Dear Breast Cancer Research Foundation:
I can't even tell you how much I appreciate what you do. I mean, I really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really appreciate it.
But I also really wish you could stop objectifying women's bodies in the process of endeavoring to save them.
The thing about this ad is that it suggests the primary reason to cure breast cancer is not because it kills women, but because it steals their beauty by stealing their breasts. Or maybe it's meant to communicate that women who have lost their breasts to cancer can still be beautiful—as long as they don't deviate in any other way from the Beauty Standard. Or maybe you just figured women don't mind a little skin if it's tasteful, and something sorta sexy would make straight men open their wallets for breast cancer research hubba hubba. I don't really know.
But aren't any of those justifications just the wee tiniest bit, uh, fucked up?
Couldn't we maybe just raise money for cancer research without the gauzy, suggestive imagery that looks like an advert for a porn flick that totally swears it's "made for women" with a plot and everything? 'Cuz, aside from the objectification thing, there's this whole other level of grodiness about the ad in its icky determination to beautify women with cancer. I've known women with cancer, and, in its heinous throes, they tend to look a lot less like they're about to blow the pizza delivery boy than blow chunks from the ravages of chemo.
All I'm asking for is a little honesty. This isn't Ali McGraw Wasting Disease we're talking about here. Cancer can be pretty ugly. I almost can't imagine something more woman-hating than refusing to give women a furlough from the expectations of being Lovely and Sexy At All Times even when they're fighting cancer.
Just sayin'.
Love,
Liss
P.S. H/T to Shaker Niemaodpowiedzi.
I Write Letters
Caption This Photo
"I may have only 92 days left as preznit, but that's still plenty
enough time to devour your head, Stretch—nom nom nom."
President Bush delivers remarks on the economy at the U.S. Chamber of Commerce in Washington, Friday, Oct. 17, 2008. (AP Photo/Susan Walsh)
Parting Shot from Capitalist to Capitalists
Former hedge fund manager (and current millionaire) Andrew Lahde has written an interesting farewell to the world of finance. He certainly made no bones about whom he felt deserved his gratitude for his success:
Recently, on the front page of Section C of the Wall Street Journal, a hedge fund manager who was also closing up shop (a $300 million fund), was quoted as saying, “What I have learned about the hedge fund business is that I hate it.” I could not agree more with that statement. I was in this game for the money. The low hanging fruit, i.e. idiots whose parents paid for prep school, Yale, and then the Harvard MBA, was there for the taking. These people who were (often) truly not worthy of the education they received (or supposedly received) rose to the top of companies such as AIG, Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers and all levels of our government. All of this behavior supporting the Aristocracy only ended up making it easier for me to find people stupid enough to take the other side of my trades. God bless America.The full letter is at the Financial Times.
Pepsi Ad Update
Re: the advert we discussed on Friday, in which a lifeguard was represented as willing to look the other way during a sexual assault in exchange for a can of Pepsi, PepsiCo. has started responding to emails with what appears to be a form letter, based on Shaker Hawise having dropped in comments exactly what I've received by email:
Thanks for taking the time to contact us.So, in fact, the responsibility evidently lies wholly with the advertising agency, CLM BBDO Paris, who decided to insert Pepsi's product into their disgusting spec ad and then leak it onto the internet for reasons unknown.
I want to assure you that there's absolutely no truth to the posting you may have seen on the internet. After investigating this matter further, we learned that an advertising agency developed this print ad on "speculation" and it inadvertently made its way to the internet.
Please know that we would never use this type of imagery to sell our products. We are not using this image now, nor do we have any plans to use it in the future.
Thanks again for taking the time to bring this to our attention. We're sincerely sorry that this has upset you and we're grateful to have had the opportunity to set the record straight.
PepsiCo International is, however, a client of CLM BBDO; they are on the agency's client list and a previous campaign for Pepsi is viewable at their website. I'd be happier if Pepsi's email included a reassurance they won't continue to do business with a company who treats rape as a joke.
