Apparently, Doctor Villanelle's last blog post was not enough to contain her ire about dipshit academics in love with the phallus, because that bitch be textin' me. It was gloriously rage-filled, so read on, friends:
Doctor Villanelle: You ever read Age of Wonder?
Lily Pistil: I have. But very quickly. I found it kind of annoying.
DV: Thank you! I posted a not quite coherent response to it last night (don't blame me, blame the plague) and I was in hopes that I wasn't the only one that found it aggravating...
LP: So in the tradition of great man of history ball-licking. I don't know why everyone likes it.
DV: Seriously, I lost my shit when I was reading it... Why is it that when Keats talks about the soul he's a touching and inspiring genius, and when Mary Shelley talks about the soul she's a pregnant woman who may have learned some shit from her husband?? WTF yo!
LP: I know!!! It will be interesting when this guy comes out with his next book about the lost women scientists of the 19th century. I wonder which body parts he will attribute their discoveries to?
DV: Certainly not their minds..... And please tell me he's actually going to write about some female POETS and not just write off all the lady folk as silly novelists. Gawd! I just about screamed when I was reading his chapter on Frankenstein.
LP: I think this one will only be about scientists.
But ladies can't be poets, silly woman. Poems require genius. Ladies aren't geniuses.
DV: Well... That ought to be interesting... I certainly hope he makes sure to acknowledge their male chaperons and inspirations.
LP: Oh I am sure.
DV: Oh my gosh! You're right! I forgot for a moment that the category of woman was used to designate a life form purely dedicated to the creation of children and the male genius (which aren't always that far apart)! My bad!
LP: Here is a line you might appreciate I just read in Burke: "If beauty in our own species was annexed to use, men would be much more lovely than women..."
DV: Wow. I mean... Yep... That's just awesome... God bless the menfolk, huh?
LP: Bless their tiny, self-aggrandizing hearts, they can't help it.
DV: Because they're too worried about their tiny non-actualizing manhood?
LP: So I understand.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
You know them ladies... always thinkin' with the ovaries...
Why is it that when a man sits down and begins to address the nature of the soul and the origin of consciousness, he gets talked about like this...
"Such questions [of the nature of the soul], traditionally the province of theologians and philosophers, were now increasingly considered by physicians, science writers, and those who studied what Coleridge called the science of the mind.' They had already been the subject of ingenious scientific experiments in Europe, which gave rise to increasingly fierce debates surrounding the work of Luigi Galvani in Italy and Franz Anton Mesmer in France" (314). (1)
Such strong statements, such ingenious scientific experiments being engaged in by men ACROSS THE CONTINENT!! with FIERCE DEBATES!! and POETRY!! They were like POETS! But SCIENTIFIC POETS! poets of the MIND!!
Don't see what I mean? How about this, you'll like this one...
"But for them [young poets] it still seemed more a psychological than a physiological question. Coleridge in his conversation poems was exploring the metaphysical notion of a 'one Life' that unified all living forms; while Wordsworth in 'Tintern Abbey' wrote tentatively and beautifully of a 'sense sublime/Of something far more deeply interfused/Whose dwelling is in the light of the setting suns.' Both writers, at this most radical point in their lives, were trying to avoid an explicit reference to God, while retaining their intuitions of a 'spiritual' power -- whatever that might be-- both within man and within the natural universe. It was a balancing act, that, perhaps, could only be performed in poetry" (316).
Just gives you the warm fuzzies, huh? Imagine Wordsworth, at a most radical point in his life, grappling with the question of the divine and the origin of the soul, beautifully and tentatively making his way to his conclusions in a demonstration of balance, poise and grace that one could, perhaps, only imagine in the world of late romantic poetry.
Just... *tears up* Just give me a minute here... I think I'm gonna cry.
*takes a minute*
*gets over it*
Aaand moooooving on... one last one, just to make my point.
"Keats [in the Lamia poem] never lets his reader forget this traumatic birth, and what it costs the serpent to become a human being. His extraordinary invention, perhaps the most brilliant and thought-provoking of all his narrative poems, engages many of the moral issues surrounding Vitalism, the nature of life, and the notion of human consciousness. Above all, perhaps, it asks if the beautiful Lamia has a soul" (325)
That's just... beautiful. Heart-wrenching really. Such genius, such thought-provoking narrative... such engagement with moral issues and the really tough questions of like, consciousness, and the soul. Really, just... touching...
So yeah. the dudes. The dudes had it going on. So what about the lady folk? What were they up to? Well, Mary Shelley (thanks to the helpful helperness of her husband Percy Shelley, never forget the helpful helperness of her husband) was penning a little ditty known as Frankenstein. It's written that,
"Mary's brilliance was to see that these weighty and often alarming ideas [of science and psychology] could be given highly suggestive, imaginative and even playful form. In a sense, she would treat male concepts in a female style. She would develop what William Lawrence [the hero of the first part of the text and a scientist] had dismissed in his lectures as a 'hypothesis or fiction'" (327).
So yeah, ladies were writing, and they were writing in lady style. 'Cause lord knows that fiction (not poetry, never poetry) was the creation of what real scientist would call derisively a hypothesis-- the antithesis of real science, of real fact finding, of THINGS. (2)
Don't believe me? Well, in case you didn't get that female genius comes filtered through their ovaries, let's take a later example from the text...
"As her novel developed, Mary Shelley began to ask in what sense Frankenstein's new 'Creature' would be human. Would it have language, would it have a moral conscience, would it have human feelings and sympathies, would it have a soul? (It should not be forgotten that Mary Shelley was pregnant with her own baby in 1817.)... Here again it seems that [Percy] Shelley, who was attending medical consultations with Lawrence throughout spring 1817, and may sometimes have been accompanied by Mary, made an opportunity for all three of them to explore these specialist themes" (331) [author emphasis].
Oh yeah, ladies totally think with their bits and their babies. Now Keats, Keats had "extraordinary invention," and questions about the soul of a beautiful woman.(3) Shelley, well, she may have tagged along to some science debates with her dude and, well, she was preggers, so let's not go reading too much into her "female style" and her "highly suggestive" and even "playful" form. Nope, nothing to see here but some women talking about things their reproductive system thought up while in the presence of her husband and, I hope you caught this, the VERY SAME DUDE that called (derisively) what Mary wrote a "hypothesis or fiction."
Now, it is totally possible that I am misreading this text, but I think it highly suggestive (*snort*) that when the author here discusses the poetry of Wordsworth, he places the responsibility of the thought and imagination of the speaker firmly within the mind of Wordsworth. Meanwhile, in his discussion of Frankenstein, the author places the brilliant connections and allusions within the grasp of the characters themselves. It's like... they're like... totally real dude.
Exhibit A: "In a sense, both [Frankenstein and his creation] have lost their own souls. Drawing on the Miltonic imagery of Paradise Lost, both see themselves as fallen angels, doomed to eternal solitude and destruction" (333).
Yeah, 'cause, ya know. The characters have will. And action, and the ability to, like, write their own narrative, yo. Mary's lady bits probably hadn't read Milton, but man, her characters sure as hell did. Now Keats, man, he really knew how to explore some issues, to dive into narrative... and Mary, man, she's just lucky her characters were so well read, huh? Maybe they picked it up from her husband? After all, he was pretty well written, yeah? And Mary, well, she only wrote that one book... right?
Right?
I mean, wait. It's not like she wrote more than one novel huh? It's not like she wrote, like 14 novels or some such thing... (4) or she was big into multiple genres like poetry, biography, or any thing like that... that's crap...
