So tonight, stuck in my hotel, I went downstairs to the bar to ask for a fork. Just a fork.
Long story short, I ended up playing devil's advocate for feminism to a 47 year old white guy and a 52 year old black man. They kept buying me drinks and preventing me from leaving to continue the conversation.
This has left me with some conclusions:
A) Sexist men are generally of my father's or older generation. I still haven't met men my age who spout their unfiltered sexism. They are a dying breed.
B) Just because a man (or men) buy you drinks and discourage you from leaving doesn't mean they want to have sex with you (even in the case of these old, sexist men.)
C) Confidence is international currency among men. I went down there wearing gym shorts and a ratty t-shirt. When the two men began to berate me (shortly after meeting them) for my clothes, I quickly and shortly responded that I didn't need to be swathed in nice clothes to feel confident at a bar (which was a self-fufilling prophecy) and when they responded "The women aren't going to think much of you" I responded with "Then I won't think much of them." without hesitation. I had their unspoken respect from that point on.
Men are so easy to manipulate when you know their game plan. Man, I feel like a woman.
::trumpets and shit::
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Feminism Matters (as in "It's Important")
I wanted to step back for a bit today to illustrate two things that might not be obvious to someone reading this blog.
1) Equality feminism is a movement that only a few, privileged cultures need.
2) Pickfork & Torch Feminism is still needed in the rest of the world.
Let this link illustrate my point:
http://jezebel.com/#!5784793/the-virginity-tests-forced-on-egyptian-women-protesters
This is a travesty. This is horrible. This is disgusting and wrong. We need feminists to fight this battle. The enlightened men of the world cannot come in and fix this (as much as we might want to.) This is the dirty, uphill battle that the women there need to fight and I hope they come out victorious as soon as possible.
Bring the biggest guns you can find to that gun fight. You have the right to do that.
But when both sides' guns run out of bullets, fight with knives.
When both sides' knives become dull, fight with fists.
When everyone's fingers are broken, fight with words.
And when there are no more words, fight with peace.
When a movement comes closer and closer to its goal, you MUST de-escalate or risk becoming the tyrant you fought in the first place.
North American feminists have won every battle that they had a battle plan for. But now, the battle plan is gone, the patriarchy's walls have been breached and soon (within the next 20 years) the bonfires of male domination will be extinguished in this culture. It is time for the "All Pornography Is Rape" feminists to be stamped out and the equality feminists (or ifeminists) who can be reasoned with to reclaim their mission. But this isn't the kind of thing men can come in and do. No, we have to let the women fight this out - but only if those reasonable feminists (fun-fems - teehee!) recognize that their hard-earned title is being hijacked by radfems.
1) Equality feminism is a movement that only a few, privileged cultures need.
2) Pickfork & Torch Feminism is still needed in the rest of the world.
Let this link illustrate my point:
http://jezebel.com/#!5784793/the-virginity-tests-forced-on-egyptian-women-protesters
This is a travesty. This is horrible. This is disgusting and wrong. We need feminists to fight this battle. The enlightened men of the world cannot come in and fix this (as much as we might want to.) This is the dirty, uphill battle that the women there need to fight and I hope they come out victorious as soon as possible.
Bring the biggest guns you can find to that gun fight. You have the right to do that.
But when both sides' guns run out of bullets, fight with knives.
When both sides' knives become dull, fight with fists.
When everyone's fingers are broken, fight with words.
And when there are no more words, fight with peace.
When a movement comes closer and closer to its goal, you MUST de-escalate or risk becoming the tyrant you fought in the first place.
North American feminists have won every battle that they had a battle plan for. But now, the battle plan is gone, the patriarchy's walls have been breached and soon (within the next 20 years) the bonfires of male domination will be extinguished in this culture. It is time for the "All Pornography Is Rape" feminists to be stamped out and the equality feminists (or ifeminists) who can be reasoned with to reclaim their mission. But this isn't the kind of thing men can come in and do. No, we have to let the women fight this out - but only if those reasonable feminists (fun-fems - teehee!) recognize that their hard-earned title is being hijacked by radfems.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
A TRUE Story
I wanted to tell you folks about this. I felt that I needed to.
