This blgoaround brought to you by Shaxco, publishers of the bestselling cookbook, Spudsy's Guide to Cauliflower 1000 Ways.
Recommended Reading:
Jonathan: The Lesson the U.S. Is Teaching the World in Libya
Helen: ENDA
Andy: 'The Hold Is Over': Immigration Discrimination Against Gays Is Back On, Says Agency
Andrea: Chicago Abortion Fund Opposes South Side Billboard Campaign
Molefi: Two Classes of Racism in New Keys
Jorge: I Make My Own Almond Milk Now
Leave your links in comments...
Wednesday Blogaround
Here Comes The Judge
CBS is reporting that Roy Moore, the Alabama Supreme Court justice who lost his job over the Ten Commandments, is exploring a run for the presidency.
The aide, Zachery Michael, said Moore's platform will be focused on repealing the health care overhaul law, replacing the progressive income tax with a flat tax and bringing "commonsense solutions" on immigration and border control.It's ironic that the more extreme the candidate, the more they like to talk about "commonsense" solutions... like massive deportations of brown people or taking over a woman's body by the state the minute she gets pregnant.
Michael said Moore is entering the fray because "we're just seeing the same type of politicians run for president." He said Moore is someone "who can connect with over 300 million Americans across the country, which is something we've been lacking with today's leaders across society."
Michael said Moore should not be thought of simply as a culture warrior, arguing that he has been a strong advocate for limited government.
"He not only stood up for his faith, he stood up against the tyranny of government," he said.
Well, we've already got Bachmann, Palin, Cain, Gingrich, Huckabee and Trump, but there's always room in the clown car for one Moore.
Cross-posted from Bark Bark Woof Woof.
I Write Letters
Dear Avocado Oil:
Where have you been all my life? I love you so much. We are totes BFFs now.
Love,
Liss
cc. Olive Oil, who shouldn't worry 'cuz I still LYLAS.
The GOP War on Uteri
Earlier this month, Misty wrote about a bill that had been introduced by House Republicans in my great state of Indiana, which is likely to pass and would "make most abortions illegal after 20 weeks, while current law restricts most abortions after the fetus is considered viable, generally around 24 weeks. Among its other provisions, the bill also requires abortion providers to tell patients that abortion carries risks, including the possibility of breast cancer."
So, basically a swell bill that forces doctors to lie to their patients, in addition to eroding women's legal rights, agency, and bodily autonomy.
State Democrats have unsuccessfully tried to tame the legislation with a variety of amendments, including one "which would have exempted from the bill women who became pregnant due to rape or incest, or women for whom a pregnancy threatens their life or could cause serious and irreversible physical harm."
The author of the legislation, GOP Rep. Eric Turner, urged his colleagues to oppose that amendment, because of the "giant loophole" it creates, in his estimation.
"I don't want to disparage in any way someone who's gone through the experience of rape, incest," Turner said. "But someone who is desirous of an abortion could simply say that they'd been raped."Right. You know how those lying bitches are.
I'm going to go ahead and flatly say that I believe denying access to a legal medical procedure to women is so thoroughly unethical and so thoroughly breaks faith with women that even if they did have to lie to gain access to abortion, it would be entirely reasonable.
But the entire argument is a red herring in the first place. Turner's reasoning (such as it is) is based on a bullshit narrative about the abundance false rape reporting and a bullshit narrative about the legions of pregnant women with unwanted pregnancies who leave termination until 20 weeks because they're forgetful or irresponsible or indecisive or cruel.
Most pregnant people who seek terminations after 20 weeks are carrying non-viable fetuses, are themselves having a health crisis related to the pregnancy, or had to hide the pregnancy for self-protection. Homicide remains the third highest cause of death of pregnant women, and 20% of women who die while pregnant are murdered.
There are women who seek terminations after 20 weeks for whom none of the above are considerations, whose pregnancies are viable, whose health is fine, who are not pregnant as a result of rape or incest and do not fear for their lives. They are typically young and usually poor, and they tend to live in states where abortion access is severely restricted. They have to schedule time off to travel, sometimes to a different state, they have to save up money, because the government won't pay for an abortion and, if they even have insurance, it may not cover the procedure, and, if they have other children already, they have find childcare while they make an out-of-state trip for the procedure, possibly at a clinic with a long waiting list.
