Reheated (105)
For newcomers, some items from the archives:
Telepathy Not A Thing, Women Hardest Hit.
Empowered feminist exhausted by hiring servants, planning holidays, brushing daughter’s hair.
The psychological intricacies of Ms Hartley’s preferences regarding bathroom cleaning do not appear to have been expressed directly to Her Loving Other, who, we’re told, “willingly complies to any task I decide to assign to him.” Perhaps he, or one of his friends, will read Harper’s Bazaar, at which point the full scale of her discontent will become apparent. Why Ms Hartley chose not to convey this issue directly is not entirely clear. Though it seems she’s been quite busy publicly cataloguing her husband’s faults – which extend from telepathic inadequacy to a failure to return gift wrap to its usual storage location.
Apocalypse Averted With Collective Juddering.
We will save the planet with jive, quickstep and Viennese waltz.
Because “dancing and singing could be part of the solution to the climate emergency.”
Their Happiness Hurt My Feelings.
The intersectional perils of video conferencing. With mad people.
Curiously, given the stated importance of “sensitivity” and being mindful of what things might mean, we aren’t invited to ponder the kind of person who would resent someone else’s wedding photo. And then complain about it. Or whether such neurotic affectations, these unhappy mental habits, are something to be actively encouraged. In the name of progress. At a university.
From Salon, wrenching tales of “water bottle separation anxiety.”
At which point, it occurs to me I may be misusing the word explain.
For those craving more, this is a pretty good place to start.
Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.
This blog is kept afloat by the tip jar buttons below.
I thought you must be exaggerating. How do these people even live?
Oh and tip jar pinged
Exaggeration seemed unnecessary, and the verbatim quotes were hard to top.
Given Ms Hartley’s multiple bathrooms and the hiring of a servant to clean them, comfortably, I’d assume. If not altogether happily.
Bless you, sir. May your farts be few and inoffensive.
I suppose that’s one of the things I’ve tried to convey here over the years. Among Our Betters, the psychology in play is often quite weird. And not an obvious recipe for a brighter, more fragrant tomorrow.
Always the sign of a happy marriage.
Wow. First World problems are exhausting. I’m certain she has a physician on speed dial who can prescribe something.
It’s perhaps worth pondering what sort of woman would presume to do this – badmouthing her compliant and accommodating husband, in great detail, with no comeback, in a national magazine – as if this were a thing that well-adjusted people do. Basically, selling him out, publicly humiliating him, while presenting herself – implausibly – as the victim of the drama.
Someone supposedly reluctant to complain.
It’s also worth pondering what kind of women commission such articles, or read them while believing the author to be the injured party, the one deserving of sympathy and applause. For her bravery, no less.
Instead of noticing the obvious and thinking, “What a vile, neurotic bitch.”
And what sort of man puts up with it.
That too.
Oh and by the way, five years later, she’s still banging on about it.
And golly, you’d never tire of it.
Now I can hate the sound of her voice too.
Apropos of the last thread, a shocking survey shockingly has shocking results.
Talking head finds a reason for people to be appalled.
…
Leftists and libtards insist that “Kill the Boer! Kill the farmer!” is merely poetic rhetoric and has nothing to do with actual intentions.
That is, indeed, an important insight. George Orwell and others noticed that most leftists were not truly motivated by sincere concern for the poor but rather by resentment of the rich (or rather of the not-poor.) Similarly, resentment of the not-unhappy is a widespread attitude among today’s leftists and goes some way in explaining their conduct.
She, and her publisher, hope to inculcate others to behave as she does and provide support and affirmation for those who already do.
E.g.:
As I pondered in the previous thread, what fraction of therapists are insane?
In the Bay Area, the vast majority, I’ll speculate.
The emotional maturity of two year olds.
As we’ve seen many times, the writers and readers of supposedly progressive publications do appear prone to attitudes and behaviour that one wouldn’t generally regard as adult or even-keeled.
Indeed, some are competitively delinquent.
I’m still tickled by the implication that one can now be a non-specific activist, just a general purpose agitator, with no particular area of interest or professed expertise.
These mighty titans who respond to tiny non-events – say, misplacing a plastic water bottle – by bursting into tears and spending the rest of the day “devastated.”
Again, if you wanted to devise some unkind parody, some cartoonish satire, it would be difficult to out-do their own voluntary outpourings. The noises they make in order to impress their peers.
If any of you, as I am sure David is, are exhausted by the emotional labor demanded of you to be an ally and keep up with the trials, tribulations, and oppression suffered by our betters that have been shown on these very pages, might I suggest a relaxing, refreshing, and rejuvenating trip to the idyllic”west coast” of the US&A, now conveniently located 20 miles southwest of the middle of nowhere in the Nevada desert?
Yes, the Zesty Cheese Ranch beckons, 1/2 acre of paradise overlooking scenic abandoned cars, where you and 10 of your friends can stay in the plush surroundings of a single wide.
Be sure to check out the events that might fit your schedule.
It’s like an avalanche of random words.
Oh dear Lord. Sigh. I remember back in the 70’s some girls would wear cat ears to look cute and endearing. It seemed harmless enough. Now it’s the whole damn critter.
[ Decides that tonight’s dinner will be in some way cheese-related. ]
It’s like an avalanche of random words.
Hardly, the thought that has gone into this project is astounding, sure the sleeping room for you and your 9 pals is like an overcrowded WWII barracks, but the bunk beds are good for 450lbs, the walls are brightly colored, and there is wifi.
Meanwhile, a school district fully commits to DEI, well, maybe just the EI.
Why is it always the case that those presuming to arrange society are incapable of arranging their cupboard?
…incapable of arranging their cupboard?
Orderly cupboards are a result of colonialism, racism, and the heterosexual patriarchy, of course.
What the hell’s a family dance party?
Alas, the mystery lingers. But it sounds appalling.
All I can think of is Cemetery Polka.
The “on the Roslagsbanan commuter train” line being the icing on the cake, I suppose.
The centre cannot hold.
Even on the surface the camp seemed odd. Eccentric, but not disturbing.
How wrong I was. (“Camp Crinkle”)
Still, I like their branding guidelines. Very professional.
Regarding which.
Eccentric, but not disturbing.
Or vice versa.
County on the “west coast”. Right. West yes, west coast, not unless they moved the Pacific and didn’t tell me.
“Stir crazy” in the city, and zero reported coof. I am astounded that a county somewhere in back of beyond with (checks notes) a little over 700 people had zero reported coof, and I am sure the desert with 0.21 people/sq. mi. is chock-a-block with things not to make you go “stir crazy.”
Hey, great post, I and my wife take dance lessons and they are bloody expensive. I believe the Guardian writer conclusively proves we can deduct that expense for tax purposes because we’re saving Canada from Climate Change better and more than Carney.
Right?