Archive for ‘Rants’

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May 20, 2011

Does Your Reading List Ever Make You Mad? (and Other First-World Problems)

I have some sympathy for Carmen Callil. Her actions are counterproductive, though, because now everyone’s going to be passionately defending Philip Roth’s literary reputation for weeks (well, days) and complaining about sour feminists, when if they’d just given him the prize without any controversy, everyone would have been like, “Roth again? Yawn! Why didn’t they give this one to Marilynne Robinson?”

But I think she just snapped, and we’ve all been there – as a reader, how many times are you told, “Okay. This guy was really messed up about women, but you just have to ignore all the blatant horrifying misogyny, and then, you have to admit, he’s a genius!” It’s constant. And most of the time, because women are great about doing this, because we – and it can’t be said often enough – do it all the time in every form of culture ever, we concede the point. We forgive the constant brutal, graphic rapes and the ‘mothers are manipulative, evil hags’ stuff and ‘I just want to kill my castrating wife’ stuff and the constant reducing of all women to two-dimensional jizz receptacles, and we overlook all that and say, “Yeah, you’re right. If you overlook the 90% of it that’s repeatedly telling us that we better never for a second think we have any power or status in our society whatsoever, it really is an amazing work of art.” (Meanwhile, ask some guys to come with you to see a movie with women in it, or pink somewhere on the poster, and it’s like you’re asking them to lick a public toilet.)

Anyway, eventually every single reading woman (and sometimes, a reading man) reaches that point where she just goes, “That’s it! That is it! I’m done! I do not have to overlook it and admit the genius! I do not have to admit any fucking knob’s genius anymore! I’m done! I am only ever reading stuff by women from now on forever and that’s it! YOU can overlook the dress descriptions and the stupid wedding at the end, and admit that this woman is a genius! YOU OVERLOOK SOMETHING FOR ONCE, DAMN IT!”

And then you have to go off by yourself for awhile and take some deep breaths, especially since you weren’t even talking to anyone specific, but just yelling at the air in front of your face, and you weren’t even reading anything at the moment, but just sitting there, thinking about stuff and seething. Plus, some of your favorite writers are men.

Ideally, you do not throw this tantrum publicly, while you are serving as one of the judges for a major literary prize.

Anyway, we’ve all been there. I can understand how Callil feels, although I don’t have an opinion as to whether or not Roth should have won – I’ve only read American Pastoral (I read it in Vietnam, which I think informed and added to my reading experience1), and I haven’t read everyone on the shortlist, but most current readers are not all that sad that the days of RothMailerUpdike dominance are ending (although I still plan to get around to reading those dudes some day).

If you ever have a moment of literary despair, it pays to remember that contemporary fiction is absolutely exploding with awesome writers, many of them women. Look at Jennifer Egan! I mean, I didn’t like her book that much, but everybody else loved it, and she won both the NBCC Award and the Pulitzer. Additionally, up-and-coming male writers have finally realized that being entirely dismissive of and confused about half the world’s population rather limits your ability to be a great recorder of the human condition, and literary misogyny is (I really think, though some people will argue with me) on the wane.

Here are some fantastic books I would recommend for anyone who needs a little break from being reasonable and open-minded about offensive content. Not only are these great books about women (I think? Maybe a couple are about men2), but they are not about “women’s issues”. They are not specifically about feminism or stifling marriages or dealing with abuse or anything like that (well, maybe some of them are a little bit, but those are not the elements I primarily remember about them)(and not that there’s anything wrong with books on those topics, but that’s not what we’re after here):

  • The Last Samurai by Helen DeWitt (Everyone should read this! Why has everyone not read this?)
  • Molly Fox’s Birthday by Deirdre Madden
  • Bad Marie by Marcy Dermansky
  • Let the Northern Lights Erase Your Name by Vendela Vida
  • Here They Come by Yannick Murphy
  • Atmospheric Disturbances by Rivka Galchen
  • Wetlands by Charlotte Roche (warning: look into this before you read it; it is not for everyone)
  • Winner of the National Book Award by Jincy Willett (Hilarious! Read it!)
  • The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery
  • Bee Season by Myla Goldberg
  • Novel About My Wife by Emily Perkins
  • Heir to the Glimmering World by Cynthia Ozick
  • The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin
  • anything by Marilynne Robinson
  • Any others? What can you recommend in this category?

And I don’t even know, so many more! Those are just the ones I happened to think of, that I’ve read recently. So never feel like you have to read Philip Roth, and never feel like you have to not read Philip Roth, either. Read everything! There’s enough great stuff out there for anybody in any kind of mood, is all I’m saying.

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1I know, aren’t I tiresome?! If we were at a party, you would have just spotted someone you had to go talk to over there.
2Actually, two of these books (Atmospheric Disturbances and Novel About My Wife) are about men searching for their mysteriously missing (and not actually missing) wives. Weird!

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May 16, 2011

Driving

First five minutes of driving for the first time in about eight years:  ”Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, I can’t believe this is a universal daily activity. This car is a death trap! It is insane that people do this! I will surely die at any moment.”

Ten minutes later:  ”If these freaking slow-ass geriatrics don’t get the hell out of my way, I’m going to have a heart attack from pure fury!!”

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March 11, 2011

Media to Women: Men Hate You

Women: in case there was any doubt in your mind, the media this month would just like to remind you that men hate you. Reading my usual feeds over the last couple of weeks has been one installment after another of victim blaming and rape apology. As far as journalists assigned to cover these things go, it’s like the 20th century never even happened. Women victims are pushed off the page, relegated to the margins, and, when they are mentioned at all, insulted and blamed for their own abuse.

The most egregious example is the NY Times coverage of the lengthy and premeditated gang rape of an 11-year-old girl in Cleveland, Texas. James McKinley, who wrote the article, chooses to focus the piece on the devastating effect this crime has had…on the Texas community. He includes three quotes for the article. The first is a quote about how all those poor boys (the 18 males, from middle-school-aged to 27, who gang-raped an 11-year-old over a period of hours in two different locations, and taped it, the better to brag about it later) were going to have to live with this the rest of their lives. The second quote is about how the child dressed like a young tart. And the third quote is about how the child’s mother let her run around by herself.  To be fair to the reporter, it looks like the town of Cleveland truly is entirely populated by horrifying shitheads.  Still, the way the article was framed did not question the residents’ interpretation of the events:  ”…how could their young men have been drawn into such an act?”  he muses.

Of course, other media outlets have reacted strongly to this mind-blowingly backwards coverage, but the Times has not apologized or taken the article down. They did publish a single, rather mild letter that rebukes the reporter for his victim-blaming, though it doesn’t mention the bizarre ‘oh, those poor boys,’ slant to the story.

As always, The Onion is not so much a parody of the actual news as it is a parallel.

Also in the Times, Anna Holmes writes that the Charlie Sheen fiasco is notable (or par for the course) in that before, when Sheen was merely physically and psychologically abusing women, he was a celebrity in good standing, but now that he’s going around bashing his employers, coworkers and Hollywood generally, something must finally be done about him.

Finally, the New Yorker’s Talk of the Town section features a sympathetic, humanizing profile of Mike Tyson, pigeon trainer. Mike Tyson is often the subject of these sorts of cuddle-fests, because the contrast of a violent, meaner-than-spit boxer enjoying various gentle, emotional activities or fake-crying or whatever is a hilarious juxtaposition that requires no effort to think up. Mike Tyson’s most notable violent act is that he once bit Evander Holyfield’s ear during a boxing match. People don’t gloss over this about him – it is always referenced when he does guest cameos in movies, and is dutifully mentioned here in the pigeon profile.

