Later That Same Evening

I'm not much for the late night talk shows--I don't even watch Jon Stewart when he comes on, preferring to let my DVR work its magic. (Not to mention that there have been more occasions than I care to discuss where Jon was--there's no gentle way to say this--a bit of a douche.)

So I really haven't cared too much about the Leno-O'Brien freeforall on NBC; I have better things to worry about than which middle-aged white guy is going to bore me at 11:35 PM. I haven't watched Conan O'Brien since I was in college, and Letterman since I was in high school--and the odd times I have caught Dave since then have just proved that what played well to my 15-year old, kinda-sorta guy self is pretty crappy nowadays.

And as for Leno, his show has always been an unwatchable piece of trash--he turned hard into the gutter back in 1995 with the Lance Ito dancers and has gleefully wallowed there ever since.

But one thing that I have noticed about this whole fiasco is how often the principals have descended to lady-hating and other associated misogynies. I said noticed, not "surprised at": Leno has frequently been a public prick about women, and Dave...well, Dave built a frakking bedroom over his set so that he could not-quite coerce his not-quite interns with not-quite threats about very, very realistically killing any chance of a career in the business.

So no surprise as well, as Liss noted, that Leno is a contemptible misogynistic jerk:

He takes a swipe at Letterman's marriage that, in trying to hit Letterman, sprays collateral buckshot all over Regina Lasko, who is married to Letterman. And that's not a bug of the joke; it's a feature. Leno's the kind of nasty bully who will take aim at another guy in a way that hits his wife, too.

It's a construction that treats Lasko like Letterman's property, which is why this jibe has the same cowardly feel as a guy who keys another guy's car in the dark parking lot of a bar, instead of taking a swing at him.

 But wait! It's not just the principals in this mess, it's also the feakin' commentators:

Now, Seth Myers has always been pretty douchetastic; it's his shtick, and it has been ever since he started co-hosting Weekend Update with Amy Poehler. But for fuck's sake, comparing hosting a TV show to being married to a woman, and the process of changing hosts to divorce...and...and...the whole way it just assumes that women are commodities to be traded, is special even for him, and a further sign of SNL's two-decade decline into pointless wankitude. To think: this was the show that started out with Jane Curtin, Gilda Radner, and Laraine Newman, launched the career of Julia Sweeney, and gave as Tina Fey as well as the aforementioned Amy...well, sigh.

Of course, it's a woman's fault to begin with, because a woman fucked up the Tonight Show 17 years ago.

That woman was the late Helen Kushnick, the woman who had discovered Leno, served as his manager and personal friend for his entire career, and engineered his takeover of Johnny Carson's well worn seat. And right away there were nasty stories about her: she was most notorious for her vindictive policies of shitlisting guests who had dared to appear on Arsenio instead of The Tonight Show. NBC, tired of her bullying ways, fired her after a few months of heading up the gabfest, and Leno sadly had to let his friend go before she destroyed the career she had built.

Or wait! Maybe that's not what happened, mostly because Leno is a huge douche and misogyny is a recreational sport in Hollywood. To wit, from a 1996 EW profile:

Kushnick's story is well-known to those who follow the late-night TV wars. She was portrayed as an abusive tyrant in The Late Shift, Bill Carter's 1994 book about Leno and Letterman, and in last February's HBO movie; and the image was no exaggeration. In the end, many who had been her supporters, like former client Jimmie Walker, and even NBC executives, found her impossible to deal with. Her stepdaughter, Beth Kushnick, 35, still calls her a ''ghastly monster.'' Even her only sibling, Joseph Gorman, 48, had been estranged from her until shortly before her death at age 51.

But what is not so well-known is the story of Kushnick's final years — years spent out of the media eye, years that ended in a kind of redemption and, for her daughter, Sara, 16, in a reconciliation with Leno. ''Maybe she did have to be a bitch to get where she did,'' says Sara, Sam's surviving twin. ''But when she started out, women were supposed to be secretaries. She did things with anger because it was the only way she knew how.''

''They called her a bitch,'' says Mitzi Shore, owner of L.A.'s Comedy Store, ''but if she were a man, she wouldn't be called a bitch. There are managers in town who are 10 times worse than she was and they don't call them bastards.''

 And if you needed any more confirmation about Leno's jerkiness, consider this from the same piece, about  Kushnick's daughter:

She grew up with Leno, called him Uncle Jay, considered his parents her grandparents. ''He came over for dinner the weekend after my mom got fired,'' she says. ''We had chicken wings — we always had chicken wings. I sat on his lap and he said everything would be okay. That was the last time I saw him.''

 And there's another way to look at the Kushnick story, as Rudy Panucci explains in a sweetly vitriolic piece on the whole late night mess:

Kushnick was dying of cancer while Leno was explaining that he had to fire her and ban her from the studio lot because he was shocked, shocked, to discover that she had lied to him about planting the rumors that hounded Carson into early retirement. The truth is, Leno threw his long-time manager and personal friend under the bus when it became clear that The Tonight Show with Jay Leno was a poorly-produced, barely-watchable disaster. After eighteen months of coming in second to Letterman, even though NBC had a strong prime-time line-up, Leno’s manager took the fall, and then the large-chinned wonder let NBC revamp the show to rescue it from cancellation.

So there you have it, folks--the kyriarchy in a nutshell, brought to you by a bunch of rich white guys who are barely even funny. I think I'll just go to bed early.

And Other Stories in Transphobia (Yawn)

Hey, I haven't said anything about David Letterman yet!

I mean, not that there's often much to say about David Letterman, besides he's mostly a jerk. It's, you know, what he's famous for.

But I guess you might have heard about this...



Yeah. OK. Wow, a show hosted by a known jerk (of the douchey, cheating on his wife with interns in a bedroom he had built at the studio just for that purpose kind of way) engages in some cheap-shot transphobia. Yawn. Hand me the remote...

But what's that you say? Speak up, Straw-Reader-I-am-making-up-for-this-piece! Are you saying that Dave at least sort of respectable towards Ms. Sampson? And that the joke is really on sidekick douchebag Kalter? That I should not, you know, get my panties all in a twist about things, you hysterical trann--sorry, you like to be called a transgenderdamajig now, right?

Sorry, Straw Reader, you're wrong! A transgendamajig is a drink, not a gender identity, one of the many fascinating cocktails I dreamed up while vacationing on painkillers in Thailand! But you're also wrong about the joke.

Sure, true to his straightdouche persona, Dave didn't say anything spiteful about Ms. Sanders. (He also called her a transgendered person, not woman. Asshole.) But the joke wasn't on Kalter--it was decidedly on Ms. Sampson.

Because, you see, at heart this was a gay joke. (Amazing! Letterman homophobic too? Whodathunkit?) Kalter is upset because he slept with a "man," not a transgendered woman. At heart, this bit was calling Ms. Sanders a man.

