Light Housekeeping

I was getting my hair colored at the beauty school yesterday.  The students always do a nice job and it's certainly affordable, but the client pays in time.  It can take close to three hours all told, although most of that time is just sitting in a chair waiting for the chemistry to happen.  So I usually remember to BMOB (Bring My Own Book) -- but yesterday I forgot.  With a sense of foreboding, I surveyed the literature piled up around the coffee urn.  Fortunately, amongst the stained and tattered copies of old Us and Today's Spa, I found a current issue of Esquire.  Actual reading material.  Score!

I hadn't read Esquire for a long while.  I can't tell you what a relief it was, after a year sounding the depths of the "manosphere", to read a mainstream "men's lifestyle" magazine.  I scanned the issue:  the return of the "cocktail cuff" (whatever that is), a lame joke attributed to a beautiful woman I've never heard of, a Prada suit made of flower-printed brocade that maybe Jared Leto could pull off  -- the usual fare. Then I stumbled on a column by Stephen Marche, whom I'd also never heard of, but which caught my eye since he seemed to be the magazine's resident "gender" expert.  It was an interesting article about what a freak show media depictions of masculinity have become.  I really wanted to tear it out and take it home, but I restrained myself. 

When I got home and read more of Marche, I learned he had written an article a few months ago, "The Case For Filth," that had got bloggers a-bloggin'.  I'm late to the party as always, but the topic is one that got me thinking since I often hear women bitching and moaning about how their husbands slack off in the house cleaning department.

Basically Marche's thesis was that the fact that wives are still doing more housekeeping than their husbands is primarily a matter of the women's choice.  And the solution to the endless wrangling over who does the lion's share of household chores is for both parties to relax, kick back, and embrace a bit of mess.

 Frankly, I agree with him.  Of course I'll admit that I'm a perfectly lousy housekeeper.  Because I'm a spinster, I can't really blame the fact that my house is in a chronic state of disarray on my husband + children.  (So I blame my dogs, LOL.)

The fact is, I don't give a damn.  There are two tasks I will never have time to do: ironing and dusting.  I rather subscribe to Quentin Crisp's philosophy, that after seven years, a house just can't get dirtier. And seriously, folks, if I can't run it through the dishwasher or the washing machine, I don't want it.

I do have a "zero growth" policy:  for every book, every can of food, every piece of clothing I acquire, I try to toss out something that takes up an equivalent amount of space.  And I like to be able to locate my stuff, so I maintain highly structured piles of crap.  My house isn't so much cluttered as it is just plain dirty. 

On the other hand, I do like to be personally clean, so I have no problem keeping up with laundry and washing dishes.  But everything else can go to hell.

BTW, although I'm not married, I have cohabited with various people over the years.  And we never argued about housekeeping.  Once in a while, I would pick up a boyfriend's sock and throw it in the laundry pile, and if he wanted it washed, he knew where it was.

This laissez-faire attitude could be a problem in the future though.  My girlfriend is kind of a neat freak.  If we ever move in together, I'm going to have to clean up my act, or else we're going to have to move into adjoining units in a duplex (and I probably don't have to tell you that I favor the latter option).

Anyway, poor Stephen Marche!  The ladies really took after him. First, Amanda Macotte took him to task.  Another female blogger pitied his wife.  Some women railed, Think of the children! Think of the germs!  It went on and on:  Obviously, this topic touches quite a nerve -- a source of angst and endless wrangling that I, as a barren spinster, am blithely oblivious to.  

Here's my take on Housework: it's kind of like Sex.  With sex, the one with the least desire controls the show, whereas with housework, the one who is least fastidious gets to opt out.  This isn't so much a man/woman conflict as it is a slob/clean freak conflict.

I must say that I thought the study Marche cites that suggests women who out-earn their spouses do MORE domestic tasks rather interesting.  And it supports my theory that part of the reason wives continue to do the lion's share of household duties is because they don't really want to forfeit their "traditional feminine" roles.

Matt Forney: Not a Guy, Not a Male, But a MAN

Ah, here goes Matt Forney again, revealing to the world how cripplingly, heartbreakingly insecure he is.  In his latest post, "The Myth of Female Intelligence," Matt explains that, just as womanly self-esteem causes his dick to wilt, "girls who tout their intelligence" make him "nauseous."  Furthermore, Matt feels confident in asserting that he feels that way, ergo all men feel that way.

Anyway, I have no reason to doubt Matt when he claims that in all his 25 years he has only met one girl who was smarter than he was.  That is because I am willing to bet that the number of girls Matt has "known" (not in the biblical sense, merely those who have willingly interacted with him for an extended period of time) can be counted on the fingers of just one of his damp, pudgy little mitts. 

