Display Purposes
Or, And This Is Mommy’s Snatch.
Yes, I’m reading Scary Mommy, where exclamation points abound, and where ladies of a progressive leaning share their political radicalism. In this case, Ms Kate Auletta, the publication’s editor-in-chief, is thrilling us with tales of her domestic nakedness:
It seems, then, that the nudity is not so much shared, a gift to the world, but more something inflicted. Specifically, on the author’s two small boys. I’ll spare you the lengthy description of Ms Auletta’s various physical imperfections – the rolls of excess flesh, the big, sagging bosom, and the whole Fat Upper Pubic Area thing.
I’m assuming she means naked in the changing rooms, though any observance of such boundaries is not made clear.
At which point, sharp-eyed readers may be attempting to reconcile this,
With this:
Come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure what loving one’s body might mean, beyond the obvious off-colour jokes. But apparently, it’s something that one is supposed to proclaim as an accomplishment, a credential of progressivism. I have, however, noted that it tends to be announced by people whose declared triumph in this matter is not altogether convincing, and whose basis for doing so is generally much slimmer than they are.
Still, there are the obligatory noises to be made, and empowerment to invoke:
There we go. Because, clearly, it’s a blow to the Patriarchy, a radical act. A feat of progressive heroism. Not just some incongruous crack and badger. Come up onstage to collect your certificate and enamel badge. Everyone applaud.
That’s quite enough. You can stop now.
No, really. We have everything we need, madam.
So, again, it’s all about empowerment and “body positivity,” you see. Oceans of self-love. Or at least the intermittent appearance of such. Something done “without a care,” except “on most days.”
It must be quite strange to go through life feeling a need to boast in print of some pointed behaviour – specifically, “showing my sons what a real woman’s body… looks like” – as if this feat of not wearing knickers were somehow radical, empowering, and a basis for applause. And to then have to justify this lifestyle affectation in ways that are somewhat contradictory and not particularly convincing. As if no-one would notice. It seems a lot of effort.
When not treating her small boys to the sight of her arse and undercarriage, Ms Auletta offers other educational experiences:
Those lucky, lucky kids. How the time must fly.
Previously in the world of Scary Mommy:
Empowered woman dreams of Donald Trump, has panic attacks.
Empowered woman, user of Xanax, suffers from internalised capitalism.
Another empowered lady and her mood-stabilising medication.
A tale of laundry and resentment.
On auras, emanations, and paranormal parenting.
There’s more, should you want it, if you poke through the archives.
Update, via the comments:
Regarding the six items linked above, Aitch adds,
Not an unfair question. What with the recurring motif of mood-stabilising drugs, the existential trauma of hearing differing views, the lurid fantasies regarding Mr Trump, or the obsessive thoughts about babies heads spontaneously falling off. To say nothing of how often these preoccupations bedevil ladies who are employed, or have been employed, as public-school educators.
I should add that the links at the end of the post are but a small sample. I can’t monitor Scary Mommy around the clock. And frankly, I wouldn’t care to.
It’s rather like the now-defunct Everyday Feminism, a publication once very popular among the super-woke, with over four million monthly visitors, had an extraordinary number of articles, several every week, on the subject of living with mental illness. From delusions of witchcraft to serious Cluster-B personality disorders.
But among progressive women, there is, I think, a pattern. One that’s fairly hard to miss.
Though doubtless many try.
I’d heard of it, but I’ve never before seen it applied to good faith efforts to clean up a trash-stewn neighborhood.
Again, some people really need to be thrown in the trash.
There’s a long time blogger I read who has a term: Red Curtain of Blood (RCOB) useful to describe the effect on one’s vision upon reading stories like this bullshit fly-tipping event.
The actual offenders / litterers are too hard to catch and sanction. So the hapless good-deed-doers get snagged instead. Your Tax Dollars At Work, as we say in the colonies.
She’s so vegan she only eats word salads.
There are cheaper and easier ways to get a spa treatment.
Those who harm them, or threaten harm, should be treated as special enemies of civilization and removed forthwith.
