It’s a big, deep funkmachine. || “But you can’t be drooling,” said the cross-dressing pervert. || Apocalypse digs. || Callers in the night. || It has 140,000 neurons. || Neptune. || Incoming. || Outgoing. || Daring escape. || Garden seat of note. || Theremin sink. || Yours for £575,000. || Flyless. || Hefty cuts. || Hinges of note. || Those runaway Honda blues. || “I’m riding a bike, I have more rights than you.” Causeandcontext. || Hers is bigger than yours. || Questionable covers of 80s synth pop, including a steel-band version of Gary Numan’s Cars, and a soul version of Eurythmics’ Sweet Dreams. || Pick a percentage. || Well, yes, people died, but what about her stuff? || Amsterdam’s transport revolution, 1974. || Today’s word is modernity. || And finally, in comparison, how was your day?
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The chap so loudly championed by ladies of a progressive bent, despite numerous complaints regarding Mr Yates’ inappropriate behaviour.
Progressive ladies who denounced the “hate” and “transphobia” of those expressing concerns, while ensuring that Mr Yates retained his position, and his access to the girls’ changing rooms, where he paraded around in his own bra and panties, much to the girls’ discomfort, and while asking those teenage girls about their underwear and menstrual cycles.
Progressive ladies who merrily elevated themselves with the airing of modish views, their ostentatious displays of compassion and inclusivity, while in effect screwing over the schoolgirls being harassed by a cross-dressing creep.
Girls whose discomfort and polite complaints – their failure to be progressive – rendered them low-status. Beings of no consequence.
In case you’re unsure, Mr Yates is the strapping madam in the denim.
Well, readers, I have news.
Following the renewal of his employment contract, reported previously, Mr Yates has since resigned, citing “ongoing health reasons.” Which, as the ladies at Reduxx reveal, is something of a euphemism, another coy dishonesty:
Yates’ resignation appears to have come after starring in home-made pornography, including in a video showing him smoking methamphetamine from a glass pipe.
I’ll spare you the more graphic details, but in one of the feats of erotica seemingly shared with the world, Mr Yates asks the question every parent hopes to hear from someone educating their children:
“Am I a good meth whore?”
At risk of sounding stuffy and uptight, it occurs to me that if you’re employed as a sports coach at a school, despite perving on adolescent girls, and your home-made porno videos, in which you smoke meth, can easily be found by parents, and presumably by students, this is not an ideal situation.
And because, clearly, we need more irony, there’s this detail regarding the school district’s original investigation:
In response to the public outcry [in 2023], the district quietly hired an attorney to do an investigation into the allegations that Yates had exposed himself to the female students. The attorney, Christopher Harris, determined that the allegations were unsubstantiated despite never interviewing the girls who had reported seeing Yates’ genitals.
Wait for it.
Harris was recently arrested on child pornography charges.
You may now resume your humdrum, non-cross-dressing lives.
Resumes including ‘they/them’ pronouns are more likely to be overlooked, new report finds.
Following which, I added:
If a job application includes imaginary pronouns and claims of themness, I think one could treat it as roughly equivalent to the words I like to shit on the carpet. Signalling, as it does, insufferable pretension or serious mental illness, or some unhappy combination of the two.
Oh, and we mustn’t forget the male teacher who required three months of paid medical leave, supposedly due to emotional exhaustion and “severe burnout” on account of the small children in his class being reluctant to lie about the sex of the person teaching them. The honesty of small children – who used the words mister and he – had rendered him unfit for work.
And every employer would walk over hot coals for an employee who demands validation of his psychodrama from other people’s children. And who, when this bold stratagem fails, retires to his fainting couch for months on end.
Male teacher who thinks he’s a woman says he had a conversation with a student about growing fake bre*sts and is upset that other students haven’t noticed his “additions” yet.
Lifted from the comments, here’s an interview with Professor Amy Wax. Topics touched on include academia’s practised unrealism, declining competence, and the seeming irrelevance of whether a thing is true:
I did read John McWhorter’s piece [on me] – John and I were friends for a very long time… I’m surprised at some of the things he says in that piece. I’m grateful for the fact he says I shouldn’t be punished… But for him to call what I say “demeaning,” or that it somehow undermines trust, a lot of that is puzzling.
You know, the word truth never appears in his op-ed… Usually, it was falsehoods that undermine trust, back in the good old days, and truth that supported trust. Now they’ve turned that completely on its head. Whether what I said is true or not seems completely irrelevant.
The discussion, at 24:45, of who gets to define extremism – and, very much related, The Party Of Shoplifting – is, I think, entertaining and rather on-the-money.
