Question of the Day
Suggested by Shaker Nice_Shirt: "What is the best thing you ever read on a T-shirt, bumper sticker, personalized license plate, etc.?"
This one always makes me laugh (unintentionally, of course) every time I see it:
Recommended Reading
[Content Note: Harassment; marginalization; silencing.]
Care of Shaker Leigh: Jim Hines' "Manufactured Outrage and Choosing to be Offended."
True Detective and Rape Culture
[Content Note: Discussion of sexual violence. Spoilers from the series True Detective.]
So, I wasn't really invested in a lot of the fan theories during the eight-episode run of True Detective, although I enjoyed reading them. Me, I just took showrunner Nic Pizzolatto's word for it that it was primarily a story about two men and the changes they go through as they pursue a disturbing case over the course of 17 years, and I didn't expect every little thread to be tied into a neat bow at the end. (I'll come back to that.)
But I'm completely fascinated by all the disgruntlement being expressed about the series finale. (Which is why I love this post by Danger Guerrero.) Specifically the consternation regarding two things: 1. Rust Cohle's hopefulness at the end; 2. The failure to tie up some aspects of the larger conspiracy of abuse and concealment.
1. It might not seem on its face like Rust's final, beautiful observation—"Once there was only dark. And if you ask me, the light's winning."—has anything to do with rape culture, but stay with me.
Throughout the series, Rust was a nihilistic atheist deeply mired in personal darkness. In the final scenes, he reveals to Marty Hart that, while on the brink of death, he experienced a feeling of overwhelming love from people he'd lost, before making his hopeful comment about the light winning.
Some people have read this as a betrayal of Rust's atheism, which is really a whole other post; I personally didn't see anything that suggested a sudden god-belief or spirituality, but whatever. And others see, or also see, his new-found hopefulness as too tidy an ending.
It was, they argue, too easy, too trite, too insubstantial for Rust to emerge from a near-death experience following a 17-year pursuit of a serial rapist and killer to find himself hopeful in a way he had not been before.
I can't emphasize enough how truly not tidy or cheap it is to show a person who has spent long years immersed in the rape culture seeing light in a world where once zie had seen only darkness, especially following a victory after long pursuit of justice.
This is a reality for many people involved in anti-rape and anti-violence advocacy and the investigation and prosecution of these crimes. It fucks with your hope. It is a dark and shitty place to spend your time, and moments of hopefulness are hard-won. To not understand that, to not recognize how profound and meaningful and precious Rust's thought of a winning lightness really was, is a luxury granted by never lingering inside that hope-fucking space.
I also feel like it's important to acknowledge that there are people involved in this sort of work (as well as people who aren't) who are essentially nihilistic in nature, but rely on key moments of hopefulness to sustain them. They are not as wholly incompatible, especially inside the complex context of the human psyche, as the desire for a more simplistic narrative of impenetrable nihilism in order to maintain authenticity, or integrity, would suggest.
2. Two of the major "loose ends" that some fans are annoyed weren't neatly tied up are the higher-ups in the abuse ring and the suggestion that Marty's daughter Audrey was a childhood victim of someone associated with the abuse ring.
Well, the truth is, Important Men get away with abusive shit all the time. So, it's frankly more realistic, and more reflective of what the rape culture actually looks like and how it functions, for the Important Men at the top of the abuse ring to escape justice.
That said, I do think dismissing the potential for a theoretical continuing storyline in which the two black cops run with the investigation dismisses their importance to the story. They went all in, when it came down to it. In this fictional world, I'll trust them to see it through.
And Audrey. Oh, Audrey. I identified so strongly with this character in so many ways. And I think that it's very likely she was sexually abused by someone connected to the abuse ring. There were signs throughout the story—her childhood drawings of graphic sex; possible references to the Yellow King in her artwork; her precocious sexuality.
The scene in which Audrey has been brought home by Marty, her father, after being busted having sex in public with two boys, was incredibly difficult for me to watch. He yells at her and slaps her and slut-shames her. He is a detective charged with investigating sex abuse, who has nothing but murderous contempt for sexual predators who harm children, and yet he fails to notice the evidence suggesting his daughter has been abused. When she acts out sexually, in a way many survivors of childhood sexual violence do, he has violent contempt for her.
