This blogaround brought to you by Shaxco, proud distributors of Sophie Brand Monitor Warmers.
Recommended Reading:
Renee: Tangled: A Celebration of White Femininity
ashoncrawley: In Praise of Non-Famous Black Women
Fannie: Better Than [TW for sexualization of children, sexual violence, homophobia]
Cuppycake: Zynga CEO on FrontierVille Gay Marriages
Mannion: The Ruffalo Is All Right
Living ~400lbs: I Love This Dress
Leave your links in comments...
Wednesday Blogaround
The Overton Window: Chapter Twenty-Seven
Faction time, kids!
Fortunately, that "long story" about Kearns' career has been summarized in four short paragraphs. Whew. But, like I said, faction. So, not so whew.
Kearns "worked in the top levels of counterterrorism with a man named John O'Neill, the agent who'd been one of the most persistent voices of concern over the grave danger posed by Osama bin Laden and al-Qaeda throughout the 1990s."
John O'Neill is a real person. A one-time special agent and Assistant Director at the FBI. He investigated the USS Cole bombing in Yemen, among other things. According to Wikipedia:
In 1996 and 1997, O'Neill continued to warn of growing threats of terrorism, saying that modern groups are not supported by governments and that there are terrorist cells operating within the United States. He stated that veterans of the insurgency by Afghan rebels against the Soviet Union's invasion had become a major threat. Also in 1997, he moved to the FBI's New York office, where he was one of the agents in charge of counterterrorism and national security.
And as Beck puts it:
John O'Neill had seen a woeful lack of preparation for the twenty-first-century threat of stateside terrorism, and he hadn't been shy about expressing his opinions. The people upstairs, meanwhile, didn't appreciate all the vocal criticisms of the Bureau specifically and the government in general, especially coming from one of their own.
In August 2001, O'Neill left the FBI (after losing some sensitive documents and equipment) and took a job as the World Trade Center's head of security. He died on September 11.
All of which isn't really Kearns' backstory so much as it is O'Neill's. But "Stuart Kearns's FBI career had likewise been derailed by his outspokenness and his association with O'Neill, but he'd stubbornly chosen to try to ride out the storm rather than quitting." I guess that's how Kearns ended up selling a fake nuke to a bunch of would-be terrorists in Nevada.
Kearns' career never much recovered from being O'Neill's protégé:
A bureaucracy never forgets and they'd kept pushing him further and further out toward the pasture until finally, for the last several years, he'd been banished so far undercover that he sometimes wondered if anyone even remembered he was still an agent at all.
I think, though, that the reason Kearns is being pushed out is because he's not a very good agent. For example: Bailey convinces him to pull over at the Pussycat Ranch so they can have a beer.
"You've got to be kidding me," Kearns said.
"We've had a rough night, Stuart, and I'd like to have a beer."
"I've got beer at home."
"A beer in a can in a house trailer with another dude and a beer in a Nevada brothel are two totally different things, and right now I need the second one."
I guess the Pussycat Ranch reference is more faction. It's not quite as tasteless as including John O'Neill as a character, but it is still pretty bad. Of course, Kearns opts to stay outside. "Fake or not, I'm not going to leave an atomic bomb unattended in the parking lot of a roadhouse."
Okay, now, you see where this is going, right? This is what I meant about Kearns not being the best agent the FBI has in that institution's employ.
Inside, he'd barely taken a seat at the bar and placed his order when one of the more fetching young ladies of the evening caught his eye and invited herself over.
"What can I do for you?" she asked.
"That's a loaded question in a place like this, isn't it?"
She frowned a bit and looked at him a little closer. "Do I know you, mister?"
The bartender had returned with his beer, taken his twenty, and left a ten-dollar bill in its place. Danny picked up his glass and his change and took the woman's hand.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"My name's Tiffany." Her eyes lit up suddenly. "You're that guy," she whispered, "on the Internet, in that video."
"I am indeed," Danny said. He leaned in a little closer. "And Tiffany, I need for you to do me a little favor."
Kearns stays with a fake, inert, prop outside, instead of keeping an eye on his wily, doesn't-play-by-the-rules stool pigeon. Whoops, no more promotions for you, Kearns! Seriously, that's pretty damn stupid.
Also stupid: "You're that guy, on the Internet, in that video."