That said, their response is about as good a corporate reply to a concern raised about misogynist advertising as I've seen.
lol your animated gif
I just saw this at Phil's place, and I can't stop giggling at it:
Please, Maude—let that be an appropriate picture to use on election night.
UPDATE: A million thanks to Shaker Schmiss, who created the graphic!
Monday Blogaround
Sock it to me, Shakers!
Recommended Reading:
Dorothy Snarker: 8 Against 8
The Rotund: The Secrets We Keep
Incertus: Follow-Up to Obama RMUSBD Watch #99
The Angry Black Woman: Joe Six Pack
Carmen: An Open Letter to White Voters, or What McCain Really Thinks of You
Kyle: Palin Says She and God Are Being Mocked; Supports Federal Marriage Amendment
Leave your links in comments...
Quote of the Day
I'm also troubled by, not what Sen. McCain says, but what members of the party say, and it is permitted to be said such things as: "Well, you know that Mr. Obama is a Muslim." Well, the correct answer is: he is not a Muslim. He's a Christian. He's always been a Christian. But the really right answer is: What if he is? Is there something wrong with being a Muslim in this country? The answer is: No, that's not America. Is there something wrong with some 7-year-old Muslim-American kid believing he or she can be President? Yet I have heard senior members of my own party drop the suggestion: he's a Muslim, and he might be associated with terrorists. This is not the way we should be doing it in America. Former Secretary of State Colin Powell on Meet the Press, Sunday, October 19, 2008.
Say what you will about Gen. Powell and his role in the Bush administration, this is the part of his endorsement that got me right where I live.
HT to Glenn Greenwald.
I Was Just Thinking This Morning...
...while I was getting ready to head into work, upon seeing a morning news story that Colin Powell has endorsed Barack Obama: "It's probably not going to be too long before Limbaugh and the rest start howling that he's only done this 'because he's black.'"
Oh, ye of low expectations!
A new cartoon by syndicated cartoonist Gordon Campbell hits Gen. Colin Powell for endorsing Sen. Barack Obama (D-IL). The cartoon shows a picture of Revolutionary War general Bendict Arnold — who infamously committed one of U.S. history’s greatest acts of treason — in blackface, followed by the line: "Benedict Arnold…Race Patriot."Yes, in blackface. What, no watermelon and fried chicken?
And just in case you thought Limbaugh might be quiet about this one:
Politicker reports Campbell also stated that Powell “wishes to see someone who looks like himself in the White House.” Similarly, Rush Limbaugh is now saying that Powell endorsed Obama only because they are both African-American, and a prominent Maine GOP activist claimed, "If Obama was a white man, Powell would not have made the endorsement."Well, you know that Limbaugh's only voting for McCain because he's a white man. Those people stick together, you know.
(FFS, is a Colin Powell racism watch going to be necessary now?)
Update: As noted on Politicker:
Numerous right-wing pundits have pointed to Powell's race and support of governmental racial preferences as a deciding factor in his endorsement of Obama, but many, including noted blogger Michelle Malkin, disagree with that assessment.You could knock me over with a feather. Write this date down in stone: The Day Michelle Malkin Didn't Jump Onto A Racially-Charged Wingnut Bandwagon.
"It’s a mistake to attribute Powell’s endorsement primarily to some kind of race loyalty. It’s Obama’s social liberalism, not his skin color, that attracts Powell most," Malkin said on her blog.
You Know…
…in an election season which has been rank with some of the most absurd and offensive Demographixxx: Beyond Thunderdome!!! political punditry I've ever heard in my lifetime, the odious Pat Buchanan's preposterous assertion that Colin Powell—who was last seen serving in the cabinet of George W. Bush, one of the whitest white men to ever whitely whitey-white on the planet—endorsed Barack Obama only because they're both black ranks at the very tippy-top of the stinking, fetid heap.
