Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Sometimes Technology Really Does Make Everyone's Life Easier

I recently called a good friend of mine. When her partner answered the phone, I asked to speak to my friend. Her partner then said, not all that politely, "She's unavailable. Who's calling?"

And of course I didn't want to antagonize anyone, so I very politely identified myself and explained why I was calling. And as this partner knew me slightly, he was somewhat mollified, and said he'd pass on a message that I'd called.

But what I wanted to say was, "Just fucking get fucking caller ID and then when the fucking phone rings you'll fucking know who's fucking calling and won't have to fucking ask like a fucking fuckwit, so fucking there, you fucking fuck."

Maybe next time, if the message isn't urgent, I will.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Why You Shouldn't Consider Church Manuals Scripture

If you are or ever were Mormon, you'll get this.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Today I Saw a "Rick Santorum 2006" Bumper Sticker on a Hummer

Sometimes I really fucking hate where I live.

Carnival of Feminist XV

The 15th Carnival of Feminists is up on my other blog. Please check it out!

Monday, May 15, 2006

Because Even an Atheist Lesbian Feminist Republican Can Have a Sense of Humor

Contrary to current popular belief, Mary Cheney is not the only well-scrubbed Republican lesbian ever to write her memoirs. Before it was Mary Cheney's turn, it was Florence King's.

Lest you think, "Oh, great, so there's more than ONE selfish, humorless female lackey of patriarchy who likes having sex with women, and wrote a book about it," let me reassure you: Florence King may be selfish, but she's not humorless and while writing for the National Review (as Florence King did for many years) does of course make one a lackey of patriarchy, it's somewhat mitigated by the fact that FK was a hardcore feminist. Oh, and an atheist, too.

King's memoir, Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady, is one of the funniest books I have ever read. It's one of those books you can't read while you're drinking something, because you might reach for you glass and take a sip just before you read a passage that makes you laugh so hard you spray iced coffee all over yourself through your nose.

It's a great book to teach to undergrads, especially if you want to introduce them to gender studies, because a central premise is that femininity is constructed--and that southern ladyhood is a particularly wretched and debilitating form of femininity:
One of the joys of growing up Southern is listening to women argue about whether nervous breakdowns are more feminine than female troubles, or vice versa. They never put it quite that bluntly, but it is precisely what they are arguing about. These two afflictions are the sine qua non of female identity and the Southern woman is not happy unless her family history manifests one or the other. Her preference is dictated by her own personality and physical type. Well-upholstered energetic club women usually opt for female trouble, while languid fine-drawn aristocrats choose nervous breakdowns.

This argument comes, moreover, from the perspective of someone born in 1936 who isn't so much a man-hating separatist as a misanthrope in general: King calls children "watery moles" and readily announces her scorn for the adult versions of both sexes equally.

King herself becomes a feminist without realizing it in high school, when she associates with other intellectually ambitious girls:
If any of us had heard the word "feminist" we would have thought it meant a girl who wore too much makeup, but we were, without knowing it, feminists ourselves, bound together by the freemasonry that exists among intelligent women who know they are intelligent. It is the only kind of female bonding that works, which is why most men do not like intelligent women. They don't mind one female brain if they can enjoy it privately; it's the idea of two or more on the loose that upsets them.

The book has far more to do with gender than with conservative politics, though certainly that aspect appears at times, as when she writes:
A passion for social change was not part of my rebelliousness; I was content to let the world stay exactly as it was, provided I could have special privileges. I wanted to be a token. I saw the situation in individual terms, and I was the individual who mattered.

And yeah, that sentiment is fairly reprehensible, but I find it refreshing to read such a bald, honest admission of what conservative values really are.

King's memoir is also joyously bawdy, full of both hetero and lesbian sex. In college King dates plenty of guys, the first of whom she fails to properly restrain, mostly because she's really horny. Apparently in the 1950s there was a whole set of rules for what could be done on what date, which King fails to follow:
Leaving a party to go neck in a car was permissible on the fourth date, but if matters got out of hand it was called "the girl's fault." Matters got completely out of hand, and it was my fault.

