What American Women Watch On Netflix

So over on Return of Kings, a fellow who goes by the commanding handle "General Stalin" posits that a gentleman can know a lot about a lady by her Netflix queue.

That's probably true, and the same goes for a person's library record.  Every time I pass the pleasant young man at my local library's circulation desk, I have to avert my eyes because he knows more about me than my doctor does.

Anyway, General Stalin claims to have a unique insight into the psychology of American women because a girl he "casually dated" left her Netflix password on his laptop.  Not only did he get to enjoy months of free streaming, he knew exactly what his ex and her roomies were watching (and presumably thinking).

That General Stalin is one nosy dude!  Not to mention cheap. And it occurs to me that confessing to this seems oddly more embarrassing than once failing to return a library book, but I digress...  Truth be told, I would have been sorely tempted to behave in a similarly dubious fashion, especially if I had some "unfinished business" with the ex.

The General summarizes his findings as follows:

First, young American women watch a lot of "sexually deviant movies and documentaries."  The General was dismayed to find that "a small group of average white single American girls, who grew up in nice neighborhoods with good families, cared far more about sex than romance. I hardly ever saw a romantic comedy or critically acclaimed tear-jerker on there."  

I'm not a young woman, but even when I was I generally loathed romantic comedies and treacly melodramas (with a few notable exceptions).  But I did, and still do, treat myself to the occasional kinky documentary.  Ever since my ten year old psyche was permanently scarred by "Mondo Cane," I've had a predilection for viewing the bizarre margins of human behavior.  I have watched more than one documentary about "sex dolls", for example, a phenomenon I find morbidly fascinating. 

Second in popularity, according to General Stalin's informal survey, were independent movies with "strong female leads" especially those that featured women overcoming perilous situations, like "Girl With The Dragon Tattoo."  This makes perfect sense to me.  People (not just women) enjoy watching characters they can identify with who use their wits and fortitude to triumph over evil.  From this, the General concludes that "single women want to be fucked raw and treated like filth by bad-boy miscreants, but they also want to make these men suffer for not showing them respect and honoring their strength and independence."  WTF?  I would come to the opposite conclusion.  Both men and women love watching horror and suspense for a number of reasons, but the desire to actually be a real victim (or perpetrator) is not one of them.

I've already confessed that horror and true crime are my guilty pleasures.  My Netflix queue is jammed with unwatched "Disappeared" and "Deadly Women" episodes.  Ann Rule books are my "go to" trashy reading.  I scare the bejeezus out of myself for an hour, then turn on the lights and realize how safe and cozy my life actually is, have a hot cup of cocoa and sleep like a baby.  Sadly, my partner does not share my passion, so I have to indulge myself when she is not around.

Finally, the girls whose Netflix viewing he was obsessively monitoring had a taste, broadly shared by the American public, for "Reality TV." 

OK, I agree with General Stalin, that is just plain indefensible.  I'm proud to say that I never watch Reality TV shows.  Except for the ones about plucky dwarfs and adorable polygamists.

BTW, why can these guys never discuss American women's media tastes without referencing Sex and the City, a show that has been off the air for a decade?  It's beginning to seem like a kind of tic.

General Stalin describes himself as "a passionate but misanthropic cynic who is tired and beaten down by the shortcomings of Western civilization, currently living a life of quiet desperation."  I feel his pain.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm right in the middle of "Blue is the Warmest Color,"and I'm just getting to the "good parts" if you know what I mean (and I know that you do).

Now This Is Scary

Looks like A Nice Guy, doesn't he?

I can mostly dismiss the New Misogynists as a pretty marginal bunch of losers, but then a story comes along that makes me realize some of them actually exercise authority and influence in The Real World. And that is scary. Take the case of Mike Maggio, a judge from Arkansas who was recently doxxed and revealed to be the author of the kind of blithely horrible racist and misogynistic comments that are the fodder of most manosphere blogs. Shivering in the cold wind of his exposure, he is ineffectually struggling to maintain his position in the Corridors of Power by issuing the type of (non)apologies these idiots are wont to do.  The author of This Ruthless World discusses this phenomenon -- sure to become more common in the near future -- in her typically incisive fashion.  And when it rains, it pours: the embattled judge is now facing an onslaught of unrelated complaints of misconduct and civil suits because, in addition to being a complete dick about women and African-Americans, he also seems to be incompetent at his job.

Too Funny Not to Share

If you haven't seen the new website of "Femgoddess" Desiree Meyers-Liebowitz, it isn't for her lack of self-promotion on twitter.   She only has one post up so far, but it's designed to create quite a stir in the PUA community:  "The Five Ugliest Pickup Artists".  It's a much funnier (and much meaner) riposte to the Return of Kings post that started me on my own road to ruin over a year ago.

My initial question was, Who exactly is Desiree sending up?  Because she seems to be making as much fun of the "fat acceptance movement" and the "BBW" scene as she is of the New Misogynists.  In other words, I was pretty skeptical that Desiree Meyers-Liebowitz was the unapologetic cuckolding feminist fatty that she claimed to be.

I had no idea who the creator could be of (what I initially assumed was) this brilliant caricature, or even his/her gender.  For if "The Five Ugliest Pickup Artists" she eviscerates in her post represent the average woman's worst nightmare, Desiree's online persona is custom-built to be the average manospherean's fever dream of what a "feminist" is:  A "gender studies" major, she has scored herself a "beta" lawyer husband "Harold" who, when not busying himself in the kitchen, is rubbing her feet and, indeed, embracing every inch of her gloriously wanton, gluttonous self, while she lolls on the couch stuffing herself with cheetos and entertaining a stream of eager swains.

Then I did a little "research" (that is, idle stalking googling) and I learned that Desiree has been lurking in the manosphere for years, even posting on Il Douche's Forum in 2012 (back before he decreed that vaginas defiled the Inner Sanctum*).  So it appears that she has either been "trolling" these guys for quite a while, or else Desiree Meyers Liebowitz really is "for real."