Which is pretty much the definition of transphobia.

I of course, don't watch any of the talk shows myself--I really could care less about the latest vapid anecdote or stupid plug a celebrity comes on to talk about. (And even The Daily Show is wearing thin on me these days.) Instead, when not reading Russian novels in French or French movies in Russian, I watch Monty Python reruns. Because our world is so surreal nowadays that they seem positively normal.

Your RDA of Internalized Misogyny

I don't always follow the Daily Show anymore; there are days when it seems like Jon Stewart has kicked all the lady writers out of the room and lets his dudebros handle all the jokes. But last night's segment on Gretchen Carlson was fantastic:

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Gretchen Carlson Dumbs Down
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Health Care Crisis

If you had doubts about the misogyny of the right wing, the media, and especially the right wing media: put them to rest.

What on earth does it say about this woman's political beliefs that she purposely makes herself look less intelligent in order to be able to speak about them? (Of course, according to Wikipedia her nanny growing up was Michelle Bachmann, so...) And in case you just think that's broadcasting, don't forget that many of her colleagues regularly strut out how smart they are--frequent commentator Karl Rove is admired for his genius, for example--but Ms. Carlson has to pretend to have never accomplished anything intellectual before. Now, maybe that's okay for Michelle Bachmann, who genuinely hasn't done anything noteworthy with her brain; but for goodness' sake, studying at Stanford and Oxford doesn't just happen; neither does playing classical music solos on the violin. Yet one cannot help but feel that the most important qualification for her job--at least in the minds of the heads of the network--was her Miss America title, not her degrees.

But why? Why can't she be smart and beautiful? (And conservative. It's a free country, mostly.) Even if she's the host of a morning show? What on earth is so awful about a woman who can think--what is so terrible that she purposely hides it?

Yes, I know. The kyriarchy. Still, funny how that thing can bite you even when you're not looking.

Hobbyhorses

Here's a quick duck-in to discuss some hobbyhorses of mine--the Polanski debacle, and the Senate filibuster rules! (What, you didn't know I have an obsession with that? Good thing most of you haven't met me in person, I natter on about them a lot.)

First, Jay Smooth does an amazing take down of all the arguments people have been throwing around about why Rapin' Roman should go free or something:



Like a lot of people, I always like Jay Smooth, but that was teh awesome.

(h/t to the fabulous Lena D.)

Next, here's a nifty piece from Gail Collins and everyone's favorite muddle-headed voice of conservative received wisdom, David Brooks, where they talk about the House's recent health care bill. Gail voices one of my particular frustrations with the Senate's arcane rules:

We used to think of the filibuster as a dramatic, once-in-a-blue-moon vehicle that was used only in extreme circumstances, like Jimmy Stewart in “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.” (What I like about that movie, in retrospect, is that Stewart was not standing there, holding the floor all by himself for hour after hour until he collapsed from exhaustion, in order to save puppies or fight unemployment. It was because the evil Claude Rains was trying to destroy his career, and Jimmy had to prove that he was as saintly as ever. It was all about him. So very Senate like.) Or, of course, when the Southerners wanted to stop civil rights legislation.

But now, a minority of senators don’t have to bother to actually keep talking, or take turns talking, or even hang around the chambers to bring progress to a screeching halt. They just declare their intention (it’s the thought that counts) and nothing can go forward without 60 votes.

That’s crazy. If we’re going to have this system, the filibuster should be reserved for matters that can’t be undone later, like important judicial nominations. Or wars. Not normal domestic policy, no matter how large.

 I so 100% agree with that. It would be a will of the people moment--if you've judged opinion correctly, then people will support your principled stand against oppressive legislation; otherwise, they'll think you're a bunch of obstructionist clowns.

Honestly, I can't see why the Democrats wouldn't go for this--can you imagine the glee in Chuck Shumer's face as he goes on talk show after talk show to run the same damn clip of Orrin Hatch reading the AMA membership lists into the Congressional Record? It would be great.

Gail then goes on to attack Joe Lieberman, which is always good fun. She doesn't, however, mention the single largest problem with the health care bills: the evil Stupak-Pitts amendment, the greatest rollback in women's health and reproductive rights in over a quarter of a century, and something Ms. Collins might presumably be interested in.

Unless, of course, she thinks it's just "politics" instead of "fundamental rights."

Or maybe she was afraid of offending Bobo's delicate sensibilities. WEV.

Monday Media Watch, Edizione Internazionale

O HAI AGAIN, DUCKS! And yes, this really is a Monday Media Watch--I get in just under the wire by virtue of being in California.And being in California, I decided to put aside my usual Monday Media Watch sparring opponent--the New York Times--and try one of the local papers for a change.

So today's target: The San Francisco Comical, er, Chronicle, and specifically this article on Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi! Take it away, Joel Brinkley:

So Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi is shaming his nation. That's what pundits and commentators are saying as the Italian courts pursue charges of bribery, corruption and tax evasion. But by far the most visible allegations revolve around his sexual escapades.

But before we all clamber aboard that bandwagon, is it possible we misunderstand?

 Hey, that is one promising start, Mr. Brinkley--because certainly lady people have noticed a disturbing trend to judge us by our sexual escapades rather than the substance of our scandals! In fact, we often get judged on our "sexual escapades" in the absence of any other "scandal"! Let's take a look at Mr. Berlusconi's issues:

After all, as the prime minister explained at a recent news conference, "to my male colleagues present here I say: Raise your hand and tell me you don't think it's nice to rest your eyes on pleasant and enjoyable feminine presences - rather than sitting at a table with people lacking aesthetic qualities."

Oh. I see. I think I can diagnose these difficulties. He's a douche.

Now, "pleasant and enjoyable feminine presences" by its very nature is enough to make me do a Radfem Stomp. But for the sake of my blood pressure, and the possible edification of a dudebro who stumbles upon this site, let's unpack that: first, only feminine presences are pleasant and enjoyable--this comes as a surprise not only to big ol' bisexual me, who has been known to find masculine presences both pleasant and mm-hmm-hmm enjoyable, but it also pretends that there are no men who might agree with Your Duckmistress about said pleasant and enjoyable masculinities.

But let's dig, Starbuck, to the little lower layer: you can't just utter a sentence like that without it seeping context. And the context for it is that for men in power, women have far too long been seen only as, well, pleasant decoration and the occasional useful sex object. One would presume, just from his saying such an asinine thing, that a room with Chancellor Merkel, Baroness Thatcher, Secretary Clinton, and Secretary Albright would not be one of "pleasant and enjoyable" presences, despite all the named presences being female. So to sum up, on the Berlusconi scorecard of douchiness:

Female Heterosexual Desire....................................................Inconsequential
Male Homosexual Desire........................................................Invisible
"Plesant and Enjoyable" Males................................................Ignorable
Women Who Aren't "Pleasant and Enjoyable"
by virtue of Silvio's Lust..........................................................Inconceivable

Okay, I know what you're saying: I'm making some leaps of logic here. Maybe his (very debatable) Excellency isn't a douchebag--maybe he's just a man of his time, well-meaning but saying douchey stuff. Allowances should be made, etc. And maybe you're right; maybe I haven't given him a fair shake...

