Dear World of Science,
After 90-odd years of female suffrage around much of the world and now that we are nearing income and educational parity, I think it’s time you fucking understood that me not wanting to get pregnant doesn’t preclude me wanting the rest of my body to work properly.
In joyous anticipation of your prompt fucking response,
Mistress La Spliffe
Still thinking about the T-Thing. That’s my new name for 'IUD', a term in which there are far too many syllables, and if I’m getting one I’m going to be thinking of it too often to waste a spare syllable each time. Although part of the appeal of the T-Thing is that I’ll hardly have to remember it at all. Not that that’s my problem with Marvellon. Call hubris, but I have a hard time imagining not remembering taking something as important as that pill everyday. No, I’d like the T-Thing so I DON’T FEEL LIKE SHIT. I’ll hope it clears by the end of the weekend, and if not I’ll at least switch brands. A T-Thing seems like a big commitment. Not quite buying a house in the suburbs, but definitely ball-gazing a little.
Did that make sense? No? Good.
One more thing before I go: it makes me want to sick up when people who supported a neo-conservative agenda a couple of years ago support Israel’s present actions, which are so obviously harmful to the spread of liberalism and democracy in the Middle East. I always saw the frustrated idealism that went into neo-conservatism, saw that it was a half-baked, half assed and completely unrealistic utopian drive. So half-baked, half-assed and unrealistic that I was never quite sure if it was a real emotional yearning for the spread of freedom or a veiled form of racism and ethnocentrism. Thanks for clarifying, asshole. To be fair, it isn't universal.
sabato, luglio 29, 2006
venerdì, luglio 28, 2006
No, it *isn't* out of my system
In Fear: Anti-Semitism in Poland After Auschwitz, Jan Gross discusses the bleak and violent fate of Jews who tried to return to Poland after the Holocaust. It’s a thorough condemnation of Polish anti-Semitism and historical denial, and a reminder of how the climate after World War II encouraged the rapid emigration of European Jews to Israel just as anti-Semitism had encouraged centuries of Jewish ghettoes before. Flagellating ourselves for our past is useless. But forgetting it is worse.
I believe in Israel’s right to exist, not because of the Bible (it makes clear God, not Britain, decides when Jews get their promised land back, and I know the difference between the two), but because it already does. Believing in Israel, however, doesn’t make me forget the place where it is now was a British mandate where European Jews fleeing persecution bought land from the natives, received land on the British partition (which worked beautifully for India, Pakistan and Bangladesh too!) and then won more land in defensive battles against the natives and neighbours.
Israel’s right to exist doesn’t let me forget the R-word. Funny how little ‘racism’ comes up in the context of our media’s coverage of the Middle East when it’s such a big part of how we think. Israel exists as it does because of European racism and anti-Semitism. Why do I insist on reminding us of this when we can’t go back in time and change that single greatest tragedy of the 20th century? I insist because Europeans and Americans made the decision that supporting the state of Israel would be easier than having so many Jews around after the second World War, and not having so many Jews around was a good reason to help them deal with the hostility and land claims of a bunch of brown people with funny music and veiled women who lived in the place the Jews wanted to go.
But again, in a world where we can’t turn back time, what the fuck does it matter? It matters because our refusal to deal with our racism and its consequences lets our leaders ask us to unquestioningly support Israel – even when in the space of weeks it blows up hundreds of civilians, stifles a budding democracy, kills nine Canadians, imprisons one of our academics without charge and gives every indication of having purposefully attacked the United Nations. It allows us to make the value judgement that Israel’s right to defend itself in any way it sees fit trumps the human rights of the inhabitants of the West Bank, Gaza, and Lebanon, because those inhabitants are part of a group we’ve been historically trained to see as even less human than Jews.
What is happening to Lebanon is Israel’s revolting political reality, in which a weak and unproven parliament is employing vicious, murderous populism. Any other country doing such things would be subject to international identification, condemnation and punishment. The fact this situation is the natural product of the historical racism of Europe and North America has stopped too many countries from identifying, condemning and punishing Israel's crimes. It shouldn’t. Israel was a lousy way for our forebears to shove their racism under the carpet. Supporting it now in its present abuse of the Lebanese isn’t making up for our mistakes; it’s perpetuating our cover-up and the racism itself.
I believe in Israel’s right to exist, not because of the Bible (it makes clear God, not Britain, decides when Jews get their promised land back, and I know the difference between the two), but because it already does. Believing in Israel, however, doesn’t make me forget the place where it is now was a British mandate where European Jews fleeing persecution bought land from the natives, received land on the British partition (which worked beautifully for India, Pakistan and Bangladesh too!) and then won more land in defensive battles against the natives and neighbours.
