Brainwashing

Someone once told me that life was too short to read bad books.  It's good advice, really, one that I take ever-more to heart (as my life grows ever-shorter), and can apply to many areas of life (food, friends, clothing).  But maybe it doesn't go far enough. 

There is an interview in Salon today with a film-maker who claims Fox News "brain-washed" her dad.

Whether we call it "brain-washing" or not, the ubiquity of the media, which is designed to arouse our emotions while bypassing our frontal cortexes, powerfully shapes our world views. 

It makes me reflect on how young men who spend hours a day steeped in the "manosphere" are being taught to hate women.  I know many of them will say they only read bloggers like Roosh or Heartiste for their entertainment value, or to pick up "dating tips," but a steady diet of the manosphere is gonna take its toll on their psyches.  Hell, reading some of those blogs has taken a toll on my psyche, and I am an extremely critical -- nay, hostile -- reader.  All that loathing of women!  How can I not internalize some portion of that even as I dismiss it for the garbage it is?  How can it not make me feel just a little less safe and a little less worthy?

Nowadays, it's all about filtering our information, and making a continuous, conscious attempt to swim away from the sources of toxic input.

Response to an Anonymous Roosh Reader

A couple of weeks ago, an anonymous reader left a comment on my post, "On PUA."

He acknowledges "negativity and hate in the manosphere," but claims "There's no workable alternative" for men seeking advice on how to be men in a society that views "masculinity" as "inherently evil."

The existence of the "manosphere" is evidence that there are thousands of young men who feel marginalized, who need "safe spaces" in which to discuss their issues.  There is indeed more to the conversation than simply admonishing young white men to "check their privilege."  I see no evidence that the majority of women believe men are "inherently evil," although the majority of women are, to some degree, afraid of some men's predilection to violence.  May I refer you to the redoubtable Louis CK on this matter?

This is how I see it after fifty years struggling to be "a woman" on the planet:  There isn't nearly as much difference between the sexes as we like to imagine...  In general, men and women have essentially the same needs and desires: for engaging work, a sense of belonging to a community, a certain degree of physical comfort, intimate relationships.  These commonalities bring us together in the family of man. 

However, the "manosphere" denies the commonalities and instead promulgates the crudest stereotypes of gendered behavior.  Hence, the edict that "femininity" connotes subservience, delicacy and/or cunning/manipulation, whereas "masculine" men are dominant, muscular, don't eat quiche, etc.  (In fact, some men are gentle and nurturing; some women are aggressive and competitive; most people are happiest, most complete and most self-fulfilled when allowed to exhibit both "feminine" and "masculine" qualities).

BTW, as a woman, I have, over the years, also sought advice on how to "perform" my gender.  Most of the advice I got was crap, too: confusing, condescending, ultimately doing more harm than good to my psyche.

As a feminist, I reject social strait-jackets based on gender.  Feminism is the promotion of equality among the sexes, not a dystopian "women-on-top" social scenario.  It means that men and women bear equal responsibilities (yes, I include military service here), as well as equal opportunities.   

But getting back to the heart of your angst, which is how boys learn to be men in a society where many of the traditional masculine traits are no longer valued, and where many boys are growing up without a strong male role model?  I'm afraid I have no easy answer to that.  Your generation (I assume you are in your twenties), are going to have to make your own path here.  The good news is that, for the first time in milennia, you get to define your own masculinity.  In doing so, Quit looking backwards.  The false nostalgia promulgated by the manosphere is a path to obsolescence and further alienation. My best advice is to quit worrying about being "a man" (or "a woman") and instead focus on defining yourself as "a human."

Go outside of your head a little bit.  Leave the echo chamber that is the internet behind.  Literally, go outside into the air and sunshine, and look around.  Talk to other people (old, young, male, female) and really listen to them.  Connect to humanity.  Find your professional vocation by experimenting fearlessly and energetically.  Exercise patience, but maintain faith that good things (including a girlfriend) will find you when you are open to the possibilities.  Develop your core values; it helps to be judicious about what you expose your mind to.  Recognize that the best intimate relationships are based on sharing common core values.

By the way, I am shocked (although somehow not surprised) that you believe "social justice efforts are adding to the problem instead of solving it."  Honestly examine what you mean by "the problem" (whose problem?  yours?)   Cuz I guarantee that millions of women, people of color, disabled people, poor people will agree that their lives have certainly improved as the result of the past fifty years of "social justice efforts." 

Feminist English Teachers!

Over at the Men's Rights Subreddit this morning, a high school student is plaintively soliciting help in dealing with his English teacher who is "very feminist."  Of course, because I am an English teacher (who also happens to be "very feminist"), this catches my attention.

The poster makes a number of claims I find quite improbable unusual:  first, that the boys are "often served detentions for being too quiet during class."  While I can imagine disciplining students for being disruptive, I've never heard of a teacher forcefully requiring students to speak in class -- although I have (gently) reprimanded students for sleeping in class.

He goes on to complain that "she started reading us articles about how men are rape creatures and are useless other than to the extent of conception [sic]."   When he complained, he was treated to another unjust detention.

BTW, in my world, spending time outside of class with students is more punitive for me than it is for them.  And another BTW, why is the teacher "reading" to her students?  Even in high school, aren't the students capable of reading for themselves?  But I digress...

What's becoming apparent to me is that this English teacher has her work cut out for her.

His third complaint is that "Every single paper that is submitted by the guys are usually barely passing [sic]."   That the male students have previously enjoyed extremely high GPAs clearly proves her anti-male gender bias.

The subsequent commentators have been predictably sympathetic ("the bitch!").  Helpful suggestions include telling the poster to record classes on his cell phone in order to provide "evidence" against the teacher.  That may or may not be permitted by school policy, but it makes sense.  I myself would love to hear what the instructor actually said, and in what context she conveyed the idea men were only sources of genetic material.  Did he abruptly wake up while she was quoting the author of some dystopian or radical feminist fantasy?  Or was he still dreaming when he "heard" her say that?  Of course, the third alternative, that she actually said and meant what he attributes to her, is possible too (possible, but not very damn likely).  In which case, and it can be proven, her head will roll...

Another commentator warned that, if the student approached administration, he not attribute the conflict to the instructor's being "a feminist... who hates men." Good advice.

