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?"

Fathers, Daughters, and Purity Balls

The other day PZ Myers had a brief post about the incredible ickiness (that's the clinical term) of Father-Daughter Purity Balls.  These are celebrations in which a teenage girl pledges to remain a virgin until her father approves her marriage.  Everyone is dolled up as though for a wedding, with men in tuxes, and girls in fluffy bridesmaid dresses.  Well, that's not the weird part.  Quinceaneras are superficially similar rites of passage, and they don't strike me as creepy at all, maybe because, while the original purpose was to announce a girl was available for marriage, the modern function of these celebrations seems to be to introduce the daughter of a family to her community as a young adult while also honoring her cultural heritage; a quinceanera marks her debut into greater society. 

At Purity Balls, on the other hand, Daddy and His Little Princess participate in a formal ceremony during which they exchange rings and kisses on the mouth after she promises God & everyone else present that Daddy will be her "boyfriend" until she is given away to her future husband.

This is the belief system underlying patriarchy taken to its logical extreme: that a woman "belongs" to a man (a father, a husband, possibly later a son) who controls her sexuality.  For all the problems and social injustices we face in the 21st century, most of us have come to recognize that no one can legitimately claim ownership of another person's (living) body.

I can almost guarantee that if my own father were still alive, he'd find "Purity Balls" as viscerally abhorrent as I do although he would have had a hard time articulating exactly why.  Even attending my Campfire Girls' annual Father/Daughter Buffet was excruciating for the poor guy, although he enjoyed sharing activities in which our gender difference played no part (riding motorcycles, camping and boating).  My father, for all his faults, was a man who absolutely respected his daughters' sexual and physical boundaries.  (He could be a little uptight, in fact.  Once, having returned home after a two year absence, I flung my arms around him at the airport and he was so mortified that it was like embracing a marble column.)

Neither did my father ever tell me I should expect to find a man who would treat me "like a queen."  In fact, to the extent to which he advised me about my future, it was to nag me to take more math and science classes and quit wasting my time with my head in a novel, and not get married too early. Once, during a long car ride home from college, he confided that he hoped I would find a job I liked because "working would have made your mom a happier person." 

In other words, my father more than anyone made me a feminist. 

Someday, if I can do so tactfully, I'm going to ask my fundamentalist Christian neighbors what they think about these "purity" covenants. Or maybe I won't because... well, maybe there are some things I just shouldn't know.

Meanwhile, the little girl below is clearly having none of this nonsense! 

AVfM Doesn't Activate?

Whoever says that hasn't been paying attention to the tireless, nonstop efforts of Attila Vinczer, the Canadian Activism Director for A Voice for Men.

I'd never heard of Attila Vinczer before, probably because I've not hung out on AVfM all that much.  He certainly came to my attention yesterday, via David Futrelle's post about the AVfM's reaction to Danielle D'Entremont's assault, when Mr. Vinczer announced his bold intention to interview the victim at police headquarters himself.

Now I have very little idea how Canadian criminal investigations are conducted -- and it's probably chauvinistic for me to assume they are not very different than those in the U.S. -- but this struck Futrelle and his readers as... well, a tad presumptuous.  And it made me rather curious about this fellow.

So I did what any serious researcher does; I googled.  And oh my!

First of all, at the risk of being creepy and objectifying, may I confess that I find Attila Vinczer to be a remarkably handsome man?  In fact, he's a real dish compared to the other guys at AVfM (sorry Dean! sorry John! sorry Karen!).  He makes me think of the sommelier at an elegant French restaurant, the kind of gentleman with whom one would not hesitate to entrust one's wine choices for the evening.  

And also, may I just share that I have always been rather partial to the name "Attila?"  (Also "Genghiz.")  Blame this on spending so much time in my youth immersed in All Things Turkish and learning that, after all, those alpha Huns and Mongols had just gotten a bad rap from the chroniclers of Western Civilization.

Second, I have discovered that Mr. Vinczer is, in his words, "a benevolent man" who loves children and animals, and is not shy about documenting his efforts to rescue dogs in distress.  So I've learned that we have this passion in common, and for me, that is no trivial matter.

Third, given Mr. Vinczer's appetite for litigation, may I suggest that he is living in the wrong country? He's really missing out on the big action by staying north of the border.  Because Mr. Vinczer has sued -- or threatened to sue -- a helluva lot of people, including a fellow "dangerous feminist blogger" at Mancheez (for being "vexatiously malicious").

To whit:

He has sued the principal and vice-principal of his son's school, as well as the police constable called in to investigate, for fabricating evidence and providing misleading information to police that resulted in his son being arrested.  (It appears that the boy had been accused of assault against a classmate; the charges were dropped.)

He has sued the Catholic School Board that facilitated the police interrogation.

He reported an acquaintance to police for allegedly giving his son booze at a party (and helpfully provided photos to the news media of the 12 year old boy being treated for alcohol poisoning in hospital).

He's on record for refusing to support breast cancer awareness until the Canadian government gives men free prostate cancer screenings.  Because of course breast cancer affects only women and prostate cancer affects only men!  (Tell that to the widow I know whose life was devastated by losing her husband to the latter disease, or the young man I worked with who was left a single dad when his 29 year old wife died within months of diagnosis of a particularly aggressive form of the disease, HER2-positive breast cancer.)

Mr. Vinczer has even threatened TMZ to "contact authorities" because they posted a comment that was fraudulently made in his name.

He has also written a very long and very turgid letter to the Queen herself to beseech her support on behalf of fathers' rights (a letter copied to all members of the Canadian Parliament, the Provincial Parliament in Ontario, the Pope, the Prime Mister [sic] of Canada, etc.).
 