Israel’s right to exist doesn’t let me forget the R-word. Funny how little ‘racism’ comes up in the context of our media’s coverage of the Middle East when it’s such a big part of how we think. Israel exists as it does because of European racism and anti-Semitism. Why do I insist on reminding us of this when we can’t go back in time and change that single greatest tragedy of the 20th century? I insist because Europeans and Americans made the decision that supporting the state of Israel would be easier than having so many Jews around after the second World War, and not having so many Jews around was a good reason to help them deal with the hostility and land claims of a bunch of brown people with funny music and veiled women who lived in the place the Jews wanted to go.
But again, in a world where we can’t turn back time, what the fuck does it matter? It matters because our refusal to deal with our racism and its consequences lets our leaders ask us to unquestioningly support Israel – even when in the space of weeks it blows up hundreds of civilians, stifles a budding democracy, kills nine Canadians, imprisons one of our academics without charge and gives every indication of having purposefully attacked the United Nations. It allows us to make the value judgement that Israel’s right to defend itself in any way it sees fit trumps the human rights of the inhabitants of the West Bank, Gaza, and Lebanon, because those inhabitants are part of a group we’ve been historically trained to see as even less human than Jews.
What is happening to Lebanon is Israel’s revolting political reality, in which a weak and unproven parliament is employing vicious, murderous populism. Any other country doing such things would be subject to international identification, condemnation and punishment. The fact this situation is the natural product of the historical racism of Europe and North America has stopped too many countries from identifying, condemning and punishing Israel's crimes. It shouldn’t. Israel was a lousy way for our forebears to shove their racism under the carpet. Supporting it now in its present abuse of the Lebanese isn’t making up for our mistakes; it’s perpetuating our cover-up and the racism itself.
giovedì, luglio 27, 2006
Jesusfuck
I'm having a very hard time concentrating on how much I need a haircut and how to get rid of one or two inches of tummy before my lover gets here when the Israeli justice minister can go on the radio and say this - and be right. They did get a carte blanche, and they will be able to flatten the south of Lebanon with diplomatic impunity because we will be able to fool ourselves into believing anyone who isn't Hezbollah will have left even after weeks of roads and bridges being bombed out.
And that the response of the Israeli ambassador to the UN to Kofi Annan's reaction to the dead UN observers should be so mocking. Of course it was on fucking purpose. You don't ignore hours of calls by accident. The Israeli administration knows enough dead UN observers now means fewer UN observers later after they've established another occupied strip in Southern Lebanon - Australia has already pulled all theirs out - and this way they can have the strip policed by NATO forces instead. Does that make sense? Sure. You know how many censures the UN has brought against Israel? Lots. If I was Israeli I wouldn't want the UN in charge of protecting my northern border either, because the UN represents the world, and the world thinks badly of Israel, and will think far, far worse of Israel now.
But that doesn't make what they're doing any less stupid. NATO in Southern Lebanon will be so inflammatory, even if they're not Americans (which means it'll be us and whichever other country has an administration in the mood for taking it up the ass), that it'll be systematically picked off until the dead soldier's home countries insist on withdrawing the forces; it'll be replaced by another Israeli occupation or another toothless UN mission, Syria will react either to the resultant popular resentment or toothlessness by re-entering and re-arming Hezbollah and the whole thing will start over again except worse. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
And instead of having supported the evolution Lebanon was making into a strong, stable, anti-Syrian democracy, we're supposed to support this? Israel is supposed to be our ally when it's declared war on the world? It's already killed nine Canadians and we're supposed to support that? Oh, my gracious fuck.
And that the response of the Israeli ambassador to the UN to Kofi Annan's reaction to the dead UN observers should be so mocking. Of course it was on fucking purpose. You don't ignore hours of calls by accident. The Israeli administration knows enough dead UN observers now means fewer UN observers later after they've established another occupied strip in Southern Lebanon - Australia has already pulled all theirs out - and this way they can have the strip policed by NATO forces instead. Does that make sense? Sure. You know how many censures the UN has brought against Israel? Lots. If I was Israeli I wouldn't want the UN in charge of protecting my northern border either, because the UN represents the world, and the world thinks badly of Israel, and will think far, far worse of Israel now.