That I have a liberal bias is manifest, and I freely cop to it in class.  When students ask me what I think about a current event, for example, I will tell them (and always with the proviso, "This is my opinion").  As a teacher, I do consider the extent my personal biases affect my students, especially in choosing topics to read and write about.  Sometimes, I frankly enjoy the authority to require students to think about and discuss topics I am interested in.  On the other hand, I use caution with material that might be interpreted as "male bashing" or derogatory about non-western cultures (my own culture I can freely disparage).  I try very hard to avoid writing prompts that are likely to elicit views that will upset me, too, because (1) I really, really don't want to dislike my students (after all, we're stuck with each for a whole quarter), and (2) marking papers is disagreeable enough a task without getting angry or sad about the content of those papers.  As you can imagine, just identifying "appropriate" topics can be a big part of my planning process.  Then add to that the chore of finding topics that are sufficiently "interesting" to inspire an "emerging adult" to write AND a mid-life adult to read and you can see why it is an ongoing challenge.

Anyway, next week I'm going to show them the recent documentary "Seeking Asian Female," and have them write about the mail order bride industry.  Because many of my students are from countries that are the source of many "mail order brides" (China, Vietnam, Ukraine), this could be a highly sensitive topic.

Getting back to class participation:  I have to constantly curb myself from calling on male students more than female students.  If there is a bias in that regard, it is toward the boys, mainly because they tend to be more assertive and fearless in expressing opinions.  It's rare for me to have a female student who challenges me directly or who "hogs" class attention.  What is more problematical for me are students that want to express their opinions without having done the relevant reading...

Christoph Waltz Teaches You the Art of Seduction!

Austrian actor Christoph Waltz poking fun of PUA here.  Best parody of PUA since Christopher Walken's hilarious "The Continental" sketches on SNL.

All kidding aside, I am utterly infatuated with this guy...  and a little Internet research proves I am not alone. 

For a seriously erotic (yet still quite funny) scene, watch this.  Who knew 16th century Anabaptists were so hot?  In fact, this clip inspired me to read a history of the Muenster Rebellion, and to order the movie it's from at great expense from Germany (even though there are no subtitles and I don't speak German). 

This scene rivals the infamous "eating scene" from "Tom Jones" in its bawdy celebration of our carnal appetites.  "Bad boys" whose mischievous rogue appeal is based on wit and humor are seductive -- especially when they don't seem to take themselves too seriously. 

Oh, and just one more, a kissing scene with a very young and devastatingly pretty Waltz as Tristan.  I may have to put this on continuous loop...

Matt Forney Declares Jihad on Female Self Confidence!

According to Matt Forney, American women have way too much self-esteem, and it is killing his boner.  (Well, not literally, he hastily amends -- he'd still "bang" a cocky bitch if her figure was "slamming" -- "but a crucial part of the attraction [would be] lost.")

Apparently, the state of Matt Forney's libido is crucial to the health of the State at large  Therefore, "There needs to be a massive and concerted war on female self-esteem." 

You know, it all kinda makes sense when you consider that only a woman with pitifully low self-esteem would be attracted to a guy like Matt Forney.

I work with a lot of international students who tend to believe that Americans in general, of both genders, suffer from an excess of self-esteem, and sometimes I am inclined to agree with them.  It's certainly become common for Baby Boomers to complain about the Millenials' inflated opinion of themselves, which goes hand in hand with their inflated senses of entitlement.  (Although sometimes I reckon that's just what the old folks always say about the young'uns, and the fact is, I can't get too exorcised about it:  Time has a way of bringing us all down a peg or two.)

Forney also writes, "Most girls’ so-called achievements, the ones they take pride in, are complete jokes," citing as examples liberal arts degrees and "fluff" jobs in "human resources" or elementary education. (What's with these guys and their fixation on women in human resources?  I mean, I know dozens of women who all work, and none of them are in HR.)   Anyway, I'd hate to see family farms and the military try to function a week without the cadres of women who are employed in these so-called "masculine" fields.

I'd also love to know exactly how Mr. Forney makes his livelihood.  I'm willing to bet it is not in a STEM field nor in mining or construction.  Cab driver, maybe?  Fork lift operator?  Parking garage attendant?  Something along those lines, I imagine...

"If every man lost his job tomorrow, the country would collapse."  I wouldn't count on that.  Didn't WWII prove that women are perfectly capable of picking up the slack when necessary, or was Rosie the Riveter just liberal propaganda?

"If girls want to play in our world, they'll have to obey our rules."  Ha ha ha!  First of all, the world does not belong to a handful of angry, sexually frustrated, unskilled men (not even when they're white).  Your "rules" are irrelevant.  If the world belongs to anyone, it is to those who are flexible, forward-thinking, and who can adapt to a rapidly changing playing field.  And that does not describe the standard ass-backward reactionary who frequents your blog.

Forney states that "Insecurity is integral to femininity" and that "Insecurity is the natural state of woman."  Hmm.  I posit that "insecurity" is the natural state of all rational human beings. 

Forney reasons that women would be frightened without men to protect them.  I counter that this is true only to the degree that women need men to protect them from other men.  I haven't been physically threatened by another female since Chantelle threatened to beat me up after 8th grade gym class. And come to think of it, most men rely on other men (military, police, etc.) for protection too. 

"Confidence doesn't give men erections; vulnerability does."  In my experience, both men and women are attracted to partners who exhibit both qualities in appealingly appropriate measures.  Confidence is not the opposite of vulnerability.  Anyway, I've never worried about my ability to give a man an erection; it strikes me as just about the easiest part of relating to men.

Then Forney takes a U turn in his own logic, arguing that the problem is not, after all, a woman's self-confidence, but rather her "inborn insecurity," which causes her to view a man as "a life support system for a penis, an accoutrement... incapable of viewing men as human beings."  So, make up your mind, Matt Forney!  Are we too confident, or not confident enough?

The essay goes on, but I can't be bothered to do more than skim the rest.  Essentially, I am left with the impression that Matt Forney really, really wishes he could play the guitar -- or meet some extremely insecure woman who could -- and they could pursue "worthy" careers together as street buskers.

Abortion, a Male Perogative?

Over at Return of Kings this week, there are two posts about abortion running concurrently:  "How to Convince a Girl to Get an Abortion" by someone who calls himself "bacon," and "How to Fight Abortion" by regular ROK contributor Athlone McGinnis. 

The bottom line: Abortion is always the woman's fault, and it's always wrong for a woman to seek an abortion unless the responsible male partner wants her to -- in which case, it is wrong for her to refuse to comply.    

I really don't believe most of the readership at ROK cares two figs about the rights of fetuses, and in fact these are the kinds of articles ROK readers have been complaining about. (Such downers!)  What they do care about is controlling women, and particularly women's sexuality.  In that respect they are no different than many "mainstream" conservatives and religious fundamentalists. 

