Save the Date!

If you're an Incel / would-be player who is planning to be in Washington, DC on April 30, Roosh will be hosting an opportunity for "intimate conversations" with the Game Master himself (at a location TBA on his Facebook page and twitter feed).  

There's even a secret handshake and greeting so that the boys will be able to identify one another, just like the underworld conspirators they aspire to be.  No mention of secret decoder rings, but maybe those will be in the goodie bags.

 

"Non-obese" (fat-free?) women are invited to attend, but only provided they agree in advance to "fornicate" at least one of the lads that evening.  

 

Don't plan on winning brownie points with Roosh by buying him drinks, however:  "For such an event, I have to maintain my mental faculties at the highest level of sobriety for the philosophical and metaphysical conversations that are likely to take place."

Thanks for Noticing

Bonald at Throne and Altar posted thoughtfully about the "catfight" between Sunshine Mary, Lena, and Laura that has got half the manosphere chirping like an aviary full of parakeets.  (See also Jim's Blog for a measured response to SSM's "doxing" and manospherean reaction.)

Identifying "The Real Danger to Pseudonymous Bloggers," Bonald concludes:

So anyway, if you’re writing an anti-feminist blog, your main danger of being outed or made the target of hostile internet campaigns comes from the lunatic wing of the manosphere, not from actual feminists.

True, and thanks for acknowledging it.  Whether a female blogger is a "feminist" or an "anti-feminist," the real danger (of being doxxed, maligned and harassed) is from the manosphereans.  Blogging-while-female is asking for trouble, regardless of which team you're playing on.

What is "the real danger" of being doxxed and maligned, even libeled online?  The potential consequences are widely acknowledged to be so severe that most people consider doxxing their ideological opponents beyond the moral pale. The intersection between one's "online persona" and one's public face is a fragile membrane; in some cases, it is a horrific car crash just waiting to happen.

Being doxxed online is, in a way, to suffer the exposure of celebrity with none of its perks.  It's disconcerting, at least, to know that thousands of people can identify you, while you have no way of knowing who they are.  (Of course, I am not suggesting that thousands of people care who I am; in fact, it's obvious that they do not.)

The greatest threat to the victim is the possibility of suffering bodily harm or exposing one's children to physical harm (or humiliation).  The fact that it is statistically unlikely does not lessen the psychological impact of the threat.   

If you're blogging under a pseudonym, you'd better be prepared to be identified with the material you post in your personal and professional life, and be willing for your family members to be identified with it as well, because you are just one "Matt Forney" away from having to slap your John Hancock on it forever.

Being doxxed and my name linked to a "character assassination" was a personal violation that I would not wish on anyone, no matter how abhorrent I found his or her opinions.  But I'm also very fortunate.

I'm fortunate in that there is little that I have posted here that could ruin my professional or personal reputation.  Indeed, I live so transparently that there is little here that would surprise anyone who knows me.  That's probably why my blog is kind of boring...

ROQ Makes Me Laugh (On Purpose)

A lot of stuff on Return of Queens makes me laugh, but in a way that probably does not reflect well upon my own character.  The writers on ROQ make a fetish of their femininity and constantly admonish their readers to be "lady-like", but their blatant bigotry makes a mockery of their class airs.

You see a true "lady" (or anyone born of the professional or upper middle class in the past fifty years) may be as racist as they come, but she would rather die than admit to it. So that's what I laugh about: the ladies at ROQ are hicks, and -- sorry to say it -- white trash to the core.  Their attempts to pretend otherwise are what make me laugh.

What's different about this ROQ post, "a cutting edge documentary of the MGTOW movement," is that is is supposed to be funny. Kudos to Meredith Knight, the contributor who posted it.

In fact, all of Meredith Knight's posts so far are decent, and show a degree of wit and humor noticeably lacking in most of the anti-feminist female bloggers. Not surprising, perhaps, if she is a Registered Nurse (they're usually pretty smart people).  I wish I could persuade her to switch teams.