But that doesn't make what they're doing any less stupid. NATO in Southern Lebanon will be so inflammatory, even if they're not Americans (which means it'll be us and whichever other country has an administration in the mood for taking it up the ass), that it'll be systematically picked off until the dead soldier's home countries insist on withdrawing the forces; it'll be replaced by another Israeli occupation or another toothless UN mission, Syria will react either to the resultant popular resentment or toothlessness by re-entering and re-arming Hezbollah and the whole thing will start over again except worse. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
And instead of having supported the evolution Lebanon was making into a strong, stable, anti-Syrian democracy, we're supposed to support this? Israel is supposed to be our ally when it's declared war on the world? It's already killed nine Canadians and we're supposed to support that? Oh, my gracious fuck.
mercoledì, luglio 26, 2006
Sexy sexy sexy post
Lady has threatened to elbow me in the box if I keep complaining about how loooong it is until Figaro gets here. Elbow away, whore. Maybe it’ll help. You saw me walking down the street the other day – I’m becoming a dirty, pervy menace to society. Yet every other male creature smells like catsup so I couldn’t be unfaithful if I tried.
And that’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you, gentle reader. This site has been averaging around 100 hits a day because of a link I posted to a naked Jude Law picture months and months and months ago for rhetorical purposes. Pathetic enough as that may sound on its own, it gets worse – you can’t even see his willy winkie wanky on the link, let alone him doing anything with it. Naked Jude Law Seekers, can’t you just love the one you’re with? Or find a picture of him with the willy wanky woo out? Geez. Who are you people? Are you straight men looking for confirmation of the rumour that his winkie wanky woo is teeny-tiny to help deal with your girlfs being in lurve with him cough like Calisaurus cough?
No - I choose to believe you’re all straight ladies and that the Internet is the Great Porn Leveller. I don’t think that would hurt. Porn’s great because sex is cool looking, and if women can manage to get as visually pre-occupied as men without losing their socially conscious attention span, producers might clean up their labour standards, bring back funk guitar soundtracks and cast male actors without moustaches. And if those three things happen I might even buy porn for reasons other than trying to make up for whatever inappropriate Sagittarial comment I’ve made to enrage or wound my homme de jour. Real women apologize, Mistress La Spliffe buys porn. So thank you, ladies looking for a peek at Jude Law’s willy winkie. Click here.
Speaking of porn, I’ve gone on a Jacques Brel binge. That man’s voice is dead fucking sexy, makes Charles Aznavour sound like a lawyer from Minnesota. His lyrics annoy me sometimes – they didn’t age so well – but who gives a fuck when they get sung with a baby-making voice like that. Rhythmically the poor guy seemed to get stuck in an epoch between the bouncey-bouncey-bounce-bounce-bounce of Edith Piaf and the tobacco brooding of Serge Gainsbourg – but once more, I can’t feel sorry for him with a voice like that. With a voice like that . . . making the nasality of the French language sound all tough and manly somehow, tackling those Rs like they’re me in some enchanting Utopia where Jacques Brel is alive, young, randy and into me. Oh Jacques Brel.
And that’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you, gentle reader. This site has been averaging around 100 hits a day because of a link I posted to a naked Jude Law picture months and months and months ago for rhetorical purposes. Pathetic enough as that may sound on its own, it gets worse – you can’t even see his willy winkie wanky on the link, let alone him doing anything with it. Naked Jude Law Seekers, can’t you just love the one you’re with? Or find a picture of him with the willy wanky woo out? Geez. Who are you people? Are you straight men looking for confirmation of the rumour that his winkie wanky woo is teeny-tiny to help deal with your girlfs being in lurve with him cough like Calisaurus cough?
No - I choose to believe you’re all straight ladies and that the Internet is the Great Porn Leveller. I don’t think that would hurt. Porn’s great because sex is cool looking, and if women can manage to get as visually pre-occupied as men without losing their socially conscious attention span, producers might clean up their labour standards, bring back funk guitar soundtracks and cast male actors without moustaches. And if those three things happen I might even buy porn for reasons other than trying to make up for whatever inappropriate Sagittarial comment I’ve made to enrage or wound my homme de jour. Real women apologize, Mistress La Spliffe buys porn. So thank you, ladies looking for a peek at Jude Law’s willy winkie. Click here.