I went for a run after dinner tonight. It was a beautiful night. The moon is full and I wanted to unwind after a long week of work. I was responsible. I wore a bright, white vest so cars could see me.
About one mile into the run, a car full of black men in their teens or early 20s drove by me. One of the passengers leaned out of the car window and screamed at me. He said he wanted to shoot me in the face. It scared me. But it has happened before and I had my dog, my phone and my goody bag with me, so I was pretty confident I would be okay. Still, I spent the next mile constantly looking over my shoulder (which caused me to twist my knee).
I decided to shorten my route to avoid a dark patch of road. But as I approached my house after just two miles, I felt good and wanted to keep going. I decided I would keep running and loop around the neighborhood. And then, a car full of blacks drove by me and one of the passengers leaned out the window and screamed at me. I went straight home.
I walked in the door far less relaxed than I had been when I set out. In fact, I was furious. Why is it, I wondered, that as a white person jogging alone at night, it is my responsibility to bring my phone and my dog, check over my shoulder regularly, and plan my route based on street lamps, and yet, these black people feel no responsibility for not harassing me or behaving civilly?
If something had happened to me during my run – if I had been attacked – and the incident made the paper, do you think most people reading the story would have first thought, “Why do those blacks behave that way?” Or would their first thought have been, “Why was that white guy running alone at night in that neighborhood??”
Well? What do you think?
Oh SHIT. I'm so sorry. I meant to type all that shit out myself but I accidentally copy and pasted some insane feminist's experience and then went through and changed some language to make it identical to an experience I had in college. SHIT, MY BAD!
I guess, since I'm an honest person who cares about the truth that I should post the original post here with a track back. SORRY HELLO LADIES! MY BAD!
I went for a run after dinner tonight. It was a beautiful night. The moon is full and I wanted to unwind after a long week of work. I was responsible. I wore a bright, white vest so cars could see me. I took my big dog with me so I wouldn’t be alone. And I carried my cell phone and a bag of dog sh*t in case I ran into trouble on the road. That’s what it takes for me to feel safe running at night.
About one mile into the run, a car full of young men in their teens or early 20s drove by me. One of the passengers leaned out of the car window and screamed at me. He said he wanted to shove something up my ass. I didn’t catch what object he wanted to use. It scared me. But it has happened before and I had my dog, my phone and my goody bag with me, so I was pretty confident I would be okay. Still, I spent the next mile constantly looking over my shoulder (which caused me to twist my knee).
I decided to shorten my route to avoid a dark patch of road. But as I approached my house after just two miles, I felt good and wanted to keep going. I decided I would keep running and loop around the neighborhood. And then, a car full of boys drove by me and one of the passengers leaned out the window and screamed at me. I went straight home.
I walked in the door far less relaxed than I had been when I set out. In fact, I was furious. Why is it, I wondered, that as a woman jogging alone at night, it is my responsibility to bring my phone and my dog, check over my shoulder regularly, and plan my route based on street lamps, and yet, these young men feel no responsibility for not harassing me or behaving civilly?
If something had happened to me during my run – if I had been attacked – and the incident made the paper, do you think most people reading the story would have first thought, “Why do those men behave that way?” Or would their first thought have been, “Why was that woman running alone at night?”
And the original post:
http://helloladies.com/2010/10/personal-responsibility/
Disclaimer: Some people are going to read this and assume I'm saying "black people" or "black men" are bad/evil/etc. Absolutely not the case whatsoever. There is only one point to this post: to point out that this instance of "victimization" of women by men is the same thing that whites experience can experience by blacks - BUT THAT DOES NOT MAKE BLAMING ALL BLACK PEOPLE FOR THE ACTIONS OF A FEW A MORALLY ACCEPTABLE ACTION.