Right?
Anyone?
Bueller?
Bueller?
Nobody? That's right, 'cuase she totally did. Hot damn, her ovaries got around... I mean, like, can you image all the work they had to do? All the work everyone around her had to do? All the dudes who had to facilitate her "specialist themes"? (5)
Damn. Guess I need to take my lady bits and go think somewhere else, who knows, maybe if I meets the right man, they'll write my dissertation for me!
Dr. Villainelle.
1 The Text at Hand is Richard Holmes The Age of Wonder, which isn't really all that bad of a text... if you excuse what I find to be a crap reading of Frankenstein and a frankly overblown approach to the whole era. Yeah, I like the poetry, too. It's awesome. But it's also problematic. And I know that you've got it out for William Lawerence, but if you title a chapter "Dr Frankenstein and the Soul," and then spend the whole time talking about how Mary Shelley got lucky that everyone around her (including her characters) were so damn smart, and all you really wanted to do was set up a punch line about how William Lawerence was the one who lost his soul (oh ha, ha, ha. yeah, you really got me there Richard), then title the damn thing "William Lawerence and the Miracle of the Female Reproductive System when Impregnated by Smart Men and their IDEAS." But I guess that doesn't have quite the same ring, now, huh?
2. Okay, okay, okay. Yes, I know, the novel gets quite a bit more problematic than this, and it's not right of me to make broad sweeping generalizations about the novel in the late Romantic/early Victorian time period... but my point is, does anyone else find it odd that THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT THIS CHAPTER DOES? The general trend of this chapter (can't talk about the whole book, sorry, author fail) is that men are POETS and SCIENTISTS and women write FICTION which is the antithesis of SCIENCE which is an awful lot like POETRY.
3. Okay, okay. I'm totally being a bit unfair. The beautiful woman was actually a bit of a snake and the whole thing is very beautiful and tragic... but don't you get the messed-up-edness of it all? That Keats is a genius when he talks about a beautiful woman/monster/thing, and Mary Shelley was unduly influenced by enveryone around her when she writes about an ugly man/creature? Yeah, maybe not, but it's my post and I DO what I WANT!
4. This website is pretty much crap, but it's better than Wiki, and it spend a bit more time talking about Mary than Percy, so I'll count it as a win.
5. That's totally what she said.
"Such questions [of the nature of the soul], traditionally the province of theologians and philosophers, were now increasingly considered by physicians, science writers, and those who studied what Coleridge called the science of the mind.' They had already been the subject of ingenious scientific experiments in Europe, which gave rise to increasingly fierce debates surrounding the work of Luigi Galvani in Italy and Franz Anton Mesmer in France" (314). (1)
Such strong statements, such ingenious scientific experiments being engaged in by men ACROSS THE CONTINENT!! with FIERCE DEBATES!! and POETRY!! They were like POETS! But SCIENTIFIC POETS! poets of the MIND!!
Don't see what I mean? How about this, you'll like this one...
"But for them [young poets] it still seemed more a psychological than a physiological question. Coleridge in his conversation poems was exploring the metaphysical notion of a 'one Life' that unified all living forms; while Wordsworth in 'Tintern Abbey' wrote tentatively and beautifully of a 'sense sublime/Of something far more deeply interfused/Whose dwelling is in the light of the setting suns.' Both writers, at this most radical point in their lives, were trying to avoid an explicit reference to God, while retaining their intuitions of a 'spiritual' power -- whatever that might be-- both within man and within the natural universe. It was a balancing act, that, perhaps, could only be performed in poetry" (316).
Just gives you the warm fuzzies, huh? Imagine Wordsworth, at a most radical point in his life, grappling with the question of the divine and the origin of the soul, beautifully and tentatively making his way to his conclusions in a demonstration of balance, poise and grace that one could, perhaps, only imagine in the world of late romantic poetry.
Just... *tears up* Just give me a minute here... I think I'm gonna cry.
*takes a minute*
*gets over it*
Aaand moooooving on... one last one, just to make my point.
"Keats [in the Lamia poem] never lets his reader forget this traumatic birth, and what it costs the serpent to become a human being. His extraordinary invention, perhaps the most brilliant and thought-provoking of all his narrative poems, engages many of the moral issues surrounding Vitalism, the nature of life, and the notion of human consciousness. Above all, perhaps, it asks if the beautiful Lamia has a soul" (325)
That's just... beautiful. Heart-wrenching really. Such genius, such thought-provoking narrative... such engagement with moral issues and the really tough questions of like, consciousness, and the soul. Really, just... touching...
So yeah. the dudes. The dudes had it going on. So what about the lady folk? What were they up to? Well, Mary Shelley (thanks to the helpful helperness of her husband Percy Shelley, never forget the helpful helperness of her husband) was penning a little ditty known as Frankenstein. It's written that,
"Mary's brilliance was to see that these weighty and often alarming ideas [of science and psychology] could be given highly suggestive, imaginative and even playful form. In a sense, she would treat male concepts in a female style. She would develop what William Lawrence [the hero of the first part of the text and a scientist] had dismissed in his lectures as a 'hypothesis or fiction'" (327).
So yeah, ladies were writing, and they were writing in lady style. 'Cause lord knows that fiction (not poetry, never poetry) was the creation of what real scientist would call derisively a hypothesis-- the antithesis of real science, of real fact finding, of THINGS. (2)
Don't believe me? Well, in case you didn't get that female genius comes filtered through their ovaries, let's take a later example from the text...
"As her novel developed, Mary Shelley began to ask in what sense Frankenstein's new 'Creature' would be human. Would it have language, would it have a moral conscience, would it have human feelings and sympathies, would it have a soul? (It should not be forgotten that Mary Shelley was pregnant with her own baby in 1817.)... Here again it seems that [Percy] Shelley, who was attending medical consultations with Lawrence throughout spring 1817, and may sometimes have been accompanied by Mary, made an opportunity for all three of them to explore these specialist themes" (331) [author emphasis].
Oh yeah, ladies totally think with their bits and their babies. Now Keats, Keats had "extraordinary invention," and questions about the soul of a beautiful woman.(3) Shelley, well, she may have tagged along to some science debates with her dude and, well, she was preggers, so let's not go reading too much into her "female style" and her "highly suggestive" and even "playful" form. Nope, nothing to see here but some women talking about things their reproductive system thought up while in the presence of her husband and, I hope you caught this, the VERY SAME DUDE that called (derisively) what Mary wrote a "hypothesis or fiction."
Now, it is totally possible that I am misreading this text, but I think it highly suggestive (*snort*) that when the author here discusses the poetry of Wordsworth, he places the responsibility of the thought and imagination of the speaker firmly within the mind of Wordsworth. Meanwhile, in his discussion of Frankenstein, the author places the brilliant connections and allusions within the grasp of the characters themselves. It's like... they're like... totally real dude.
Exhibit A: "In a sense, both [Frankenstein and his creation] have lost their own souls. Drawing on the Miltonic imagery of Paradise Lost, both see themselves as fallen angels, doomed to eternal solitude and destruction" (333).
Yeah, 'cause, ya know. The characters have will. And action, and the ability to, like, write their own narrative, yo. Mary's lady bits probably hadn't read Milton, but man, her characters sure as hell did. Now Keats, man, he really knew how to explore some issues, to dive into narrative... and Mary, man, she's just lucky her characters were so well read, huh? Maybe they picked it up from her husband? After all, he was pretty well written, yeah? And Mary, well, she only wrote that one book... right?
Right?