Certainly that must be why he showed up at 18-year-old Noemi Letizia's birthday party last spring. It's probably a coincidence that Letizia, a model, poses for provocative photos in her underwear. That couldn't have been why he gave her a nice birthday present, a gold necklace worth about $10,000.

Berlusconi's wife was angry. She left him, saying his visit to the birthday party "really surprised me because he has never come to the 18th birthday parties of any of our three children, despite being invited."

Come, now. Berlusconi is the prime minister of Italy. He has a busy schedule. Even a young Noemi Letizia understands that. "I am in awe of him," she told an interviewer. "He calls me, and I go to him." But only "if he has time."

 Right. Well-meaning guy who can make time for underwear models but not his own children...como si dice "douchebag" in italiano?

But let's not stop at Italian heads of state--there's plenty of members of the doucheoisie right here at home!

For example, two newspapers, Corriere della Sera and La Stampa, recently reported that [businessman Giampaolo] Tarantini told police he lined up 30 women for Berlusconi and his friends, "if the need arose," and brought them to 18 parties in Berlusconi's homes in Rome and Sardinia in 2008 and 2009.

"I wanted to meet Premier Berlusconi, and to that end I spent a lot to get into contact with him, knowing his taste for women," Tarantini told the papers. "I merely accompanied to his house young women who I introduced as my friends while keeping quiet about the fact that I sometimes paid them."

You'd assume that all of the press coverage, all of that back-room business, would spell Berlusconi's political demise. Think of Gov. Mark Sanford of South Carolina and Sen. John Ensign of Nevada, both of whom are accused of covering up extramarital affairs. The South Carolina legislature is considering impeachment, and Ensign's re-election prospects in 2012 appear to be slim.

What about Berlusconi? Do we misunderstand? If the public opinion polls are an indicator, we do. His popularity among Italians, in recent polls, stands at 63 percent - a figure any chief of state would envy.

What do Italians know that we don't?

Well, Joel, first off, maybe Americans do know something about this--President Clinton had approval ratings at or near the 60% range all during l'affaire Lewinsky. And you conveniently ignore the fact that in the case of Urbin and Sanford, a huge part of the scandal is the hypocrisy of a candidate who deliberately cultivates an image of being squeaky clean and virginal (outside the God-sanctioned marriage bed) being caught metaphorically with their trousers down. Neither Berlusconi nor Clinton built their image around their presumed superior morals, and more importantly neither routinely made political hay out of condemning other people for their presumed moral failings.

And of course the article ignores, or minimizes, the fact that Berlusconi is the richest man in Italy, someone who routinely throws bushels of money into his various political campaigns (he owns his own political party) and has been mired in controversy, legal actions, and charges of criminality pretty much from the inception of his political career. With Berlusconi, his sexist actions are just the tip of the iceberg. Which could have been an interesting jumping off point for an article that might look at how hidebound belief in personal superiority (such as sexism) might also be revealed in other aspects of someone's personal dealings (such as rampant corruption from within the government.) But that wouldn't be as fun to write as a "Europe good sexy fun, America evil Puritanical morals police" article, which continues to get written whenever any scandal remotely sniffing of sex heaves into view--witness how often people have taken this precise tack over the Polansky arrest, even when European opinion is hardly neither uniform nor even close to the perception of the writer.

And besides--writing about how a European leader who is both sexist and corrupt, and whose sexism reveals things about his corruption, might force you to consider the same things about American leaders--and then who would invite you to the cool parties, or give you op-eds in local papers?

Monster Rat: A Gallery of the Rape Culture

Hiram Monserrate is a douchebag.

Need proof? Consider the lovely legislative record of the freshman NYS senator: he not once, but twice threatened to caucus against his own party--which for the first time in over 40 years was in control of the upper house of the New York State legislature and had an ambitious progressive and reform agenda, including legalizing gay marriage--making good on his threat the second time and throwing the entire state government into chaos (and costing the taxpayers billions of dollars.) And both times, he couldn't even stand steadfast to his own dirtbag principles (well, except the most important: look out for Hiram first)--he turned coat on his turncoat companions and slunk back to the Democrats.

And that's not even what earned him his nickname: Monster Rat.

That comes as a result of the "incident" of December 19th, 2009. Monserrate brought his girlfriend, Karla Giraldo, to an emergency room over a half hour from his apartment. She had been slashed down to the bone by a broken glass. Monserrate claimed he had tripped in a darkened room and accidentally smashed the glass into her face. Giraldo disagreed, although she would later recant and say that his version was correct. But that night she called him "crazy" and said, "I can't believe he did this to me!"

It seems that he had been driven into a jealous rage by finding another man's business card in her purse. A security camera would later show images of him beating her in the hallway, dragging her by her hair. She tried to get away from him but nobody opened their door.

He was indicted, but once Giraldo changed her story, it proved impossible to convict him of anything but misdemeanor assault.

Now, I can leave it there: yet another case of a powerful man using his privilege to abuse a woman and get away with it--as Joanna Molloy did in the New York Daily News:

In the hallway after the verdict, women in jeans and lawyers' suits clustered in groups and shook their heads. "This sets women's rights back a long time," said one female court officer.

Forgive us if we find the couple's story the most incredible coincidence since Thomas Jefferson and John Adams died on the same Fourth of July.

Erlbaum did find Monserrate - who courthouse wags have been calling Monster Rat - guilty of reckless assault, for forcibly dragging Giraldo out of the apartment in a scene caught on videotape.

It's a misdemeanor, so Monserrate gets to keep his job in Albany.

But what I find fascinating (read: sickening, disgusting, makes me quiver with rage) is the way that the Daily News' cartoonist Bill Bramhall used images of Monserrate and a generic woman (who never looked like his actual victim, Karla Giraldo) as a commentary on politics, pop culture, his job as a cartoonist--everything, in fact, except violence against women.

So for your enjoyment (read: rage), here is a gallery of Bramhall's cartoons, which are disturbing and triggering enough that (in a Second Awakening first) I present them after the jump.

Today in Tales From the Douchoisie

Hello, Ducks! Can you guess what Google Reader threw up in my lap today? Did you guess Tucker Max? I didn't, which I guess is what makes it sexy...or something; I'm not up on my fratire. But let's check in, courtesy of The Frisky...