And more stupid:
Outside at the bar the television had been showing the news, and in the crawl along the bottom he'd seen that over the weekend the national terrorism threat level had been raised to orange, the last step before the highest. Maybe that was related to this thing with Kearns, maybe not.
Just FYI, the threat level has been at orange (high) for air travel for more than four years. It's been at yellow (elevated) for everything else for more than five. There is a whole conversation to be had about the implications of a warning system that never moves, and the implication of constant and unending fear. Or maybe the lack of fear, the lack of vigilance when everyday normal is an elevated level of threat. Whatever. That is not the conversation Beck is interested in having.
As he composed the text message to Molly Ross he began to realize how little intelligence he actually had to pass along. He knew the code name of this operation he'd become involved in; he'd seen it on the paperwork they'd made him sign upon his release from jail. He knew when it was going down, and where. And he knew something was going wrong, and that the downward slide might be just beginning.
He checked the message one last time, and hit send.
molly -
spread the word --- stay away from las vegas monday
FBI sting op --> * exigent *
be safe
xoxo
db
Whew! Thank you Hooker With A Heart Of Gold for letting your favourite celebrity use your phone, and thank you Kearns for being such a shitty federal agent! Without your help Bailey wouldn't have got word to the patriots about Operation Exigent!
Now, what will Molly and Noah do? Oh, wait, Noah ain't doing shit, he's been kicked to the curb, proverbially speaking. You remember that old proverb about curbs and kicking and whatnot, right? Nevermind. Anyway, thing are really starting to thrill up around here. Are you excited?
I Write Letters
Dear Tea Partiers:
Seriously, I couldn't give less of a shit about your campaign to make Bristol Palin the winner of Dancing with the Stars. And I don't know a single person who gives the tiniest, infinitesimal, microscopic, vanishingly minuscule shit about it, either.
"Liberals' heads" are not "exploding" because Bristol Palin might take first prize in a nightmare dance competition on a garbage reality show.
WE DON'T GIVE A FUCK.
As per usual, you are projecting. But if it makes you feel powerful, if spending your evenings typing fake email addresses into ABC's website fills your lungs with rarefied air and makes your head woozy with the drunkenness of your own magnitude in shaping important world events like the outcome of season 11 of Dancing with the Stars, then, by all means, have your fun.
We should all be so lucky to find something that makes our bodies tingle like we're composed of irradiated pixie dust and have the finest Boone's Farm vintage coursing through our veins, and if your magical moment is watching Bristol Palin get handed a glittering disco ball garbage trophy, then let no one take it from you, friends.
But, for the record, liberals don't find that infuriating.
Hilarious, maybe.
Love,
Liss
TSA: Don't Like Our Rules? You're Grounded!
[Trigger warning for sexual assault.]
Testifying before the Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs yesterday, Transportation Security Administration Chief John S. Pistole insisted that the TSA is "not going to back down in the face of complaints that techniques are invasive" and "appealed to the flying public to become 'partners' in the effort to combat terrorism."
Am I the only person who recognizes how patently fucking stupid that is? Asking people who aren't terrorists to submit themselves to invasive (and unproven) security procedures to prove they aren't terrorists doesn't make them "partners" in combating terrorism. It just makes them victims of an unfettered police state where the appearance of "doing something" is more important than the actual efficacy of what you're doing.
[Pistole] said they try to strike a balance between privacy and security needs. "We want to be sensitive to people's feelings about privacy," he said. "We have to ensure that each person getting on every flight is secure."Now, I know he means "safe from terrorists," but that's a pretty hilarious thing to say considering that they're busily compromising people's sense of security with public scanner images, triggering pat-downs, and retributive legal investigations. Which is to say nothing of the potential health hazard of the full-body scans.
When a significant portion of the population is more afraid of what the TSA will do to them if they fly than what some hypothetical terrorist might do to them if they fly, we are losing the battle for making sure people are secure.
Meet Judge Victoria Kolakowski
Victoria Kolakowski (pictured at left), a 49-year-old patent lawyer from California, has been elected as the nation's first openly trans trial judge:
Alameda County elections officials say Victoria Kolakowski beat prosecutor John Creighton 51 to 48 percent — a margin of nearly 10,000 votes — in the Nov. 2 election to fill the vacancy in California's Superior Court.Congratulations, Judge Kolakowski!
