Tag Archives: feminism


11 Apr
london broil

Image from thingsimadethenate.blogspot.com

I was in the checkout line. Purchasing meat. London Broil was on sale, you get a big Family Pak with two huge steaks for $2.99 a pound.

A mousy young woman behind me who had sprouts and 7 grain bread turned to a guy whose basket was full of beets and said “looking at meat like that makes me nauseated.” She said it so I could hear it. What they call ”passive aggressive.” “You are a disgusting immoral pig,” she was saying to me, except with other words to another putative vegetarian because that’s how you do things. Continue reading

The Bills

27 Aug

Just going to work should be enough.  Just having a job should be enough.  Going in there ten hours per day.  “Networking.”  Reading work related material on weekends.  All the absurd time and energy demands of any “professional” “career” type gig in 2012 are more than enough of a burden on a human being’s brief life.

But you gotta pay the bills.  You gotta register your car.  You gotta serve jury duty.  You gotta do your taxes.  You have to go to the doctor, and sit in the waiting room, and fill out insurance forms which you have already filled out many times.  You have to go to the doctor again because the first doctor never knows what the fuck he is talking about. No general practitioner on the entire god damn planet is ever of any use whatsoever in terms of diagnosing, treating, or curing disease.  Always has to be the specialist, which you have to go to the general practitioner so you can even get told to go to the specialist. Find the specialist covered by your insurance plan.  Call the specialist, make an appointment with the specialist.  The specialist, like every other professional and business, is only open at the exact same time as you are working; you will have to take the time off of work.  This does not mean that amount of work goes away, mind you.  There is no one “covering” for anybody at work in 2012; productivity is maximized; man hours are stretched tight as a drum.  You will need to do this work in off hours, still ailing from what the specialist was unable to diagnose, treat, or cure, because it turns out all doctors are completely useless. If you are a doctor, fuck you.  Call the insurance company about the bills you got from the general practitioner and specialist, argue with them; get put on hold, get hung up on on hold, call them, get on hold again.  The toilet is broken.  Call somebody to fix the toilet.  They only operate during normal business hours.  Wait for the guy to come fix the toilet.
Continue reading

Sexist Coffee Ad

19 Apr

I love this video.

I never think about feminism in terms of what shit actually used to be like.  I think about it in terms of what shit is like now, where feminism is people commenting on blog posts, battling an endless war over who has the bigger right to complain.  People demanding the right to walk down the street without feeling fear.  Not demanding that some specific thing change, or that someone do anything practical about anything, just– I demand somehow that I no longer experience the subjective emotion of fear.  I demand that I stop feeling pressured to look like a skinny girl in an ad.  I demand that men do something about this.  Men stop rape.  Etc.  Seventy seven cents on the dollar.  And then men somehow stupidly getting engaged in this meaningless battle, saying what about our complaints.  Our complaints are valid, how come you guys never think about us, etc., which– shut the fuck up, dude.  The only way to win here is not to play.  I love complaining as much as the next guy but once you get into complaining about other people complaining, and they fire back with how dare you complain, you can’t even begin to grasp the scope of my complaints, thousands of years of complaints, waah waah what about the menz, etc., which, yes, people who spend their entire intellectual lives complaining have a knee jerk reaction to infantilize and mock other people’s complaints.  Why go down this rabbit hole. Continue reading

Talk to Your Kids about Sex

7 Apr

My mother was a feminist. My single mother, which means, God bless her, that I was raised as a feminist.  It means my sex and relationship talks from her were about respecting women.  About not taking advantage of women, not hurting them, not raping them.  After my stepdad came into our lives I never discussed these things with him.  It took a few conversations with my father to sort out the one thing that I really and truly needed to know about sex, which is: you’re not a bad looking dude, and don’t worry, you can get laid.

He’d had a very different life than me.  I lost my virginity at seventeen; at that age he had been picked up for dealing heroin and given the choice of going to the clink or enlisting in the marines at the height of Vietnam.  He told me stories like “one time I beat up this black guy so bad that I was checking the papers the next day to make sure I hadn’t killed him.”  He had a tough, colorful life.  I was on scholarship to a prep school where they had not one but two competing a capella groups that in any sensible community would have had the shit kicked out of them on a daily basis.  I was going to a school where they flew in math geniuses from China and all the girls wore docksiders and no makeup and were second cousins with Winston Churchill and if they ever saw a penis they would explode.  The occasional accidental erection of their horse was the only stiff penis they had ever seen, and they had absolutely no curiosity about expanding their knowledge.  A rich new England WASP girl is basically born elderly, in terms of her sexuality.  This is why she has time to focus on things like perfecting her application essay to intern at the U.N.  When I started at this fancy school, it was immediately clear that none of these girls would ever show even the remotest interest in me; they barely showed interest in boys at all.   Continue reading

Protected: Old News: Seventy Seven Cents on the Dollar

5 Apr

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