The Victoria Jackson Principle*

There's a reason I don't necessarily follow trending news- most of it is annoying and pisses me off. Consequently, I'm generally late to the party on the newest viral videos or what Charlie Sheen said today, and I'm okay with that. Yesterday, though, I clicked...

Holy Victoria Fucking Jackson. Talk about demons. Am I seriously qualifying Victoria Jackson enough of a demon to merit her own demon blog post? Fuckin' A. With her ignorance, press, and Tea Party backing (not to mention the huge hair bows and the voice) she's scarier than Satan.

I'd seen tweets and updates on the former SNL star "blasting" Glee for days-  It wasn't until I saw that she objected specifically to The Kiss that curiosity won, and I checked out the whole story because I really liked The Kiss.

The Kiss of course refers to the latest gay kiss milestone- or not... is it even a milestone anymore to show a good gay kiss on primetime? I hope not- regardless, I didn't hear about The Kiss beforehand and was surprised and thrilled to see it finally happen. NOT because it was another milestone but because Kurt likes Blaine soooooooooo much and Blaine finally saw the great love that's been before his eyes all season! I squealed through my happy tears and sighed- The Kiss was effing hot and GO KURT for getting the perfect first kiss scenario every teenager dreams about (yes, I believe, even you straight boys.).

So when I heard Victoria Jackson shit all over my own teenage dream, my first reaction was to get FIRED UP. My inner Dixie Carter sounded something like, "Are-you-fucking-kidding-me-how-dare-she-spout-hatred-and-intolerance-I'll-shove-the-gay-thing-down-her-throat-and-if-Muslims-kill-gays-they-can't-be-any-worse-than-the-Christians-who-do-the-same-she's-batshit-I-hate-her..." And so on, until I realized exactly what I'd thought:

"I hate her."

What? I don't hate (unless its related to vomiting.). I don't even believe in hate. In my spiritual practice, I subscribe to only love, unity, peace, creativity... you know, the good shit. Hate doesn't exist in my world (except for vomit), but fear does. And then I realized- she's afraid. Jackson's understanding of what's right and good is so tiny that anything outside her grain of sand-sized definition scares the shit out of her.

Okay, whatever... understanding washed over me and the veins in my forehead relaxed... and then bulged again-

She waved the Bible around. It absolutely galls me how much hatred and judgement people get away with by playing the Bible card. The Bible is just a big book of stories with a huge reputation. I believe the Bible is as divinely inspired as EVERY OTHER WORK OF ART from the Qur'an to Mona Lisa to Beethoven's 5th Symphony. By that reasoning, Jackson may as well be waving around a DVD of "All in the Family" and spouting her beliefs in white supremacy- that's how seriously I take her citing the Bible.

Jackson dressing up her ignorance and judgement with crucifixes and scripture doesn't hide what it is, just like Palin's poor pig in lipstick or Pretty Woman in shoulder pads and diamonds. The pig will always be smart and tasty, and Pretty Woman will always be Julia Roberts (until they remake it with Megan Fox or some nauseating shit). And ignorance and judgement will always be dangerous, polarizing, a defense mechanism for terrified people and a waste of time and energy.

We're all one: God and love and gays and pigs and Palin and Pretty Woman and-

Sigh... dammit... yes, even crazy Victoria Jackson's judgemental ass. And my judgemental ass.

I'm willing to accept we're guilty of the same snap judgement, but the difference is this: I can open my mind to consider her fear (of absolutely nothing) but she either can't or doesn't want to extend the same courtesy to those she sees as different. Jackson revels in ignorance- and if the only positive that comes from listening to her and other like-minded homophobes and fear-mongers is that the rest of us get even more sensitive, tolerant and open-minded-

Well then, that's actually pretty spectacular, isn't it?




*As a child of the 80's I couldn't resist alluding to Victoria Principal, Pam Ewing of "Dallas" fame. Just so you don't get confused, Principal is the beautiful brunette actress, entrepreneur and environmentalist. Jackson is the blond in the big hair bows.

~Thanks to Victoria Jackson for being outspoken and batshit crazy.

F-bombs, incoming...

What would happen if you just didn't give a fuck? If you said what you wanted to say, did what you wanted to do, kissed who you wanted to kiss? I'm betting life would feel a lot more like you were living it instead of whatever you're doing now. Whatever I'm doing now, is probably actually more the point.

I shouldn't be this fired up- I just got out of a 2-hr long free class for writers about studio vs. indie blah, blah. The information wasn't groundbreaking, and the outlook the Hollywood-Insider-Guy painted was dismal.

Meh. I'm not even fazed by grim Hollywood Chicken Little bullshit anymore. But I got to thinking on the way home of some of the break-into-the-biz options HIG mentioned and I wondered why I hadn't tried any of them. My best reason - and it sucks - is because my shyness is arresting and I'm scared of my own shadow. How's that for Chicken Little bullshit?

It's the worst excuse, and it's a topic that's been on my mind more than the usual all-the-time-constantly that I examine myself. The WHAT-IFS. What if I suck, what if they hate it, what if he hates me, what if they don't get it...

What if I don't give a fuck? What if I tell people what I really think? I have a reputation for being honest, and I am, unless I'm lying to your face. What if I tell you I'm not interested instead of taking an hour to explain the reasons why you and I aren't such a good idea right now? What if I RSVP "No" to Evites without a benign explanation why I can't make it? What if I tell you, you're wrong, when you are?

What if I don't give a fuck? What if I do what I want to do? People think I already do that. I pole dance, and I write about blood-tinged semen and sociopathic teenage girls. My secret is, that's the tip of the glacier. I can fill reams of paper with the things I want to do and be. What if I tried more? What if I wrote and directed the short that haunts me, even though I have no money, even though I don't know how? Who gives a fuck?

Who would give a fuck if I kissed whoever I wanted? "Who haven't you kissed?" snears Igor from behind a fold in my frontal lobe. I've had make-out dreams about a friend, and I could dismiss my dreams as sweaty manifestations of the day's particular stresses but... I'm curious. So what if...?

Having given my blog addresses to family members recently, I guess I'm putting my money where my mouth is - they don't get a lot of fuck this and fuck that from me. And I guess if I don't give a fuck, it really doesn't matter. (Sorry anyway, Mama and Daddy. Don't stop loving me! xo!)

But think about it: What if you didn't give a fuck? What would you do? What would you say? Who would you kiss?