Kolakowski had been leading since election night, but outstanding absentee and provisional ballots made the race too close to call until Monday.
The Gay and Lesbian Victory Fund has said she is the first openly transgender trial court judge in the country.
Kolakowski spent the past three years as an administrative law judge settling energy contract and environmental compliance disputes for the California Public Utilities Commission.
[H/T to Shaker roro80.]
What a Charming Family the Palins Are
[Trigger warning for homophobia and homophobic slurs.]
Raw Story: Palin's daughter uses homophobic slurs to attack critic on Facebook.
In an apparent effort to defend her mother, Sarah Palin's daughter Willow labeled one critic a "faggot" and said he was "so gay" on her Facebook page after he said that her mother was "failing" on her new TV show.Bristol also joined in, commenting: "You're running your mouth just to talk shit," and Willow later added: "Sorry that you guys are all jealous of my families [sic] success and you guys aren't goin to go anywhere with your lives."
The comments were posted by Palin's 16-year-old daughter Willow Palin on Facebook. They came in response to a Facebook user who updated his status to read, "Sarah Palin's Alaska is failing so hard right now."
The user, Tre, is believed to be a student who went to school with Willow. He was writing in response to Palin's new Discovery Channel TV show, "Sarah Palin's Alaska." The comments were first highlighted by TMZ.
"Haha your [sic] so gay," Willow typed in response. "I have no idea who you are, But what I've seen pictures of, your [sic] disgusting … My sister had a kid and is still hot."
She added later: "Tre stfu. Your such a faggot."
One doesn't have to be the kid of a famous person to understand how difficult it is. The notoriety of being a member of the Palin family would be tough to handle at any age, no less at 16, and, for most of us, it sucks to hear people say negative things about one's parents. Navigating all of that isn't easy.
THAT SAID, even a teenager is capable of getting angry and being defensive and even flying totally off the handle without peppering their speech with homophobic epithets. Especially teenagers who aren't raised in a home where hating gays, or "hating the sin," or whatthefuckever, is acceptable. I would suggest that the anti-homophobic bullying discussion the entire country has been having still hasn't made it to Alaska yet, except that I know that it has. It just hasn't made it to the Palin household, apparently.
We all know there are different rules in "Sarah Palin's Alaska." Mavericky blah blah.
Countdown to Willow didn't mean it THAT WAY in 5...4...3...2...
Question of the Day
For Shaker rachael1978 (because): Got any good stories of a celebrity encounter?
Most of the occasions I've met famous people are not remotely interesting stories about meeting my favorite musicians/singers (Morrissey, the boys from Suede, Craig Wedren from Shudder to Think, Harriet Wheeler from The Sundays, Tim Booth from James, Martin Rossiter, etc.) because I was a goofy fangrrl who hung around outside venues the day of a show I was going to see, or stood in line back in the days when Tower Records used to have in-stores.
Once upon a time on a cutting room floor somewhere was footage of me interrupting a shoot on the set of the Bruce Willis film Mercury Rising, which was being shot right outside the building in which I worked. After being trapped in the lobby and prohibited from leaving for well over a half hour, repeatedly told that it was going to be "just five minutes!" as a crowd of people needing to leave for meetings, doctor's appointments, life gathered, I finally refused to stand like a corralled sheep any longer and walked past security and out the door, to the immediate sound of "CUT!" Bruce Willis yelled at me: "We're trying to shoot a film here!" I shot back, "I'm trying to live my life here!" then turned on my heel and made a dramatic (and swift) exit before I was detained by the movie police.
I also once spent an evening backstage at a Chicago comedy club managed by my then-boyfriend's brother sharing a spliff with a local comic named Brian McCann, who would go on to be a writer and performer on Conan O'Brien's various shows, and a then-unknown comic named Dave Chappelle. (!)
[Previously: Spudsy and Mustang Bobby.]
DADT and Shit
[Trigger warning for references to sex-based bullying, a la hazing rituals.]
So, I hear some of you femifarts, queerbaits, gender-benders, fat chicks, and various other dinguses are wondering what I think about gays in the military. Well, I'm here to tell you that I'm all for it.