I'd leave a comment on the site about how tickled I was, but I am sadly not welcome there, since according to their policy, "No hybrids of either are welcome, especially feminists.  Included in the list of excluded are trans-gender [pre AND post op], gender fluid [whatever the hell that means], gay men, lesbians, male feminists [yes they do exist], and any combination of those previously listed."

I just hope Knight, with all the biology classes she's surely taken, does not seriously believe that "human hybrids" exist.

Don't Let the Door Hit You in the Ass

Although Matt Forney has taken his leave of the "manosphere" by slamming the metaphorical door in the faces of his former chums, he still has a few words to say on "the futility of online communities."

He first explains that he recently deleted a sure-fire winner of a post because it wasn't up to his own quality standards, and he "realized that writing filler pieces like that would dilute the quality of my brand."

Yes, Matt Forney has a marketable identity that he must protect!

"Excessively writing/reading about politics or feminism or current events is the intellectual equivalent of slicing your dick with a penknife while you jerk off."   

My goodness, that does sound unpleasant.

"Furthermore, sticking around in the same stagnant ideological pool warps you mentally. The water becomes dirty with feces and piss. The normal people [like Matt Forney?] slowly edge away, leaving behind the weirdos, who further retreat into their weirdness."

This all sounds so... so familiar somehow.  I didn't follow Ferdinand Bardemu (Matt's former incarnation) In Male Fide, being blissfully unaware of his / its presence at the time, but didn't Matt quit that blog too because he had grown to detest his bottom-feeding followers?  I am beginning to detect a pattern here...

According to the new'n'improved Matt Forney, continuing to read blogs that reinforce one's already entrenched political or social position is "just masturbation."

That's probably true, but so what?  If the $4 billionish porn industry proves anything, it's that people really enjoy masturbating.

"Online communities are useful for two purposes: learning and making connections with like-minded guys in the real world." 

And, I may add, for wasting an idle twenty minutes making fun of little twerps whose intellectual pretensions are only exceeded by their malice.

Not Going Back, Nu-uh, No Way

When George W. Bush was re-elected, some people in the Pacific Northwest expressed a longing to secede from the Union, perhaps incorporate with British Columbia and form a new state:  Call it "Cascadia." 

We were joking.  Kind of.

A recent post by The Practical Conservative reminded me that the impulse to break away from the mainstream and form utopian communities is an enduring theme in American history.

My mother's family were Mormons, my father's were Anabaptists, so I come from a long line of people on both sides who were utterly convinced that there was "one correct way" to live, and I was weaned on tales of the hardships they endured, the sacrifices made,  to achieve their utopian visions.  I am the offspring of two people who escaped from religious-based communities governed by rigid patriarchal ideals, and who never looked back. And I don't want to go back either.  In fact, I would be willing to sacrifice everything to maintain my individualism.  And if I had to be dependent on a community where people like SSM or the Queens set the standards of socially acceptable behavior, I'd take my chances on surviving in the wilderness.

This I believe:  There is more than one way to be a human being on this earth.  There is no one "correct way" to live. 

It's the Economy, I Tell You

In case you didn't see this excerpt from the upcoming book Marriage Markets: How Inequality Is Remaking the American Family, authors Naomi Cahn and June Carbone find that working class women (in contrast to upper middle class women) do better economically as single moms.  I didn't find the authors' conclusion in the least bit surprising: I see evidence of it all around me, every day.  

In today's economy, many working class guys can't get or maintain jobs that allow them to contribute much in the way of financial support.  Marrying such a man makes the woman responsible not only for providing for the child, but also her partner, and gives the man parental rights (i.e., shared custody) or control over her life that he wouldn't easily enjoy if she did not marry him.

Under these circumstances, choosing not to marry the father of her child is kind of a "no-brainer," especially if a woman has parents or other family members willing to help out with child care. 

