
[Trailer.]
What have you been listening to lately?
I think Black Holes and Revelations (Muse) is probably one of my favorite albums ever. There isn't a track on there that I don't like and I'd be hard pressed to pick a favorite. This song, however, does get a lot of play:
...to describe "companies who make a practice of hiring immigrants, knowing full well some are undocumented, depend on their labor, subject them to brutal, crippling work, pay them low wages, set them in opposition to other exploited workers, and aggressively combat the workers' efforts to organize for better conditions, then turn them in to ICE?"
She goes with "motherfuckers!" I'm going to go with "wankstains," but only because motherfuckers was already taken.
Andrew Sullivan nominates me for his amusingly untopically-titled Moore Award—"named after film-maker Michael Moore" and given for "divisive, bitter and intemperate left-wing rhetoric"—because I divisively, bitterly, and intemperately asserted that womanhood and personhood are not mutually exclusive.
I'm not sure why that's divisive, bitter, intemperate, or particularly left-wing, but okay.
Meanwhile, John Cain dryly observes that "Sully's next award nomination praises the honesty of Michael Savage."
Even the shark is like, "Sully, dude, give it a rest—you're driving me fucking crazy over here with all the jumping. We get it."
If your blog should be on Ye Olde Massive Blogroll of Enormous Awesomeness, please let me know in comments! Also, please recommend other bloggers that you think should be on the Shakesville blogroll, too.
(I'll try to get back on schedule making this a weekly feature again...)
Who Would Win in a Fight, John McCain or the American Flag?
(LOL!)
Trick question. The answer is Kenny Blogginz.
Occasionally, I get emails from men who tell me (rather dubiously) that they really want to get on board with the whole feminism thing, but they really wish I'd stop blogging about shoes, or my marriage, or too many clasps on my trousers. I have to be serious, they tell me, if I want to be taken seriously.
A similar complaint has come up in the semi-annual "Where are all the women bloggers?" navel-gaze, though the idea is more that women bloggers tend to be too personal for serious, detached, objective political bloggers to consider them a serious part of the serious political blogosphere.
The general drift you're probably starting to catch by now is that women's lives are unserious things.
(As opposed to cat blogging and lists of what's on one's iPod, which don't actually undermine the gravitas of a blog in the same way publicly being a woman does.)
Not long ago, Shaker Belial forwarded me the link to this great post at xkcd, in which Randall looks at the absence of women in popular film. Coincidentally, Iain and I had just had a similar discussion about a month ago, when he was, for reasons I don't even remember, reading me the list of IMDb's Top 250 movies, and, around #40 I said, "Have there been any movies on this list so far with a female lead?"
I could write a lot of exposition here about women's stories not getting told, but I quite genuinely believe most of the people disposed toward accepting that reality will grok the concept intuitively, and the rest will ignore everything I would say to argue that Charlie's Angels proves me wrong or tell me that films aren't written with women at their centers (or books, or television shows, or news stories, etc.) because women never do anything worth writing about. So let's skip ahead with the understanding that most people with two brain cells knocking together and a modicum of social consciousness will agree that women's stories don't get told, at least not like men's do, and/or that women are much more infrequently cast in roles that, by any accounting, could be filled by either sex.
(There's also the "token strong woman who's segregated from other equally strong women" phenomenon about which I've written before—see: Eowyn, Leia, Trinity, Hermione, Sarah Connor, Ripley, et. al.—which reinforces the ideas that girliness is bad and that women must compete for coveted roles as tokens among men. That's a pretty damn white list, too, you'll note.)
So there's a distinct purpose to feminist/womanist women bloggers publicly telling stories about their lives, talking about the minutiae of womanhood as well as sharing personal anecdotes and experiences that have nothing whatsoever to do with being a woman, except insomuch as it's a woman telling the story. We're filling in all the cultural gaps left by the deficit of women's voices. Part of the reason I love threads like this one (the discussion, more than the post itself), in which women publicly—and seriously, ahem—discuss their periods is because the only mainstream pop culture reference to menstruation I remember seeing last year was in the loathsomely, despicably, gobsmackingly misogynist and rape advocating shitpile known as Superbad, in which a young woman gyrates her crotch against a teenage boy's leg at a party, leaving behind a smear of menstrual blood. (Hilarity ensues.)
One could argue that there's no reason such a scene shouldn't be in a popular film—what are ya, humorless?!—and, although I would argue there's really no reason why it should, either, that's not really my point. My point is about balance, or the lack thereof. When the most widely-ingested popular reference to menstruation is about a woman who couldn't control hers, despite the fact that women generally dedicate an egregious amount of time and attention toward ensuring they don't even spot their clothes, no less bleed on other people, that's a really problematic disparity for women. It's not merely unrepresentative of their lives; it's actually contra-representative, that is, representing women not merely in an untruthful and atypical way, but totally opposite of any common reality.