I mean, I'm irresistible! Just ask my ex-wife/fiancée Tammy. And if some dude's totally in love with me, as I would fully expect any self-respecting lover of men to be, then he's gonna work extra hard to make sure I don't die, amirite?!
Aww, I'm just joshing ya, queers. I know it don't work that way. It's like, just because I'm attracted to women don't mean I'm going to get a boner for Nancy Pelosi.
(Full Disclosure: I do get a boner for Nancy Pelosi. Even though I'm a Patriot Hero and she's a Socialist She-Devil, which should make her a total boner-killer, something about the way she wrangles them Senators gives me a case of the flying monkeys in my nether regions. Probably because of all you femifarts corrupting my goddamn gray matter with your women's libber nonsense.)
Point is, I know that not every gay dude is going to get a boner for me, and I guess most of the lesbians won't get ladyboners for me, either. And, boners notwithstanding, they'd all get my back, if I was in the shit in Upper Fuckistan or wherever-the-hell with them, because that's what soldiers do. So what the hell, man. Anyone who wants to protect my ass is all right by me.
Anyways. I wasn't always so enlightened, though.
Back when I was in the National Guard to beat a weed rap, I was one of those knuckle-dragging dipsticks who thought gay dudes would ogle my b-hole in the shower and mess with my junk while I was trying to sleep or whatever. I was all: "Fuck yeah! DON'T ASK DON'T TELL! Fuckin' homos!" and shit like that. (I don't know if you've noticed, but I was kind of a dumbshit when I was a kid.) The weird thing is that there was, like, a ton of queer shit that went on in the barracks—dudes were always slapping each other's asses with towels and flicking each other's sacs and there was SO MUCH NAKED WRASSLIN. I can't even count as high as the number of purple nurples I got back in the day.
Later on, when I accidentally went to a bar called Manhole because I thought it was a construction-themed pub, I bumped into the two guys I liked the best from my Guard unit, because they were never trying to hump me for a gag or whatever, and found out they were both gay. That blew my mind, man. BLEW. MY. MIND.
That's not the sort of blowing I expected when I used to think all my prejudicial thoughts about gays, man.
And I gotta tell ya, I never figured that some of my old Guard buddies would be my only gay friends on Facebook, but there ya go. Life's funny that way.
What was I talking about? Oh, yeah. My position on gay soldiers. (That's what he said.) Listen, I'm not a scientist and I'm no Professor of Queerology, but I ain't seen any evidence that gay and straight soldiers can't serve together just fine, and I ain't seen nothing to suggest that the military is going to fall apart like a badly rolled joint if gay soldiers actually just start saying the words, "I'm gay."
I swear it's like the military acts like as long as they don't say it, the gay's turned off or something. Shit, man. The more you think about this policy, the stupider it gets, ya know?
I loves me some John McCain (STRAIGHT TALK EXPRESS HIGH FIVES!) and some Colin Powell (Colin, heh heh), but it's like they just want to protect the gay-haters. And, christ, man, that was me when I was a kid, and, even though I kinda hate that I'm going soft in my old age (that's what she said), I really gotta admit I ain't sure that telling me I was right when I was a know-nothing kid who'd never even met an openly gay lady or dude was the best thing for me, never mind for the gay guys I was serving with.
All right, I ain't got all night to write flippin' essays. My stepmom Cheryl is making fish fingers tonight, and I need to go make my special dipping sauce. I hope we ain't outta pickle juice or I'm gonna be PISSED.
Pornstache: Out.
[Previously by Butch Pornstache: Happy Taxes and Teabags Day, I'm a Proud Teabagger and Real American, Men and Trucks and Shit, Cats and Shit, Books and Cupcakes and Shit, Ron Swanson Kicks Butt, Dale Peterson is a Great American, I'm a Man and I Enjoy Mancations. Pamela Gorman is a Great American, Fireworks and Shit, My Great Review of Twilight: Eclipse, Farewell, Cathy!]
Today's Edition of "Conniving and Sinister"
See Deeky's archive of all previous Conniving & Sinister strips here.
[In which Liss reimagines the long-running comic "Frank & Ernest," about two old straight white guys "telling it like it is," as a fat feminist white woman (Liss) and a biracial queerbait (Deeky) telling it like it actually is from their perspectives. Hilarity ensues.]