It doesn't matter either way, I guess.  My only question for Desiree at this point is, What took you so long?  And what will you post next?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* And before he thought to explicitly exclude "homos" or even ban his own members if they stooped to respond to a female commenter who had somehow slipped through security.  Are there no lengths to which this freak won't go to maintain "ritual purity?"

Is This the Worst Relationship Advice Ever?

A couple of weeks ago, our favorite "Game Master" challenged his readers, "Are You The Player Or Are You Getting Played?"

There are only two roles that can exist in any male-female relationship:

• The player
• The person who gets played  

(This post seems deliciously ironic in light of the fact that it was quickly followed by the writer and his co-conspirator Tuthmosis "playing" the entire Roosh V and Return of Kings readership, as though to drive home the point in the most humiliating manner that this "zero-sum game" is not confined to sexual relationships.)

The man who is "a winner" gets to establish all terms, chief among them "the frequency and depravity of sex," the opportunity to "degrade her in bed to your satisfaction." 

Wow. Let's just get past this unfortunate choice of words -- this is Roosh, after all --  and concede (for the 100th time) that this is a person who not only hates women, but really hates the sexual act itself.  For how can one person "degrade" another without degrading himself?  How morally bankrupt and perverse is a person who perceives the act of sex as an opportunity to "degrade" another human being?

"There is no other role that you can fill. There is no 50/50."

In fact, I have seen (though thankfully few) relationships in which the individuals involved DID take turns exploiting and humiliating each other tit for tat.  But I didn't get the impression either party was enjoying himself/herself much.

A relationship in which one party pulls all the strings all the time is going to get tedious even for (indeed, especially for) the one in charge.  That's why it strikes me that doms have a much harder "job" than subs do.  That's why there is always a bigger market for "tops" than "bottoms."

"Remember that time when you started off as the player, but then you got played in the end? I know why that happened. It’s because you stopped giving her the game that got her in bed in the first place."

Now here Roosh actually touches on something that I can recognize as a kind of truth:  To keep the other's interest, especially in the early stages of a relationship, one must remain a little at bay.  It is human nature that we don't value what is too easily obtained.  Courtship is a series of small tests; it is a dance in which one partner steps forward, the other back (and reverse).  And even later, if and when commitment and trust are established, the roles of "giver" vs. "receiver" tend to fluctuate. Among many contented couples I have seen, one partner is always more "in love" than the other, and that works well too -- so long as the power balance is not too lop-sided.  50/50?  Probably not realistic.  20/80?  Not uncommon at all.

I also think Roosh has a point when he claims women dislike "needy" men who force them to run the show.  My impression is that passivity and "instant attachment" are, indeed, huge turn-offs to most (although not all) women.  Whether this reflects an intrinsic quality in women's natures, I don't know, but I'm willing to entertain the possibility.  My personal observation is that, while it is true that "neediness" in a man is more of a turn-off to women than the other way 'round, it doesn't follow that most men are looking for a "sex-bot" in the flesh, either.

To keep the spark alive, both parties must be stimulated by a sense that they do not possess "all" of their partner.  And whether male, female, or other, people in a coupled relationship need to work to maintain their individuality and "personhood" for a number of reasons.  One of these reasons is pragmatic.  Relationships never last forever.  Unless both parties perish simultaneously in a fiery crash, one is likely to predecease the other.  If the survivor has completely given himself away, built his or her life entirely around another, what will be left to sustain him?  Another reason is that a relationship without any tension or conflict whatsoever is about as exciting and as "sexy" as a tepid bath.  Predictability is the death of romance, and what could be more numbingly predictable than a relationship in which one person calls all the shots all the time?

What frustrates me about someone like Roosh giving relationship advice to young men is that he is someone who has never been in an intimate relationship himself (sorry, one night stands just don't count).  It's even worse than celibate priests acting as marriage counselors, because Roosh actually hates women.  (And while the Catholic Church as an institution treats women badly, I don't assume its individual clergy do.)  It's like taking financial advice from a person who (looks like he) lives in a trailer park.

And if there's one thing I'm pretty sure about after examining the readership of these self-appointed authorities is that most of them really do want relationships.  Of course, if you're a lonely, horny 17 year old, a casual "bang" (or even a series of them) sounds great, but I expect their dreams are a little bigger and better than that: They want beautiful girlfriends who understand them and want to have sex with them because they love them for who they are.

Isn't that what everyone wants?

I really hate to see impressionable minds prematurely embittered by cynical advice like this because their dreams are not impossible or permanently out of reach -- although following "game" theory is the worst way to achieve them.

Candy Darling, Born Too Soon?

I have always adored Candy Darling, one of Andy Warhol's "superstars" of the sixties.  While she was enjoying her 15 minutes of fame, I was in middle school, too young to see her movies, but I recall her face on the movie posters and in the Vogue spreads, and thought she was the absolute pinnacle of feminine glamor.  I don't think I realized she was transsexual at the time;  I don't think I knew what a transsexual was back then.

What really impresses me now is how a chronically broke, homeless transsexual (back in the days when cross-dressing was a crime), who slept on couches and subsisted on party leftovers and speed, could always look so... perfect?  What also really impresses me now is what a dry wit she had.  She is the funniest (and best) element of any of those old Warhol movies, especially Women in Revolt, which was meant to be satire of the burgeoning women's liberation movement (but which doesn't seem so satirical to me now).

Candy Darling was born and raised a beautiful "boy" on Long Island, and she turned herself into Kim Novak.  In fact, she outdid Kim Novak.  She was the inspiration for two Lou Reed songs, and her iconic death bed photo (she died of lymphoma, age 29) has adorned many a wall and record cover.

That wasn't just role playing: She really was dying.