In Florida and Texas, and a few other hurricane-prone states (even Louisiana possibly, now that the AWFL Dem gov was booted post-Katrina) this sort of thing is not going to go down well. Sheriffs there, outside of corrupt Dem-run sh!tholes, have low tolerance for this sort of thing. Sadly the AGs in the worst cities will try to stymie any action, but the governors of Texas and Florida are paying attention – they know how crucial these linemen are to getting things back up and running for the locals. Abbot does have his hands full with the illegal migrant invasion of Texas, and the lefty AGs and mayors of the big cities do rule their roosts. Still – I am not sure how much of this is gonna fly even so. I have a feeling it will be shut down toot sweet, and someone will be made an example of. I could be wrong, though – nowadays it’s the degenerate scum who are worshipped a la Saint George Floyd of Fentanyl and the Golden Coffin, even in Texas.
Haha – be funny if they arrested David Sedaris – think he has a few Victim Poker cards up his sleeve, might make a few councillors backpedal. Sadly this poor couple is straight, white, and probably British as can be (indigenous, but not Sacredly so) so they are the perfect prey for Council predators.
Lead track on the B side.
WTF is it supposed to mean, anyway? Personally, I’m not envisioning a smoothly-working device. More like a Trabant with 100,000 klicks on the klock.
The fly bit is meant in the sense of on-the-fly, as in rushed, furtive, not wanting to be caught. It’s a somewhat perverse usage by the councillor, as fly-tipping refers to the illegal and antisocial dumping of waste, usually in significant quantities, in a way that shows no regard for others. Say, as when dumping the debris from a bathroom refit, complete with discarded toilet, in the bushes by a quiet country lane in the middle of the Peak District National Park, as I saw some months ago.
And which rather jars with the motives of the couple in question.
Where the hell do they keep finding all these mad women?
Not an unfair question. What with the recurring motif of mood-stabilising drugs, the existential trauma of hearing differing views, the lurid fantasies regarding Mr Trump, or the obsessive thoughts about babies heads spontaneously falling off. To say nothing of how often these preoccupations bedevil ladies who are employed, or have been employed, as public-school educators.
I should add that the links at the end of the post are but a small sample. I can’t monitor Scary Mommy round the clock. And frankly, wouldn’t care to.
It’s rather like the now-defunct Everyday Feminism, a publication once very popular among the super-woke, with over four million monthly visitors, had an extraordinary number of articles, several every week, on the subject of living with mental illness. From delusions of witchcraft to serious Cluster-B personality disorders.
But among progressive women, there is, I think, a pattern. One that’s fairly hard to miss. Though doubtless many try.
Both Theodore Dalrymple and Victor Davis Hanson have written about this phenomenon in respectively England and California.
We will, I suspect, being seeing more of it.
At one time, such attacks were indeed regarded as especially heinous, but in the 60’s the left began attacking that concept.
The use of the word “empowerment” itself is a red flag.
I forget the exact numbers, but psychological disorders are significantly more common (and more severe, I assume) among “progressive” men and women than among conservatives.
There is so much to unpack in David’s posts that I could add new comments every time I re-read one of them. (If comments weren’t understandably closed.)
Dense and nourishing, they are. Like a hearty broth.
Outside. Near grocery stores, pet stores, medical clinics, flower shops. Pretty much anywhere that there’s a higher concentration of women.
Added: Oh, and universities and pretty much any other educational institutions. Don’t know how I forgot that one.
Oh, I’ve seen in (supposedly) deep red Florida, north Georgia and heard of it happening in rural Tennessee and South Carolina, among other places. It’s been going on for decades. Just getting more publicity now.
[ Feels temptation to joke about foods so dense they sit on the stomach like a bowling ball. ]
Author Gene Wolfe’s personal definition of a good book was one that can be read with pleasure and re-read with greater pleasure.
There are aspects of doing this that are irritating, or which disappoint, but I do like to think that some of the material here – quite a bit of it, I dare say – does bear a second read, even years later.
Here’s a thought. Try thinking about your family more than yourself. The narcissism is strong with this one.
My mind unfortunately veers towards the late great Ian Durys character Billericay Dickie and his fondness for Rum and Ribena. Presumably available here on request?
The chances of being assassinated by a cow are low but never zero.
If the cows low, there’s even less chance of them assassinating someone because the sound gives them away.