The Lesbian Stick: A Special Christmas Story

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~this is a reprint from 2006, and a true story.~

Tonight, when I told my older son that I’d found a good Baby Jesus to steal, he reminded me of the Lesbian Stick.

A long time ago, in a galaxy right next door, my neighbors moved away to live near their grandchildren, and sold their house to a Lesbian Couple. The husband Lesbian was Nancy Something, a gray-haired hatchet-faced woman who wore severe eyeglasses and identified herself as a “Pain Therapist”. Her wife was a younger, softer Latina named Concha. Nancy’s opening gambit as a new neighbor was to announce her plan to build an 8 foot wooden fence between our houses, for “privacy.”

We objected to the fence project, and asked the Lesbians to reconsider. Phonecalls were exchanged. Tempers were riled, and property lines were debated. Concha called and told us that her husband would no longer speak to us: she needed time to Heal. We named her Doctor Pain

Doctor Pain hired a pair of weathered Lesbian Workmen to erect the fence. One had a crewcut and the other spoke in an awful Scandinavian accent. I befriended the Workmen, since they liked Laurie Anderson, but engaged in bitter combat with Dr. Pain. The fence went up, blocking the light and lending the effect of a prison compound.

Time passed and I tried not to look at Dr. Pain when I saw her outside. Her voice was piercing and nasal, her teeth looked like they wanted to bite you. We smelled incense coming from her backyard, and wondered if she was burning human sacrifices. I turned my anger toward the big gnarled stick on her front porch…..a “staff” of some kind, around seven feet long, perhaps a trophy from a hike somewhere.

I ranted about the stick to everyone. I hatched bizarre plots involving the stick, and asked friends for advice. Someone suggested that I burn the stick, and send little charred pieces of it to Dr. Pain. Someone else told me to kidnap it, and demand a ransom if they ever wanted to see it alive again. Finally, I ran next door and moved the stick from the left side of the porch to the right side. I was dizzy with adrenaline. In the morning, the stick was back on the left.

At Christmas, my son wondered what to get for me. I asked  him to get me the stick. When he brought it up to our door, he held it aloft, and I tried to sing the theme from “Rocky.” It was a joyous, shining moment; he is the best son a mother could ask for!

More time passed and it was Christmas again. I was desperate for a piece of typing paper and since Dr. Pain’s car was gone, I went next door to ask Concha for a piece of paper. She led me into the house, which was filled with vintage images of saints. Shit!!!!! I told her that I also collect old Catholic Icons, and we bonded under the gaze of St. Theresa. “Come over to my house some time, and see my stuff,” I gushed. On Christmas Eve, Concha appeared at my door with her parents, who were visiting for the holiday. I invited her in warmly, forgetting until that instant that her stick was on display in my bedroom. My life flashed before my eyes. Somehow, I mumbled that the bedroom was messy, and managed to hide the Lesbian Stick under my bed just before she walked in to see my Saints.

Dr. Pain split up with Concha, who stayed on alone for a while before they sold the house. Before she left, Concha and I hugged. I’m sure she found a better looking Lesbian to share her life with. And the stick is leaning in a corner of my bedroom, along with the smaller sticks that Dr. Pain put out on her porch, in a futile effort to replace the original one.

Merry Christmas!

Posted in Disorders, love, Religion | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

A Bed of Brainworms

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If you’re not following the Olivia Nuzzi / RFK Jr. fiasco, you are missing out on a mother-lode of sleazy shenanigans that are more delightful by the hour. A festival of icky hook-ups and betrayals, it deserves its own chart to follow, but here’s where it stands so far.

Olivia Nuzzi is (was) a political reporter at New York magazine. Her columns were low-grade snarky, and always seemed to me like something anyone could make up on the fly. Like, “Ivanka resents Melania but tries to get along with her.” Really??  She has long windswept blonde hair and is described as a film- staresque beauty, but has an enormous chin.

The chin has been overlooked by various older, important men, including her former fiance, journalist Ryan Lizza. How can a couple have so many Z’s in their names? I can’t get over it.

Lizza discovered that Olivia had engaged in a steamy “digital” (ahem) affair with RFK Jr while “covering” his run for president in 2024, thanks to a leak by another reporter. New York magazine put her on leave while they investigated the story. Lizza broke up with Olivia, who then filed a restraining order against him, dropping it a month later. Olivia was fired, and Lizza was also fired from his job at Politico.

Now! Here’s where the real fun begins. Olivia’s memoir comes out in December, but an excerpt was published in Vanity Fair, who has inexplicably hired her as its West Coast editor. The NYT did a fawning profile on her. And Lizza got mad. He has just published his own side of the story, including a poem from RFK Jr  that he found in Olivia’s text messages. Ready? You’re actually not, so brace yourself:

Yr open mouth awaiting my harvest. Drink from me Love. I mean to squeeze your cheeks to force open your mouth. I’ll hold your nose as you look up at me to encourage you to swallow. Dont spill a drop. I am a river You are my canyon. I mean to flow through you. I mean to subdue and tame you. My Love.

Ew doesn’t suffice, does it?  Lizza notes with resentment that he learned about felching from another text. Felching poetry from our Secretary of Health should be the last straw but no, he’s still busy trying to kill schoolchildren who need vaccines.

And if you can somehow find it in your heart to forgive him, remember that he had 37 affairs while married to his previous wife, who killed herself, leaving him her considerable estate. But his brainworm? No problem. Olivia loves it:

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I loved his brain. I hated the idea of an intruder therein. Others thought he was a madman; he was not quite mad the way they thought, but I loved the private ways that he was mad. I loved that he was insatiable in all ways, as if he would swallow up the whole world just to know it better if he could. He made me laugh, but I winced when he joked about the worm. “Baby, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not a worm.”

But Bobby, you said it was! Which is it, motherfucker?

Does it matter that Olivia once lived with reporter Keith Olbermann, who was her sugar daddy when she was 18?  Or that she slept with horndog Mark Sanford while reporting on him? Or that she broke into Trump henchman Corey Lewandowski’s office? Not really. She’s a bonifide piece of work. Let’s give her credit for that. I only hope she’ll continue to amuse us for years to come with her purple prose and enormous chin.

Posted in Celebrities, Horrible Stuff, revenge, Words | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

All Apologies

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I was taken aback recently by an email announcing a new brand of “unapologetic knitwear.” It was not only unapologetic but also ridiculously expensive. Maybe it could at least apologize for the price. A few days later, I encountered more offers of unapologetic clothing.

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I started feeling annoyed. I don’t want any attitude from my clothes, least of all anything so confrontational. If I haven’t asked for an apology, it seems kind of hostile to announce that I can’t have one.

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I also got a heads up about a new perfume called Forgive me, which was described as unapologetic. Well, which is it?

It seems like given our current cultural climate, it would be smarter to sell us stuff that was contrite if not downright penitent. I’d like some knitwear that was remorseful about everything…it’s material, fit, color and price. Everything we buy owes us an apology for making us poorer and more unsatisfied. If I want to be provoked, I don’t need knitwear to do it.

In general, why are apologies so hard for some people? Personally, I’m happy to apologize all day long, and I do. The other day, I apologized to the doorknob that jabbed me in the hip. It costs me nothing to apologize, yet for others, it’s like a superhuman effort to say something like,”I’m sorry if you feel that way.” Or, “I’m sorry you took it that way.” Both of these obviously mean, “I’m not sorry and too bad for you.” Maybe for some, apologizing feels like a capitulation – some kind of zero sum mindset that feels like you win if they apologize.

I used to think this inhibition was a man thing, but I recently spent time with a guy who apologized around fifty times, so I guess it’s just low self-esteem that equates apologizing with a loss of face (or dick, as the case may be.)

I’ve learned to say, “I’m sorry I was such a jerk” and really mean it. It’s kind of  exhilarating to absolve yourself in this way. You’re good until the next time you’re a jerk. It’s also useful to say, “I don’t want to be an asshole, but…” and then you can proceed to be an asshole. I’ve done this a few times in my gym, when I report kids using the weight machines. It’s none of my business but I do it anyway. I pretend that I’m worried about them getting hurt but I’m just being an asshole.

I’ve learned there’s a type of person who owes you an apology but will turn things around so you end up having to apologize to them for wanting an apology. This technique is known as DARVO. Try to stay away from this type. If you find yourself engaging with one, just scream “DARVO!” and run away.

Posted in Uncategorized, Words | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

It’s My Party and I’ll Say What I Want to

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Except I won’t, because I don’t want to get swatted or killed. Of all the cunts in the world,  I can’t call Charlie Kirk one!  I can’t title a post Charlie Kirk: What a Fucking Cunt™! even though my What a Fucking Cunt™! series includes –

Kellyanne Conway
Lou Dobbs
Damien Hirst
Sting
Jennifer Lopez
Dana Loesch
RFK Jr
Paul Ryan
Elon Musk
Jared Kushner

and lots of people you probably haven’t heard of, who happen to be cunts. What a crazy, fucked up inverted situation when you can’t vilify a free speech warrior who openly vilified blacks, women, and even empathy itself. I never paid attention to this cunt, I mean saint, until he got shot, I mean assassinated. I have no curiosity about him, although his wife is another story. Did you know she is a former Donald Trump Miss USA pageant contestant?

I’m also afraid to sign petitions now. When all the Trump Haters are rounded up and put into Alligator Camps,  I don’t know who’ll hide me in their attic. I’m afraid to go out and protest because I don’t want to be pepper sprayed or hit in the face with a rubber bullet. I hate being afraid but this is where we are. Or maybe it’s just me?

Anyone who thinks we haven’t already replaced democracy with authoritarianism is just stupid. Grow up! We are fucked. I thought England would be the place to escape to, but not after those anti-immigrant marches. When I lived there, my neighbors were Sudanese and Jamaican, I worked in a Greek cafe, and the little corner store was owned by Cypriots. No one thought this was bad or abnormal.

I hate writing these platitudes! I just want to call people cunts in peace! That’s all I ever wanted (besides not having to do anything or be bossed around by anyone.) I guess I can openly call those moronic cabinet members cunts; just don’t make me name them. I have trouble even pronouncing Hegseth. But that won’t be satisfying now. Besides, everyone is already in agreement that they’re cunts.

I can live without late-night talk-shows, and have proudly done so for years. But what if Herr Trump takes away all our TV?? Even Netflix?? Personally, I would go insane. TV is my whole life, after my hair, that is. We recently got Britbox, and we now know every British character actor, all of whom we refer to as “that guy.” I have seen every real and fake murder murder show twice over. As long as it doesn’t star Nicole Kidman, I’m in. Taking away our TV would be worse than taking away our meds.

I guess it’s come to this: Be grateful for the things we’re still allowed to say and do. Isn’t that pathetic? Maybe I’ll start posting again, just because I’m still allowed to. With that, I pledge to not write about –

The problem with Men and Boys
The problem with kids on the internet
The problem with your gut health
The problem with AI
The problem with Loneliness
The problem with the Patriarchy
The problem with Tiktok
Genocide! Genocide!

If there’s anything else you don’t want me to write about, too bad. You’re not the boss of me. If there’s anything you do want me to write about, let me know!

 

Posted in irritants, News, revenge | Tagged , , , | 9 Comments

Am I an Elephant?

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The other day, I asked a male loved-one this question: Let’s say you believe you’re a woman. Now, let’s say you believe you’re an elephant.

Is there a difference between these two beliefs? If  so, is one more legitimate than the other?

He was nice enough to consider this question. He said that because the former is way more prevalent than the latter, it’s more legitimate.

Really? 70% of Americans believe in the devil. Does that make the belief legitimate? Or just popular? Does popularity confer legitimacy? Not to me. Look how many people believe Trump will make America great again!

So my elephant question wasn’t meant to be a trap; it’s just something I think about when people insist that there are more than two sexes. Sexes in the scientific biological sense. Males have small gametes (sperm) and females have large ones (eggs.) A college professor somewhere got in trouble for saying in class that there are two  sexes. The admin made her apologize to the class. I mean, how dare she??

I don’t care what people want to call themselves! I’m not a fascist or transphobe. But I got a thing from UCLA hospital with news about a new prostate procedure, and it included the line, “people who have prostates.”  JUST SAY MEN, FFS! What’s so hard about that? I don’t want institutions that I trust to adopt an ideology. I want them to be scientific and ideologically neutral.

Prostate Cancer Prevalence

In the U.S., prostate cancer is the second-most common cancer in people with prostates (following skin cancer) and the second leading cause of cancer death (following lung cancer).2

I also want to know why I can’t consider myself Black if I feel  like a Black person. Why is skin color more immutable than sex?  If I announced that I’m now a man named Bob, people would praise me for my courage. But if I announced that I’m a Black woman, I would get fired and become a pariah. (I also addressed this here.)

I’m not trying to be an asshole! This is actually the kind of thing I ponder. I have so many questions; philosophical and prosaic and often of no interest to anyone.

Does anyone want to weigh in on this? I would love to hear your thoughts, from both females and people with prostates.

Posted in irritants, News, Words | Tagged , , , | 14 Comments

The Path Forward

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Just kidding, there is no path forward; we are screwed. Our fate is sealed and there will be no place on earth that is safe from his malice, incompetence, and those sickening hand gestures. Weren’t we naive to believe in our fellow Americans? I know I was. I even told people I had a “good feeling” about the election.

Even though it sounds stupid and sanctimonious, I’ve been researching visas. Meanwhile, I’ve been advised to keep my head down, stop watching the news, and just try to have fun.

That won’t work. First of all, I don’t like having fun. You know those commercials where people with Chron’s disease, HIV, psoriasis and cancer, take some meds and end up at an outdoor concert,  street market, hiking trail, or nightclub? None of that fun looks appealing to me. Swimming, jogging, birthday parties, gardening, camping, not for me.

I can’t ignore the news either. Not when it’s full of wonders like Tulsi Gabbard for Director of National Intelligence. Lots of people consider her a Russian asset! Get the joke, libtards?

This might be fun though: Can we try to categorize Trump’s appointees and cronies? We can have idiots, monsters, cunts, and Matt Gaetz. And people with brain worms.

Or, as an antidote to politics, how about ethics? And death?

Okay, this Australian right-to-die activist, Philip Nitschke, designed a 3D printed device called a suicide pod, in which a person is killed by nitrogen gas in around seven minutes. He insists that it’s a peaceful send-off, and that his machine gives people true agency by enabling them to initiate the process of dying themselves, without relying on “prejudiced” medical professionals to judge whether their reason for wanting to die is legitimate.

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Nitschke just wants to help, alright? He’s not some evil madman! That’s why years ago he came up with a euthanasia machine he called Deliverance, which connected a laptop with a syringe. Answering “yes” to a series of questions—Do you know that if you press this button you’ll die? Are you sure you know this?—on the computer would trigger the syringe to release a fatal dose of drugs. Four people used the machine to die, Nitschke claims, before the territory’s law was repealed.

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In September, a 64-year-old US woman became the first person to die using the suicide pod in Switzerland. Several people were arrested shortly afterwards on suspicion of inciting, and aiding and abetting suicide. Nutcase  Dr Florian Willet, president of The Last Resort, was the only person present at the send-off, ahem, but he was in phone contact with Nitschke. Further use of the pod, which has a long waiting list, has been suspended pending a review.

“It’s not just some medical privilege for the very sick,” said Nitschke. “It’s a fundamental human right. If you’ve got the precious gift of life, you should be able to gift that gift away at the time of your choosing.”

I don’t know, I think he’s a fucking cunt. Why else devote your life to promoting death? He’s 77 now, but I bet a zillion bucks that when the time comes, he won’t be using his contraption.

And speaking of death, on election night, one of my nephews lamented that he can no longer pray that Trump dies on the toilet. How sad that he must give up that dream! But unless JD Vance dies on the toilet, we all need to hope Trump survives. Who would have thought?!

 

Posted in grief, Horrible Stuff, News | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

Atonement for Atonement

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While many of my waking hours recently have been spent flipping out about technical problems maintaining this fucking blog, I have also been reading. Essays upon essays about subjects unlikely to improve my body or soul, or even my mood.

But! I’ve made a new friend who loves books, and we’ve been lending each other our favorites. I’ve lost count of how many books I’ve read in the last two years, but there are stacks of them. Here are some reviews to save you from wasting your time on second rate fiction and to confirm what a book snob I am.

Atonement by Ian McEwan.  There is no atonement for the florid writing here, so overwritten as to employ several hundred tedious words to describe a garden path. Once I realized how bad it was, I felt obliged to go on until I reached some pivotal action that I knew was coming. When I reached it, I put the book down in disgust and decided to google the ending. If you haven’t read it maybe you’ve seen the movie? In any case, I won’t “ruin it” for you. The plot was like a WWII version of Wuthering Heights, without the sincerity or passion. I have enjoyed many novels by this writer but this was surprisingly stupid.

Death in Venice by Thomas Mann. Very short but atmospheric and packed with intense homo-erotic longing, not to mention pedophilia. Recommended reading if you like this sort of thing.

The Warden and Barchester Towers – Two in a series by Trollope, who I always viewed as a B-list Victorian novelist. I was so wrong! A cast of vivid characters embodying the entire spectrum of human nature, it involves politics and the church but is basically a comedy of manners. A great escape from the world as we know it.

The Locusts Have No King and A Time to Be Born, by Dawn Powell. She is one of those overlooked writers who was before her time in ruthlessly satirizing theater people and socialites. Her book are hard to find but worth the effort. She died by suicide, like most people who are too brilliant for their own good.

The Mountain Lion by Jean Stafford. A strange and intense story about siblings, it is literally unforgettable. Her Collected Short Stories are good, too.

Ballad of the Sad Cafe by Carson McCullers. A bizarre western with lesbians and dwarfs. Boy, was she nuts. Love her.

Lectures on Russian Literature by Vladimer Nabokov. Just what you’d expect: erudite, thoughtful, and grumpy.

The Rub of Time by Martin Amis. A collection of wildly opinionated essays on literature and pop culture. I love him so much. Witty, enthusiastic, and mean.

This is more than enough, right? I’m just trying to avoid hot takes for a while. Everyone else is giving us their two cents about Simone Biles, that Algerian boxer who looks like a man, the election, why phones are destroying our children, J lo and Ben, tribalism, the masculinity crisis, influencers, Ozempic, Clarence Thomas, and mental health.

Although I do actually have to weigh in on Bennifer , obviously. You’d have to have a heart of stone not to enjoy their breakup! Stay tuned, unless my blog disintegrates.

Posted in Art, Words | Tagged , | 12 Comments

Is It Awful Enough Yet?

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I don’t even know where to begin. I guess I’ll start with politics.

Who knew there could be someone more awful than Trump?? The more you learn about J.D. Vance, the more you realize that he’s the devil. He even managed to win Trump’s affection after comparing him to Hitler, using his diabolical shape-shifter ways. Apparently, Trump goes around noting to associates, “He’s so handsome! Those beautiful blue eyes!” Can’t they just rent a room? J.D.’s agenda is fucking nuts, and he’s smart and cunning enough to implement it.

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And let’s not forget the Supreme Court,  co-starring “that cunt” Mrs Alito. Dominated by a cabal of Christian white supremacists, they are working around the clock to rescind our hard-won rights.

Do you guys have your passports ready to go? My own choice is Portugal.

Obviously, it was exciting to watch Trump dodge bullets, even though less exciting than if one had achieved its goal. I’m not saying I’m in favor of assassination; just that if he would die, we could take a deep breath and go safely about our business. Imagine our news media minus Trump updates? Heaven, right? But no, it’s only increased the nonstop focus on him.

Add to that the Biden deathwatch, with the will-he or won’t-he stand down for the sake of Democracy and humanity. Please, please, drop out of the race and let us nurse a flicker of hope for civilization!

Moving away from politics, in my personal life it’s the entropy. So I joined the YMCA and started lifting weights again after a thirty year break from all exercise. I can’t even spell exercise but that’s another story. So I’ve decided to devote the rest of my life to building muscle and incurring new injuries. While I’m enjoying the experience, I am also discovering all new provocations, like the people who just sit on the machine, scrolling through their phones while I stand by impatiently, thinking GET OFF THE FUCKING PHONE or just move aside! Kind of like we Dems are feeling about Biden but forget I said that because we’re not on politics anymore.

I’ve started naming the gym regulars but so far I only have the Counter Guy, who counts his reps out loud (!!!), Lana del Rey, Luigi, the Old Man, and No Legs.

As much as the phone scrolling of others is enraging, my own phone scrolling is worse than ever. Now I can watch people’s workouts on Instagram when I’m not watching make-up tutorials, baby donkeys, and Jew-hating mobs frothing at the mouth screaming “GENOCIDE! GENOCIDE!”

It feels like there is no escape from a sense of doom. Nothing is trustworthy or sacred. My wordpress blog is warning me about all sorts of critical problems I don’t know how to fix (if you’re a  webmaster, please contact me!)  There’s a lady on TV who keeps telling me to use deodorant in my “butt-crack.” It makes me want to cry.

On top of all this, I went to Costco and got knocked down by a guy driving one of those big carts. He helped me up and freed my shoe from a metal thing on his cart. I was very upset and worried about breaking my worthless decrepit bones. Karen-like, I found a manager to report the incident and filled out a form. I consider filing a lawsuit but I’m too lazy and it’s not my style.

Still, I do feel somewhat traumatized from falling. A few days later, in the gym, the Counting Guy was behind me in a tight space and suddenly passed me on the left. Startled and pissed off, I actually said out loud, “What is this, Costco??”

Posted in Horrible Stuff, News, Rants | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Judith Butler: Gender Schmender

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If you’re unacquainted with Judith Butler, you’re in for a real treat. Judith Butler “is an American philosopher and gender studies scholar whose work has influenced political philosophy, ethics, and the fields of third-wave feminism, queer theory, and literary theory.” If you don’t agree with her ideas about gender, you are a fascist.

Her latest pronoun of choice is they, but I will refer to her as she because (1.) she is a single, and not plural, unit and (2.) I  just feel like it. She is a professor at Berkeley and has received 14 honorary degrees. In other words, she is a big deal. According to many, she is among the most influential intellectuals alive today.

Let’s start with this: In her book Gender Trouble, Butler claims that biological sex, like gender, is socially constructed, with its physical manifestations mattering only to the degree society assigns them meaning. Well, no. I would say nice try, but no.  Gender critical feminists (i.e. feminists who aren’t on board with her ideas) come in for some of her most scathing attacks. They are the victims of “phantasmatic” anxieties and also are big stupid liars whom she compares to Richard Nixon, of all people.

Personally, I don’t give a shit about gender, or not enough of a shit to ponder its meaning. I came across Butler in a critique of her assertion that the events of Oct. 7 constitute “resistance.”  Reading her put forth this idea, I thought, “Who is this pretentious idiot?”

I was delighted to find that she had won first prize in the annual Bad Writing Contest sponsored by the journal Philosophy and Literature – a prize given to “the ugliest, most stylistically awful” sentence submitted by its readers . Here is her winning sentence:

The move from a structuralist account in which capital is understood to structure social relations in relatively homologous ways to a view of hegemony in which power relations are subject to repetition, convergence, and rearticulation brought the question of temporality into the thinking of structure, and marked a shift from a form of Althusserian theory that takes structural totalities as theoretical objects to one in which the insights into the contingent possibility of structure inaugurate a renewed conception of hegemony as bound up with the contingent sites and strategies of the rearticulation of power.

You have to love her, right? I mean, she gave us the concept of gender performativity!Wikipedia notes that

Butler also explores how gender can be understood not only as a performance, but also as a “constitutive constraint,” or constructed character. They ask how this conceptualization of an individual’s gender contributes to notions of bodily intelligibility, or comprehension, by other individuals. Butler continues to discuss bodily intelligibility by means of sex as a “materialized” entity, upon which cultural, collective ideals of gender can be built. From this angle, Butler interrogates value conscription upon various bodies as determined theories and practices of heterosexual predominance.

Whatever. I suggest that you don’t waste your brain cells trying to decipher this gibberish, just be aware that you’re not allowed to object to any of it. If you’re a woman (a human born with a reproductive system that produces eggs) or a non-man, as some gender identity theorists might say, you are a TERF  for taking issue with Judith Butler. If you’re a man, I don’t know what happens. Probably you’re just a homophobic colonialist defender of the patriarchy.

Please do your own research on Judith Butler, I promise you it is more fun and rewarding than anything you can do online besides getting into arguments on Instagram. Also, note that I didn’t title this “Judith Butler: What a fucking cunt!™” She’s more of an irritant, albeit a uniquely flagrant one. And I realize she is low-hanging fruit, but try to resist taking a whack at her!

Posted in Celebrities, irritants, Words | Tagged , , , | 15 Comments

After I’m Dead

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It is my nightly ritual to get into bed at around 1:00 am and read until I’m drowsy enough to sleep. The other night, I put my book down and surveyed my bedroom. I was suddenly overcome with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia for it, if it’s possible to feel nostalgia for the present. My husband walked in and I blurted out, “I’m going to miss this bedroom when I’m dead.” Instead of being pissed off about how morbid I am, he surprised me by laughing and saying, “Well, then you have it better than some people!”

I just love my bedroom! I love our big bed, nicknamed Snuggy if you must know. I love the art on the walls and the heavy velvet curtains from Ikea. I love my antique dresser covered with piles of jewelry and religious shit. I love my thriftshop chinoiserie and crappy velvet chair.

It struck me today that there must be lots of things I’ll miss when I’m dead. And that I should start appreciating them now while I can. I think we should all do this.

I’ll start:

I will miss burgers and fries, Pollo Loco chicken, and chips and salsa. I’ll miss frozen Indian dinners. I’m already starting to miss the first cup of morning coffee after the coffee machine does a little song.

I’ll miss Nicole Wallace on MSNBC. She seems so incredibly nice besides being smart and funny.  I’ll probably miss that SNL guy who does an uncanny  and hilarious imitation of Trump. I’ll miss hearing my favorite songs on the car radio. Obviously I can hear them any time I want to, but everyone knows it’s the surprise that makes it feel like a gift.

I’ll miss getting packages from Sephora. Free shipping and easy returns!

I’ll miss changing my nail polish. It’s relaxing and it makes me feel arty.

I’ll miss my favorite thriftshop, where the octogenarian volunteers start calling our “We’re closing” every five minutes, starting 45 minutes before closing time.

I will miss exchanging pleasantries with strangers, which always makes me feel like a human being. I’ll miss our Christmas Eve parties, which remind  me that I’m lucky to have people I love, who love me back.

I’ll miss the triumph of returning something to Zara even after washing it twice, like I did today with some awful baggy jeans.

Of course I’ll miss my husband but not as much as he’ll miss me (because he’ll have to get into Snuggy alone). And I’ll miss my darling dog, Kora.

That’s about it for now. How about you? I really want to know!

 

 

Posted in love | Tagged , , | 7 Comments