I wish there were more non-permanent birth control options for men (and for women). Nobody should be forced to parent against his or her will, and I have a low opinion of women who accidentally-on-purpose let themselves get pregnant in order to secure commitment from men (and yes, this happens).  I understand condoms are a desensitizing drag, and, as Nina Hartley recently pointed out, not ideal for female partners either, but for fuck's sake, grow up and quit railing against reality.  Biology is often unfair.  And it strikes me that Roosh, with his much vaunted degree in microbiology ("a man of science" indeed!) could have chosen to apply his training to help develop better contraceptive methods instead of squandering his life promoting irresponsible sexual behavior.

The voice of men, the voices of despair

I spent the sunny afternoon at a public pool near my home.  Not surprisingly, given that it was an exceptionally warm day in Seattle, the pool was filled with families.  The density of splashing, shrieking youngsters frustrated my effort to swim laps, but I enjoyed observing the kids nevertheless.  Although I don't have a family and children myself, I sometimes find a kind of vicarious pleasure in watching other families enjoying themselves together.  I was especially moved by several affectionate, attentive fathers interacting with their little ones.  It gives me a kind of hope.  After all, one does not need to be a biological parent in order to feel invested in the youngest generation.

When I got home, I thought about the men of the manosphere, who are so angry and hateful towards women.  Although I frequent manboobz, the site which delights in mocking misogyny, I sometimes feel at odds with the prevailing tone of dominant commenters.  The more I follow the manosphere (Voice for Men, Heartiste, Roosh), the more compassion I feel for the young misogynists.  It's easy to ridicule them, because most of what they say is ridiculous.  It's easy to be outraged by them, because most of what they say is outrageous.  It's easy to be frightened by them, because they are simmering with anger.  And then it's comforting to reassure myself that their ideas are, well, after all, pretty silly.  They pretend they are a movement, but they spend so much of their energy squabbling with one another that it's evident that they couldn't organize themselves out of a paper bag. 

But more and more, what I hear behind their hateful words, their virulent disdain for all women (and most other men), is despair.  Roosh and his ilk (Matt Forney, Paul Elam, "Roissy," et al.) are men who have pretty much given up on the one thing -- other than engaging work -- which makes life meaningful: intimate, committed relationships with others.

A couple of weeks ago, Roosh was positively distraught when Mark Minter abandoned the manosphere ship to marry a gal he'd met online.  His sense of betrayal was palpable.  Even his followers were a bit baffled that he took it so much to heart.

But someone like Roosh has nothing else except his convictions, as delusional and self-destructive as they are.  He has no relationships beyond his tenuous online connection with the men and boys who echo his nihilistic philosophy.  He is so out of sync with the cultural tide that he must seek refuge in ancient texts, to constantly imagine that the way it was is the way it should be now.  

Today he posted, in his typically self-aggrandizing and melodramatic fashion, that "every man dies by his own ideas."  He views himself as a martyr to his own ideals.  But relentless, inchoate rage is not a "cause."  It is a symptom of a personality disorder. 

I reflect on the mothers and fathers I watched frolicking in the pool today.  Whether they are "happy" in their marriages I have no idea.  I have never been convinced that "happiness" should be a person's primary aim.  I'm not sure even what "happiness" means.  I can say that they all looked thoroughly engaged with one another.  I thought, "This is Real Life."  And by merely observing from the sidelines, I felt myself part of it:  the Family of Man.  And I pity the men of the manosphere, who have learned to hate what they have come to believe they cannot have: intimate connection, a sense of purpose, community membership, an investment in the world around them.

Is Roosh Even Human?

In a recent forum, Roosh and his minions were amused by a well-publicized news story about two women who drove into a lake and drowned.  What they found particularly hilarious was that one of the women, in a panic, attempted to dial "911" on her cell phone.  Because women are so stupid.  And because women deserve to die, anyway.

Back when I was living in Louisiana, I was in the throes of my "bridge phobia."  Driving on bridges and overpasses triggered severe panic attacks.  (I still get a little anxious about bridges, but I managed to "desensitize" myself once I moved back to Seattle -- otherwise, I wouldn't be able to drive anywhere!)

I've had nightmares of being trapped in a car underwater ever since the Chappaquiddick scandal, when Mary Jo Kopechne was abandoned to such a fate by a drunken and cowardly Edward Kennedy.  And who can forget the death of Jessica Savitch, whose date drove into a canal in New Hope?  Mired in mud upside down, the doors of their car could not be opened.

Every time I had to drive across a lake or bayou in Louisiana, I unrolled the driver's side window and mentally rehearsed swimming out.  I tightened my muscles in anticipation, and visualized bursting to the surface.  The problem was that the windows of my Toyota were pretty small, and I wasn't convinced I could squeeze through.  So there I would be on the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway -- which is 24 miles long, mind you -- gripping the steering wheel, sweating profusely despite the wind rushing through the speeding vehicle, and roundly cursing myself the whole way for being such a lard ass.

I still occasionally read of people, often late at night, driving off embankments or bridges and drowning in their cars.  And I still think it's prudent to unroll the window when crossing bodies of water.

The story was tragic, but the real horror here is the psychology of people who find such stories risible, or evidence of the inherent inferiority of the victims. 

When we hear about terrible accidents, we naturally try to learn how to avoid them (or how to survive them if they befall us despite our best efforts).  We struggle to find meaning and purpose in what is otherwise random horror.  We may look for ways to "blame the victim" in order to deny the possibility that such a fate could ever visit us.  We grieve for the families and friends, imagining or remembering the sudden loss of our own loved ones.  But regardless, on some level, we can't escape being reminded of the fragility of our own existences.  Such stories are occasions for somber reflection.

But a person like Roosh is not one of "us," is he?  He is a human who is devoid of humanity.

It's not exactly accurate to say that people like Roosh lack empathy.  In fact, he has enough empathy to actually take pleasure in the suffering of others (specifically women, the targets of his inchoate, inexplicable, relentless rage).

His isolation from the cloak of humanity is his tragedy. And although I have just finished reading The Wisdom of Psychopaths, in which author Kevin Dutton argues that psychopathic elements contribute to the survival of cultures, I cannot imagine what purpose the existence of someone like Roosh serves in this world.  

Perhaps one must simply accept that there is no purpose.  Perhaps the best we can do is to try to identify the potential dangers of dark mountain roads or dark charismatic personalities, at the same time resigning ourselves to the fact that these are simply parts of the mystery of life.

A Man I Love: Steve Shives

Courtesy of "carnation," a commenter on Manboobz, two videos by Steve Shives:

While the MRM has predicted it's quickly reaching a tipping point, poised to go "mainstream" and become a real force for social change, this is what is happening instead:  vigorous pushback from... well, men:  serious men (that is, men to take seriously).