I mean, wait. It's not like she wrote more than one novel huh? It's not like she wrote, like 14 novels or some such thing... (4) or she was big into multiple genres like poetry, biography, or any thing like that... that's crap...
Right?
Anyone?
Bueller?
Bueller?
Nobody? That's right, 'cuase she totally did. Hot damn, her ovaries got around... I mean, like, can you image all the work they had to do? All the work everyone around her had to do? All the dudes who had to facilitate her "specialist themes"? (5)
Damn. Guess I need to take my lady bits and go think somewhere else, who knows, maybe if I meets the right man, they'll write my dissertation for me!
Dr. Villainelle.
1 The Text at Hand is Richard Holmes The Age of Wonder, which isn't really all that bad of a text... if you excuse what I find to be a crap reading of Frankenstein and a frankly overblown approach to the whole era. Yeah, I like the poetry, too. It's awesome. But it's also problematic. And I know that you've got it out for William Lawerence, but if you title a chapter "Dr Frankenstein and the Soul," and then spend the whole time talking about how Mary Shelley got lucky that everyone around her (including her characters) were so damn smart, and all you really wanted to do was set up a punch line about how William Lawerence was the one who lost his soul (oh ha, ha, ha. yeah, you really got me there Richard), then title the damn thing "William Lawerence and the Miracle of the Female Reproductive System when Impregnated by Smart Men and their IDEAS." But I guess that doesn't have quite the same ring, now, huh?
2. Okay, okay, okay. Yes, I know, the novel gets quite a bit more problematic than this, and it's not right of me to make broad sweeping generalizations about the novel in the late Romantic/early Victorian time period... but my point is, does anyone else find it odd that THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT THIS CHAPTER DOES? The general trend of this chapter (can't talk about the whole book, sorry, author fail) is that men are POETS and SCIENTISTS and women write FICTION which is the antithesis of SCIENCE which is an awful lot like POETRY.
3. Okay, okay. I'm totally being a bit unfair. The beautiful woman was actually a bit of a snake and the whole thing is very beautiful and tragic... but don't you get the messed-up-edness of it all? That Keats is a genius when he talks about a beautiful woman/monster/thing, and Mary Shelley was unduly influenced by enveryone around her when she writes about an ugly man/creature? Yeah, maybe not, but it's my post and I DO what I WANT!
4. This website is pretty much crap, but it's better than Wiki, and it spend a bit more time talking about Mary than Percy, so I'll count it as a win.
5. That's totally what she said.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Violence Against Women is HILARIOUS!
Tis the season! As I was (poorly) wrapping some Christmas presents, I had the TV on in the background. Since I don't have cable, the two tv channels available to me are Fox and NBC. Double yay. NBC's multi award winning show 30-Rock was on, and I wasn't really paying attention, because I find Tina Fey's single-women over 30 are pathetic act annoying, but then, to my delight, I saw that one of the characters, played by Tracy Morgan, was screening a documentary at a Women's Shelter on x-mas, to maintain a "serious" image to help his chances at winning a Golden Globe.
What followed was comedic genius! Tracy's character walks into a room full of hollow-eyed, frightened looking women, and says "Listen up, a Man is speaking" and then goes on to say that his film will mirror their own sad lives. OH HO HO HO! My sides, they burst with the hilarity! Wait, why aren't you laughing? Maybe you don't get that this is a satire? You see, the women are in the shelter probably because they've been abused, most likely by their male partners (and some of them have their small female children with them as well) and so when Tracy's character says what he does, he's poking fun at the fact that not listening to men is what got them there in the first place! And their lives...hahaha, so sad! It's funny because it's true!! He's insensitive!!
Seriously, why aren't you laughing? God, you feminists have no sense of humor.
This makes me absolutely sick. I'm going to opt for the radio from now on, and I'm also planning on sending a letter to NBC about this. They won't give a shit, but perhaps if enough people complain, they'll feel the sting of those lost advertising dollars.
What followed was comedic genius! Tracy's character walks into a room full of hollow-eyed, frightened looking women, and says "Listen up, a Man is speaking" and then goes on to say that his film will mirror their own sad lives. OH HO HO HO! My sides, they burst with the hilarity! Wait, why aren't you laughing? Maybe you don't get that this is a satire? You see, the women are in the shelter probably because they've been abused, most likely by their male partners (and some of them have their small female children with them as well) and so when Tracy's character says what he does, he's poking fun at the fact that not listening to men is what got them there in the first place! And their lives...hahaha, so sad! It's funny because it's true!! He's insensitive!!
Seriously, why aren't you laughing? God, you feminists have no sense of humor.
This makes me absolutely sick. I'm going to opt for the radio from now on, and I'm also planning on sending a letter to NBC about this. They won't give a shit, but perhaps if enough people complain, they'll feel the sting of those lost advertising dollars.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Women in Space
I know: it seems like Dr. Villanelle should be writing this post. However, I speak not of science fiction space for this particular post, but rather, the vast 3-dimensional realm we material beings inhabit.
Women are socialized to take up as little space as possible, whereas men are socialized to take up as much space as possible. When occupying the same space, such as on a sidewalk, women are expected, perhaps unconsciously, to defer to men. If you're a woman (cis-gendered or otherwise), try this experiment: when walking down a shared space, and a man or group of men is heading toward you, don't get out of their way. Nine out of ten times you will enjoy a shoulder slammed into your shoulder, followed by a dirty look. I and many of my friends have tried this, and as much as the more chivalric (snort) sex would have you believe, they are not going to demur to your lady-like presence. Exhibit B: Mansitting
This male ownership of space has been haunting me at the gym lately. I tend to go to the gym later at night when it's less crowded. The cardio equipment is separated into two rooms: one with two rows of treadmills--10 in each row, and another room with elliptical machines--8 in each row. I was using an elliptical machine a few weeks ago, and was the only one using one until a middle-aged man came up and, despite the 14 other machines available, hopped up next to me and started gawking over at the readout on my machine, so he could see, I don't know, if he was going faster, or at a higher crossramp or whatever. I was annoyed, and glared at him, and finally had to drape a towel over my panel so he'd stop staring over. A few minutes later, another younger man showed up, chose the machine on the other side of me, and tried to gawk over at my panel, only to be thwarted by my towel. This sort of thing has continued to happen every time I've gone to the gym since to use the cardio equipment.
GO THE FUCK AWAY.
Seriously! I hear my male friends joke all the time about leaving a space between urinals, or not sitting next to each other at the movies (wouldn't want someone to think you were gay, right?) so why the hell is it okay to not only crowd my space, but also to assess my workout? I wanted to deck a guy who came over when I was using some weight-lifting equipment, and told me "not to be too macho about it." Thanks for your uninvited and uninformed feedback, sir--you should really be a personal trainer, no, really.
So here's the part where I say that not all men are alike, and of course there are men who respect women's space. If you could kindly inform your "bro's" about this, however, I know I'd be grateful. (I give a nod to Eric, the admin of the above posted facebook group).
However, I'm so weary of the solution to this problem being "separate space for women". Segregation is never a good answer, though I've found myself drawn to the "women's section" of my gym, which of course has infinitely shoddier equipment. Separate but equal is bullshit. How about plain ol equality instead?
