Better Late Than Never
As a teenager and self-proclaimed militant feminist, it was simple to fight the patriarchy; I just had to pick fights with my father.
Why, yes, it is a Guardian article. Specifically, A Feminist’s Guide to Raising Boys by Bibi van der Zee.
In the 1970s, from my child’s-eye point of view, it seemed pretty much agreed that boys and girls were essentially the same; it was just society that turned us into “boys” and “girls.” Simone de Beauvoir had said: “One is not born a woman but, rather, becomes a woman,” and the whole planet had nodded in agreement, and that was that.
Readers of a certain age may find that their memories of the 70s, and of boys and girls being supposedly interchangeable, and of the whole planet nodding at this conceit, are somewhat different.
In the early years of my career in journalism, being a woman was no brake on being able to work as late, be paid as little and drink as much as any of the male reporters I knew. Then I had sons. It may sound naïve, but I hadn’t really thought about how that would work. I had a vague plan that… my life would more or less carry on as before.
It does sound a tad unrealistic.
This was not what I had expected… Because I was the one with the womb and the mammary glands, I would be the one carrying the children and then feeding them.
At which point, readers may wish to remind themselves that Ms van der Zee writes political commentary, and guides to activism and protesting, in order to share her insights with the world.
It was a startling window into other times and worlds, where, if you had no birth control and your body belonged to your husband by law, then you could just be impregnated over and over again, side-lined and kept at home.
Ah, yes. The modern marriage.
Suddenly my feminism was visceral.
An intensification brought about by the realisation that babies and small children generate quite a lot of laundry and disorder, and require feeding, bathing and near-continual attention. And by the fact that, if your husband is the main breadwinner, his work will tend to take priority over your own attempts at freelance journalism. In short, that, as a parent, a mother, one’s life will not in fact carry on as before.
And so, complications ensue:
Looking back, there were a lot of things I should have talked more about to the boys. Many of my friends turn out to have strategised. One friend said: “Make it normal to bring up topics around the table – talk about Brett Kavanaugh, the middle-class white male dominance of government, pornography, social media, talk about strong women and men.” Someone else admitted to “constant nagging on my part about how to treat women, with the occasional lecture on systemic patriarchy.”
Lectures on systemic patriarchy. Also, eat your vegetables.
At one meal, when I tried to explain to a table of men and boys why #MeToo was a necessary act of mass civil disobedience, how the ideal of a rule of law actually shielded white men and protected the status quo… The meaning of rule of law was explained to me… it all fell apart… I lost it and walked away in tears.
Empowerment, baby.
When the boys were small… their boy-ness made me doubt what I’d always believed – that it’s nurture, not nature, that underneath, all humans are basically the same. But it was impossible not to notice how differently they behaved to some of the girls we knew.
It occurs to me that feminism could be seen as a kind of doctrinaire retardation – one that often seems to necessitate a lot of subsequent correction and belated catching-up.
None of them ever wanted to go clothes shopping with me. And they absolutely weren’t up for a romcom on a rainy Sunday afternoon either.
For instance.
It also occurs to me that to be shocked by differences in how boys and girls often behave, as Ms van der Zee admitted in an earlier Guardian article – such that “even the suggestion” of innate gender differences, now clearly visible, “felt like sedition,” indeed “revolutionary” – again suggests a practised, almost farcical, denial of reality. One that in turn prompts a suspicion that perhaps one shouldn’t be quite so credulous regarding feminist claims of How Things Really Are.
Happily, and despite heated mealtime lectures on the evils of white men, Ms van der Zee’s children seem surprisingly well-adjusted:
My eldest son, Sam, now 17, likes to talk about films or tell me amazing facts about the stars and the universe. My middle boy is a great cook; we’ve spent hours covered in flour together. My youngest, Joe, is obsessed with music, and some of the happiest times of my life have been spent playing YouTube jukebox with him. They like some of the things I like and not others. It’s almost as if they’re… individuals?
And,
They may yet turn out to be oppressive, patriarchal monsters, but the signs are pretty well submerged for now.
For now.
This narrative – that it did not occur to the author until after the fact that her body was going to be involved in the making and rearing of children – strikes me as rather hard to believe.
This narrative… strikes me as rather hard to believe.
I can’t quite decide if it’s more or less fanciful than a belief that “the whole planet” had “pretty much agreed that boys and girls were essentially the same.”
It occurs to me that feminism could be seen as a kind of doctrinaire retardation – one that often seems to necessitate a lot of subsequent correction and belated catching-up.
LOL. That.
LOL. That.
Well, it does seem to obscure much more than it reveals. And to a degree that seems close to hallucinatory.
It’s almost as if they’re… individuals?
