Entertainment, Movies and TV, Plain Speaking

Dear Amy Schumer (whoever you are)…

I was saddened to read this morning that you are “still triggered and traumatized” over Will Smith’s behavior on Oscar night.  (Apparently –whoever you are–you’re important enough that the mere utterance of such absurd drama queenery  causes media folks to snap to attention and report it.) So sorry that you’ve been victimized this way, and that you’re still “waiting for this sickening feeling to go away.”  You poor thing.

Here’s a tip from a person who rarely gets her panties in a bunch, and/or internalizes to her own detriment, the behavior of others:*

Will Smith’s actions were, by any objective standard, disgraceful and unacceptable.  Chris Rock’s joke was, by any objective standard, mildly distasteful, and not particularly funny.** And it is perfectly all right to say so about both things without droning on about your own emotional disturbance that occurred as a result of any of it.  Will Smith’s behavior, in particular, had nothing to do with, and said nothing about, you, and there is no need for you to become twitterpated (see what I did there?) about it as a result.

As is the case in many such instances, I learned this lesson the hard way, being the older daughter of a woman who’d be diagnosed in this day and age–I’m pretty sure–as suffering from bipolar disorder, and perhaps an element of narcissistic personality disorder as well.  If I’d become “triggered and traumatized” every time Mum engaged in public behavior intended to draw attention to herself, or to humiliate and embarrass members of her immediate family, I’d still be hiding in the cupboard under the stairs curled into the fetal position, here eight years after her death.  My mother’s behavior was a reflection, not on me, but on herself and on her own problems.  If she’d gotten the help she needed at any point in time, things might have been different.  But she did not.  And they were not.

Get over yourself, please.

This is not about you, your feelings, your disturbance, your hurt and your upset.  (I do see, in spite of all your intestinal upheavals, that you’re still fly enough to use the situation as an excuse to promote your streaming series and your tour this fall.  LOL.)

This is about Will Smith and his need to own his bad behavior.

The freedom to assign responsibility for the foolish/malign/idiotic/self-serving/wrong behavior of others directly to those others, without shouldering some sort of psychic burden and turmoil upon ourselves, and making every situation all about “me,” is healthy and sane.

I think you know that Will Smith’s behavior was wrong.  And yet you can’t simply say so without virtue-signaling your own discomfort with such an objective “value judgment” because you don’t want to be called “judgmental. So you tie yourself in knots, and bore us with your own internal struggles, embarrassments, and manias, in order to deflect attention from your point.

Transparency is a wonderful thing.  I can see right through you.

My best to you, whoever you are,

God Bless,

Ricochet She/RWKJ

PS: I invoke here Mark Steyn’s marvelous “Song of the Week” post, and his link to this mélange of “Not Even Nominated” songs by Steve Lawrence and Sammy Davis Jr.:

Hard to imagine either the talent, or the selection, for such a thing today.  I mean, really (explicit): Cop KillerBring Your Whole CrewStay Wide AwakeWet Ass Pussy.  What to pick from?  Who to feature?  Pole dancing?  Homoerotic BDSM scenes from a velvet-encrusted bed?  Gang rape?  Sodomy? Abortion? Murder? Cop killings?

TBPC, none of the above links “traumatize[s] and triggers” me or sends me into a syncope of self-doubt, misery, or sickness.  All any of them tells me is that our culture has debased itself to the point where violence, racism, sexism, and deviancy have become the norm–and that none of those things has happened at the hands of the conservatives and right-wingers that you regularly mock.



Wake up, please.

Yours, in perpetual Hope,


*Of course, there are exceptions.  But those cases are rather extreme.  Rule #40.

**And I dare say it was missed by many who don’t know the story of Jada’s alopecia, or who’ve never heard of G.I. Jane, a movie–let’s face it–from the last century and which is over a quarter-of-a-century old.

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