Women are socialized to take up as little space as possible, whereas men are socialized to take up as much space as possible. When occupying the same space, such as on a sidewalk, women are expected, perhaps unconsciously, to defer to men. If you're a woman (cis-gendered or otherwise), try this experiment: when walking down a shared space, and a man or group of men is heading toward you, don't get out of their way. Nine out of ten times you will enjoy a shoulder slammed into your shoulder, followed by a dirty look. I and many of my friends have tried this, and as much as the more chivalric (snort) sex would have you believe, they are not going to demur to your lady-like presence. Exhibit B: Mansitting
This male ownership of space has been haunting me at the gym lately. I tend to go to the gym later at night when it's less crowded. The cardio equipment is separated into two rooms: one with two rows of treadmills--10 in each row, and another room with elliptical machines--8 in each row. I was using an elliptical machine a few weeks ago, and was the only one using one until a middle-aged man came up and, despite the 14 other machines available, hopped up next to me and started gawking over at the readout on my machine, so he could see, I don't know, if he was going faster, or at a higher crossramp or whatever. I was annoyed, and glared at him, and finally had to drape a towel over my panel so he'd stop staring over. A few minutes later, another younger man showed up, chose the machine on the other side of me, and tried to gawk over at my panel, only to be thwarted by my towel. This sort of thing has continued to happen every time I've gone to the gym since to use the cardio equipment.
GO THE FUCK AWAY.
Seriously! I hear my male friends joke all the time about leaving a space between urinals, or not sitting next to each other at the movies (wouldn't want someone to think you were gay, right?) so why the hell is it okay to not only crowd my space, but also to assess my workout? I wanted to deck a guy who came over when I was using some weight-lifting equipment, and told me "not to be too macho about it." Thanks for your uninvited and uninformed feedback, sir--you should really be a personal trainer, no, really.
So here's the part where I say that not all men are alike, and of course there are men who respect women's space. If you could kindly inform your "bro's" about this, however, I know I'd be grateful. (I give a nod to Eric, the admin of the above posted facebook group).
However, I'm so weary of the solution to this problem being "separate space for women". Segregation is never a good answer, though I've found myself drawn to the "women's section" of my gym, which of course has infinitely shoddier equipment. Separate but equal is bullshit. How about plain ol equality instead?
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
A Question for the Ages
What do we think, ladies: do bartenders -- consciously or otherwise -- give stronger drinks to attractive women to liven up a place? I'm not suggesting it's a widespread conspiracy, but it seems strangely reasonable to endrunken part of the clientele to attract customers, and create the impression that the place is really fun, thereby encouraging more drink-buying.
Mr. Lady PerriWhig stated that this is a well-known strategy, although he did not go so far as to attribute it as the cause of my recent...experience. I will say, however, those were some strong G&T's.
It goes without saying, I think, that if this is true, it borders on evil. I suppose it serves women/me right, though: nice girls don't go to bars and get shit-faced.
Mr. Lady PerriWhig stated that this is a well-known strategy, although he did not go so far as to attribute it as the cause of my recent...experience. I will say, however, those were some strong G&T's.
It goes without saying, I think, that if this is true, it borders on evil. I suppose it serves women/me right, though: nice girls don't go to bars and get shit-faced.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Honk If You Love Abortion!
Seen, while walking down a busy, pedestrian-heavy city street: A shoddy red pick up truck with the sidewalls of the truck bed replaced by cheap wood panels which read "Had an Abortion? Jesus will forgive you!"
Great! Abortions for everyone! Get in line, ladies! As we all know, feminists have an abortion quota which must be reached before the onset of menopause, otherwise you get kicked outta da club.
Oh, hold up--does this mean Jesus will only forgive abortions done in the back of that truck? Will the (male) driver cover the cost since many insurance companies won't? Will he get a life and stop wasting his time harassing people who'd like to have a say over what happens to their body?
My kingdom for a world free from invasive religious propaganda with designs on controlling the female body...
Great! Abortions for everyone! Get in line, ladies! As we all know, feminists have an abortion quota which must be reached before the onset of menopause, otherwise you get kicked outta da club.
Oh, hold up--does this mean Jesus will only forgive abortions done in the back of that truck? Will the (male) driver cover the cost since many insurance companies won't? Will he get a life and stop wasting his time harassing people who'd like to have a say over what happens to their body?
My kingdom for a world free from invasive religious propaganda with designs on controlling the female body...
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
I Now Pronounce you Wife and Babies
I'm not Catholic, but many of my family members and friends are, so I've been to quite a few Catholic ceremonies. Most recently, I attended the wedding of a friend, an amazing, generous woman who is kind, but with just a dab of wickedness to make her real, and really hilarious. If you had attended her wedding, however, you would've discovered nothing about her (or her partner), because the Priest was far too obsessed with pushing the baby agenda to acknowledge her beyond her ability to be a vessel for Jesus, much like the much beloved 'Virgin' Mary. Another of my friends who was married in the Catholic church informed me that there isn't a set of vows you can choose from which omit the necessity of producing children to raise in the Catholic faith. As I listened to the Priest inform my friend that the next time she'd be in the church, it'd be to baptize her children, all 12 of them (problem: my friend is 31, and unless there is some IVF intervention, which the church condemns, she's probably not going to make it up to 12 babies) I just felt that continuing disappointment in the Catholic Church's willful disregard for the rights, health and sovereignty of women, and really humans in general.
I am not someone who is interested in being part of organized religion, but why is it that couples who choose to remain childless can't be considered "good" Catholics? Having children is something to be taken very seriously, and why bring babies into this world if you know you won't have the emotional, physical or monetary capabilities to provide for them? It should be as okay to not want kids as it is to want kids. Related, if a couple is unable to have children, how hypocritical is it of the church to condemn people who would go to scientific means to procure this 'blessing'? It's interesting (and shitty) how the church picks and chooses which medical interventions are acceptable (blood transfusions, yes, birth control, no. Gametes are super sacred cells, Erythrocytes, not so sacred).
At the wedding reception, the people at my table joked about how the Priest was seriously pushing the 'have kids' agenda, and probably one of the highlights was when my sister yelled 'MAKE BABIES FOR JESUS' to another couple friend of ours as we departed. However, despite the inherent joy at mocking ridiculously antiquated notions, it is disheartening that such notions are still being touted as the only way to 'salvation', whatever that means. If the only way a church can gain membership is through an forced breeding program, then perhaps it's time for said church to reevaluate its tenants and goals.
I am not someone who is interested in being part of organized religion, but why is it that couples who choose to remain childless can't be considered "good" Catholics? Having children is something to be taken very seriously, and why bring babies into this world if you know you won't have the emotional, physical or monetary capabilities to provide for them? It should be as okay to not want kids as it is to want kids. Related, if a couple is unable to have children, how hypocritical is it of the church to condemn people who would go to scientific means to procure this 'blessing'? It's interesting (and shitty) how the church picks and chooses which medical interventions are acceptable (blood transfusions, yes, birth control, no. Gametes are super sacred cells, Erythrocytes, not so sacred).
At the wedding reception, the people at my table joked about how the Priest was seriously pushing the 'have kids' agenda, and probably one of the highlights was when my sister yelled 'MAKE BABIES FOR JESUS' to another couple friend of ours as we departed. However, despite the inherent joy at mocking ridiculously antiquated notions, it is disheartening that such notions are still being touted as the only way to 'salvation', whatever that means. If the only way a church can gain membership is through an forced breeding program, then perhaps it's time for said church to reevaluate its tenants and goals.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Womance All-Call!! Step right up for a bit of UltraViolence
So, while I sit here and slowly write my response to Lady Pistil's most excellent questions about my last post and try and sort through my emotional response to visiting LA this past weekend, I thought that I would ask a question that has been bugging me for quite a while.
Specifically, when is violence the answer?
