Oh, PETA. There was a time when I wanted to sympathize with you--really, there was--but between the nekkid-lady beauty contests and the hiring strippers ("the girls of Rick's cabaret") as spokesmodels, I just can't. You argue that people shouldn't eat meat--by treating women like meat. And even when you're not portraying women as pigs (possibly NSFW) or putting them in cages or just randomly parading them naked for male titillation, you still manage to get in a sexist barb or two.
I'm talking, this time, about your annual "Worst-Dressed Awards"--an opportunity to shame female celebrities for failing to meet impossible standards of youth and beauty (and, oh yeah, for wearing fur). In fairness, there is one fur-wearing men--Kanye West, whose "quirky suits" you "like"--on your list, but your ageist, sexist and downright disturbing treatment is reserved for fur-wearing females like Madonna ("We know that she's on the prowl for a young cub, but someone needs to tell Madge that wearing fur doesn't make you a cougar"), Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson ("maybe Mary-Kate and Ashley think their matronly wardrobe will deflect the gossip about bulimia"), Maggie Gyllenhaal ("Maggot," in PETA's breathtakingly clever parlance) and Elizabeth Hurley ("desperate"... a "faded siren"). Apparently, wearing fur is bad for everyone--but wearing fur while female justifies the most venomous, over-the-top misogynist mockery.
Wearing Fur While Female
Memorable Reviews
Deeks just emailed me the opening line of Roger Ebert's review of the new film Fired Up:
After the screening of "Fired Up!," one of my colleagues grimly observed that "Dead Man" was a better cheerleader movie. That was, you will recall, the 1995 Western starring Johnny Depp, Robert Mitchum, Billy Bob Thornton and Iggy Pop. I would give almost anything to see them on a cheerleader squad.To which I replied:
Ebert is a gem. Did you ever read his zero-star review of Freddy Got Fingered? (If not, you must read it right now.) It contains my favorite line from a movie review evah: "This movie doesn't scrape the bottom of the barrel. This movie isn't the bottom of the barrel. This movie isn't below the bottom of the barrel. This movie doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence with barrels."To which Deeks replied with another classic Ebert quote from his review of the dreadful North:
I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering stupid vacant audience-insulting moment of it. Hated the sensibility that thought anyone would like it. Hated the implied insult to the audience by its belief that anyone would be entertained by it.Which I will see and raise a quip from Steven Hyden's review of the abysmally-reviewed Meet the Spartans:
Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer, the writer-director-producer team behind Date Movie, Epic Movie, and now Meet The Spartans, have a nice racket going. At the beginning of the year, during the pre-Oscar doldrums when studios quickly and quietly dump failed projects into theaters to die ignoble deaths, Friedberg and Seltzer release another half-assed, quickie spoof flick. They've done it for three years in a row, and the strategy so far has led to big opening weekends followed by precipitous drop-offs once word gets around that, shockingly, their movies are fucking terrible.What lines from movie reviews have stuck with you over the years?
Not Assvertising!
by Shaker KaterTot
This is the first trans-inclusive ad for a mainstream service of any type that I've ever seen, and on those grounds is pretty exciting. The ad doesn't normalize the woman's identity; in fact, the storyline rests entirely upon the premise that she is different and her community recognizes it. Furthermore, the bank then shamelessly self-promotes for being so progressive—don't we all want to bank with these inclusive capitalists, etc. However, it frankly discusses transphobia while encouraging open conversation. It portrays someone coming to terms with their own prejudice and actually apologizing for it. And for that, it deserves recognition.
[Transcript is in the video.]
Watchmen: The Trigger Warning
So, here's the thing. There's a rape scene in Watchmen. By all accounts, it's a fairly graphic one, too. Shaker Jessika emails (which I am posting with her permission):
I know that you and several other Shakers are geeks and have probably already read the Watchmen graphic novel. But for those who haven't, and are going to see the movie this weekend, I thought it might be good to give Shakers a major trigger warning about the movie, and graphic novel if they were going to read it instead. The Comedian beats and rapes the first Silk Spector. I haven't seen the movie yet (going Saturday), but from what spoilers I've read, the rape is in the movie and it's graphic. I read that Snyder wanted to make it disturbing to fit with the story and characters, not try to make light of it or sexy or anything.So, consider yourselves warned. (And thank you, Jessika.)
I've barely read anything on the movie scene beyond stories from earlier in the year confirming it was in there and how brutal it was, and then it was mostly on geek sites. Since Watchmen is getting so much attention this week, and I'm sure some Shakers will go not knowing about that scene, it would be good to let them know it's in there.
I haven't read the graphic novel, and Iain and I are planning to see the movie this weekend with Todd, KennyBlogginz, and their mum. Earlier, I spoke to KBlogz, who's read the graphic novel, about the rape scene, as he also wanted to give me a heads-up about it (because he is awesome), and he said it's not presented (at least in the book) as anything but a ghastly crime. And, FWIW, the director of the film, Zack Snyder, treated the rape in 300 really well, in my estimation.
Personally, I'm glad to have been forewarned. It's not that I can't watch rape scenes, especially if they're integral to the story, but I do prefer to be prepared for them in a way I don't need to be for other emotionally demanding plot points. I figured there would be Shakers who wanted/needed to be forewarned, too—and anyone who considered finding out about a rape scene a "spoiler" ain't at the right blog, anyway.
Dear NYT Style Section
A suggestion: If you're going to give a "trend" a name--e.g. "glam-mas," a cutesy term for grandmothers who don't want to spend their time taking care of their adult children's kids--you might want to find more than ONE example of a woman who refuses to babysit for her adult daughter. (Grandfathers, needless to say, are assumed to have more important things to do.)
On the other hand, I suppose the existence of even a single older woman for whom taking on the role of parent to a needy newborn--again--isn't the pinnacle of human experience proves the point. Grandmas yesterday knew their place--serving as unpaid babysitters, cooks, and maids to their children's children. "Glam-mas" today? Too busy doing selfish things--traveling or working or "put[ting] their romantic lives ahead of their grandchildren," as one psychologist tut-tuts in the story--to "be bothered."
Quote of the Day
"When is a tax cut for 98 percent of taxpayers portrayed as a tax increase? When some of the small handful of people whose taxes will go up happen to control the nation's news media."—Jamison Foser, in his latest column for Media Matters, which is a must-read.
The This Is My Flaw Project
In yesterday's QotD thread about our physical "flaws," Shaker Keori commented: "Some days all the clichés about real beauty being on the inside just don't cut it." And all I could think was: Do they ever cut it? I mean, seriously—has anyone really ever felt better about being criticized for on judged on hir appearance by a total stranger because a loved one assures hir zie's a good person, lol?
It's a temporary fix at best, maybe a salve that takes away the immediate sting of a direct assault on one's esteem—but if you've got a socially unacceptable flaw, if you sport some evident deviation from the Beauty Standard, you could be the best human being on the planet and it isn't going to insulate you from some asshole shouting "Moo!" at your fat ass from a passing car or asking "What's wrong with your face?" or launching any one of a zillion juvenile epithets—pizzaface! snaggletooth! gimp! freak!—in your general direction just because you have the temerity to be publicly Less Than Perfect.