Like many Professional Patriarchs who hate men who harm women, Marty isn't very good at seeing evidence of that harm in his own home. Even and especially when it's harm he's done via neglect.
That, too, is reflective of a truth about the rape culture. (And it's reflective of Marty's characterization throughout the show, who never paid enough attention at home.) Sometimes dads get angry at their daughters for being survivors, because they've overlooked altogether that their daughters are survivors.
And often it's the men who are most invested in stereotypes of male protection who fail the hardest to see evidence of abuse in their own homes, because their own self-identities are so wrapped up in there not being evidence of abuse in their own homes.
That is a loose end that can't get tied up, because Marty's not the guy to do it. He's a better cop than a father. And that hasn't changed when the series ends.
That would have been too tidy.
Fatsronauts 101: Permission to Dress
[Content Note: Fat hatred; weight loss talk.]
Last week, Ana Mardoll tweeted some very nice and humbling things at me, which I am sharing with her permission:
Afterwards, we were talking about the narratives that discourage many fat women from wearing colorful or form-fitting or revealing clothes. Or whatever kind of clothes a fat woman might want, but doesn't, as a result of cultural narratives about fat bodies, feel she deserves.
Like, for example, the narrative that fat bodies are meant to be concealed as much as possible. Covered in fabric, lest we offend other people with the sight of our fat flesh; and in loose fabric, lest we offend other people with the outlines of our fat shapes; and in dark, neutral, solid colors, lest we call attention to our fat selves and offend other people by directing their gazes at our fat bodies.
By email, Ana wrote (also shared with permission):
I had this idea that I couldn't wear colors because, as a fat person, I wasn't supposed to stand out and draw attention to myself. I was wearing drab colors as camouflage. But not because I WANTED to (or even because it WORKED as camo), but because I think I sort of felt like, as a fat person, I should be neither seen nor heard.Now, of course there are fat women who prefer to wear dark, neutral, solid colors because that's their aesthetic preference (I love me the fuck outta some slate grey!), and I don't want to even inadvertently suggest that a fat woman in a black dress (for example) could only be wearing that dress because she doesn't feel like she can wear anything else.
And it wasn't working (because people still SEE ME, obviously) and it just made me miserable to always wear these dull things that didn't bring me any joy. But I felt like I HAD TO because if I wore bright pink then people would see me and I'd be VISIBLY FAT. Fat while visible.
And then I wore bright pink and the world didn't end. :)
The point is: Fat women can and should wear whatever they damn well please. This post is about and for the fat women (and men, and genderqueer folks) who don't feel like they can wear whatever they damn well please, because they're fat.
I've been that person. For years, I was a fat woman who didn't feel like I could wear bright colors or horizontal stripes or prints, or anything even remotely form-fitting. Everything I owned was at least two sizes too big. I moved through life swimming in a sea of drab fabric and ill-fitting garments, feeling disinclined to even get a sharp haircut or attempt make-up, because what was the point?
The sole nod to self-expression was my shoes, which were always funky and fabulous. I looked down at them instead of looking at the world, this little part of me that held out from complete capitulation to the idea that I didn't deserve more, shouldn't expect more.
Well. Things have changed. I have changed.
I just can't be arsed to give a shit anymore if someone doesn't like the way I look, or the way I dress. I have to care more about ensuring that I like the way I look, and the way I dress. I have to expect more for myself.
* * *
Last May, I wrote a post called "Permission to Live" about the pervasive and pernicious idea that fat people have to keep our lives on hold until we lose weight.
This war on fat people kills people. And when it isn't actively trying to literally eliminate us, it's discouraging us from participating in the world, from being visible, from living.This idea underwrites the intensely discouraging narrative that fat women must lose weight before we can buy and wear clothes we love.