The Overton Window: Chapter Twenty-Six
There's an old trick producers of b-movies would use when some element was too expensive to film: They'd just have someone from the cast, or maybe even a narrator, describe the events we never get to see. "The Alien invaders destroyed New York City! Trust me, I saw it with my own eyes." Nowadays a movie producer doesn't have to do that, because you can just have an intern Flash animate your alien invasion for free, and it doesn't even impact the budget. So, yay for technology! (Boo for crappy movies!)
All of which I bring up because for reasons wholly unrelated to b-movies. For reasons wholly defying explanation, the very same thing happens in chapter twenty-six.
The entire meet-up between the terrorists and Kearns and Bailey is described, after the fact, in a conversation between the two. Bailey asks a lot of leading questions and Kearns dutifully answers. Which is strange, because Bailey was there, so why does he need to be told what just happened?
"Why don't you tell me what's going on."
"First," Kearns said, "we still have their bomb, because they didn't have our money. It might be that they just couldn't get it together until tomorrow, like they said, or it might have been a test of some kind."
"A test of what?"
"Of us. Maybe they wanted to see if we'd leave the goods with them anyway, without the payment. If we are who we say we are they'd know we wouldn't stand for that. But if we were a couple of feds trying to set them up then we might, just so they'd be in possession of the evidence for a bust tomorrow."
It is, I suppose, an economical choice. Why spend an entire chapter describing the conversation between Kearns and the terrorists? You'd just need to flesh out characters, or at least give them names. And then the author would be forced to come up with some dialogue, and figure out a way to convey the tension and unease that permeated the meeting: The nervous looks, the awkward pauses, maybe an ominous rumble of thunder as if Mother Nature herself was eying the proceedings with cloudy angst.
Or, just go the Burt I. Gordon route and describe what happened "off-screen" in a half-assed conversational manner. Or let the "narrator" fill the audience in:
The plan, plainly agreed upon, had been to leave the dummy bomb with their five co-conspirators in exchange for twenty thousand dollars the men had agreed to pay to cover Kearns's expenses. Tomorrow the men would make the eight-hour drive to Las Vegas and pull up to the target address. Instead of achieving martyrdom they'd be met by a SWAT team and a dragnet of federal agents who'd be waiting there to arrest them. None of these guys seemed the type to allow themselves to be taken alive, so FEMA would be running a local terror drill at the same time. With the area evacuated for blocks around there'd be less chance of any innocent bystanders being caught in the anticipated cross fire.
This thing is making less and less sense as we go along, isn't it? Or maybe my brain is melting into corn syrup. Who knows.
The FBI's plan is to let the terrorists drive all the way into downtown Vegas and then apprehend them there, where crossfire is anticipated? Why not stop them somewhere in the desert in between Whereverthefuck, Nevada and Vegas? Did the FBI learn nothing from Waco? It sounds to me like Kearns and Co.'s plan is not well-thought out. And is Bailey a complete dumbass for falling for this?
And why are all five of the terrorists driving together. Why are the all willing to be vaporized together? Couldn't they have drawn straws? Shouldn't someone stay behind and, you know, contact media outlets and explain why they nuked Harry Reid's office? It sounds to me like the terrorists' plan is not well-thought out either.
So, as all this discussion and exposition is going on, Kearns and Bailey are speeding away from the meeting, not sure if they're about to be killed by their new friends:
"Can you handle a gun?" Kearns asked.
"I'm no expert, but yeah."
"If things go bad, there's a pistol in the glove box. The safety's off but there's a long twelve-pound pull on that first round. After the first shot the trigger's really light."
And there are more stupid questions:
"So what's next?" Danny asked. "Am I done? Can you cut me loose now?"
"Not yet. I told them to e-mail me when our friend Elmer gets back in town later tonight, and we'll have to arrange another meet-up tomorrow. Meanwhile I'll check in with my contact, and we'll have to play it by ear from there."
Again Kearns has to explain to Bailey what just happened. Maybe he had to wait out in the car or was in the bathroom or something when all this was discussed. They make it to the highway, and listen go some "golden oldies" and Bailey asks why Kearns is still doing undercover work. "Don't take this the wrong way, but shouldn't a man your age be retired by now?"
Kearns is vague.
"It's a long story."
"Well," Danny said, "it's a long drive."
I sure hope the author pulls another of his cheap tricks and skips this whole conversation too.