And I'm still wondering why that racist superfuck is on my teevee in the first place.
Never Too Old to Learn
by Mama Shakes: Writer, composer, retired teacher, responsible party for What the Poop?, and mother to Liss.
I've worn a lot of hats in my life, many of them involving teaching. I've been a professional educator, a Sunday School and Vacation Bible School teacher, leader of a music group, a parent, and a grandparent. Each of these roles, however, has given me the opportunity to be a student—still one of my favorite hats I wear.
I was 21 years old when I started teaching. I had six classes, each with 30 – 36 squirmy seventh graders. That was long before governmental regulations on class sizes and the diagnosis of ADHD. I expected to be able to share the knowledge the past 13 years of schooling had crammed into my head. I didn't expect to learn so much from my students.
Two lessons that stood me in good stead for when I had children of my own were ones I learned my first year of teaching: not making snap decisions and not making threats I wasn't prepared to carry out.
I learned early on that once a "Yes" or "No" left my lips, I was stuck with it and so was the student who had made a request. I learned to say, "Let me think about that before I give you my answer." I'm sure my students and children got tired of hearing that. Sometimes one of them would demand an immediate answer, but I'd say, "If I answer now, I'll probably say 'no.' If you give me a chance to think it over, there's a 50-50 chance I'll say 'yes.'"
That was usually enough to buy me some time. I never was a quick decision-maker.
The other lesson I learned rather painfully, for one of my students.
It was over halfway through the year. I'd handled most discipline problems myself, sending students to the office for only the worst offenses. The assistant principal, Mr. L, wielded a lot of authority, and for problems that warranted more than in-class discipline, all I usually had to do was ask, "Do you want to go to the office?" That was enough to get most students to behave.
I don't know what was going on one day—spring fever? A full moon, perhaps?—but for some reason my seventh period class was particularly unruly. We were doing group work that involved the students pushing their desks together in groups of four. It was noisier than normal, but that was to be expected, since lots of students were talking at once. What irritated me was that several of the boys were using the more relaxed atmosphere to create some minor havoc.
Instead of staying within their groups as they had been instructed, they were wandering from group to group, talking with their friends, taking other students' books from the wire racks under the chairs and putting them under other desks, and moving girls' purses from where they hung on the backs of the girls' seats and hiding them around the room. (This was before the years of the ubiquitous backpack.)
I was annoyed that they showed so little respect for other people's property, as well as for my instructions, and that they were ruining a good lesson plan and a fun activity for the others with their shenanigans. After two warnings, I'd had it. I made a threat I had not made all year, loudly and emphatically: "All right, that's it! The next person who gets out of his or her seat without permission is going to the office for a paddling!"
Surely that would solve the problem. No one was going to risk that. Right?
Wrong.
It wasn't two minutes later that I looked up from a group I was helping and saw Tom standing behind a girl and carefully slipping the strap of her purse from the back of her seat. I couldn't believe it! I looked at him, he looked at me, and then every eye in the room turned toward me. I could see the question in each eye: Is she going to do it? Is she going to paddle him?
There was a tense, expectant silence as they looked at me. The air was heavy with that delicious, licking-one's-lips thought, Somebody's really gonna get it, and it isn't gonna be me!
All I could think was, Oh, sh*t.
I really didn't want to paddle this kid. I had never in my life hit another human with the intention of inflicting pain. But I knew that if I didn't make good on my threat, I'd lose all credibility with this class, and, once the word spread, probably all my classes for the rest of the year or longer.
I didn't want to paddle him, but I could have cheerfully strangled him.
After a pause of several seconds that felt like several minutes, I said, "Ok, Tom. Let's go."
My classroom was on the second floor. All the way down the stairs to the office on the first floor I was trying to think of a way to get out of this without losing face.
As I glanced into the office from the stairs, I thought I saw a glimmer of hope: Mr. L wasn't in his office.
Speaking with a bravado I didn't feel, I said, "Get into Mr. L's office!"
