decades of baking, I had finally decided I had found the perfect chocolate cake recipe…and then promptly proceeded  to try out a new CC recipe I had stumbled upon recently.  It’s entitled “The Pink Cake” from, is apparently an old-fashioned recipe beloved  by many, was laborious to make requiring me, for example, to prepare fresh raspberry purée to accomplish the pink tint of the buttercream frosting, and which, after all that, I can merely award a resounding “m’eh”.  The Greek was less effusive with his praise, actually scolding me for deviating from my tried and true method.  Heaven for fend I try to expand my repertoire as a baker; he takes his sweets very seriously.  Sadly, it just didn’t have nearly the moistness and chocolatey-ness of my original (far more simple) recipe.  The buttercream was top notch, however, reminiscent of wedding cake icing, although I only had half the called for amount of raspberries giving the cake only a pale pink hue instead of a pink-pink one and only the faintest hint of raspberry flavor.

Still, it was a lovely cake.  And prepared for my mother’s birthday last month, so it got all gussied up for the occasion.




We passed on the posh dinner reservation and opted instead for a quiet Sunday at home. The whole afternoon was handmade, in fact.   Those without tender must toil; at least I’ve graduated from macaroni art and hand turkeys!  The Greek worked the hardest, I think, making a pair of highly palatable pizzas entirely from scratch.


He even kneaded the dough himself!  I have blurry proof:


Finally, I presented her with my latest knitted creation…unfortunately still on the needles.  Ah, I came so close to finishing on time…so close.  And now, nearly two months later…yeah, it’s still not done.  Such a disappointment!  Naturally, the wintry deluge that had plagued us all season has now turned to balmy temperatures and a general lack of scarf weather.  And I think I must finally accept that, indeed, it is spring…and I have failed.  So, I must move on and publish this post anyway lest the post itself also become so absurdly late as to be pointless (More so?  It kind of is already.  Whatever.).  Anyways, despite aforementioned “uncooperative” circumstances, I still declare the day a success and proof that paucity can produce proficiency.  That, and when your mother is thoughtless enough to have her birthday four days before Valentine’s Day, all plans and considerations must be made months ahead of time so sometimes this is what you get…

March 9, 2014

Ah, icky


So, horror of horrors, this happened.  Let me elaborate.  There I was, innocently pumping gas at my local station, when I came upon this absolutely rape-tastic product for sale by the cash register.  I just stood there frozen, mouth agape, with the cashier staring at me uncomfortably until I snapped out of it, literally jumping as I came to, took my receipt, and stumbled out bewildered trying to decide if what I saw was real.  One Google later and yes, this is an actual thing: pseudoscience performance enhancers with the violent tagline “sex with a grudge”.  This exists.  This isn’t even thinly veiled misogyny; it just…is.  It actually says “to hurt it” and “to kill it” on the packaging and then has these rape-y stick figure images, just in case you were still uncertain what “it” was or what you apparently need to be doing to “it” to be a real man.  You know, that lovely concept of equating masculinity with domination over women we feminists just looooove seeing time and time again.  Jesus, when will it be considered unhealthy to have sex with and anger towards women occur simultaneously?  I don’t even feel the need to defend my argument to people who might think I’m being oversensitive.  There is simply no other way to interpret this than as an encouragement to those who hate women to try and bang it out of themselves…

However, for you sticklers who might otherwise dismiss this as so much feminazi finger-wagging…

I offer up these testimonials from the company’s own website:

Ever since I started taking S.W.A.G I always have the same result. I can make any woman “TAP OUT”!! I’ve got Chics scared of me now and I LOVE IT!

Ah, well done, sir, well done!  Also, what are “Chics“?

And this testimony from a patron whose female friend (because this is a guy who clearly tons of females would want to befriend) got hold of the soon-to-be-released female version of S.W.A.G:

I already knew how good the male version was, but the WHORE she turned into 45 minutes after she took S.W.A.G HER…  All I can say is DAYUUUMMMMNNNNNNN!

Poets, all of you!

Promoting violence toward women is completely unacceptable. Does no one see how completely sick and messed up that is???? And yes, I’m a man.

Aw, how did that get in there?  Shut up dude, you’re killing all of our boners!

March 8, 2014

Peter Pan is basically about female jealousy and pedophilia…And now I’ve ruined your childhood.

"It will live in your heart forever!" heartworm

“It will live in your heart forever!”…like heartworm

Have you ever watched a beloved classic in adulthood and found it wasn’t quite as you remember it?  This happens to me more than I imagine it does your average person, as I have grown exceptionally cynical and opinionated with age.  