I know I've said I don't care for baseball caps on grown men, but for Mr. Shives, I'll make an exception.  In fact, I'd love to buy this guy a drink right now!

ROK: A Kinder, Gentler Place?

Roosh V is "on hiatus," his exact whereabouts unknown.  Maybe he's in Moldova learning the fine art of gun-running.  He is definitely casting about for his next scam.  

Meanwhile, is it just my imagination, or is Roosh V's "other blog," Return of Kings, becoming a kinder, gentler place?  It seems to be filling up with articles about how to set up a "bachelor" kitchen, healthy eating "on the run," the joys of the great outdoors, and the relative merits of "soylent" as a food substitute.  One today exhorted readers to quit whining about their jobs and start using their leisure time more fruitfully!  Plus a very idiosyncratic list of coma-inducing songs that are supposed to be conducive to lovemaking (see David Futrelle's take on that one.

Even Matt Forney recently devoted an entire post to the art of shaving using mineral oil instead of shaving cream (which believe- you-me I read with interest).  Of course the comments section is another matter entirely...  Tread there at your own peril. 

Aspiring PUAs Watch Out

Garfunkel and Oates have got your number (and the bimbos they lust after).  Could these girls be cuter?

Welcome Oh Warrior Princess!

Anyway...  That these issues are being raised for scrutiny and debate is a positive step, I suppose, even if it feels like kicking over a rock.  Exposing the depth and breadth of misogyny is the first step in eradicating it.  

Twenty years ago I accompanied my ex and his children to Disneyland, and I hated almost every single minute of it.  (To be fair to Walt and his "imagineers," my misery had less to do with the park and more to do with the relationship.)  At one point, sobbing bitterly on a bench under the entrance banner that read "The Happiest Place on Earth," I looked up to see a small throng of Japanese tourists taking my picture.  So at least the opportunity for an ironic picture was not lost.

Anxious to escape the heat and glare, I agreed to ride through "Pirates of the Caribbean" with eight year old Suzanne.  "This is my favorite ride," Suzanne confided.  "Except for this part..."  she added sotto voce, as we bobbed into a tableau of drunk, lusty brigands seizing a struggling young maid with lecherous intent (ignoring the fat, blowsy blonde who was clearly disappointed not to be raped herself).

Suzanne closed her eyes tightly until we had passed through this scene.  "I wish that part wasn't there," she reiterated.  "Otherwise, it would be the perfect ride."  I had to agree, but it took a child to remind me of what I had always known, yet had somehow learned not to see:  Sexual assault isn't funny and it isn't fun.   It's scary and degrading, and even a small girl knows that it could really happen to her if she is careless (or merely unlucky).

Rape culture means that there is no direction in which a little girl can gaze without being reminded of the vulnerability her sex imposes, not even on a kiddie ride.  

Clearly, a number of people besides Suzanne and me didn't like watching animatronic pirates violating animatronic wenches, and these people weren't just humorless feminists, either: plenty of disgruntled dads complained too.  Under considerable consumer pressure -- and much to the chagrin of certain guys-who-just-don't-get-it -- Disneyland and Disneyworld removed the "sexual slavery" element from the attraction a few years ago. So now Suzanne can take her own daughter on "the best ride ever," and neither will have to squeeze her eyes shut for any of it...

This week I've been following with dismay the abuse Twittered upon Lindy West following her televised debate with comedian Jim Norton.  To be fair, Norton is not egging his fans on.  He seems genuinely concerned about the issues that were raised -- even if he's not willing to concede (yet) that misogyny is bad for comedy.  What is clear in his twitters is that he doesn't want to be a Bad Guy, but he doesn't want to be seen as "backing down" either.  To which I would echo Ms. West in asking him, On which side of history to you wish to stand?

How anyone could deny the existence of "rape culture" in the wake of the comments left by scores of anonymous white doods... is beyond me.  I mean really fellas:  You deny "rape culture" exists by claiming some women are too ugly to rape?  You disagree with someone, so you describe in some detail how you'd like to impale her on a spit?  You don't want women to think you're rapists, so you conjure up images of the most grotesque and sadistic fantasy? 

Yet sometimes the anger and hate really overwhelm me.  After all, there are real men behind those threatening pseudonymous comments, and chances are that some of them are moving through the same public spaces as I am.  That's damn scary if you think about it.  (Which is, of course, exactly how they want women to feel.)   So when I read today that Kristin Beck, a former Navy Seal, has come out as a trans woman, I was, well, thrilled.  I for one welcome some real warrior princesses on "Team Femme!"   

 

You Say You Want A Revolution...

If you're as old as I am, you can probably remember where you were the day John Lennon was shot.  I was alone, in a bathtub in Genoa.  I started to cry so uncontrollably that I aspirated water, and wound up performing a self-administered Heimlich maneuver by hauling my sobbing, dripping carcass over the edge of the tub.  Not pretty!   

Anyway, sometimes when I read these manosphere guys I find myself thinking about John Lennon, and about his personal evolution, tragically cut short, from self-confessed wife-beater to a kind of proud Uber Beta Man, and of the following song in particular.  Note that this version, which is laid-back-to-the-point-of-lethargic, is an early "out-take."

You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
But when you talk about destruction
Don't you know that you can count me out
Don't you know it's gonna be all right
All right, all right

You say you got a real solution
Well, you know
We'd all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well, you know
We're doing what we can
But when you want money
For people with minds that hate
All I can tell is brother you have to wait
Don't you know it's gonna be all right
All right, all right
Ah

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah...

You say you'll change the constitution
Well, you know
We all want to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well, you know
You better free your mind instead
But if you go carrying pictures of chairman Mao
You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow
Don't you know it's gonna be all right
All right, all right
All right, all right, all right
All right, all right, all right

Punctuation is Misandry!

Over at Captain Capitalism, a rave review of Roosh V.'s new compendium The Best of Roosh, Part I.

First of all, Capt. Cap warns other self-publishing entrepreneurs that "until I get counter reviews, the book reviews will be limited to a tit for tat mutually beneficial relationship."  Ah, so that's how "peer review" works in the manosphere!

In defense of Roosh, whose self-editing tends to be as haphazard as his personal grooming, The Captain asserts that he, personally, likes the typos.  In fact, the more of 'em, the better! 