We walked into the office, and I said, "Well, Mr. L isn't here, and I don't know where he keeps his paddle, so…"
"It's up here behind these books," Tom said, helpfully, reaching up and extracting it from a high bookshelf. This obviously wasn't his first trip to Mr. L's office.
Now I really wanted to strangle him.
I knew I'd have to hit him hard enough to make an impression, but I had absolutely no idea how to go about it. I didn't want to hit him the wrong way and really hurt him or swing and miss him completely or wind up giving him a tap that wouldn't bother a fly.
I knew, by law, I had to have a witness. Just then, Mr. J, the principal, came into Mr. L's office and asked, "What's going on, Mrs. Shakes?"
I briefly explained, and he said, "Do you want to witness while I do the paddling?"
Wow! Perfect solution. He'd been an administrator for years. Surely he knew how to swing a paddle. But he was a nice, kind of grandfatherly type; he wouldn't be too hard on this kid who was only down here because a green teacher had given an ultimatum.
From the look on Tom's face, his thoughts were running in a similar vein. He didn't seem scared or anxious.
"Sure," I said, relieved.
Mr. J had Tom empty his back jeans' pockets and lean over Mr. L's desk. Then he hauled off and delivered three very hard, perfectly aimed, full-swing swats to Tom's backside.
I almost fainted.
Tom stood up, gulping, moist-eyed, and the two of us looked at each other. I don't know whose face was paler. I think we were both thinking, "I don't believe what just happened!"
"Now get back to your class and don't give Mrs. Shakes any more trouble, or you'll be right back down here again for more of them same," Mr. J warned Tom.
We walked back upstairs, Tom moving very stiffly. I walked behind him, so he wouldn't see how hard I was shaking.
The other students were totally silent when we walked back in. They could tell by looking at Tom that something serious had happened. They were all pretty subdued, and no one challenged me for a while.
Tom wrote in my yearbook at the end of the school year, "To Mrs. Shakes, the teacher who should have had me paddled a long time ago."
Despite situations like that, I really loved teaching. And one of the joys of parenting is being able to teach our own children. From nursery rhymes to favorite recipes to family traditions to values, we have so much to share with our young, impressionable progeny.
One of the other joys of parenting comes as our children begin to teach us. Few parents haven't experienced a renewed sense of wonder and of "living in the moment" as they watch their children experiencing life for the first time.
Very fortunate parents have children who, as they get older, teach their parents other important lessons about life. I have teased Liss in the past that she is the one who taught me the pleasure of using the word "fuck" playfully and who gave me cause to use it in all seriousness. (Even for the best-intentioned parents and the most beloved, delightful children the teen years can be trying times.)
In Liss's recent "Hey Your ^Not Gay" Post, she mentioned that I would not allow my students to use the expression "That's gay" when they meant something was stupid or ridiculous. In comments, I pointed out that she gave me the impetus for my stance. Before she pointed out how demeaning it that expression is, I didn't use it or like it, but I didn't make an issue of it. I should have realized on my own that I needed to take a stand, just as I had taken a stand in the 1970's when one of the insults of choice between my seventh grade male students was, "You're such a woman." Interestingly, the boys' defense then was the same as it is now: when I would say, "I'm a woman, and you're using that word as an insult," they would respond, "I don't mean you," or "It's just an expression. I don't mean anything by it." Often a sign and eye roll would accompany their explanations, indicating just how ridiculous and picky they thought I was.
But I didn't realize it on my own. I needed her well-chosen words to make me think about it in a different way.
I can think of two other examples of instances in which Liss illuminated my thinking, and in both cases she did it in two words.
We were watching some entertainment news program, and the hostess announced that some young, attractive actor had just come out of the closet. I shook my head and said, "Wow! What a waste!"
Liss said, "For whom?"
I muttered something about all the woman who would be disappointed that this fellow was out of their dating pool, but I knew I'd been caught letting my ignorance show.