Oh, Mike Tyson is also a convicted rapist. But nobody ever mentions that. It wouldn’t be fair to Mike.

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October 28, 2010

Mandatory Fun Isn’t Very

It will come as no shock to regular readers of this blog that I have a bit of a fun allergy, and the one thing I hate more than an ordinary Saturday is an extraordinary Saturday.  Perhaps it comes from being a teenager who never had anywhere to go or anyone to go with, but holidays that demand the procurement of awesome plans automatically put me on the defensive.  I can have a really awesome time out, but I have to be in just the right mood; otherwise, I’ll stand around grumpily wondering why everyone thinks it’s a scream a minute to mill around in a crowded location to pounding music and flashing lights, when if you turned off the music and lights, it would be indistinguishable from waiting in a crowded airport for a delayed flight.  So mandatory fun days don’t really work for me.  Being told when I must turn out for some fun is too much like a camp counselor bellowing at the tent flap that it’s time for games, so put the book down. 

And Halloween is really a one-two punch of fun fascism because, in addition to being told that you must have fun, you are also told how you must dress for it.  This whole idea of needing a day in which everyone agrees to look crazy so that you can feel comfortable dressing up is beyond me.  Isn’t the whole point of costuming yourself to stand out and be noticed?  Why demand that a unified front screen you?  Grow some balls, people.  Someone recently was saying that Halloween as a concept is pointless for anyone who’s a performer/ex-performer – remind me if that was you, or you know who was saying it, because you/they phrased it really well, and now I can’t remember.    

Anyway, I really enjoyed this Sloane Crosley article about how Halloween in NY is the new New Year’s:

Beyond dressing-up, it’s that creeping pressure to do something insanely fun for Halloween. This is a trickle-back attitude from New Year’s. What a smack in the face of fun. Other holidays don’t have this problem. The words “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” invoke turkey, familial dysfunction and airport security. It’s a sincere question, not a fishing expedition. Never has someone said “I’m going to my aunt Hilda’s house in Wooster” and been met with a “That sounds great. When are we leaving?”

I don’t know why I’m bitching, really, because I have some awesome plans for Halloween this year (although no costume, unfortunately – I’m thinking I will wear a few slips, black my eyes, rat up my hair and go as Helena Bonham Carter in something).  On Sunday, I am going to see THE DRESDEN DOLLS, and I am SO EXCITED! 

Also, despite all my protests above, last year I participated in a group costume that was probably the greatest Halloween costume ever.  Someone else thought it up and someone else put it together – all I had to do was put it on.  If that were the case every year, I’d have no problem dressing up.  Anyway, we were sexxy Dharma initiative and we were amazing.  Regard:

  

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October 25, 2010

How to Make Friends

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I enjoyed this article about a rent-a-friend service.  I’m not at all surprised such a service exists now, and also, of course, various people are absolutely obligated to react to it as if it is the next horribly scandalous step up from rainbow parties and ritual sacrifice, but as someone who has routinely moved to an entirely new location where I have no friends or contacts, I can certainly see the use of such a thing.

It is nearly impossible to make friends as an adult, at least in this country, at least in my experience.  If you’ve never had to try it, here are the problems you run into:

For one thing, people do not talk to each other, or at least people don’t talk to me.  I never understand it when others rhapsodize about how easy it is to meet people, how everyone’s so friendly and outgoing.  Perhaps I give off some uncomfortable vibe I’m not aware of, but my conversations with strangers are never successful.  They usually go about like this:

Stranger:  ’Hey, is anyone sitting here?’
Me:  ’No.  Go ahead.’
[Long, awkward pause, carefully avoided eye contact on both sides.]
Me:  ’Have you heard this guy read before?’
Stranger, jumping as if I’ve just announced I have recently really gotten into cannibalism:  ’What?!  Oh.  No.’
[End of all possible conversation forever.]

This is what happens if you go to readings or mingle-events or shows or craft’s fairs or volunteer events or whatever trying to meet people:  other people hang out with their scads of friends, trying to strike up a conversation with a stray will likely get you maced, and before very long, a bizarre and smelly old, old, old man will begin a conversation with you from which you will never escape.  You will spend your entire night listening to a very, very old man’s political conspiracy theories and theories on women and he will lean far too close into your face and you will go to the bathroom and then sit in a far-away place and he will come over and find you and sit by you there, too, and when the event is finally over, he might even follow you to the train station.  True, sometimes he is younger, sometimes he is female, sometimes the drift of his conversation varies, but always, always he is obnoxious and boring and completely deaf to social cues.  I mean, avoiding this old man alone is reason enough to rent-a-friend:  to buy some out of work actor two beers to come to the reading with you and sit next to you and make jokes with you all night.  If you met that same unemployed actor at the event and tried to strike up a conversation with them in the old-fashioned way, they’d probably piss themselves from the social impropriety of it all.

I think my generation has been raised to be overly suspicious of strangers and the implied message we’ve internalized (if you wind up talking to some loser, everyone will think there’s something really wrong with you) is making it really difficult for all of us to meet new people.

In fact, I’ve paid hundreds of hundreds of dollars to make friends.  On the dotted line, I was paying for improv classes, but you know what I really didn’t need at the time?  Improv classes.  And some classes, you drop you hundreds of bucks and get there, and then you spend weeks doing something you’re not that interested in with a bunch of people who never go to the bar after class, because they need to get home to their families.

Also, like the rich getting richer, those with friends get more friends.  Once you manage to make one friend, you’re pretty much out of the woods.  It’s a lot easier to meet new people when you’re out with friends you already have than when you’re out by yourself.  In our society, unattached people are viewed with suspicion.  People are rightly afraid that if they’re nice to you, they’ll never get rid of you (see:  old man above).  But when you have friends along, other people know they’ve nothing to fear from talking to you – you won’t demand a commitment at the end of it all – plus these other people don’t find you crazy, so you must be alright.  So really, if you don’t have any friends, then renting a friend might enable you to meet new, actual friends.  Sort of like a wedding band gets guys hit on, because, hey, some woman thinks they’re worth sleeping with.

I’ve always made friends the same way:  I pony up for classes I don’t want until I locate a likely target, and then I force myself on them.  I invite them places and invite them places and invite them places, and I invite myself places with them, and when I meet their friends, I do the same with their friends, and I just keep at it until somehow I am in the midst of their friend group, even though I’m the only one who didn’t go to college with them all.  I’ve done it twice now, in two different major cities, in the exact same way.  It works for me, but it takes about 6 months to a year, plus money and time for whatever classes, and I can certainly see how some people would prefer to just pay $25 or so for a stranger to come to the movies with them.

On an only slightly related note, the article above has some people spouting off about how a “friend” you have to pay is no “friend” at all, which obviously.  This has become a trend in cranky cultural commentary lately, with the most frequent lament being “thousands of Facebook ‘friends’ aren’t really friends at all!”  Well, no shit.  Nobody thinks they are.  People who complain about this are saying, ‘I define a friend as someone with who you have a long-lasting, personal and caring relationship over a period of years based on mutual respect and shared experiences, and I will apply that definition to any usage of the word ‘friends,’ no matter how casual or commercial, and cry the end of civilization accordingly.’  We all still know what a friend is.  Nobody really thinks a blog ‘friend’ is a friend in the sense above, or that a rented ‘friend’ is, either.  By ‘friends,’ Facebook means ‘networking contacts,’ and this rent-a-friend site means ‘companions’ or ‘people you can pay to go to dinner with you, so that you can enjoy yourself and not have to feel like a self-conscious loser the whole time, and that’s fine, even if these people are clearly not going to attend your wedding or your funeral.’  It means, basically, escorts from back before escort became a coded term for prostitute (was there such a time?  There was, right?).  There is a need for a paid, platonic companion, and I can think of many situations where it would be helpful to pay for a fake date, in order to make a social situation less awkward for any number of reasons (for example, even after you have friends, sometimes showing up somewhere with a “date” is a quick, easy, no-hurt-feelings fix to a brewing problem, but somehow, you never have a date to bring just when you really need one).