 I'm taking a religious stance with this in that I believe men are sick and tired of the predominantly female-dominated publishing/correcting-ones-english-at-the-expense-of-ideas industry.  I truly believe that with online publishing proper grammar will finally be ranked below "ideas and content" as it should have always been until academian charlatans came in insisting their knowledge of "dangling participles" was more important than pioneering lines of thought.  The more and more typos I see, overshadowed by intelligence, innovation, creativity, and just plain cleverness, the better for the publishing industry and readers.

I didn't realize until now that careful proof-reading compromised the creative expression of men's "ideas."  Now I see how I have been not only stifling, but indeed virtually castrating, my male students by insisting that they learn to observe the conventions of "academian" English.  For years, I've been trying to persuade them that "proper grammar" would strengthen their power to persuade readers, but am now chagrined to learn that I had it all ass-backwards.

This is why I cannot fear the New Misogynists.

And also because of this:

Roosh ‏@rooshv 26 May

The Best Of Roosh has been downloaded 3,250 times. 136 of you purchased it. :)

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Is Matt Forney a Closeted FA?

I ran across this graph right after making the mistake of reading a "fat rant" by Matt Forney.  For a guy who professes to find fat women repulsive, he sure spends a lot of time fulminating about them.

I'm perplexed by the obsession with fat girls.  I don't find extreme obesity attractive or "healthy" either, but I don't find the people who suffer from this to be "undeserving of love" or deserving of abuse ("shaming," "shunning").  Nor did it stop me from falling madly in love with a guy who was once pushing 400 lbs (he's slimmed down considerably since, courtesy of two bouts of oral cancer).  I've never thought it was my mission in life to persuade prospective sexual partners to eat less (unless, perhaps, we were sharing a pizza LOL).  Nor do I begrudge my thin friends their svelte physiques (unless we're browsing the sales racks together).

My "fatness" is my personal issue.  It's between my doctor and me -- and a handful of intimates in whom I choose to confide.  Unless some random stranger is forced to sit next to me on a crowded plane, I fail to see why my girth affects him in any real way.

If it's a matter of his being offended aesthetically, well boo-hoo.  I'm potentially "offended" every single day I venture out in public:  I happen to think anyone over the age of eighteen who wears a baseball cap looks like a moron.  I am not a fan of the shaved head + goatee look either.  I loathe clothing with logos on it.  Public spitting turns my stomach.  And don't get me started about all the truly terrible writing I have to read!  

For the most part, I try to ignore these affronts to my delicate sensibilities because (1) they're trivial, and (2) otherwise I would be in a chronic state of rage -- and that's just not a place where I want to live (not to mention it's worse for one's heart than cheerfully schlepping around an extra fifty pounds).

The fact that Matt Forney and his readers don't want to fuck women who look like me isn't really a problem for any of us, is it?  In fact, if my rotund body actively and magically repels them, it's kind of a plus in my book.

Look, kiddos, let me lay it on you:  No person is obligated to be physically attractive to another person.  You are not "owed" a supermodel girlfriend despite what television commercials have been teaching you.  The sooner you get this reality through your noggins, the better off you'll be.  The only body a person gets to control is his/her own -- and even then, not always (see cancer, above).

Perhaps the crux of the issue is that misogynists don't recognize women's personal autonomy.  In their infantile minds, every woman is put on the earth for the sole purpose of pleasing them.  It's a little bit narcissistic, wouldn't you say?   

Still, the way they natter on about how teh fat kills their boners!  Although they claim that they enjoy joking about fat women, they don't seem to be having much fun with it.  Indeed, the topic sends them into paroxysms of rage.

And what really enrages them is that when they do decide to "bang" a fat chick (out of sheer desperation, apparently), those "ugly bitches" don't want to be banged by them.  How dare an "imperfect female" reject them!  How dare anuglyfatchick have any standards of her own?

It seems like Mr. Forney spends an awful lot of time haunting the "fatshionista" blogs and stewing about the fact that a lot of these young women manage to have some well-documented sexy fun despite their excess poundage.  Personally, I love seeing a fat girl rocking a bikini.  That is not because I think all fat girls should wear bikinis, or because every fat girl turns me on (some do / some don't), but because, well, why the hell shouldn't she? 

Self-acceptance and self-confidence do not encourage people to be fat.  Probably the opposite is truer.  People who like themselves tend to be more active and socially engaged, as well as more tolerant and compassionate of others. 

And I am willing to lay odds that if Forney and Friends tried to publicly "shame" these girls they would be met with great belly laughs of derision.  Personally, if someone jeered or tried to humiliate me within my earshot, in a bar or a club or anywhere but from a fast-moving vehicle, they'd get a dose of their own medicine. 

Some people speculate that Forney is a closeted gay.  I don't know about that, but I'm beginning to wonder if he isn't a closeted FA. (That's "Fat Admirer" in BBW circles, a subculture I suspect Matt Forney is already quite familiar with). 

Anyway, I stole the graphic from Helen Boyd's En/gender site.  I used to read her blog faithfully and participate in the forum, but after a while, suffering from "trans ally fatigue," I fell away.  I am now adding her to my blog roll as a personal reminder to check in more often.  I am so annoyed that I missed her recent trip to my city.  I would have enjoyed going to the event.

Isn't Baking Soda Just A Little Bit Beta?

Guess what the lead story was today on Return of Kings:

a.  5 Feminists Who Will Kill Your Boner
b.  5 Steps To Achieving Killer Abs
c.  5 Big Ass Books to Read Before You Die
d.  5 Surprising Uses For Baking Soda

It is really cute!  First the author, Mikael, assures his skeptical readers that he doesn't expect them to actually own any baking soda because  "Well women use [it] for baking, let’s get serious we’re men, we don’t bake, we go to the store. But being as men don’t generally bake, not every man has baking soda in their home as a bachelor, and you should."  

Re-read the previous passage and consider the following information:  Mikael has a B.A. in English Literature.  He even has his own blog, in which he writes about Education ("Learn More While Doing Less").  He even has a job that allows him to listen to his Ipod all day so that he can "multi-task" on his employer's dime time.  Pretty sweet.

All right, never mind the comma splices and run on sentences, Mikael's got some damn good tips about baking soda.  Of course, being a woman of advanced years, this wisdom has already been passed down to me over the ages through my mother and grandmother and about a bazillion newspaper fillers.

Anyway, in case, being a guy, you haven't considered baking soda since you constructed that volcano in fifth grade, baking soda has a number of possible uses:

1.  Deodorant

I'm not sure why someone would want to use baking soda as deodorant, but I suppose if you're stuck on the edge of the Empty Quarter, where soap, water, and basic grooming products are unavailable but where baking supplies (perversely) abound, and you don't mind the inevitable "grit factor," this works.  At least it works according to Roosh, who apparently dealt with this particular application in some length back in 2011 (I must have missed that essential pearl of Roosh wisdom).  "It is good to know in a pinch one always has options."  Indeed!