A documentary about her life, Beautiful Darling, made by her best friend Jeremiah Newton in 2010, is now available on DVD.  Obviously a labor of love, it left me with a lot of unanswered questions, and a hunger to know (and see) more.  Sadly, it is likely to be the last word on the unfulfilled promise of her brief life.

Femitheist Divine Lives On!

A couple of years ago Paul Elam posted rather hysterically about the suicide of a "radical feminist" who had been advocating, among other drastic measures, the castration of men and the worship of the feminine principle, apparently never pausing to consider that her series of Youtube videos might be a blatant and fairly elaborate hoax.
    
It's been a couple of years since she was doxxed and then "faked her own suicide", but Femitheist Divine is still producing Youtube videos and until quite recently, was still engaging with MRAs.  And she is still the "feminist" a lot of gullable manosphereans love to hate.

She was very young when she started to troll the Young Misogynists, BTW -- well under 21 at the time.  I'm not sure if her relative youth says more about her precocity or the dearth of creative outlets available to teenagers in rural Arkansas.

Many of the manospheans have finally figured out they are being royally pranked by this naughty Southern Belle, but they're still pissed off.  They know that the world is divided into two groups, The Players and The Played, and, as the last kerfuffle on Return of Kings demonstrates, they don't like finding themselves in the latter category -- no, not one little bit!  

I've only watched bits and pieces of her oeuvre, but my own distinct impression is that Femitheiste Divine is neither "evil" nor "mentally ill" and that she still finds that making fun of the boys of the manosphere can be pretty diverting.

Hypatia of Alexandria

Tonight I watched "Agora", a 2009 Spanish film by director Alejandro Amenabar starring Rachel Weisz as Hypatia of Alexandria, a 4th century pagan mathematician sometimes credited (probably inaccurately) with inventing the astrolabe and hydrometer, but whose work on conic curves is well established.   Hypatia was brutally murdered by Christian zealots (depicted in the scene below).

The film has been criticized for being historically inaccurate.  Although Hypatia is considered "one of the mothers of mathematics", none of her work survived her death and the only information we have is from secondary sources.  Regardless of liberties taken, the film is worth watching, especially if you enjoy ancient historical dramas as I do, simply for the recreation of ancient Alexandria in the moments before the collapse of the Roman Empire (the film was shot in Malta), and for the poignant performance by Rachel Weisz.

Rational thought quashed by fundamentalism, the distrust of education and intellectual achievement (particularly of women), sexual violence as a means to intimidate an entire gender...  Is this what the 21st century proponents of the "Dark Enlightenment" advocate?

 

International Women's Day

It's International Women's Day.  I love how this "doodle" includes a brief shot of beautiful and outspoken Janet Mock, a (trans) woman activist who has become a prominent voice for transgender rights recently.  This reminds me I need to buy her new book.

Buy a T-shirt, Support the SPLC

Over here at Casa La Strega, I'm holding a little fundraiser for the Southern Poverty Law Center, and you're all invited.  (If this were real life, I would have an open bar, but as we're all on the internet, I can only send you a virtual martini, purtroppo.)  For a mere $15.00+ you can purchase this t-shirt through cafepress.  A third of the proceeds will go to the SPLC.  This is set up as a fundraiser, so you only have 21 days to make up your mind and quantities are limited.  Hey, what's more cheerful for spring than a yellow cotton shirt with a merry little bee stalking dangerously buzzing merrily about? C'mon, you know you want one!

A Heartening Post by Pharyngula

This story on PZ Myer's blog today, about an Indian man who invented a way to make disposable sanitary napkins affordable to poor women, is truly inspiring.  I totally love that he recognized what a struggle maintaining menstrual hygiene was for the women in his village. 

We take disposable tampons and napkins for granted, but in fact they're a fairly recent development.  I remember my grandmother describing how the women in her family had a special bucket in which to soak blood-stained rags in preparation for Wash Day.  It was hidden in a dark corner of the basement, a shameful and disgusting receptacle, vigilantly kept from the eyes of children and menfolk.

Who Cares What Women Think?

Not the "manosphere", that's for darn sure!  I mean, do I have to spell it out for you?  "MAN-o-sphere." 

I so wish, like Matt Forney, I could learn to disregard the opinions of people for whom I have no respect.  (Even if, as in this case, that group constitutes 52% of the population.)  I'd definitely be happier and probably a lot more productive.

On the other hand... For a fellow who considers females' opinions of no consequence whatsoever, Matt F. sure does spend a lot of time tracking down any negative reactions to his opinions.  And then declaring those who dare mock him to be his "enemy" and compiling dossiers on them.  And then plotting revenge, pronouncing his sentence, and meting out his own special version of Wild West justice.

For a guy who proudly proclaims himself "the most hated man on the Internet" and who churns out bestsellers like Trolling For A Living, Matt Forney is shockingly thin-skinned.

In the same post, he re-publishes his own tweets explaining whose opinions do matter:

Matthew Forney @realmattforney Follow

The manosphere is for MEN, young men in particular. The opinions of everyone else are irrelevant.

Unfortunately, this particular tweet didn't go down too well with one of his readers, some old geezer who positions himself as a kind of General in the War On Women:

"Ultimately, it’s the old guys who have the political connections and money who hire the young men and provide resources to make things happen. Don’t ignore the old guys. If daddy ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy."

And then of course our favorite ray of "Christian" sunshine jumps in, to blather on about the gender norming of IQ tests, like anyone there gives a hoot that she "administers them as a part of my job" (that is, when she isn't crashing the boys' parties).  

Oh Mary, dear Mary, can't you read?  Even Red Pill girls haz got cooties!

This Is A Bit Rich!

Roosh, in response to criticism from his forum members for "trolling" them, lectures:

Emotionally secure people are not harmed by others perspectives, genuine or trolling. … If you feel like you are being trolled or become angry at something you read online, see if there is a way you can learn from the experience and be grateful for it.