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October 19, 2010

Sports

You know, I don’t at all wish I was into sports, but I am jealous of how excited all of you are about them all the time, and of how that’s something you can all share with each other.  It’s a testament to how thoroughly and completely devoid of any interesting content sports really are that I can’t even make myself get into them in order to have an easy, impersonal way to connect with other people.  No, I’d really rather live my life in a bleak, solitary, social wasteland than sit through a baseball game.

God, sports suck so bad.

You know, I don’t at all wish I was into sports, but I am jealous of how excited all of you are about them all the time, and how that’s something you can all share with each other.  It’s a testament to how thoroughly and completely devoid of any interesting content sports really are that I can’t even make myself get into them in order to have an easy, impersonal way to connect with other people.  No, I’d really rather live my life in a bleak, solitary, social wasteland than sit through a baseball game.

God, sports suck so bad.

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June 18, 2010

The Average-Sized Woman

Having had the opportunity to try on several pairs of jeans lately, and being reminded of how frustrating that activity usually is, I have made a definitive sketch of what most clothing designers seem to believe the dimensions of the average woman are:

Now personally, I’ve never seen a woman who looks like this, whether in real life or on the catwalks, but apparently, they are legion.

In reality, my figure looks more like this:

 

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July 20, 2009

Damn It, Google

I love all of Google’s programs. Gmail is fantastic, I like my igoogle page, I love my Google feed reader, and I love Google Docs (although I think Blogger totally blows). I realize that Google now has complete and total access to pretty much my entire brain, and I have no privacy whatsoever, and all of my writings and emails and searches, and everything I’ve ever bought, and all the books I’ve looked into, and everything I’ve read and thought to save or extract is all retained by Google in an easy-to-retrieve file that can be exposed at any time to anyone, and that I have basically asked for it, having thoughtlessly given Google all of this information because it’s just too easy to do so and rather difficult not to.

I’m ok with all of this.

But what I am not ok with is that Google – as well as it knows me – is absolutely certain that I would like to turn all of my applications into social networking sites. First, Gmail was retooled in such a way that the horrid gchat was featured prominently in a sidebar – even in my igoogle page! – impossible to get rid of. For the longest time (though I will admit this has since been fixed) gchat kept signing me in over and over again, even though I had my settings indicating I never wanted to be signed in.

And can I just take a second here to explain why I despise gchat, AIM and the like? Despite having come of age in the glory days of AIM, I have never used chat, because I think it’s really fucking obnoxious. If I’m browsing online, it’s because that’s what I want to be doing right then. I’m not waiting for someone to pop up in the middle of whatever I’m looking at, and deliver me from my contemplation with small talk. Chatting is what I do when I have the pleasure of someone’s actual company – and preferably, there will also be drinks, or summer sun or some other added sweetener. I put up with occasionally tiresome chatting because it’s nice to be with people. So, why on Earth would I want the chatting without the people? That’s like wanting commercials without programming!

So, anyway, imagine my spitting fury when I signed into my google reader the other day to find that google has added some sort of ‘share network’ bullshit in the sidebar that you can sign out of (or just refuse to participate in), but cannot get rid of altogether. Why the hell would anybody want to turn their feed reader into a social sharing site? There are all kinds of places where people can post a running tally of what articles they are reading if they so desire – Twitter, Facebook, their blogs, posting a ‘my feeds’ widget in the sidebar of their blog. Apparently, that’s not enough – some people want other people actually reading over their shoulder at all times! Well, I don’t want people in my feed reader, or in my email inbox, or in my Netflix cue or in my Amazon checkout cart. I don’t care if other people do (although I don’t understand it), but there should at least be some way to completely opt out of all this stuff, and not have it continually coming up.

And now at the top of all my items in my feed reader, there’s a stupid little cartoon face with ‘X-number of people liked this!’ next to it, and if you click on that, it gives you the user names of all x-number of gazillion people who clicked that they liked that particular item. Come on, Google! Do I really fucking care that iceprincess3 liked something Ezra Klein posted? No! No one does! Let me read my feeds in peace.

And let me hasten to add that I love spending quality time with people in the flesh. I love having actual, live conversations with people. I love getting emails from people. I love reading other people’s substantive blog posts, that they’ve put time and effort into, and I love love love it when people get into a dialogue here on my blog, where I post things I actually want to communicate to people, and while my posts may not always be brilliant (or even slightly interesting), no one ever has to come here and read my blog – I don’t pop my posts up in the faces of all of my friends while they’re trying to read the NY Times Op-Ed page or whatever.

As I said at the beginning of this post, I love Google. I use nearly all their tools and have given my reputation entirely into their keeping. I just don’t love these sharing, chat and otherwise pointless features in areas that have absolutely no need to be networking platforms. There are plenty of places to go out and mingle online; I don’t see why some things can’t remain (cosmetically) private.

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July 7, 2009

I’ve Been Reading: Don’t Get Too Comfortable

Attention, male writers: unless you particularly plan to alienate your readership, try not to cram a bunch of pointless derogatory comments about women into the first ten pages of your book, unless that’s really what you’re all about. I’ve noticed this with a number of books lately – I’ll get all alienated in the first chapter, and decide not to read the rest, and then keep going only to find the entire rest of the book totally devoid of casual misogyny. It’s so weird! I noticed this in Lost Cosmonaut, and now here in David Rakoff’s book of humorous essays, Don’t Get Too Comfortable. In the first essay, “Love It or Leave It,” about applying for citizenship during the latter Bush administration, on page 2, we have:

After twenty-two years, it seemed a little bit coy to still be playing the Canadian card. I felt like the butt of the joke about the proper lady who, when asked if she would have sex with a strange man for a million dollars, allows that yes she would do it. But when asked if she would do the same thing for a can of Schlitz and a plastic sleeve of beer nuts, reels back with an affronted, ‘What do you think I am?’ to which the response is, ‘Madam, we have already established what you are. Now we’re just quibbling about the price.’

On page 7, Barbara Bush the Younger is described (to absolutely no point whatsoever) as “W’s liquor-swilling, Girl Gone Wild, human ashtray of a daughter.” Particularly gratuitous, as Rakoff’s real beef is with Barbara, Sr. (page 8: “Stupid fucking cow.”).

Admittedly, on page 8, we do have a derogatory physical description of a man: “The hairy-knuckled, pinkie-ringed lawyer for a Vietnamese fellow behind me….” No mention of the man’s genitals, of course, or sexual appeal or lack thereof, but still, not exactly a flattering comment. But then on page 9, we’re back to women, describing a “Russian woman in her early forties” who has the misfortune to be standing on line nearby:

She wears painted-on acid-wash jeans, white stilettos, and a tight blouse of sheer leopard-print fabric. The sleeves are designed as a series of irregular tatters clinging to her arms, as if she’s just come from tearing the hide off the back of an actual leopard. A really slutty leopard.

It’s safe to assume that leopard was also female.

But here on page 9, we also have our first woman appear without being described physically, or with any tossed-off, irrelevant sexual slurs attached to her person. This is Agent Morales, who interviews Rakoff for citizenship. Then, by page 11, we’re on to Rakoff’s friend, Sarah (who, based on her introduction as “a self-described civics nerd,” I’m assuming is Sarah Vowell), and nobody describes their friends as pointless and/or distasteful vaginas, so we’re in the clear.