I mean, we've all been told a thousand times to turn the other cheek, take a deep breath and be the bigger person, but I want to know about the moment that all that falls away and all that is left is the requirement for action... messy, violent, icky action... with chainsaws...*
So yeah, where do you draw the line? And I'm not just talking the big stuff here, I want to know it all. We all have those moments, those little spaces in time, in which the world whites out and we come-to with bruises on our knuckles... Whether it's in front of your computer incandescent with fury as a pre-teen shouts "TITS or GTFO!" or trying to get the goddamned coffee pot to work in the morning, I want to know what it takes to get you take that final step...
To start things off, I've put a random list of five (Lord knows there are more, and their importance tends to vary according to their proximity) for your edification. Please feel free to respond at will, as I'm looking forward to what you have to add.
DrV
THE LIST (for now):
1. Spiders. (no explanation necessary).
2. I have a problem with people who hit their girlfriends... and people who don't take 'no' for an answer... like, a serious problem... like... chainsaws... yeah... with fire.
3. Malfunctioning electronics. Like the DVD player, my alarm clock... or the heater in my classroom.
4. You know that guy? The one at the club? You know, the one whose "cell phone" has been digging in your back for the past half hour? The one who won't leave you alone, or take no for an answer? Yeah. Him.
5. Otters. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know... "But Doctor, otters are so cuuuuttte!!" Yeah, well, so were those little lizards in Jurassic Park, and we all know how that ended, now don't we??
*WARNIG: RANT-Y FOOTNOTE AHOY!! Now, to be sure, this probably has more than a little to do with the fact that I'm currently riding the downdraft of a truly righteous rage spiral, but it also has to do with my general impatience with the way that women and queers are told to wait patiently, kill 'em with kindness, and work through the rage until you find your way to a higher state of being. The way that violence is imbricated within modern masculinity, in a way that is traumatic for boys and men as well as the people around them, and the way that passivity and patience are said to be benchmarks of femininity. I just get so frustrated waiting for a future in which everything will be better... must we always be martyrs to a time that may not contain us? Why must we always sacrifice for children who we do not know and will not love? I know that violence isn't the answer, but I'm not sure that it isn't the answer...
Specifically, when is violence the answer?
I mean, we've all been told a thousand times to turn the other cheek, take a deep breath and be the bigger person, but I want to know about the moment that all that falls away and all that is left is the requirement for action... messy, violent, icky action... with chainsaws...*
So yeah, where do you draw the line? And I'm not just talking the big stuff here, I want to know it all. We all have those moments, those little spaces in time, in which the world whites out and we come-to with bruises on our knuckles... Whether it's in front of your computer incandescent with fury as a pre-teen shouts "TITS or GTFO!" or trying to get the goddamned coffee pot to work in the morning, I want to know what it takes to get you take that final step...
To start things off, I've put a random list of five (Lord knows there are more, and their importance tends to vary according to their proximity) for your edification. Please feel free to respond at will, as I'm looking forward to what you have to add.
DrV
THE LIST (for now):
1. Spiders. (no explanation necessary).
2. I have a problem with people who hit their girlfriends... and people who don't take 'no' for an answer... like, a serious problem... like... chainsaws... yeah... with fire.
3. Malfunctioning electronics. Like the DVD player, my alarm clock... or the heater in my classroom.
4. You know that guy? The one at the club? You know, the one whose "cell phone" has been digging in your back for the past half hour? The one who won't leave you alone, or take no for an answer? Yeah. Him.
5. Otters. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know... "But Doctor, otters are so cuuuuttte!!" Yeah, well, so were those little lizards in Jurassic Park, and we all know how that ended, now don't we??
*WARNIG: RANT-Y FOOTNOTE AHOY!! Now, to be sure, this probably has more than a little to do with the fact that I'm currently riding the downdraft of a truly righteous rage spiral, but it also has to do with my general impatience with the way that women and queers are told to wait patiently, kill 'em with kindness, and work through the rage until you find your way to a higher state of being. The way that violence is imbricated within modern masculinity, in a way that is traumatic for boys and men as well as the people around them, and the way that passivity and patience are said to be benchmarks of femininity. I just get so frustrated waiting for a future in which everything will be better... must we always be martyrs to a time that may not contain us? Why must we always sacrifice for children who we do not know and will not love? I know that violence isn't the answer, but I'm not sure that it isn't the answer...
Look at all the literary ladies!
The National Book Foundation has named their "5 Under 35" fiction writers for this year. And guess what? 4 of them are ladies!
Savor the lady pride.
Because when they make another literary list, it will be 1,000 white dudes and that perennial two-fer token, Toni Morrison.
Savor the lady pride.
Because when they make another literary list, it will be 1,000 white dudes and that perennial two-fer token, Toni Morrison.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Calling All Bitchez!
So.
Today, at the cafe (oh, dear, it's always a cafe these days, with the dissertating) I saw that the prized bay window niche was free for my taking and I took it. Because who doesn't want a 180-degree view of the world at large while taking one's forced march down the specialized and over-specific?
But, what I didn't realize is how much this particular cafe was a destination for the business meeting (earphones in, ambient noise out, normally) and that this particular window niche is a total commitment, should two or three people take the neighboring table and block all the few narrow points of egress otherwise available.
The result was that in my six hours writing about interiority and botany in the Romantic era, I was treated to not one but three consecutive long business meetings for exit-blocking neighbors. One of which began with a debate over the relative merits of kale vs. dandelion greens as a salad component, and turned out to be a catering contract where there were a lot of high-flown opinions and misplaced passions about vegetables (vegetables are fine and wonderful in their supporting role, but nobody goes home talking about the broccoli rabe, dammit). Another of which turned out to be a gossip session about the wedding plans of a coworker. I don't know whether my sympathies are more repulsed by materialist bridezillas or their backstabbing besties. But either way, I always make a note to fill my gratitude journal with effusive thanks for the fact that my friends all either came to me married or are not the marrying kind.
Conclusion: Oh shut up and leave so I can squeeze out for a cigarette without making a big production of your or my "agreeableness" in accommodating my fat ass.
But the business meeting between the two extremely "genteel" men really perked up my ears. For one, they were talking finance, which one does not see so often in my particular hipster neighborhood. I'm used to only seeing such economically-advantaged in their Harvard B-School ass-hat stomping grounds, where they feel ordering Jack neat is the very most leading edge of taste and it's OK to holler at obviously poor strangers (me) that they couldn't leverage their entitlement into untold and unearned millions (or billions). So two middle-aged gay boys talking about finance in the most civilized of terms was... novel.
But it was the raison d'etre for the meeting that really got me.
One financier had summoned the other for advice on how to deal with a problem character who was not "taking the hint" from his performance reviews. By not taking the hint I mean, he was told directly what the problem was, and not only was he defensive in taking criticism from his boss, he had no problem disregarding the recommendations entirely. And saying so, in front of his coworkers.
The problem: he was "ageist" and "too focused on beauty" of his clientele and coworkers and was apparently alienating everybody--the paying everybodies included--despite being "otherwise very talented." And they both talked about how offering mild correction would be a benefit to all, including his own personal growth. There was much talk about his personal growth.
Let me now confess that I will be doing some serious reading between the lines. I am imagining some jack-off tool who thinks that all value in women begins and ends tits and ass and is extremely vocal about it. I say this because there seems to be some serious overlap between dudely bros who think "ugly" women in any context are an insurmountable affront to their nuts and berries and dudely bros who think they are entitled to be the financial masters of the universe. If you don't believe me, recall the existence of Wall Street, and its present pathetic sequel (the latter of which appears to be some creepy Oedipal yet homosocial wrangling over the right to money and daughterly pussy, at least based on the trailer). Also, just trust me. They are all over this town. And it's not like this is Manhattan, you know? Beyond the ladies, I would further guess that anybody who strayed farther from his dudely world would present an existential crisis, should he or she or ze make his or her or hir existence unignorable.