By the time those fucking stars align, it's pretty easy for 20 weeks to have passed. And the more advanced state of a pregnancy doesn't alter the circumstances that made termination the best option in the first place.
All of which, of course, is not a bug of anti-choice legislation, but a feature. It's designed specifically to make abortion hard to get quickly, and then close the window to force more women into missing the deadline.
Because anti-choicers know what's best for women. And that's having babies.
[Via @trustwomen.]
Quote of the Day
[Trigger warning for misogyny, disablism, violent imagery.]
"The reality is that women are treated differently by society for exactly the same reason that children and the mentally handicapped are treated differently. It's just easier this way for everyone. You don't argue with a four-year old about why he shouldn't eat candy for dinner. You don't punch a mentally handicapped guy even if he punches you first. And you don't argue when a women tells you she's only making 80 cents to your dollar. It's the path of least resistance. You save your energy for more important battles." — Scott Adams, Dilbert creator and apparent men's rights activist, in a (now deleted) blog post.
The Feminist Portrait Project
Bitch is currently celebrating feminist click and anti-click moments with a Feminist Portrait Project Blog Carnival. Lena Chen, the Co-Founder of the Feminist Portrait Project and Feminist Coming Out Day, requested submissions from feminist bloggers around the web, and responses are posted at the link. Additionally, feminist and womanist bloggers are invited to submit their own pieces about their click (coming to feminism) and anti-click (realizing the limitations of feminism) moments.
The piece I submitted is overtly about a click moment, but it's really my anti-click moment, too, as I was fortunate to come to feminism as part of a broader social justice awakening. I've always been keenly aware of feminism's limitations, and, at the same time, understanding the breadth of its limitations is an ongoing process for me.
My objective and my challenge as I fumblefuck my way through this every day is to practice a feminism that never asks one of my sisters who do not share my privileges to wrench apart pieces of their identity in exchange for my alliance, a feminism that respects, admires, and loves women, in which women see ourselves not just as men's equals, but as each other's.
I hope you will check out the Feminist Portrait Project Blog Carnival and submit your own stories, too.
Bill Maher: Feminist Troll
[Trigger warning for misogyny.]
After calling Sarah Palin a twat and a cunt, and calling Palin and Rep. Michele Bachmann bimbos, Maher was asked about his "controversial" comments on Hardball yesterday by guest host Chuck Todd, and Maher responded:
There's a lot of people in America who have, of course, nothing to do except look for something to get mad at. And I've been a frequent target, and I'm happy to provide that service. I always say, as I've said many times in these kind of situations, if I hurt somebody's feelings – I'm always sorry about that, I'm not trying to hurt somebody's feelings. But if you want me to say, "I'm sorry what I said was wrong" – no, sorry, I can't go there.OMFG he did not just play the "feminists are just looking for things to get mad about" card.
If you want to understand the grim state of women's equality in the United States, here it is: One of the great liberal heroes of the left is approximately as sophisticated in his thinking regarding women as your average troll at a feminist blog.
Quite genuinely, it is laughable that anyone could suggest that women have reached some semblance of parity when we still cannot criticize the use of cunt, twat, and bimbo as casual slurs against a former vice presidential candidate without being accused of looking for things to get mad about.
Perhaps—just perhaps—it's not that feminists who object to the substitution of misogynist slurs for substantive criticism are too sensitive, but that Bill Maher is not sensitive enough.
Because if demeaning women with misogynist slurs isn't worthy of criticism, despite the fact that it is such "little things," such pervasive, ubiquitous, inescapable "little things," that create the foundation of a sexist culture on which the "big stuff" is dependent for its survival, I wonder what would meet Maher's threshold for our attention.
Not that I really give a shit, since I'm (shockingly) not of the belief that a straight, white, cis, able-bodied, wealthy, Western, undilutedly privileged man should be the arbiter of to what issues feminists and womanists should direct their attentions.
Particularly when, despite his claims to objectivity, he has a vested interest in having us direct our attentions elsewhere. Ahem.
In any case, I don't want an apology from Bill Maher. I don't care if he feels bad, and I don't care if he admits he was wrong, and I don't care if he says he's sorry or feels sorry or whatthefuckever. I just want him to stop using misogynist slurs.