Another time I was bemoaning the fact that I had a bridal shower to go to. I used to think that somehow my mother missed passing down the "Love-of-'girly'-parties" gene, but, in thinking back, I don't think she had it either. What she did have was a hugely dominant "Social Obligation" gene that I got as surely as I got her proclivity to gain three pounds by just walking by a bakery.
Anyway, I was whining that I didn't even know the "guest of honor" that well, that she was the daughter of someone I hadn't seen for a long time, that I didn't want to play stupid party games, and Melissa looked at me and said, "Don't go!"
What?!
"If you don't want to go, don't go!"
"But…but…I've already bought and wrapped the gift."
"So? Send it with someone else, if you feel you have to. That's probably all they're looking for anyway. You just said you barely know this chick. Do you really think she cares if you're there or not."
Wow. Where was that advice 30 years ago? I could have skipped a whole bunch of showers and home sales parties that I went to simply because no one had ever given me permission to skip something if I didn't want to attend.
She's also taught me a lot of what I know about computers. But that's a whole other post.
You're never too old to learn. There are teachers all around you, if you're willing to be taught.
In Which the Strawfeminist Makes Yet Another Appearance
by Hoyden and Shaker Lauredhel of Hoyden About Town
Here's the thing. And I'm going to start off telling this as my story, and yet, perhaps paradoxically, apologise for that at the outset. Because as much as the protagonist has tried to make this about me—it's not, really. Work with me here.
I'm Lauredhel. I've been Lauredhel in the blogosphere for over four years. I maintain a stable, consistent online identity and am readily contactable via Hoyden About Town. I'm a white, middle-aged, heterosexual, disabled Australian feminist.
Here's the next thing. Monica Dux and Zora Simic know my full name and home address. I gave it to them, feeling safe with it at the time, so that they could send me a complimentary copy of their book "The Great Feminist Denial", after Zora interviewed me for the book. At the start of the interview process, I explained that I would like to maintain my pseudonymity. Not only did it make more sense (who knows that Mary Llewellyn-Jones[1] co-blogs at Hoyden About Town?), but I have real-life reasons to do with freedom from abuse and assault, and the freedom to one day work in my chosen profession again, a profession I have criticised and whistle-blown on repeatedly. These reasons were accepted as reasonable, and on we went.
The book came out. The cover blurb was execrable, but you can't always blame the authors for that. The interview was in there, boxed, oddly out of place and not introduced or integrated into the text, but *yay*! Interview in paper book on feminism!
Then Monica Dux placed her article in the Age, "Feminist is Not a Dirty Word". We're in broad agreement here. "Feminist" is not a dirty word. Where we differ is in that Dux accepts the patriarchal frame that labels unshaven, unattractive, saggy-boobed, radical, lesbian women "dirty". She claims that radical feminism (which she locates in the past) never achieved anything useful, was at base irrelevant, and that all it did achieve was making feminism unattractive. She attempts to use "irony" to characterise the patriarchal standpoint, but fails to at any point actually repudiate it, and instead simply erases us in the process:We all know what she looks like. She's unwaxed, unattractive and unfeminine (probably with saggy boobs, given her predilection for torching bras). But while most women can describe her characteristics, they can rarely name a woman who personifies the stereotype.
She accepts that the hairy-legged feminist is a negative stereotype, and pleads with the mainstream to realise that some feminists are pretty! Some feminists love men! Some feminists shave and wear makeup and high heels! So feminism isn't all bad! Dux concludes:Perhaps the word feminism won't be able to shake the unwanted associations it has picked up over the decades. Next time you're asked if you are a feminist, it might be more correct to reply: I am, but not an anachronistic cliche of a narrow version of second wave radical feminism. Bit of a mouthful? Maybe a simple "yes" will do.