Uh-huh.

Oh no!

I'll admit that part of the "addictive" quality of following the New Misogynists is that there always seems to be a lot of petty drama going on in their lives.  Really, the "manosphere" (and that especially includes the female bloggers), is like a huge soap opera, full of squabbles, weird sexual fantasies, and the occasional twist and turn in the story lines.  Although I think we could all see this coming.

UPDATE  It was a hoax perpetrated by Il Douche himself.  I wonder how his followers will feel about this.  It's kind of like Fawney calling his readers "retards", isn't it?  Oh these boys, what a merry crew of pranksters they are!

The Internet as a Weapon of Misogynists

This article in Salon caught my attention today, for obvious reasons:  "Women who have a tendency to exhibit feminist notions on the Internet are especially victims of this [doxxing and humiliation].  Anti-feminism and the doxxing movement are interrelated.  There's a notion of wanting to harm women who speak out or take up too much space, women who don't know their place on the Internet.  As Adam Savage says, 'The Internet hates women'."

Just What the Doctor Ordered!

Courtesy of Muse in Vivo, this is really brightening my afternoon!

24 Hours of Happy with Pharrell Williams

"Barren" vs. "Child-Free"

Several of my colleagues are dealing with the travails of parenting adolescent children, and whenever I overhear them complaining, I can't help but think, "There but for the Grace of God..."  For some of them, the workplace is a refuge from the incessant demands of the ungrateful, surly rebels in their care.  How fortunate I feel to go home and have only to tend to loving pets and a kind, supportive human companion.

Yet the New Misogynists darkly warn young women to avoid the fate of spinsters like me, who wind up alone and unloved.  Having failed to fulfill our biological destiny, we are almost worse than useless.  I have even recently been described, without irony, as "barren", one of those portentous biblical terms (like "fornicate") the manosphereans like to fling about in a futile attempt at gravitas.  It never fails to amuse me. 

Like most women of my generation, I vaguely assumed that some day I would have a biological family -- when I was good and ready, that is.  Unfortunately, by the time I was psychologically and financially prepared to take such a momentous leap of faith, I had developed a medical condition that prevented conception.  That was sad.  It took me several years to make peace with the loss of that dream.  Yet however wistfully I have viewed my childless state, I have never regretted not becoming a mother in my twenties: That would have been an unmitigated disaster for everyone involved!  Nor have I ever thought human evolution has suffered from my failure to reproduce, since it has always been evident to me that what the world needs is greater investment in fewer people.

Not having one's own biological children is just that: the loss of a dream.  Because it strikes me that the longing to become a parent is based on a kind of fantasy.  In my dream, of course, my children would be healthy, attractive, intelligent, and moral.  They would be perfected versions of myself.  In my dream, I would be an exemplary mother: nurturing, stimulating, endlessly patient.  Of course, with the hindsight of age, I can see that I would probably have been a well-meaning but highly imperfect parent.  There is no guarantee that any child I might have had would have turned out to be either happy or successful.  Furthermore, there is no guarantee that we would even have liked each other.  Few of us are always grateful to our parents for conceiving us, the "gift of life" being the very mixed bag that it is.  In fact, parents are fortunate if their children finally come to understand and appreciate the efforts that they made on their behalf.*

One colleague worries that her teenager is a "narcissist" who is "full of rage". We hasten to assure her that these unpleasant traits are part and parcel of normal adolescent development, and that he is bound to "grow out of it".  Then, of course, I wonder, "But what if he doesn't?"

What if I had had a son who had turned out like Roosh, or Matt Forney, or any of the men who admire them?  I have no reason to believe that their parents were any worse or better than most.  While it is clear to me that these young men have been failed in some terrible ways, I do not assume the failure is their parents', or at least not exclusively their parents'.

Although these men are now adults, I imagine their families must be deeply disappointed and aggrieved to see their only sons, who started out in life so bright, shiny and full of promise, take such wrong turns.   

I have given suck, and know
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:
I would, while it was smiling in my face,
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you
Have done to this.
--Lady Macbeth
_______________________________________________________________________

*  Does the curious fact that the following poem by Philip Larkin was one of my mother's favorites hold some kind of key here?

They fuck you up, your mum and dad,
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were sloppy stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have have any kids yourself. 

Pharyngula Speaks on My Behalf

That notorious "white knight" and godless liberal PZ Myers has kindly agreed to champion this lady's reputation.  For which she will always be grateful. 

-- Cynthia Gockley AKA "La Strega"

Why Misogyny is Unmanly

Antidote to the horrific crap I've been writing about for over a year:  Why Misogyny is Unmanly.

Note to Self:  Find more.

A Public Service Announcement

Over here at Casa La Strega, we interrupt our regularly scheduled programming for a brief Public Service Announcement:  Hey, kids, there is a reason that people of my generation used to scrawl "Speed Kills" on every wall and alleyway.  

Now, personally, I've never used speed.  Other than nicotine and caffeine, I've never gone in for stimulants.  Maybe that's because I saw the devastating effect that amphetamines had on my mom.  Like many housewives in the sixties, she was routinely prescribed "diet pills" by the family doctor.  If you watch Mad Men, this unfortunate period in American medical history is accurately depicted in the Betty Draper storyline.

My mother under the influence of speed was terrifying to me as a child: I truly thought she was possessed.  Somewhere I still have a drawing I made of her when I was seven or so, with lightening bolts shooting out of her eyes.

Routine use of amphetamines can render otherwise normal people paranoid, delusional, and grandiose.  For someone who already demonstrates these characteristics in a non-medicated state, it is a lousy choice as a recreational drug.

What is an even more baffling choice is soliciting for this, or any other illegal drug, on Twitter.  Just saying, man.  Just say no!

And Yet We Outlive Men!