Contra-representations of women are ubiquitous in the minority of films, television shows, books, news stories, etc. where they're represented at all. And when female characters aren't being used to promulgate misconceptions about women, they are frequently used to honor "exceptional" women, the ultimate recent example of that being Juno, in which an amazingly precocious teenage girl fails utterly to be wise about preventing pregnancy, then wise-cracks her way through a pregnancy and adoptive process, emerging with nary a scratch on her. (And manages to stay in boys' clothes the whole time, too.) Oh, and did I mention that her mother abandoned her? And her best friend and stepmother are brainless idiots? And her little sister is described (by her own mother) as stupid? And the adoptive mother has no personality, aside from being a giant, throbbing womb desperate for a baby? Other women are wastes of space, but that Juno—what a gem!
She could have been a gem—smart and witty and unique—while also bearing some of the other traits of womanhood besides a bulging pregnant belly. She could have been a gem even surrounded by other women who are gems, too. But movies about women are not about gems, plural; they are about diamonds in the rough. Diamonds who would never actually wear a diamond, because, eww, icky, stupid, that's what girly girls do.
It's because of that sort of messaging that there was a time I never would have worn pink shoes, no less blogged about them. I wanted to be one of the women who didn't care about being a woman, because those women aren't worth talking about. Their stories suck.
Suffice it to say, I've changed my mind.
And one of the ways in which I use my teaspoon is to dole out little dollops of my own story, publicly and unapologetically, and make space for other women to do the same. One of the things of which I am most proud about Shakesville is the community of women, who genuinely love one another, and gather in a room where we don't feel obliged to compete for attentions, or present ourselves as exceptions, or reserve our stories lest we not be taken seriously.
Making the personal public and political is serious business. Because women's stories aren't told, it's incumbent upon female feminists to tell their own stories, to fill that void, to be unrepentant and loquacious raconteurs every chance we get, to talk about our bodies, our struggles, our triumphs, our needs, our lives in every aspect. It's our obligation to create a cacophony with our personal narratives, until there is a constant din that translates into equality, into balance.
Telling our tales is not a weakness. It's a strength.
No matter who says otherwise.




I was all set to open a can on David Brooks and his pronouncements in his column today on how Barack Obama is just "a more conventional politician and a more orthodox liberal" who doesn't see why the trivial and insipid questions he got from Charles Gibson and George Stephanopolous in the debate in Philadelphia were really important, but Glenn Greenwald does a much better job.
As always, David Brooks knows how "they" think and what's important to "them" -- so much so that no proof is ever needed for his claims. As always, it's not David Brooks and his childish colleagues in journalism who are interested in insipid, Drudge-like storylines. No, not at all. They so wish they could be covering weightier matters. But they can't, because those stunted, unsophisticated Americans out there -- the ones Brooks is able simultaneously to look down upon and understand and speak for -- don't want to hear about any weighty matters. They are capable only of thinking about whether Obama can bowl and whether Edwards likes his hair too much (and, of course, it's the very same media stars who spout this condescension about the Regular Folk who have decreed that Barack Obama -- and Al Gore, John Kerry, Mike Dukakis, etc. etc. -- are elitists because they look down on Regular Americans).
David Brooks will probably show up on NPR's All Things Considered today in his weekly polite duet with E.J. Dionne, followed by his appearance with Mark Shields on The Newshour with Jim Lehrer, and then on some Sunday talk show, and regurgitate the same stuff. Dionne and Shields et al will nod their heads and agree solemnly with him, thus enabling the meme that Barack Obama is out of touch with "real" Americans. Meanwhile, "real" Americans will either be screaming back at their radios and TV's that Mr. Brooks is making up anecdotal evidence to make his case, or they'll move on with their lives without hearing a word he says because everybody knows that only elitists listen to NPR or watch PBS.
Leave aside the question of whether those who hold themselves out as political journalists ought to report on substantive matters and be guided by objectives other than maximizing profits. Even with regard to what "Americans" want, David Brooks has no idea whether what he's saying here is true and he also doesn't care. He asserts these matters as fact because his only goal is to defend his "profession" and his colleagues. Thus, Charlie Gibson and George Stephanopoulos and all the rest of them have no choice but to be as petty and vapid as they are because that's what "Americans" want.
[...]