So two things:
(1) What talent in finance--that profession in which driving the entire country into the effin' ground is rewarded with enough government cheese to bloat the bonus checks to historical record size the very next year for the very same people--is so effin' rare that someone can roam the cubicles undercutting the boss's authori-tay and said boss to have to justify an almost/not-quite smack down on the grounds of Oprah-tastic personal growth? You're a couple of gay dudes--you know what balls are. Find them--use them--silverback that poo-flingin' monkey into his place. Or replace him. They are a dime a dozen here and everywhere: and in the words of the immortal Beyonce, he shouldn't ever for a second get to thinking he's irreplaceable (for all his personal convictions of omnipotence).
(2) Because: I am quite certain that dude is spreading his bile among all his old, gay, lady, fat, uggos clientele and coworkers--to their daily, exquisite torture. And I am quite certain that flat out, pure principles first, nobody deserves this. And I am equally quite certain that no amount of talent can counteract the horror of finding, that when wanting to hand over some large sum of money to some probably not-quite well-known company, you are not taken seriously because you are old, gay, female, fat, or otherwise aesthetically tool-penis deflating. And then you don't want to hand over your money anymore. Pure principle aside, bad business.
So far, so obvious.
But, it needs to be stated.
For one, if you are in a position of power of any kind, don't put up with the kind of behavior that always dragged you down. Don't apologize. Be angry. It's OK to be angry, and it's OK to fire somebody, who, frankly, is a legal liability. You're the boss in a bad economy and untapped talent abounds--use it for the forces of good and hire someone who at least can swallow their vile hatred well enough to treat people with basic decency. What makes you miserable surely makes others miserable as well.
But, I know the motivation. I teach at a fancy-pants school. Everybody here thinks their shit don't stink, and relies on every cheap trick in the book to make me feel like it's my fault I smell an atrocious smell and not their gassy asses. For instance, women are not supposed to be bitchy--and criticism and rigorous standards are so bitchy. I'm sure same and/or similar standards apply to people who don't fit the white/straight/dudebro/able-bodied/young prescription. But at the end of the day, I'm in charge (sort of) and never have socialize with these sorts in actual fact--I can be the bitch, and it doesn't matter to me. But it does matter for those students who actually try and actually succeed, and to those who want to be in a class sans-asshattery. Draw conclusions about your underlings. If you wouldn't invite him to meet your partner over drinks, you need not worry about sacrificing your ethics to appearing agreeable.
At a certain point, there comes a day when, having boot-strapped, ass-kissed, and cock-sucked your way into a position of authority, you, the non-white/straight/dudebro/able-bodied/young person can actually use it.
Oh, please use it, for the little people who have no power and have to take the lashings of dudebro asshattery with patience and resigned wisdom! Don't lapse into uncertain apologia and euphemism! Don't be so effin' agreeable!
Don't excuse! Don't ameliorate! Obliterate!
[There are pom-poms in my imagination at this point.]
Today, at the cafe (oh, dear, it's always a cafe these days, with the dissertating) I saw that the prized bay window niche was free for my taking and I took it. Because who doesn't want a 180-degree view of the world at large while taking one's forced march down the specialized and over-specific?
But, what I didn't realize is how much this particular cafe was a destination for the business meeting (earphones in, ambient noise out, normally) and that this particular window niche is a total commitment, should two or three people take the neighboring table and block all the few narrow points of egress otherwise available.
The result was that in my six hours writing about interiority and botany in the Romantic era, I was treated to not one but three consecutive long business meetings for exit-blocking neighbors. One of which began with a debate over the relative merits of kale vs. dandelion greens as a salad component, and turned out to be a catering contract where there were a lot of high-flown opinions and misplaced passions about vegetables (vegetables are fine and wonderful in their supporting role, but nobody goes home talking about the broccoli rabe, dammit). Another of which turned out to be a gossip session about the wedding plans of a coworker. I don't know whether my sympathies are more repulsed by materialist bridezillas or their backstabbing besties. But either way, I always make a note to fill my gratitude journal with effusive thanks for the fact that my friends all either came to me married or are not the marrying kind.
Conclusion: Oh shut up and leave so I can squeeze out for a cigarette without making a big production of your or my "agreeableness" in accommodating my fat ass.
But the business meeting between the two extremely "genteel" men really perked up my ears. For one, they were talking finance, which one does not see so often in my particular hipster neighborhood. I'm used to only seeing such economically-advantaged in their Harvard B-School ass-hat stomping grounds, where they feel ordering Jack neat is the very most leading edge of taste and it's OK to holler at obviously poor strangers (me) that they couldn't leverage their entitlement into untold and unearned millions (or billions). So two middle-aged gay boys talking about finance in the most civilized of terms was... novel.
But it was the raison d'etre for the meeting that really got me.
One financier had summoned the other for advice on how to deal with a problem character who was not "taking the hint" from his performance reviews. By not taking the hint I mean, he was told directly what the problem was, and not only was he defensive in taking criticism from his boss, he had no problem disregarding the recommendations entirely. And saying so, in front of his coworkers.
The problem: he was "ageist" and "too focused on beauty" of his clientele and coworkers and was apparently alienating everybody--the paying everybodies included--despite being "otherwise very talented." And they both talked about how offering mild correction would be a benefit to all, including his own personal growth. There was much talk about his personal growth.
Let me now confess that I will be doing some serious reading between the lines. I am imagining some jack-off tool who thinks that all value in women begins and ends tits and ass and is extremely vocal about it. I say this because there seems to be some serious overlap between dudely bros who think "ugly" women in any context are an insurmountable affront to their nuts and berries and dudely bros who think they are entitled to be the financial masters of the universe. If you don't believe me, recall the existence of Wall Street, and its present pathetic sequel (the latter of which appears to be some creepy Oedipal yet homosocial wrangling over the right to money and daughterly pussy, at least based on the trailer). Also, just trust me. They are all over this town. And it's not like this is Manhattan, you know? Beyond the ladies, I would further guess that anybody who strayed farther from his dudely world would present an existential crisis, should he or she or ze make his or her or hir existence unignorable.
So two things:
(1) What talent in finance--that profession in which driving the entire country into the effin' ground is rewarded with enough government cheese to bloat the bonus checks to historical record size the very next year for the very same people--is so effin' rare that someone can roam the cubicles undercutting the boss's authori-tay and said boss to have to justify an almost/not-quite smack down on the grounds of Oprah-tastic personal growth? You're a couple of gay dudes--you know what balls are. Find them--use them--silverback that poo-flingin' monkey into his place. Or replace him. They are a dime a dozen here and everywhere: and in the words of the immortal Beyonce, he shouldn't ever for a second get to thinking he's irreplaceable (for all his personal convictions of omnipotence).
(2) Because: I am quite certain that dude is spreading his bile among all his old, gay, lady, fat, uggos clientele and coworkers--to their daily, exquisite torture. And I am quite certain that flat out, pure principles first, nobody deserves this. And I am equally quite certain that no amount of talent can counteract the horror of finding, that when wanting to hand over some large sum of money to some probably not-quite well-known company, you are not taken seriously because you are old, gay, female, fat, or otherwise aesthetically tool-penis deflating. And then you don't want to hand over your money anymore. Pure principle aside, bad business.