It doesn't matter one tiny, infinitesimal speck to me whether he apologizes or not, and the fact that he evidently believes that this is all a big game of "Gotcha!" in which pretend-aggrieved people fake-complain in order to rack up some insincere apology on a scorecard, is further evidence of his utter lack of respect for women. And, yeah, I realize there are some conservatives who are playing that game, but there are also feminist and womanist women (and men) who are asking him, in good faith, to please knock it the fuck off because that shit doesn't exist in a goddamned void.
Of course, convincing himself that there's no such thing as good faith criticism, just people looking for things to get mad about, is a pretty neat justification to avoid listening to criticism altogether.
Doesn't change the fact he's contributing to a culture of sexism he purports to disdain.
And not only that, he's obliging other liberals to twist themselves into knots to defend his misogynist shit, thus more deeply entrenching the increasingly cavernous divides on the left between those who consider women's equality to be a centerpiece of progressivism and those who consider it a negotiable item.
New Rule: If you're not helping, shut the fuck up.
Oh, and by the way, Maher: Just for the record, I'm not offended; I'm contemptuous.
Question of the Day
What is your favorite plant, tree, bush, or shrub?
There are an awful lot of possible answers that come to mind for this one, but I am perhaps most fond of the weeping willow, which is not only an inordinately lovely tree upon which to gaze in my estimation, but provides one of the best spaces to read a book underneath its sorrowful branches.
Obviously
Professor James Franco, who has already taught a course in Francology for Columbia College Hollywood, is also planning to "start teaching a third-year graduate class on directing at NYU's Tisch School of the Arts," from which he will receive his MFA in film production later this spring.
"He's here to teach because he really knows something about directing that he can share with our students," John Tintori, chair of the graduate film program at Tisch, told the Post. "He's incredibly prolific, and that comes from a real work ethic—and that's another thing to impart to our students."Whatever, Dean Yawnsworthy. He's there to teach because James Franco, that's why.
Film Corner!
Below is the trailer for the awesome new romantic comedy No Strings Attached Friends With Benefits, starring Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis as two very good-looking straight white people who discover the path to love is denying your emotions, with a little help along the way from a wacky, uncomfortably sexually liberated mom, being played by Patricia Clarkson because Hollywood hates women over 40, and a zany, pun-sputtering gay friend, being played by Woody Harrelson because THAT MAKES SENSE.
Video Paraphrase: City! Emma Stone breaks up with Justin Timberlake. Andy Samberg breaks up with Mila Kunis. Witty banter! Relationships are hard. Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis are DONE with relationships. But he's "emotionally unavailable" and she's "emotionally damaged" so they can have lots of sex together. Wacky, uncomfortably sexually liberated mom is wacky and uncomfortably sexually liberated. Zany gay friend is zany and gay. Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis learn cute things about each other. They do cute things that are SO CUTE I'm beginning to think that emotions can't HELP but get in the way of all the emotion-free sexytimes! Mila Kunis is cool because she's a misogynist who calls Justin Timberlake a "pussy." Not like those OTHER GIRLS with SELF-RESPECT! Zany gay friend sputters SO many gay puns! Oh oh—Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis talk to friends about how complicated this arrangement is getting. KEEP YOUR EMOTIONS IN YOUR PANTS, HIPSTERS! Stupid plot devices that aren't funny and don't resemble anything that actually happens in the real world. Fin.
My only question is: Are there strings attached? It's really hard to tell, due to the lack of barfinatingly clunky metaphors.
This is so the worst thing you're going to read all day.
Jonah Goldberg—or "Goldbeg," as he is currently being (mis)identified by the LA Times (and here's a screencap for posterity in case they ever bother to fix it)—has written a GREAT piece about feminism.
And he's an expert, so you should definitely read it.
Feminism as a "movement" in America is largely played out. The work here is mostly done.The "plight of women in other countries" is "dire," you see.
...The good news for those who want to continue the fight for women is that there is plenty of work left to do — abroad.
That's an assessment with which I don't disagree. I do, however, disagree with his contention that it's not dire here. But I guess Goldberg thinks that it's good enough for his daughter to make 3/4 of what she's worth, have a 1 in 6 chance of being raped, and have no right of bodily autonomy, just for a start. Cool.