I went for a run after dinner tonight. It was a beautiful night. The moon is full and I wanted to unwind after a long week of work. I was responsible. I wore a bright, white vest so cars could see me.
About one mile into the run, a car full of black men in their teens or early 20s drove by me. One of the passengers leaned out of the car window and screamed at me. He said he wanted to shoot me in the face. It scared me. But it has happened before and I had my dog, my phone and my goody bag with me, so I was pretty confident I would be okay. Still, I spent the next mile constantly looking over my shoulder (which caused me to twist my knee).
I decided to shorten my route to avoid a dark patch of road. But as I approached my house after just two miles, I felt good and wanted to keep going. I decided I would keep running and loop around the neighborhood. And then, a car full of blacks drove by me and one of the passengers leaned out the window and screamed at me. I went straight home.
I walked in the door far less relaxed than I had been when I set out. In fact, I was furious. Why is it, I wondered, that as a white person jogging alone at night, it is my responsibility to bring my phone and my dog, check over my shoulder regularly, and plan my route based on street lamps, and yet, these black people feel no responsibility for not harassing me or behaving civilly?
If something had happened to me during my run – if I had been attacked – and the incident made the paper, do you think most people reading the story would have first thought, “Why do those blacks behave that way?” Or would their first thought have been, “Why was that white guy running alone at night in that neighborhood??”
Well? What do you think?
Oh SHIT. I'm so sorry. I meant to type all that shit out myself but I accidentally copy and pasted some insane feminist's experience and then went through and changed some language to make it identical to an experience I had in college. SHIT, MY BAD!
I guess, since I'm an honest person who cares about the truth that I should post the original post here with a track back. SORRY HELLO LADIES! MY BAD!
I went for a run after dinner tonight. It was a beautiful night. The moon is full and I wanted to unwind after a long week of work. I was responsible. I wore a bright, white vest so cars could see me. I took my big dog with me so I wouldn’t be alone. And I carried my cell phone and a bag of dog sh*t in case I ran into trouble on the road. That’s what it takes for me to feel safe running at night.
About one mile into the run, a car full of young men in their teens or early 20s drove by me. One of the passengers leaned out of the car window and screamed at me. He said he wanted to shove something up my ass. I didn’t catch what object he wanted to use. It scared me. But it has happened before and I had my dog, my phone and my goody bag with me, so I was pretty confident I would be okay. Still, I spent the next mile constantly looking over my shoulder (which caused me to twist my knee).
I decided to shorten my route to avoid a dark patch of road. But as I approached my house after just two miles, I felt good and wanted to keep going. I decided I would keep running and loop around the neighborhood. And then, a car full of boys drove by me and one of the passengers leaned out the window and screamed at me. I went straight home.
I walked in the door far less relaxed than I had been when I set out. In fact, I was furious. Why is it, I wondered, that as a woman jogging alone at night, it is my responsibility to bring my phone and my dog, check over my shoulder regularly, and plan my route based on street lamps, and yet, these young men feel no responsibility for not harassing me or behaving civilly?
If something had happened to me during my run – if I had been attacked – and the incident made the paper, do you think most people reading the story would have first thought, “Why do those men behave that way?” Or would their first thought have been, “Why was that woman running alone at night?”
And the original post:
http://helloladies.com/2010/10/personal-responsibility/
Disclaimer: Some people are going to read this and assume I'm saying "black people" or "black men" are bad/evil/etc. Absolutely not the case whatsoever. There is only one point to this post: to point out that this instance of "victimization" of women by men is the same thing that whites experience can experience by blacks - BUT THAT DOES NOT MAKE BLAMING ALL BLACK PEOPLE FOR THE ACTIONS OF A FEW A MORALLY ACCEPTABLE ACTION.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Femitropes
So I have a confession about this blog: I've recently come across a series of blogs, posts and comments that were the straws that broke the proverbial camel's back. I bundled those straws into a twig because they each came from different sources: two atheist, two law and one cooking blog.
It's the F-word. Feminism.