2.  Tooth Whitener

I've actually used baking soda as an ad hoc dentifrice now and then.  I've never been impressed with the results though, and it leaves a weird residue on your teeth.  Don't over do it, at any rate:  You don't want to grind off all your enamel.

3.  Mosquito Bite Treatment

"Mosquito's [sic] suck plain and simple."

Hmm...  I'm very allergic to mosquito bites, and in desperation have tried just about anything to alleviate the itch, including baking soda.  Unfortunately, I didn't find it any more effective than bleach, toothpaste, alcohol, or camomile lotion.  Icing followed by cortisone cream works best for me.  Better yet, avoid getting bitten in the first place.

4.  Refrigerator Deodorizer

"Let it absorb the stank [sic] of your horrendous cooking leftovers."  Wait a minute, I thought a real man doesn't cook (that's the second function of females) --. or else, when he does, he's a much better cook than any woman could hope to be.  I've actually wasted boxes of soda to prevent my frig from offending, but I find as with 4. (above), prevention (i.e., throwing away "stanky" food) is more effective than treatment.

5.  To Extinguish a Fire

"Just throw a whole boat load on it and boom, fire be gone."  

As someone who has started more than her share of grease fires over the years, unless it's a very small fire, you still need a portable fire extinguisher.  Or a Cosco-sized bag of baking soda.  Just sayin'.

There you have it.  Were you as "surprised" as I was?

Performance Anxiety

N.B.  It was only after I had posted the following that I found David Futrelle over at manboobz had coincidentally posted a response to the same topic. 
_________________________________________________________________

Yesterday, I was in a tanning salon waiting my turn at one of the beds.  (I want to build up a little melanin before our trip to Mexico).  To my annoyance, all there was to read in the lobby was Cosmopolitan magazine, the one magazine I cannot stand to look at.

Although there was much to admire about Helen Gurley Brown, I have always detested Cosmopolitan.  Not only for the content, or lack thereof (since it is dedicated almost exclusively to the various Geisha like arts of pleasing men), but for its style (which, BTW, Nora Ephron skewered brilliantly in a piece for Esquire many years ago).  Brown stepped down in 1997, but the magazine only seems to have gotten more obsessively focused on the need for women to cater to men in the bedroom, with shameless headlines screaming "Tease Him and Please Him!" "Foreplay Men Crave!" and "His Butt."  Every issue features at least one article on how to gratify men sexually.  Cuz these days the way to a man's heart is through advanced fellatio technique. 

So it was surprising to read over at ROK that "You've probably noticed that most women haven't got the tiniest interest in pleasing us.  The large majority of women believe that getting naked and allowing us to stab their insides with our manly part is pretty much all they have to do when it comes to having sex."  Well, you can't blame Cosmopolitan for not trying!

The article, by someone who calls himself Alex "The Player" Matlock, invites readers to identify the type of bad sex that they are (probably not) having.   He believes it is important for the Rooshites to know this because it's only "fair" and "natural" and besides, "Judging is important because it allow us to understand exactly what it is that we want from a sexual encounter."  Ah, if wishes were horses...!

Who is Alex Matlock and why should men listen to him?  According to his website, Mr. Matlock is working on his PHD -- and he spells it like that, all in caps -- in Social Psychology.  He chose Social Psychology because he thought it would help him understand women better.  He even shared a flat with three girls once, not to "bang" them, but to deepen his knowledge of the feminine psyche.

Although he assures us that he has "banged a lot of chicks," he has found that most of their performances fall short of the mark.  And because Roosh and his ilk love lists (also tables, graphs, flowcharts, and diagrams), Matlock methodically lists the five types of women in order of most (1) to least disappointing (5).

1. The one that tries too much (aka The Disaster) 

This girl is guilty of trying too hard. She moves out of sync [because the guy establishes the tempo, presumably].   She has the highest percentage of male genitalia injury [sic], breaks condoms, and makes guys lose their boners. That’s just one more reason to avoid “taking advantage” of heavily inebriated women. Why do I suspect the sarcasm quotes to be Roosh's touch?

2. The one that’s scared (aka The Virgin) 

I thought these guys wanted sweet, inexperienced girls?  But the so-called virgin is just scamming a fellow.  She makes a guy feel guilty by acting as though she doesn't know what she's doing.  Plus she only allows penetration in the missionary position.

3. The one that doesn’t move (aka The Starfish or The Doll)

Matlock suggests that because she doesn’t do anything that disrupts the actual lovemaking... she will probably have many more orgasms than #1 and #2 simply because she lets the man do his thing.  Matlock rates such women as "average" in the performance department.  And I rate Matlock's understanding of what makes a woman orgasm "below average."

4. The one that does something (aka The Girlfriend) 

Experienced enough to "put a smile on your face."
5.  The Pornstar
The ultimate girlfriend experience.  (Probably a regular Cosmo reader.)

Is it my imagination, or can I feel the editorial hand of Roosh in every piece that is posted to ROK?  Like Helen Gurley Brown and Hugh Hefner, his persona infuses everything.  But Roosh is no Hugh Hefner, and the glory days of magazines like Playboy and Cosmopolitan, which were once the authorities on How To Perform One's Sex, are over.  The only reason they linger on is that the one thing that doesn't seem to change is the sexual performance anxiety many young men and women suffer from.

And here's a picture of the author with two "chicks."  Not surprisingly, he's selling PUA too.

Alex Matlock is an expert in dating and woman psychology. This is the sort of stuff he discusses on his blog and in the free eBook he gives out. If you want to increase your success with women, visit ThePlayerGuide.com - a place where the dating mindset is thrown out the window in favor of more direct and fruitful methods of meeting and seducing women.

My Message to Incels

A commenter on Manboobz shared a link to a documentary called "Shy Boys," in which the director, Sara Gardephe, interviews several "Incels" (involuntary celibates).  Because Incels tend to be ready "converts" to Game, I watched it with interest.

The fact that most of the young men describe themselves as "ugly" is really striking to me because, really, none of them are.  In fact, I thought the long-haired dude was quite pretty in a rock star way.  Yet they blame their lack of success with women primarily on an imaginary defect in their own physical appearance.  Of course, girls do that too, and to such a degree that we hardly notice.  I don't remember boys being so self-critical in the past, however.  I am sad to see men starting to share women's neuroses about their looks.  Body dysmorphia is a form of equality I don't welcome.

As for their disgust of female genitalia, it reminded me of Victorian art critic John Ruskin, famously unable to consummate his marriage because he was so horrified by the sight of his beautiful bride's genitals.   