It's telling us we have to lose weight before we start dating, before we go sleeveless, before we take that dream vacation, before we ask for a promotion, before we buy a bike, before we get tattooed, before we sign up for dancing lessons, before we splurge on a beautiful dress, before we get the haircut we really want, before we go the doctor, before we go to the gym, before we set a wedding date, before we have kids, before we even think about doing anything wonderful that fat people don't deserve.
It's telling us to lose weight before pursuing our dreams. It's telling us to lose weight before wearing a bathing suit. It's telling us to lose weight before "knowing real love and real fear, walking naked in the winter snow and in the summer tide, playing like a child, thinking as a martyr, making love to a stranger, tasting sin and purity at the same moment in time, being as a lamb in a den of wolves." (Whut? I know.) It's telling us to lose weight before living the life we want to live.
(Unless, of course, they're "inspirational" clothes—items purchased in smaller sizes to "motivate" us to lose weight to fit into them. Gross.)
We do not have to wait for permission from some vague arbiter of our bodies to wear the clothes we want to wear, the clothes we've been told we shouldn't wear.
We do not have to wait to lose weight. What if we never lose weight? What if you waited your whole life to wear exactly the kind of clothes you wanted to wear, because you waited your whole life to lose weight that was never going to be lost?
Would that we were all as worried about the lifetimes fat people lose waiting to feel they deserve to dress the way they want, as we are about fat people losing weight.
I don't care if you lose weight. I care very much if you lose time waiting to feel like you deserve to dress in things that bring you joy.
* * *
I want to say that I know this isn't an easy thing to do for everyone. There can be a real risk to being a visible fat person. It's not always just as easy as switching out your shapeless black cardigan for a fitted cerulean shrug.
Making these sorts of changes invites scrutiny, and it can mean fielding unsolicited comments about your appearance, which can be difficult to navigate, even if they're positive comments, for someone who has a deep association with policing or bullying and comments on their appearance.
Sometimes, drab dressing is a survival strategy. And that's okay. If you feel safer wearing clothes you'd rather not wear, all things being equal, that's a legitimate choice that I wish you didn't have to make. No one should feel obliged to try to make themselves invisible to avoid harm.
It's just not for me that I try to be colorfully visible. It's also for you.
Daily Dose of Cute
Olivia Twist.
As always, please feel welcome and encouraged to share pix of the fuzzy, feathered, or scaled members of your family in comments.
Quote of the Day
[Content Note: Rape culture; purity culture; Christian Supremacy. There are descriptions of sexual assault and references to self-harm at the link.]
"[T]hese extremely strict morality codes...actively prevent the administration from seeing a victim's situation clearly. Because the administration is more committed to enforcing the honor code than they are to helping victims, they are incapable of giving a victim the protection he or she needs to come forward about their assault. This is also compounded by their need to make sure that their reputation as a 'safe' place for fundamentalist parents to send their children remains intact, regardless of whose lives they might destroy. At these colleges, students are terrified of explaining to someone—anyone, including the police—what they are going through because the risk of being expelled is constantly hanging over their head."—Samantha Field, in a highly recommended piece on the honor codes at fundamentalist Christian universities and how they are used to revictimize survivors of sexual violence.
[H/T to Shaker CZEdwards. Related Reading: On Surviving and Sex Ed; Elizabeth Smart on the Consequences of Abstinence-Only Sex Ed.]
Today in Rape Culture
[Content Note: Sexual violence; rape jokes.]
My failure to appreciate the HBO series Girls—a feminist show produced by Judd Apatow—is well-documented. And that piece was written before the primary male protagonist (Adam) raped his then-girlfriend in a horrendously gross scene, only for her character to later be represented as a hysterical harpy when confronting him in public about it.
In Sunday night's episode, Adam, who is now dating the primary female protagonist (played by show creator Lena Dunham) Hannah, was disturbed by Hannah's absurd role-playing scenario which cast him as a violent rapist. Not because he has regrets (or even seemingly any self-awareness) about being a rapist, but because he was sanctimoniously shaming her for not understanding he wants to have "normal" sex with her because he loves her. Because Adam, a rapist, is constantly written to be a moral arbiter and life coach for his girlfriend, as well as all her female friends.