We've all seen this before; the car crash was probably inevitable. People with this point of view like to paint themselves as "inclusive" or as "popularisers". Without realising it, they speak only to a particular kind of woman. They automatically assume an audience of white, heterosexual, young-to-middle-aged, able-bodied, educated, beauty-compliant women. Their "inclusion" is only of these people. The people they wish to convince, the "normal" people, the "regular" people, are the people who are already the most privileged of all women. In the process, they erase the existence of people already marginalised; disowning us because they think we make feminism look bad.
So I blogged a response: "Monica Dux thinks I'm bad for feminism's image", in which I pleaded for our existence to be recognised. I linked to Dux's full article.Here's the thing, Monica Dux. I, a person your co-author Zora interviewed at some length for the book, have hairy legs. I have hairy ampits. I'm fat, which is generally considered "unattractive" in Western patriarchal culture. My breasts sag. Apart from the lesbianism, I am your scary negative cliche. And some of my friends are 100% your scary negative cliche. This person is not a myth. We're out here. And we're feminists.
A long thread ensued. Dux claimed she had been misinterpreted. (Don't take my word for it - read her original piece yourself.) She compared me to a racist who would "reply this way when they're challenged. 'Hey, but I really do know an Asian guy who's fantastic at maths'!" She refused to accept that any critique of her article may have any validity, and persisted in claiming that all of us just didn't recognise her "irony"; that if there was a problem, it probably lay with the reader.
Would you be aghast if we walked around wearing ‘THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE' T-shirts? [...]
My body, according to you, is feminism's marketing problem.
Melissa pointed to the thread, here at Shakesville. Teh Portly Dyke wrote a terrific response, "Honor Your (Radical) Ancestors" (cross-posted at her place).
Rachel Funari wrote a response in The Age, "Feminism depends on hairy choices", in which she argued against ditching hairy-legged lesbians but in favour of slamming and ditching mothering feminists:"What is the point of attracting young women to feminism if feminists become simply a bunch of waxen, anorexic, botoxed mannequins, with badly-behaved children, complaining their husbands don't do enough housework?"
Great; now I and mine have been ditched by both sparring sides in the Age.
(If anyone's interested, which I doubt: I'm rather pink-faced and fat, botox scares the crap out of me, my son is sometimes badly-behaved and sometimes well-behaved (neither of which is the most important things about him), and the man with which I live in sin does the vast majority of the housework, seeing as I can't and all.)
Things lay quiet for a little while.
Now, Monica Dux has placed a piece in this weekend's Age newspaper calling Hoydens and Shakers (though not by name) a "hysterical" "mob" administering a "virtual lynching". Yes, she actually used the word "lynching". More than once. While attempting to defend herself from a charge of racism.
Despite the fact that she wasn't lynched any more than J.Q.Student was raped on his trigonometry exam. And last time I looked, my uterus was exactly where it should be.
There's more, a lot more, now available here. but it's not available online in a simple-to-access HTML format. Go to PressView, and search for "My nameless, shameless adversary" in the search box at the top. A taste:The anonymity of the blogosphere can induce a mob mentality. [...]
The "one in the US"? That's Melissa McEwan, at Shakesville. Real name and all.
I'd written an opinion article that riled one of the moderators of a political blog. Who, I do not know because she, like many bloggers, chooses to hide behind a pseudonym. Let's call her "No Name". No Name certainly knew my name. It was there posted in big bold letters for all of cyberspace to see, with an accompanying irate denunciation of my article.
What followed was a "monster thread" — a collection of pseudonymous "posters" mostly intent on joining the howl of condemnation. It was clear that many of them had not actually read my article, as they damned me for failing to say something that I had actually said, something that No Name had conveniently edited out of her account of my argument. [...]
I'd been the subject of blog attacks before but this one displayed the hysterical fury that can so quickly develop in cyberspace, with each outraged comment building on the one before, whipping each other into a frenzy. When the thread lost momentum, No Name would re-enter the fray to suggest another reason why the group should denounce me. Running out of ammunition against my opinion article, she took aim at my book which, by her own admission, she had not read. A long and angry critique of the book's cover promptly ensued.
