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.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
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
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!
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!
Monday, March 3, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
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!
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'."
Friday, February 28, 2014
Just What the Doctor Ordered!
Courtesy of Muse in Vivo, this is really brightening my afternoon!
24 Hours of Happy with Pharrell Williams
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.
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.
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