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.
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Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Death Wish?
-
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
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.
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
*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.
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.
Monday, February 10, 2014
An Early Childhood Memory
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.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
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."
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."
Saturday, February 8, 2014
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...
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...
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