Recently, I found myself re-watching Disney’s Peter Pan and was struck with how positively, well, 1953’s-ish it is.  I was particularly taken with the portrayal of female characters in the film (I know, shocking, right?).  And, I think this is still a valid conversation to have because a lot of these troubling tropes most definitely have a still substantial foothold today (and are not just fodder for the desultory diatribe of an unctuous little upstart about a 60-year old cartoon!  Although, obviously, that is happening also.).  (For brevity’s sake, I’ll skip the outrage over Native American stereotypes– including actually having their faces be beet-red— since the fact that old movies are often racist in a way that would be unacceptable in the present-day is kind of an obvious truism.)

It’s funny how this went unnoticed by me as an impressionable child…or frightening depending on whether you yourself currently have young children.  Because children, by nature and circumstance of being children, are impressionable…and too inexperienced to recognize or be critical of things, particularly when they are inundated with noxious input from all angles…constantly.  (Buck up, by the way: when I was a little girl, all I wanted to be was a pretty, pretty princess plastered in pink having a perpetual tea party while riding a unicorn that poops glitter (in other words, Lisa Frank was my God)….and I turned out alright!)

Anyways, a few interesting thoughts stand out:

1.) Female childhood is basically female adulthood, only with tiny females

So, the entire premise of the story is that children view adulthood as boring and full of responsibility so they live in a faraway land where they never have to grow up.  And even the originator of the tale, J.M. Barrie, intended it to be about the selfishness, impulsiveness, and mischief of an eternal child.  Yet the one female child in the whole movie (all the other females are adults; more on that later) is designated as “Mother” to the rest and spends the entire time being the sensible, reliable, reserved one and doing what’s expected of her: namely, telling stories, singing songs, making mature choices, and enforcing bedtime.  Which is basically how it is in real life.  Which is crap.

2.) Jealous females are capable of just about anything…as long as it doesn’t involve either logic or reason

This isn’t conjecture, by the way.  Captain Hook basically says this verbatim (Actual quote: “A jealous female can be tricked into anything.”).  And then it actually happens, when Hook tricks Tinkerbell into revealing Peter Pan’s secret hideout by exploiting her jealousy towards Wendy.  This is actually the least sociopathic thing she does having, earlier in the story, literally tried to kill Wendy by getting the Lost Boys to shoot her down as she arrives in Neverland.  Like a female.

Traitorous harlot!

Traitorous harlot!

Then when Peter takes Wendy to see Mermaid Cove and the mermaids discover he’s brought a girl with him, the brazen hussies try to drown her.  For real.  “We were only trying to drown her,” one of them coos innocently.  Peter, of course, finds this just hilarious: “They’re only having fun,” he says, condescendingly dismissing Wendy’s hysterical female desire to, you know, live, when she tries to defend herself with a seashell.  Wendy herself is, of course, not immune to “bitches be crazy”-itis either.  After Peter rescues Tiger Lily and they start dancing together at the Indian camp, Wendy storms off furiously and that’s when she decides it’s time for them all to go home.  And never once does it occur to any of them to perhaps hold the flippant, disdainful, self-absorbed brat who put them in this position accountable for any of it!  Mind you, this, all of this, all manages to take place inside of a little over an hour; it’s like Jerry Springer…only with more fairy dust.

3.) And did I mention all this shrieking, scratching, and hair-pulling (and attempted murder) are for the affections of a (~)10-year old child

And an unruly, impudent little shit at that.  And aside from Wendy and the Indian chief’s daughter Tiger Lily, all the other females are, in fact, adult women.  Fairies and mermaids perhaps, but women all the same.  Rather, um, developed women actually, sometimes with only a well-placed lock of hair to conceal that.  All of them pine sighingly (and spew venom at one another) over an ego-maniacal minor.  If you don’t think that’s creepily sexual (or that I’m sexualizing something innocent- “This is for children! You’re injecting a sexual component through your adult perception!”), switch the genders of the child and the adults.  I rest my case.

4.) And, although a little off-topic, there are never any unattractive women…unless the purpose of the unattractive woman to the plotline is that she IS unattractive.

Like, take the weirdo-looking kids up there ↑.  You never see a female character just look weird for no reason.  When a female character looks weird, she’s usually grotesquely fat and ugly and is chasing some poor, frightened male.  You see, it’s hilarious because she’s disgusting and doesn’t know it!  Ha, she actually has the gall to feel alright about the way she looks; I’d be offended if it weren’t so funny!  Hahahahahaha…awwwww!  No one gets  similarly repulsed  when Captain Hook’s weird angles saunter into scene, or by the Darling children’s goofy-looking dad (with smoking hot wife, naturally!), not to mention obsequious Mr. Smee!  Because they’re attractiveness isn’t tied into who they are as a character; it’s not expected of them.  Of course, this is a crazy rampant problem in media and, well, life, and this little cartoon is hardly the worst offender.  In other words, I’m not going to get anymore into it.  I’ll just get pissy.  And that’s no way to end a post!

In fact, I know precisely how to end this on a high note…

Still adorable: The croc who swallowed the clock, with his rhythmically twitching eyes and tail as he licks his chomps in anticipation of devouring a human being.  I’m sorry, that is just delightful.

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