Over at the Inner Sanctum of Il Douche, "Scorpion" weighs in on a female writer I haven't heard about for decades.  (Scorpion is an enthusiastic participant there, having posted over 1300 comments in three years.)  Scorpion is in a state of high dudgeon over author Elizabeth Wurtzel.  If you don't recognize the name, don't feel bad.  Her only main claim to fame is her 1994 best-seller, Prozac Nation, which no one references any more because... Hello! It's now 2014!  (Although, to be fair, a lot of folks are still taking Prozac.)   

"She really is completely obsessed with herself," he fumes.  And you know what, Scorpion?  I couldn't agree more:  Wurtzel is one female writer to whom the manosphere's favorite descriptors of women -- that they are "narcissistic" and "solipsistic" -- fairly apply.  

I remember having a go at Prozac Nation when it was first published, while visiting my sister.  She had thoughtfully left it on the night table for me as a little bedtime reading, but within the first chapter, I found myself disliking the author so much that I had to plod into the living room to find an old National Geographic to nod off to instead.

Scorpion continues:  "Women literally go insane if they don't have the stability of a man in their life, or the purpose provided by motherhood. They just lose themselves in their own minds, overcome by their solipsism. Without a husband and children, the middle-aged and beyond a woman literally has no purpose for existence. She is just sort of there, consuming resources for her own enjoyment."

As I take in those last two lines, I take in the bitter reality of my own wasted life.

Because I have to admit, this has been one day like countless others when I haven't accomplished a damn thing beyond getting my nails done and making an impressive dent in the Valentine's Day chocolate my sweetie presented me with yesterday.

And I'm clean out of Prozac.
 
"This ultimately leads to extreme self-loathing, which this woman is undoubtedly experiencing... Once the last of her looks fade, she will literally be left with nothing but cats, wine and memories of her youthful whoredom."  

It then occurs to me that a glass of blackberry wine would be just the thing to finish off my chocolate orgy.  I'll first have to kick my way through a pack of sleeping hounds to reach the kitchen though: 

"Another wasted life. Another victim of feminism."

I'll Admit I'm Kind of Impressed

Ironically, I am probably the only person who visited this blog this week who had not read Matt Forney's "justification" for doxxing me last Sunday.  It took me a few days to summon the steel to do more than glance at it.  I'm sure you can understand. 

I have only just read it in its entirety tonight, and...  and...  Oh, how can I put this?  I have to admit that he demonstrates an exceptional flair for...  this particular kind of thing.  (I'm not sure what to call it -- character assassination?  I'm not being snarky BTW  -- I'm absolutely sincere.  If he weren't so emotionally crippled, he could be the Karl Rove of his generation.  

I mean, Holy Moly!  By the time I had finished reading, I was scared of myself.  I'm not sure I come across as a narcissist, though -- more like a someone with severe Borderline Personality Disorder. I had to go back and read what I had written over the past year just to reassure myself that I was actually pretty lucid (at least most of the time).

What strikes me is how much effort Forney put into this.  It must have taken him days, if not weeks, to compile.  And none of those hours were compensated, not even at his modest advertised rates.  In a way, it's a shame, because trying to make this thing "go viral" turned out to be a complete bust, and if he attempts to milk it further, he's really going to look desperate. 

Not only do I expect that his fan base found the "expose" rather boring, but, on some level, the whole episode must have made some of them downright queasy.  My rather white-bread, matronly mug probably reminded them of their own moms'.  And something tells me that the last thing a typical Matt Forney reader wants to be reminded of is his mom.

Face it, 99.9% of the "manosphere" participate anonymously.  How can they fail to acknowledge how vulnerable their identities are?  This is not to be construed by any paranoiacs out there as a veiled threat BTW.  If I have ever "doxed" anyone (this is Mr. Forney's justification for behavior that violates even the norms of his own community) it was not intentional and I have apologized and rectified the error.  

See, I'll admit I'm kind of a dope about technology (blame age + lack of interest).  I can barely operate the media console in my classroom!  Obviously my own naivete contributed to my own doxing.  Live and learn.

In closing, I must say it's been a strange and singular experience to see an image of myself planted at the foot of a manosphere blog home page, kind of like it would feel to unexpectedly glimpse myself in someone else's movie.  The picture, BTW, was taken at a local restaurant a couple of years ago, at a birthday celebration.  I recall that I was a little tired, but having a nice time with my friends. I'm grateful that I at least look pleasant.  If he'd found my old faculty picture, everyone would think that I was an elderly Korean man on a bender.

Death Wish?

1. Roosh ‏@rooshv 7h

   Some men treat the red pill as a small dip in the pool, but I'm driving this submarine as deep as I can go until the window starts cracking.

   .

On Doxxing

Doxxing: a new word for a new social phenomenon.  I was just reading an interesting article about it.

My students are always amazed when I tell them of the "old days" (when I was their age), before the age of personal computers and the internet.  They simply cannot conceive that there was a time when people communicated by hand-written letters or expensive long-distance phone calls, when "self-publishing" involved mimeograph machines.

Who imagined back in the seventies that one day anyone could "publish" anything globally, instantaneously, and... anonymously?  

Because of this, it has always been hard for me to wrap my head around the way people take "anonymity" for granted nowadays.  I'm very ambivalent about it.  I'm not sure if it's a positive social element.  In fact, I've often sensed that, at least as it has been practiced on the internet recently, it can be downright pernicious.  The freedom to say anything one damn well pleases without the risk of social disapprobation brings out the most careless and cowardly behavior.  It divorces actions from consequences.  (And yeah, I'm including myself here.)

I believe public discourse probably functions better when opinions are attached to real people.

What would happen to the "manosphere" if everyone was simultaneously and forcibly "doxxed" as I have been?  How would they react if they had their names, their addresses and phone numbers, their work and sexual histories revealed and disseminated to the most hostile imaginable audience?  Would these tough-talking guys just slink back into the woodwork, or would their "movement" finally evolve into a reality-based force for change? We'll probably never know, but I find it amusing to speculate.