Speaking of porn, I’ve gone on a Jacques Brel binge. That man’s voice is dead fucking sexy, makes Charles Aznavour sound like a lawyer from Minnesota. His lyrics annoy me sometimes – they didn’t age so well – but who gives a fuck when they get sung with a baby-making voice like that. Rhythmically the poor guy seemed to get stuck in an epoch between the bouncey-bouncey-bounce-bounce-bounce of Edith Piaf and the tobacco brooding of Serge Gainsbourg – but once more, I can’t feel sorry for him with a voice like that. With a voice like that . . . making the nasality of the French language sound all tough and manly somehow, tackling those Rs like they’re me in some enchanting Utopia where Jacques Brel is alive, young, randy and into me. Oh Jacques Brel.
martedì, luglio 25, 2006
Pasties trump Dragon
Ugh. Marvellon makes me feel gross. It's a tired, oft-asked question but still in urgent need of an answer: how have we been able to send men to the moon, teach gorillas sign language and still not found a pill to make me not have babies that doesn't make me wake up with the pasties? Lady has suggested looking into IUDs. I don't know - when I was 12 I read Everything You Need to Know About Sex* *but were afraid to ask and the author mentioned the stories about babies being born clutching IUDs - but then, that author was an asshole. This is what Wikipedia has to say.
Otherwise, I'm about halfway through a book called Happiness: a History by Darrin McMahon. I like it - he writes cute - but I think the principal attraction is that it's like a trip down memory lane in terms of my undergrad degree. In this book, he discusses perceptions of happiness since classical Greece using that same great survey of Great White Man books we studied. Which are fine books - I never had a problem with their Great White Maleness since it's of such importance to know the accepted canon even if it sometimes looks like the half-nonsensical ranting of sexually frustrated clerics to you cough Aquinas cough.
Some boys, however, did have a problem in the third year of our programme, when we hit the Renaissance and beyond and suddenly lots of women writers came into the curriculum. They should have sucked it up. Humanism and the Enlightenment meant women's intellectual contributions were going to be taken more seriously so it makes sense we who study those periods should also take them more seriously. But as importantly, there have been more women than men going into liberal arts degrees for years . . . of course the demographic of the studied authors is going to change, emphasis is going to change, and academic priorities are going to change from being very evidently skewed towards formerly predominant male authors and male students for hundreds of years to, well, not. That's not political correctness, that's reality; if you don't like it, then get a degree of Heavy Lifting or write a book like McMahon's that focusses on that Great White Male canon.
But try to make it as good as this book. He's critical and thorough, but with a light touch that makes this something I can pick up and put down pretty easily. I guess I'll be able to decide if I love it when it comes to the end and I see how he ties this canon into modern psychology . . . I have confidence in him, though. Unlike Wim Wenders, whose The Soul of a Man about J.B. Lenoir and Skip James was a mess that made the subjects seem unimportant and unassociated with anything. Ugh, Wim Wenders. He should go back to making movies about angels.
Otherwise, I'm about halfway through a book called Happiness: a History by Darrin McMahon. I like it - he writes cute - but I think the principal attraction is that it's like a trip down memory lane in terms of my undergrad degree. In this book, he discusses perceptions of happiness since classical Greece using that same great survey of Great White Man books we studied. Which are fine books - I never had a problem with their Great White Maleness since it's of such importance to know the accepted canon even if it sometimes looks like the half-nonsensical ranting of sexually frustrated clerics to you cough Aquinas cough.
Some boys, however, did have a problem in the third year of our programme, when we hit the Renaissance and beyond and suddenly lots of women writers came into the curriculum. They should have sucked it up. Humanism and the Enlightenment meant women's intellectual contributions were going to be taken more seriously so it makes sense we who study those periods should also take them more seriously. But as importantly, there have been more women than men going into liberal arts degrees for years . . . of course the demographic of the studied authors is going to change, emphasis is going to change, and academic priorities are going to change from being very evidently skewed towards formerly predominant male authors and male students for hundreds of years to, well, not. That's not political correctness, that's reality; if you don't like it, then get a degree of Heavy Lifting or write a book like McMahon's that focusses on that Great White Male canon.
But try to make it as good as this book. He's critical and thorough, but with a light touch that makes this something I can pick up and put down pretty easily. I guess I'll be able to decide if I love it when it comes to the end and I see how he ties this canon into modern psychology . . . I have confidence in him, though. Unlike Wim Wenders, whose The Soul of a Man about J.B. Lenoir and Skip James was a mess that made the subjects seem unimportant and unassociated with anything. Ugh, Wim Wenders. He should go back to making movies about angels.
lunedì, luglio 24, 2006
The Red Dragon wakes to sobriety
Not much to say today. Yesterday we won pizza at a baseball game, I mustn’t forget that for lunch, and, uhm, I thought of a title for my memoirs, mustn’t forget that either. This morning, as I got what I could get in order for the upcoming day together as well as I could, I listened to St. Elsewhere from Gnarls Barkley for the first time. That album makes me happy – so playful with all these nice little twists and surprises, and then to get all that commercial acceptance! It makes me feel hopeful for the stupid world, which is an achievement today after staying drunk all weekend and not being drunk anymore now.