Oh, what? The fratire thing?

The Frisky: Gawker deemed you a “ham-fisted frat s***.” The feminist bloggers hate you. You’ve been called a “professional sexist,” “anti-feminist,” and a “promoter of rape culture.” The New York Times labeled your prose “fratire.”

TM: Hold on now. The New York Times was not insulting me when they called my writing “fratire.” In fact, they said I invented a new literary genre, one that defines a whole new generation of writers and readers. How is that an insult?

Yes, the brave new world of Two and a Half Men, Maxim, and Ketel One ads:


I think that this isn't exactly a new genre...unless you think that the needs, feelings, and emotions of young white dudes has been an underserved artistic destination for these last, um, 2,000 years.

Sigh. On y va...

The Frisky: Are you a “misogynist”?

TM: Complete bulls**t. A misogynist is someone who hates women. I love women. Everything I do is to impress women. Without women, I wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning. Plus, half my fans are women. The people who call me misogynist are the ones who haven’t read or engaged my writing, and are just looking for a bogeyman to attack.

The Frisky: In your stories, women throw themselves at you. How many women have you slept with, and what advice do you give men on women?

TM: I have no idea how many women I’ve slept with. Probably more than 300, probably less than 600? I don’t keep count, because that would be super creepy.

Some women absolutely do throw themselves at me. I think part of it is that there are always some women that are into rich, famous, and powerful men. Then there is the artist aspect. Half my fans are women, and they are fans because they love my writing. There is the masculine thing; I am one of the few people in media who is unapologetically masculine, and that’s very attractive to some women.

You know? He's not a misogynist. Just a narcissist living in his own, private world where women flock to him to give him blowjobs, sexy girls (the only real girls: see Amanda Hess' brilliant "Anatomy of a Tucker Max Joke") never think he's being insulting to him, and "I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell" is...

...an awesome and groundbreaking movie, and great art always finds its way.

Box Office total, after two weeks: $960,425.

But wait! Ol' Tuck has an excuse for that!

It may not hit at the theater, but it will hit on DVD, and hit big.

Yeah, you and Joe Francis, amigo. Funny the company you keep.

You Win Some, But You Lose Many, Many Others...

Double header of media mayhem!

First, the good news:

Roman Polanski lost the first round yesterday in his battle to avoid extradition to the US for having sex with a 13-year-old girl in 1977.

Already locked in a Zurich cell for the last dozen days, Polanski learned that he will remain incarcerated for an extended period after the Swiss Justice Ministry rejected his plea to be released from custody.

Swiss authorities said they feared he might leave the country if released. The director of film classics such as Rosemary's Baby and Chinatown has been wanted by US authorities since fleeing sentencing 31 years ago.

"We continue to be of the opinion that there is a high risk of flight," said the ministry spokesman Folco Galli.

He said the threat was too great for the government to accept bail or other security measures in exchange for the release.

Oh, and by the way? If you had any doubt remaining that this guy wasn't a megadouche? Or that he had somehow made some recompense? Feast your eyes on this:

Roman Polanskiwas to pay at least $500,000 to Samantha Geimer, the victim in his 1977 child-sex case, under a settlement in a civil suit Ms. Geimer later filed against him, The Los Angeles Times reported over the weekend. Mr. Polanski, right, agreed to the settlement in 1993, but as of 1996 had not made the payment, according to court records provided to the news media in response to requests for access to the old case. It remained unclear whether the settlement was ever paid, though Ms. Geimer was still trying to collect as of 1996, by which time accrued interest had pushed the amount to more than $600,000, according to the court records.

Sheesh.

But don't worry, the news can always get worse...especially when it's the NY Daily News:

A shocked judge demanded prosecutors explain why they asked him to allow a prominent Manhattan therapist to return to the home where she's accused of
slashing her husband Tuesday.

"I'm going to send her home to a 79-year-old husband when it's alleged she stabbed him with knives?" Manhattan Criminal Court Judge Anthony Ferrara asked prosecutors.

"You're assuring me he's going to be safe, that this piece of paper is going to protect him from knives?" he said, after granting a "limited" order of protection allowing Joyce Poster-Lederman, 64, to return home.

Funny how people never seem to worry that it's "just a piece of paper" when it's a woman who's being covered by it. Don't believe me? Check out this site about orders of protection in New York:

You have been arrested because you got into a fight with your girlfriend or wife. Maybe there is a reasonable explanation or your girlfriend does not want to "press charges." Unfortunately, at this stage it doesn't matter. You are now before a judge and whether or not you are released, you must completely stay away from the complainant.
[...]
A "full" order of protection or "restraining order" is a an order by the court preventing you from having any contact at all with the complainant or alleged victim of a crime. This could mean that if you live together you may not enter the home. Alternatively, the police will arrange a time for you to enter and get some of your things. You will not be able to call the complainant or talk to the complainant even if she calls you. The burden placed upon you is quite severe.

Yeah. Imagine, not being able to see the woman--please note, it was assumed to be a woman who was the victim--because you beat her up! Oh, the humanity!

Which is kind what the order is trying to protect, ya know?

Monday Media Watch: Oh NYT, You've Done It Again

Oh, New York Times! You mixed-up kid! When you're not panting all over the latest Dan Brown novel (for shame, Janet Maslin, for shame) you're punting muddle-headed essays on gender on us.

Let's take a look-see...hm, they talk about Caster Semenya--hey, join the club! I used the controversy to talk about gender issues too, seeing as gender and appearances were a major part of my life. What's Peggy Orenstein got to say?

I had my own reasons to be fascinated by Semenya’s story: I related to it. Not directly — I mean, no one has ever called my biological sex into question. No one, that is, except for me. After my breast-cancer diagnosis at age 35, I was told I almost certainly had a genetic mutation that predisposed me to reproductive cancers. The way I could best reduce my risk would be to surgically remove both of my breasts and my ovaries. In other words, to amputate healthy body parts. But not just any parts: the ones associated in the most primal way with reproduction, sexuality, with my sense of myself as female.

I...see.

No, wait, I don't.

I mean the whole point of the Caster Semenya story is how people question your gender, right? Now, not to diminish Ms. Orenstein's pain here. I am well aware of how terrible cancer, breast cancer, and the surgeries proposed are, and how not having breasts or a womb or ovaries can make you question your femininity and your sense of yourself as female, as a woman. (I'm rather intimately acquainted with that, actually.)

But like they say over here, quoi?

So I began to fret: without breasts or hormone-producing ovaries, what would the difference be, say, between myself and a pre-op female-to-male transsexual? Other than that my situation was involuntary? That seemed an awfully thin straw on which to base my entire sense of womanhood. What, precisely, made me a girl anyway? Who got to decide? How much did it matter?

Um...the difference would be that you thought of yourself as a woman? Ya think? And waitaminute--involuntary? Are you kidding me?