Update, via the comments:
The complaints against Professor Wax were compiled, with some enthusiasm, by the law school’s Dean, Theodore Ruger, who claims to have experienced “lasting trauma” after hearing Wax speak. This, remember, is a supposedly grown man. An intellectual.
Ruger’s improbable assertion echoed those of several students who would have us believe that Wax’s mere presence on campus is “physically and emotionally harming all of us.” And whose list of grievances included one student who resented the expectation that in order to win a debate, she “had to prove herself” – i.e., make a compelling argument – and another who was crushed by the suggestion that affirmative action policies can leave their supposed beneficiaries academically unprepared.
At which point, the word irony springs to mind.
This, then, is the standard at the University of Pennsylvania’s law school. Where tuition is a mere $76,000 a year.
Apparently, among our betters, it is now scandalous to suggest that a way to minimise the risk of poverty and imprisonment is to be diligent and hardworking, charitable and civic minded, and to “eschew substance abuse and crime.”
Again, $76,000 a year.
At which point, it’s perhaps worth repeating this, from an earlier post on those supposedly traumatised by Professor Wax and the fact that she exists:
If a person’s worldview and piety, and social standing, are based on a series of fairly obvious lies, they will tend to be touchy. This can, of course, be extrapolated to describe an institution, many institutions, an entire elite culture.
Hence the bizarrely narrow range of permissible opinions, the unmentionable statistics, and the zeal with which transgressions are punished.
Update 2:
In the comments, ccscientist adds,
AA students are being sacrificed for the sake of appearances (a point Wax makes of course).
And the result is very often disaffection and resentment, which is eagerly redirected, not least by many of Wax’s critics, towards “whiteness,” or “white supremacy,” or “structural racism,” or some other self-flattering conspiracy theory. The resentment may be misdirected, or entirely unearned, but it is exploitable.
It’s also worth remembering that Wax’s comments about performance disparities and drop-out rates among her own students were prompted by Glenn Loury, who had noted, correctly, that such disparities must necessarily result from racial favouritism and wildly varying standards in admissions. A point he explains more fully in the short, and very much recommended, video embedded here.
Wax was essentially confirming Loury’s own reasoning, and stating clearly what Loury had cautiously tip-toed towards. And yet she, unlike he, is demonised and punished for articulating a statistical necessity, an observable fact. As Wax puts it, common knowledge, albeit of a kind studiously ignored by those doing the punishing and puffing out their chests.
As Wax says in the video linked above,
On the one hand, all good people are for affirmative action. That’s a sign of virtue. On the other hand, to talk about the predicate, the reason that affirmative action is needed, which is that there are these gaps in educational achievement and proficiency, is verboten. So, we kind of twisted ourselves in knots that we have to embrace something but deny the factual underpinning of it.
And noticing the knot, the mental contortion, is very much forbidden.
For some reason, I wasn’t expecting the bra. || Bar tab of consequence. || Bracing scenes. || Brush thoroughly. || Sky potholes. || Spillage of note. || Stalin’s longevity serum. || How jellyfish hunt. || It’s not hijinks, it’s an attempt to harass and dominate. || Disruptive customer detected. || Uncanny resemblance. || The thrill of ingrown hair. || Nosferatu, 1922. || When it happens, it will have happened 3,000 years ago. || You want one and you know it. || Today’s word is visibility. || Street justice scenes. || How to needlessly get yourself tased. || String and typewriters. || On pronouncingscone. || “Dear person,” and other letters. || Dispute of note. || The progressive retail experience, parts 583, 584, and 585. || Spider goats. || And finally, stroking, rubbing, and definitely some bulging.
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A Kutztown University professor is using art to advocate for the expansion of the term “motherhood” to include “LGBTQIA+ communities.” Art education Professor Leslie Sotomayor will discuss questions about mothers at the public university’s annual Gender and Sexual Minorities Conference, starting Wednesday.
Sotomayor’s presentation is titled, Madres Radicales: Queering Art & Motherhood.
Book those tickets now, ladies. Time is short and you’ve so much to learn.
You will, needless to say, be taking instruction from “agents of self-knowledge production” who will fearlessly and heroically “expand traditional narratives about madres / mothering as an action, an embodied experience,” and who will be “expanding the terminology of motherhood as it connects to LGBTQIA+ communities, racial identities, gender expressions, surviving oppressions, straddling socio-economic statuses, citizenship, and cultural memory.”
At which point, readers may wonder whether referring to oneself, rather earnestly, as an “agent of self-knowledge production,” as if self-awareness were an area of expertise, actually suggests something other than self-awareness.
Other temptations include “virtual LGBTQ-affirming yoga,” an exploration of “trauma-informed movement,” conducted via Zoom. And for which participants are reminded to “bring your own mat or towel.”