So far, so obvious.
But, it needs to be stated.
For one, if you are in a position of power of any kind, don't put up with the kind of behavior that always dragged you down. Don't apologize. Be angry. It's OK to be angry, and it's OK to fire somebody, who, frankly, is a legal liability. You're the boss in a bad economy and untapped talent abounds--use it for the forces of good and hire someone who at least can swallow their vile hatred well enough to treat people with basic decency. What makes you miserable surely makes others miserable as well.
But, I know the motivation. I teach at a fancy-pants school. Everybody here thinks their shit don't stink, and relies on every cheap trick in the book to make me feel like it's my fault I smell an atrocious smell and not their gassy asses. For instance, women are not supposed to be bitchy--and criticism and rigorous standards are so bitchy. I'm sure same and/or similar standards apply to people who don't fit the white/straight/dudebro/able-bodied/young prescription. But at the end of the day, I'm in charge (sort of) and never have socialize with these sorts in actual fact--I can be the bitch, and it doesn't matter to me. But it does matter for those students who actually try and actually succeed, and to those who want to be in a class sans-asshattery. Draw conclusions about your underlings. If you wouldn't invite him to meet your partner over drinks, you need not worry about sacrificing your ethics to appearing agreeable.
At a certain point, there comes a day when, having boot-strapped, ass-kissed, and cock-sucked your way into a position of authority, you, the non-white/straight/dudebro/able-bodied/young person can actually use it.
Oh, please use it, for the little people who have no power and have to take the lashings of dudebro asshattery with patience and resigned wisdom! Don't lapse into uncertain apologia and euphemism! Don't be so effin' agreeable!
Don't excuse! Don't ameliorate! Obliterate!
[There are pom-poms in my imagination at this point.]
Monday, September 27, 2010
Cultural Cancer
I was driving with my Womance ladies the other day, and I saw a bumper sticker that said “Save the Ta-Tas”. This is one in a series of like advertisements geared towards raising awareness about Breast Cancer, and potentially raising funds for a cure. And the whole thing pisses me off. What’s so offensive about a pink shirt that says “Save the Boobies,” if the end result is money for cancer research? Namely, because once again women’s health issues are being sexualized, and a whole person reduced just to her breasts. Why not save the woman—the person? Besides, whose “boobies” are we supposed to be saving, anyway? Young-ish white women? What if those cancer afflicted “boobies” belong to an African-American grandmother? (And breast cancer is the most common cancer diagnosis for African-American women). Since hers won’t conform to what our culture idealizes in breasts (i.e. youth, firmness, whiteness etc) are they not worth saving? When are we as a society going to value women as people, and not just as an assembly of sexualized body parts?
Of course, such a thing doesn’t exist for men, or if they do, they’re far less prevalent than the “save the ta-tas” bullshit. I have yet to see a “save the nuts” bumper sticker (and we can’t use proper names for said body parts, we have to use cutesy nicknames, even further reducing the gravity of this disease). That’s because men’s health issues are the default health issues—the norm, and they’re certainly not sexualized in a mass campaign. It’s also important to note that this campaign isn’t solely designed for getting men involved in a women’s health issue (though that certainly is at play, horrifyingly enough)—for every man I’ve seen wearing a “save the boobies” shirt, I’ve seen two young women wearing one, because young women are also being socialized into believing that their breasts are what’s important.
I don’t know too many people who haven’t had their lives impacted by cancer. I’ve lost three of my four grandparents to this voracious disease, and I participate in the Relay for Life every year, because cancer is going to keep killing people—people, not breasts.
Of course, such a thing doesn’t exist for men, or if they do, they’re far less prevalent than the “save the ta-tas” bullshit. I have yet to see a “save the nuts” bumper sticker (and we can’t use proper names for said body parts, we have to use cutesy nicknames, even further reducing the gravity of this disease). That’s because men’s health issues are the default health issues—the norm, and they’re certainly not sexualized in a mass campaign. It’s also important to note that this campaign isn’t solely designed for getting men involved in a women’s health issue (though that certainly is at play, horrifyingly enough)—for every man I’ve seen wearing a “save the boobies” shirt, I’ve seen two young women wearing one, because young women are also being socialized into believing that their breasts are what’s important.
I don’t know too many people who haven’t had their lives impacted by cancer. I’ve lost three of my four grandparents to this voracious disease, and I participate in the Relay for Life every year, because cancer is going to keep killing people—people, not breasts.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Daily Dialogue: Coming to God
Kitty Carney: So, did you hear about that guy who got caught in the campus chapel... ahem... exposing himself?
Lily Pistil: Maybe he's from the dorms. Maybe he just needed a quiet place to masturbate.
Lady Perriwhig: Aren't those chapels mostly glass?
All: Ew!
Kitty Carney: Well, you know what they say, though: People in glass houses shouldn't stroke bones.
Lily Pistil: Maybe he's from the dorms. Maybe he just needed a quiet place to masturbate.
Lady Perriwhig: Aren't those chapels mostly glass?
All: Ew!
Kitty Carney: Well, you know what they say, though: People in glass houses shouldn't stroke bones.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
A long winded introduction to the world of ugly heroes...
So I'm sitting here, one in the morning, reeling from a combination of cold medicine, coffee (what?) and THE PLAGUE. I should be asleep, but I can't breathe, and tomorrow I have to teach a room full of undergrads the wonders of queer theory when most of them think that feminism is a bad word.
And of course, in response to all this, I'm sitting in front of my computer working on my comic book database... and that's when it hits me...
I have some incredibly ugly superheroes in my collection.
And I don't just mean that literally, though I kinda do.
You see, I'm a fan of Warren Ellis. You know, the guy who did The Authority, Transmetropolitan, and a little ditty known as Hellblazer? And one thing about Ellis, he's dynamic, but he's very rarely pretty. No clean lines, no CGI shine, and when folks get hit-- it gets ugly.
And I got to wondering, why? Why be drawn to a style that's so grotesque? If comic books are supposed to represent abstracted forms ready to read oneself into, imaginative landscapes the reader enters into, then what's up with the visual mess that makes up 80% of my collection?* And dude, what's up with the violence? I mean, yeah, everyone gets my love of The Authority if only for the fact that it includes ass-kicking-gay-superheroes-who-ADOPT-A-FREAKING-BABY, but it's so flipping violent. And messy. And morally problematic.
I mean, in the first volume, Apollo gets raped, Midnighter (his boyfriend) responds with unholy-medieval-jackhammer-O-DOOM violence, and they symbolically slaughter Thor, Captain America and the rest of the Avengers and then burn them in a pile.
And dude, that's like... only volume one.
So what's up? Is my imaginative landscape just jacked, or is there something more going on here?
And here it is, here is what I came up with.
I don't trust pretty people.
Now, I have some totally smokin' friends, and this has nothing to do with that. No, this has more to do with the idea of the heroic and everything we're told to believe about it. You know how it goes, right? Superman comes to save the day. He swoops down, scoops up some little kid and flies away, illuminated in the flash of a hundred cameras?**
And we're supposed to be okay with that. We're supposed to love that. We're supposed to want to be that. We associate beauty with goodness, certain colors with heroism, certain bodies with moral superiority... and we see the same in the lucky few to be rescued.
But where are all the bodies in all this? The mess? The bad nights and the heroes who don't look like they're one 'roid rage away from a nasty fall from grace?
And dude, what's with all the neon tights??