Somehow I cannot judge these boys too harshly.  Truth be told, I've never been enamored with the sight of my own bits, and recall how unpleasant I found it when a Nurse Practitioner insisted I examine my own cervix with the aid of a mirror, speculum, and flashlight.  Working in an abortion clinic, I saw hundreds of vulvas, of course, and I gradually lost my revulsion to my own.  So my first Rx for these troubled lads is more exposure to real women and less porn.  

I cannot even be too hard on the way the Incels in the documentary refer to "fat girls" as scraping the bottom of the barrel in the sexual marketplace.  They are simply parroting what the entire culture is teaching us, so why should we expect them to challenge the standards of the day?  It takes self-confidence to buck the system.  I refused to date fat boys when I was an undergrad even though (or because) I weighed 170# myself.  Being discriminated against did not make me compassionate or tolerant -- the opposite, in fact. 

Was I so different from these guys at the same age?  As a teenager, I would go six weeks without speaking to anyone.  I was so shy that some days I simply couldn't muster the courage to go to school, instead whiling away the hours sitting alone in parks or aimlessly riding buses.  One day, when I was about seventeen, I realized "This won't do," and started to force myself out into the world.  But it took many more years before I overcame my almost crippling shyness, and I only managed to do so by acts of will, challenging myself with activities that caused me the greatest degree of manageable anxiety.  

I finally figured out that my self-consciousness was basically egocentrism.   I found that the more I attended to another person, the less "shy" I was.  Perhaps it was this realization that drew me towards work where I had to perform service for others.  In a professional role, I could finally let go of myself.

I still remind myself, when I feel the old social awkwardness and anxiety creeping up, to focus, focus on the other person.  Ask questions.  Then listen.  Reflect on what he/she is saying.  Get over yourself!

Ironically, "game" is probably the worst way for these fellows to overcome their issues.  I wish I could share this with Incels.

Finally A Country That Will Appreciate Roosh!

Having soured on the Romanian scene, Roosh announced he will shortly be landing in Moldova.

Moldova is the poorest country in Europe, with 80% of the population living below the poverty line.  It is known for its excellent wine, high crime rate, systemic corruption, and staggering rate of prostitution.  According to one source, the poverty in Moldova is so acute that two out of three Moldovan women resort to prostitution at some point in their lives.  Moldova, not surprisingly, is a prime source of women sold into sex trafficking.  (If you are interested, PBS Frontline did a documentary last year about this -- but I warn you, it is heart breaking.)

In other words:  lots of young, thin, blonde, desperate women to be had for pennies on the dollar.   It should be Roosh's idea of "poosy paradise."

One caveat, Roosh:  Moldova also has one of the highest rates of antibiotic resistant infections in the world.  So don't forget to wash your, uhm, hands.

Roosh: PUA Most Likely to Join the Taliban

Roosh hasn't been having so much fun in Romania lately.  Fortunately, out of hardship and suffering, great insights are born.  Roosh has been pondering The True Nature Of Women, and he is now ready to share some of his Deep Thoughts.

"Water takes the shape of the container it fills."  This is the metaphor Roosh has chosen to illustrate how women adapt to the cultures they live in.  He is so captivated by this "water for women" metaphor that he repeats it over and over.  And over.  (Be warned:  Roosh's habit of repeating inane metaphors is likely to trigger a migraine in sensitive readers.)

Roosh, as he frequently reminds his readers, is "a man of science" (that is, he has a B.S. from the University of Maryland with a biology major), so he certainly must know as much about the properties of H20 as he does about women.

"I believed the properties of water were in part tied to its location, that water from the East could mimic by only a small degree water from the West, but never be just like it. I was less experienced when I had this belief, for now I know better. Water that has been boiled into steam still has the molecular properties of water, and once the atoms cool down, it will readily take up its more familiar form."

Doesn't that sound like something Sheldon might say on "The Big Bang Theory?"  I mean, if Sheldon were a really angry and delusional misogynist?

Anyway, Roosh moves on to prove his theory in singular Rooshian fashion by explaining how, after years of lauding Poland, he was dismayed to find the girls of Warsaw to be as wickedly self-involved as the girls of Toronto (and they are the worst, as you may recall).  Fortunately, a short train ride away from the capital took him back to the land of the sweetest, most feminine, and reliable women an armchair sex tourist could dream of.  Away from the corrupting influence of the big city, Polish women retain their more pleasing genetic qualities.  

Cuz the "container" (i.e., the city) "shapes" "the water." 

Got it?  Good.

This theory has been challenged in Romania, however. 

Even in Cluj, which Roosh describes as a second-tier city, "No girl in Cluj asked me to buy her a drink, but two girls yelled at me. One because I didn’t move from her “spot” in the bar and another for a trivial reason that I forgot as soon as her neck cocked back and forth while yelling at me like she was a black American girl. What caused them to get so angry at me when no girl in Bucharest or Iasi have [sic] even given me a sneer?"

I'm not sure, Roosh.  Maybe because in a small city club, you stuck out more as an outsider and an interloper?  Maybe because you wandered into a dyke bar by mistake?  Maybe because you believe believe "yelling" is something "black American girls" do?   There are so many possible reasons for a woman to yell at you, I can hardly begin to speculate.

Roosh finally concludes that the girls in Cluj enjoy such "a surplus of men from all over Europe" that they have been allowed to get away with being rude to strange men.  Because in Roosh's mind, all women should defer to their social betters (= men, especially Roosh).  Can't they recognize a returned king when they see one?

Then Roosh muses, "Would a girl display a single negative trait if it prevented her from finding a good man or living a comfortable life?"  (The short answer to that is: Yes! Yes, she would!)

 "Water takes the shape of the container it fills."

So you have (already) told us.

"I appeared on four separate Romanian TV channels, soaking in local fame, trying to get easy lays. I was recognized more times in the ensuing two months than I ever have in Washington DC. When a girl stared at me, I wasn’t sure why she was looking, but I hoped it was because she knew of me, and it would help get into her pants as in the fashion of American celebrity culture. Very early on I get a big surprise—girls who knew of me and my writing played some of the hardest, most lethal game I’ve seen in my life. One girl stood me up. Another was testing me to the point of frustration, as kind as I was to her. Another tried to put words in my mouth, serving up challenges when I wasn’t doing the same. And then I would meet a girl who did not know me, often in the same venue, and she would be the nicest girl in the world, not unlike my first experience in Poland. I have no doubt that the girls who acted bitchy to me would be sweet to the next guy that came along afterwards, suggesting there was a sort of switch that women could flick depending on the circumstance they found themselves in and the man they were meeting." 