I failed to "draw the line," i.e., I let him touch me "up top." Covered tit was for the fifth date and bare tit was for the sixth date, so when I let him unhook my bra, I was two tits too early.

As for when she falls in love with a woman in graduate school, neither she nor her girlfriend suffers any "coming out trauma":
Our reactions were not unusual. Southern women tend to go to pieces after a homosexual experience and have to be "put away," or else we take it eerily in stride. The middle ground, as in so many other Southern reactions, simply does not exist. In both extremes the joker in the deck is the South's worship of femininity. Viewed through this lens, Lesbianism can emerge as conventional behavior. I doubt there is any other place in the world where eating pussy makes a woman feel like just plain folks.

In case you haven't figured it out by now, I strongly recommend this book. Read it yourself if you haven't already, and if you possibly can, add it to the reading list of a course you teach.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

They Hate Almost Everything, and They Want to Make You JUST LIKE THEM

Gay Prof at Center of Gravitas offers this observation about Mormons:

Maybe this is why I can trust Mormons a bit more than evangelical Protestants. Yeah, Mormonism is just as insidious as other forms of Protestantism. Mormons hate everybody different from themselves. They hate sex. They hate gays. They hate birth control. They hate sheep (Uh -- I think). They hate women. Mormon’s anti-caffeine, anti-liquor stance, though, means I hardly ever encounter their crazy asses. If an eatery doesn’t offer either caffeine or liquor, I’m not showing up. Mormons don't come to my bars and coffee shops and I don't go to their stake houses or temples. We understand and respect each other’s space.

It's true: Mormons hate a lot of things. And they claim they don't want to eradicate these things: tea isn't intrinsically evil, we would tell the good people of Taiwan when I was a Mormon missionary there; it's not a problem that this plant exists. It's just that consuming tea is a sin you must repent of, and swear never to do again--if you want to be a Mormon, which you must be to earn the right to enter heaven.

And the church spends MILLIONS of its own money--and church members spend MILLIONS of their own money as well--to send young people out into the world with the avowed purpose of getting everyone else to hate these things too.

I don't really think that constitutes a reason to trust them.

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Unforgivable Sausage Weirdness

Normally I avoid shopping on Saturday, because so many other people go grocery shopping on Saturday--I hate crowds; I hate busy places; I hate having to wait in lines that take more than about four minutes from my life. But yesterday I was sadly in need of a few items, and I really wanted sushi for lunch (that's right, my grocery store does decent sushi), so I stopped by to buy a Wegmans sushi combo pack, salad, orange juice, marizpan and bubble bath.

The upside of shopping on Saturday is that you're more likely to get free samples, and as I mentioned, if there's free food to be had at my grocery store, I'm willing to take it. I had a bit of arugula salad topped with raspberry vinaigrette and feta; I had a bite of freshly broiled shoulder steak; and then I encountered the middle-aged affable woman, who was handing out pieces of sausage--but not just any sausage: no, this was chicken sausage flavored with blueberries.

Another woman and I accepted the chicken blueberry sausage sample at the same time. We chewed. We looked at each other. I cannot be certain, but the look of consternation in her eyes made me suspect she was thinking what I was thinking: How rude would it be to spit this out? And what else can I eat that will erase this flavor from my mouth? "That's, uh, really, uh, different," the other sampler said to the affable woman offering the samples. She didn't smile when she said it.

"Yes, it is different," the affable woman said, smiling broadly and motioning towards an empty package bearing the product's label. "You can get them with apples too."

I said nothing, just wheeled my cart toward the one cooking station I hadn't visited yet, where a far less affable woman was handing out far superior samples of stir-fried vegetables and grilled chicken with teriyaki sauce. The sauce was sweet and a bit fruity, but did not contain whole blueberries, and for that I was grateful.