And so it continued, not just on No Name's blog, but on others that fed off it, including one in the US where not even the person initiating the thread had read my article, though she was furious about it anyway.
Dux goes on to display the profound misunderstanding of blogs and of pseudonymity so common in those who write for paper media. "Unsavoury potential to degenerate"; "freedom from constraints of every day decency and politeness"; "lowering of standards"; "We don't really own our words or arguments until we put our names to them"; "shamelessness is often celebrated"; you've heard it all before from people who aren't involved in blogging. As tigtog commented:It speaks to a profound disconnect with online conventions, plus a distressing confusion between anonymity and pseudonymity as well. Long-term pseudonyms acquire their own weight - if you left Hoyden and started a new blog under a new pseudonym, how many readers would know where to find you?
Those Hoydenizens who choose are now joining the thread to sign their real name and role/job description to the thread. (You're welcome to join in.)
Most notably, Dux has claimed that the Hoyden thread "misrepresents" her, and she discounts people's opinions based on her assumption that they haven't read her original article. I linked to her article directly, referenced it appropriately, so people could read the source material and make up their own minds.
But Dux doesn't offer either me or her readers that essential courtesy. She identifies me only as "No Name", and refuses to name the blog—so her readers have no opportunity to read the original. They are not given a chance to make up their own minds; they are told what to think by the piece of paper in front of them. Dux deliberately conceals the source material.
(Handily, we're still in the top page of Google hits for her name, so intrepid searchers can find us.)
Dux concludes:All too often we act as the mob does, nameless and faceless, without responsibility, lost in the anonymity of the crowd. Like the rally I attended so many years ago, this can be intoxicating. But it's also the way people get lynched — and I don't just mean figuratively.
I don't have to tell Shakers just what's wrong with that analogy.
[1] Name has been changed, etc.
Sunday Book Club
"The backlash against women is real. This is the book we need to help us understand it, to struggle through the battle fatigue, and to keep going."—Womanist and award-winning author Alice Walker, on Susan Faludi's 1991 book Backlash, a landmark book in the feminist critique of "conventional wisdom," media memes, and pop science about women, and the subject of today's Sunday Book Club.
This is Week Two of our discussion of Backlash.
Discussion Questions (but please feel free to deviate wildly; they're just suggestions to get us started): Do you feel there are any glaring omissions in Backlash? Anything with which you've found yourself disagreeing?
Feminism 101
The Right To Go Out by Echidne.
Discussion Question: In what ways has the idea of sexual assault and/or street harassment affected your daily movements?
braggy mcbrag
Since Saturdays are usually fairly quiet around here and Liss has encouraged me to share these sorts of stories, I thought I'd share highlights from a recent event: parent/teacher conferences. Two of our four kids are in school, one in Kindy and one in third grade.
Miss E is our kindergartner and was so freaking excited about her first p/t conference (much like how she was about getting homework for the first time, lol). At one point she was asked to count as high as she could, in an exercise that seemed to be part show off, part assessment. When she got to 53, she sucked in a breath, sighed, and said: "How about I just tell you my highest number?" (LOL). At the end of her conference, her teacher asked her if she had any questions for her. Miss E thought for a moment and said, yes, she did have a question (very seriously): "How do peppers change their color?". The completely caught off-guard look on her teacher's face was priceless.
After her conference, we went upstairs to Jack's class for his conference. You know it's going to go well when the teacher claps her hands excitedly and says "this is going to be a fun conference!". He's reading at 199 WPM (I wonder when he'll pass me up but I digress...). The test, however, only measures to 200 and no one is quite sure how he can be tested once he breaches that mark. His teacher seems to think the sun shines out of his backside, which amuses me to no end (don't get me wrong, I'm glad she thinks so highly of him!)--she actually said: "I won't be surprised if you're the one who cures cancer someday". I shit thee not.