When Mr. Vinczer isn't lodging official complaints, he's posting Youtube videos of various acts of misandry (or just plain "unladylike" behavior), including teenage girls rudely pushing to the front of amusement park queues or women picking their noses in public.

This guy is truly indefatigable, and gives lie to the scurrilous accusation that MRAs are not true "activists" at all.

P.S.  Please don't sue me Mr. Vinczer!

Girl Punched In Face Because Feminism

David Futrelle posted today about the attack on a university student in Kingston, Canada, possibly by an MRA, and the hay that AVfM (A Voice for Men) was having with this news.  AVfM is vigorously denying any culpability, whilst at the same time attacking the victim as either (1) a liar (who presumably punched herself?), or (2) an instigator who got what was coming to her for protesting the presence of an MRA speaker on her campus.  The usual cast of characters weigh in, including some weird over-sharing by Karen Straughan, the manosphere's version of Camille Paglia.  Straughan, while conceding the perpetrator might have been influenced by anti-feminist rhetoric, suggests he was in some way justified: if you kick a dog enough he will eventually bite.  (Because, you know, men are dogs in danger of being "metaphorically castrated" by feminists. Or something.)
  
As sad and scary as this news is, I am glad the young woman wasn't more seriously injured.  And I take some bitter satisfaction in the way this incident will discredit Paul Elam and his gang of thugs even further, which is perhaps in the long run for the good.

Amongst the comments was a link to an article by feminist blogger Sady Doyle that was written three years ago.  The title ("A Girl's Guide to Staying Safe Online") is ironic, given that the list of "suggestions" that follow are impossible for anyone who wishes to have an online voice.  The bottom line?  Being a feminist blogger = abuse.  Of course it's one thing to be called "a cunt" "a slut" or a lunatic, it's quite another to have your teeth knocked in.

Of course, the AVfM Grand Pooh Bah had a word or two to say about Sady's article:  "But no matter what you do, you are going to see a lot more of the things you don’t like in the future...  courtesy of the men’s movement.  Simply put, we are coming for you. All of you.  And by the time we are done you will wax nostalgic over the days when all you had to deal with was someone expressing a desire to fuck you up your shopworn ass."

So what is the answer?  "Ultimately," Sady concludes, "the best way to 'stay safe' online may simply be to stay online. After all: If there’s no one left willing to complain about the harassment, what are the odds that it’s going to change?"

Step Away From the Keyboard

A few days ago, Roosh V wrote an ostensibly serious piece, "The Internet Is Doing You More Harm Than Good" in which he points out that "The internet has solved the cost barrier to idea distribution... [but]... This ability, upon closer inspection, is actually causing us harm. We would all better off limiting our internet usage than expanding it further."  

He goes on to say, "There used to be a dearth of reading material for humans but now there is too much, and we are wasting time on content that we shouldn’t just to be entertained, just to feel a little emotional rush that we may not be getting through our normal lives. Consider that people now purposefully read content they hate just to stir their emotions. They do this as part of their daily routine."

This is an excellent point, one which even I have addressed.  We won't point out the irony that Roosh has made his living by publishing provocative material on his blogs, has crowed with delight when a particularly vile post goes "viral", and retweets every tweet that references himself (positively or negatively).  Let's not look at the way his example has inspired hundreds of men to beg for donations on their own little blogs.  Perhaps what he is really saying is "Quit talking and listen to me."

I will also refrain from pointing out that long before the days of "yellow journalism," much less the internet, the public managed to waste a lot of time on idle entertainments that included dog fighting, gambling, public executions, and mystery plays.  

A couple of days later, Matt Forney announced he was "unfollowing" people on Twitter in preparation for a social media blackout.  The "addiction" was too much and was interfering with his "productivity."  I think this is a good step for Forney.  Like Roosh, he wants more than anything to be taken seriously as a writer and an intellectual, an aim that is incompatible with "click-baiting."

It occurs to me that, besides being hypocritical to the nth degree, Roosh misunderstands the nature of the manosphere.  It is not a place to exchange ideas, obtain information, or engage in serious debate.  It is a place where disaffected men go to experience a sense of community and belonging.  The element they have in common is their hatred & desire for women; bashing "feminism" is just a pretext for bonding with one another.

And to be honest, the same could be said for the "anti-anti-feminist" bloggers like myself.  It's a place where we go to be reassured that we are not alone;  we have "friends" out there in cyberspace.  Of course these are not "friends" in a conventional sense.  We might find, as Eseld Bosustow has mused, that we actually have little in common besides a shared disdain for misogyny, bigotry, and ignorance.  And yet that is not an insignificant basis for friendship either, as it suggests a number of shared core values, a certain sympathy of perspective.

I have experienced and observed real acts of support -- the sort of reaching out I associate with friendship -- amongst complete strangers on the internet.  The fact that, as of today, Karen Stollznow's legal fund has surpassed its goal by over $10,000 is an example.  (I'll bet she's feeling the love right now!) The fact that a very busy man like P.Z. Myers agreed to help "rescue" my name is another example:  I can never not consider him a good friend although we will always remain "strangers."  And because he inspired others to champion me, I now feel much less alone.  There are a handful of readers here that, should the opportunity ever present itself, I would be delighted to meet in "real life."  Maybe we would find out we didn't really care for one another -- but somehow I doubt that.

Meanwhile, there is no question that when the internet starts interfering with the opportunity to mix and mingle with flesh-and-blood people, it's high time to step away from the keyboard and (in my case) toddle down to the Eagles for a round of bingo.