The vast majority of people worldwide, as well as millions in the UK, do not have their needs met – let alone live lives of luxury from which air travel and weekly shopping sprees could be painlessly stripped out and replaced for example with dance lessons. 

Why, yes, I am reading the Guardian. How could you tell?

The paper’s leader writer, Susanna Rustin, is very much troubled by thoughts of impending catastrophe and is keen for your routine shopping – for groceries and maybe a pair of shoes – to be replaced, “painlessly,” with forms of “artistic expression and creativity.” Like dance lessons. It would, of course, be “a reordering of society.”

When so many of the pleasures that we take for granted in the west, and that are desired by billions of people who do not yet have them, are so carbon-intensive, it is surely incumbent upon us to think very hard about the things in which we take joy and meaning that are less demanding of energy and resources.

Because “dancing and singing could be part of the solution to the climate emergency.” It says so here.

If capitalists, politicians and scientists have so far not found the answers – and the global mass movement of people called for by Greta Thunberg and others is, despite recent progress, still proving elusive – could the creative arts possibly provide one means to break the impasse? If the climate emergency is seen as the consequence of a failure of imagination, then this would seem to make sense.

We will save the planet with our expertise in jive, quickstep and Viennese waltz.

this would seem to make sense.

Though presumably we may have to gyrate without shoes.

I thought we’d slide into the week gently with an open thread. Ever the gracious host, however, I’ll share some snippets for consideration.

First up, via Darleen, the intersectional woes of a hefty gay playwright who champions fatness as “political,” a feat of radicalism, while bemoaning the scarcity of sexual interest directed at his person, and while sharing snaps of himself sitting on the toilet, plus-sized pants around his knees.

We also have more scenes of Portland policing, in which The Unspanked can apparently menace with impunity.

Oh, and further to rumblings in the comments, Star Trek: Picard is still testing my patience with what feels like an interminable and badly-written prologue, with each episode being slightly less interesting than the one before.

Feel free to share your own links and snippets, on any subject, in the comments.

Blowback. || Corgi buns. || Because they should be. || Bargain detected. || Unexpected duo. || Small dog makeover of note. (h/t, Elephants Gerald) || This, this and this are three of these. (h/t, Damian) || They’re just like normal people. || Assorted long cats. || “Chocolate chicken chicken cake” and other A.I. recipes. || Is it food? || Forbidden love. || Torment yourself with four-way Tetris. || 48 trombones. || Felted wool. || Furry pig monster. || Puddle scenes. || It did not go entirely to plan. || And finally, it’s remarkable just how quickly the day can turn to shit.

In racial-dominatrix news:

Why liberal white women pay a lot of money to learn over dinner how they’re racist.

Says the Guardian,

A growing number of women are paying to confront their privilege – and racism – at dinners that cost $2,500… A frank discussion is led by co-founders Regina Jackson, who is black, and Saira Rao, who identifies as Indian American. They started Race to Dinner to challenge liberal white women to accept their racism, however subconscious.

“However subconscious.” Pretentious guilt is, one suspects, billable too.

The women who sign up for these dinners are not who most would see as racist. They are well-read and well-meaning. They are mostly Democrats. Some have adopted black children, many have partners who are people of colour, some have been doing work towards inclusivity and diversity for decades. 

Which, on reflection, might explain quite a lot.

Rao and Jackson believe white, liberal women are the most receptive audience because they are open to changing their behaviour. They don’t bother with the 53% of white women who voted for Trump. White men, they feel, are similarly a lost cause.

Those doubting, damnable souls. The ones who can’t be hustled.

Jackson and Rao have hardly been able to take a break since they started these dinners in the spring of 2019. So far, 15 dinners have been held in big cities across the US.

It turns out that quite a few well-heeled ladies of the left are keen to be denounced over dinner as “part of the problem,” warned against having “unmonitored thoughts,” and told to “own their racism,” whether real or imagined, in what amounts to a niche, and rather perverse, status game. If it sounds self-preoccupied and a tad neurotic, that’s because it is:

How to pronounce Betelgeuse. 

Also, open thread. Feel free to share links and bicker.