I once had a conversation with the writer Joanne Greenburg, who published her first and most successful book, I Never Promised You a Rose Garden, under the pseudonym "Hannah Green" in order to protect her parents' privacy.  She told me that she regretted it, and that pseudonyms generally caused more trouble than they were worth.

If I were to do it over again, I must say that I would not have used a pseudonym.  Of course, that means I might have been a mite more circumspect about the personal information I revealed!  But on the other hand, maybe not.  Truth is, I'm just getting too old to be very self-protective of my "image" or to present myself as anything other than what I am.  Call me crazy, ugly, fat, old, barren (!) -- I really don't care, you're probably right, it just doesn't matter.  See, I have pretty much lost all my vanity.  There's a great deal of freedom, as well as time-honored patriarchal tradition, in becoming a shameless crone operating on the margins of polite society.  That freedom is, perhaps, the greatest consolation of age.  And it has ever been thus. 

Roosh

February 9, 2014 at 5:14 pm

*Standing ovation*
This post now comes up #4 in a search for her name.  The sad thing is I bet she is above-average looking compared to the other posters on manboobz.

Hmm...  "above average in appearance"... Am I damned by faint praise here?
 
Ruin my reputation?  I don't have a "reputation" to ruin.  In fact, I am so completely inconsequential, so utterly without influence or public recognition, that even if you littered the internet with slander about me, no one would care one bit.  I've been employed at the same institution for fifteen years, and the admin there already know I'm a mixed bag of nuts.  And contrary to what Forney may believe, critical thinkers do "consider the source".  Anyone whose opinion I care about is unlikely to give much weight to online attacks from noxious trolls. 

The real mystery is why Matt Forney et al care what I say.  After all, in their world, I have long outlived whatever usefulness I once served as a woman, and now hardly count as a human being at all.  I reckon I'm about as much a threat to Matt Forney as a mosquito. A mosquito with bad knees, a full-time job, and a mortgage.  Who lives on the opposite coast.

So life proceeds apace at Casa La Strega.  After a flurry of hits on my blog (though I suspect no one hung around long enough to read anything, unfortunately), and a handful of inane, anonymous comments, nothing much is different.  I awake each morning and find there are no flying monkeys circling my roof, after all. I go to school and plod, more or less cheerfully, through my daily grind, I make plans for Valentine's Day with my sweetie, I chuckle at the characterization of myself as "a dangerous narcissist" as I clean up dog poop, drive my neighbor's kids to school, pay utility bills.

Woman's Tales

Somehow I stumbled on an interesting series called "Woman's Tales" of which this is part.

An Early Childhood Memory

My earliest memory is this:  I am three years old and playing in the front yard of our old house on a spring day.  I spy a bee crawling lazily in the damp, warm grass. 

Early portrait of a dangerous feminist

. 

"Don't step on the bee," my mother warns.  "It will sting you."  

I consider my mother's warning for a moment.  Up to this point, I really haven't even thought about stepping on the bee, but now that I've been warned not to, I can hardly resist.  I don't know yet what it feels like to be stung, and my curiosity outweighs my fear.  I raise one fat, pink, bare foot over the bee and press down tentatively.  

The bee stings me and I burst into tears.  

My mother scoops me up, deposits me inside in my high chair, and removes the stinger with a pair of tweezers.  "It was a bad bee," I wail.  "Don't worry," my mother says grimly.  "Now it's dead. Bees die once they lose their stingers."  This information triggers a fresh volley of tears, as I am now filled with remorse over the fact that I have not only been hurt by, but have myself killed, another sentient creature, simply to satisfy my own relentless curiosity.

I share this memory with my girlfriend yesterday over a late lunch, and she rolls her eyes.  "You haven't changed much, have you?" she says.

Indeed, I have trundled through my entire life recklessly squashing bees, and have sometimes regretted it.  Fortunately, all the bees I've trod on have had very small stingers.

Too Bad I No Longer Smoke!

Because damn it, I used to love a cigarette with my morning coffee.

I'm just going to ask you to consider this:  If someone were being "stalked" by a "dangerous narcissist" -- if he only suspected it -- wouldn't the rational response be to contact law enforcement authorities?  Wouldn't it be rather irrational to instead write and promote a post that really is tantamount to a borderline libelous character assassination?

I think you know as well as I do that Mr. Forney is lying when he claims to be motivated by a need to "protect the public."  And some of you must surely recognize that this was the action of a very little, very vindictive person.

I will quote another MRA on this issue:

"If there is a serious risk to the public the correct action is to call the authorities. Anyone with half a brain cell could tell you that is what responsible people do. They do not go onto their blog and give out any personal information on that person, hand their readers pitchforks and torches, and then expect any real justice to be served. The only thing that will come out of that course of action is the very real risk that someone will get hurt, or worse.

Could it be that AVFM never reported the Femetheist to the authorities because they know the authorities would not see her as any sort of risk to the public? Of course they did, and that is why they doxxed her so that their form of 'justice' can be exacted since the real world would never take their concerns seriously - because the cornerstone of western jurisprudence is that a person is innocent until proven guilty - in a court of law - not on the internets."

OK Stupid; or All's Fair in Love and War

First, a little shout out to Shadow_Nirvana, who has been known to visit and comment here:  I was very sorry to see how some of the ladies piled up on you over at Manboobz yesterday.  What offended me most was one comment that referred to you as "some random dude" when, as far as I know, you've been reading and commenting in that space as long as I have.  