I also have this wacky notion that I don't have better solutions for women abroad than they have for themselves. I am happy and eager to play a support role, and it is important to me to personally support as well as publicly promote programs like Prajwala and SANGRAM and Kofaviv and CARE.org, among many others. I have given permission to every international women's organization who's ever asked to translate and reprint feminist content from Shakesville that they find useful, and I always will.
I do not find that it is my place, as a white Western feminist, to "save" women in other parts of the world. (Frankly, I'm not inclined to tell any other woman at all how to do feminism.) That's not solidarity; that's colonialism.
I'm not surprised to find Goldberg doesn't know the difference.
[H/T to Shaker scatx.]
Today in Rape Culture
[Trigger warning for sexual violence, classism, and racism.]
Following up on the Cleveland, Texas gang rape case (previous Shakesville posts about which are here, here, here, here, and here), the New York Times has published an extensive story with more details about the case.
I have various criticisms about the reporting, most notably the way that the story continues to be told in code: Most or all of the accused perpetrators are black; their victim is Latina; many or all of the investigators and prosecutors are white. This is not plainly stated. We are given hints and meant to infer as much, but evidently expected to believe it does not matter.
Just another irrelevant fact that can't be openly acknowledged. Ahem.
And, naturally, what gets inserted into the reporting is always as interesting as what gets excluded: I question, for example, the inclusion of the fact that the victim's father "sometimes slept during the afternoons" on a trampoline outside their "small house." Its relevance is indefensible; its purpose, of course, is clear.
There are two different, and inextricably linked, and frequently competing, threads to this story: One is the incident itself—the repeated sexual assault of an 11-year-old girl by as many as nineteen boys and men ranging in age from 14 to 27, over the course of several months, against a backdrop of poverty, disability, and racial divisions. The other is how that incident is being reported and received by the public, and the associated victim-blaming and rape apologia.
This story, more than most, underscores the inherent problem in writing about the rape culture: So much of the public discussion of sexual violence is so fubared that media deconstruction often eclipses discussion of surviving and preventing sexual violence. But challenging those narratives is itself a necessary part of prevention (and, for many of us, integral to our survival). Still. It's just one piece.
One piece that's incredibly hard to get past. And around and around we go.
The Vaudevillian
The world must have seemed a tantalizingly big place to John Edward Noble, because he fibbed his way into the military just to start seeing every bit of it he could as soon as possible. The misrepresentation of his actual sixteen years was, however, only one of two lies that made their way onto his induction papers, the other being that the son of Elizabeth O'Rourke of Ireland and John David Noble of Scotland was a German-Italian. Inexplicably, John Noble the younger would spend his entire life telling this lie, though at the time of his birth in 1878, there was nothing particularly to be gained by claiming a heritage of sauerkraut and pesto over one of cabbage and haggis. What sense there was to be made of this curious lie was not made while he was alive; there's no hope to make sense of it now, forty-nine years after his death.
Just pieces of him now remain—and not enough to know him well by proxy. Pictures, some newspaper clippings. Facts—a date of birth, a year of death, a wedding anniversary. His favorite joke. It's said that one's favorite joke says something about a person. John Noble's favorite joke was the one about the guy who complains to his buddy that his wife is a terrible housekeeper, just filthy; "I've got to move the dirty dishes every time I want to piss in the sink." A touch of appreciation for the absurd then, it seems. But mostly, there is just enough left of John Noble to draw an outline, with the rest to be filled in by supposition and imagination.
He was fiery—that much is sure. And he loved a good fight. It was a terrible habit that would stick with him throughout his life, yielding lost jobs but great stories. A man of small stature with an outsized need to prove himself, he was dishonorably discharged from the military service he had lied his way into, sometime just around his 20th birthday and the Spanish-American War. In later years, he would draw an imposing man into a fistfight on the bus, because the guy was eating a salami and "blowing his salami breath" at the irascible scrapper.
At 19, he married the 16-year-old Elisabeth Rogatz, forming a union that no one thought could possibly last; they were too young; they were foolish. And for more than sixty years, John Noble marked their anniversary by saying, "They were right—it's never going to last. I'm going to divorce her." It was a weirdly wonderful union that lasted until death parted them, just as they had promised each other it would, probably because it was such a perfect, peculiar match. His foul temper was nothing to her; the angrier he would get about something, anything, everything, the more she would laugh, and the more she would laugh, the angrier he'd get. He loved to bake, and once made her two cherry pies, which were still cooling when she came in and said, "Oh. I wanted apple." John Noble picked up the pies and flung them against the wall, sending Elisabeth into gales of laughter as he stormed out and pie slid down the wall.