The show is just reprehensible on the issue of sexual violence, and, well, maybe it's because its creator is, ahh, insensitive on the subject herself.
Dunham was the host of Saturday Night Live last weekend, the day before this last episode aired, and in a sketch sending up Girls, on which Dunham is naked a lot, she was also naked in the sketch. This prompted some asshole to shame-tweet at her, "you don't always have to get naked!" to which Dunham replied, "Please tell that to my uncle, mister. He's been making me!"
After criticism for her rape joke, Dunham removed it, and then tweeted: "I just made and deleted a not so great molestation joke. Sorry guys. I am really sleepy." Followed by: "SNL has a way bigger audience than our usual cozy girls audience, so I was seeing a rash of very different kinds of twitter rage."
Because, as usual, asking someone to be sensitive to not minimizing rape with shitty jokes is "rage."
When called out on waving away a rape joke with a claim of sleepiness ("I really don't think you'd be cutting anyone else any slack if they made that joke and then blamed it on being 'really sleepy'"), Dunham then replied: "Not if they were a fifty year old man. But by my lights women can have a lot of joke flexibility. Ya gotta get by in this world."
Welp.
Needless to say, I disagree.
But I do find it interesting that Dunham imagines a joke about being sexually abused by a family member is somehow more justifiable when it's told by a young woman than when it's told by an older man.
The only context that matters here is the rape culture, not the attributes of the person abetting it.
That particular argument, however, provides a good insight into Dunham's view of Girls and why it is that she regards as "feminist" a show that wouldn't look much different at all were it written by a men's rights advocate. That is: If it's a young woman telling stories about how young women are narcissistic, selfish, manipulative, backstabbing, man-obsessed nightmares, it's saying something different about women than if "a fifty year old man" were telling the story.
Whoops.
For the record, it is eminently possible to write a show with complex female characters who are flawed and fail and flailing that doesn't look exactly like a show about women that was written by a misogynist.
In the News
Here is some stuff in the news today...
[Content Note: War on agency] The war on agency continues unabated as state legislatures across the US "are moving to restrict access to abortion to the point of elimination." Over at RH Reality Check, Jessica Mason Pieklo observes that accessing abortion is already an "undue burden" for many people. I know I am the brokenest of all the broken records that have ever been broken, but it would be really swell if our ostensibly pro-choice president would use his unparalleled bully pulpit to start a national conversation about how women's and others' basic bodily autonomy is being eroded, in service to denying us access to a legal medical procedure.
[CN: Homophobia] On April 9, a federal appeals court will hear oral arguments in Sevcik v. Sandoval, the case challenging Nevada's same-sex marriage ban. That sound you hear is the wobbling of another domino fixing to topple over.
[CN: Fat jokes; ironic racism and birtherism jokes; video starts playing automatically at link] President Obama joined Zach Galifianakis for his popular web series "Between Two Ferns," and it's being widely hailed as the most brilliant shit ever, but somehow I'm feeling less than enthusiastic about seeing my president opening with a fat joke. Because I'm the Most Humorless Feminist in All of Nofunnington, etc.
Honey Maid has a cute new advert for their graham crackers which features gay dads, a racially blended family, and a tattooed rocker dad redefining "wholesome." Naturally, some will argue this is just a cynical ploy to get progressives to buy graham crackers, but if you want to use visibility of marginalized folks to sell your products, that's fine by me! Whatever the intent is, the visibility is still real. (Also: I hate graham crackers, even though I like this commercial!)
[CN: Guns; violence] The Pistorius trial continues, with testimony about Oscar Pistorius' fascination with guns. And his irresponsibility with them: He once fired a shot through an open sunroof after being pulled over because a cop had handled his weapon, and he once accidentally discharged a gun under a table at a restaurant while passing it to a friend. This guy. Jesus Jones.
[CN: Misogyny] Lean in! "Even with the Same Pitch, Investors Prefer to Give Money to Men over Women."
This guy and his dog are biking around the country to raise awareness about adopting pets from shelters. OMG.
[Video] And this cat is hilarious. Oh, cats. You are irrepressible!
