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

Crap

Crap, crap, crap.

Lots of writing and printing to do today and I have not only run out of paper, but ink as well. Crap!

The last thing I want to do is go to the store. Let this week be over.

End Of Semester Stupidity

For some reason, this semester seems like it has been the least motivated, frustrating semester in a long while, not only for myself but all of my friends and classmates. Just yesterday, I received an email from my friend titled, “DO YOU HAVE A GLUESTICK?!” That is a sign of something, people, but I don’t know what.

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Hoosierdom

This is so stupidly depressing. I’m keeping the ones that are so true they should be outlawed.

For my fellow feminist Hoosiers, and I know there are a few of us, a moment of despair.

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Obligatory End of Semester Stress Post, II

The amount of sleep I got last night is so little it’s just stupid. I’m so tired I can’t see straight.

On today’s agenda: Nap, walk to campus labs, caffeine, back to the computer. Let this week be over, amen.

I’m Going To Sleep For the Next Year

I just got an email from the university telling me that I am “required to attend” an “Internet Workshop” for “mandatory internet training” because the school I am placed in for student teaching has “networked internet.”

Good holy goddess. Shoot me.

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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The Ideal Man as According to Lauren

Note: I started this post awhile back and it got set to the side during the blog vacation.

Everyone should read Jill’s rant against the supposed failure of feminism for dictating the kind of man all women want. The survey that asserts so was done by none other than Dodge Trucks. If you don’t remember, Dodge was under serious fire last year for putting on a so-called lingerie bowl during the Superbowl halftime last year.

After the brouhaha caused Dodge to incur extreme modifications to the original Lingerie Bowl, including outfits that provided real coverage and the addition of safety pads, a Dodge executive was quoted as saying,

“We definitely skewed it male, but that is fine,” [marketing director Joe] Eberhardt said. “If all of a sudden we lose female Caravan buyers, it would be an issue. I don’t think we have.”

The Lingerie Bowl turned out the be a disappointment for most who watched it. Something about the sports bras and uni-boob, I suspect.

But it’s Daimler-Chrysler’s assumption that women don’t pay attention to this kind of marketing strategy and draw connections between the trucks they’re trying to sell to men and the minivans they sell to the mythical soccer mom. I presume plenty of non-feminist women are just as put off by the Manly Man routine as feminists are put off by the normative gender roles that Dodge uses to market its products.

Even I, a straight feminist, have said that I like masculine men. I just don’t like the macho and arrogant sort of masculine men. Like Mr. Eberhardt.

Taking a cue from Jill:

The Ideal Man as Determined By Women Surveyed By Dodge Trucks
vs.
The Ideal Man According To Lauren

Sixty-two percent of women surveyed said they would rather see a man’s hands rough and working hard than well-manicured. Manicures aside, one hundred percent of Feministes agree that if your fingernails are snagged enough to put a gash in my face, I may require you to trim them if you ever want to get close to me again. Ditto on toenails.
Ninety-two percent of women said dependability is a desirable characteristic in an ideal mate. One hundred percent of Feministes think that dependability is a must for any inerpersonal relationship, be it sexual, platonic, or any other arrangement. Any person who says otherwise has issues with being treated like a respectful human being. What kind of stupid survey is this?
Seventy-five percent of women said their ideal man buys his grooming products at a grocery store or drugstore, not a salon. One hundred percent of Feministes agree that taking one’s love-bunny to the health food store for a personal shopping expedition is way more exciting than hitting the deodorant aisle at Walgreen’s. Plus, the love-bunny will smell way better. Naturally!
Forty-one percent of women said their ideal man spends his time watching sports. I have a rule here. I don’t date anyone who watches sports unless he also plays them. Currently. Not back when he was in high school. Ditto for home improvement shows. Vicarious living is okay to a point, but the trend will not be repeated in my house.

This is a silly point, anyway. I only date snobbish nerds, the kind who would pick up a good book over the TV remote or Playstation controller.

Ninety percent of women said they prefer low-maintenance, easygoing guys. Christ, who doesn’t prefer a low-maintenance, easygoing partner? Most men would answer the same way, that is, unless they’re looking for Hiltonites for girlfriends. And in that case, we’re not interested anyway.
Seventy-two percent of women said their ideal man spends his free time doing home-improvement projects. Back up, yo. That’s my hammer. Get your own damn toolbox.

The most insipid thing about the article covering this Ultimate Man story is the title: Hold the quiche: Manly men are back. Feministing pointed out that a member of the anti-feminist Independent Women’s Forum tried to use the results of this totally unscientific, marketing-driven survey to prove that feminism is on the outs:

“It just shows that there are some things that you can’t change and that, while feminism for a long time has been pushing us towards androgyny with little girls with trucks and guys with dolls, women tend to have feministic traits and guys the opposite,” says Carrie Lukas, director of policy with the Independent Women’s Forum. “If anything, it shows what feminism hasn’t been able to accomplish.”

Sorry, Ms. Lukas (Do you mind if I call you Ms., darling?), but most feminists aren’t aiming for prescriptive androgyny as much as we are working against normative prescriptions of gender roles. Feministic traits. That’s funny. Lukas should quit the shill chamber and look for a comedy gig.