For other readers, to make a long story short:  David Futrelle posted a link to a story about a math whiz who "gamed" OK Cupid in order to get more hits from the kinds of girls he preferred.  What this has to do with "misogyny" I have no idea.  I find this fellow's behavior a bit obsessive and eccentric, but hardly "creepy".  Anyway, most of the ensuing criticism centered on his "cheating".  What "cheating" means in this context is also highly subjective.  I mean, don't we all post our most flattering pictures?  Don't we all omit the least savory aspects of our histories?  When it comes to online dating, as in any form of marketing, caveat emptor.

Shadow_Nirvana simply pointed out that women will "game" systems in order to increase the odds in their favor, so it was perhaps unfair to characterize this as something only men do.  And for this he was immediately and sharply quashed.  (Curiously, everyone assumed Shadow_Nirvana was a male, and I didn't notice that h/she claimed otherwise, but up until then I had no idea of his/her gender and didn't really care.)

Manipulating systems in order to give oneself an advantage is hardly a gendered behavior, of course.  Nor is it necessarily an unethical one.  Shadow_Nirvana's comment could have led to an interesting conversation about the ways women also try to turn tables to their advantage.  But, as we all know, manboobz is not a forum for self-reflection or even tolerance of divergent points of view.  (This is not a criticism, BTW, because I enjoy the website very much and think David does a superlative job monitoring the whacky world of the manosphere, but it's just the nature of a group of this size to become rather rigid and controlled by a few dominant voices.)

Back in the day, when I was a buxom, bodacious blonde, I had a colleague who was always trying to pull me on to blind double dates with various successful, older men, none of whom, unfortunately, I found in the least bit attractive.  I didn't understand why Frances, a tall, slender Scottish lass with masses of gorgeous red hair, exceptional tits, and a rapier-sharp wit, was willing to squander her precious Saturday evenings fending off the lecherous advances of fat, sweaty, balding businessmen.  "I'd go out with a gorilla for a free meal!" Frances would exclaim.  Neither could I understand how Frances could characterize those meals as "free";  from my perspective, they were damn hard work.

However, Shadow_Nirvana would probably assert that Frances was demonstrating one of the most time-honored feminine forms of "gaming the system" and I'd say he was exactly right. 

As I've mentioned before, I used to be a bit of a slut, but I like to think I was always an "ethical slut".  I never let anyone buy me anything once I had made up my mind not to take things to the next level.  In other words, if I knew for certain I did not intend to sleep with a man, I would not allow him to buy me a drink; in fact, I was more likely to buy him a drink (perhaps as a consolation prize?).  I was very careful that way.  On the other hand, if I knew I wanted to have sex with a man, I had no qualms about letting him pick up the tab: I was going to make it all very much worth his while in the near future, and by paying for my meal or my movie, he was demonstrating he was interested too.

That's all in the past now, of course.  Thank God I have finally found someone I can contentedly pair up with and don't have to return to the dating trenches.  

What also struck me about this OK Cupid story (and the many, many references to this particular dating site I have seen) is how technology makes dating even more exhausting and tedious than it was twenty years ago.  I'm sure I'm not the first person to observe that having to sift through huge databases of prospective love interests not only requires hours of monotonous labor, but also the sheer volume of potential suitors has a tendency to ratchet up one's expectations to a stratospheric level.  

When I come home to a pile of unmarked essays, I have been known to steel myself with a stiff martini or two.  I can't imagine having to process a dozen daily missives in my OK Cupid inbox on top of that.

We are drowning in consumer choices, and dating has become no different.  Of course, at some point, most people must "settle".  Has it not been ever thus?  To keep oneself "on the market" forever is to consign oneself to a special level of Hell (and yes, that goes for men as well as women, regardless of what "The Game" boys imagine).

Truly it is one of the few consolations of aging that, even if something were to happen to my SO (God forbid), I am no longer hormonally driven to seek a sexual partner.  If you're not yet post-menopausal, you may not believe this, but just take my word for it:  Loss of libido can be very liberating.

OK, true confession time:  I met my SO online.  She hates me to share this, but we actually met through an ad I placed on craigslist.  This was nearly ten years ago, before craigslist personals had become the sea of utter depravity it now appears to be.   What makes the story unique is that there was no category for what I was seeking (woman for trans), and so only someone who was seeking the exact same unrecognized configuration could have found it.  I didn't have many responses, of course.  The fact that I had hers gave our meeting a magical sense of destiny, or kismet.  I mean, what were the odds?

What's even more amazing is that, in contrast to the unusual way we met, what drew us together was the absolute and utter sense of familiarity we discovered with one another.  Talk about "six degrees of separation"!  My SO and I were born and raised within a few blocks of one another.  Her family attended my sister's church.  She went to summer camp with my brother-in-law.  We hung out at the same roller skating rink.  We played the same games, with many of the same people, and watched the same favorite television programs.  We are both of German-Scandinavian Protestant heritage.  We know exactly what the other's childhood home looked like and smelled like.  I could go on and on, but suffice to say that when we're out and about, strangers often assume we are biological sisters.  It's a vibe we give off, I suppose, which may strike others as unromantic, but is exactly what both of us long for in a partner at our respective ages (mid fifties / mid sixties).

Well, for Pete's sake.  I sat down meaning to muse about the ways women game the dating system, and I wound up telling you all about how I met my partner.  So I'll just have to return to this topic at another time...

The Manosphere Runs on Porn

Mary McCarthy was famously sued for libel for claiming that "Everything Lillian Hellman writes is a lie, including and and the."  Hellman died before the suit went to court, her reputation rather the worse for wear; McCarthy never had to pay damages nor do I believe she ever regretted making the initial accusation.

Let me summon the shade of McCarthy this morning by stating categorically that everything Matt Forney writes about sex is, well, pretty much a lie too.  It has to be.  Because this is a guy who has had very little sexual experience with women, especially not with the women who meet his exacting standards.  Over the years, perhaps, a handful of fat girls have tossed him a bone, which is partly why he rants so much about fat girls (even though & especially because he himself is rather fat).  He can hardly live with the fact that the only young women who would deign to fuck him are fat themselves.