Matt supports his assertion that female intelligence is a myth by arguing, among other things, that girls pick "soft majors like English... where there are no standards."  Hey, wait a minute, I thought Matt was an English major!  (BTW, I myself was an anthropology major because, believe it or not, I thought a social science major was more "practical" than one in the humanities -- but then, I am not going to argue that I am smarter than Matt Forney...)

The notion that women are valued for their intelligence is "laughable" according to Matt, although I must say, in my experience, intelligent men tend to prefer intelligent partners, if for no other reason than to validate their own smarts.  I mean, what fun is it if she doesn't appreciate how witty you really are?  What's the point of being able to make references to "Petruchio" and "Kate" if she's never read Shakespeare?  

"As men, it is our responsibility to bring girls back to their proper place. To lead them into their natural roles as wives and mothers. We men do not choose or reward girls for their clown college degrees, their meaningless cubicle jobs... We reward them for their willingness to please us and make us happy ...  No amount of phony education or career “success” will scratch that deep itch in a girl’s soul: the desire to serve a man.  Not a “guy,” not a “male”: a man." 

A man like Matt Forney, of course.  In my mind's eye, he is typing all this while holed up in his childhood bedroom in his parents' house somewhere in upstate New York, waiting for his mom to call him downstairs for dinner, perhaps mashed potatoes and meatloaf?  But no worries: after several years of nonstop blogging, he is generating almost enough income to support himself thanks to the mysterious "unethical" gig he has recently scored.  With a little more effort, he will soon be able to "reward" that elusive "suppliant" female of his fantasies...

Oh, Matt, never give up on your dreams.

This Alpha's Got Solid Game

Why Blog

Kate Harding, whose Shapely Prose was perhaps the most beloved and influential feminist blog ever ever ever, last year wrote an article "That's All She Wrote" about why she decided to "retire" from blogging (and it wasn't only because she got a column in Salon and a book deal, either).  

"I occasionally teach Blogging 101 classes now, even though I haven’t had an active blog in almost three years. The first thing I tell my students is: Do not even bother to blog unless you find it fun or someone is paying you for it. Those are the only two good reasons to do it. The second thing I tell them is: Probably no one will pay you for it. Fun is actually the only good reason to blog."

"Fun" is a subjective concept, isn't it?  There are certainly a lot of activities that are worth doing that aren't necessarily fun ("physical exercise" springs to mind).  I would rather substitute "engaging" for the word "fun" here. I have to admit that reading and writing about the manosphere initially captured my interest, even my fascination.  With over a year of exposure, my interest has waned considerably.  Once a person gets inured to the jaw-dropping horror that passes for discourse on most manosphere sites, they get mind-numbingly tedious.  And depressing.

I honestly don't know how David Futrelle keeps it up.  P.Z. Myers has likened Futrelle's job to "mining for turds under an outhouse.  You simultaneously think, “OMG, that’s the easiest mission in the world” and “OMG, that’s the most horrible mission in the world.”

I sincerely appreciate Futrelle for being willing to do what he does, because God knows someone needs to monitor these groups and keep them in the proper perspective (that is, viewed strictly through the prism of mockery).

I started a blog to practice my writing skills, but until I ran into the "manosphere" I must say "feminism" was not a subject I had much interest in at all.  I'm still not very interested in reading much feminist theory.  I may never get around to reading The Feminine Mystique and I will almost certainly never read The SCUM Manifesto, Andrea Dworkin, or other radical feminist works.  Last year a friend kept pressing me to read The End of Men and I refused for no better reason than I really detest that hyperbolic title.  So it seems rather artificial and strained to be characterized or encouraged to characterize myself as primarily a "feminist."

One of my favorite bloggers, Eseld Bosustow, announced today her intention to write about whatever she damn well pleases.  She is also burned out on the MRA.  Her appetite for logic and constructing clean, tight logical arguments is, of course, wasted on responding to intellectual pygmies.  I hope she'll keep writing, though -- on whatever topic she fancies.  Similarly, I hope Ms. Bodycrimes returns to writing on the far-reaching theme ("the ways that the body intersects with commerce") that initially inspired her blog. 

For the kind of writing I am interested in, which is personal response, bordering on confessional, a blog that is now inextricably linked to my true identity is probably just about the worst medium.  I can no longer do the kind of writing I want to do here, since I am now constrained by the knowledge that everything I write Can and Will Be Used Against Me.  And hence I have developed a kind of visceral distaste for blogging in general.  

And so it comes down to Ms. Harding's point:  If it's not fun, and you're not being paid for it, why do it?  To which I would add, if I have nothing particularly fresh or insightful to contribute, that hasn't already been said (by Ms. Harding and so many others), why bother?

