While some of my blog friends are taking on serious political issues, like Beej talking smart about the banking crisis, or Howling Hill spreading the word about a Palin poll, I want to discuss something that’s been bugging me for the past few days: Jessica Simpson’s gas.
Yeah, I know. I’m all about the hard hitting issues today. Since my other site, Allie’s Answers, actually started as a column for the now defunct sister-site to I’m Not Obsessed, I feel that I can legitimately and unabashedly read INO on a regular basis. In case you don’t use celebrity gossip as junk food for your mind, I’ll fill you in on the details of said gas.
In a recent interview, Jessica Simpson, or J-Simp, as I like to call her, said:
A bunch of INO readers then followed up with comments of the “Ew, she’s so gross!” variety. I’m not a Jessican Simpson fan, (that’s just not my kind of music), but when I first read her quote I thought, ‘good for her for admitting to being human.’
Then I thought about it a little more, and something about it really started to bug me. Why is being human and having human bodily functions something to “put up with?”
So what? She farts. Here’s a news flash for you: we all do. Everyone. You do. I do. Mother Theresa did, and I’m pretty sure J-Simp’s football playing boyfriend does too. I’m not saying we should throw a parade about it or anything, and I’m all for being polite in polite company, I just think it’s sad that J-Simp thinks that passing gas in the privacy of her own home is a lot to put up with. And I think it’s really sad that all these other women commenting think it’s so obscenely gross and feel the need to speculate that this somehow means she’s a sad person, or “a loser”, or “an embarrassment to women.”
But it’s not just about J-Simp and her gas. When did we start apologizing for being human? I’m sure it’s been going on in one form or another as long as homo sapiens have been in existence, but why? My dog never apologizes for the fact that he makes the rug smell like dog feet, or leaves big tumbleweeds of fur all over the house. And my cat has never once apologized for being an enormous bitch. What is it about us that we feel the need to?
I was watching Northern Exposure last night (big surprise there, huh?) and Chris in the Morning, quoting Goethe, said, “You are, when all is said and done, just what you are.” I believe Popeye also said something very similar.
Well, if that’s true, then what’s all the fuss about? Why can’t we just accept ourselves instead of wrestling with constant pressure to be “perfect” beings? Think about how many scandals, and cover-ups, and battles, and injustices are caused simply because we can’t accept the truth of another person’s existence or the truth of our own. I’m not saying J-Simp is her gas, or that the recently un-closeted Clay Aiken is his sexuality (also not my kind of music), or that anyone is ever defined by just one detail of their existence, but why are the human details, the little facts of being human, ever any kind of issue at all? Maybe if we could find a way to stop trying to cover up who we are, we could focus on what we can do.