Kids Today
The video is a news story about the the Minnesota Class 3A state high school wrestling championship, which took place over the weekend. Specifically, it's about the 120-pound division finale between Mitchell McKee, a young white teenager, and Malik Stewart, a young black teenager.[Via Brandon.]
A female reporter says in voiceover, over images of McKee's family and then McKee at practice: "When Mitchell McKee learned there was no match for his dad's cancer, he practiced and prayed."
McKee, onscreen: "Before every match, I just said, 'God, help me win this match.' You know, so I can go win a state title for my dad."
Reporter, in voiceover, over images of wrestling: "The St. Michael Albertville sophomore found himself on the brink of that dream this weekend, at the 120-pound state championship, at the Xcel Energy Center, facing a well-known opponent." Video of Stewart at his school locker. "Malik Stewart, a sophomore from Blaine."
Stewart, onscreen: "I knew I'd have to wrestle a little bit better, but..."
Reporter, in voiceover, over images of the boys wrestling: "But a little more than a minute in—"
McKee, onscreen: "I pinned him."
Reporter, in voiceover, over images of the boys wrestling: "—Mitchell locked Malik to the mat."
Stewart, onscreen: "He won, and I knew he was pretty proud, and I knew his dad was pretty proud, so I went over there and I shook his hand, embraced him a little bit, told him to stay strong, you know, and that everybody loves him."
Reporter, in voiceover, over images from after the match: "Losing the state title, Malik could have walked away, but what he did next not only stunned his coach, but the arena."
Stewart's coach, a young white man, onscreen: "He took that upon himself to run over; he knew, you know, Mitchell's father was over there, and he ran over and gave him a hug, congratulated him."
Stewart, in voiceover, over images of Stewart warmly greeting McKee's father in the crowd: "The crowd went wild; I heard a couple people as I did it say, uh, that was pretty classy, you know, but I just did it straight from the heart."
Reporter, in voiceover, over images of McKee hugging his dad: "When it was was Mitchell's turn to hug his dad—"
McKee, in voiceover: "Everything you've been wanting to happen all year just, you know, comes together in one moment."
Reporter, in voiceover: "—Malik understood."
Stewart, onscreen: "I went through the same thing when I was younger, but my dad didn't pass by cancer. It was by a heart attack, so. I know what he's going through."
McKee, onscreen: "It was a really big match for him to be able to go over and hug my dad like that, and not be mad and storm off the mat, like, you know, a lot of kids do."
Reporter, in voiceover, over more images from the match: "Two opponents bound by a greater loss, and the strategy of heart—"
Stewart, in voiceover: "I thought it was the right thing to do."
Reporter, in voiceover: "—made more than one champion that day."
Michele Bachmann Continues to Be the Worst
[Content Note: Homophobia.]
This is one of the most remarkable bits of conservative projection I've seen in awhile, which is really saying something:
[Republican Representative from Minnesota Michele Bachmann] told talk show host Lars Larson in an interview at CPAC that the gay community distorted the Arizona bill by making it about gay rights — even though the bill's sponsor himself said it was about same-sex marriage.Everything about this is obviously amazing—the gay community as the "bullies" who are trying to take away other people's freedoms; marriage equality framed as taking away other people's religious liberties—but my favorite (ahem) part, as always, is the casual othering in this ubiquitous rhetorical flourish: "The gay community have so bullied the American people." As if "gay people" and "American people" are mutually exclusive groups.
"There's nothing about gays in there, but the gay community decided to make this their measure," Bachmann said. "And the thing that I think is getting a little tiresome is the gay community have so bullied the American people and they have so intimidated politicians that politicians fear them and they think they get to dictate the agenda everywhere. Well, not with the Constitution you don't."
She added that gay people and "activist judges" are trying to take away her freedom: "If you want take away my religious liberties, you can advocate for that but you do it through the constitutional process and you don't intimidate and no politician should give away my religious liberties or yours."
Only in the bizarro world of conservative projection is seeking equality "bullying," while telling an entire marginalized population they're not even legit citizens of their own country is Traditional Values.