I guess you can say that starting treatment to transition is voluntary--I mean, you have to decide to do it; nobody makes you. But the being trans part isn't.

Oh, goodness, ducks, there's a lot to pick apart in the essay--like when she says biology is destiny! Sorta! But it totes shouldn't mean anything to women's rights or stuff (which seems pretty baffling.) She does inch close to something important though:

According to Sheri Berenbaum, a professor of psychology and pediatrics at Penn State who studies children with disorders of sex development, even people with ambiguous biology tend to identify as male or female, though what motivates that decision remains unclear. “People’s hormones matter,” she said, “but something about their rearing matters too. What about it, though, no one really knows.”

There is something mysterious at work, then, that makes us who we are, something internally driven. Maybe it’s about our innate need to categorize the world around us. Maybe it arises from — or gives rise to — languages that don’t allow for neutrality. My guess, however, is that it’s deeper than that, something that transcends objectivity, defies explanation.

Now, that I can agree with. I mean, that's the story of my life, right? Except that in my case, my sense of gender was at odds with my body. I didn't choose a middle way or androgyny or something like that (though people do and that's just as valid as my own gender), but instead was impelled to think of myself as female. Why? And why is it so hard for some people to accept that about me--why do people cling to narrowly construed models of gender? What is it in human culture or the human brain that does that? These are good questions! Ms. Orenstein, maybe you'll leave me on a good note!

I know that my sex could never really be changed by any surgeon’s scalpel.

Thunk. Boy it's a good thing my desk is 5,000 miles away.

I mean, I know what she means, and it actually follows the same course as my own thinking: my gender was female before, during, and after my surgery. But sheesh, lady, for TS and intersex people, surgery can be Kind. Of. Important.

And that's just it. She wants to talk about gender, she even brings in the example of a famous person who is intersex (or presumed to be, thanks to the leaks of evil, evil people), but does she engage with any intersex or transsexual people, who sure as hell know a lot about intrinsic gender identity?

Fuck no.

People get all in an uproar, it seems lately, about the word cis as opposed to trans. (Right now on a message board I still read we're having our latest battle about it, a three-way fight between cis folks who don't want the word applied to them, trans folks who want it applied in the neutral and descriptive way, and other trans folks who oppose its use and want to be nice in hope of getting a cookie from the cis folks.) But an article like this shows exactly why we need to have a word like this: because the privilege of not only never wondering about your gender identity, but never needing to know anything about people who have, is astonishing and smothering. So many of the questions Ms. Orenstein ponders have been batted around for years. There's research, books, testimonials, diatribes, and even blogs.

There were answers. But privilege deafened her to them.

Monday Media Watch

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Fruitless

Welcome back, ducks. You know, when you're in the blog business, one of the things you do when casting around for a post is to comment on another blog. It's all part of the content-creation racket.

Yesterday I found out that even famous columnists like David Brooks do that:

Every day, I check a blog called Marginal Revolution, which is famous for its erudite authors, Tyler Cowen and Alex Tabarrok, and its intelligent contributors. Last week, one of those contributors asked a question that is fantastical but thought-provoking: What would happen if a freak solar event sterilized the people on the half of the earth that happened to be facing the sun?

Wow. OK, I've read science fiction, some of the post-apocalyptic variety, and that's a familiar enough scenario. An interesting space of speculation. Let's see what Mr. Brooks comes up with:

If you take an individualistic view of the world, not much would happen immediately. [...] People would still have an incentive to go to work, pay off their bills and educate the children who were already with us. For 20 years, there would still be workers flowing into the labor force. Immigrants from the other side of the earth could eventually surge into the areas losing population. If anything, the mass-sterilization might reduce the environmental strain on the planet. People might focus on living for the moment, valuing the here and now.

Hey, that makes sense! After all, plenty of people don't want kids anyway, so I'm sure that...oh, wait, there's more:

But, of course, we don’t lead individualistic lives.

I sense a sermon coming on...

Material conditions do not drive history.

Unless you're a Marxist! Or, you know, poor.

People live in a compact between the dead, the living and the unborn, and the value of the thought experiment is that it reminds us of the power posterity holds over our lives. If, say, the Western Hemisphere were sterilized, there would soon be a cataclysmic spiritual crisis. Both Judaism and Christianity are promise-centered faiths. They are based on narratives that lead from Genesis through progressive revelation to a glorious culmination.

Of course, both those religions believe in a culmination where people won't have kids anymore, but that seems to be besides the point! The point is, uh...crypto-racism?

Some people might try to perpetuate their society by recruiting people from the fertile half of the earth. But that wouldn’t work. Immigration is the painful process of leaving behind one culture and way of living so that your children and children’s children can enjoy a different future. No one would be willing to undertake that traumatic process in order to move from a society that was reproducing to a society that was fading. There wouldn’t be the generations required to assimilate immigrants. A sterile culture could not thrive and, thus, could not inspire assimilation.

This makes sense because...because...because America isn't a nation founded on immigration! No, wait. Because there wouldn't be any bountiful and fertile white people around to assimilate people! Or something. I have no idea; I thought the beauty of America was that it was supposed to be an idea each generation reinvents for itself--that the ideals of the American republic were supposed to be available for all humankind. But maybe it's like baseball, you can't really get it unless you were born here.

Or Taiwan.

Now, the thing is, I know something about posterity and sterilization. Because, you see, I'll never reproduce.

I didn't say, I'll never have children, because I don't know that; maybe someday I might adopt, or become a parent in one of the many ways that don't involve my own DNA. But the traditional way is closed to me, as part of my GRS.

Some trans women freeze their sperm before they have the surgery, but I wasn't one of them. Even when I was married, I was extremely ambivalent about having children, and since I'm primarily attracted to men these days, it didn't seem all that important to have my own genetic material lying around. So I didn't bother, and it mostly doesn't bother me now.

There was a point, not long after I got back from Thailand, when I did feel a twinge of regret over not being able to let my genes carry on after me; I like my genes, I think they're a good mix, and it did seem a bit of a shame to not be able to do so. But that passed, and I've not felt that twinge since.

And you know what? I carry on just fine, even knowing that no part of me (except this blog, of course) will carry on after I'm gone. I still plan for the future, still make my plans, still am excited and engaged by life. And while yes, I have a niece who is related to me, I think I'd feel the same whether or not she existed or whether or not she was adopted; if I have a compact with the future, it is with the future of humanity as a whole, not my own personal bloodline.

Maybe that makes me odd. I don't know; but of my four closest female friends, only one of them wants children, and I've met a bunch of other people who are childless by choice in my travels. And somehow they go on living life just fine.

