My therapist suggests I "intellectualize" my emotions, and she's absolutely right. My question is, What's wrong with that? My therapist also suggests I use humor as a shield, and she's right about that, too. What else have we got with which to defend ourselves against the casual cruelty and endless stupidity of others? As Mel Brooks proved in "The Producers," nothing cuts an enemy down as effectively as biting mockery.
But I use humor in other ways, too. My students consistently report on student evaluations that "Teacher is funny." I like to make students laugh at least once an hour because I think there is something inherently rewarding about "getting a joke" in a second language, and because the physical mechanism of laughter at least brings a burst of oxygen to the brain.
But sometimes I wonder if this is too much of a good thing. Am I sacrificing clarity of purpose for cheap laughs? In other words, do my attempts to keep students engaged through humor obscure the teaching points I have been entrusted to communicate? Are my attempts to make others laugh a gift to them, or just a way to prove to myself how clever I am?
Argh, there I go over-analyzing again, a propensity that makes me a very good therapy patient but a chronically exhausted (and occasionally exhausting) human being.
Seattle now has the highest minimum wage in the nation. I can almost afford to quit teaching and get a "useful" job (as a bartender, perhaps?) and finally quit being such a social parasite.
One of the paradoxes of the New Misogynists is that they consider women so vastly inferior to men, yet simultaneously invest women with almost magical power over a man's psyche or social status. In fact, according to Roosh, a woman (or rather, a woman's appearance) has the power to define a man, even providing "a strong indication of [his] value, though of course not the sole determinant." In "You Are The Last 3 Women You've Slept With," Roosh instructs his readers to assess their past three conquests with a critical eye in order to identify their own weaknesses and limitations. Because those ladies, for all intents and purposes, represent him.
Wow. I knew I had influenced a few past boyfriends (I hope in mostly positive ways), but I had no idea that I had defined them. I'm almost tempted to ring them up and let them know.
But wait a minute. At the risk of discouraging the hapless lads (who are now regretting that tattooed land-whale they went home with at closing last Saturday), Roosh hastens to reassure them that in fact, her deficits do not necessarily reflect the inherent value of the player himself. Sometimes the limitation is a matter of geography: "I believed Washington DC was the biggest one for me, so I got up and left, to find that the ceiling was lifted in what I could sexually accomplish." Then Roosh segues into one of the strange metaphors for which he is renowned, wherein women become food, and average looking women are "fast food." And once Roosh sinks his teeth into a juicy metaphor, there's no stopping him! "The day after eating McDonald's, when my bowel movement becomes problematic, I regret my decision to eat there." Now, anyone who has read Roosh's travel books knows that he is apt to become uncommonly obsessed with the state of his bowels, so it's natural that the sex = digestion metaphor springs so readily to his mind. Anyway, at the risk of becoming "morbidly obese" or even courting "diabetes," Roosh realized he had to return to his higher ("gourmet") standards in women and so he "made the choice to hit the farmer's market and buy the freshest produce and meats." I assume that open air market is located in Odessa? (Poland, once vaunted as the perfect "poosy paradise" has now been relegated to the status of a Safeway or a Publix.)
I'll admit I'm rather confused. This sounds more like nutritional advice than anything; perhaps Roosh should call this post "You Are What You Eat," or even better, "You Are The Last Three Things That You Have Eaten."
In which case, at this moment, I'm a taco, a diet Coke, and a bowl of lentil soup.
If you aspire to become a serious scholar of the manosphere, like me, you've got to learn the lingo. Yes, like any subculture, the manosphere has its own specialized jargon. You may not find these terms in your standard dictionary, so here are a couple of links to consult when you run across a cryptic reference to, say, "hypergamy" "gynocentrism" or "pussification." David Futrelle has put together a glossary at his website. The webmistress of Bodycrimes has also compiled a helpful "Dictionary of Misogyny."
Woud-be auteur Davis Aurini of StaresattheWorld is seeking your support in bringing his vision of the "casual cruelty" of modern life to cinematic fruition. Mr. Aurini's vision is as dark, potent, and singular as the man himself -- and it promises to "revolutionize" the contemporary narrative.
Friends, if you have ever dreamed of getting into an indie film production on the ground floor, this is your opportunity.
"Lust in the Time of Heartache" is a dark meditation on the state of our culture and our love lives, combining elements of Film Noire with marital arts action sequences."
Watch the clip for lulz. Try to ignore the way the microphone neatly obscures the ever-natty Mr. Aurini as he swings a pair of nunchucks in a deserted parking garage, or the near inaudibility of the innocent bystanders "colleagues" who are endorsing Dr. Demento's Mr. Aurini's latest project. And who's the jarringly-loud Slavic chick with the manic gleam in her eye at the end? So many intriguing mysteries here, and this is only the pitch! The theme of the proposed film is "man against himself" -- which pretty much sums up the nutty manospherean philosophy in a nutshell. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Speaking of Dr. Demento, remember "They're Coming To Take Me Away?" I remember hearing this on the radio as a kid and responding with a queasy admixture of humor and horror -- which also pretty much sums up my reaction to the nutty manospherean "philosophy."
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."
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...
