Gross

Hello all you lovely people, I hope your week has been more fantastic than the thought of a thousand rabbits on mini-bikes chasing Richard Simmons!

I received this picture and description this week from Rachel Dickerson:

 "Just finished an extremely entertaining and HILARIOUS short novel by an amazing new author. Congrats Allison I look forward to your next book." 

Thank you Rachel! And thank you to all of you who have read and provided me with feedback on Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus! Your wonderful words have been so encouraging!

So this past week one of the biggest new stories of the year broke. Syria... oh wait, sorry, never mind, wrong one. The biggest story of modern memory, according to the media, is that Miley Cyrus was caught on stage at the MTV Music Video Awards dancing provocatively along with
Robin Thicke.

Ok, first I would like to state that "provocatively" might be a strong term. I'm not sure who found Miley's tongue being stuck out of the side of her mouth for a majority of the performance "sexy." She looked like a giraffe.

No seriously, how can this:

Not remind you a bit of this:

Miley, I realize that you desperately want everyone to know that you are not a little girl anymore, and that you've become an adult. However this look: 

Doesn't so much scream, "I'm an adult!" 

Instead it really screams, "You're not the boss of me anymore! I can do what I want! I don't have a bedtime anymore! <insert other almost meaningless rebellious statements here>"

Miley, if you want to be taken seriously as an "adult" performer, dressing up as a teddy bear and running around displaying less class than a backwoods Arkansas trailer park is not going to get you there.

Also, please don't promote this kind of behavior, you have thousands of young teenage fans whose tongues I really don't want to see hanging out of their mouths.

And that is all I have to say about Miley, but not all I have to say about this "media sensation."

My actual first thought upon seeing the video clip, that I could not have avoided unless I poked my eyes out with a spork, was not, "Wow, Miley is being super provocative."

My first blush response was, "Wow, Robin Thicke is something that rhymes with is last name (you have a couple of options there, choose the one you find most useful)."

So far the harshest mass media criticism has been on what he chose to wear:

Granted his outfit made him an easy choice to star in any "Beetlejuice" sequels that might be in the future, but that isn't his only similarity to Beetlejuice's character.

Robin Thicke's behavior was downright creepy.

Yes, I said creepy.

Standing up in front of a live crowd of thousands, as a married 36 year old man, and dancing "provocatively" with a 20 year old, who is dressed in a little girl-esque teddy bear outfit (followed by flesh tone underwear), while singing a song that promotes the acceptance of rape culture is CREEPY!"

And yes, that song is garbage. I don't care what you say to defend the tonal atrocity, it promotes disrespecting women. If the lyrics included, "And then I asked her, politely, if she wanted to dance," or "I told her that I would like to take her out to a nice dinner," and the song wasn't titled "Blurred Lines," then I might be willing to hear arguments to the contrary.

Just because it is kind of catchy (in that heard-this-beat-a-million-times-before kind of way) does not make it a good song.

The fact that all the headlines are screaming, "Miley Cyrus Did XYZ!" and not "Robin Thicke Did XYZ," scares me. The media acts shocked that a woman would be acting this way (even though we know they are not in the slightest) but it gives no such, albeit fake, surprised response to Thicke's performance.

It deeply concerns me that a father being an absolute cad on stage while singing, "That's why I'm goin' to take a good girl, I know you want it," is considered so normal that it barely receives any mention.

Also, what a great example to be setting for your son, Robin! He's not being influenced to grow up and treat women like objects at all. (There is enough sarcasm dripping from that statement that you could wring it out and fill a bucket, just in case you didn't catch that.)

Well thank you Robin Thicke, now the next time someone asks me why I still believe that feminism has a place in America, I now can point to you emphatically as my example A.

What was your reaction to the "media sensation" that has been, oh so subtly, shoved down your throat for the past week?

As always, feel free to follow my exploits on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads!

Sneak Peek (And You Don't Even Need Binoculars)

Why hello ladies and gentlemen and any random hallucinations that might be accompanying you today! I hope everyone has had an absolutely smashing Wednesday (as opposed to one that makes you want to smash things)!

All of you have been so lovely providing me with comments of support and interest in "Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus," so my publisher and I agreed that we should indulge anyone who might be curious about its content.

What follows is a chapter plucked from the book itself, like the frosting flower on a child's birthday cake (though with less confectionery gore). 

As always, please let me know what you think and feel free to follow my exploits on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/platypusringmaster) and Twitter (https://twitter.com/AllisonHawn).

34. DANCE LIKE EVERYONE IS WATCHING

Uma Thurman has been credited with saying, “Boredom is the mother of invention.” 

We should not only listen to her because she is an incredible actress and can pull off a white, stretchy, dress phenomenally, but because she is right. However, I would like to add that not only
does boredom breed innovation, it can also be the harbinger of disaster.

I don’t sit still well. I’m kind of a ball of muscle bound energy, and even as I type this I am using my foot to tease a kitten. So putting me in one spot for long periods of time works about as
well as trying to contain a wolverine on Red Bull inside a cardboard box.

At one time, a job I had involved traveling around and giving short presentations on a service the group I worked for had to offer. These were presentations aimed at local businesses in the
hopes of getting them to jump on the bandwagon and support the community initiative my employers were putting forth.

This meant I got dressed up in a suit, did my little Vanna White shtick and then high-tailed it to the next place all the while praying that everyone was running on time.

The day in question had been a long day. I had given 6 or 7 of these presentations, and the last group I was supposed to speak to was a counseling firm with a staff of more than 30 people. The
head counselor there had requested I come in and speak during their staff meeting so that everyone could be present.

I showed up at my allotted time, and was told by the receptionist that things were running a little behind and that if I wanted to sit in the room right outside the conference room,
they’d call me in in a few minutes. I stood in the lobby, staring into nothing, because that was what this room was: A white little box of nothing.

An overhead speaker blared out some salsa music, and I started to tap my foot to the beat. The room literally had no decorations and one, very uncomfortable looking, chair. The minutes dragged by.

After 5 minutes, my foot tap turned into a hip wiggle.

After 10 minutes, the hip wiggle turned into some small dance steps.

After 20 minutes, I had given up at containing myself and was full-blown dancing in this tiny waiting area.

Now, I must explain, I don’t dance. I have a tendency to waltz like one of my legs is shorter than the other, turn a tango into a new sport that involves tackling and somehow make hip-hop look
like a full body dry heave.

I have had one salsa dancing lesson in which the instructor suggested, “I spend my time doing other things.” So, whatever I was doing in the waiting area, was probably not something graceful, rhythmic or even remotely artistic.

The door finally opened, and I immediately stopped, straightened my suit jacket and put on an air of sophistication and poise. I then stared confusedly at the man, who was red-faced with tears streaming down his cheeks as he half-said half-choked out, “We’re ready for you now.”

I entered the room to find the entire staff assembled, all looking quite a bit like the man who had come to retrieve me. The room had two TV’s mounted to the walls, and the content of the
screen looked very familiar.

Then it hit me, the tiny little waiting area had a security camera, and I had just done a one-man show for over 10 minutes set to crappy elevator salsa music. I looked at the screens for a beat, then looked back to the room full of strangers who had just gotten their own personal show, and bowed. The room erupted into applause.

So what slivers of knowledge can be tweezed from the finger of stupidity?

1. Never assume you’re alone. This may sound paranoid, but if paranoia saves you from utter embarrassment, then be as paranoid as you like. Wear a tin-foil hat if it helps.

2. If you’re going to fail, at least do so in a way that makes 30 other peoples’ meeting that much more entertaining.