Self-disclosure:  To be honest, I wasn't much different than Matt when I was in my early twenties.  I was rather chubby, the typical "fat girl with a pretty face," and as such, found myself on the margins of the dating market.  I compensated ferociously in various ways, and always managed to keep my dance card full, but I refused to consider the attentions of any man who was fatter or less attractive than myself.  To go out with a fat guy was to admit defeat, to admit I couldn't compete, either.  Until I was well into twenties, I only went after men whom I considered to have a higher "SMV" than I did because until then, the primary purpose of sex for me was to validate my own sense of worth.  (Fast forward to age forty, when I fell madly in love with a guy who weighed 400#, but that's another story...) 

Almost everything Matt Forney knows about sex is based on watching movies. 

He actually rates movies based on which ones have "the best rape scene."  No, you don't have to scratch the surface hard to find the perverse adolescent who is the "Real Matt Forney."

The influence of porn seeps into every nook and cranny of the manosphere -- and, to be fair, of popular American culture in general.  None of us is immune to its influence.  But nowhere is that influence so blatant and striking as in the writing of the New Misogynists.

Think Raquel Welch as Myra Breckenridge.

The physical ideal of femininity for Roosh, for example, looks more like a call girl from the sixties than a Vogue model: big hair, loads of makeup, talon-like nails, surgically augmented breasts, high heels glued to her feet. I'm always amused by the way he and other lady's men like Nick Krauser crib photos of porn actresses or models to illustrate their alleged escapades with captions like, "And she looked just like this!"

Krauser Girls

Dark and sultry

Sure she did, sonny.  Now pull the other one.

The sex the manosphereans describe involves lots of tried-and-true porn moves:  choking women (with either hands or mighty dick), spitting, squirting, ejaculating on faces or clothing, overcoming resistance through physical force.  The women are often reported to scream with ecstasy as the author bangs away like a jackhammer -- and that one last detail, boys, is a sure tip off that someone is lying exaggerating.  (You have seen "When Harry Met Sally", haven't you?  Or the classic "fake, fake, fake" scene between Jerry and Elaine on Seinfeld?  If you want to learn about the true nature of sex from the silver screen, start with those two clips!)

Look, I'm not bragging, but I had quite a bit of sex in my day, and although I am now retired, I proudly maintain my Elder Slut status, yet none of my adventures resembled a porn movie (unless my partners and I were consciously "acting out" a scene, which happened almost never).  

I would bet any amount of money that our "most hated man on the internet" has had extremely limited intimacy with a woman.  Like most of his readers, he is relying on a combination of years of absorbing violent, sexualized imagery and experienced frustration to fuel his fire.  And like most of these "leaders of men", he relies on the fact that his readers are even more naive and limited in their experiences, even more dependent on their wishful imaginations, than he is.

Back to the Kitchen Ladies!

So this week is "Return to Traditional Values" over at Return of Kings, and the boys are twittering up a storm.  This is the sweet, nostalgic side to the New Misogynists.   They just want to find a girl like Mom Grandma.  And judging by the success of Domestic Goddesses like Nigella Lawson and Martha Stewart, there are a lot of women who share this fantasy of Getting Back to the Kitchen.  Too bad the New Economy makes that pretty much impossible for all but the most affluent.

1. Retweeted by Roosh

   John Glanton ‏@ThenTheJudgment 5h

   Does being a partner in a dual-careerist household of symmetrical domestic duties and expectations sound romantic to you? #backtothekitchen

   In fact, it does to me! 
2. Retweeted by Roosh

   runsonmagic ‏@runsonmagic 6h

   When you die, it will be your children, not your co-workers, who mourn for you. 

   Funny, I was just talking about this last night with a girlfriend of mine who is also childless, and we agreed that counting on your kids to mourn you (or even come around and visit you in the nursing home) is kind of an iffy proposition. 
3. Retweeted by Roosh

   Emmanuel Goldstein ‏@Goldsteineum 6h

   The death of a grandmother elicits heartfelt eulogies of the foods she lovingly prepared. #BackToTheKitchen

   Expand 

   Not my grandmothers, neither of whom was ever considered a good cook (nor was my own mother).  My father claimed that he ate so many fried potatoes and eggs as a child it gave him a headache.  My paternal grandmother later became a strict vegan who survived on pots of gluey oatmeal and soy yogurt.  The only scrap of culinary heritage worth keeping from my grandmothers were their recipes for fruitcake and divinity.  Seriously, I think Americans in general are much better cooks than they used to be -- when they have time.  Sadly, most of us are working outside the home and simply don't have the leisure or energy to spend hours planning and preparing meals.  And all of the nagging from the boys in the manosphere isn't going to change that picture.  I mean, seriously, how are these fellas proposing to support their "traditional" wives?  Even television's favorite Mormon, Kody Brown, depends on the salaries of two of his four wives, and he's got his own reality show.  
   
   BTW, an excellent response to this RoK campaign can be found at Parodoxy. 

Philip Seymour Hoffman is Dead

I am really grieved to learn of Philip Seymour Hoffman's death today.  This song seems fitting.

Entitled Babies, the Lot of 'em

May I just say here how insanely irritating I find it when "professional" PUAs like Roosh refer to seducing women as "work", as in (God-help-me-I'm-not-kidding), "the important work I do," or the disappointment of not getting to intercourse after "putting in hours of hard work."

Excuse my vent, but I have been working for forty consecutive years.  And by "work" I mean:  going to a job every single day, doing what I was told to do to the best of my ability (even when I didn't usually feel like it), and biting my tongue over and over and over again.

Have any of these manospherean bloggers ever held a real job for more than a year?  When did blogging-for-donations while extending one's adolescence beyond thirty become a respectable lifestyle for a man?

I can't post this rant on manboobz cuz someone will accuse me of being "ableist."