And really, when it comes to the Men's Rights Movement, Ms. Harding has already said everything that ever needs to be said: "Fuck You Men's Rights Activists."

April Fools

It's April 1, in case you forgot, so Matt Forney has announced to the world he will commit suicide. Ha ha!  

It's obviously a joke.  Except that it isn't, really. Such a jest rings hollow when it's coming from a young man every cell of whose body is infused with self-loathing.  

It throws into sharp relief what a toxic stew the "manosphere" really is.  It's a place of darkness, delusion, and despair, of impotent rage, insatiable yearning, and misplaced aggression.  Anyone intent on exploring its depths for any period of time should be required to don full haz-mat protection. And then undergo several rounds of antibiotics afterwards. The scientist who discovers an antidote to the "red pill" should win the Nobel Prize.

Tears of a Clown

Reading between the lines of Roosh's post today ("Men Are Nothing More Than Clowns to the Modern Woman"), I'm guessing someone just got dumped.  

Hey, it happens to all of us, and I would be the last to dismiss the havoc it can play to one's self-esteem.  It's one thing to be rejected before we hit the dance floor.  We can always rationalize the person didn't really know us, so he/she just couldn't recognize the opportunity he/she was passing up.  But to be dumped after a few dates, and perhaps some shared intimacy, hurts like the devil, cuz that stuff is personal. It means the other person has sampled your wares -- probably the best you have on offer -- and found yours not to their taste.

But wait, in the Universe of Roosh, it's never personal.  None of his readers ever need to consider their own inadequacies when girls break up with them.  It has nothing to do with any deficiency on the guy's part, or even on the girl's:  It's the welfare state's problem.  If women didn't have jobs, they would not be able to afford to reject men.  We knew this was the case in the United States, and even worse in Denmark, but it appears to be true in Ukraine as well.

"This is why provider men (beta males) are so hopelessly failing today to secure the commitment of beautiful women in their prime, and this is why even lesser alpha males fail to enter relationships with women beyond a few bangs. Once the entertainment or novelty you provide her declines—and it inevitably will—she moves on to something or someone else..."

Roosh, the master of bizarre analogies, then compares himself to a skirt -- specifically a "glittery" skirt (i.e., not a wardrobe staple).  Then he concludes sadly that men with "tight game" have been reduced to the role of mere entertainers... "clowns."  And who would disagree with him?  Most people do consider him a clown.  Entertaining?  Well, clearly I think so.

Roosh winds up his "Dear Diary" post by trying to comfort himself that he doesn't need girls either.  (After all, he's got "options!")  He can do his own laundry and with his portable panini-press, he has no problem rustling up a home-cooked meal all by his lonesome.  And who needs babies anyway?  You can almost hear the muffled sobs as he taps all this onto his keyboard.
"Whatever natural connection that once existed between the sexes has now been severed."  Seriously?  Cuz I was outside not an hour ago, and I saw half a dozen young couples pushing strollers, enjoying a rare afternoon of sunshine, so there doesn't seem any shortage of "natural connections" in my neighborhood, at least.  Although I doubt there would be much "natural" in a "connection" with Roosh, and good for this girl for recognizing what a selfish, deluded loser he is, and moving on quickly.

 

What Was He Thinking?

When I read via mancheez about mechanical engineering professor Thomas Impelluso's sexist remarks about women on A Voice For Men, I was actually shocked.  I won't quote or summarize, just refer you to her posts.

Prof. Impelluso has elsewhere, in more mainstream forums, commented that he refuses to care about the lack of women in engineering so long as boys are lagging in reading skills.  This recalls Attila Vinczer's idiotic assertion that the focus on breast cancer just demonstrates how nobody cares about prostate cancer.  Everything is a zero-sum game with these fools.  And everything, in the end, is the fault of feminism.

And frankly, speaking as someone who teaches "college readiness" classes in reading and writing, I am offended by the implication that the young men in my class get short shrift compared to the women.  If anything, I spend more time with and more attention to helping male students in and out of class.

Now, of course I wasn't shocked that a professor might personally, in the darkest recesses of his guarded heart, hold those views  (although I still have a hard time reconciling such ignorance, arrogance, and just plain "crankiness" with being, well, educated).  What flabbergasts me is that he posted them under his real name.  Never mind the retro mindset and hostility to women in math, which, by the way, is completely counter to the efforts most academic institutions (including my own) are making to encourage women to enter STEM fields.  Never mind the curious obsession with penises and with the obligation of women to make those penises happy.  It's the simple and utter lack of common sense that blows me away. 

I can only think of Jay Leno's 1995 interview with Hugh Grant: "What the hell were you thinking?"