And that’s it, for the rest of the book’s 222 pages: no more offensive comments about women, at least not that reached out of the pages and slapped me, like these first ones. In fact, I really enjoyed the book after page 10. The essays were tart, well-written, observant and entertaining. Why the packed in slurs up front?

So, the moral here is: writers and editors (whether male, female, gay, straight or other): when you have your manuscript all ready for publishing, go through at least the first twenty pages or so, with an eye to how you describe or comment on any women mentioned, as contrasted with how you describe or comment on any men. If you note that every, single woman you bring up is described as a slut, a bitch, a stupid bimbo, a nag, or has been physically detailed for no specific reason (ugly, fat, wart-faced, saggy-boobed, clothes too tight, past her prime, sex on legs, etc.), and that every man is described in terms of his personality traits and actions, then think about whether or not you genuinely want half the population to toss you and your book right out at that point. Because not all readers are as patient as I am. A lot of women won’t make it to page 11. And I’d like to think some men wouldn’t either.

I really don’t direct the above rant particularly at David Rakoff. His is only the most recent book I’ve read to follow this off-putting pattern. But really, Don’t Get Too Comfortable is great otherwise. Rakoff is a sharp and articulate social satirist, and his targets aren’t the easy ones. If there is a unifying theme to these essays, I would say it is what we desire and what we buy, and why, and what we tell ourselves about it, with occasional diversions into the weird and often unpleasant things people like to do for fun. He has drawn a bead on class hypocrisy, and conspicuous consumption. He covers foodies, high fashion, fasting, plastic surgery, cryogenics and Puppetry of the Penis. He goes along on a Playboy shoot, attends a midnight scavenger hunt in Manhattan, forages for edible plants in Prospect Park and works as a pool boy at an upscale resort. He waits outside the Today Show, visits Martha Stewart’s crafts department, and shadows the director of the mystifying Log Cabin Republicans.

Fun stuff, all. With the above-mentioned caveat, I’d recommend it.

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May 16, 2009

The Cheek Kiss

Please excuse this little rant about cheek kissing. I am very physical-contact-avoidant. I do not like to be hugged, squeezed, patted or kissed by anyone other than immediate family members or people I am involved with romantically. As an attractive young woman, however, I am subject to a lot of poking and prodding, although, given my general thorniness and seriousness, I probably get a lot less of it than most young women.

I absolutely hate it. I used to rudely rebuff all physical contact, but as I got older, I began to be more sensitive to intent, and gradually grew to tolerate pyramid-shaped hugs of welcome and farewell from friends both close and casual. I still didn’t like it. But I put up with it.

Then, the cheek kissing began. I don’t know if it was an age thing, or a geographic location thing, or a general trend, but it seemed to start up all at once, and now it’s ubiquitous, and I Fucking HATE it! I don’t want to be kissed! And now, horror of horrors, it’s verging into actual, close-mouthed kissing! I have experienced this once or twice, and it’s just awful. I don’t even want to be hugged! Why can’t people respect that without my having to be rude? Why is it assumed that I’m down with being physically touched? Why can’t we just make warm eye contact, which frankly, in my opinion, is more than enough intimacy to be going forward with?

You know, I understand wanting a bit of physical contact to demonstrate affection and personal connection, to distinguish friends who approve of each other from merely tolerated professional acquaintances. And I think that the best form of physical connection is…a solid, gripping squeeze on the upper arm. Seriously. It’s distant, but warm; it enables you to make eye contact; it’s familiar, but not overly so; it’s physical, but not romantic. It doesn’t involve lips, or breasts squashing against each other awkwardly, or chins bashing into each other. You can vary it in intensity and duration according to occasion/level of sentiment to be expressed. It’s perfect.

Can we somehow usher in the upper arm squeeze as the new friendly hello-and-goodbye physical gesture? I’m going to start doing it; hopefully, it will catch on.

Posted in Misanthropy, People, Rants | 1 Comment »

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December 8, 2008

I Need a Drink

The feminist blogosphere is all abuzz over a stupid NY Magazine article clearly published in order to set the feminist blogosphere all abuzz. Apparently, Alex Morris believes feminism has driven women to drink.

Now, don’t that beat all? The very first thing those damn liberated women of olden times did upon receiving the permission to vote was usher in prohibition/destroy the country. Now, 90 years later, they can’t stop hitting the sauce!

Freaking women. Either they’re drunks or prudes or whores or virgins or mothers or businesswomen or feminists or lesbians. But one thing’s for sure: they’re always up to something! If only they’d all pick one, good, amenable identity and conform to it en masse, it sure would make it easier to dismiss them all as individuals. But they just can’t seem to get on the same page.

Feministing:

The thing that pisses me off most about this article. . . is that drinking is a serious problem for young women and men. But instead of serious, nuanced media coverage on what to do about the drinking culture among American youth, we get article after article hawing about the consequences of equality. . . . Seriously – it’s tired. Not to mention incredibly sexist : the underlying message is that gender equality is bad for women.

So if folks are actually concerned about young women and drinking, how about we talk about the consumer culture that markets liquor (something Morris touches on before quickly returning back to feminism) or how drinking is being used to blame women who are raped? 

No joke. How many articles have their been lately about the increasing problem of binge-drinking and date rape on college campuses, and how many of these articles have arrived at the conclusion that the problem is…women being there? Yeah, maybe the problem is women being out and about, and drinking and carrying on like they’re real, live, young people. Or maybe – just maybe – the problem is men who rape women!

And as long as I’m taking the bait, check out this other asshole I ran across:

Forget what feminists, hippies, and liberals have told you in the last half century. They are all lies based on political ideology and conviction, not on science. Contrary to what they may have told you, it is very unlikely that money, promotions, the corner office, social status, and political power will make women happy. Similarly, it is very unlikely that quitting their jobs, dropping out of the rat race, and becoming stay-at-home dads to spend all their times with their children will make men happy.Money, promotions, the corner office, social status, and political power are what make men happy (as long as they win, of course, but then dropping out is by definition a defeat). Spending time with their children is what makes women happy.

You know, Satoshi Kanazawa, I think I know why you’re clearly so unhappy. You may think that you’re meant to be an evolutionary psychologist and author, but you’re lying to yourself and denying your true nature. You are actually evolutionarily designed to run fast, wrangle heavy stuff, and catch and strangle small creatures, and the sooner you admit that to yourself, the sooner you can become a truly satisfied man. I encourage you to quit all this thinking and writing that’s making you so miserable and unfulfilled, and realize your true potential as a welder/firefighter/rabbit-wringer.

Posted in Feminism, Health, Misanthropy, Rants | 5 Comments »

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December 3, 2008

Accismus, Y’all

Black Friday is a huge embarrassment to all of us at the best of times, but on this past, most pivotal and heavily advertised of Black Fridays, some people actually trampled a man to death in their haste to get inside a Wal-Mart.

Now. Much has been blogged about this horrible incident already, and I doubt even the most heavily retail-seduced among us heard this news without cringing.

But my main reaction was: how could self-aware people display so much unabashed enthusiasm for anything? I went to high school during the 90s, and if there is one value that the experience of being an adolescent during that unenthused decade instilled in me, it is the importance of being too cool. When something tempting comes along, you are not supposed to snatch at it like an eager toddler. You sit back, smirk ironically . . . and then, after a decent enough time has passed that everyone understands that you could take it or leave it, you casually shrug and take it, peering at it the whole time as if it both amuses and perplexes you.