Yes, it’s a “self-empowering learning environment,” in which the big questions will not be shied from:
Who is a madre / mother? What do madres do? What is their role in our communities? Societies? How is a mother / madre radical? What does a madre radical look like?
It’s no use trying to flee. I’ve locked the doors.
While pondering these questions, and the inevitable “intersections of identities,” attendees will be given a precious opportunity to mingle with Professor Sotomayor, along with Dr Ashleigh Strange – a they-person, pictured here – and numerous, equally dazzling “protest organisers, musicians, poets, and drag performers.”
This, then, is “the expanding terminology of motherhood as it connects to LGBTQIA+ communities.” And nothing screams motherhood quite like a convulsing bald man in a bodystocking.
Above, the embodiment of motherhood.
You will become “AUTHENTICALLY YOU” – authenticity being a recurring theme of the event – by watching peculiar men hurling themselves about while dressed up as women, something they aren’t.
Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.
Please let me know what height reduction surgeries are out there, and the cost. It’s been really difficult to find out. I’m 18 years old, on hormones since I turned 18. I’m 169 cm or just a little bit under 5’7″ and I’d like to go down as much as possible. Please let me know on both legs and spine. Also I’m a size nine-and-a-half in women’s shoes, if that is important.
According to our height-conscious chappie, it’s all about “just being myself.” And his self is apparently a shorter person than the person he actually is:
I only need to go down about two inches to be happy. I would be happy at 5’5″.
And hey, who wouldn’t want a “controlled breaking” of their legs? Which is how his idea of ladylike shortness would be achieved. A procedure that entails an exciting range of possible complications, including limited mobility, nerve damage, chronic pain, and deformity, and for which the success rate is, intriguingly, “not known,” according to the people offering the service.
Update, via the comments:
Twin Cities Teegan adds,
The advice to this person to seek therapy is the absolute correct one… Gender dysphoria is a heck of a disorder and it can create some really bad ideation without therapy. As someone who fights with GD, my heart goes out this person to a certain extent, but dang it, his idea is hella dumb and I can’t think of an outcome his idea will create but more problems.
And yet in some quarters, among certain activists and their ‘allies’, anyone suggesting this might find themselves assailed with indignant name-calling. Something I’ve said many times is that it seems we’re not supposed to tease apart the various phenomena currently bundled together as “trans”:
Taken broadly, we are being asked to affirm, wholesale, a bundle of phenomena that includes not only actual gender dysphoria, whether the result of developmental anomalies or childhood molestation, but also autogynephilia, serious personality disorders, adolescent pretension, and assorted exhibitionist and unsavoury compulsions. The expectation seems to be that we should take these different phenomena, with very different moral connotations, as being one and the same thing, and then defer to them, habitually and uncritically. Which is asking rather more than can readily be agreed to.
And if we’re not supposed to make any attempt at unbundling those things, insofar as one can, and if we’re not supposed to do anything but affirm and defer, then it’s difficult to remain approved of while saying, however politely, “Actually this thing here – say, men getting their legs broken in a quest to become more ladylike – is unhinged and a recipe for disaster.” And it’s not at all obvious how one might define an upper limit to the pretending that’s expected.
Regarding this undefined upper limit, commenter [+] adds,
Call me Napoleon, you bigots.
But here’s the thing. If observable reality is no longer the measure of things, and if observable reality must actively be shunned in order to be affirming, in order to be an “ally,” – as seen, for instance, here – then where is the threshold? Where’s the point at which it all becomes too bonkers, too big an ask?
When a shirtless, deranged man – a man attacking a breastfeeding mother and her four-month-old baby – is referred to by the Vancouver Police Department, and the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, and the Vancouver Sun, as a woman –despite all video and photographic evidence – then we’re in surreal territory. And the mismatch of claim and reality is not neutral or benign. It is corrosive. Not least to any trust in the Vancouver Police Department, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, and the Vancouver Sun – the probity of which is, necessarily, called into question.
Because the public, including witnesses to the assault above, don’t generally appreciate being lied to about the identity of dangerously deranged criminals.
As I said at the time,
For the passers-by who intervened and overpowered Mr Beekmeyer, it must have been quite strange to see subsequent reports in which this shirtless man was referred to by the police and the media as a woman. As if their own, first-hand perceptions, from mere inches away, were somehow wildly and implausibly inaccurate.
And if you follow the link above, you’ll see this example, this feat of incongruous pretending, is but one of many.
What’s amusing about these displays of woke piety is, I think, the eerie uniformity, the contrivance, the same weird psychology.