But back to partnerships. One has to have standards. I have others as well. In no particular order:

  1. No extended adolesences. I don’t mind occasional trips down Teen Beat Ave., but if the only thing you can talk about is what AnkleByte33 said during your last 13-hour Halo stint, I’m out the door. That’s just fucking boring.
  2. Passable credit, please. I haven’t busted my ass over the last few years to keep my credit good just so you can drag it down with the charges you ran up at Toys R Us buying fancy Lego sets so your geek friends would think it’s cool that you built a Star Wars aircraft carrier-looking thing for the low, low price of $129.99. Read a book lately?
  3. Steadily employed.
  4. Does not buy into Dodge-sponsored gender tripe.
  5. Left side of the aisle. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to sleep with a Republican. In the same bed. *shudder*
  6. Has principles and standards of his own and, omigod, sticks to them.
  7. Has goals. Goals, people! And by goals I don’t mean, “Hopes to eventually become a rock star/professional skater/artist/etc. by putting the shoulder to the grindstone, i.e. spending all free time pot smoking, Texas Justice watching, and memorizing lines from Napoleon Dynamite.”
  8. Prefers a partnership over a dictatorship (as long as he is willing to admit that not only am I always right, but I fight dirty).

Excuse me, is my slip showing? No wonder it’s difficult to date these days.

Related Reading: Pandamanda’s Defense of the Blue Collar Man.

She’s Back(ish)

I maintain that Ethan’s bed is the most comfortable bed ever made. Five minutes on that thing and you’re out.

I gave E’s room a good cleaning yesterday and rearranged some of his furniture, got rid of the floor lamp for a hanging lantern, and replaced the wee rocking chair he’s outgrown for his chalkboard easel. Earlier in the day we had filled the birdfeeder outside his window with birdseed, and for the rest of the afternoon Pablo kept a close watch for the cardinals to come by for a bite to eat.

Ethan and I lay on his bed, talking about and watching Pablo (Ethan’s favorite subject), until both of us fell asleep. I woke up drooling on his head.

Above all, that was my favorite moment of my vacation. After spending the day puttering around the yard, trying to play badminton with an athlectically challenged five-year-old, planting some sunflowers, and letting the cat out for a closely-monitored romp through the backyard, what melts me is napping with his warm little body curled up against mine, the smell of his hair reminding me of how he smelled as a baby. Sometimes simple pleasures are the most satisfaying.

In the meantime, I’ve knocked out one gigantic project and got halfway through another. I still have four additional papers to write and another lesser project to complete. I will take over the blog again tomorrow with a commitment of writing at least one meaningful post a day. However, I will leave the guest accounts open for another day or so to give my wonderful guestbloggers a chance to plug their own blogs one last time and make one last hurrah.

A sincere thank you to all who took on posting responsibilities here. You all provided me with some wonderful reading during my break and, hopefully, got yourselves some new readership.

I am off for a walk. Mp3 player, check. Massive bag, check. Sunglasses, check. Reasonable shoes, check. It’s Sunday and it’s beautiful out.

What I’ve Been Doing Since I Haven’t Been Blogging

Tuesday: Get up way too early. Get Very Bad News from Mom first thing in the morning. Begin the day in a total haze. Suffer through Hamlet. Forget debit card at home, but only realize this after getting a slew of things at the drugstore and hauling them to the counter (second time this month). Sign everyone up for guestblogging. Start a new knitting project even though I have a dozen others on the needles (must frog, save for something later). Finish up the lesson plan I have planned to teach for Friday, as per teacher recommendations on Thursday night’s meeting. See “Children of a Lesser God” for class. Like it but find it lacking in many areas. No surprise considering my anti-movie thing.

Wednesday: Maintain profound confusion over the bits of pink ribbon strewn about the house. Realize they are always situated in water. Realize then that Pablo is chewing the balloon ribbon from the b-day balloon Ethan got at a party last week. Rush into the room to find that despite the balloon’s rest on the ceiling, Pablo has somehow managed to wrestle the thing to the floor and hold it there so he can willingly ingest ribbon and throw it up. Have one of E’s classmates over for a playdate gone horribly wrong. Listen to the boys bicker and fight for 2 1/2 hours and try not to yell or condescend too much. Unsuccessful.

Thursday: Class. Due dates. Stress out. More class. More due dates. Meet with observation teacher over the lesson plan scheduled for Friday morning. Really like this teacher — contemplate asking her to get together sometime for something aside from school/work crap. Get upset stomach due to nerves. Decide what I’m photographing for a “metaphor project” for class: poop (explanation later). Go home and overprepare for Friday’s lesson by abusing the Wikipedia.

Friday: Teach.

Saturday: I don’t really know what I did, but that’s all that counts. Mental vacation.

Sunday: Clean house. Homework. Mow lawn. Develop rash from mowing lawn.

Monday: Cookout. Invite a bunch of couples over for some serious grilling. Fun had by all, for the most part, except for having to retreive the badminton birdie from the roof half a dozen times. How many people does it take to rescue althletic equipment from the roof of a one-story house? There is no punchline. It is eight.

Tuesday-Thursday: Slave away on the unit plan. Come away with something I’m halfway proud of. Only one poem I picked for the unit uses the word fuck, and considering my taste in poetry, that was quite a challenge.

Friday: Have a quiet night at home alone in preparation for my state teaching licensure test the following morning. Decide another night of Law & Order will kill my soul. Load the mp3 player with music, strap on my shoes, and start walking. Walk for nearly three hours through the dimly lit streets of campus. Fall in love with moon flowers, get whooped at by passersby, but don’t care because the casual stroll feels so damn good. Collapse in bed wincing over a blister on my foot hidden under a very thick callous.

Saturday: Take the biggest bullshit standardized test of my life, the test that tells the state whether I am equipped to take on a teaching position in the public schools. Of 120 questions, only six or so have been explicitly addressed in any of my classes. Thank myself for being a compulsive reader and high on comprehensive skills, even though comprehension and theory aren’t as important, apparently, as knowing the difference between pentameter and tetrameter. We have reference books for a reason. Drool on Ethan’s head.