This is the way in which I approach every desirable thing, from jobs to friends to food to new clothes to men. But even leaving aside the studied indifference of my generation, nonchalance is the only appropriate and polite attitude for people living in a land of plenty. If you are sitting at a table, and the person at the head of the table brings out a cake, you do not climb frantically over the people in between you and the cake, screaming and gnashing your teeth, and bury your face in it. You only behave that way if you are starving to death, or two years old. Otherwise, you sit politely, and pass each slice down as it’s cut, until everyone has one, and then you calmly proceed to eat your slice.

Black Friday is an example of one situation in which everyone thinks it’s a good idea to bury their face in the cake. And for this country, that’s especially disgusting behavior, because essentially, most people at the table already have five entire untouched cakes sitting right in front of them.

There’s a general assumption in America that anything worth having (wealth, fame, good parts, book deals, seats on the subway, marriage proposals, property, cheap piles of shit from Wal-Mart) can only be attained by wrestling it away from somebody else. We talk about ‘wanting it (or her or him) enough to fight for it,’ as if that illustrates strength of character. What a desperate, scrabbling way to live! Just because competition is healthy for markets and other living things does not mean that everything need be competed over. Economists of every school agree, the world is not a pie. Really, it seems to me to be more of an endless conveyer belt (even in a recession, at least as far as Wal-Mart goods are concerned).

Gains not ill-gotten can still be sinful, but for a country that brays so loudly about its Christianity, we’ve entirely erased the word ‘greed’ from our vocabulary.

–

Also, Bitch Ph.D. has this to say about how tramplings actually happen:

You know how hard it is to work your way backwards through a crowd. Now imagine a crowd that’s *urgently* trying to push forward-it would be impossible. And, given that the crowd was apparently strong enough, en masse, to push down a door and trample a man, then (presumably) any individual-or even several individuals-who tried to push back-to keep the doors from being pushed open, or to keep the man from being trampled-is also going to be overwhelmed and pushed forward. . . .The real problem isn’t the people in the crowd. It’s the policy of creating such crowds, especially in situations without infrastructure and trained security people to manage the crowds properly. . . . The problem is the corporations who deliberately create an unnecessary sense of urgency and scarcity in order to drum up sales.

Well, sure.  Living in NYC, everyone shoves and pushes everyone.  At the grocery store yesterday, an older lady bodily shoved me out of the way of a bread bin (and proceeded to fish around in the bread with her bare hands), and a short time later, a girl shoved in front of me to get on the train, because I paused for half a second to let a guy exit (she shoved him aside, as well).  I can’t imagine shoving anyone to get to merchandise or onto a train, but man, if you get into my personal space for no reason, you’re going to catch an elbow.  And while I can’t imagine pushing and shoving my way into any crowded store, concert, club, parade, tree-lighting ceremony, free food giveaway, etc., I can often be found shoving my way out of them.  I have troubles with crowds, and I try (as best I can in a city like this) to keep to mostly clear spaces.  But here, sometimes you’ll be somewhere that’s totally empty, and randomly somehow before you know it, you find yourself surrounded on all sides by a thick crowd.  At which times, I panic.  I can’t help it.  My heart leaps into my throat and starts pounding, and I feel like I can’t breathe, and I will do absolutely anything – kick, claw, shove, trample – to get out of such a situation.  Which may be why I just can’t get my mind around the desire people have to crush into hot spots, to seek out places where they know there will be pushing, sweltering, thronging crowds of humanity pressing on all sides of them.

Of course, I suppose I’ve done just that by moving to New York.

Posted in Advertising, Economics, Misanthropy, Rants | 2 Comments »

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November 18, 2008

Two Unimportant Observations

I am a fan of the singular ‘they,’ but some people get very heated about its use.  They think that it’s incorrect, and that its increasingly widespread acceptance is yet another example of ridiculous PC capitulation to craaazy feminists, etc., etc., and that there’s no real reason that ‘he’ and ‘his’ can’t be used to refer to groups of men and women.  On the other hand, there are also plenty of people who think using ‘they’ is totally legitimate and sometimes necessary, because using the masculine pronouns for mixed groups can be confusing.  I bring all this up because I just came across a sentence in a Richard Bausch short story that completely illustrates why we need the singular they.  The story is about a teenage boy, his mother, and his aunt all spending Christmas together.  Here is the sentence:

They spent the early part of the evening wrapping presents for the morning, each in his own room with his gifts for the others…

Again, this sentence is referring to two grown women and a teenage boy.  How much less confusing and disorienting would be:  ‘…each in their own room with their gifts for the others….’

While reading this story, I enjoyed a Naked juice drink.  Naked juice claims to use a pound of fruit per bottle, and on the side of the label, it lists the fruits included.  This particular bottle lists:  3/4 peach, 1/2 mangosteen, lots of yummy white grapes, 2 3/4 apples & a hint of lemon.  Of course, by “lots of yummy white grapes,” what “they” mean is “this juice is about 98% concentrated grape juice.”  A quick glance at the ingredients list confirms this.  Which is fine – I knew I was drinking juice from concentrate, and this is noted on the front of the label.  But what’s so annoying about the “lots of yummy white grapes” language is how condescending it is.  It’s like the Naked juice people know that the Achilles heel of their all-natural, whole-fruits juice packaging is that there’s concentrated juice in there, but rather than just not emphasize that part of it, they highlight it with a bunch of silly, misleading language.  It’s like when I waited tables, and everything fried was described as “crispy,” which only led to a ton of people getting pissed when fried food came out, and sending it back, making more work for everyone and costing the restaurant money.  People avoid ordering fried foods because they don’t freaking want fried food, so trying to fool them by changing the word is just a ridiculously pointless strategy that is doomed to fail.

Posted in Advertising, Books, Food, Rants | 4 Comments »

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October 8, 2008

Anything You Can’t Do, I Can Do Easy

So, this is annoying:

Can you still make it from scratch in America? That’s the question that Adam Shepard asked himself in college. On graduation, he took a train to Charleston, South Carolina and started out with nothing but $25 and a backpack. A year later, he had a car, and apartment, and $2500 in the bank. How he did it — and what he learned along the way — is the story of his new book, Scratch Beginnings: Me, $25, and the Search for the American Dream.

See, the thing is, though, the book really ought to be called “Me; $25; a firm grasp of the English language; a good understanding of appropriate business and social etiquette; a clever brain and healthy and attractive white body [assuming the cover illustration is meant to depict the author]; the self-possession that comes of having been raised by a family that loved me, paid attention to me, and was able to provide for me; the social skills that come from having been brought up in a safe community where I enjoyed a stable support network of friends and family, and a safe and decent school with adequate funding; the freedom of being unaccompanied by any dependent children or ill or disabled relatives; the confidence that comes from knowing if my little low-stakes gambit here fails miserably I can just go back to my nice home; a college degree[!!!]; and the Search for the American Dream, which I have already extensively benefited from, and everybody who meets me immediately knows it, even if I am dressed in a potato sack and boasting proudly of how I have temporarily elected to live like the poor folk do in hopes of scoring a book deal.”

But then, that’s a lot to fit on a book jacket.

–

Also, apparently old people don’t particularly like being talked to like they’re babies, even when they’ve totally lost their minds:

“The main task for a person with Alzheimer’s is to maintain a sense of self or personhood,” Dr. Williams said. “If you know you’re losing your cognitive abilities and trying to maintain your personhood, and someone talks to you like a baby, it’s upsetting to you.”