See, I was raised by a second-wave feminist. Anti-porn, pro-woman-workforce feminist. Now, being a child, I didn't have an opportunity to view porn to make the judgement about whether or not porn was objectifying towards women - so I was forced to consume and evaluate her other feminist ideals. And they have stood the test of time:
I am a woman. I:
- am capable of anything that a man is capable of, other than the biological production of sperm cells.
- will improve, not hinder, your existence as a man with my opinions, feelings and perspectives.
- am as complex as you are.
I was initially skeptical of these feminist stances my mother held, but as I reached adulthood, I realized their truth. Since that time, I have without hesitation called myself a feminist. Because the opposite of "feminist" was "misogynist," and I obviously wasn't one of those, was I?
If I wasn't a feminist, I would obviously have to hold the opposite opinion:
- Women are incapable of things that men are capable of.
- Women will handicap men by bogging them down with their silly opinions, feelings and perspectives.
- Women are simple. Men are complex.
So here we are, decades later and I find myself being confronted by wave after wave* of feminist saying that my definition of feminism (and the actions that people like me take in an effort to be in line with feminism) ISN'T TRUE FEMINISM.
Now this would be a shitty blog post if I left it at that. No True Scotsman is screaming out loud right now, and I heard it immediately. I looked around online and began to see that this infighting among feminists is quite common. And actually, quite a few things are quite common. Some of them are infighting, many of them are related to the censoring of male (or as I recently discovered, transgender) voices.
So I've decided to begin cataloging them here. I shall call them ... Femitropes.
1. Making a blog post complaining that men always need to assert their opinions on women - then being shocked (SHOCKED, I SAY) when men show up to rebut/comment on the post.
Here's an idea: set up a religious blog and make a post saying that Muslims constantly try to censor blog posts - then when Muslims show up to say that's not what they think: they've proven your point!
* See what I did there?
It's the F-word. Feminism.
See, I was raised by a second-wave feminist. Anti-porn, pro-woman-workforce feminist. Now, being a child, I didn't have an opportunity to view porn to make the judgement about whether or not porn was objectifying towards women - so I was forced to consume and evaluate her other feminist ideals. And they have stood the test of time:
I am a woman. I:
- am capable of anything that a man is capable of, other than the biological production of sperm cells.
- will improve, not hinder, your existence as a man with my opinions, feelings and perspectives.
- am as complex as you are.
I was initially skeptical of these feminist stances my mother held, but as I reached adulthood, I realized their truth. Since that time, I have without hesitation called myself a feminist. Because the opposite of "feminist" was "misogynist," and I obviously wasn't one of those, was I?
If I wasn't a feminist, I would obviously have to hold the opposite opinion:
- Women are incapable of things that men are capable of.
- Women will handicap men by bogging them down with their silly opinions, feelings and perspectives.
- Women are simple. Men are complex.
So here we are, decades later and I find myself being confronted by wave after wave* of feminist saying that my definition of feminism (and the actions that people like me take in an effort to be in line with feminism) ISN'T TRUE FEMINISM.
Now this would be a shitty blog post if I left it at that. No True Scotsman is screaming out loud right now, and I heard it immediately. I looked around online and began to see that this infighting among feminists is quite common. And actually, quite a few things are quite common. Some of them are infighting, many of them are related to the censoring of male (or as I recently discovered, transgender) voices.
So I've decided to begin cataloging them here. I shall call them ... Femitropes.
1. Making a blog post complaining that men always need to assert their opinions on women - then being shocked (SHOCKED, I SAY) when men show up to rebut/comment on the post.
Here's an idea: set up a religious blog and make a post saying that Muslims constantly try to censor blog posts - then when Muslims show up to say that's not what they think: they've proven your point!
* See what I did there?
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Attention Deficit Disorder
A.D.D.
Attention Deficit Disorder. I have this disorder. I was diagnosed with it when I was 12 years old - about the same time that the disorder was first being recognized by the medical community.