Photo of the Day
John Cusack as Edgar Allan Poe in the upcoming period-thriller The Raven.
Earlier today, I sent this to Deeky under the heading "Lloyd Dobler Poe." To which Deeky replied, "Awesome. I'd love to see him kickbox a raven."
Cusack makes a great Poe, btw.
Great.
Thanks to the reference to Matthew 24:31, I'm thinking of Mr. B Natural and the end of the world, all while giggling uncontrollably. Trumpets.
Certainly, that's more pleasant than contemplating the idea that this guy might be the next chair of the House committee on Energy and Commerce.
The TSA: Freedom Crusaders and PR Geniuses
John Tyner, the California man about whose experience with the Transportation Security Administration's new security procedures I wrote yesterday, is now being investigated by the TSA: "Michael J. Aguilar, chief of the TSA office in San Diego, called a news conference at the airport Monday afternoon to announce the probe. He said the investigation could lead to prosecution and civil penalties of up to $11,000."
TSA chief John Pistole was grilled about Tyner's case Monday on CNN.But of course Tyner was not allowed to leave, either, because the TSA contends that once you reach security, the security check has to be completed, to ensure you're not carrying a bomb or something.
"The bottom line is, if somebody doesn't go through proper security screening, they're not going to go on the flight," Pistole said.
Problem is, not everyone gets screened with a full-body scanner or enhanced pat-down. When you buy a ticket, you arrive at the airport not knowing if you're just going to be ushered through a metal detector, or, as happened to Tyner, randomly singled out for more invasive security screening.
People need to have the right to opt out of invasive screening and leave the airport without repercussions, for crying out loud.
All of which, frankly, is moot, anyway—because, as I pointed out in comments, groping someone does not help uncover items hidden in orifices. Unless they are going to require every passenger to submit to the full body scan, and then do full body cavity searches on every single damn passenger who refuses the body scan, there's always going to be a way for people to sneak stuff onto an airplane.
And guess who knows that? People who want to sneak stuff onto an airplane.
That this glaring exception to the efficacy of enhanced pat-downs isn't even being mentioned in public discussions is evidence of how utterly stupid (and dishonest) this entire debate really is.
USA: Beacon of Stupid - I Want What I Don't Want
I'm sure there's a block of voters in Maryland who are so proud of their latest champion, Andy Harris, who was recently elected on a platform of repealing that horrible beast known as "Obamacare." It seemingly only took minutes after Harris was elected for him to start demanding where his government run healthcare was:
Republican Andy Harris, an anesthesiologist who defeated freshman Democrat Frank Kratovil on Maryland's Eastern Shore, reacted incredulously when informed that federal law mandated that his government-subsidized health care policy would take effect on Feb. 1 – 28 days after his Jan. 3rd swearing-in.FAIL.
"He stood up and asked the two ladies who were answering questions why it had to take so long, what he would do without 28 days of health care," said a congressional staffer who saw the exchange. The benefits session, held behind closed doors, drew about 250 freshman members, staffers and family members to the Capitol Visitors Center auditorium late Monday morning.
"Harris then asked if he could purchase insurance from the government to cover the gap," added the aide, who was struck by the similarity to Harris's request and the public option he denounced as a gateway to socialized medicine.
Harris, a Maryland state senator who works at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore and several hospitals on the Eastern Shore, also told the audience, "This is the only employer I've ever worked for where you don't get coverage the first day you are employed," his spokeswoman Anna Nix told POLITICO.
Actually, Anna, most employers add you to their health plan only after you've passed a trial period, which could be anywhere from 30-90 days. Still, I find the schadenfreude most enjoyable, watching a total dipshit like Harris whinge and cry about the very thing he wants to deny others.
Selfish cognitive dissonance much?
Today in Fat Hatred
So, a study by scientists at the University of Oxford has found a potential link between a variation in a specific gene and being fat.
The research follows a discovery in 2007 that identified a genetic variant within the FTO gene as being linked to a high likelihood of obesity.Although healthy. So it's just an aesthetic difference.
People with two copies of the genetic variant - approximately 16% of all Europeans - were on average 3kg heavier than those without it.
In this year's study, the scientists bred mice with extra copies of the FTO gene, finding that the test mice, although healthy, ate more and became fatter than normal mice.
