Thursday, September 28, 2017

Exploiting her to the end

I am deluged by the coverage of Hefner's death. I keep hearing about all he did for Chicago, where he got his start. How Playboy was one of the first magazines to publish Ray Bradbury and Alex Hailey. He championed balanced, long-format interviews.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

He did all that while objectifying women. 

He got his start publishing a nude of Marilyn Monroe. He built his empire on her body. He never paid her for that photo. I'm not implying that he did anything illegal. The starving young Marilyn signed a release for that red velvet nude. But still, she was objectified to a large audience, without her permission. Oh, and that release she signed? Her autograph says, "Mona Monroe." As she told a writer later, “I was nervous, embarrassed, even ashamed of what I had done, and I did not want my name to appear on that model release.”

Therefore I'm offended that he's going to be buried in the crypt beside hers.  So much for rest in peace.

A black and white situation

I spent my day off today preparing for my job hunt. First, I trolled the internet and found a trio of ways to put my portfolio online. They're all a little too complicated for me right now. I'll have to explore them more carefully again. Soon. I just felt a little overwhelmed this morning.

Then I went to Carson's (maybe it's Bon-Ton, Bergner's or Younker's in your neighborhood). I picked up my Clinique eye cream, a pair of cuffed black slacks and this jacket, all on sale.

I chose the jacket at right because it's not expressly seasonal. In spring, I can wear it zipped. In fall/winter, I can layer. I can do the same thing with the jacket at left, purchased last spring at the same store.

I wish I could have found something I liked in a navy print.  Or a royal blue solid. But alas, those were not on the racks.

Fortunately, I work in a very casual industry. I doubt that, after the first interview, I'll have to wear a jacket again. Then it will probably be back to jeans and sweaters.

Otherwise I'll just be known as the fat old lady in black and white.

I'm trying not to freak out about this. I'm not succeeding, of course, but I am trying. By taking actions, even little ones, I am granting myself the illusion of control. You know, fake it till you make it. After all, it is MY life. While I have no control over when/if the axe falls, it's not like I'm a spectator in what happens after that.