Probably because Ryan Adams produced it or because it sounds like something from 1975 but w/e.
She also has very talented friends.
“It’s all about what it looks like, isn’t it.”
Season 6, Episode 3
My best friend sent this to me and there’s not much that speaks to the true soul of who I am than this Jim Gaffigan stand-up set called “Catsup.” Size of packets, putting it on everything, “fancy” ketchup – it’s all covered. Listen here:
The first couple minutes of last night’s Parks and Rec were gold to anyone who has ever listened to a public radio station.
I would like to apologize. Here I was, thinking that I was just being an active citizen, receiving
an education and taking a well-paying job in order to support myself mentally and physically as a fully-functioning member of society with intellectual ambitions and economic concerns. But, I did not realize that in doing so, I was actually stepping off of my pedestal, which it turns out was also my marital auction block. Thanks to a few bra-burning women in flannel shirts, I thought I wanted an education, a job in which I am paid the same amount as men, and even suffrage. Worse yet, I thought I could have these things in addition to social and sexual relationships of my choosing, possibly even a heterosexual relationship with a man who values more than just my fair complexion and corseted midriff.
These nefarious men-eaters have robbed me, it seems, because all this time that I have been
seeking a balanced life, focusing on myself and my career, I have been unknowingly angry and defensive, saddled by the consequences of sex – and casual premarital sex at that. Worse yet, I have been repressing the natural femininity that is not, in fact, a cultural construct but a very real and scientific part of my DNA. I was so angry and defensive, I could not even look beyond myself to see that you have been waiting idly by, hoping that I will give you the chance to support me wholly in a normative, heterosexual marriage based on financial dependence and sexual submission. No more working and thinking (this will, in fact, be the last thing I write); I can simply don an apron and look after our children, perfecting my needlepoint and ability to braise beef while simultaneously fellating you, resting my knees upon the floor of a house you have purchased and gazing up adoringly into your eyes.
In fact, if I hadn’t already surrendered to my passive nature, I would be angry at feminists. They
have led me to believe that I want and can have a “balanced life,” when in reality, I just want to be
married. But, I know that a brash reaction would be unseemly, so I will refrain from being upset with
these silly feminists. I understand now, thanks to Suzanne Venker, that I am the problem.
Now Men, I implore you. Come find me. I am back on my pedestal and waiting passively for you
to come teeming, termite-like, out of the woodwork.