Is it possible this phenomenon is fueling the backlash that the "manosphereans" represent?  Their fear of obsolescence is, after all, not unfounded.  As the middle class continues to erode, and the former working class slip into chronic, inescapable poverty, the trend of mothers unwed by choice is unlikely to reverse itself, however much they are berated by the religious right wing.  And the impotent efforts of the New Misogynists to shame these women are less menacing than pathetic, for they know and we know that those women they call "sluts" or "feminists" not only don't want them, they are better off without them.

Sloth

The webmistress of Return of Queens has promised that readers will be treated to an exposition of each Deadly Sin in the near future.  So far the Queens have tackled "Envy" (that is, the envy of feminists women of other women), and "Gluttony."

Now, looking at me, you would naturally assume that I was most afflicted by the the sin of Gluttony.  It's manifestly true that I eat too much and too often.  I joke that a day doesn't go by that I don't consume something from each of the Four Major Food Groups:  (1) chocolate, (2) cheese, (3) caffeine, and (4) alcohol.  

It isn't that I don't know better, either.  I have a college education I watch enough television to know perfectly well that a "proper" serving of meat is the size of a deck of cards, not a 12 ounce slab of tenderloin (Make mine rare!).  But who wants to eat a deck of cards?  I know that an array of fresh, lightly steamed vegetables should be adding the color to my diet, not a random bag of Skittles.  I know nuts are an excellent source of protein, but seriously, who can confine a serving of those to "five almonds" (unless they're really stale)?

"Ladies, obesity isn’t pretty.  It isn’t lady like.  Its not Queen like.  Obesity is (among other things) a disease of gluttony.  Gluttony is my pet peeve because it indicates a lack of self control.  We as women should be known for self control, and the ability to monitor our urges."  

The problem is that as soon as someone starts admonishing me to exercise "self-control" over my various "urges", my Inner Child digs in her heels and begins to howl vociferously in protest.  

Look, I've lost over one hundred pounds.  Twice.  So I am not incapable of extraordinary self-discipline for months at a stretch.  What I can't figure out is how to sustain the desire to exert that degree of self-control every day for the rest of my life.

I just sat through a lecture, part of the "Six Weeks to a Healthier You" that my school sponsors every spring.  Of course, there was not fact or figure (BMI, calorie counts, longevity tables... zzzz) that was new to me (nor to any of the other anxious Baby Boomers filling the hall).  I was there to pick up my free water bottle, grocery coupons, and discounted athletic club membership.  What I need is to want to do the things I already know will make me "healthier."  No dietician or personal trainer can give me that kind of motivation.  I guess that's what shrinks and clergy and lovers are for.

As for obesity not being "queen like," may I introduce you to Catherine the Great?

She was not crushed by a horse.

How about Queen Victoria, then?

Even in her youth, you could see the fat lady waiting to emerge.

ROQ's notion of "queen like" figures may be based on Disney fantasies and "Game of Thrones," but history shows us that plenty of fat gals have commanded nations in their day.  It's only in the past 100 years that a svelte physique has been the hallmark of class and status.  

All right, I'll concede that "obesity isn't pretty" even though a lot of fat women are.  And it's rough on one's knees.  I'll concede that I suffer from the sin of Gluttony, big time.  (There, are you happy now, you sanctimonious twats?)

However, I steadfastly deny that Gluttony is my worst offense.

My worst sin is Sloth. 

Now, by "sloth" I don't mean mere physical laziness, although it's generally true that I would much rather curl up in bed with a pile of magazines than do... well, just about anything else you can name.

By "sloth" I mean "dejection and listlessness."  In other words, probably what a lot of people nowadays call "depression."  Sloth, then, is a manifestation of a kind of despair and helplessness.  It causes me to withdraw from others because their presence makes more demands of me than I am able willing to respond to. It causes me to internally shrug at the bazillion brain cells I am blithely killing with each martini I imbibe.  The boredom I often complain of is just another word for "sloth."

My friend's death last weekend, last night's foray into "activism" are reminding me that Sloth really is My Worst Deadly Sin.

Of course, I'll have to wait to learn what the Queens have to say when they weigh in on the subject.