We can’t have that, comrade, only thoughts and behaviors approved by the central committee.
I am probably still getting everything wrong
Why did I find this so hard to write? Because it involved admitting that I was naive, that I didn’t put nearly as much thought into the business of rearing good feminist boys as it deserved.
No, what she is getting wrong and didn’t put thought into is the realization, and subsequent refusal it believe, that her entire system of beliefs that men and women are the same and interchangeable and that there is a patriarchy to “smash” is utter horse manure.
LOL. That.
I mean, if you’re an avowed feminist and become a mother, and you find that your own children – their behaviour and psychology – have “exploded all the ideas I had treasured as a feminist” – then some reflection seems in order. Say, regarding your own credulity, and the degree to which feminist dogma veers from reality in other respects too.
your body belonged to your husband by law, then you could just be impregnated over and over again, side-lined and kept at home.
A legitimate, if biased, description of marriage. It’s also incomplete. The husband gained ownership of his wife’s reproductive system (thereby gaining equal parental status with the woman who is indisputably the mother of the children she bears) while she gains ownership of his surplus labor (of which there’s a lot if the man only has to support himself).
Both parties gain something valuable and give up control of something which the other values (she loses her sexual and reproductive autonomy to gain a lifelong provider and protector for herself and her children, while he loses his surplus leisure time and work-related autonomy and gains recognized paternal status and thus a biological legacy: ie bloodline immortality).
Division of labor and mutual benefit. What a notion.
In the 1970s, from my child’s-eye point of view, it seemed pretty much agreed that boys and girls were essentially the same; it was just society that turned us into “boys” and “girls.”
As I recall, in the 70’s John Varley wrote a whole series of science fiction stories premised upon that idea, and in which people casually change from one sex to the other with mere outpatient surgery. This may explain why feminists liked him.
their boy-ness made me doubt what I’d always believed – that it’s nurture, not nature,
Losing her religion.
Losing her religion.
It does sort of have that air about it. I’ve known several left-leaning parents who were not entirely comfortable with the realisation that, despite their efforts and expectations, their children tended to behave quite differently, from a very early age, according to their sex. I once remarked on this, with a hint of amusement, but it soon became clear that the subject was probably best avoided. I got the impression that they thought the alternative to their own feminist assumptions was to insist that tree-climbing girls be sent off to corrective embroidery courses. As if no middle ground were possible.
If it’s any consolation leftist dads despise their children too:
https://twitter.com/sams_antics/status/1105148747594584064?s=21
If it’s any consolation leftist dads despise their children too
Link tweet has been deleted already. Did you save a copy?
Bibi Van Der Zee
Even her name is high maintenance…
Link tweet has been deleted already. Did you save a copy
Screengrab here:
Take that, Dad!
Jesus England, stop making me regret my heritage
SCENE: Dinner
MOM: Time for tonight’s discussion! I’ll go first, okay? Because it’s important for you to learn to let women always go first. Except through a door, because that is sexist. OK, here we go. Brett Kavanaugh blah blah blah Me Too blah blah patriarchy blah blah.
SON: (banging his spoon cheerfully on high-chair tray). Goo goo blah [squeal] [giggle]!
Mom flees table, sobbing.
Such articles always, always, always feature a scene in which the heroine is “sobbing” or “lying on the floor crying.”
I swear these articles are unrecognized parody.
Losing her religion.
100% this. “Faith” is defined by valuing feelings over facts and logic. No offense to the traditionally religious, whose feelings are at least tempered by long tested traditions, and whose faith society is allowed – if not encouraged – to question.
Sam, dude, that kid WILL find your tweet.
That kid will also select your nursing home. And when he parks your sorry ass in the worst nursing home in Florida, where you spend your days sitting in a pool of your own piss and watching mouse-sized cockroaches run across your feet, I’ll applaud him.
Link tweet has been deleted already. Did you save a copy?
I think this screenshot here is the tweet in question.
Meanwhile, related to the topic in that it deals with people who get upset when their notions are challenged, we find in the Clown Quarter, Students of Color at Sarah Lawrence ($51,000/tear tuition) go off the rails with a 9 page list of demands because they were triggered by a professor who suggested there was a lack of intellectual diversity.
RTWT, but the demands include free laundry supplies, free housing and food, being able to eat in the mess halls as much as they want (item 2iii), mandatory first year struggle sessions, free storage for international students, race specific mental health counselors, “indigenous land acknowledgement at all orientation and commencement ceremonies” (whatever TF that is), a struggle session for nigh the entire staff and, of course, canning the prof in question.
The proper response to this is, obviously, “GFY, you don’t like it here, you know where the exit is, there are a lot more to take your place”. I am sure, however, the actual response will include groveling.
Losing her religion.
Still, could be worse.
Much worse.
I was referring to the Sam who wrote the vile tweet, not our father-to-be Sam. When I typed the remark it was right under the one about Bad Sam.
Looking back, there were a lot of things I should have talked more about to the boys. Many of my friends turn out to have strategised. One friend said: “Make it normal to bring up topics around the table – talk about Brett Kavanaugh, the middle-class white male dominance of government, pornography, social media, talk about strong women and men.” Someone else admitted to “constant nagging on my part about how to treat women, with the occasional lecture on systemic patriarchy.”
Tenner says their kids become raging misogynists when they grow up.
Original Mr. X, that seems to have been what happened with blogger Adam Piggott, raised by a feminist mother, who now despises women. (Although he’s Australian, he has the common American tendency to assume that female=feminist.)
No worries, they’ll do something that will have them branded as ‘oppressive, patriarchal monsters’.
Feminism, and pretty much every branch & twig of progressivism is a systematic denial of reality.
Bad Sam
Strange, he doesn’t have a goatee. Should I grow a goatee? I’m confused.
[ Rummages under bar, produces box of clip-on goatees. ]
I keep them in case of a raid. Or a transporter malfunction.
Farnsworth: “indigenous land acknowledgement at all orientation and commencement ceremonies” (whatever TF that is).
It means acknowledging the original occupants of the land.
For example, I recently went to a show at Sydney Opera House. Before the performance, a recorded voice said something like “We acknowledge that this building sits on the land of the Gadigal people. We respectfully greet their elders past and present, and through them all the indigenous peoples of Australia”.
Signs outside the building express similar sentiments.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2JTvhcFG9ws
No doubt woke parsing of the exact wording used could be an endless source of controversy and resentment.
I read this bit and thought of the old nugget about “beating the gay out” of one’s kids, or sending them to “camp” to be made straight. Which then lead to all of the “transitioning” crap going on these days, as though any of it can change one’s intrinsic nature.
No worries, they’ll do something that will have them branded as ‘oppressive, patriarchal monsters’.
Like, one day buying a muscle car, asking a girl out on a date, or — the worst monstrousness of all — not asking a girl out on a date (if the girl in question really wanted one of them to, but he took no notice of her).
CJ Nerd: They do that all the time in Canada now also. Annoys me no end.
Now I’m sorely tempted to fabricate some signs in Official State Typography that read: “This land once belonged to [tribe], before it was taken away by badass white dudes with superior firepower. The land now belongs to us, and shall remain ours until such time as we are overcome by a stronger tribe.”
Maybe add a little “Sod off, swampy!” at the end. I’m still deciding.
If it’s any consolation leftist dads despise their children too:
Coming to a “Democratic Socialist” agenda near you: the retroactive abortion. After all, children can be a burden inside and outside of the womb.
No doubt woke parsing of the exact wording used could be an endless source of controversy and resentment.
I suspect that at least some of the descendants of these Saintly and Noble Indigenous Populations™ might actually be grateful that their ancestors’ Stone Age civilisation had been upgraded somewhat. Such that it includes dentistry, health care and opera houses.
Bibi and her husband and sons. Note the hesitant, wary expression on the husband’s face. The poor bastard’s probably had that look on his face since the day after the wedding. Edina Monsoon made flesh.
“At one meal, when I tried to explain to a table of men and boys why #MeToo was a necessary act of mass civil disobedience, how the ideal of a rule of law actually shielded white men and protected the status quo”
#metoo was a campaign started by the agency CAA, to obscure the fact that the initial batch off revelations of Hollywood scumbaggerry exposed that two thirds of the perpetrators with Jewish movie execs, and that narrative want going to be allowed to get established….
“indigenous land acknowledgement at all orientation and commencement ceremonies” (whatever TF that is)
It means stating as fact that those whose ancestors took a boat 3400 miles from London to New York stole the site on which they built Sarah Lawrence from people who took a bus 3300 miles from Guatemala last Tuesday.
One is not born a woman but, rather, becomes a woman,
provided only one is born a girl.
Readers of a certain age may find that their memories of the 70s, and of boys and girls being supposedly interchangeable, and of the whole planet nodding at this conceit, are somewhat different.
It depended on your parents and the circles they were moving in. I was moving in probably similar circles to the author, in that I was a 1970s child of parents who had been on the margins of hippiedom, and saw themselves as slightly more countercultural than their suburban neighbors, with a mother who read Simone de Beauvoir and was determined to bring up feminist sons. The “spontaneous” conversation topics and teachable moments that the article bandies about as novel strategies, me and my brothers were getting at the dinner table forty years ago. I spent my 1980’s teenage years developing a self-concept as being “different from other boys” and “in touch with my feminine side”.
By the 1990’s, I was a Gen-X Sensitive Guy. The mentality of the type, including the priggishness and passive aggression, is well depicted in the films of Richard Linklater, who must have come across a lot of “not like other boys” boys in Austin, Texas. The body language and physical presence of the type is perfectly depicted in this Counting Crows video, where even the “snowflake” millennials in the comments are mocking the fact that the singer looks like he needs help putting his coat on – whatever it is he thinks he’s projecting, the Sensitive Guy actually projects that he’s a little boy who needs to be mothered.
The early 1990s was also the time when Iron John became a bestseller. The media had a lot of fun with scenes of middle class men going into the forest to bang drums and get in touch with their masculinity. It was mocked as a macho backlash, but the book had been written by a feminist man who’d socially engineered the prototype Sensitive Guys, had seen their “production faults”, and was trying to re-engineer a backbone into those men without compromising the feminist principles of the project of Making a New Feminist Man.
And the early 1990s was in some ways the peak influence of the project of raising boys to not be like boys, because there was no internet to offer an alternative view to the media/education establishment, and to give men ways of comparing notes. The current generation of teenage boys may get a more aggressive dose of anti-male programming from their schools than we got in the 80’s, but they have alternative theories and Hate Facts available to them on the internet, which we didn’t have.
So this is old stuff by now, the feminists have influenced the bringing up of boys for half a century, and if it hasn’t worked out for them they should take some responsibility and reassess their principles. But to the feminists, it’s always 1975 and a blank slate, and the next generation of boys will definitely be the one to be Not Like Other Boys.
Bibi and her husband and sons. Note the hesitant, wary expression on the husband’s face
[Insert political variation}’s project?
The writing is narcissistic, the photo seems a standard variety Yes, photographer, you’re attempting to take a still shot of three objects in motion, take the shot Now. . . . .
When will these people recognize we are mammals, we are primates, and as such our roles in reproduction, as well as life, have been tuned by evolution. We are happiest when we run with our biology. You’d think the ‘natural is best’ crowd would understand that.
As someone long ago said ‘mother nature is no feminist’
As someone who was actually an adult by the 70s, I can assure her (and you younguns) that ‘everyone in the world’ did NOT believe boys and girls were interchangeable, Only the wing nut feminists did.
[ Rummages under bar, produces box of clip-on goatees. ]
That’s odd. Last month you said they were merkins.
Here’s a lady who was not just crying on the floor, but crying in a pile on the floor:
https://www.elephantjournal.com/2011/06/why-being-broken-in-a-pile-on-your-bedroom-floor-is-a-good-idea-julie-jc-peters/
I’m with her. Who has NOT felt like crying at the sight of the laundry pile?
The childless are mistaken. Emancipation Day is not when the last kid leaves the nest. Emancipation Day is when the last kid learns to do his own laundry. I think manufacturers should come up with washers and dryers that 4-year-olds can operate (and reach). They’d sell by the millions.
Screengrab here:
Good Lord.
I was a teenager in the ‘70’s, and I remember the controversial (really!) Time magazine cover, “Men And Women Are Different.”
Well, stop the presses.
Hi Monty,
He’s thinking, “Let’s see, if I work two part-time jobs, one weekends, one evenings, plus my day job, never eat out, and do my laundry by hand in the sink…yes! I could afford to unload her!”
And she’s thinking, “One or two more articles ought to do it…he’ll finally file for divorce and the house is ALL MINE!”
😄
where even the “snowflake” millennials in the comments are mocking the fact that the singer looks like he needs help putting his coat on
He must have had some help. He wears two different jackets and two different T-Shirts in the video. Too cool for school; a shearling lined jacket for outdoors and frontier fringe for indoors. Ah the 90s pretentiousness.
…and the whole planet had nodded in agreement…
When a Guardian or NY Times columnist tells you what tout le monde is thinking about restaurants or interior design or the upbringing of the next generation, they don’t mean the deplorable masses, they mean everybody whose opinion matters, with the implication that the columnist also moves in such circles.
Bartender: a double Night Nurse to Anglepoise’s table forthwith if you please. If they ask who bought it, just knowingly point to your goatee.
Anglepoise, how did you get along with girls during your sensitive period?
So I’m going to push back a bit on y’alls take on Sam McRoberts tweet.
Sure, he’s an utter fool (heh. fool initially autocorrected to tool) to post such a sentiment publically.
But there are some people and couples who absolutely should not raise kids, and better to realize that soonest.
Bastard that I am, though, I suspect his tweet is not the result of introspection on his weaknesses as a father, but rather the product of having to miss out on too many cool parties and mini-breaks cuz kid is not like the cat. Can’t just leave food and water and litter box on floor before going out.
“Readers of a certain age may find that their memories of the 70s, and of boys and girls being supposedly interchangeable, and of the whole planet nodding at this conceit, are somewhat different.”
What are the odds she’s never met anyone who votes Tory, or supports Brexit? These people are like 18th Century French aristocrats, and they don’t even realise it. They think they’re still the underdogs fighting oppression.
“It’s almost as if they’re… individuals?”
You don’t say? They might make a real liberal out of you yet, Ms. vdZ.
“Strange, he doesn’t have a goatee. Should I grow a goatee? I’m confused.”
Dammit, I thought you were the one with the goatee. I knew I should have gone with “Manifold Otterbucket, Jr.”.
“there was no internet to offer an alternative view”
Well, there was, but we were all too busy talking about Twin Peaks and sharing pirated Amiga games to worry about that kind of thing.
Can’t just leave food and water and litter box on floor before going out.
[ Adds to list of babysitting dos and don’ts. Underlines in red. ]
What are the odds she’s never met anyone who votes Tory, or supports Brexit? These people are like 18th Century French aristocrats, and they don’t even realise it.
As so often with the Guardian comment pages, the assumptions in play do sound a little parochial.
Pogonip,
If we made a film of this love story, do you think it would be
(a) A romantic comedy (romcom)
(b) A romantic tragedy (romtrag)
(c) A romantic farce (romfarce)
I ask you this as a veteran of at least a couple of romantic farces.
That wasn’t the planet nodding in agreement. If anything, the planet smiled indulgently. She was a child, with a child’s-eye view: let her enjoy it while she can. Life will teach her different soon enough, and besides she herself will feel the inadequacy of her childish ideas. . . .
So what went wrong? Why should a grown woman worry about “betraying” her unrealistic childhood notions?
“pretty much agreed that boys and girls were essentially the same;”
and
“Because I was the one with the womb and the mammary glands, I would be the one carrying the children and then feeding them.”
A cast iron rule is that no one can think of something so stupid that a Guardian writer does not believe it to be true.
“Readers of a certain age may find that their memories of the 70s, and of boys and girls being supposedly interchangeable, and of the whole planet nodding at this conceit, are somewhat different.”
Like all leftists, she has selectively replaced her memories with fantasies that reinforce the carefully constructed bubble universe in which she exists. It is evidence of a relatively serious psychological illness which used to be treated, but is now ignored. That is how civilizations commit suicide.
”These people are like 18th Century French aristocrats, and they don’t even realise it. They think they’re still the underdogs fighting oppression.”
As if they ever were fighting oppression. 😉 Often their politics was merely a pose to justify the seizure of power. I recall a sixties short story about the last, doomed, heroic freedom fighters holed up in an American university building as the fascist troops closed in for the final kill. What was the pretext for this hysterically paranoid leftist melodrama? The reluctance of some university professors and administrators to support the total politicization of academia.
how did you get along with girls during your sensitive period?
I thought I was a failure at the time, but in retrospect I kind of succeeded in getting what I most wanted from girls, which was that I avoided being disapproved of (the possibility of which was like wearing electric shock collar). The female approval I got was mostly faint praise at arm’s length – “why can’t the boys I date be more like you?”.
Hi Monty,
I’d call it a sad story of mental illness, one of the main symptoms of which is the inability to distinguish reality from fantasy. Jeff up there is right. There’s a huge, crucial difference between “It sure would be nice if Pogonip were in charge” and insisting, no matter how much evidence there is to the contrary, that Pogonip IS in charge, and that those who point out the awkward reality must be silenced, permanently if possible.
(The solution to this particular dilemma, and a good many others, is, of course, to put Pogonip in charge.)
Imagine having to bribe college officials to take your below average progeny. Now that’s privilege.
https://torontosun.com/news/world/felicity-huffman-lori-loughlin-charged-in-college-entrance-bribery-scheme
“why can’t the boys I date be more like you?”
So more like one of those invisible fences then? Eh, better than the shock collar.
“Readers of a certain age may find that their memories of the 70s, and of boys and girls being supposedly interchangeable, and of the whole planet nodding at this conceit, are somewhat different.”
At West Point between 1976 and 1980, we were told that there were physiological differences; lower center of mass and thicker lung membranes with reduced oxygen transfer were a couple. Plus the women didn’t take Plebe boxing or wrestling at the time; that may well have changed by now, but I haven’t been keeping up with the changes there.
Hi Richard (haven’t seen you in a while!),
I suspect the combat sport teams are still segregated by sex, for safety reasons. I have trained with men. I well recall one drill where 1 partner held a pad and the other partner hit the pad (it was to get used to punching a person). A nice gentleman, hitting half as hard as he could, spun me right round. In class. Everybody’s relaxed, happy, having fun. No one’s in fear of his life.
Can I kill a man barehanded? Sure. IF I see him coming, IF I get inside his reach fast enough, IF I make good use of that heartbeat’s startled pause when he realizes the female victim will fight back hard, IF luck is with me that day, and IF I do everything right, because if I goof up and he gets really mad he’ll tear me apart. That’s too many if’s to suit me. Give me a .38 any day. 😊
P.S. And if a woman’s thinking about carrying a knife—don’t. When he sees it, he’ll get very angry, most likely take it away from you, and you won’t like what happens next.
I have seen several accounts by ladies who got good results with a water pistol filled with ammonia. I have not had occasion to use this on a person, but it certainly changes the minds of mean dogs in a hurry! I don’t know if it would work on pit bulls, which are bred to keep attacking no matter what, but it works on your garden-variety mean dog.
I avoid pepper spray as it’s windy in these parts.
And if a woman’s thinking about carrying a knife—don’t.
Problem with knives is that local laws differ so on carrying (size, concealment) plus, as you said, you don’t want to show it (which is the first reaction of wanting to point it at the bad guy hoping he retreats). Add to that a general squeamishness of most women at the thought of the most effective way with a knife is hold it so the blade is down along the ulna then slash it across the face as close to eyes as possible.
Spray is limited, but there are usually no legal problems carrying a flat head Kubotan (I’ve got one) and learning how to jab it into large muscles (e.g. thigh) which will cause pain and the muscle will cramp. I got mine at a nice self-defense course taught years ago by my office Bureau of Investigation. I learned that too many women are sissies about hitting someone HARD enough to save themselves. Weird.
Ok, this is one of my pet peeves that annoys me no end. When did “partner” become the default instead of husband or wife? Goddammit, I am proud to wear the title of wife.
“This land once belonged to [tribe], before it was taken away by badass white dudes with superior firepower. The land now belongs to us, and shall remain ours until such time as we are overcome by a stronger tribe.”
My version goes something like, “This event takes place on the traditional land of Canada’s First Nations, who, despite not figuring out basic things like the wheel and animal domestication, were nonetheless quite advanced in the fields of horrific torture and enslaving their fellow man. Until the British Empire showed up and put a stop to that nonsense. Thanks be to god.”
Hi Darleen,
I’ve heard women say flat out they’d rather die than hurt someone. I don’t understand that viewpoint, but chacun a son gout. All the ones who felt that way were childless, maybe that’s it. Moms want to live to take care of their kids—and even if you’re 100 and the kid’s 80, he’s still your kid even if he is now changing YOUR diapers.
Hi Daniel,
To be fair, if there are no large animals available to be domesticated for draft, you might figure a travois is just as good as a wheel and less trouble to make. I swear I remember reading about wheeled toys being found at Indian sites.
Although my hair’s curly and my eyes are any color BUT black or brown, one of my grandmothers was Cherokee. I am not proud of the Indian side’s inventiveness regarding torture. They were great with bead art, though.
Re large draft animals: have you ever seen the picture of the guy driving his 2-beast Hippomobile?
That “partner” thing annoys me too, grammatically. English has perfectly good rules for social talk: a person is a “friend,” “fiancee,” or “spouse.” A “partner” is Mr. Dewey when you’re Mr. Cheatham of Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe. Or he could be your training partner. Every time somebody is introduced to me as a “ partner” I have to repress the urge to ask brightly: “So, are you usually uke or tori?” One of these days I will not be able to repress the urge and hilarity will ensue.
David has a dispensation to have an Other Half because it’s sweet. Also because it’s his site. But I bet he doesn’t go around introducing Bob, or whomever, in that pompous I’m-so-woke tone, either.
This issue will go away if the U. S. ever becomes an exclusively Spanish-speaking country. In Spanish you have “novio/a,” which is anybody from The Other Half to “somebody I don’t remember being at the party but must have been because he/she was in my bed this morning.” You have “esposo/a,” “husband/wife” respectively. Mr. Darleen would be perfectly correct to introduce you as “mi mujer,” literally “my woman” but figuratively, and widely, synonymous with “my wife.” Similarly, although I don’t know if it’s socially in wide use yet, David would be grammatically correct to introduce TOH as “ mi hombre.” (🎼🎤. “It’s cost me a lot, but there’s one thing that I’ve got/It’s Bo-ob/Cold and wet, tired you bet/All of that I’ll soon forget/With Bo-ob. “😄)
I hope Mr. Half’s real name isn’t Bob, he’ll end up chasing me with that flamethrower. 😄
To be fair, if there are no large animals available to be domesticated for draft
The Lapplanders or Sami domesticated the reindeer which is the same species as the caribou which was/is found over large parts of North America. There were also lots of Bison over parts of the land where there were no caribou. So technically there were animals available for domestication. Figuring a travois is just as good as a wheel is the kind of thinking that keeps you in the stone age.
Caribou I’ll go along with despite your cisheropatriarchalwhite attitudes, but efforts to domesticate bison have not worked out well. You’re better off with a Hippomobile.
You bigot. Grandma and I can’t even.
Considering that more people are killed by hippos than by crocodiles, tbat Hippomobile guy was either very lucky or beloved of Saint Francis. (“Hey, everybody, look! This guy downstairs wants to get HIPPOS to pull his buggy! That’d be fun to watch, let me run down there and keep him alive…”)
Getting back to the original topic, Zee Whatever-her-name was very lucky. I had no doubt that MY body would be intensely involved in producing a new citizen. I threw up every day for 8 1/2 months. Almost worse than that, he proved to be a night person, so for 5 months I was kept awake nights by him practicing kata in there.
Oddly enough, I’m becoming a night person as I age. I used to be pretty flexible. Mom was a night person and Dad felt the day was wasted if you didn’t start at oh-dark-thirty.
In case anyone didn’t already know, “ chacun a son gout,” “to each his own [ tastes],” worked its way into English by an entertaining true story. A Frenchman was arrested for necrophilia, caught in the act. At his trial, the judge yelled, in French, “Are you crazy? Why would you do such a disgusting thing?” The defendant shrugged and replied, “How would you have it? Chacun a son gout. My taste is for dead people.”
I remember reading an article to the effect that the funeral industry has quite a problem with employees having fun at work.
Also, if you have ever heard of the famous pulp-magazine necrophilia story, “The Loved Dead,” nominally by H. M. Eddy—H. P. Lovecraft (who made his living off ghostwriting) actually wrote it. I have read it, and I thought those problematic adjectives hinting at nameless horrors had an eldritch, dreadful familiarity…
I also thought it was pretty darn graphic. Contrary to popular belief, neither sex nor perversion was invented in 1960.
I threw up every day for 8 1/2 months
I was one of the lucky ones … I thrived being preggers, just small bouts of morning sickness at the beginning then healthy as a horse for the duration. Only #1 I had a long labor, #2,3,and especially #4 was “get thee to the delivery room as soon as the first labor pain”. I hate needles so no medication for delivery.
Stout Kentucky backwoods stock – with birthing hips – I suppose.
I really had no illusions about birthin’ & raisin’ babies and I swear I have no idea where this gal was during the 60s & 70s but interchangeable boys/girls was NOT it. Rad feminists were sneered at as “women’s libbers” and while daughters were encouraged to follow any career they desired, NO ONE thought it made them junior males and we certainly didn’t desire that. I was the eldest of two daughters and a voracious reader. So dad started me reading the newspaper when I was 10 and the dinner table was him asking me “did you see that article on A6 about …?” and discussion would ensue, never some self-serving lecture. Sheesh.
What? You never said “Dad, I’m upset about the sexist imperialist history teacher! SMH!”
Also from the Guardian.
“have left my baby on walls, in public toilets, up trees, on trains, rolled under beds and, on one very memorable occasion, in an envelope at the bottom of my handbag.
Shades of The Importance of Being Earnest!
Shades of The Importance of Being Earnest!
I say this with no parenting experience, but it seems to me there’s a difference between temporarily losing track of, say, a small, autonomous toddler, who can wander off, and which I’d imagine is easily done, and forgetting your own baby, who can’t wander off, and then getting on a plane for a 5,000-mile flight. As lapses go, there’s a difference, I think. And yet Ms Frizzell equates leaving a baby in an airport with losing a phone or a house key.
And yet Ms Frizzell equates leaving a baby in an airport with losing a phone or a house key.
Over on this side of the pond recently Official Advice™ was given to parents that to prevent leaving a sprog in a car, they should “leave something important in the backseat”. #thechirrensareourfutureafterouriphones
Meanwhile in Copenhagen, the first world problem of your
home spyAlexa type device having a “gendered” voice is sorted.Call me antediluvian, but if you are a guy and think you are a girl, unless you are deliberately speaking in a falsetto, you still have a male voice, and vice versa. Next, male and female voices have varied ranges (Lauren Bacall vs. She Guevara’s bandsaw cutting tin kazoo voice, for example), and will vary due to many factors (like size) so claiming a voice in the range of X-Y hertz is “gender neutral” is bull. You can hear the alleged voice at the link, to me it sounds like a soft spoken well educated non-native English speaking guy. YMMV
Finally, the damn
home spyAlexa type devices have different voices you can chose, so I am failing to see a problem, but then I am a troglodyte who is getting weary of these underemployed nitwits pushing this garbage.Speaking of pushing garbage, we take a visit to the Clown Quarter where we find a classicist thrown out of a Classical Studies Meeting for suggesting that in Classical Studies Department they actually study classics.
It is a long read but worth it for some good old fashioned frontier SJW gibberish.
It is interesting to note that the scholar kicked out was a female who dared to question a male POC™.
Damn that Oppression Lotto pecking order.
Damnit, these keys are too close together.
…we find a classicist thrown out of a Classical Studies Meeting for suggesting that Classical Studies Departments actually study classics.
The read is long but worth it, full of good old fashioned frontier SJW gibberish.
It is interesting to note that the scholar in question is a female who dared question a male POC™.
Damn the Oppression Lotto™ pecking order.
HTML fixed. You’d missed a quotation mark.
Thanks – going to hit preview hit enter – an odd layout and tiny dual purpose keys. I need to stick to a real computer.
Damn the Oppression Lotto™ pecking order.
They’re not victims. They’re just vain and malevolent.
They’re not victims. They’re just vain and malevolent.
True, but I suspect there would have been a different outcome if the female had been questioning a straight white male.
“I say this with no parenting experience, but it seems to me there’s a difference between temporarily losing track of, say, a small, autonomous toddler, who can wander off, and which I’d imagine is easily done, and forgetting your own baby, who can’t wander off”
Yes, there’s a difference, but even so…
I have no children myself, but when I’m with children belonging to friends, I have a constant background process running in my head, keeping track of where they are and what they’re doing. I assume this is how humans are wired, and why we’re so successful as a species.
I remember once a friend’s two-year-old started to walk towards a busy road. In the following second, five people started moving to stop him: his mother, me, his ten-year-old brother, his eight-year-old brother, and his four-year-old sister.
Isn’t this Being Human 101?
Isn’t this Being Human 101?
Perhaps, but that is like classics in classical studies, apparently a lesson these days not always taught.
When did “partner” become the default instead of husband or wife?
I hate that locution too. I think it’s an intentional effort to de-legitimize traditional sex roles (much like using “gender” in all instances where “sex” is a better descriptor). My response to it (“partner”) is to simply substitute “gay lover” and not bother to try to figure out whether that’s correct or not. There are perfectly adequate terms for types of relationships, so if someone is being deliberately obfuscatory then I’ll happily interpret his statement in terms he probably didn’t intend. Sauce for the goose and all that.
Re: large land mammals in North America. IIRC, horses existed until, coincidentally I’m sure, the nature-loving Children of Gaia arrived on this continent. At which point said horses mysteriously went extinct, along with many other large land mammals.
@Pogonip: what effect does ammonia have on obnoxious dogs? I mentioned this approach to my mom (who likes to walk her dogs, but worries about strays attacking her [at age 72, a perfectly justified concern]) and she was worried that it might permanently blind the animals. Just desserts IMO, but she can be squeamish.
an intentional effort to de-legitimize traditional sex roles
And traditional marriage as well. Meant to include that thought and forgot.
Traditional marriage carries obligation on both husband and wife, and anything that carries obligations (especially on women) is Patriarchal Oppression(tm), and must be destroyed!
I’ll leave aside my knee-jerk rant on the function of marriage and the benefits of Patriarchy at this point:-).
I have reflected upon my previous posting, and in particular my characterisation of humans as being “successful as a species”.
I have realised that, given the ecological impact of the human species, my statement might be regarded as triggering.
I therefore pre-emptively denounce myself for egregious anthroponormativity.
“Isn’t this Being Human 101?”
“Perhaps, but that is like classics in classical studies, apparently a lesson these days not always taught.”
Curse those Tory Cuts to Sure Start centres!
“being a woman was no brake on being able to work as late, be paid as little and drink as much as any of the male reporters”
So it is all about money then? I imagine if she was ‘paid as much’ she would have a little bit less to carp about. But then that is the defining position of these dismal people: life is all about money, and complaining.
“ chacun a son gout,” “to each his own [ tastes],”
Pogo, the expression is “a chacun son gout” with an accent grave on the “a” and a circumflex on the “u” in “gout” (I don’t have a french keyboard and I’m too lazy to lookup the html). It is idiomatic French and literally translates to “to each his taste.” The idiomatic translation is “to each his own [taste].
Thanks, Steve!
I’d never seen it the correct way.
I do not know how to type accents n a computer or phonep
*cough* closing tag *cough*
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Our poor host. Always cleaning up other folks’ messes.