These fucking people.
Question of the Day
What is the last subject that drove you into full-blown rant mode?
Doesn't have to be a serious subject. Sometimes it's the little things—LIKE THE GRODY CENTIPEDES IN THE GARAGE WHO REFUSE TO VACATE THE PREMISES DON'T GET ME STARTED!—that evoke the most passionate diatribes.
[Originally run August 07, 2012.]
On International Women's Day
March 8 is International Women's Day, which fell on the weekend this year. The 2014 theme is "Equality for Women is Progress for All." I write about equality for women every day, so I don't feel like I have Something Special to say to mark International Women's Day, although I do want to note that I prefer to say "Equality for All Women is Progress for All."
That might seem like a distinction without a difference, but crucial to the pursuit of meaningful equality is recognizing the women that tend to get left out of many casual uses of the word "women," depending on who's using it. Trans* and intersex women are women. Gay, bi, and asexual women are women. Women of color are women. Fat women are women. Women with disabilities are women. Poor women are women. Women without children are women. All self-identified women are women.
And it is only equality for all of those women, firstly with one another, that means progress for all people.
Once again, I am going to mark International Women's Day with something that is central to all progress for women, and that is a challenge to us all to love, respect, and trust women.
Last year on IWD, I wrote:
Today is a day when I am angry, but, also like all other days, it is a day on which I am happy to be a woman among women.To love and respect women yet remains a radical act. And so does trusting women to make the best choices for themselves, to believe that women are their own captains who do not need to have their choices legislated nor coerced through public judgment.
I do not long to be the Exceptional Woman. When I find myself in a space in which I am the only woman, I do not feel satisfied, nor do I feel insecure: I feel contemptuous that there aren't more women there. I do not want to compete with other women in a way that suggests there is only room for one of us. I want to lift up other women, and be lifted up by them, and blaze trails in the hopes that many more will follow behind.
I respect women, and I love them. And when I take stock of all the issues disproportionately affecting women across the globe, what I see is lack of respect and love for women so pervasive and profound that to merely assert to love and respect women yet remains a radical act.
I love women. I respect women. I trust women. Not in some distant way that treats these phrases as self-evident observations with which any decent person would agree, but as an intimate call to action rooted in the recognition that if everyone really did agree with those observations, we wouldn't need an International Women's Day.
I love women. I respect women. I trust women. Not as part of some abstract, theoretical feminism but as part of an applied, practical feminism that urges me to love by nonjudgment, respect by listening, trust by supporting individual choices.
I love women. I respect women. I trust women. Including myself. And I ask that the people around me love, respect, and trust me, too.
I love women. I respect women. I trust women. And I am angry that these remain radical practices. But it is at the intersection of my anger at the mistreatment of women and my love, respect, and trust for them that I find my motivation every day.
On this day and every day, let us all be radical.
Um.
[Content Note: Fat hatred; weight loss talk.]
This Facebook message, penned to "the fatty running on the [redacted] track this afternoon," is described by Kayleigh Dray as "seriously inspirational," without a trace of irony:
![screen cap of Facebook posting by an anonymized user reading: 'To the fatty running on the [redacted] track this afternoon: You, whose feet barely lift off the ground as you trudge around the track. You, who keeps to the outside lane, footslogging in the wrong direction. You, who stops for water breaks every lap, and who would probably stop twice a lap if if there were bleachers on both sides. You, whose gaze drops to your feet every time we pass. You, whose sweat drenches your body after you leave, completing only a single, 20-minute mile. There's something you should know: You fucking rock. Every shallow step you take, you carry the weight of more than two of me, clinging to your bones, begging to be shaken off. Each lap you run, you're paying off the debt of another midnight snack, another dessert, another beer. It's 20 degrees outside, but you haven't let that stop your regimen. This isn't your first day out here, and it certainly won't be your last. You've started a journey that lasts a lifetime, and you've started at least 12 days before your New Year's resolution kicks in. You run without music, and I can only imagine the mantras running through your mind as you heave your ever-shrinking mass around the next lap. Let's go, feet. Shut up, legs. Fuck off, fat. If you'd only look up from your feet the next time we pass, you'd see my gaze has no condescension in it. I have nothing but respect for you. You've got this.'](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v642/shakespeares_sister/shakes6/hope-for-humanity_466x466.jpg)
Only in a world where rank fat hatred is routinely masked as compassion could this shit be described as "seriously inspirational," and could its author claim without being laughed off the planet that there is "no condescension" in hir gaze.