(via Feministing)

I understand that.  I absolutely hate being talked to like I’m a baby. A lot of men like to talk to attractive young women like they’re babies – I seriously can’t count the number of times when some older man I barely know has explained to me (affectionately) that I am such a sweet, sensitive young person. What he clearly means is, ‘You’re pretty, but I know it’s inappropriate for me to be attracted to you, so I’m going to treat you like you’re my precious little daughter.’ Which, besides being presumptuous and offensive, is even more amazing in light of the fact that I am cranky, standoffish and self-absorbed, especially upon first acquaintance. That’s maybe a little hard on myself, but at any rate, I could not possibly be mistaken for a cuddly, approachable people-pleaser…except by men who are bound and determined to believe that all pretty women come prepackaged with Disney princess personalities.

At any rate, if actually becoming cranky old people won’t save us all from being cooed at and patted like we’re puppies, what the hell will? I hope I don’t get dementia, because I’ve already decided that if I make it to my 80s and don’t have anything more I really want to accomplish, I’m going to spend the rest of my days trying every possible kind of super hard-core drug. That will be my Earthly reward for a life full of self-denial and jogging, and I sure hope Alzheimer’s doesn’t rob me of the opportunity, or I’m gonna be pissed.

–

Two funny things:

First of all, I think this is my favorite liveblogging of a debate thus far…

…and Chuck Klosterman’s A Brief History of the Twenty-First Century is hilarious, if long (via Kottke).

Posted in Books, Feminism, Humor, Misanthropy, People, Politics, Rants | 2 Comments »

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September 29, 2008

Fliers and Change: Two Things I Wish Would Go Away

I never take fliers.  It is very annoying to be walking down a sidewalk and be abruptly clotheslined by somebody shoving a piece of paper into your face.  Who the hell on this green, revolving Earth ever wants a flier?  For anything?  Who ever has followed up on whatever was being advertised on said flier?  Nobody.  When somebody hands somebody else a flier, they are either handing them litter, or a piece of trash to be carried until the receiver finds a trashcan.  Everybody else should do as I do, and decline to take them, so that whatever stupid freaking business owners are still fliering will freaking stop it already.  I.  Hate.  Fliers.

Along the same lines, postcards for shows are a giant waste of money and a thoroughly ineffective marketing tool.  Nobody ever, ever, ever goes to a show they weren’t already planning on going to (because they have a friend involved with it) because of a damn postcard.  Best-case scenario here is that one or even two lonely old people in from out of town might possibly, conceivably go to some show just because they saw a postcard for it, but even if you get three such audience members (which is an improbably high estimate), their admission is not enough to recoup whatever you spent on the postcards.  I hate being handed postcards more than fliers, because I actually have to take the postcards and act interested, and then I have to carry them around until it’s ok to throw them away.  Even if I actually plan on going to the show, I’m going to look in my email inbox (where undoubtedly there are at least fourteen different messages about whatever show it is) to remind myself of the time and place, not paw through my various handbags looking for some torn-up flier I was handed at a party three weeks earlier.

In marketing, it’s like…somebody starts doing something, and everybody just does it forever, whether it’s worth a damn or not.  These measures are not effective, and they are annoying, and they result in a huge build-up of worthless clutter in my purse.  Everybody, just stop it.

Another thing nobody agrees with me about – and I know with the economy in the shitter this is hugely optomistic of me – but can we just be done with change already?  It’s heavy and it’s dirty and it gets everywhere and it makes whatever else is in your purse smell like coins, and I amass pounds of it, and then when I try to actually use it up by counting out exact change when I buy something, it massively pisses off the cashier and everybody behind me.  The only thing you can really do with it is give it to homeless people, but then you have to juggle your bag and root around in it and shake it back in forth, all in a moving subway car, while you totter back and forth, and the homeless person politely waits and also totters back and forth, and everybody in the car stares at you and then you look like a real stingy asshole for not just giving the homeless person a dollar, especially after they stood there while you rooted through your purse for five minutes, and anyway, everybody (including the homeless person) knows you’re just trying to offload your obnoxious coins.  I hate small change, and I can see no good reason for it, and with the way prices are these days, why can’t things just be rounded up or down to the next stupid dollar?  At the very least, get rid of everything but quarters.

So, and but this is pretty funny.  It explains how to shut up a music geek at a party.  I used to kind of do this (make up a fake band) on occasion when some snobby guy at a party asked me what bands I like, but now I just never go to parties where I’m likely to run into any guys like that.  Or maybe it’s just that everyone suddenly realized it’s rude to grill strangers about their musical taste.

Posted in Advertising, Rants, Theatre | 10 Comments »

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September 18, 2008

Okay. I’m Going to Take a Deep Breath, and . . . Palin.

I have been so gobsmacked by this whole Palin thing that I’ve been completely unable to write anything about it; all I can do is splutter. I have many objections to Palin, but I suppose that if I am to articulate the one, basic thing that has so deeply angered me about the way in which she was presented to the American people, it’s the massively insulting suggestion that women who were excited about the idea of a Hillary Clinton presidency might be anything other than utterly dismayed by the idea of a Sarah Palin vice presidency (and very possibly, presidency).

I personally define feminism quite broadly, and while some readers of this blog will disagree, I think it is entirely possible for a person to be both a political conservative and a feminist (although I’m unlikely to agree with such a person on the particulars of women’s rights). And these people may very well be thrilled with Sarah Palin (although frankly, I think even they ought to see she is a poor candidate), because she represents (I guess?) their values and their interests. But she does not represent the values or interests of Hillary Clinton supporters, and she does not represent the values or interests of liberal feminists.

Feminism holds that what is between a person’s legs ought not to overrule, or in any way reflect on what is between a person’s ears.  Clearly, Sarah Palin has a neoconservative ideology firmly lodged between her ears, and my opinion about that is not the more favorable because of what she has between her legs.

As for the rest of what’s wrong with Palin, here’s what a lot of much smarter people than me have to say (sorry for the very lengthy quotes, but I don’t think anybody really clicks on the links):

Katha Pollitt:

. . . Palin, who went back to work when Trig was three days old, gets nothing but praise from Phyllis Schlafly, James Dobson and the folks at National Review, who usually blame all the ills of modern America on those neurotic, harried, selfish, frustrated, child-neglecting, husband-castrating working mothers. Even stranger, her five-months-pregnant 17-year-old, Bristol, gets nothing but compassion and respect from Bill O’Reilly, Rush Limbaugh and others who have spent their careers slut-shaming teens for having sex–and blaming their parents for letting it happen.

If there were an Olympics for hypocrisy, the Republican Party would have more gold medals than Michael Phelps. And Palin would be wearing quite a few of them. It takes chutzpah for a mother to thrust her pregnant teen into the world’s harshest spotlight and then demand the world respect the girl’s privacy. But then it takes chutzpah to support criminalizing abortion and then praise Bristol’s “decision” to have the baby. The right to decide, and privacy, after all, are two of the things Palin wants to deny every other woman, and every other family, in America.

Cintra Wilson:

We’ve been shanghaied. This is sick. We need to slap the face of our bad frat-boy date and walk home from this drive-in movie. Sarah Palin may put out to be popular, but the rest of America’s women don’t need to do the same.

If not, what the hell? John McCain should go the whole Hugh Hefner route and have eight V.P.s that all look exactly like Sarah Palin.

It’s McCain’s world, girls: You’d just live in it.

Ann at Feministing:

. . . Bill Kristol was claiming McCain would pick Palin — and that would prove that Republicans are “much more open to strong women.” Frankly, that’s bullshit. Republicans are more open to a certain type of woman — one who is strongly against things like equal pay, universal health care, and reproductive freedom. In other words, the party is pro-woman-candidates, as long as they enact anti-woman policies.

