Big sis Dee. Lil’ sis me. We didn’t have a clue.
The newly svelte (facing a lifetime in jail — an excellent diet) Harvey Weinstein and his army of lawyers released a 25 million-dollar settlement. The beast remains free on bail, once judges doubled his bond after he (allegedly) dicked around with his ankle monitor like he (allegedly) dicked around with (at last count) 87 women. What does $25 mil getcha? He's “not required to admit to wrongdoing” — pleading not guilty to raping any of the women who came forward. He gets to say the rapes were all acts of consensual sex. Nice.
What’s particularly interesting to me about the Harvey case is the different generations of women involved. Weinstein’s accusers range from late boomers to millennials. Like Cosby, Harvey’s been at it for a long time — with charges that go back decades. If this settlement goes through, it signals to (rich) shithead abusers that they can get away with — whatever.
And this got me thinking of the current stories — and solidarity — of the #MeToo movement — when the younger generation said: We’re not standing for this.
Alas, 'twas not always so. I saw E. Jean Carroll, author of “What Do We Need Men For,” famous for getting grabbed (and ‘allegedly’ raped) by our fine President, give a talk recently — I RELATED. In my day, growing up in the 50s, on the work force in the 70s, we didn’t want to be seen as victims. We didn’t want to whine. We laughed off the everyday harassment, buried the humiliation. We wanted to work. So we ate it.
I remember day-dreaming as a kid, my top talent at the time, sprawled out on my sisters' bed (always two to a bed) while they were out on one of their “dates” (they were very popular.) I’d roll around in one of their sexy kitten tight sweaters and hoop skirts, filling myself up with wistful songs, flirtatious tunes, 45s spinning away on their “record player.” One of my favorites was Patti Page, and the refrain of the tune I loved was “Don’t you know a girl means yes when she says no.” I can still hear the melody, though I can’t find a trace of the song anywhere today. Maybe they scorched it.
Wise.
Almost as bad is the holiday standard “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”— jaw dropping conversation between a hunter and his soon to be lip smackin’ meal ... a trapped girl.
So many messages received with the same theme: This is the way of the world, girls. Carry on.
And we did. We put up with it. We thought we had to shut up, move on and not talk. Well, we gabbed plenty to each other — about one “horn toad” or another “perv” to look out for. That was our code. Don’t get caught alone with that bugger. But we didn’t know. We didn’t know the value of our voices outside our own circles — then.
But 20-somethings? They aren’t taking it. It's the difference between thriving on “Broad City” vs. “Sex & the City.” It's Emma Watson offering free legal advice on sexual harassment. It's Miley Cyrus reworking the sexist B.S. lyrics of ‘Santa Baby.’ These young Glorious Broads are saying NO. And they are being heard.
So for me — no more "Baby It's Cold Outside." My holiday wish is a world where women — all generations — support and protect each other. And, oh, that the (alleged) rapist motherfucker gets to rot in jail ... like a certain other celebrity.
Happy Holidays!