And Ellis, well, he won't let you take the easy way out. You don't get to sit back and say, "Yeah, it's totally okay that the only people who ever get rescued are busloads of beautiful children." You're not handed the easy answers, color coded and neatly labeled "HERO" so that all you have to do is point to the right color palate and get rewarded for finding the good guy. **
Ugly art makes you work for it, makes you dig in and think about it. And I know, I know, this isn't exactly a new argument and, honestly, it's one that I normally hate. But with comics, and these grotesque heroes, it just works.
Take Midnighter and Apollo as our uneasy (and at times, ugly) heroes. We love them, but it's not always fun and it's not always easy to call their actions 'heroic.' While I'll get more into the specific issue about the "Alleged Rape of Apollo" (which is an... illuminating... debate) later, Midnighter's revenge is uncomfortable even as we justify it. It makes revenge into something that you have to deal with. This isn't Bruce Wayne getting off because he finally caught the dude who killed his folks, it's not even Hamlet wandering around debating ethics. It's just... hard to process, hard to look at, difficult to deal with.
Heroes should push us to be better people, to think harder about our decisions and actually take into account the horrific ramifications of, say, trusting somebody who runs around in spandex just because they say we should. Sure, they're signs of hope in troubled time and blah blah blah, but it takes more than just a flash suit to be a hero. Superman can't just keep destroying Lex Luthor's empire, but he can't just keep letting him go, either. There has to be some sort of productive change implemented and his failure to make that change is what kills him for me.
There has to be a choice, and that choice will come with repercussions. That's just fact. The lesson is in the acceptance of the choices that have to be made, and the assumption of responsibility for those decisions.
Which may help explain my fascination with Midnighter. Because, you see, the people who make those decisions, the ones who make the productive changes? Well, often times we call them villains for making a choice that cannot be undone. And yeah, for Midnighter... that just might work...
... and well, as for me... I always did have a thing for the bad guys.
DrV
*Here I'll just note that I'm poaching from Scott McCloud and doing it rather meanly. That is, I mean that in the sense that I've pulled very little, and that I'm being rather unfair.
**Oh yeah, I totally just called you out, Superman: Doomsday. Whatcha gonna do about it, huh? Huh? "A mature comic for adult fans of the genre," my left butt cheek. Go suck an egg.
And of course, in response to all this, I'm sitting in front of my computer working on my comic book database... and that's when it hits me...
I have some incredibly ugly superheroes in my collection.
And I don't just mean that literally, though I kinda do.
You see, I'm a fan of Warren Ellis. You know, the guy who did The Authority, Transmetropolitan, and a little ditty known as Hellblazer? And one thing about Ellis, he's dynamic, but he's very rarely pretty. No clean lines, no CGI shine, and when folks get hit-- it gets ugly.
And I got to wondering, why? Why be drawn to a style that's so grotesque? If comic books are supposed to represent abstracted forms ready to read oneself into, imaginative landscapes the reader enters into, then what's up with the visual mess that makes up 80% of my collection?* And dude, what's up with the violence? I mean, yeah, everyone gets my love of The Authority if only for the fact that it includes ass-kicking-gay-superheroes-who-ADOPT-A-FREAKING-BABY, but it's so flipping violent. And messy. And morally problematic.
I mean, in the first volume, Apollo gets raped, Midnighter (his boyfriend) responds with unholy-medieval-jackhammer-O-DOOM violence, and they symbolically slaughter Thor, Captain America and the rest of the Avengers and then burn them in a pile.
And dude, that's like... only volume one.
So what's up? Is my imaginative landscape just jacked, or is there something more going on here?
And here it is, here is what I came up with.
I don't trust pretty people.
Now, I have some totally smokin' friends, and this has nothing to do with that. No, this has more to do with the idea of the heroic and everything we're told to believe about it. You know how it goes, right? Superman comes to save the day. He swoops down, scoops up some little kid and flies away, illuminated in the flash of a hundred cameras?**
And we're supposed to be okay with that. We're supposed to love that. We're supposed to want to be that. We associate beauty with goodness, certain colors with heroism, certain bodies with moral superiority... and we see the same in the lucky few to be rescued.
But where are all the bodies in all this? The mess? The bad nights and the heroes who don't look like they're one 'roid rage away from a nasty fall from grace?
And dude, what's with all the neon tights??
And Ellis, well, he won't let you take the easy way out. You don't get to sit back and say, "Yeah, it's totally okay that the only people who ever get rescued are busloads of beautiful children." You're not handed the easy answers, color coded and neatly labeled "HERO" so that all you have to do is point to the right color palate and get rewarded for finding the good guy. **
Ugly art makes you work for it, makes you dig in and think about it. And I know, I know, this isn't exactly a new argument and, honestly, it's one that I normally hate. But with comics, and these grotesque heroes, it just works.
Take Midnighter and Apollo as our uneasy (and at times, ugly) heroes. We love them, but it's not always fun and it's not always easy to call their actions 'heroic.' While I'll get more into the specific issue about the "Alleged Rape of Apollo" (which is an... illuminating... debate) later, Midnighter's revenge is uncomfortable even as we justify it. It makes revenge into something that you have to deal with. This isn't Bruce Wayne getting off because he finally caught the dude who killed his folks, it's not even Hamlet wandering around debating ethics. It's just... hard to process, hard to look at, difficult to deal with.
Heroes should push us to be better people, to think harder about our decisions and actually take into account the horrific ramifications of, say, trusting somebody who runs around in spandex just because they say we should. Sure, they're signs of hope in troubled time and blah blah blah, but it takes more than just a flash suit to be a hero. Superman can't just keep destroying Lex Luthor's empire, but he can't just keep letting him go, either. There has to be some sort of productive change implemented and his failure to make that change is what kills him for me.
There has to be a choice, and that choice will come with repercussions. That's just fact. The lesson is in the acceptance of the choices that have to be made, and the assumption of responsibility for those decisions.
Which may help explain my fascination with Midnighter. Because, you see, the people who make those decisions, the ones who make the productive changes? Well, often times we call them villains for making a choice that cannot be undone. And yeah, for Midnighter... that just might work...
... and well, as for me... I always did have a thing for the bad guys.
DrV
*Here I'll just note that I'm poaching from Scott McCloud and doing it rather meanly. That is, I mean that in the sense that I've pulled very little, and that I'm being rather unfair.
**Oh yeah, I totally just called you out, Superman: Doomsday. Whatcha gonna do about it, huh? Huh? "A mature comic for adult fans of the genre," my left butt cheek. Go suck an egg.
Appropriately enough...Merkins
Eighteenth century fun fact: Prostitutes would shave their pubes to keep their bits as clean as a quean could, but wear a pube-wig to retain that "natural" look.
There you have it.
There you have it.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Inspired Lyrics
What Do You Got--Jon Bon Jovi
"If you ain't got someone, you're afraid to lose
Everybody needs just one, someone... to tell them the truth
Maybe I'm a dreamer, but I still believe
I believe in hope, I believe the change can get us off our knees
If you ain't got love, it's all just keeping score
If you ain't got love, what the hell we doing it for"
Thanks, Mr. Bon Jovi, for asking the hard questions.
P.S. By "the change", do you mean menopause? Because sexual activity does not need to stop post-menopause.
"If you ain't got someone, you're afraid to lose
Everybody needs just one, someone... to tell them the truth
Maybe I'm a dreamer, but I still believe
I believe in hope, I believe the change can get us off our knees
If you ain't got love, it's all just keeping score
If you ain't got love, what the hell we doing it for"
Thanks, Mr. Bon Jovi, for asking the hard questions.
P.S. By "the change", do you mean menopause? Because sexual activity does not need to stop post-menopause.
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