Rebecca Traister:

In this “Handmaid’s Tale”-inflected universe, in which femininity is worshipped but females will be denied rights, CNBC pundit Donny Deutsch tells us that we’re witnessing “a new creation … of the feminist ideal,” the feminism being so ideal because instead of being voiced by hairy old bats with unattractive ideas about intellect and economy and politics and power, it’s now embodied by a woman who, according to Deutsch, does what Hillary Clinton did not: “put a skirt on.” “I want her watching my kids,” says Deutsch. “I want her laying next to me in bed.”

Welcome to 2008, the year a tough, wonky woman won a primary (lots of them, actually), an inspiring black man secured his party’s nomination for the presidency, and a television talking head felt free to opine that a woman is qualified for executive office because he wants to bed her and have her watch his kids! Stop the election; I want to get off.

Latoya at Feministe compares Palin to Rice:

You can hate someone’s policies and still defend them from ad hominem arguments. I hate when people say that Condoleezza Rice is a sellout and that she isn’t black. That’s a ridiculous assertion to make. However, that does not make Condoleezza Rice a civil rights leader just because she is black and in a position of power.

I hate when people say Sarah Palin is not a woman, or she is a tool of the patriarchy, or any of the other non policy related attacks I’ve seen leveled at her from all kinds of places. But that doesn’t mean you need to start sipping the “this is a victory for women” kool aid. It isn’t. Sarah Palin does not magically become a champion for all women, everywhere, just because she happens to be a woman in a position of power.

Courtney Martin in The American Prospect:

And, in perhaps the most offensive display of her “wimp factor” agenda, she attempted to discredit community organizing by feminizing it. She sarcastically told conventioneering Republicans (along with millions of Americans watching on television), “I guess a small-town mayor is sort of like a ‘community organizer,’ except that you have actual responsibilities.” It was an eerie echo of what oblivious men in positions of traditional power have been saying for centuries: that the work of community building — whether it be child-rearing, elder-caring, teaching, nursing, social work, or, yes, community organizing — isn’t really work at all. That, despite being the backbone of our economy and the heart of our civic life, it doesn’t count because it doesn’t involve power suits and bottom lines. What makes this ridicule of community-building even more ironic is that the GOP is simultaneously glorifying Palin’s role as caregiver of her own sprawling family.

(via Feministing)

Jessica at Feministing, on the various MSM journalists who leapt to praise Palin’s feminism:

Take Wall Street Journal reporter Naomi Schaefer Riley, who writes that progressives should rest easy about Palin’s candidacy because “most American evangelicals have wholeheartedly embraced the idea of women in the workplace.” A radical feminist sentiment if there ever was one! But perhaps one should take Riley with a grain of salt, considering she’s the same reporter who wrote that murdered NY college student Imette St. Guillen should have known better than to be out drinking at 3am. Victim-blamers aren’t exactly bastions of feminist thought.

Similarly, Bitch Ph.D. responds to the WSJ article on why feminists hate Palin:

[The argument] isn’t that Sarah Palin is “too good at having it all.” It’s that Sarah Palin has the same needs other women do, but that she refuses to support policies that would supply them to women who, unlike herself, don’t have large extended families, husbands with good-paying flexible work, jobs of their own that pay well and require very few hours, and lots and lots of money to pay for help if and when those other things aren’t enough.

On the other side, Camille Paglia, bless her, is predictably cuckoo for Palin:

Conservative though she may be, I felt that Palin represented an explosion of a brand new style of muscular American feminism. At her startling debut on that day, she was combining male and female qualities in ways that I have never seen before. And she was somehow able to seem simultaneously reassuringly traditional and gung-ho futurist. In terms of redefining the persona for female authority and leadership, Palin has made the biggest step forward in feminism since Madonna channeled the dominatrix persona of high-glam Marlene Dietrich and rammed pro-sex, pro-beauty feminism down the throats of the prissy, victim-mongering, philistine feminist establishment.

So, okay, feminists (always excepting Paglia) aren’t wild for her on women’s issues.  But what about the rest of her positions?

Well, there are the scandals. That whole Troopergate thing:

Josh Marshall:

We rely on elected officials not to use the power of their office to pursue personal agendas or vendettas. It’s called an abuse of power. There is ample evidence that Palin used her power as governor to get her ex-brother-in-law fired. When his boss refused to fire him, she fired his boss. She first denied Monegan’s claims of pressure to fire Wooten and then had to amend her story when evidence proved otherwise. The available evidence now suggests that she 1) tried to have an ex-relative fired from his job for personal reasons, something that was clearly inappropriate, and perhaps illegal, though possibly understandable in human terms, 2) fired a state official for not himself acting inappropriately by firing the relative, 3) lied to the public about what happened and 4) continues to lie about what happened.

Also, see this update.

More here at Feministing.

…and the rape kit stuff:

Bitch, Ph.D.:

First, the story breaks that under Palin’s watch, Wasilla women who went to the police saying that they had been sexually assaulted by a man, were charged for the rape kit. In case anyone doesn’t know, a rape kit is an exam done for the purpose of collecting and preserving evidence–it’s not a medical procedure. And yet, despite the fact that it’s similar to collecting fingerprints, taking photos of a crime scene, or doing ballistics analysis, the city of Wasilla insisted on charging women, or their insurance companies, for the kit, rather than using city funds. As of today, neither McCain, Palin, nor anyone on either of their staff teams has commented on this story. What’s the problem-too ridiculous to dignify with a response? Hardly, especially when the former Governor, Tony Knowles, has acknowledged that Wasilla was the only town in Alaska doing it. Prompting the state legislature to pass a law forbidding them from doing so.

Yglesias on both issues.

…and TPM on earmarks.

Juan Cole, on Palin’s religion:

The most noxious belief that Palin shares with Muslim fundamentalists is her conviction that faith is not a private affair of individuals but rather a moral imperative that believers should import into statecraft wherever they have the opportunity to do so. That is the point of her pledge to shape the judiciary. Such a theocratic impulse is incompatible with the Founding Fathers’ commitment to tolerance and democracy, which is why they forbade the government to “establish” or officially support any particular religion or denomination.

Well, and but here’s Christopher Hitchens:

She has inarticulately said that her gubernatorial work would be hampered “if the people of Alaska’s heart isn’t right with god.” Her local shout-and-holler tabernacle apparently believes that Jews can be converted to Jesus and homosexuals can be “cured.” I cannot wait to see Obama and Biden explain how this isn’t the case or how it’s much worse than, and quite different from, Obama’s own raving and ranting pastor in Chicago or Biden’s lifelong allegiance to the most anti-”choice” church on the planet. The difference, if there is one, is that Palin is probably sincere whereas the Democratic team is almost certainly hypocritical. The same is true of the boring contest over who can be the most populist, and of the positively sinister race to see who can be the most demagogically anti-Washington. With this kind of immaturity right across both tickets, it’s insulting to be asked to decide on the basis of experience, let alone “readiness.”

As to the actual issues, there are no pithy quotes to extract, plus she hasn’t done that much yet:

Many liberals are concerned about picking on Palin the person as opposed to attacking Palin the politician. One of the problems with Palin is that her executive resume is so thin there isn’t a whole lot to critique.

…but if you’re interested, here’s a summary of Palin’s views at Firedoglake, which comes to the conclusion that:

Underneath her attractive and youthful exterior, Sarah Palin is no different from the old white guys running the Republican Party. She doesn’t care about good government, she doesn’t believe in science, she wants everyone to live in accordance with her Old Testament Christian values. Basically, she’s Tom Coburn with boobs.

