the Beautiful Women Project

The Beautiful Women Project 

cross-posted to running through rain

What causes art? In this case, it’s simple: a child’s desire for mutilation.

Do 13-year-olds really need to be saving their babysitting and paper route money for breast implants? Cheryl-Ann Webster wondered that herself, when her daughter told her that a friend was already socking away money for the boobflation job she felt would be an absolute necessity, sooner rather than later.

So Cheryl-Ann made a few synthetic boobs herself; she made The Beautiful Women Project.

To demonstrate that beautiful bodies come in all shapes and sizes, she wanted to surround young girls with sculptures of real women’s bodies…

The Beautiful Women Project is a touring art exhibition of life-sized torsos of real women aged 19-91.

Aims:

  • To challenge socially-constructed images of beauty
  • To raise awareness and open a dialogue about the link between self-worth and physical appearance
  • To be a teaching and healing tool

In the artist’s words: “Our bodies tell our life story. They are portraits of our journeys and experiences. Knowing that our body is beautiful just as it exists, is a message more people need to see and hear.”

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reason #3 that U2 is the greatest band in the world

All I want is more songs like this one, my favorite:

All I want is you, live at Slane Castle. Lyrics over the jump.

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what not to wear…and when not to wear it

This. Ever.

fat sweaterNote to self:

You know that look, that one where you’re running late and have to go out and do some boring errands, so you grab a pair of leggings but not the stirrup pants because you do, after all, have some standards, and you throw your sister’s hand-me-down cotton cableknit “fat” sweater on overtop of that and you lace up your most broken-down pair of sneakers and you reach for your Dad’s Cowichan sweater because it’s cosy, waterproof, and big enough to go over the ever-so-slightly-massive sweater, but only if you pick hem of the sweater up all around and tuck it into a sort of blob out front of you and zip the jacket up before the sweater mass makes a break for it?

You know that look?

Remember to wear that the next time you want someone to give you their seat on the bus in the mistaken belief that the little bundle of joy is due any second.

No reason I know that works…

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WMOB: wiretap radio!

Forget Howard Stern, Rush Limbaugh, and the other mixed nuts clattering around inside your radio. Forget the Sopranos. It’s time to get real. It’s time to tune in to WMOB: Wiretap Radio!

You’re about to meet Fritzy and Frankie, two of the cuddliest, criminalest, crotchetiest capos ever crapped out by the big O.C.

Thrill to their breathless confessions on covert FBI wiretaps:

Wife troubles.

Mistress troubles.

Weight troubles.

Bowel troubles.

and, in possibly-related news: Where can you find a good cannoli these days?

Oogatz!

All these episodes (with full transcripts) and more await you at WMOB: Wiretap Radio, the partner site of the well-known and well-loved The Smoking Gun.

Fritzy, youze guyz!In the course of a federal racketeering investigation, FBI agents and prosecutors received court authorization to wiretap the home telephone of Federico “Fritzy” Giovanelli, a Genovese crime family soldier. The feds hoped to hear Fritzy discussing mob business with fellow New York wiseguys, conversations that would then form the basis for a RICO prosecution against Giovanelli and Co. As it turned out, during the six months the FBI was listening, Fritzy was fairly careful — there was little talk of mayhem and only occasionally did he slip and refer to his criminal enterprises (and then it was often just about his gambling operation).

Frankie Condo, yo!But while the tapes do not contain the sort of reckless chatter that sent John Gotti away for life, they’re remarkable for the funny, profane, and whimsical conversations Fritzy had with his Mafia cohorts, namely Frank “Frankie California” Condo, a fellow Genovese soldier. Like two old hens, Frank and Fritzy would gab daily about life’s rich pageant, their conversations a stream-of-consciousness potpourri. While most men their age were out working, the duo would convene on the telephone in the early afternoon — both speaking from their homes — and launch into wildly veering conversations. A typical 15-minute chat could touch on sex, work, girlfriends, vitamins, movies, enlarged hearts, cholesterol counts, and marital strife. Peppered with malaprops and featuring Frank and Fritzy’s Central Casting voices, the tapes are a raucous, slice-of-life look at two hoodlums.

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finger cymbals too loud? problem solved: crocheted zill covers

UPDATE: “Fans” tag added. Click through to the comments for a classic example of the pathology.

zills, yo, nekkid as God and Allah intended 

From the department of WTF comes these step-by-step instructions for making your own finger cymbal covers for the pampered, crocheting bellydancer that lives deep in your soul.

Now, it may surprise you to know that I have bellydanced; I would not characterize myself as a bellydancer any more than as a toothbrusher, but I’m better than a beginner even if that damn reverse camel still throws my back out (and I defy anyone to maintain a good seat on a reversing camel without damaging one vertebra, or at least snapping the elastic on it).

And I have zills. From Saudi Arabia. Smuggled in my mother’s luggage (I wish I could claim it was sewn into the lining of her fur coat, but what the hell would she be doing in Riyadh in a fur coat unless it was protecting herself from the omnipresent aggressive, Antarctic airconditioning, or even perhaps wrapped in her silken unmentionables, but my mother, glam though her latter years were, preferred unmentionables of practical and sturdy 100% cotton or sometimes even nylon, and all the colours of the beige Canadian rainbow, so yeah, maybe wrapped in a pair of buttercup yellow size L granny panties, woohoo, James Bond eat your heart out) or was it in a box marked “Sand” so the customs inspectors didn’t open it up? Yeah, either they have very stupid export customs inspectors in Saudi Arabia or the CIA is using “Sand” as a code word, and given the company my mother kept in Riyadh, I’m betting the latter and the customs inspectors have been told to lay off.

Zills. It’s a blog post about zill covers.

In any case, whether you’re a bellydancer or not, good or bad, the first thing you notice about zills is: they make a lot of noise.

It’s sort of what they’re for.

So we at the ol’ raincoaster blog were somewhat nonplussed and even subtractussed to see instructions for crocheting home-made zill mufflers, it being said that, lo, they were like, so way noisy.

Or maybe that’s just me.

the zill covers, back viewIn any case, the covers themselves are pretty enough, and in a nice, sparkly yarn might even add a tantalizing “you can glimpse the zill, but you cannot touch it” piquance to the zill-dancing experience, or perhaps that is only for those who identify too closely with inanimate brass objects, not that we know anyone like that around here.

the zill covers, front viewIn any case, the zills generally sound quite pretty even if you don’t know what you’re doing. We at the ol’ raincoaster blog can only pray that this twisted genius turns her attention next to something of more practical utility, such as:

  • violin mufflers
  • clarinet covers
  • accordion muffs
  • cymbal socks

Your suggestions?

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