In defense of the sanctimonious women's studies set || First feminist blog on the internet

Love, CWA-style

Thanks to World o’ Crap for directing me to this poignant piece from Concerned Women for America. Here’s the premise: Janice is pissed because she realizes that she’s been mopping with a foam mop for 20 years when, really, she prefers a string mop. So she yells and screams in the kitchen about her deep desire for a string mop. And then…

I opened the door and there stood a delivery boy from the local florist –– holding a brand new string mop with a dozen beautiful red roses artistically arranged up and down the handle!

I stepped back, stunned! Then, I burst into laughter, reached for the bouquet and read the card.

A warm glow welled up inside of me. Gil, Sr. had not dismissed my “insight” as irrelevant after all!

How much did he understand?

The card in his handwriting stated simply, “I don’t care what mop you use, as long as it is our floor you’re mopping! Love, Gil.”

With tears streaming down my face, I saw clearly in that gesture Gil’s love and unconditional acceptance of me.

Aww… thanks, Gil! As WOC says, “Now wasn’t that nice? He lets her use any kind of mop she wants, as long as she mops their floor, instead of, say, letting it stay dirty until he takes his turn at it.”


I spent the last three days in the garden, weeding, hoeing, and planting. I transferred the lilies in front to the pond and replaced them with pink clematis; tore out a bunch of mint to make room for my lavender; tore up the peppery arugula and planted more spinach and lettuce in their wake. I hoed up the section where the onions were supposed to grow but did not and replaced them with eggplant, and caged all my tomatoes and weeded around the base of each plant. I planted asparagus and blackberries in the “wild” section of the garden. Finally, I mowed the damn lawn and trimmed the enormous hedges in front. When I turned the sprinkler on for the garden last night, I stood and watched the birds fly through the spray and play in the puddles.

Saturday I took Ethan to spend the night at grandma’s house with his cousins and walked downtown for a food festival. I listened to a lot of good regional music, briefly ran into Dr. B. in the crush of the crowd, and ate sushi (with shrimp and crab! Me!) while listening to a reggae band.

Last night, the pseudo-roommate’s (Lori) boyfriend (Dave) brought us a hammock that his mom had bought and found she had no room for. We put it together and went about stretching the cotton out. The two of us full grown women laid on this thing fully outstretched until our butts grazed against the bottom bar and got out and did it again. We took blankets outside, doused ourselves with mosquito repellant, and lay on the hammock with Ethan nestled between us, watching the stars come out and airplanes leave trails across the sky.

My back hurts. My neck hurts. My eyes hurt. My arms hurt. Ouch. Last night I dreamed about summer squash and zucchini. This morning, I was awoken by a cardinal perched on a tomato cage, singing his little heart out right outside my bedroom window.

This morning, I’ll be out there weeding and hoeing and whatnot before class. Gardening is some hard work. For some reason, I thought I could do it from the couch.

Cross-class marriage

The New York Times is doing an excellent series on class issues this month, and the feature today is about what happens when people marry across class lines. The whole article is interesting, but one part in particular stuck out:

Even as more people marry across racial and religious lines, often to partners who match them closely in other respects, fewer are choosing partners with a different level of education. While most of those marriages used to involve men marrying women with less education, studies have found, lately that pattern has flipped, so that by 2000, the majority involved women, like Ms. Woolner, marrying men with less schooling – the combination most likely to end in divorce.


I’m Going to Throw The F Up

I have been tending to the pond lately, and recently added a lily pad to the pond to grow over the summer. If you don’t know this yet, this is a big deal for me. I’m highly disgusted by even the thought of fish, and have finally gotten used to the idea of having fish within ten yards of my house. Putting the lily pad in the pond requires that I put my arm in that dirty fish water all the way up to my elbow. Blugh.

My mother, Ethan and I were tooling around the garden this morning when I decided to check out the pond. The filter, which I have been fighting with all spring, wasn’t pumping water at the volume it is set to pump, so I leaned over the edge to see what was wrong.

The filter was clogged up with what looked like a large, fine piece of black and white lace.

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Happy Friday the 13th Open Thread

Blog Notes: I’ve made some changes as per the blogroll situation. Links directly to commenters’ and trackbackers’ blogs are now featured in the sidebar in addition to leads to this blog’s comments. This should boost reader stats without slowing my loading time. My Bloglines supported blogroll is now on my About page. I’m not sure what Jill will do with hers yet, but it will be noted.

Other Stuff: I’m out planting the garden today and working on a killer sunburn, and it appears Jill is doing graduation stuff and preparing for a trip out of the country. (If you haven’t congratulated her on her graduation, do so now. Immediately!)

So, what are you guys doing?

Knit for Choice

Dr. B. has radical reasons behind her knitting:

Doctors say Kenya’s strict abortion laws have forced thousands of women and girls to the backstreets where charlatans use all manner of sharp instruments — metal wires, knitting needles, forceps — to penetrate the womb and kill the foetus.

I know that this is absolutely insane. It’s where we have been in the U.S. and where we swiftly headed back to. As the daughter of the woman who ran a women and children’s clinic in the 70s and 80s and who had seen the horrors of botched abortions […] I knit with a purpose.

I do think about this now and then when I pick up my knitting needles. They have been used as weapons against others and against ourselves. Occasionally as I stroll through my house I see items once used with frequency in America to butcher women from the inside out. My stomach turns.

What is most horrifying is that these items are used to perform abortions by the untrained across the world on millions of women. And on occasion, still in the United States because, as Dr. B. says, we’re headed back to that time unless we are able to stop those who successfully battle against our rights to contraception and other methods of birth control.

HT: Dr. B.

Too Much Nature

If you don’t know by now, I have a severe phobia of fish. I don’t know where it came from or why, but the mere thought of fish gives me stomach cramps. I can’t fathom why people would eat fish or, goddammit, keep them as pets.

Logically, this fear would lead me where it did today, the fish aisle of the pet store.

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Basketball and a Bad, Bad Mood

I’m in a sour mood today, therefore holing myself up in the house and making some garbage soup. Fresh okra is available this time of year, and that’s one thing that makes the soup so damn good. That and the tobasco sauce.

I’ll also be working on Clapotis, cleaning house, and drinking coffee even though I practically gave it up months ago. Pablo also informs me that his litter box needs emptied (he must have learned to read, write, and type when I was out last night – and with such good grammar!).

On days like this my mood requires a quarantine. It may very well be contagious.

In the meantime, read about feminist conflict over Jerry Falwell’s Liberty University women’s basketball team becoming part of the Sweet Sixteen. Roni sent me this story, but being no sports expert have very little to say on the subject. Roni says,

So a man who hates feminists, hates political correctness, and rejects socialism was seen sitting courtside and cheering on his women’s basketball team. Talk about Twilight Zone.

Remember Title IX, anyone?

There is also an interesting discussion taking place at Women’s Hoops regarding (presumably) anti-feminist women taking advantage of feminist advancements in athletics. Women’s Hoops is a very cool site that talks about everything from women in basketball to athletic politics to Title IX.

Dr. B weighs in as well on the subject with Women’s Sports and Sexuality.

Burnt on Outrage

When burnt out on politics and righteous outrage, blog about one’s domestic projects.

The Heavenly Blue morning glories and Bloody Butcher tomatoes are coming along nicely. Anyone else sense a dichotomy amongst these seedlings?