Maybe mass sterilization would change how I and the others feel; I don't really know, though it's interesting to speculate about it. But somehow I don't think it would mean the end of the world or even the end of America, given the number of people I've met who've adopted children from other parts of the world.

Within weeks, in other words, everything would break down and society would be unrecognizable. The scenario is unrelievedly grim. An individual who does not have children still contributes fully to the future of society. But when a society doesn’t reproduce there is nothing left to contribute to.

Except, you know, the future. Even if it doesn't look exactly like you.

ETA: The comments on the Times' site are fascinating. Some folks seem to feel that Brooks is writing about the declining white birthrate in the U.S.; others call him out for not seeing (or purposely ignoring) the displacement of the American First Nations by the European invaders; others call him out on his weird take on Christianity; and many just think he's being ludicrous.

O Brave New World, That Has Such....No Men In It

Greetings, Ducks! As many of you may have guessed by now, this is a blog about gender. (Well, and privilege. Primarily privilege. In fact, when I renamed it, I should have just gone with "Privilege Privilege Privilege...blah blah blah, Privilege!"--but that would have been an even worse url.) As it turns out, however, soon I may need to stop writing here--because my work will have been done!

That's right, ducks--it seems that scientists have created synthetic sperm! And that can mean just one thing:

Synthetic sperm’ from stem cells raises hope for male infertility

Wait, no, that's not it! (Though wow, I'd never guess that the first take on this would be how it could benefit men.) No, what everyone is talking about is this:

Synthetic sperm brings mad feminist dream a step closer

The idiotic internet blather following the creation of artificial human sperm evokes the writings of mad feminists who dreamed of a world without men.

Now, let us leave for the moment that there are plenty of women and feminists (and even a lot of people who are both) who like men, just not how so many men behave. (Because of, you know, the oppression.) Actually, don't leave that, because that's the whole fucking point: it's not exactly a mainline feminist viewpoint to advocate for the genocide of one half the human species, except in the mind of Neil Lyndon. (Hint: Maureen Dowd--Maureen Dowd--isn't exactly an unimpeachable source for your "feminists hate men and want to get rid of them" argument.)

I mean, this is so Old School, so "bra-burning feminist hippies" stuff--I'd almost expect to see a Gloria Steinem reference.

...et voila:

Q: What do you think 21st-century feminism looks like?

It looks like you. It looks like each self-respecting women in the 21st century. It's not for me to define; the message of feminism is that each of us, as female human beings, define ourselves. There are some generalities that you can see. It's much more international, I'm happy to say. I think clearly most of the country now understands that women can do what men can do; the problem is that they don't understand that men can do what women can do, which as I was saying, is the reason why women still suffer from having two jobs

Now, I've been reading bell hooks a lot lately, so I'm not such a huge fan of Steinem and some of the other more prominent Second Wave leaders who focused their attention almost completely on the issues of white, middle-class women. Still, the comments section is painful:

Can we have dismissiveness?

A broad with a narrow mind...
Shouldn't they call themselves "masculinists"? Seems more appropriate.

Mrs. Steinem, please exit stage left...
Thanks.

If you really want to have an honest, cerebral look into a 'real feminist's' mind you should google...Melinda Jelliby
(warning: don't)

Howabout sexist fauxgressiveness?

You poor saps just can't take the thought of a woman being smarter than you. I would think you would be used to it, judging from your comments I would say just about everyone above the age of three is smarter than you. Its one thing to be stupid, its another to revel in your stupidity. This guy thinks Gloria is a complete dish and always has been.

Just plain sexism?

woof!

Gloria Stinem is some kind of gal }:>

Aaah, Gloria! You're still hot but you're no Sarah Palin. Now that's a "self-respecting" woman!

Bonus round: a Jane Fonda reference?

I won't take any gratuitous personal attacks on this woman even though she is nothing more than a mouthpiece for flowery quips and idioms from some 60's hippie manifesto (which started decades prior to the 60's actually).

I honestly look at Gloria Steinem, Jane Fonda and their contemporaries (sp?) today as ironically exploited and in no way empowered whatsoever.

BINGO! What'd I win?

You know, after all that, maybe I'm changing my mind, and we really should look into this world without men thing--I wonder what it would be like:

And why would any of us want a world with no men anyway? Who would carry our heavy luggage up the stairs after getting home from a vacation? After the jump, 15 things we’d miss about men if they ever became extinct.

1. Their 5 o’clock shadow.
2. Intercourse and outercourse.
3. How cute and vulnerable they look first thing in the morning.
4. The way they reassure us we’re nothing like our mothers.
5. Their ability to reach the high shelves at the grocery store.
6. Taking it like a man when we have a PMS outburst.
7. Their cute little nicknames for us.
8. Reassuring us we’re nothing like the bitches their friends date.
9. How well they lie about the size of our ass in our skinny jeans.
10. How they always know where all the wires go.
11. The way they look in a suit.
12. How good they are at killing the bugs.
13. And installing the AC window unit.
14. The sound of their voice in the dark wishing us “good night.”
15. The way they look holding a baby.

Ah, fuckit. Let's just skip to the whole life after men and women thing then; the planet will thank us.

Baron Cohen: Glorious Privileges For Amusement Of Elites

I can't say that I'm a Sacha Baron Cohen fan. (Now, Simon Baron-Cohen, I can totes get behind.) My niece liked his song in Madagascar, I've probably seen Ali G a few times, and other than that I've been pretty much indifferent to him.

But that hasn't been much of an option of late, thanks to this:



A lot of people--led by Liss over at Shakesville--have talked about the, oh, FAIL risk inherent about using homophobic humor to expose...homophobia. Hell, even the New York Times--not my usual stop for cutting-edge progressivism--says as much in a well-balanced review by A.O. Scott:

The film demonstrates, at a fairly high level of conceptual sophistication, that lampooning homophobia has become an acceptable, almost unavoidable form of homophobic humor, or at least a way of licensing gags that would otherwise be out of bounds. An early sequence that graphically shows Brüno and his lover exerting themselves in various positions and with the assistance of, among other things, a Champagne bottle, a fire extinguisher and a specially modified exercise machine, derives its humor less from the extremity of their practices than from the assumption that sex between men is inherently weird, gross and comical. The same sequence with a man and a woman — or for that matter, two women — would play, most likely on the Internet rather than in the multiplex, as inventive, moderately kinky pornography rather than as icky, gasp-inducing farce.

Exactly.

However, here at The Second Awakening, we don't just do analysis: we do analysis of privilege! (It says so somewhere in the mission statement, which I think The Grey Mouser is using as a pillow right now.) So what can we say about the privilege used, abused, hidden, and sickeningly visible in Baron Cohen's work? And is that the reason why no matter what, you always feel vaguely icky watching it?

To answer the last first: Yes. Yes it is.