Then again, maybe what made their marriage work was spending much of it separated as John Noble was touring the world.
(John Noble is the clown on the bottom, twisting his body into its own trapeze in the advertisement to the left.)
Small but incredibly strong, and flexible, he made a career for himself as an acrobatic contortionist. He trained with his aunt and his uncle, known as The Nolas, and for some time, the three of them worked together, ever pictured in the same order, with young John Noble on the right. After his time with The Nolas, which, one imagines, ended with the retirement of his relatives and mentors, he spent the next several years as a part of various acts, though none of them found him any measure of success beyond a living, no small feat itself in those days.
It wasn't until John Noble founded The Richard Brothers: Comedy Gymnasts that he began to make a name for himself, even if it wasn't his name. The other Richard Brother was not his brother, though they shared at least one notable trait in common—not being named Richard. From whence the name was taken is anyone's guess.
The Richard Brothers
The Richard Brothers toured for many years, traveling all over the world. In one of John Noble's notebooks, he keeps a record of their destinations, and he can be followed from Rockaway Beach to London to Australia and back again, until his penciled notes are suddenly obscured with newspaper clippings—adverts for and reviews of their shows. Over time, the Richard Brothers move from opening act to headliners. The comedy gymnasts could draw a crowd, ladies and gents.
And John Noble always came home to Elisabeth. During the years he was a Vaudevillian, they had two daughters—and later, as a complete surprise, a son, born when his sisters were already nearly adults themselves and his father's aging body was soon to end his career as a traveling acrobat. This son was called Gene, and he was my grandfather.
One night in 1958, John Noble said to his son, like him an ardent stamp-collector, "Gene, I can't die yet. I've got too much work to do on those stamps." Though John Noble was 80 years old, he was in perfect health, strong in body and mind. Gene said, "You'll live another ten years. What are you talking about?" That night, John Noble died in his sleep.
His granddaughter, Mama Shakes, remembers him to me, tells me of his beloved cat Tommy, tells me of the time he hit his head on the edge of a trampoline and came home with his entire head bandaged and one wee eye poking out. Some of these are simply stories she has heard, part of the oral tradition of our family, and I search for myself in them. What part of John Noble has passed to me?
I have felt him my whole life in my body, stretchy and bendy and able to contort itself into awkward pretzels. My joints, my tendons, my curving fingers—they are his. Gene could wiggle his ears; I can roll my eyes in opposite directions. I am short and strong, with muscled legs, like Mama Shakes and Gene—and John Noble, who wanted to see the world.
Looking through his things, the remnants of his life, on Easter Sunday, Mama Shakes pulls an ancient, flaking newspaper from a bag, and Iain picks it up gingerly to look at it. "This is a paper from Britain!" he exclaims. It is a copy of The Performer, from May 1914, on the very precipice of World War I, and there is no hint in its pages of the imminent conflict. Iain reads apartment listings for London and Edinburgh. He turns brittle pages gently. We look at advertisements for the Vaudevillians converging in London from all over the world.
"Isn't it amazing," says Iain, "that ninety-three years ago, this paper was brought from Britain, and now here's a Scotsman, reading it in Indiana." As big as the world ever may have felt to John Noble, in that moment, it felt beautifully small to me.
The Vaudevillian, John Noble
[Originally published April 2007.]
Sarah Palin Sexism Watch, Part 29
[Trigger warning for misogyny.]
Last week, I mentioned that Bill Maher had called Sarah Palin a "dumb twat" on his show. On the next episode, he called Palin and Rep. Michele Bachmann "bimbos." Then, Sunday night, during a comedy show in Dallas, he reportedly called Sarah Palin a "cunt," because "there's just no other word for her."
Except twat and bimbo, of course.
Now, it's no secret that I don't like Bill Maher, who relies on deeply misogynist, routinely homophobic, fat-hating, ableist, transphobic, xenophobic, Islamophobic, religion-hating jokes, and is a one-man rape joke machine, and then wonders why it is that marginalized people in the US tend to disagree with his assertion that we've got it so good here; what the fuck are we complaining about?
