Shoot the Messenger with the Jezebel Gals

Last night I attended the live comedy show “Shoot the Messenger” after reading that two of my favorite Jezebel bloggers, Slut Machine aka Tracie Egan, and Moe Tkacik, were going to be interviewed and an evening of sex, politics and whatever else came to mind would ensue. What fun!

I was excited to learn more about these ladies as I’ve grown to respect and enjoy their writing styles and opinions on being new wave feminists and journalism icons of my generation—women who make you feel like “hey, we’re kind of the same and maybe we could hang out someday. You crack my shit up and you’re smart. Let’s be friends!” sort of way, and not the “OMG you are TOO smart for me to ever compare myself to and you intimidate the shit out of me” sort of way that most incredibly smart females tend to make me feel (probably done on purpose).

We headed down into the basement black box theatre on Bleecker and Lafayette, where we secured our 3rd row seats—not too far from the stage but just far enough to not feel like a creepy stalker fan. We sat around chit chatting and then realized there was booze available. Thank God. I got my bestie, Liz, and I each a little baby sized, red solo cup ¼ of the way filled with wine.

In the front row sat a clearly tense and frustrated Moe Tkacik. She kept getting up and turning around to look around the room in a panicky manner, running around and constantly checking her phone. She was very pretty in that eastern European sort of way. She was haphazardly dressed in a navy, long-sleeved, button down t-shirt, with black skinny jeans and matching slip on keds, her dirty blonde hair perfectly disheveled for that “I don’t really care about how I look but I know I look good” kind of way.

About 20 minutes later, just as the show was about to begin, the ever-so-fashionably late Ms. Tracie Egan walked in. For a woman who calls herself the Slut Machine, you’d expect some sort of sloppy mess right? But she was the complete opposite. Put together to the T with her tightly coiffed dark brown hipster hair, pin stripe, crisp white shirt dress cinched with a belt to highlight her feminine curves, opaque black stockings and 3 inch black patent leather heels that she shuffled around in as she took her seat next to Moe, calming her nerves.

Suddenly a cheesy comedian took center stage and beckoned us to laugh at his loud-mouth jokes. “What the F is going on?” I asked Liz. She looked as utterly un-amused as I figured she would, donning her Leona Helmsley, cold as ice frown that she usually slaps on when uncomfortable about a shitty performance of some sort.

Two older ladies took the stage and a camera man began to “film” them. There was no Slut Machine, no Moe, just two older women who looked like drag queens, pretending that it was 6:00 am and they were hosting a morning news show called “Wake Up World.”

Confusion ensued and suddenly “OHHHH!” an epiphany, “This is supposed to be FUNNY! I get it! It’s not real!” Turns out the creator of Shoot The Messenger and “Wake Up World,” Lizz Winstead, was one of the original co-creators of “The Daily Show” with Craig Kilborn, which I used to adore! But, Lizz left the show in 1998 because of some remark Kilborn made on air about her and bj’s. WHO knows…

By this time I had to get another drink in order to survive the lulls of uncomfortable laughter. The bartender was sure to fill my solo cup to the very brim on my second trip. He must have noticed the redness of my face after tensely pulling at my eyebrow for the first half hour.

FINALLY, “Wake Up World” ended and the star/our host to be, Lizz Winstead, announced that she would be stripping herself of her ridiculous outfit—a golden, zebra striped top, with a giant curly brown wig and mounds of chunky gold necklaces--and would join us for an evening with two smart, young women whom she was just as eager to speak with as we all were.

I decided to take a quick pee break before the second half of the show began and as I walked into the bathroom the Slut Machine walked out. I squeaked passed her flashing a casual smile and wandered into the same stall she had just used, I could tell because the toilet was still running. Then I suddenly remembered that she has herpes and gonorrhea. I was sure to place down EXTRA toilet paper before allowing my lady parts to grace the same throne that Ms. Egan had previously relaxed on. But even so, an honor in itself to share the same toilette!