A gaze that looks at a fat person and presumes to know what made that person fat; what motivates that fat person has for exercising; what that fat person would do if only "there were bleachers on both sides"; what that fat person must be thinking and feeling; a gaze that includes seeing a body with an "ever-shrinking mass" of fat "begging to be shaken off." The gaze of a person who believes that a fat person will definitely give the tiniest infinitesimal shit that zie thinks "you fucking rock."
You know, a lot of fat people are already quite certain that we rock, in whatever we're doing, without a thin person having to give us their stamp of approval.
I wouldn't presume, unlike the author of this "seriously inspirational" piece of shit post, what the fat person running around the track feels about this message. I will, however, say that if this message had been written about me, the only thing it would inspire in me is a cringing aversion to ever running at that publicly identified track again, knowing there is some asshole staring at me and judging me and measuring the amount of sweat on my body and thinking my public exercise regimen was theirs to use in some grotesque broadcast of how super awesome and magnanimous they are to the
Thin people, we are not yours to use as inspiration. And our lived experiences are not yours to appropriate. You are not welcome to pass judgment, negative or positive, on us. You don't know our stories by looking at us.
I don't know a single thing about the fat person running on the track from that Facebook entry. I do, however, know an awful lot about the asshole who wrote it.
[H/T to Marilyn Wann.]
-------------
UPDATE: Via Ridley, here is the self-identified runner's response: "To the Man Who Judged Me on the Westview Track."
The Walking Thread
[Content Note: Violence. Spoilers are lurching around undeadly herein.]
Welp, in case you hadn't gotten the message from eleventy million previous episodes tritely exploring the need for human connection and the psychological and physical safety in numbers, this episode with the totally trenchant title "Alone" hammers home the message of community with all the subtlety of Maggie bashing zombie skulls with a road sign wielded like a dwarven axe.
It was another Grimes-free episode, where we spend our time divided between Team Daryl-Blonde Girl and Team Sasha-Maggie-Bob, which opened with a flashback to Daryl and Glenn finding Bob, all alone (ALONE!) on the road after spending the night on top of a semi trailer, which makes one wonder why the fuck everyone isn't surviving the zombiepocalypse by living on top of abandoned semi trailers.
I mean, why not? As far as I can tell, it never even rains in Georgia. "I don't even know what a rainy night is."—Zombie Eddie Rabbit.
Daryl and Glenn invite Bob to join Grimes Gang, and Bob tells them it doesn't matter what kind of people they are, so long as he's not alone (ALONE!), which is a terrific reversal of EVERYTHING ELSE THIS SHOW HAS BEEN ABOUT SO FAR, where it matters a fuckload what kind of people your community decides to be.
Anyway. We pick up with Daryl teaching BG how to track and use the crossbow, and BG jokes that she's learning so quickly that soon she won't even need him anymore, right before she steps into an animal trap, Daryl has to save her life, and then he has to carry her by piggyback. Ha ha whooooops! Thank the fates there's always a man to step in and rescue a girl gettin' uppity about her competence! Good thing BG isn't alone! (ALONE!)
Meanwhile, Sasha, Maggie, and Bob are stuck in the middle of a thick fog with zero zombie visibility. Fight fight fight fog fog fog. They're just walking in circles looking for Glenn, who Sasha says is probably dead. Maggie sneaks away alone (ALONE!) in the middle of the night and leaves a note in the sand: "Don't Risk Your Lives 4 Me. Good luck. #YOLO."
Despite Sasha's protests, Bob insists on trying to catch Maggie, so she won't be alone. (ALONE!) He was left alone (ALONE!) twice, after being the lone survivor of two different communities, and it stinks. THIRD TIME'S A CHARM!