Being beautiful on the inside doesn't change the fact that it's still a radical act to look different and be happy in this culture. If you're obviously, undisguisably Less Than Perfect, you're not only meant to be unhappy, but deeply ashamed of yourself, projecting at all times an apologetic nature, indicative of your everlasting remorse for having wrought your monstrous self upon the world. You are certainly not meant to be bold, or assertive, or confident—and should you manage to overcome the constant drumbeat of messages that you are ugly and unsexy and have earned equally society's disdain and your own self-hatred, should you forget your place and walk into the world one day with your head held high, you are to be reminded by the unsolicited comments and contemptuous looks of perfect strangers that you are not supposed to have self-esteem; you don't deserve it. Being publicly Less Than Perfect and happy is hard; being publicly, shamelessly, unshakably Less Than Perfect and happy is an act of both will and bravery.
That is the world in which we live. And being beautiful on the inside doesn't fucking change that.
Even believing, despite a near-constant bombardment of messaging to the contrary, that you are beautiful on the outside, irrespective of one's alleged flaws (and maybe even because of them!), doesn't fucking change that—because, as Shaker Rana pointed out in the aforementioned thread, it's not just our opinions of ourselves with which we live: "I basically do like my body, even with the unruly leg hair and crooked teeth. If I could just be, and not be judged by other people, I'd have no problems with it. I'd smile my crooked yellow smile and dance around on my bare hairy legs and everyone would smile back. Unfortunately, I have to live with the world's judgment as well as my own."
Which is why it is imperative to challenge the criteria by which the world judges beauty, to look at the profoundly unreasonable, totally crazymaking, and inherently condemnatory Beauty Standard in its increasingly unachievable face and tell it to fuck off.
Part of challenging the BS (heh) entails loving ourselves for who we are, embracing our Less Than Perfectness and resisting the urge to conform to any standard that purports to be universally attainable. The only objective to which we should aspire is our own healthfulness, which is unique to every individual person.
Part of it is learning to critique the BS on the basis of its asserted universality, rather than suggesting anything prescribed by the BS is intrinsically bad, or that people who strive to adhere to it are somehow flawed. Demonizing thin women in a misguided attempt to un-demonize fat women, or declaring marginalized men (e.g. fat men) "real" men at the expense of other men, or ignoring that it takes not just both will and bravery, but also privilege, to flaunt one's rejection of cultural expectations, in order to censure people whose conformity might be an important coping strategy—all of these things are to be filed under Ur Doing It Wrong.
One of the most important bits of teaspooning we can all do is simply to refuse to judge other people's appearance, which is important both culturally and personally. Judgment is, at its roots, projection—evaluating people's deviations from a standard we endorse. We are thus quick to see our own "flaws" in others. Judgment reinforces our own shortcomings, reflects our perceived failures back to us, makes it difficult to love ourselves when we see our own supposed defects everywhere we look.
We must extend outward the same generosity, flexibility, and esteem that we should each grant ourselves to be happy in who we are. Letting go of the culturally-imposed obligation to judge everyone is hugely freeing—and it makes accepting oneself a helluva lot easier. It's a gift to ourselves, and to everyone else who steps into our gazes.
And a final part of challenging the BS is filling the void of alternatives with deviant beauty. Like telling stories about ourselves subverts dominant narratives about marginalized people, showing pictures of our imperfect bellies, and our melasmas, and our excessively lined hands, and our head-to-toe fatty-balattyness, and all our other "flaws." That's why projects like Adipositivity and Men in Full and This Is Beautiful are so essential.
And to that end, I invite you to submit a photo (or photos) of your flaw(s) to Shakesville's This Is My Flaw Project. Your flaw may be something that bothers you, or it may be something that is a flaw only according to the arbitrary guidelines of the BS that you actually quite like about yourself, a flaw you happily flaunt. Please email them to thisismyflaw-at-hotmail-dot-com.
(If you would like to be identified when they're posted, let me know and include your Shakesville handle. If you don't want to be identified, that's totally okay—and I promise no one else will see who sent them besides me.)
In coming days, I will post all the pictures I receive in a gallery of our own deviant beauty for all of us to admire. Because Less Than Perfect doesn't mean less than.
And because sometimes a teaspoon is a camera.
Friday Blogaround
Sock it to me, Shakers!
Recommended Reading:
Lauredhel: G'day to the Quake Zone
Twisty: Spinster Aunt Curls Lip as Sexploitation Reports Pour in and Jerks Bloviate
Boehlert: Laura Bush's Former Flak Continues to Embarrass LA Times
Latoya: If You Buy Becks Modeling Clay, We Can End Racial Strife!
Lisa: Normalizing Normal Breasts [NSFW]
Mannion: This Isn't Me, I Swear...
And Renee continues her interview series with Hexy and Cara!
Leave your links in comments...
Fear and Loathing in California
I've got a new piece up at CifA about the Prop 8 hearings yesterday in California:
Watching and listening on TV to the attorney for the sponsors of Prop. 8, Ken Starr – last seen feverishly masturbating over a Beltway tryst and a stained blue dress – speak in his yawn-inducing monotone about revisions versus amendments, what struck me most was how passionless it all was. We're talking about people's lives, and family and sex and romance and love, and people's right to have that love legally recognized – everything we associate with emotion and intimacy and the most fundamental expressions of our humanity. Yet all of that was being very carefully ignored, talked around in this dreadfully staid and formal way.Read the whole thing here.
It made me want to run into that courtroom and shout and gnash my teeth and stomp my feet, just to inject some semblance of passion into the proceedings.
(If I could simultaneously have drowned out Starr's inserting into the record such laughably absurd asides as "Each of us is a minority – a minority of one" and "Proposition 8 doesn't invalidate – it merely denies recognition" in that condescending cadence he picked up at the Bobby Jindal School of Speaking Good, it would have been even better.)
Naturally, I know that a courtroom isn't the place for that sort of thing – that justice isn't meant to be meted out on the basis of emotional entreaties – so I didn't expect fists pounding against podiums. Yet there was something somehow indecent about the calm, abstract, detached legal proceeding meant to consider a thing born of the messy vulgarity of irrational fear and raw hatred.
Numbers of the Day
651,000. The number of jobs lost nationally last month.
4.4 million. The number of jobs lost since the recession started in December 2007.
8.1%. The national unemployment rate.
25. The number of years since the national unemployment rate has been that high.
Fuck.
The Language of Immigration, Continued
by Shaker KaterTot
Literally the same hour I was drafting this piece for my own purposes, Liss posted the perfect set-up; not only about language, but about the language of immigration. So, though I don't comment often around here (or not near as much as I read), I figured I'd share it with the rest of you.
At Shakesville there is a general understanding that language plays a huge role in the collective reality. I don't think I have to get into the ins-and-outs of why adopting a new term into the lexicon, while a natural and positive part of any dynamic language, is a great opportunity for irresponsible people to marginalize ideas and subcultures. Therefore, we are all charged with the noble task of choosing our words carefully and applying them wisely if we are really interested in being allies in diversity.
I can't think of how many times I've explained this, both to the obvious bigots and to seemingly well-intentioned and even well-informed, progressive individuals: Illegal is an adjective, or at least it always has been.
Like adjectives are wont to do, illegal describes or further qualifies an noun so the reader/listener can better understand the noun. For instance, I could refer to a murder as an illegal murder, therefore describing that not only did a person kill another person, they did so without the grounds to hold up in a court of law.
Illegal immigrant is extrapolated from illegal immigration, thus adapted to fit the colloquialisms of a proudly uneducated nation. In the term illegal immigration, illegal is used to describe the immigration; like the aforementioned murderer, not only did this person immigrate, they did so without lawful grounds.
Take away the illegal and the terms hold distinctive amounts of power: One is murder, the other is immigration.
Put the illegal back into the equation and they suddenly hold the same, or at least comparable, weight.