After removing her mounds of costume jewels and golden boots, Ms. Winstead introduced the ladies of the hour. A little rearranging of coffee tables and placing wine bottles and beer cans in easily accessible positions, and our host got the show running by jumping straight into the girl’s favorite topic—sex.

The show started out smoothly enough—silly stories about sexcapades and boozing binges broke the ice neatly but firmly. Everyone was having fun and laughing at how confidently the two seem to approach each sexual encounter they’ve had, never regretting a single bit, admitting that each moment is viewed as at the least “a learning experience.”

The girls even admitted to unknowingly having slept with one of the same guys at some point and only realized this after meeting each other through working at Jezebel—what a small world we live in! But at some point, things got a little, fudgy shall we say?

Sexual freedom is one of the biggest topics that Jezebel writers tend to focus on when writing for the blog. As women who write for a feminist blog that focuses primarily on such topic and others i.e. fashion, politics and pop culture, you would think they’d be a little more comfortable with the idea of BEING feminists. But alas, here is where our dear heroines fell flat on their ever so perfectly made up faces.

Lizz Winstead, clearly a woman who has lived through burning bras, Gloria Steinem, and the pinnacle era of sexual freedom—the 60’s and 70’s proved herself to be no angel in her day. She admittedly would get guys to help her move out of her apartments by fucking them, and she’s been dubbed “Terminator 3” by her sister for the many abortions she’s had in her lifetime. But Ms. Winstead was not so easily won over by the glamorous lifestyle the young trendsetters seem to be promoting by sleeping with random guys met at NY bars after a long wasted night, all caution thrown to the wind.

She asked the girls in the midst of discussing their sexual prowess if they ever tell cautionary tales for their readers to learn from in order to better prepare themselves for some of the “not so nice” guys that could possibly stumble into their beds one drunken evening. With glossy eyes, and confused stares, the girls both answered this question of rape with similar answers dangling on “Yeahhhh, well I dunno much about that.”

Tracie or Slut Machine, went on to say that though she knows rape happens to lots of women, and she doesn’t deny that it can happen, but she can’t say much about that subject herself as she’s never experienced it.

“I’m no captain save a ho, ok,” were her exact words.

Claiming that she thinks its “retarded” if people use her stories as words to live by and they should lead their own lives not hers.

“I live in Williamsburg and the guys there are not very aggressive,” laughter from the audience, “but, seriously, I don’t know if I’m just more careful than other women about being in sketchy situations or what, but I’ve slept with a lot, a lot, A LOT of guys and I’ve never, ever experienced that sort of thing.”

Ms. Winstead replied to her naïve statements with “Or maybe you’ve just been REALLY lucky,” shooting her a look of a disapproving mother.

Moe sat back, listening and getting progressively drunker, melting deeper into the white couch under the hot spotlight. She jumped in and offered her own date rape story. A guy in college, the third guy she ever slept with in her life, date raped her “and not the slutty girl, Michelle, down the hall.”

Moe claimed she was drunk at the time (as she made it perfectly clear that she is VERY often completely hammered) and was confused by why this guy would do this to her. She asked him “Why?” the following day and his answer was something along the lines of, “I don’t know, I just thought you wouldn’t care that much.” Moe’s reply to her rapist was “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Her rapist was never reported and he has gone on to become a doctor.

The girls were clearly uncomfortable discussing this topic. When pushed to answer “WHY, oh WHY wouldn’t you report that scum bag?” Moe’s answer was “Well it was kind of a hassle and I never felt unsafe around him again, and I really like drinking and stuff sooo it was bound to happen at some point,” as she continued to chug down her Budweiser and slur her words incessantly.

When topics such as Obama versus Hillary came up all three women were in agreement that Hillary lost the race for reasons other than sexism. But when Moe and Tracie refused to admit that any blatant sexism regarding her campaign even existed, what I had all along hoped wasn’t true started to become sadly evident.

When asked if they considered themselves to BE feminists, Slut Machine answered “Yes, definitely, of course” which eased my nerves for a few minutes, but once Moe’s sloppy “Mehh, I’m not sure,” answer parted from her lips, it became entirely clear to everyone that these girls are not the feminist icons of our generation that we had been hoping they would be; they are a couple of a white, privileged young women who have never had to experience hard day in their lives.

Perhaps these girls have been able to lead these admirably fun, care-free lifestyles for so long because they never grew up with any fear for their futures, being raised in upper-middle class homes with conservative parents. How else could they afford to be writers living on minimal salary, while still affording their NY apartments and the luxuries of fashion, drugs, and binge drinking till all hours of the night?

It seemed a little too evident that these ladies were not rebelling against the men who have hurt them in their lives, or oppressive governments, or boys clubs that have kept them low on the career totem pole, but desperately trying to prove their worth to their mommy’s and daddy’s and their bourgeois peers.

Even when asked if their parents, or mothers at least, read their writing or if any old guard feminists have written to them regarding their work the answers lingered in “pshh, my mom is like, what, 55? She doesn’t understand the internet and I don’t think any old guard feminists, especially Gloria Steinem, get it either.”

Ms. Winstead looked thoroughly insulted being that she is among their mother’s age and is herself an active blogger for The Huffington Post.

This is not to say that these women don’t deserve praise for the work that they’ve done regarding writing and the unique medium that they’ve chosen to broadcast their thoughts on—giving women all over information they may not be so comfortable seeking out on their own in a humorous and anonymous environment. But as feminist icons, I think we need to keep searching for women who are not afraid of the word “feminist” and are smart enough to know what it actually means to be one i.e., not necessarily a lesbian and not a man hating, bra-less, extremist with a Mohawk and combat boots.

To offer women a new sexual freedom in this day and age is an amazing feat. Living life just as men do is exactly where we’d hoped to be 40 years ago and the fact that we can now go out and do what we want with our bodies and minds, however and with whomever we want, on our own terms proves that we’ve come a long, LONG way since Gloria Steinem. But in that same respect we still have a long, long way to go and though we may not have to fight the same battles, we can not forget about their extreme efforts that now afford us this lax life.

The fact of the matter is, yes, Moe and Tracie are both very smart, well-educated women who probably know more about politics, men, pop culture, history, literature and feminist philosophy than I will ever know in my entire lifetime. But what they don’t know is that having sex with as many guys as possible is not the only key to embracing life experiences.

Seeing the Jezebel girls in person only proved to me that they are just normal, insecure girls like everyone else I know. This is fine, there’s nothing wrong with that. No one asked them to be God and teach us the way. They are just doing the best they can with what they know.

But what I don’t like is the lack of respect for our feminist history; the ignorance and lack of caution when it comes to offering insight to this world of sexual authority; and the fact that two attractive, incredibly smart, young females who presently have the power and ability to make an impact on other women coming from similar backgrounds--looking for guidance and a sense of self--feel the need to put on this act where they dumb down their eloquence in order “make the audience like them” I suppose.

It was borderline insulting because no one in that audience was as dumb as they were trying to appear to be. We did not come out to hear valley girls drunkenly stumble over the words “like, stuff, fuck” and “retard” continuously.

It was meant to be a laid back, humorous interview, but it was also supposed to be an informative, cultural and educational experience. What we hoped for was an inspirational evening with smart, confident women; what we witnessed was a lesson in self-respect.

Maybe I expected too much, maybe I held their narcissism on a pedestal, mistaking their extreme insecurities for self-assurance; but I what I had hoped for were Rory Gilmore’s incarnate and what I got were Lindsay Lohan’s.

I hope they were able to look upon this interview like they do with all of their other life experiences, as nothing less than a learning experience.


I miss :(