Pre-diagnosis (and pre-"treatment") I was a C or D student. I would study, pre-test, and pop-quiz myself with the help of my totally (even overly) attentive mother. It never did any good. She tried so hard.
One day, my mother read a magazine article and she took me to Duke University for "free" testing for a newly diagnosed disorder "Attention Deficit Disorder" that my mother was convinced I had. For me, a 11-year-old who was massively unpopular (for numerous reasons, including my yankee accent or my lack of academic or athletic skills) I looked forward to this chance to escape from school. I HATED school.
This was the summer between 5th and 6th grade when I went down to Duke. I am pretty sure I was down there for only 2 or 3 days. I only have a handful of memories from my time there, being tested, but two stand out:
1. Looking at an illustration of an squiggling lines - then being shown 3-4 sets of squiggling lines and being told to select the one that looked most like the first set.
2. Being told to navigate a metal pencil down a narrow set of lines on a piece of paper. I was told I could take as much time as I pleased.
There were a dozen or so other tests, but I don't remember the details of them. I do remember all of my tests taking place in a small room with a rather large mirror along one wall. I didn't realize it at the time, of course, but the senior Duke doctors in charge of the study as well as my mother were in that one-way-mirror room watching me take all of my tests.
In fact, the only time I remember acknowledging the mirror was as I was taking the "squiggly line test" where I tried to memorize a page of squiggly lines and point it out when the page was turned. If I recall correctly, I had gone through the first 6 or so pages of "spaghetti" without error, and I had made each decision in a matter of seconds. It all seemed really easy to me.
My main distinct memory of this test came as I quickly pointed out the last plate of spaghetti (unbeknown to me CORRECTLY) and my test-taker looked at me with bug-eyes and then shifted her gaze to the mirror. It was the first hint I got that there were people behind that mirror watching what I had been doing.
Eventually the tests were over. My mother and I returned home and I resumed my 6th-grade summer activities.
Before school started the next year my mother attempted to explain to me that the Duke University doctors had determined that I had A.D.D. (but not A.D.H.D.) and recommended "Ritalin" as a treatment medication. I was soon put on the medication -- twice a day at 8 a.m. and noon.
Seventh grade held a number of changes for me. I was now thrust into the multiple-classroom setting, where I moved from classroom to classroom during the day, rather than sitting in the same class all day long.
Eventually the first semester of my first medicated year went by - my interim report came home. It read As and Bs -- not a C, D or F to be found.
I am not going to venture a guess as to my parents' thoughts regarding my grades at this time. Suffice to say that I came home to warm encouragement and enthusiasm.
It obviously appeared to be a miracle drug. "TURN A C-D STUDENT INTO AN A-B STUDENT!"
But things weren't that simple. Living the Ritalin life was hard. For some reason it 'reset' my ability to "get" jokes. Sitting at the lunch table caused my funny bone to break. It took years for me to be able to understand A=B=C to make funny comments.
But in the meantime I was getting top grades, and what parent could complain? So I graduated and went to college thankful for my GPA and my recommendations.
What I didn't realize was that my disfunction would follow me after I graduated college and went on to the "real world."
Attention Deficit Disorder. I have this disorder. I was diagnosed with it when I was 12 years old - about the same time that the disorder was first being recognized by the medical community.
Pre-diagnosis (and pre-"treatment") I was a C or D student. I would study, pre-test, and pop-quiz myself with the help of my totally (even overly) attentive mother. It never did any good. She tried so hard.
One day, my mother read a magazine article and she took me to Duke University for "free" testing for a newly diagnosed disorder "Attention Deficit Disorder" that my mother was convinced I had. For me, a 11-year-old who was massively unpopular (for numerous reasons, including my yankee accent or my lack of academic or athletic skills) I looked forward to this chance to escape from school. I HATED school.
This was the summer between 5th and 6th grade when I went down to Duke. I am pretty sure I was down there for only 2 or 3 days. I only have a handful of memories from my time there, being tested, but two stand out:
1. Looking at an illustration of an squiggling lines - then being shown 3-4 sets of squiggling lines and being told to select the one that looked most like the first set.