Maher's certainly not the only public humorist who pulls the same shtick, but one of of the particulars about the frame of his comedy is that he's a rational, thoughtful, intellectual guy. And he quite observably is smart enough to understand how institutionalized prejudices like sexism work, but chooses to utilize perpetuating language anyway.
Someone as clever as Maher cannot be confused about why it's problematic for a girl to be born into a world in which a powerful woman can be demeaned as a twat, bimbo, and cunt by people who disagree with her.
Someone as clever as Maher cannot be mystified by the concept that a misogynist slur against an individual works specifically and only because institutionalized sexism is directed against the collective; its power comes from the narrative that women, as a whole, are less than.
Someone as clever as Maher cannot be bewildered by the fact that calling Palin a cunt does not happen in a void, but in a culture that continues to marginalize women's voices across the political spectrum.
Someone as clever as Maher cannot be ignorant about what he's doing when he calls a woman (or a man) a twat or a cunt: If you're turning a (typically) female body part into a slur to insult someone, the implication is necessarily that twats/cunts are bad, nasty, less than, in some way something that a person wouldn't want to be or be associated with. That's how insults work. When twat/cunt is used as a slur, it is dependent on construing a (typically) female body part negatively—and it thus inexorably insults women in the process.
Someone as clever as Maher, who writes and talks for a living, also probably has other words in his vocabulary that he could use, if he needs to express his contempt for Sarah Palin—words that aren't inherently misogynistic, words that don't demean other women in the process of discussing a particular woman.
I challenge him to use those words, and prove to us he's actually as smart a guy as he thinks he is.
----------------
Related Reading: Double Standards, Tea Party Crumpets, Vanity Unfair, Same Boat; Grab a Paddle, Sarah Palin Sexism Watch, Part 28, On Choice, Parity for Palin.
[H/T to @scatx. Sarah Palin Sexism Watch: 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. We defend Sarah Palin against misogynist smears not because we endorse her or her politics, but because that's how feminism works.]
Two-Minute Nostalgia Sublime
Lady Gaga: "Born This Way"
Lady Gaga released the above new single last month. It's being marketed as something of a gay anthem, with its catchy lyrics like "No matter gay, straight, or bi, lesbian, transgendered life, I'm on the right track baby, I was born to survive." The overall theme seems to be "love yourself for who you are" which is, undoubtedly, a nice sentiment.
On the other hand, there's been some question about the appropriateness of the lyrics. For example, her use of the word chola (among others), with one critic stating:
Are Latinos supposed to be grateful that a white superstar, born of privilege, included a racist shout out to our community? Not all Latino ladies are 'cholas' in the barrio, some of them are teachers, writers, engineers and nurses and doctors.
Here are the complete lyrics:
It doesn't matter if you love him, or capital H-I-M
Just put your paws up
'Cause you were born this way, baby
My mama told me when I was young
We are all born superstars
She pulled my hand and put my lipstick on
In the glass of her boudoir
"There's nothin' wrong with lovin' who you are"
She said, "'cause He made you perfect, babe"
"So hold your head up girl and you'll go far,
Listen to me when I say"
(Chorus 1)
I'm beautiful in my way
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
Don't hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way
(Chorus 2)
Ooo there ain't no other way
Baby I was born this way
Baby I was born this way
Ooo there ain't no other way
Baby, I was born this way
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way
Don't be a drag - just be a queen
Don't be a drag - just be a queen
Don't be a drag - just be a queen
Don't be!
Give yourself prudence
And love your friends
Subway kid, rejoice your truth
In the religion of the insecure
I must be myself, respect my youth
A different lover is not a sin
Believe capital H-I-M (hey hey hey)
I love my life I love this record and
Mi amore vole fè, yay (love needs faith)
(Repeat Chorus 1 and 2)
Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Whether you're broke or evergreen
You're black, white, beige, chola descent
You're Lebanese, you're Orient
Whether life's disabilities
Left you outcast, bullied, or teased
Rejoice and love yourself today
'Cause baby you were born this way
No matter gay, straight, or bi,
Lesbian, transgendered life
I'm on the right track baby
I was born to survive
No matter black, white or beige
Chola or Orient made
I'm on the right track baby
I was born to be brave
(Repeat Chorus 1 and 2)
The video features pink triangles and unicorns and I don't know what the fuck else, which I guess is gay? I am no fan of pink triangles, and steadfastly refuse to wear one. But hey, reclamation and all that, I guess, so wevs. All kinds of other stuff goes on in the video that I don't feel qualified to comment on.
Anyway, what say you? New inclusive anthem of queer empowerment? Or insensitive cultural appropriation? Neither? Both? Discuss.
This Is A Real Thing In The World
[Image: A bag of imported Doritos featuring two mascots (maybe) that are, I dunno, wrassling perhaps, or doing acrobatics, one of whom has their foot planted firmly in the other's "bathing suit area."]
If anyone knows what's going on, feel free to explain. And if you can translate the bag, I'd appreciate it. I want to know exactly what flavour these are.
Really, Gearbox? Really?
by Shaker and Shakesville Moderator Scott Madin. Cross-posted at Fineness & Accuracy.
[Trigger warning for objectification, sexual assault, broad-spectrum misogynist fuckery.]
I had really expected that nearly two years ago would be the last time I'd write about Duke Nukem. I'd happily put the character, the franchise, and its gleeful participation in the worst traits of gamer culture, out of my mind. Until Gearbox Software announced they had acquired the rights and that the vapor-for-fourteen-years Duke Nukem Forever would be seeing release after all. So, thanks for that, guys. That's just swell.
Since that miserable announcement, almost like clockwork, predictably awful globs of congealed misogyny have been flung forth from Gearbox HQ, splattering all over the gaming press. They held a press event at a strip club; they flagrantly violated PAX's longstanding "no booth babe" policy (a policy which, it seems, contrary to how it was presented, was basically voluntary all along); and most recently they announced that the multiplayer capture-the-flag mode (a de rigueur component, of course, of any multiplayer shooter) would be entitled "Capture the Babe," and that when a player had "captured the babe," slinging the presumably-otherwise-passive female character over his shoulder, she would occasionally "freak out," and need to be slapped (on the ass, Gearbox hastened to clarify, not the face! So that's OK then) to "calm her down."
...yeah. The aim of the game mode is to 1) abduct sexually objectified "babes" who have no agency of their own, but 2) who hysterically "freak out" at being bodily lifted up and hauled around, 3) who you then physically abuse to ensure their compliance, and 4) collect them as trophies.
I was going to write at more length about this, but Gunthera1's excellent post at The Border House pretty much covers it, so I recommend reading her if you need more background or detail.
I'll add a couple of other notes, however. As a bit of background, Randy Pitchford from Gearbox was on the "Irrational Interviews" podcast produced by Boston-based Bioshock developers Irrational, back in February, and when asked about the challenges of marketing games, he (I'm afraid I'm paraphrasing from memory, but I don't believe I'm misrepresenting him) explained that seeing marketing materials for a game is like "when you meet a girl (sic), and you decide in 5 seconds 'would I do her, or not?'" It's obviously a total shock that a fellow like that might be insensitive to concerns about sexist content in the game he's making.
And finally, Penny Arcade — having, perhaps, after the Dickwolves debacle, decided to prove everyone wrong who ever praised them for attempting to take a thoughtful approach to game-related controversies — have joined in, with a comic showing Tycho, in an exaggerated "moral scold" posture, wagging his finger at Gabe and declaiming, "Did you know there's a mode in Duke Nukem where you slap a woman's bottom?" In the second panel, Gabe, looking bored, responds, "Did you know there's a mode in Call of Duty where you murder, like, a million people?" as Tycho appears taken aback. In the third panel, Gabe continues, "It's called Call of Duty."
In an echo of their deliberate misrepresentation of criticism of the "Sixth Slave" comic, here they misconstrue the DNF criticisms as being solely about the slap rather than about using women as trophies — literally objects — ignoring that at least within the conceptual framework of the game enemy soldiers in the Call of Duty games have agency and contend directly with the player, and slandering hundreds of thousands of soldiers as "murderers" into the bargain.
It seems like for every lovely moment like David Gaider's eloquent rebuttal to an aggrieved "Straight Male Gamer," there's still a half-dozen episodes which (to borrow Mr. Walker's phrase) make my spine hurt. This is why we can't have nice things, game industry.