One thing we got to hear (as he read it outloud) was his paper on "What I Want to be When I Grow Up". This is it (bear in mind, he's 8.5):
When I grow up I want to be a scientist because I like learning new things. I want to discover what the space where our solar system is now was like before the big bang. I also want to know another way to cool global warming. That is what I want to be when I grow up.My budding astrophysicist. :heart:
Alternate title for this post: "Heyyyy! Everybody! Mykidsareawesome! Wooooo!"
Levi Stubbs R.I.P.
Four Tops lead singer Levi Stubbs passed away yesterday at the age of 72. As tribute, here are a couple songs by the Mowtown legends:
"Baby I Need Your Loving"
"Reach Out (I'll Be There)"
The Virtual Pub Is Open
Every time the trailer for this movie
comes on, Iain laughs like a hyena.
I have a feeling, a viewing's in my future.
Belly up to the bar and
name your poison, Shakers.
Palin is Really Ready (if only someone would call her!)
Apparently Palin's name was not on the do-call list for the White House when it came to keeping the current candidates up to date about the US troops in Iraq. During a State Department presser about it, spokesman Sean McCormack made it clear why she's not among the chosen three (followed by some awfully cheeky comments from the press).
Q: You called Senator Biden, you called McCain. Did you also call Governor Palin?When an irrelevant administration thinks you're irrelevant, it's time to consider going back home. Ya think? You betcha! (wink)
McCORMACK: No. If you hadn’t noticed, she’s a governor. Not a senator or a congressman.
Q: She’s a vice presidential candidate.
McCORMACK: Right.
Q: She also has extensive foreign affairs experience. (LAUGHTER)
McCORMACK: Right. I explained to you the reasoning behind the phone call.
Q: Maybe if this has to do with Russia, you would have called her.
[H/T to ThinkProgress]
Assvertising
[Also to be filed under "Rape is Hilarious." Trigger warning in effect.]
NOTE: There is an update here.
So Pepsi's got this new print ad campaign in France built around the premise of someone being willing to look the other way if they're offered a Pepsi as a bribe. There's a monkey offering the driver of a banana truck a Pepsi to look the other way as he hands over the keys:
[Click image to enlarge.]
…and a teenage kid offering an astronaut a Pepsi to look the other way as he hands over his spacesuit:
[Click image to enlarge.]
…which are fine, silly, inoffensive, wev, but then things start to go horribly wrong.
[Click image to enlarge.]
In case you can't believe what you're seeing (or can't see the image), let me tell you: It's a young boy offering a lifeguard a Pepsi to look the other way as he hands over his lifeguard shirt—and the exchange is happening over the bikini-clad body of an unconscious woman who is presumably in need of resuscitation. The child has a lascivious look on his face, as if to imply he'll be putting his mouth and hands (at minimum) on the woman's body, but not to deliver CPR wink wink nudge nudge.
The cost of sexual assault: 1 Pepsi.
Contact PepsiCo here and let them know you won't support companies who hawk their wares with misogyny and use their advertising to normalize, mimimize, or joke about rape.
(Hat tip to Shaker Lalaroo, who saw it at Feminist Law Profs.)
Note: If anyone feels a particular need to defend this shit, I'd recommend you tell your story walking. But if you don't, acknowledge that you are someone who is defending making light of vicious and criminal sexual violence for entertainment, and consider yourself warned that you will undoubtedly be treated with the according contempt.
[Assvertising: Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty-One, Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three, Twenty-Four, Twenty-Five, Twenty-Six, Twenty-Seven, Twenty-Eight, Twenty-Nine, Thirty, Thirty-One, Thirty-Two, Thirty-Three.]
[Rape is Hilarious: Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty-One, Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three, Twenty-Four, Twenty-Five.]
fun with Nereocystis luetkeana
When our friend Quentin was out visiting, we took him out to the coast. While wandering down the beach we came across tons of Nereocystis luetkeana strewn on the sand from when the tide went out:
