I’ve mostly stopped reading Ann Althouse, really. Generally because every time I look in over there, something so weird is going on that I feel like I just bumbled on to the set of a Fellini film.
Today, now, bear with me here, today Ms. Althouse has posted a vlog of herself eating an egg salad sandwich and drinking (surprise!) a glass of wine. She maintains that this is because her readers paid her $200 to do it. (??!!)
But given her previous assertions with regards to the relationship between food, sex, and art, methinks that perhaps there is something a bit more going on here than initially meets the eye. Let’s go back to her “analysis” (sorry, scare quotes are totally not optional there) of the Bill and Hillary Sopranos finale hommage video:
4. Bill says “No onion rings?” and Hillary responds “I’m looking out for ya.” Now, the script says onion rings, because that’s what the Sopranos were eating in that final scene, but I doubt if any blogger will disagree with my assertion that, coming from Bill Clinton, the “O” of an onion ring is a vagina symbol. Hillary says no to that, driving the symbolism home. She’s “looking out” all right, vigilant over her husband, denying him the sustenance he craves. What does she have for him? Carrot sticks! The one closest to the camera has a rather disgusting greasy sheen to it. Here, Bill, in retaliation for all of your excessive “O” consumption, you may have a large bowl of phallic symbols! When we hear him say “No onion rings?,” the camera is on her, and Bill is off-screen, but at the bottom of the screen we see the carrot/phallus he’s holding toward her. Oh, yes, I know that Hillary supplying carrots is supposed to remind that Hillary will provide us with health care, that she’s “looking out for” us, but come on, they’re carrots! Everyone knows carrots are phallic symbols. But they’re cut up into little carrot sticks, you say? Just listen to yourself! I’m not going to point out everything.
Ugh. Every time I read that bit about “the sustenance he craves”, I get the all-over creepy shivers, like someone just dumped a bag of live spiders over my naked thighs. Brrrrrr.
But let’s have another look at that egg sandwich shall we?
The egg, of course, embodies the sacred feminine. It is a symbol of womanhood and female fertility that has been recognized as such since our most primitive ancestors put green plastic Easter grass into their stone baskets and gave each other painted dodo eggs and chocolate pterodactyls or whatever. Could it be that by tucking into a Sacred Feminine sandwich on camera, Ann is telegraphing to us a deep-seated need to, ah, well, you know…like, go floating face down in Ricki Lake? To, uh, explore k.d. lang’s 49th parallel?
Are you with me, here? It sure would explain a lot, especially that love-you/hate-you boobie freakout deal she pulled on Jessica Valenti. What else could inspire that obsessive and warped a reaction other than smothered, thwarted lust?
And believe me, I met Jessica’s boobies at YearlyKos. Even I could see that if any force on earth could provoke a sudden and debilitating attack of lesbianism, it would be they.
Poor Ann. All she wants is to be loved. Is that such a crime?