The thing is, both Borat and Bruno¹ are humor for privileged people. They let you, the privileged person, laugh at other people who aren't as privileged as you. To make it funny, of course, we use multiple axes of privilege: so Borat spent a lot of time lampooning white people of different educational or cultural backgrounds. (Most egregiously, the Romanian villagers who provided the backdrop for the movie's early scenes.)

The way that both these movies mitigate any privilege guilt you might have about laughing at other people (please, please tell me you have privilege guilt for laughing--not everybody does) is by selling you the ultimate privilege: you're in on it. Unlike the hapless buffoons of the movie's universe, you get the joke. You know all along that Borat isn't really a Kazakh journalist, that Bruno isn't really a gay fashionista--that Baron Cohen is using these guises to draw people out of their shell and show their true colors. Which are inevitably ugly or laughable. As A.O. Scott says,

They — Americans just like you but of course nothing like you — were exposed as bigots either for being outraged at the things Borat did or for politely agreeing with his misogynistic, anti-Semitic or otherwise objectionable statements. Any twinge of guilt you might have felt on behalf of the actual glorious nation of Kazakhstan was quickly soothed by the spectacle of American intolerance and idiocy that “Borat” purported to expose.

That's not to say that this isn't a time honored technique (Jonathan Swift, for example, used it to great effect.) But I have to feel that there's a fundamental difference in, say, attacking the powerful by pointing out they were essentially eating the children of the Irish by oppressing them into starvation, and getting a laugh out of a few ordinary citizens who aren't hip that they're being lampooned.

I mean, it's not like racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia (my personal fave) or anti-religious bigotry needs much encouragement to come out; nor is it likely that using a horrid charicature of gayness to draw people into overt homophobia is going to do much to alleviate homophobia. Instead, it's more oppression masquerading as liberation; a joke for those "good" enough to be in on it, a joke on everyone else.

'Cause not having privilege is hysterical. For them who have it.



====================================================================
^1. I refuse to use the idiotic umlauts; that's not how you spell the name in German. And you don't spell "Borat" that way in Cyrillic, which is odd given that the DVD box actually spelled out the English title in Cyrillic characters. Yes, I am a hopeless pedant; you knew that already.

The Balcony Is Closed

You probably think your humble blogeuse never does anything but write proposals and gather outrage for her next post. On the contrary! Like many denizens of A Great American Metropolis, I occasionally venture out of the apartment to do--stuff. Like eat Chinese food! Or go to movies!

On Friday I went out to see a festival of independent short films. (For independent read student.) Normally, an evening screening films is a pleasure to me--why, I've even sat through Robert Altman double-features and left feeling elated. (Confused and strangely unconfined by narrative, but elated.) But last night set my teeth on edge, because I saw a strong thread running through all the films, none of which, I should mention, were directed by women. What could that thread be? Read on to find out! (But, as Sady would say, Hint: THE MISOGYNY.)

Yes, I'm afraid that most of these films were either lady absent or lady silencing or, everybody's favorite, lady objectifying. Not all the films--for example, there was a cute little Canadian Star Trek parody that was not only funny, but had a woman in it--a woman with actual lines! (This lovely young woman, incidentally, was the only woman in the entire evening's show that had a direct line of dialogue.) There was a disturbing yet amusing time travel movie that definitely broke new ground in the genre. And there was an amusingly dark animated short about the perils of the workplace.

The rest though, primed me to gun up the outrage engines. There were two films that were montages of film clips that were cleverly edited but didn't seem to have a real point of view. "The Control Master" was definitely a technical feat--the animation was taken from clip art advertising from the '50s--but began with the villain stalking the heroine and turning her into a dog. Lovely. The last film before the intermission was a mash-up of video games and afternoon cartoon shows like "She-Ra" that had one good sight gag--the invaders from space were, well, Space Invaders--but mostly seemed to be an excuse to film a heroine in her panties, from behind. Oh, and the reason she and the villain are fighting is because she messed around on him (even if he is a giant cube.)

The film that really set me off, though, was "Funny Guy." The premise began amusingly enough--a guy telling horribly bad jokes to his bathroom mirror--and our realization that he is a very disturbed young man is--disturbing. So, a good start, if not exactly the most original place to go.

It's where director Frank Rinaldi takes this that provoked my strong reaction. It turns out that our disturbed young man wants to talk to a prostitute who hangs out across a highway from him, but is too shy. (This is the only woman in the entire film--a prostitute with no lines. Sigh.) He later chases the girl down to confront her, tracks down one of her johns and gets into a confrontation with him, and then later ambushes the john and takes him back to his bathroom. The filmaking in this sequence is tense--we sense imminent violence, especially when our abductor reveals the hideous black fungus (a metaphor for his own disease?) growing on the shower stall walls--with a human ear embedded in it.

Yet this scene deflates, and we next see abductor and abductee share a moment sniffing paint thinner. The john agrees to try and get the woman to talk to his abductor, but when he shyly hides from them the john takes off with her.

The film is disturbing all right, but what disturbed me was that it was ultimately another piece of stalker porn; that once again I had to watch a misunderstood guy who goes nuts and finds the only way to connect to women is to hunt them down. His rage over her "rejection" of him--that seems to be the way he interprets her going off with the other john--echoes nothing but the normal sense of entitlement to women's bodies that most men feel.

The movie isn't bad, per se--technically, it's an accomplished student film. I'm just annoyed that these techniques are put in the service of yet another story where women are stalked, fought over, shared between men, and ultimately purely adjuncts to the plot--a motivating factor, a force of nature, incapable of speaking or acting in their own defence (it's telling that she's a prostitute, and thus not even allowed to choose her own sexual partners.) I spoke to the director after the movie--it turns out, ducks, that he was sitting right in front of me--and talked to him about my concerns. (No blood was shed.)

I expect a little misogyny when I go to the movies, because I expect a little misogyny when I step out of my apartment, turn on the tv, or read the newspaper. There are even great films which are profoundly misogynistic--for example, "Taxi Driver." Scocese's misanthropic and misogynistic gem from 1976--made at a time when he was battling a cocaine addiction, going through a horrific divorce, and basically "hated women"--remains a tough film to watch. Yet the women in that film--idealized, paternalized, and ultimately hated by DeNiro's Travis Bickle--retain their own agency--they are people, and make choices. "Taxi Driver's" awful force of misogyny is only part of its awful force, period--although it is women who inspire Travis' acts of violence, it's also clear that these actions are only possible because of a deeper instability in his character.

It might be a lot to ask a student director to approach the skill of a Scorsese; but on the other hand, it's thirty-three years later, and not exactly difficult to learn about how women feel about, well, anything. That it remains true that the easiest way to give a disturbed character motivation is to have him rejected by a woman is yet another depressing indication of the institutionalized misogyny of your liberal media.