I hate to say I told you so, but didn't I warn you that Romanian "celebrity" was going to be a double edged sword?   There you are on television, announcing to your hosts your intent to "game" the local women, and you're surprised that the women who recognize you decide to turn the table?  Why does it surprise you that women dislike being conned, manipulated, or "played" as much as men do?  

For ten years, Roosh has done everything he can do to Be A Somebody.  In the process, he has tossed away his education, his family, his cultural heritage, and his professional prospects.  He has squandered peak years, when he could have been building a meaningful career and emotionally intimate relationships, in order to bask in the admiration of adolescent boys (of various ages). It has got to burn.

As for that peculiar "switch" women have, that mystifying ability to go from "nice" to one fellow to "bitchy" to the next?  Hmm...  Is it possible they just don't like you, and the more they know about you (via all those TV appearances), the less they like you?

"Water takes the shape of the container it fills."

Yeah, yeah, enough with the water / container.

Roosh is bitter now, now that he realizes "Every woman on this planet, regardless of her education or background, [harbors an inner]  bitch, a cunt, a slut, a golddigger, a flake, a cheater, a backstabber, a narcissist, and an attention whore that is dying to get out and that, if certain conditions arise and she is placed in a certain container at a certain temperature, will thrust her worst upon you, and this, I’m afraid, is the true nature of women."  Furthermore, even the most angelic woman is hiding inner excrement; she is a dormant volcano waiting to unleash harm.

The solution Roosh offers to his fellow misogynists:  Society needs to start putting constraints, limitations, and shackles on women's unbridled freedom of behaviors and choices by force, through application of law or shaming.

Wait a minute!  Where have I heard all this before?

I give you Daryush "Roosh" Valizadeh: The PUA most likely to join the Taliban.


"Water takes the shape of the container it fills."

"Water takes the shape of the container it fills."
 
"Water takes the shape of the container it fills."

"Water takes the shape of the container it fills."

(No matter how often you repeat that, it still sounds lame.)

Whatever Happened To...?

Whatever happened to the Feminist Victim Fund that Roosh set up?  It's been over a month since any commented over there.  Have they reached their mark?  Did they even raise a dime?  Or did everyone lose interest, like, immediately?

I wanted to ask over at Manboobz but they were busy talking about real victims (of the tornado) and I didn't want to seem like a completely insensitive jerk.

Is Evil Crazy?

Yesterday on Manboobz, a new commenter was called out for dismissing MRAs as "crazy."  Her feelings got hurt, and she flounced off the board, which was a shame, because it could have been a great learning moment for her.  It certainly was for me.

For one reason, it reminded me of how pejorative the word "crazy" is, and I should know.  I recently "unfriended" an acquaintance who had commented on Facebook (and I paraphrase here) that I needed to get my head examined before I lost my medical insurance.  Yeah, it hurt my feelings.  And also, was that ever a case of the pot calling the kettle black.  

Suffice to say, I am hardly a paragon of mental health myself.  I struggle with chronic depression and anxiety, and sometimes my girlfriend warns me that I am "going off the deep end."  I have more than a touch of OCD, and have been medicated for panic attacks on occasion. Overall, however, given the genetic hand I was dealt, the circumstances I grew up in, and some of the god-awful choices I have made, I have managed pretty well so far.  But I digress...  

My point here is that I know firsthand that to disparage people who suffer from mental disorders is cruel and unfair.  I know that the vast majority of people with psychiatric diagnoses do not commit crimes and do not intentionally hurt other people.  I know that psychiatry cannot fully address the nature of "evil," nor is psychiatric treatment in itself a solution.

The kerfuffle at Manbooz yesterday, as well as a brief exchange with Zosimus the Heathen (see comments), also made me reflect on how the language we use not only expresses, but shapes, our thoughts.  It was one of my favorite discussion topics in graduate school.  Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, anyone?

Spiritually, I would have to describe myself as a skeptic.  While I enjoy attending church, and often derive sustenance from it, I am not a Believer.  I sometimes envy others their faith even as I soundly reject their attempts to instill it in me.  I don't have a personal conflict with this.  When it comes to religion, I have zero interest in converting anyone else to my point of view.  Indeed, I deeply love and respect a number of people (including My Most Beloved) who happen to find comfort and guidance in what I personally consider a lot of hooey.   

However, my lack of belief in supernatural causality does run me aground when it comes to the concept of "evil."  I have found myself labeling much of what I read in the manosphere as "evil."   And I think I need to look at this habit, which is a kind of intellectual "shortcut," a lot more carefully.  What do I mean when I call Roosh or JudgyBitch or Paul Elam "evil" people?

James Knoll, a psychiatrist, recently posted in Medscape:

What most of us label as evil is, in the final analysis, extreme selfishness.  When we lack a clear understanding of something that frightens us, we call it "evil," which temporarily allays our anxiety. Our nerves settled, we believe we have become clear about the nature of the problem, and then we may go about defending ourselves against the "other" we have just created. But this defensive posture may all too easily transition into a preemptive strike -- the result of projecting onto the "other" the aspects of our own psyches that we hate or fear the most.  That a killer considers his self-centered interests more important than your life is not due to some supernatural evil force; it is simply supremely egoistic...  [italics mine]

If anything keeps me kicking, it's the way life continues to remind me that I have so much yet to learn.

Not a Feminist, I Assume

Almost every manospherean writer claims that just because he/she is anti-feminist, that does not mean he/she is a misogynist.  Of course, the writer will then proceed to demonstrate his/her fear and hatred of women in the most fulsome manner.

A few months ago, right wing conspiracy theorist Pete Santilli, on behalf of American women, demanded an apology from Alex Jones for his "disgusting remarks" promoting rape.  But better not assume from this gallant gesture that Mr. Santilli himself is not a vicious misogynist.  
  
I read today that he has announced on the air that he wants to shoot Hillary Clinton in the "vagina."  One might think that her "head" or "heart" would be more lethal targets.  If it is agony, not immediate death, he wishes to inflict, why not her "stomach" or her "knees?"  He wants to shoot Bill Clinton and Barack Obama too, but does not specify that it is their "testicles" that should be blown off.

He chooses Clinton's vagina because this is the organ that represents the very essence of misogynistic loathing and longing.  Like Phil Spector, he wants to penetrate her with his phallic gun before he sends her into oblivion.  It's so fucking telling.  And it's so fucking chilling.  And I'm so fucking sick of reading and hearing about this kind of shit.  And now I've used up my entire f-word allowance for the day, damn it.