Journalists like Brooks and his friends fixate on these issues because they're what interests them, because it takes no work and no thought to chatter about it, because they have been fed their trashy storylines by right-wing operatives ever since they formed their partnership with them during the Clinton sex witch hunts, and because the people who become media stars become media stars because this is what they do best (Digby has more on that here). Blaming the American public for the behavior of these journalists only compounds the deceit and scurrilousness of it, particularly given that nobody is more removed and insulted from what "Regular Americans" think than the coddled, pack-mentality media stars who fantasize that they are their spokesmen.
It's not necessarily that the rest of the pundits agree with him on a political level, but more out of a sense of job security. If any one of them turned to David Brooks or any of the rest of their fellow bobbleheads and told him that he was full of it, they'd be tut-tutted and reminded to play nice. It's not their job to go against the Conventional Wisdom, and besides, what really matters isn't the election or getting the candidates to explain their stand on the issues. What really matters is that they get to keep on doing whatever it is they do so they're assured that for the next four years and the four years after that, and so on, they can keep telling us what really matters to Americans is hair cuts, flag pins, and bowling style. So it's no wonder they can say Barack Obama is out of touch when all he talks about is the economy, the war, health care, and education. Who cares about that?
(Cross-posted.)
Bloggity bloggity bloggity bloggity bloggity bloggity bloo!
Recommended Reading:
Cara: Maryland Court Rules That No Actually Means No
Steve Benen: About That Flag-Pin Question…
Echidne: My Feminist Pet Peeves: Condescension
Tigtog: Damon Wayan: Violence against Women is Fucking Hilarious
Zuska: Gender Bias in Particle Physics: A Statistical Analysis
Falyne: Today in Pictures
So, last night (or this morning, depending on one's perspective) around 4:30am, while I'm suffering from another bout of insomnia, I'm sitting in my chaise blogging (what else?), and all of a sudden the entire house starts shaking. And not just a little, either. A lot. Actually, more than shaking, it feels like it's swinging from side to side, and possibly fixing to collapse.
The cats look at me like, "WTF?" And I look back at them like, "WTF?"
It was, if I'm honest, sort of terrifying.
It woke Iain up. "That was an earfquake!" he exclaimed.
"What? We don't get earthquakes in Indiana!"
"Soometimes Scootland goot earfquakes, because oof shifting plates oot inny sea. And that was an earfquake. Noot a wee oone, eiver."
Still averse to the idea that northwest Indiana gets earthquakes—no, no; we get tornados and enormous fuckpiles of snow—I said, "Maybe there was an explosion at the mill."
"Maybe it was an earfquake."
"Maybe someone stopped pushing the button." (Lost reference.)
Iain laughed. "Earfquake."
"Whatever it was, it was scary."
"Coome oon, feardy-cat. Let's goo tae bed."
It was an earthquake. And not a wee one, either.
And get Joe Scarborough a binky, stat!
After storming off the set of David Gregory's show in a huff, because Rachel Maddow refused to defer to his expertise and made a funny face at him, I hope Joe-Joe got his diaper changed and had a nice, long nap.

McCain, 71, earlier this week laid out an economic plan in which he calls for new tax cuts and spending reductions as a prescription for continued economic growth. The economy has emerged as the top issue in the election campaign, as growth has slowed over the past six months, the jobless rate rose to 5.1 percent last month and housing starts dropped to a 17-year low.FAIL.
Notwithstanding the current slowdown, he said, "the fundamentals of America's economy are strong" because of increased exports and innovation.
McCain has vowed to bring the federal budget into balance before leaving office if he is elected president while at the same time cutting taxes for businesses and individuals.Also: Unicorns for every American! Wheeeeeeeeee!
In 1963, Congress passed the Equal Pay Act, which stated:
(d) (1) No employer having employees subject to any provisions of this section shall discriminate, within any establishment in which such employees are employed, between employees on the basis of sex by paying wages to employees in such establishment at a rate less than the rate at which he pays wages to employees of the opposite sex in such establishment for equal work on jobs the performance of which requires equal skill, effort, and responsibility, and which are performed under similar working conditionsGee, that sounds so . . . . How shall I say it? . . . . . Egalitarian? Utopian? Lofty?
In 1970, women, on average, earned 61 cents for every dollar men earned.On average, African-American women earn 63 cents, and Latinas earn 52 cents for every dollar paid to white men today.
In 1985, women earned 65 cents for every dollar men earned.
In 2000, women earned 74 cents for every dollar men earned.
Today, women earn 77 cents for every dollar men earn.
Copyright 2009 Shakesville. Powered by Blogger. Blogger Showcase
Blogger Templates created by Deluxe Templates. Wordpress by K2