Ms Jeffery, the editor-in-chief of Mother Jones, is not only ostentatiously vexed by an unremarkable expression of politeness and goodwill – such that she feels a need to alert her 134,000 likeminded followers to the imminent Christian Nationalist uprising – but we’re also expected to believe that her account of events is entirely true. That her peculiar disapproval was shared, audibly, by many other passengers, which, frankly, seems unlikely.
Oh, and she’s also revealed in the subsequent thread to be something of a hypocrite, and a repeated user of the same, supposedly offensive term. The latest instance being a mere three days earlier. I’m sure you’re all shocked. Do take a moment to steady yourselves.
As Clam adds in the comments,
They’re so used to bullshitting they don’t even notice how bad they are at it.
It does suggest being accustomed to getting away with it. An expectation of mutual dishonesty, in which no-one pulls at the obvious threads, lest the favour be repaid and their own pronouncements receive an unwelcome scrutiny.
I suppose we could see the dubious story above – in which an innocuous expression of politeness is proof of “creeping Christian nationalism” – as a new spin on the woke eight-year-old phenomenon from 2016, in which countless progressives, including MSNBC “analysts” and editors of leftist magazines – and including Ms Jeffery herself – started tweeting, competitively, about their small children, all aged eight, supposedly saying Oddly Precocious And Terribly Progressive Things:
As I said at the time,
As an eight-year-old, I had strong opinions on bedtime, the evils of Brussels sprouts, and whether Spider-Man’s webbing could actually hold five tonnes; but I don’t recall being overly engaged by, or aware of, the politics of the day.
The phenomenon was seemingly contagious and quite bizarre, a collective fit of transparent fabrication, and soon became a mocking meme. But I think we’re seeing much the same psychology. The same telling of tall tales in order to assert status and to fuel some progressive psychodrama.
For grown adults, our supposed moral betters, this is… odd behaviour.
Update, via the comments:
Rafi quips,
It’s only odd for grown adults who aren’t woke progressives. For woke progressives it’s totally normal behaviour.
The urge to inflate grievances, and indeed to fabricate them, to balance umbrage and chest-puffing on the merest mote, is a progressive credential. Theirs is a hamster-wheel world of competitive indignation. But when you’re very publicly complaining about a flight attendant using the word blessed, as if this one word signalled some impending theocracy – and when you’re using your eight-year-old child as a political ventriloquist’s doll – then we’re in the land of make-believe. And possibly, anti-psychotic medication.
Ms Jeffery seems oblivious to how petty, presumptuous and mean-spirited she sounds. As if complaining about a commonplace word of kindness, a courtesy, and construing it as offensive and vaguely sinister, were what righteous, well-adjusted people do. As if it were something one should boast about, publicly, while waiting for applause.
Ms Jeffery goes on to complain about disrespect – as if she had been violated by someone wishing her well – and she depicts herself as being oppressed by some “dominant culture.” In which flight attendants say nice things to passengers.
Readers are invited to imagine what it must be like to publicly mouth some bizarrely implausible claim, for no discernibly pressing reason, knowing that the bullshit-like properties of your claim, and your own hypocrisy, can easily be discovered, in a matter of seconds, and to mouth it anyway. And then, when challenged, to double down on the implausible and bizarre. Again, it strikes me as an odd compulsion.
At last, the ever-changing pronoun pin you’ve always wanted. || Loud chomping, heard from below. || The thrill of personal airbags. || Suboptimal situation. || Still a bear, madam. || Man cave, not bear cave. || He was not entirely cooperative, and then there was the business with the machete. || How to remove those whale skeletons from your ceiling. || Milky loveliness. || From 1963, a laboratory of smells and some educated noses. || She “felt God’s presence,” you know. || Unwell woman, one of many. || When you’re a little toointoyourself. || A cunning use of cardboard. || At least the ducks were unharmed. || Odd dog. || Further to last week, more thrills of frog venom. || Big horse fart. The fart, I mean, not the horse. || Moths and butterflies. || And finally, in case you didn’t know, they unfold.
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With the nights drawing in – and with bills for renewing hosting, domain registration, security, and so forth all upcoming – it’s time to remind patrons that this rickety barge is kept afloat by the kindness of strangers. If you’d like to help it remain buoyant a while longer, and remain ad-free, there are three buttons below the fold with which to monetise any love. Debit and credit cards are accepted. If what happens here is of value, this is a chance to show it.
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For newcomers wishing to know more about what’s been going on here for the last seventeen years, in over 3,000 posts and 200,000 comments, the reheated series is a pretty good place to start – in particular, the end-of-year summaries, which convey the fullest flavour of what it is we do. A sort of blog concentrate. If you like what you find there… well, there’s lots more of that.
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