But then we get into illegal's migration (ha!) into the realm of modifying a proper noun, as dictated by vernacular. Because the immigration is illegal, we the people have begun to describe the immigrant as illegal. Unlike any other crime that I've come up with, immigration, when criminal, does not have its own special name; think here of the difference between murder and manslaughter. To chock it all up to lack of understanding is overly simplistic; this is about marginalization. How do we, a nation of immigrants and descendants of immigrants (many of whom did not come here legally), effectively separate the us from the them? We define them as much by their crime as their condition, or action; therefore, not immigrant, but illegal immigrant. It becomes increasingly common to hear things such as, "She's illegal." I want to ask, "She is? All the time? Just on Tuesdays? When is this person illegal, and how is it that each and every action performed by her is illegal?" Truly, to be as illegal as these immigrants reputably are must take a lot of work.
And then comes the greatest offense of all: the complete dropping of the condition. The reference to a human being as illegal, this time as a noun.
It's not just Ann Coulter and Rush Limbaugh—the aforementioned "obvious bigots" who I am not linking. It's a common term these days. Illegals. As in, the illegals who want social services; the illegals who need to be deported; the illegal whose kid goes to my kid's school. How, in a world where serial rapists, clandestine child molesters, domestic batterers, abortion clinic bombers, presidential assassins, and yes, even plain-ol' murderers, get the privilege of having their actions, but not their very selves, defined as illegal, is it possible that this group, this group of people, with such a wide variety of motivations and dreams and work ethics and family systems and histories and identities, does not receive the same privilege?
Yes, there are undocumented immigrants who are not Latin@, but generally that is not what people are talking about when they refer to an illegal immigrant. I don't think I'm making too rash of a generalization when I say that, for the most part, the term was invented for people traveling North across the Mexican border, regardless of their country of origin. And if that isn't racism, I don't know what is.
And once it made sense to me in those terms, I realized that I have to speak up every time. Every time. Not only will I not participate, I will not allow others to do so without being acutely aware of the meaning of their words. Is Jeffery Dahmer illegal? Dick Cheney? Osama bin Ladin? If not, then why is anyone else? I want to talk about the root of all of this, and I take those soapbox moments as opportunities to open the conversation about how and why we marginalize individuals with such abandon in this country: It's a convenient way to separate ourselves, to categorize our culture, and to truncate the potential of diversity.
[Language of Immigration, Parts One and Two.]
Good
Dr. Sanjay Gupta has withdrawn his name from consideration to be Surgeon General. For reasons noted here and here, I'm pleased that he withdrew.
(Although I'm not remotely convinced that the next candidate will be better. Which is not a commentary on Obama's nominating skillz, but a commentary on how entrenched fat-hating and misogyny is even within the medical community.)
Question of the Day
Apropos of this thread, what part of your body do you find most difficult to manage for modern expectations of public appearances?
Patchy complexion? Ashy skin? Frizzy hair? Lazy eye? Jiggly boobs no bra will hold? Feet that demand unfashionable shoes? Permanent five o'clock shadow? Kudzuesque nose hair? Scars? Birthmarks? Deformities? Fess up.
(I love how that list doubles both as "Things That Are Culturally Unacceptable" and "The Interesting and Beautiful Markings of Individual Humanity." Funny how that works, innit?)
In all honesty, my fat is probably my biggest (ha) breach of public etiquette, expectations-wise, for most of society, even though I ceased giving a shit about my fat ass being a problem for other people a long time ago. Other than that, it's pretty much just my aforementioned melasmas, the brownish spots which you can see on the sides of my cheeks in this picture.
(That was a pic of Spudsy and me, but he didn't want that picture of him posted, so I covered him with my BFF The Hoff.)
ETA: 1,000 points to anyone who's brave enough to show a picture of their "flaws," which are, of course, completely acceptable here and have a real probability of being considered lovely by your blogmistress.
Fancy a Picture Show?
Melissa and I were talking recently about the Shakesville meet-ups, and another favorite event of ours, B-Fest. The meet-ups are always popular, but we realize that not everyone can come to Chicago to attend, particularly if they're only happening over one evening. Something bigger might be in order, and I suggested a film festival. Liss and I have gone to B-Fest together twice now, and while it's always a good time, I don't think I want to go back (for various reasons). Most Shakers seem to enjoy Psychotronic movies as much as Liss and I (and Deeky!), so I'm proposing a "Shakesville B-Fest." (Uh, after we rename it, of course!) I suggested a few things to make it a little more comfortable (and easier to attend) for all:
1. Rather than a 24-hour marathon, which is difficult for some folks for various reasons, I suggested splitting it up over two days. I was thinking, a 12 hour movie marathon one day, then a party that evening (like the past meet-ups), then another 12 hour marathon the next day. Also, keeping in mind that people might travel from far away, having the festival take place over a couple of days might help justify the trip. ;-)
2. Unlike some other festivals, time would be given between films to allow for a real-time bathroom break, without having to race back in order to not miss anything, ahem.
3. I was thinking of hosting it in a hotel conference room (or something similar) rather than a movie theater, as this would allow people to bring their own seating: lawn lounge chair, inflatable seat, air mattress; whatever makes sitting through ten hours of flicks more comfortable! (Perhaps I could work out a package deal with a hotel?)
4. Attendees will pick the festival lineup. We will come up with a list of titles, and I'll set up an online voting site so people can check off their top titles. I know that sometimes you'll look at a festival lineup and there's one or two (or three) movies that you'll really enjoy, but you're rather "meh" about the others. This would give everyone a say in what we watch. Some examples of possible titles Liss, Deeks and I threw out:Dracula Vs. Frankenstein
We'll also probably put together a thread in the future to take suggestions, as long as they're something we can find. Get the idea?
The Call of Cthulhu
976-EVIL
Tormented
Night of the Comet
Killer Klowns from Outer Space
Dragonslayer
The Giant Claw
Santa Claus
Plan 9 from Outer Space
It Conquered the World
Attack of the 50-Foot Woman
And, of course, Robot Monster!
Anyway, this is just to announce the idea, and give a very, very bare-bones outline of what I'm planning. I'd just really love it if we could get some sort of idea of attendance. If you think this would be something that you'd seriously consider attending, please let me know in comments!
Update: As Melissa said in comments, this is not intended to be a for-profit event; other than operating costs, we will not be making any money off this.
Bad Grrl
I am a failed student of Beauty Standards 101.
I'm about to turn 35, and I have no idea how to do my hair or makeup. I've never, ever, been good at doing my own hair—which is why I've had variations on a bob at different lengths and combinations of layering for more than half my life now, except when I've just let it grow and grow to my waist before getting it chopped again. And I've never, ever, been able to put on makeup worth a damn. I tried to apply liquid eyeliner once and was nearly mistaken for a meth-addled raccoon by wilderness control, which was the comparatively successful attempt of my infrequent forays into makeup-wearing.
The whole thing has always amused me, and it never really mattered—except now I've got melasmas on my cheeks, probably because I've got PCOS, and people are starting to ask what happened to my face. I'm afraid Iain's going to start getting sideways glances, because they look like bruises, so I figured I'd maybe try to cover them when we went out or wev.
He doesn't care, of course.
So I got this makeup, and I was just sitting and staring at it like it's the ingredients of a rare Greek stew I've been asked to make, having never even tasted it, when the phone rang. It was Portly Dyke. She asked what I was doing.
"Realizing that if I were lost on a desert island, I'd look exactly the same as I do now."
And because she is a bad grrl, too, she knew exactly what I meant, and she laughed.
Number of the Day
12. The percentage of American homeowners with a mortgage who were "at least one month late or in foreclosure at the end of last year."
One out of eight.
Of those who have one of the infamous subprime, adjustable rate mortgages, an astounding 48% are behind on their payments or in foreclosure.
Shaker Gourmet: Chili
Our recipe comes from Shaker Siobhan_the_Not_Very_Evil, who notes: "for those in more rural areas, the dried and powdered chiles are easily found online".
This is on my list to try! I loves me some hot & spicy.Chili
2 lbs beef – 90 or 93% lean
1 green pepper, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
1 yellow pepper, chopped
3 large Poblano chiles, chopped
2 Habenero chiles, minced small
5-6 cloves garlic lightly crushed (just enough to get the paper off)
1 large onion, chopped
1 28 oz can whole tomatoes (fire-roasted) lightly pulsed
1 14 oz can fire-roasted diced tomatoes
1 28 oz can tomato puree
1 15 oz can hunt's tomato sauce
2 dried guajillo chiles, torn into flat pieces, toasted (10 seconds a side in a dry pan until they lighten in color and release their fragrance), and pulsed with ½ the puree
2 TBSP Ancho chile powder
1 tsp Chipotle chile powder (more = spicier)
2-3 tsp Cumin
1 TBSP Dried cilantro
Salt to taste
2 cans red kidney beans
--Salt the beef and brown over med high heat in a large skillet (I use a 13", 6 qt skillet). When the beef is good and brown, add the onions, garlic and peppers (except for the guajillos in your tomato sauce) to the pan and sweat in with the beef – don't drain the fat (that is why you are using very lean beef).
--When the onions are starting to turn translucent, add the tomatoes, tomato sauce and all the spices. Reduce heat to low/med low, cover, and simmer for 2 hours, stirring every ½ hour or so.
--After 2 hours, taste and season as needed. Drain and rinse beans, and add to chili. Cook uncovered 20-30 more minutes.
Makes a TON.
If you'd like to participate in Shaker Gourmet, email me at: shakergourmet (at) gmail.com Include your Shaker name and a link to your blog (if you have one).
Gray Skies Are Gonna Clear Up...
Put on a gay face!
Civil Union Bill Passes Illinois House CommitteeSPRINGFIELD, IL -- An Illinois House committee passed a bill today that would extend legal recognition and many of the benefits limited to married couples to same sex couples.
The Religious Freedom and Civil Union Act (HB2234) passed the Youth and Family Committee with a vote on Thursday, March 5. The bill now goes to the full House for consideration.
“We are gratified that the members of the committee understand the importance of recognizing and extending legal protections to Illinois same-sex couples and their families,” said Rick Garcia, director of public policy, Equality Illinois. “These couples make our communities stronger and deserve to have the same protections and benefits as their heterosexual counterparts.”
The bill guarantees some of the rights and responsibilities to persons in civil unions that are currently granted to persons in civil marriages. Among those rights are the ability to participate in healthcare visitation and decision making for one’s partner, survivor benefits and the right to make disposition decisions about deceased partner’s remains.
The bill also re-affirms religious institutions’ right not to solemnize a civil union.
“This bill asks for no special rights, only to grant all families access to what most families now are given automatically under the law,” said Representative Greg Harris (D-Chicago) the chief sponsor of the bill. “We have families in our districts in committed relationships, working hard every day, who when faced with sudden tragedy may desperately need these rights tomorrow or the next day.”
Equality Illinois lined up an impressive list of witnesses to testify before the committee.
The Reverned Suzanne Anderson-Hurdle a Lutheran pastor, mother of three and a Chaplain for her local fire and police departments gave testimony in favor of the bill.
"It seems odd to me that some who tout the idea of family values would push for the defeat of this bill. Their position is incongruent with the nation of family values and seems to lack integrity," said Pastor Suzanne. "It is both naive and ethnocentric to say that the "family" is mom, dad and children. This is not the reality for so many people -- gay or straight and it discounts the experiences of so many people in our communities.
Dr. Randy Georgemiller testified on behalf of the Illinois Psychological Association.
"Heterosexual and homosexual relationships are essentially equivalent in terms of their psychological and social functions and therefore discriminatory policies are unjustified" Georgemiller told the committee. "Government recognition of relationships affords a variety of benefits that are favorable to the couple’s physical, financial, and psychological well being. Just as for heterosexuals, a committed relationship offers a positive sense of self, self worth, and mastery, and provides some insulation from mental and physical disorders."
Gail Clodfelter of Springfield noted the protections that she and her husband have that are denied to her gay son and his partner.
If passed by the full General Assembly, Illinois will join a handful of states to recognize civil unions joining .
In Illinois, the County of Cook and the cities of Oak Park and Urbana have domestic partner registries, but the registries convey no benefits to registrants. The above jurisdictions, the State of Illinois and Chicago extend domestic partner benefits to their gay employees as do numerous Fortune 500 companies.
More of this, please!
A Very John Waters Bankruptcy Hearing
As some of you may already know, I was recently distracted by a 65-page document.
It's not something most people want to talk about (their bankruptcy) -- but I simply cannot continue to think of myself as a truly sharing person if I refrain from regaling you with the following tale (every word of which I swear to Ceiling Cat is completely true and wholly unexaggerated) -- because the story is simply too quirky to keep to myself.
Shamelessly Truncated Backstory: Filed for personal bankruptcy. Received summons to "341 meeting" -- aka "meeting of creditors".
So, yeah, I was nervous.
Not nervous in the "I'm hiding something" way -- more in the "I realize that the trustee may be a raging homophobe, or be having a really bad day, or I might look just like his horrible ex-" kind of way. (Because -- yes, servants of the court are supposed to keep that shit out of it, but sometimes, they don't.)
I was that kind of nervous.
Now, I live in a tiny little town, so there was a bit of driving involved in order to get to my 341 meeting, which was to be held in the municipality that I shall simply call BigBoxStoreO'Ville (or, as it is referred to locally: BigBoxO'Hell -- the town that you go to if you want anything from Home Depot, Staples, or Petco, etc. -- but the town that you don't go to at all, if you can help it).
So, with the drive, I had an extra hour and and 15 minutes to feel that nervousness.
Two stalwart companions accompanied me. One of them drove while I checked and rechecked the Mapquest directions in the jump-seat of her truck. (I know, I know -- this doesn't sound so awfully quirky yet, but be patient -- it gets better.)
Five years earlier, I had accompanied a friend to her 341 meeting at the courthouse in downtown BigBoxOVille, so I thought I knew what to expect -- a tiny, run-down courtroom, clerks and attorneys and clients lingering in the hallways -- however, when I checked Mapquest against the address in my meeting notice, it didn't look like this was the same location that I remembered, but rather, some other place called: Gateway Center.
I knew that BigBoxOVille had been doing a lot of downtown renovation, so I imagined "Gateway Center" as some kind of chromy/glassy edifice -- a bustling hub of civic offices and civil servants -- all sexy-whole-foods-indirect-lighting and spacious entryways, with busy receptionists residing cooly behind sleek corian counters.
Which vision hadn't exactly made me less nervous.
There had been something tired but friendly about the old courthouse where I had sat with my friend in her hour of need -- a dumpy, frayed-around-the-edges feeling that carried a reminder that people in their thousands had passed through this place -- winning cases and losing them, being found innocent and guilty, being arrested and posting bail, marrying and divorcing -- it put the proceeding my friend was about to endure into some kind of perspective for me. Nothing new under the sun, and all that.
Imagine my surprise when, as we drew closer to our destination, I called out the address to my friend once more and she said:
"Huh? Well, then . . . this is it. We're here."
And "Here" was . . . . ? A strip mall.
Not just any strip mall, either -- this was one of those tiny, sad strip malls from the 80s -- there were six spaces on the mall sign at the edge of the parking lot, but only four of them contained signage (and it turned out that two of the businesses listed were no longer in operation).
As we pulled into the parking lot, I felt an unexpected rush of relief.
I believe that what came out of my mouth was:
"A strip mall? A fucking strip mall? A fucking dying strip mall?!?! Wow. If they don't have any more respect for themselves than this, what am I being all nervous about?"
Let me paint the scene: Dingy. Dismal. Shabby. Dinky. ("Not a nice place you have here, Joe.")
Two spaces were occupied at one end of the mall, and then a series of echoing, empty, glass-fronted caverns stretched to the other end -- presumably once occupied by entrepreneurs who, in their haste to depart, hadn't even bothered to retrieve their signage.
I scanned the markers above each door for "Suite D". There it was -- but it, too, seemed empty. (Turns out the Bankruptcy court met next door to Suite D -- more on this in a bit).
The two enterprises carrying on discernable trade in the mall were: 1) A rather cute coffee-shop/deli, and 2) A Dollar Store, prominently festooned with signs saying: "CASH ONLY!" and "NO Checks" and "Credit Cards Not Accepted".
Which just seemed so . . . . perfectly perfect. My relief deepened.
Being a believer in all things woo-woo, my compatriots and I had been affirming all the way to BigBoxOVille that today, we would navigate to the "Utopian Version" of Bankruptcy court. We declared that we would experience the day as affirming and uplifting and educational and expansive.
It was starting out well, I had to admit. The setting alone had stimulated my sense of humor.
Since I had insisted on arriving an hour before the actual meeting time (I have similar tight-assery around catching airplanes), we decided to explore the coffee-shop.
Imagine my delight when I found that they make their own doughnuts from scratch, every morning.
Heaven. We do not have a doughnut shop in our town, and I refuse to use the sacred word "pastry" when referring to the rubbery items passed off as donuts at the local Safeway.
AND! -- The barrista chap behind the counter was almost certainly a Friend of Dorothy, who connected with us in a manner that indicated that he suspected that we, too, had more than a passing acquaintance withToto's mistress.
Better and better.
We pretty much had the place to ourselves at first, as we sipped coffee (a rarity for me) and bit into what I like to refer to as: Wheels From The Divine Chariot.
People came and went -- some nervous and pacing, others calm and bored (the latter, by their dress, were, no doubt, attorneys waiting for their clients' 341 meetings) -- but get this -- I'm 95% certain that every single person that I saw during the three hours I was at that mall was there for -- Not-Suite D.
Which was a whole 'nother interesting twist -- because that coffee shop would probably be filing for bankruptcy itself, if it weren't for . . . bankruptcy court. (I adore the occasional brush with ouroborian reality.)
Amongst the nervous-/pacing-type customers was yours truly.
I would get up from time to time, go out into the parking lot, through the entry next to Suite D, down the narrow hallway to the door with one little peeky-hole type window in it, and then I would wrestle with the choice of just going in now and seeing what was going on in there, or wandering back to Oz and Priscella Queen of the Dessert (who had also seen fit to bring some free truffles to our table, because he "just needed to taste-test them so that I could describe them to customers, and they're really too big for me to eat a whole one, but if I split them into four pieces, well, that leaves a piece of the maple-citrus and a piece of the almond fudge for each of us!").
So, we're all like: "Get out! -- free Chocolate? I love the Utopian Bankruptcy Alternate Universe!"
In one of my pacey/nervous moments outside, I ran into an acquaintance from a nearby town who used to be a client, in the parking lot.
"Portly?" she queried.
I queried back, delicately, cautiously: "Are you here for . . . the same reason I'm here? . . . . . . Suite D?"
"Yes. Yes, I am -- but it's a good thing. Really." She looked into my eyes after we hugged, and repeated with more emphasis, "It really is a good thing."
As she walked off to her car, she added: "By the way, they're more than an hour behind."
Having now wired myself up with unaccustomed caffeine (and weighed myself down, with unaccustomed pastry), I decided to go into "the room".
It was an ordinary, large, conference-type room, with conference-type chairs, a low acoustic-paneled ceiling, and flourescent lighting. A roster outside the door listed, in alphabetical order, the cases that were being handled today -- fifteen or so cases to the hour, each hourly group organized from A-Z -- I was the last person on the roster for the day.
I squeaked the door open and tried to enter without drawing undue attention to myself. Forty or so chairs were arranged in rows at one end of the room, with a big desk up front, and a set of chairs off to one side where sat The Attorneys (or so I surmised, because I recognized one of them from his picture on the business card he had enclosed in the letter he sent some weeks earlier).
Oh, and about those letters -- those letters that began arriving in the mail the day after my bankruptcy filing became a matter of public record?
To date, I have received four letters from attorneys who all began their missives with "Dear Portly: I noticed that you are filing Pro Se, and would like to notify you of my services . . . . ", but who all also managed to end their missives with some variation of ". . . . . . because you really don't understand how dangerous it is to represent yourself in these matters". I have received four credit card offers, and 42 (count 'em! Forty Two!) offers of pre-approved car loans (at an average of $32G each -- which is something like $1,344,000.00 worth of car loans). As my Beloved said when these letters started arriving: "Oh look, dear -- vultures."
My compatriots and I sat and watched as each person or couple was called up to sit at The Desk, where The Trustee swore them in and repeated the same basic script over and over again ("This is a copy of your petition. Did you see these documents before you signed them?", "Have you listed all your property on these documents?", etc., etc., etc.).
I listened to the little bits of their stories that the questions brought forth. Of all the 25 or so cases that preceded mine, only one seemed the slightest bit questionable to me -- all the others were stories of health crises, business plans gone awry, unforeseen circumstances, or people just trying to make ends meet in tough times.
When the Trustee reached the end of the docket ahead of mine, he addressed the 11 am group (which I was in) and gave us a little briefing about what would happen next.
He was serious but kindly, and went through the speech (which he has probably given a nonnillion times) efficiently, while peppering it with a few wry witticisms that had this room full of nervous people chuckling aloud from time to time. He had a wonderful style of deadpan humor, but he maintained the decorum of his office at all times.
I was impressed.
Especially when he said stuff like this: "So -- you need to cooperate with me. No, actually, you have to cooperate with me. It may seem unfair, but the truth is, this is an unequal relationship -- you have to cooperate with me if you want your bankruptcy to be discharged."
I appreciated his honesty, and his clear attempt to put us all at ease as much as he could under the circumstances. He was extremely funny in his serious way, and he looked tired -- and very human, which I also appreciated.
By the time my turn came, there were only the four of us left in the room -- my two compatriots, the trustee, and myself.
He called my name and I took my seat in front of The Desk.
Before he turned on the tape recorder, I said: "You know, you may have a future in stand-up."
He raised his brows a bit as he peered over The Desk at me (uh-oh), and said: "Not gonna go there."
At which I straightened my ass up and did what I was supposed to do -- just affirmed that I would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the blah-blah-blah, and answered simply "Yes" and "No" to his questions.
But I swear that there was a little twinkle in his eye.
I had the sense that he was in that difficult place where his role prevented him from connecting with me fully as a human, but I honestly had the sense that he wanted to make that connection. I can relate to that. When I was a social worker, I was often in situations where the requirements of my role as a professional impinged upon my ability to relate to my clients in certain ways. Which is one reason I stopped being a social worker.
I'm a stubborn little thing, though. Once the tape recorder was off, I said to him:
"Seriously. You helped put me at ease today, during an experience that could have been much more difficult for me. Thank you."
He didn't really respond to that, but there was that little tiny twinkle again, and he asked me about my tiny town and how it was weathering the current financial climate. Next summer, our peninsula will become a virtual island for 3 months, right in the middle of tourist season, because of a bridge closure. He said: "I just wonder how [tiny town] is going to hang on."
Then we left, and he left, and the lights went out in Not-Suite D for the day.
My compatriots headed back to Oz for a few minutes, to get some of the day-old pastries to take home.
I went to the Dollar Store.
The CASH ONLY!!! Dollar Store.
Next to the bankruptcy room.
I spent five dollars and forty-three cents. The cashier there didn't need to use her cash register, because everything in the store is $1, and she has memorized the sales tax for every integer from $1 to $150 (I asked her). She just counts up your items and says: "Five Forty-three."
I purchased:
1. A pair of reading glasses (which I needed)
2. A pair of compact flourescent light bulbs (which I needed)
3. A package of those funky light bulbs that are supposed to look like candle-flames and which are the only light bulbs that fit the dining room fixture (which I needed)
4. A knife sharpener (which I needed), AND
5. A lobster cracker (which I hope to need someday)
Because it just seemed like a fitting end to the day.
Quote of the Day
"We consider this murder."—Marcio Miranda, a lawyer for the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Olinda and Recife in northeastern Brazil, after a judge granted access to an abortion to a nine-year-old girl carrying twins after being raped by her stepfather.
Though abortion is illegal in Brazil, judges can make exceptions based on extreme circumstances, like, for example, an 80-pound child whose uterus is too small to carry one fetus to term, no less two.
Still, the Catholic Church wants to you know that this raped, impregnated, nine-year-old survivor of a life-saving surgical procedure to terminate her pregnancy is a murderer.
[Via.]
A Certain Smile, A Certain Annoyance*
First, the good stuff. This is just too sweet:
First daughters Malia and Sasha Obama got a big surprise after school Wednesday: a brand-new swing set.This is my favorite part:
They squealed with delight upon seeing it, a spokeswoman for the first lady said.
President Barack Obama and his wife, Michelle, went to work while the girls were at school, having the set installed on the south grounds of the White House within sight of the Oval Office, where their father spends plenty of time.
"They ran right for it. They were really, really excited. All four of them," McCormick Lelyveld said.That just makes me smile. The Obamas just seem to take so much joy in each other; the image of the four of them running to enjoy their new swingset, a childhood icon that brings up fuzzy feelin's in me anyway, just really makes me feel good. Sigh. Good stuff.
Okay, if that bit makes you feel as good as it made me feel, don't read on. Just enjoy the glow.
I found this via Digby, who wryly states at the end of the post titled "Presidential Pork":
The girls named the swing set "checkers" and gosh darn it, no matter what Michelle Malkin says, they're going to keep it.
That made me laugh, but an ugly little thought bubbled up. "I'll just bet Malkin won't be able to leave this alone." Sure enough, from Digby's comments:
Michelle Malkin has already tied this to the stimulus billThey point to Malkin's Twitter (and I'm really beginning to fucking hate Twitter) that isn't so much "linking" as it is "total snark fail."
Question: Was the new White House swing set paid for with porkulus $? It's, you know, "infrastructure." ;) #tcot #stimulusLiterally, these people are unable to take the slightest bit of joy, hope or cheerfulness out of anything. It would be sad, if Malkin wasn't such a vile, hollow shell of a human being.
Christ, I hate that woman. Picture the kids on the swing... go back to your happy place...
*Post title taken from this lovely album, which I think I'm going to have to listen to now, after experiencing Malkin unpleasantness.
Prop 8 Hearing Open Thread
Both Pam and Faith are liveblogging the Prop 8 hearing in California today.
Shaker rrp emails to say: "I'm not sure that you can get the stream at the California Channel. It's getting a lot of traffic. The judges that are asking a lot of questions are ones who voted for pro-equality. But they are being hard on the lawyers trying to get 8 tossed out."
*bites nails*
UPDATE: MSNBC's live streaming is embeddable, so here it is:
Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy
Make Way for the Bionic Eye
There's more astounding medical progress to report on this week, as a man who had been blind for 30 years has regained some sight, with the help of the Argus II retinal implant.
It uses a camera and video processor mounted on sunglasses to send captured images wirelessly to a tiny receiver on the outside of the eye.
In turn, the receiver passes on the data via a tiny cable to an array of electrodes which sit on the retina - the layer of specialised cells that normally respond to light found at the back of the eye.
When these electrodes are stimulated they send messages along the optic nerve to the brain, which is able to perceive patterns of light and dark spots corresponding to which electrodes have been stimulated.
The hope is that patients will learn to interpret the visual patterns produced into meaningful images. [...]
Ron, who has not revealed his surname, told the BBC: "For 30 years I've seen absolutely nothing at all, it's all been black, but now light is coming through. Suddenly to be able to see light again is truly wonderful.
"I can actually sort out white socks, grey socks and black socks."
Lost Open Thread
Last night's episode will be discussed in infinitesimal detail, so if you haven't seen it, and don't want any spoilers, move along...
Actual Headline
Why is John McCain being such a jerk?
Uh, has Salon ever heard of John McCain, aka Punk McNasty, the jerkiest jerk in all of jerkdom? Being a jerk is what he does. He's a professional jerk with a PhD in jerkitude. He's the patron saint of megajerks whose jerkery is so powerful that even ordinary jerks must gain +20 jerk resistance before looking him in the eyes. He's such a jerk that his favorite sandwich is jerk pork. He is the Jerkmaster 6000.
That McCain is being a jerk doesn't warrant a bemused headline. If he stopped being a jerk for three seconds, then you might have something.
"Klaatu barada nikto, baby."
Via Steve Benen, who got it from Ron Chusid, a wing-nut warns of the danger of the same-sex marriage slippery slope that goes megabytes beyond Rick Santorum:
David Gibbs III, a lawyer who in 2005 fought to keep brain-damaged Terri Schiavo on life support, told rally participants gay marriage would "open the door to unusual marriage in North Carolina. "Why not polygamy, or three or four spouses?" Gibbs asked. "Maybe people will want to marry their pets or robots."Show me a hunky android that can give informed consent to sign a contract. If so, he'd be a sentient being, and as we all know, androids have rights, too.
Or maybe you go for the strong silent type...
Hey, whatever spins your hat. Live and [beep] let live, I say.
*HT to PaultheSpud for the correct terminology in the title.
Happy Birthday, Phil Barron!
Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuuuuu!
Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuuuuu!
Itriedtofindacakewithacatthatdidn'tlooklikeoneofyourscuztheneatingitwouldbe creeeepyyyyy!
Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuuuuu!
(Even though Phil's a very, very, very part-time contributor, he still gets a cake because I say so!)
Top Chef Open Thread
Chef Tom Colicchio will drink. your. milkshake!!!
And he'd better be handing a $10,000 check to Carla for being Fan Favorite tonight, or there's gonna be trouble! Hooty-hoo!
Question of the Day
What's the best compliment you've ever received?
(I totally can't answer this one, because no matter what I say, it reads like I posted the question just to crawl up my own ass, lol.)
Quote of the Day
"The comments made during a recent recording session amongst friends were taken out of context and blown out of proportion. I apologize on behalf of myself and my friends if anyone was offended. The intentions were not to pass judgment and we meant no harm. I respect and wish the best for all parties involved."—R&B singer Usher, apologizing for suggesting that Chris Brown should "have a little bit of remorse, man," after viewing pictures of Brown relaxing on a jet ski weeks after violently attacking his girlfriend Rihanna.
This is what we're dealing with in this country when it comes to violence against women. Usher suggests that maybe, just maybe, it's a little bit callous to be taking a little public R&R before the bruises you left on a woman's face have even healed, and, within days, he's the one apologizing because, hey, he didn't mean to pass judgment or anything.
Fucked. Up.
10 Best Conservative Movies
National Review, which did such a wonderful job identifying hidden conservative messages in rock songs a few years ago, has now come up with a list of the Best Conservative Movies. Although their list for the most part sticks to derrièrist principles by not including too many difficult movies, for some reason they named The Lives of Others, a boring foreign film I've never heard of, as their number one movie and even included a tedious talky independent film like Metropolitan. They did include The Dark Knight, however, which should head off angry emails from fans and derrièrist critics who think it was the greatest movie ever made. Of course, I would have included The Dark Knight on my list, too, as well as such conservative classics as Brazil and Red Dawn, but there are so many great conservative movies, I decided not to duplicate anything that appeared on their list. And while their list only included films of the last 25 years (probably because the editors of National Review haven't seen any movies older than that), I also included a few older movies; but don't worry, none of them are in black and white (except for one, but give it a chance; it gets better).
Neither of our lists is definitive. I'm sure you can think of a lot of other great conservative movies. Feel free to mention them in the comments. Some of the other great conservative movies I might have included that didn't quite make the cut include The Grapes of Wrath, Birth of a Nation, Norma Rae, Easy Rider, Slumdog Millionaire, and Showgirls, just to name a few. But these lists are not meant to identify every great conservative movie. The real purpose of these lists is to show that conservatives are actually normal people, who love movies and rock music and video games, who talk a lot about hot women and what we would like to do to them if we were able to get any of them in bed and who use a lot of baseball and basketball metaphors just like regular guys. Hopefully, lists like this, and sites like Big Hollywood, will help change the unfair image of conservatives in the media so that one day we'll be able to say, "You like me! You like me!"
1. Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Dan Quayle's favorite movie, featuring the film debut of former Nixon aide Ben Stein (who discusses the Smoot-Hawley tariffs and the Laffer Curve in one of the film's most moving scenes), Ferris Bueller's Day Off is perhaps the greatest conservative film ever to come out of Hollywood. Matthew Broderick plays Ferris Bueller, who decides he has had enough of liberal indoctrination and skips school on the day of a test about European socialism in protest. "I'm not European," he says. "I don't plan on being European. So who gives a crap if they're socialists? They could be fascist anarchists, it still doesn't change the fact that I don't own a car. Not that I condone fascism." Although liberal Hollywood often tries to caricature conservatives as dorks or villains, someone like Ferris Bueller is who conservatives actually see when we look in the mirror. Someone who is handsome and adored by all the "sportos, motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies, dickheads." Someone who is really, really cool. And, sure, we might total your father's Ferrrari or invade your country without enough troops or trigger a temporary economic meltdown, but we're actually really lovable, the kind of guy you want to have a beer with. And really, really cool.
2. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971)
Why aren't there more films for children that celebrate free-market capitalism? Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is a Horatio Alger story about Charlie Bucket, a poor kid who learns that in the free-enterprise system everybody has a randomly equal chance to find a golden ticket (though some special people, like Veruca Salt, have more randomly equal chances than others because a level playing field would be socialism). After finding a golden ticket in his chocolate bar, Charlie meets Willy Wonka, an entrepreneur who has built his candy empire through constant innovation, corporate espionage and cheap labor. Wonka takes Charlie and some other lucky kids on a tour of his factory and gives them a quick lesson in basic economics. His factory is a consumerist paradise, where everything is consumable, although as one unfortunate child learns, consuming beyond your means can get you sucked up into a giant tube. In a free market economy, the kids learn, some will succeed and others will end up as giant blueberries. "Don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted," Wonka instructs Charlie, imparting the film's most important moral lesson. "He lived happily ever after."
3. Home Alone (1990)
Like some of the other films on this list, Home Alone works on several levels. On the one hand it's a family-friendly comedy about an adorable little boy, played by Macaulay Culkin (before he grew up and got weird), fighting off home invaders. But on a deeper level it is a parable about what would happen if we didn't have a Second Amendment. Luckily, Culkin is able to fend off the incompetent criminals who try to break into his home by using ingenious homemade weaponry, but not every little boy in America is as clever as Culkin's screenwriter, John Hughes. If you went on vacation and accidentally left your child at home, wouldn't you feel a lot better if you knew there was a loaded gun in the house that your child could easily access? I know I would. Unfortunately, gun control extremists want to take away our Second Amendment rights by passing all kinds of laws mandating child safety locks and banning assault weapons, rendering our nation's pre-adolescents defenseless. I think the NRA should remake this movie but this time give the little boy a gun. It would be a very short film.
4. Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Although a number of liberal critics with their minds in the gutter slandered it as a "gay cowboy movie," Brokeback Mountain is actually a wonderful paen to the virtues of American masculinity. Ranch hand Ennis del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Rodeo cowboy Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) are no metrosexuals. They are men's men who love nothing better than engaging in such manly pursuits as camping and fishing and rounding up sheep in the great outdoors. Although both are married and have kids, is it so surprising that they feel more comfortable in the company of other men, resisting the feminizing influences that have polluted our culture since the women's movement? Unfortunately, liberals aren't able to accept that two men can be really good friends without adolescently snickering and insinuating behind their backs that they are gay. They certainly don't act gay. If going fishing with your buddy makes you gay, then a lot of men in America must be gay.
5. Weekend at Bernie's (1989)
Although some might dismiss Weekend at Bernie's as a wacky comedy about young insurance executives who drag the corpse of their wealthy boss around and pretend he is alive, it is actually a penetrating allegory about the evils of the death tax (which liberals euphemistically refer to as the "estate tax"). Is there really that much difference between defiling the dead by taxing their wealth after they die and propping up someone's dead body, putting sunglasses on him and dragging him around the beach pretending he's drunk? Can't liberal vultures just let deceased millionaires pass their estates on to their pampered progeny without government tax collectors extracting their pound of putrefying flesh? Although Weekend at Bernie's is certainly a delightful comedy on one level, it just makes me so mad sometimes when I think of the policy implications that I want to yell at the screen, "Leave Bernie's heirs' trust funds and tax shelters alone!"
6. Wizard of Oz (1939)
Long before homosexuals waved rainbow flags and Jesse Jackson's Rainbow Coalition fomented racial hatred, Dorothy (played by Judy Garland, who later devolved into a pill-popping gay icon) took a nightmarish, drug-fueled trip over the rainbow to a hellish, multicultural dystopia called Oz. Throughout the Wizard of Oz Dorothy is desperate to flee the perversions of Munchkinland, Afghanistan-like poppy fields and urban ghettos of the Emerald City and return home to safe Republican Kansas, where morality is clearly delineated in black and white. At the end of the film when a big government wizard fails to get her back home, she discovers that all she has to do is pull herself up by her own ruby slipper straps. At a time when the great imperial Obama tells us that we need government to help us solve our problems, we should remember what Glinda the Good Witch of the North, tells Dorothy -- that she doesn't need government handouts to help her when she can just get what she needs by clicking her very own pair of ruby slippers and wishing really hard.
7. Starship Troopers (1997)
One of the problems with a lot of liberal Hollywood war movies since Vietnam is that they get all caught up with trying to see the enemy as human beings and depicting war as morally questionable. But Starship Troopers brilliantly spares us all the distracting moralism by stripping war down to its essential elements. It accomplishes this by reducing the enemy to nasty alien insects who look really cool when they blow up so that we can see war in its purest form as the glorious adventure it actually is. Although President Bush accomplished some of the same goals by banning photography of flag-draped coffins and limiting the press's coverage in the battlefield, the war in Iraq would probably have been even more popular if he had been able to convince the American people that the Iraqis were actually giant bugs. Maybe with all the CGI technology we have now a future President waging a future war will be able to do just that.
8. Patch Adams (1998)
It's too bad advocates of socialized medicine don't subscribe to Reader's Digest, which for years has taught us that "Laughter is the Best Medicine." Based on a real-life doctor, Patch Adams, starring Robin Williams in one of his most delightful roles (Williams is so much better in films where he has a director who restrains him), is about a doctor who did have a subscription to Reader's Digest, and realized that all the cheap pharmaceuticals illegally imported from Canada in the world are no match for comedy hijinks. Unfortunately, government bureaucrats try to shut down his comedy clinic just because he is practicing medicine without a license. Although Patch Adams eventually wins his case, imagine if we had socialized medicine and a lot of humorless bureaucrats were given the power to require doctors to have medical degrees and ban them from wearing big red noses and funny glasses or replacing bed pans with whoopee cushions. That's not the kind of America I want. So the next time some liberal complains about the 45 million Americans who are uninsured, spray him with water from the flower in your lapel and send him to see this movie.
9. Planet of the Apes (1968)
Planet of the Apes is based on an intriguing premise: What if evolution were true instead of just an unlikely theory? In this film apes have "evolved" to the point where they talk, wear clothes and walk upright. Evolutionists would have you believe that monkeys are our uncles so if you evolved them a little, then it would stand to reason that they would be just like us. And the apes on this planet sure seem human at first but as the film unfolds we see that there is nothing very human about these animals at all. No matter how you dress them up or how many words of English you teach them in the end they're still just "damned dirty apes," as Charlton Heston discovers. I don't think I've ever seen a better refutation of Darwin's theories.
10. Jaws (1975)
The next time your annoying animal rights activist friend cries and moans about bunnies and puppies and kitties being tortured and murdered in medical labs, pop Jaws in the DVD player and show him what animals are really like. Animals are not really cute and loveable little creatures, living together in harmony in the forest, as animal rights activists would have you believe. Many of them are vicious, amoral killing machines like the shark in Jaws, who would like nothing better than to bite PETA members in half given the chance. Jaws dares to tell the truth about animals. That's why we call them animals. By the end of the film your fauna-hugging friend will be cheering as loudly as you are when the nasty shark is finally blown to smithereens. Then you can take them out for nice hot bowl of shark-fin soup.
Crossposted at Jon Swift
Number of the Day
Daily Kitteh
1. Laying on top of me, perfectly content, using my boob as a
pillow if at all possible, and loudly purring like a lawnmower.
2. Looking guilt-inducingly pathetic in the corner.
Mode Three is running around my legs, mewling and chirping and trilling and pawing at me and biting my ankles, until I either want to strangle her or schnoogle her. Usually both.
Blog Note
For years, I've managed Ye Olde Blogroll of Gigantic Proportions and the News & Aggregators list via Blogrolling, but I've been unhappy with the performance for awhile. I haven't been able update either list for ages, and lately it's made the page take forever to load.
So I've removed them both from the sidebar for the time being, and I'll work on building a replacement.
Apologies for the inconvenience to those who used the blogroll and N&A regularly, and to everyone who was on the blogroll.
Still Trying to Find the "Mysteriously Missing Word, Rape"
Yesterday (Tuesday March 3), Chester Arthur Stiles was convicted of sexually assaulting a two-year-old and a six-year-old.
He videotaped his sexual assault of the two-year-old.
But when I opened up my AOL home page, here is how the case was described:
That link takes you to the article linked in the first line, which has the cleaned-up title "Man Convicted in Toddler Video Case," though the URL still contains "man-convicted-in-toddler-sex-video."
Liss has written a lot about the media's refusal to call rape what it is (two examples). I don't have much to add, but I was particularly struck (and angered) by this.
Natural Allies
[Trigger warning.]
For a long time, I've been meaning to write another post on the subject of women and gay men being natural allies, with the intent of drawing a line between the caricatures of the Gay Predator and the Female Rape Victim Who Was Totally Asking For It. We operate on different sides of the consent equation, but we are both demonized via lies told about consent. For gay men, the lie is that they don't seek consent. For women, the lie is that consent is an implicit constant, by virtue of our bodies being public property.
(Keen observers will already have noted that both mendacious narratives are spawned of projection, arising from the ugliest manifestation of straight male sexuality, which itself is predatory in nature and has no respect for consent, having intractably objectified women into beings whose value is wholly contingent upon the provision of sex.)
So, yeah, I've been intending to talk about this, and then comes this story about the zombie corpse of the "Gay Panic" defense stumbling through yet another American courtroom, which perfectly (and depressingly) encapsulates the entire clusterfuck of a relationship between narratives about predatory gays and sexual assault.In opening statements Monday, defense lawyer Michael Aed told the jury of five women and seven men that the case "is not a whodunit."
And not a woman—ergo, since masculinity is inevitably defined in contradistinction to femininity, he is not presumed to have given consent. All the easier to believe because his supposed rapist and actual victim was gay, and thus presumed to have a predatory sexuality.
Aed said [defendant Fernando Limon] will testify that he killed [Jorge Perez] in self-defense. The reason: Perez, a homosexual, molested Limon, who is not gay.
And, in another swell little marriage between projection and the reliance on contradistinctive definitions of manhood, the straight man who invents a sexual assault out of whole cloth benefits from the overwhelming narrative that it is women who routinely make false rape claims in desperate bids of self-preservation (or vengeance). Wonder not why that pervasive accusation against women exists; it exists for the same reason narratives about predatory gays does—because the patriarchal male who is treated since birth as The Norm (from whom all Others deviate) imagines Others to have his motivations.
This (alleged) murderous scum, who prosecutors say killed Perez during the commission of a robbery, is relying on The Patriarchy's demonizing misconceptions about women and gay men in the same way millions of men before him—to scapegoat them and escape the fate he (allegedly) deserves.
We are natural allies, because we are natural targets of the same despicable reprobates.
Kidnapping and Bondage... In the Kid's Department
It may seem that I talk a lot about how products geared for children reinforce and perpetuate ideas instilled by living under the kyriarchy, but, damn, I'm continually astounded.
We were shopping for summer clothes. My son, avowed lover of graphic shirts, thought this was funny:
I told him I didn't like it, then tried to explain why.*
"He's saying his sister is so annoying, he was happy she was kidnapped."
He understood that part, but the back took a little more.
"This is based on a stereotype that girls and women talk a lot, that their talk is annoying, and that what they say isn't important."
A debate ensued, which he began with, "Mama... some girls do talk a lot."
He kept looking at the shirts, then said, "You are really not going to like this one!"
He was, of course, right.**
(crossposted at elle, phd as part of my Things Seen series)
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*Sorry for the (camera phone) picture quality. The shirt says "The Flying Monkeys Stole My Sister... But They Brought Her Back for TALKING TOO MUCH."
**The front of the shirt features a smiling boy holding duct tape. "I have no idea where my sister is," he says. On the sleeve is his unsmiling sister, restrained with the duct tape.