[The discovery] may pave the way for developing a revolutionary anti-obesity pill.And there it is. Despite the continual claims of anti-obesity crusaders that they're just concerned about our health, even when there is evidence of cases where fatness is not unhealthy, it's still something that needs to be fixed. Because fatties are grody.
That right there? Is just unapologetic fat hatred.
Meanwhile, the media has already named this genetic variant the "greediness gene."
Because they're so concerned about our health, of course.
This is the theme to Liss & Deeky's Show. How do you like the theme to Liss & Deeky's Show?
(I assure the Shakers under the age of about 35 that headline was both funny and trenchant as hell 25 years ago.)
So. Deeky and I have launched a radio show! Or podcast. Or whatever. It's the two of us talking about stuff—politics, pop culture, personal things. But what we really wanted to create, and I think we've achieved, is a show that feels like hanging out, like you've just pulled a chair up to our table in the middle of a rollicking conversation.
And it doesn't have a name yet, which is our first contest. Help us name the show and win a prize!
(Where and how to submit suggestions is detailed in the show. Please do not leave suggestions in comments.)
In the first half-hour episode, purchasable here, for a mere $.99, we talk about reality television, including my crush on Ricky from Billy the Exterminator, discuss the current Republican frontrunners for the 2012 election, and discover that Deeky was born one day too late, among other things.
We're just getting our feet wet, but we hope and expect the show's format will grow to include interviews, music, and regular features.
Because of the length of the show, and the time it takes to put it together in the first place, we don't have the ability to provide a transcript, but if the show is successful, we'll be able to pay for a transcription in future. (Volunteers are also welcome!)
This is the link to Liss & Deeky's Show!
Nice Guy Anthem
This week in my Construction of Femininity class, we're going to discuss, in depth, sexualized violence against women. One of the many topics I want to bring up is the belief that men are entitled to women's bodies. I thought one way to introduce that idea would be via a discussion of the "Nice Guy™" syndrome. As conversation starters, I'm using this brief definition from the Feminism 101 blog and this xkcd cartoon.
And then I thought of the perfect "Nice Guy™" song that many of them will be familiar with, given its ubiquity:
Lyrics below the fold. What do y'all think--anyone else read this song this way?
Cooler than Me (sung by Mike Posner)
If I could write you a song,
and make you fall in love,
I would already have you up under my arm.
I used to pull all my tricks,
I hope that you like this.
but you probably won't,
you think you're cooler than me.
you got designer shades,
just to hide your face and
you wear them around like
you're cooler than me.
and you never say hey,
or remember my name.
its probably cuz,
you think you're cooler than me.
you got your hot crowd,
shoes on your feet,
and you wear them around,
like they ain't shit.
but you don't know,
the way that you look,
when your steps
make
that
much
noise.
see I got you,
all figured out,
you need everyone's eyes just to feel seen.
girl, your so vain,
you probably think that this song is about you.
don't you? don't you?
if I could write you a song,
and make you fall in love,
I would already have you up under my arm.
I used to pull all my tricks,
I hope that you like this.
but you probably won't,
you think you're cooler than me.
you got designer shades,
just to hide your face and
you wear them around like,
you're cooler than me.
and you never say hey,
or remember my name.
it's probably cuz,
you think you're cooler than me.
you got your hot crowd,
switching your walk,
and you don't even look when you pass by.
but you don't know,
the way that you look.
when your steps make
that
much
noise.
and don't you dare act like you don't know,
know what's up,
cuz your nose is up.
I'm approaching up.
like I can't give you winter in the summer
or summer in the winter
Miami in December
trying to look bored in them Dior's.
she probably is,
Was acting shallow 'til she found out
how deep that my pockets is
Mrs. pre-Madonna, this is your reminder
That I think you're fine, but I'm finer
'Cause it sure seems
('Cause it sure seems)
You got no doubt
(That you got no doubt)
But we all see
(We all see)
You got your head in the clouds
(Clouds)
if I could write you a song,
and make you fall in love,
I would already have you up under my arm.
I used to pull all my tricks,
I hope that you like this.
but you probably won't,
you think you're cooler than me.
you got designer shades,
just to hide your face and
you wear them around like,
you're cooler than me.
and you never say hey,
or remember my name.
its probably cuz,
you think you're cooler than me.