Sigh. J*Fish, who lent me St. Elsewhere, was also the one who gave me the Grey Album and made me like Dangermouse (I only knew him from his Dinah Washington remix on the third Verve Remixed album, not my favourite track). Every time someone plays "Crazy" (that is, many times a day) I’ll think of him. Stupid North Bay. Why is it so far? Anyways, I understand a bunch of pop people have covered that song acoustically and I’ve got to wonder why such a thing would be deigned desirable. I haven’t heard any of them and I’m not sure I want to. Aren’t the beats with that big reedy Cee-lo voice the whole point?
UPDATE: I've been informed one of the people who have covered 'Crazy' acoustically is Ray LaMontagne, which means I've transitioned from scornful confusion to really, really wanting to hear it - with an adorable cinnamon-grater voice like his I can imagine myself liking it much better than the original.
Sigh. J*Fish, who lent me St. Elsewhere, was also the one who gave me the Grey Album and made me like Dangermouse (I only knew him from his Dinah Washington remix on the third Verve Remixed album, not my favourite track). Every time someone plays "Crazy" (that is, many times a day) I’ll think of him. Stupid North Bay. Why is it so far? Anyways, I understand a bunch of pop people have covered that song acoustically and I’ve got to wonder why such a thing would be deigned desirable. I haven’t heard any of them and I’m not sure I want to. Aren’t the beats with that big reedy Cee-lo voice the whole point?
UPDATE: I've been informed one of the people who have covered 'Crazy' acoustically is Ray LaMontagne, which means I've transitioned from scornful confusion to really, really wanting to hear it - with an adorable cinnamon-grater voice like his I can imagine myself liking it much better than the original.
domenica, luglio 23, 2006
The Red Dragon mildly whinges
Last night Mr. S and I had an argument about Lebanon. I felt tight inside while I spoke because I’m ready to burst into tears any time I think of Miss E.G., but I also felt like the argument was more of a search for common ground than a pissing competition. All this as exposition to the fact that he didn’t piss me off at all, but some other guy who shared my attitude and kept interrupting with non-sequiturs did. Boo. I would rather argue sensibly with someone who disagrees with me than sit around whipping myself into a frenzy over a barely-connected de-contextualized series of facts with someone who agrees with me. That’s what dim people who like Noam Chomsky and Mark Steyn do and then there's no dialogue or education.
Of course, I was so shitfaced it’s possible all the wonderful sense I thought Mr. S and I was speaking was dribbling slurring, that we were rudely hogging the conversation, and that what sounded like non-sequiturs were genius on legs. But that doesn’t change the fact that Noam Chomsky/Mark Steyn fans suck.
Yeah, so, last night I was absolutely shitfaced and people either had no idea or else knew just by looking at me the depth of the shitfacedness. Also, men kept trying to kiss me. Well, not ‘kept’. Just two within twenty minutes. What they had in common was that I had no idea who they were. What the fuck is with that? Why the fuck did they think I’d be interested in kissing some total fucking stranger who I hadn’t even had the chance to smell yet? And how the fuck was I sober enough to swiftly reduce them both to craven apologies by analyzing aloud the quality of their emotional states if willing to foist themselves on girls with no reason to be interested in them, but not sober enough to realize when I’d drunk enough that I should stop fucking drinking?
Fuck, I’m still drunk. Otherwise I feel okay. Slightly poisoned, but okay. I think I need food now.
Of course, I was so shitfaced it’s possible all the wonderful sense I thought Mr. S and I was speaking was dribbling slurring, that we were rudely hogging the conversation, and that what sounded like non-sequiturs were genius on legs. But that doesn’t change the fact that Noam Chomsky/Mark Steyn fans suck.
Yeah, so, last night I was absolutely shitfaced and people either had no idea or else knew just by looking at me the depth of the shitfacedness. Also, men kept trying to kiss me. Well, not ‘kept’. Just two within twenty minutes. What they had in common was that I had no idea who they were. What the fuck is with that? Why the fuck did they think I’d be interested in kissing some total fucking stranger who I hadn’t even had the chance to smell yet? And how the fuck was I sober enough to swiftly reduce them both to craven apologies by analyzing aloud the quality of their emotional states if willing to foist themselves on girls with no reason to be interested in them, but not sober enough to realize when I’d drunk enough that I should stop fucking drinking?
Fuck, I’m still drunk. Otherwise I feel okay. Slightly poisoned, but okay. I think I need food now.
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