And finally, and most substantively, Lindsay Beyerstein summarizes an in-depth NYT article on everything Palin.

__

In conclusion, I cannot get excited about a woman who plans to use the power she has attained to make it more difficult for other women to follow in her footsteps.  Beyond women’s rights (which is certainly a significant enough issue to stand all on its own, half the population being women and all), I am of course uninterested in a candidate who fully intends to take this country further in a direction which I believe is bad for all of us.

At the end of the day, I guess that’s all I really need to say.

(If you haven’t already seen the Fey & Poehler SNL bit, click here and watch it nowrightnow.)

Posted in Feminism, People, Politics, Rants | 2 Comments »

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September 17, 2008

A Hump Day Haiku

Those who remove sta-
-ple removers from copy
rooms should be shot dead.

Posted in Humor, Misanthropy, Rants, Work | Leave a Comment »

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September 11, 2008

Whither the Single-Serve Portions?

I have mentioned on this blog before that I am a compulsive eater.  One easy way I have found to manage my weight is never to buy and bring home more than I plan to eat at any one sitting.  While this is a more expensive way to eat, it didn’t used to be that unreasonable.  You could generally eat for $5, and there were any number of $.99 snack food items in any drugstore or minimart you happened to pass.

Now, I understand that everything is more expensive now.  I don’t like it, but I am beginning to accept it.  What I don’t understand, however, is why there don’t seem to be single-serve portions of anything anymore anywhere.  I regularly find myself with five minutes to spare before work running into every damn drugstore all up and down the snack aisles, and there are just giant bags of chips, huge cans of nuts, jumbo pouches of trail mix.  What is this?  I don’t want seven servings of a snack.  If I take seven servings of a snack into the office, I will be eating seven servings of a snack.

The only single-serve portions available anywhere now, however, are those 100-calorie pack things, which are just totally worthless.  One hundred calories on an empty stomach just prods it enough to make it furious – you’re better off not eating.  I operate from a continuous base of low-level hunger, and when that hunger kicks from low- into high-level, I want to have just enough food in my purse to knock it back a little.  If I have more than that, I’m going to eat until I’m actually really full, and then I’m going to eat whatever small amount is left after that, because there’s not that much left and I may as well finish it.  And then I’m also still going to eat dinner three hours later anyway, even though I’m totally full, because I was so looking forward to dinner that I can’t bear the disappointment of just going straight from the office to whatever I’m working on that evening without my dinner break.  And there you have it – the Duane Read has just ruined my whole day just because it’s no longer stocking single-serving bags of nuts.

I have this dream that there would be a wonderful grocery store that caters to people like me.  This grocery store would have nothing but inexpensive, single-serving portions of all different kinds of food, and for an added bonus, maybe it could even be healthy food.  And a wide variety.

Well, actually, there is such a place.  It’s called Trader Joe’s, and there’s only one, and if you want to go there, you have to fight your way through a crowd of thousands and wait online for upwards of 45 minutes.  Wouldn’t you think, every other retailer in Manhattan, that, given the immense popularity of TJ’s, there might just be a market there that could stand to be capitalized on???

Single-servings of portable, precooked food items for $5-$6.50 a pop!!  And single-serve snacks for under $2!!!  Available at a great number of convenient locations throughout the five boroughs!!!!

Somebody cater to my specific need, damn it!

–

Oh, and also, if you don’t already read Fafblog, this Sarah Palin post is a great time to start:

As a Jesus-fearing moose-hunting hockey-mom mother of five who hunts moose for Jesus, Sarah Palin is kin to the wild outdoors and appreciates its bountiful splendor as she is gunning it down from her airplane. Sarah Palin understands that America is dangerously addicted to oil, and that the only cure is more oil. . . . Sarah Palin may not know if global warming is man-made. She may not know if global warming is real. She may not know what global warming is. But if global warming is caused by abortions, Sarah Palin will fight it – by banning abortion, just in case the first couple times didn’t take.

Go, read all of it, and then read the entire rest of Fafblog, because it never fails to kick ass.

Posted in Brooklyn, Food, Health, New York City, Rants | 1 Comment »

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September 8, 2008

The Primaries That Ate My Sense of Humor

Crap, I forgot to post all week again.  I keep intending to go back to posting regularly, and I keep not doing it, and I haven’t been able to put my finger on why.  Blogging just has not been as much fun for me lately.  Then, I read this post, and I realized that it perfectly describes how I’ve been feeling.

If you get too invested in things, there’s a point where ‘everyone’s stupid and I think it’s hilarious’ starts to become ‘everyone’s stupid and it MAKES ME FUCKING INSANE!!!!’  And I think I passed that point some time ago.  I keep drafting amusing little rants only to have them turn into vitriolic endless rants, and at some point during their composition, I leave off typing and begin circling my desk, flapping my hands around and shrieking to myself.

I grew up in the South, where nice people consider public displays of enthusiasm unseemly.  It’s understood that one has one’s political opinions, but to get yourself worked up about it is to show a level of involvement with life outside your immediate sphere that reflects poorly on your ability to manage your own affairs.  Likewise, while it’s expected that everyone be religious (in a general way), those who feel sufficiently possessed with the spirit as to go around talking about God all the time and wearing Jesus accessories are at best tacky, and possibly a little touched.  Nobody wants to be without money, but to admit of difficulties concerning it is to drop down a class level – money should simply flow, unseen and unremarked upon, into one’s coffers, as gently and steadily as rain from heaven.

All of this is to say that my blatant interest in this year’s primaries is making it difficult for me to maintain a cool, ironic detachment.  What’s needed is some perspective:

The two parties are, at heart, not very different from each other.  Neither will totally save us, or utterly damn us.  My complete lack of active (or financial) involvement in anything even remotely concerning politics (or other people, or life outside my apartment) makes any pretense of actual concern about the world in general or this country in particular hypocritical beyond all belief.  My own personal life will be unlikely to change in any significant way as a result of anything short of an apocalyptic disaster, or a profound personal attitude adjustment (which are both equally unlikely).  People are stupid, especially me, and it is hilarious.  Ten people read this blog on a good day.  I have many friends who are actually out there working real, positive changes in the world, rather than just sitting around bitching all the time.  And sometimes, it’s a blessing when the internet goes out.

To sum up:  Oh, wait, I forgot – I don’t care again!

Posted in Humor, Misanthropy, Politics, Rants, Writing | 6 Comments »

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August 27, 2008

Towards a Pedestrian-Only Manhattan

There’s been a lot of buzz lately about the possibility (distant and remote) of making Manhattan a pedestrian-only borough.  I agree that this should absolutely happen, and that it makes no sense for people to be driving here (spare me the thing about trucks making deliveries – donkeys work well enough for many pedestrian-only villages atop mountains, and anyway, it’s too expensive to buy things in Manhattan and everyone ought to brown-bag from Brooklyn and Jersey and leave the city itself as one big sort of park, with all last-minute food needs being satisfied by cart vendors; not to mention that if the retail stores couldn’t get their shipments in, tourism would decline by half, and it’s not like anything currently for sale in NYC can’t just be bought on Amazon).  And I know a brilliant way to bring this desired goal about immediately, without petitions or government action or any real process at all:

All the people of New York should just start walking in the streets en masse, so that they become utterly untraversable for vehicles.  Bam!  Pedestrian-only borough.   And we’d all have an inch more elbow-room . . . at least until the next yearly influx of 20,000 generic white kids with new BFAs who all just know in their hearts that God intended for them to be a **STAR** arrive, and everybody goes back to stepping on each other’s heels all day.

Posted in Brooklyn, Misanthropy, New York City, Rants | 1 Comment »

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