2. Being told to navigate a metal pencil down a narrow set of lines on a piece of paper. I was told I could take as much time as I pleased.
There were a dozen or so other tests, but I don't remember the details of them. I do remember all of my tests taking place in a small room with a rather large mirror along one wall. I didn't realize it at the time, of course, but the senior Duke doctors in charge of the study as well as my mother were in that one-way-mirror room watching me take all of my tests.
In fact, the only time I remember acknowledging the mirror was as I was taking the "squiggly line test" where I tried to memorize a page of squiggly lines and point it out when the page was turned. If I recall correctly, I had gone through the first 6 or so pages of "spaghetti" without error, and I had made each decision in a matter of seconds. It all seemed really easy to me.
My main distinct memory of this test came as I quickly pointed out the last plate of spaghetti (unbeknown to me CORRECTLY) and my test-taker looked at me with bug-eyes and then shifted her gaze to the mirror. It was the first hint I got that there were people behind that mirror watching what I had been doing.
Eventually the tests were over. My mother and I returned home and I resumed my 6th-grade summer activities.
Before school started the next year my mother attempted to explain to me that the Duke University doctors had determined that I had A.D.D. (but not A.D.H.D.) and recommended "Ritalin" as a treatment medication. I was soon put on the medication -- twice a day at 8 a.m. and noon.
Seventh grade held a number of changes for me. I was now thrust into the multiple-classroom setting, where I moved from classroom to classroom during the day, rather than sitting in the same class all day long.
Eventually the first semester of my first medicated year went by - my interim report came home. It read As and Bs -- not a C, D or F to be found.
I am not going to venture a guess as to my parents' thoughts regarding my grades at this time. Suffice to say that I came home to warm encouragement and enthusiasm.
It obviously appeared to be a miracle drug. "TURN A C-D STUDENT INTO AN A-B STUDENT!"
But things weren't that simple. Living the Ritalin life was hard. For some reason it 'reset' my ability to "get" jokes. Sitting at the lunch table caused my funny bone to break. It took years for me to be able to understand A=B=C to make funny comments.
But in the meantime I was getting top grades, and what parent could complain? So I graduated and went to college thankful for my GPA and my recommendations.
What I didn't realize was that my disfunction would follow me after I graduated college and went on to the "real world."
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Why This Blog Exists
I will shortly begin pointing to this page as I go gallivanting across the Internet spreading my opinion in the comment sections of some of my favorite blogs.
I mostly wanted to point out a few things about who I am and why I'm taking the time to put up and maintain this blog.
First off, I am a former journalist with a degree in journalism. Because of this, I put a great deal of weight in words -- how they are used and what is being said. Fact-checking, detecting logical fallacies or misdirection come naturally to me at this point, so when I butt heads with others on the internet I thought it was important I'd have a place to take my time to rebut or explore my opinions.
This is that place.
I am a man of many changing passions. Food, beer, cars, guns, computers, video games, technology, law, feminism, ideology, science, evolution, religion and politics (although the last hopefully minimally) are things that I've dabbled in over the past 10 years and have inclinations towards. Some inclinations are strong - some are weak. Others, still are belligerent. But this is my place to share them.
I mostly wanted to point out a few things about who I am and why I'm taking the time to put up and maintain this blog.
First off, I am a former journalist with a degree in journalism. Because of this, I put a great deal of weight in words -- how they are used and what is being said. Fact-checking, detecting logical fallacies or misdirection come naturally to me at this point, so when I butt heads with others on the internet I thought it was important I'd have a place to take my time to rebut or explore my opinions.
This is that place.
I am a man of many changing passions. Food, beer, cars, guns, computers, video games, technology, law, feminism, ideology, science, evolution, religion and politics (although the last hopefully minimally) are things that I've dabbled in over the past 10 years and have inclinations towards. Some inclinations are strong - some are weak. Others, still are belligerent. But this is my place to share them.
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