Daryl and BG find a funeral home whose currently AWOL occupant has been keeping nice and clean, while dressing up zombie corpses for funerals. Neat pastime! Daryl thinks it's stupid, but BG is perennially sunny and chirps about how "beautiful" it is. No, it is not beautiful. It is stupid and this show is stupid.
Daryl and BG help themselves to some undusty food in the undusty pantry, and BG decides to write a thank-you note. OH JESUS JONES. Daryl suggests maybe they could just stay there and make it work with the tidy mortician, and BG blinks at him wide-eyed and says, approximately, "Garsh, Daryl! See, I told you there's still good people in this world! But what caused YOU to have this
Meanwhile, following the train tracks alone (ALONE!), Maggie uses zombie blood from a fresh kill to leave a note for Glenn telling him she's heading to the sanctuary being advertised along the tracks. In hot pursuit, Bob and Sasha have a cool conversation about why Bob is smiling. He tells her he's smiling because he's not alone (ALONE!) and I wish I were making that up.
Back in Sunshinebarfville, where Daryl now apparently has a crush on the living embodiment of the moral of a Strawberry Shortcake cartoon, something something dog at the door, followed by something something zombies at the door OH NOES BETTER GET OUTTA THERE! Fight fight fight run run run. Daryl makes his way outside just in time to see that BG has been kidnapped by someone in a car. He chases the car down the road until sunrise (or possibly a month later?), and then collapses at a literal crossroads. SYMBOLISM. All alone. (ALONE!)
Following the tracks and trying to find Maggie, Bob and Sasha have more superb and definitely realistic conversation about the importance of not being alone. (ALONE!) Bob accuses Sasha of being scared because she wants to stop walking and build a new camp. Bob says he's going after Maggie because she's all alone (ALONE!), but apparently doesn't have a problem with leaving Sasha all alone (ALONE!), even though, as Sasha points out, Maggie made her choice to go it alone (ALONE!) to look for Glenn.
Bob tries to convince Sasha to come with him by kissing her, but she's all, "Nah. Seeya." So Bob heads off after Maggie alone (ALONE!), while Sasha checks in at an abandoned building alone (ALONE!), where she immediately spots Maggie all alone (ALONE!) out a window, then accidentally knocks out the window, making a huge racket, obliging her to run down to the street and help fight off the descending zombies. More great conversation, and it turns out Sasha really is afraid after all. When will women learn to listen to men when they tell us our feelings?!
Anyway. In the end, Bob reconnects with Maggie and Sasha, and they are all happy they are not alone (ALONE!), while Daryl is sad because he is alone (ALONE!), but he's not alone (ALONE!) for long, because he is surrounded by the dirtbags whom Grimes narrowly escaped a few weeks ago.
Also: Glenn is headed to Terminus along with basically everyone else, because of course he is.
Daily Dose of Cute
Sweet little sleepy dumpling.
As always, please feel welcome and encouraged to share pix of the fuzzy, feathered, or scaled members of your family in comments.
The Monday Blogaround
This blogaround brought to you by wood.
Recommended Reading:
Rachele: [Content Note: Fat bias; diet talk; hostility to consent] Someone on Facebook Stole a Photo of Me in a Bikini to Sell a Diet Program
BYP: [CN: Sexual violence; police malfeasance] Detroit Officer Responding to Domestic Violence Call Charged with Raping Victim
Danielle: [CN: Misogyny; victim-blaming] FYI, I Cannot "Demand" Respect From Men So Stop Telling Me That!
Jess: [CN: Rape culture] Darren Sharper and Denying Systemic Problems
Adrienne: [CN: Appropriation; racism; racist imagery] Dear Christina Fallin
Trudy: [CN: Racism; appropriation; silencing] On #TheySayTheyreMyAllyBut
Copy Curmudgeon: [CN: Misogyny] Sexist Language? See Something, Say Something
Von: [Video] Watch the Trailer for the Annie Remake Starring Quvenzhané Wallis
Leave your links and recommendations in comments...