And it's sad that in a city as liberal and progressive as A Great American Metropolis that the only way to ensure that you will see an independent film directed by a woman is to go to a woman's film festival.

Annie Get Your...

Randy Cohen, who writes the "Ethicist" column for the NY Times, has a modest proposal: keep men from openly carrying guns as we do today (in most places, ducks, in most places) but require women to carry them. It's mostly facetious, but he does touch on the usual statistics: 90% of all gun violence is committed by men, and strangely (but rightly) hits on Susan Faludi's observation (without referencing her, though) that occupations once considered high-status when dominated by men (secretary, frex) become low-status when dominated by women. (Ah, that's the answer to the American epidemic of gun violence: sexism! The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems!)

The comments are more interesting. The old canard (ahem) about guns solving the problems of 2,00,000 violent crimes. (Really? Think it's that easy to shoot someone? See, for example, this, as well as S.L.A Marshall's contention that only 25% of soldiers fired their weapons during WWII.) A surprising number of women write about their experiences owning weapons. One woman hopes that this will lead to guns in designer colors. Then there's this charming passage:

Before you recommend to arm all womyn and unleash them on mankind please remember the import of the following two words:

Premenstrual Syndrome (PMS).

Ya know, folks, I happen to have pretty first-hand experience in the differences between male and female hormones, even if I don't and won't ever cycle. But given the disparity between male and female violent crimes, given how often men come to blows over minor disagreements (I saw two guys nearly get into a fight just yesterday--in the middle of the sidewalk. At 9 AM.), given how the culture of masculinity celebrates testosterone-soaked rage--why is it always women who are supposed to have the hormone problem? Don't they also say that women are better at social networking? Shouldn't we be telling guys to stay out of politics because their brains just can't deal with the complexities of international diplomacy? Shouldn't we tut-tut men for getting into a fight over who was the better hitter in 1939 by saying that they shouldn't let their hormones get the better of them?

Yeah, probably we should. If arming women helps to bring that about--well, Mr. Cohen, sign me up.

Don't Scream

Good morning, ducks! Let me ask you--do you like to see women in stark screaming terror and in fear of imminent death? Or at least simulations of such? Well, the New York Daily News does! Today they put up a gallery of "screaming starlets" from nineteen separate horror movies! It's one stop shopping for all your terror porn!

As a film buff, I've watched my fair share of horror films. The vast majority boil down to either stalker or torture porn, of course, with tons of women in various stages of undress being voyeuristically hunted down. Even if the trend lately is towards making the woman the hero, letting her ultimately triumph (for example, the American remake of The Ring or the original Halloween), you can be sure that she'll first go through a degradation that no male hero would be forced to undergo. This is true of even the best of the bunch, such as the Scream franchise, which featured a woman hero who was easily the most capable character in all the films, or the solid-B movie The Descent, which at least featured a main cast of women who did things (like whitewater rafting, caving, and fending off cannibalistic subhuman cave dwellers), even if it did find room for the death of a child, a murderous catfight, and the heroine killing a mother and child--your basic smorgasbord of Hollywood misogyny.

I'm really baffled by why the News thought this was a good idea, though of course not surprised. We do live, as Liss McEwan put it yesterday, "in a rape-soaked culture" so I guess putting images of anguished women shrieking in terror on your web site is just giving the public what it wants.

Besides, it's not like you can have photographs of naked women in your newspaper. I mean, this is America.

Bromantically Linked

Hello ducks! If you are like me, you watch television. (Actually, if you are like me, you watch too much television--stop it! It's keeping you from doing better things, like read this blog!) And if, like me, you watch too much TV, then you've probably seen commercials for the next great man-child movie, The Hangover.

Of course, it may be difficult to pick out this new film from the constant swirl of frattish comedies--after all, it's Judd Apatow's world now, we just live in it. Never fear, though, ducks! The New York Times, in its ongoing mission of reminding us that all the news fit to print is by, for, and about men, has an article about The Hangover's creator, Todd Phillips.

In fact, the article makes Mr. Phillips out to be some sort of seer to the doucheoisie, a sort of guru of the frat boy picture. (In fact, one of his first movies was called, um, Frat House.) Mr. Phillips, in case you didn't know, is the auteur behind Old School, Road Trip, and Starsky and Hutch. (Disclosure: I actually enjoyed the last one for the chemistry between Stiller and Wilson. I'm not perfect, ducks.) All in all, he has a portfolio that makes him the Apatow-lite, a secondary purveyor of the immature bromance.

Never fear, though: The Times breathlessly reports:

That doesn’t mean “The Hangover” can’t aspire to be the most grown-up work in Mr. Phillips’s unapologetically immature portfolio.

Well, that's a relief--not the least because he doesn't apologize for his movies! No, Todd Phillips is proud of his films! He wants you to squirm while watching--that is, if you are not an immature man-child (or at least aspire to be one.)

But wait! He's not content for simple metaphysical torture--at least, where his actors are concerned:

Mr. Phillips does not always get his way. For a scene in which a police officer tests his stun gun on the guys, the director wanted his actors to be shot with a live Taser. “He goes, ‘Look at these clips on YouTube,’ ” Mr. Galifianakissaid. “ ‘It doesn’t hurt that much.’ And then the Warner Brothers lawyers stepped in, thank God.”

Well, there's always next time--and given advances in technology, perhaps within a few years he'll be able to tase the audience as well! Oh, think of the laughter we'll have! Between the blackouts, that is.

Let's give the last word to Todd, before he uses that darn taser again:

...[W]hen he tries to describe the plots of his films concisely, Mr. Phillips said recently, “the one-liners on my movies sound really retarded.” He chuckled briefly at his own analysis. “The movies, ideally, are better than they sound,” he added.

Speak for yourself, Mr. Phillips.

Notes From Underprivileged

Greetings Ducks! Many apologies for the lacuna of posts--I had a houseguest for the weekend and one thing pushed out another! Still, while I was away, asshattery was, as ever, on the march, as shown by the following...

Item: Women are unhappy despite liberation, or so argues new NY Times columnist Ross Douthat. Ross, you are to be congratulated! It takes most conservatives years to achieve full-on douchebaggery in the Times--you've taken just a few weeks! I haven't read the study he describes--it's not free--but I wonder: did anyone ask women why they don't feel happy? Or would that be too much bother? Isn't it more fun to speculate on them? Yes, if you write for the Times.

Item: Sonia Sotomayor is mean! This seems to be the first arrow in the coming perfect-storm backlash! On WNYC's Brian Lehrer show, the host asked for comments from people who had appeared in Judge Sotomayor's court. One lawyer (you can listen in at about 35:00 on the link) said that he found that she "made gratuitous comments that were abusive." This apparently was caused by an incident where she told a different--ah, yes, your friend, right--attorney that his brief was the worst she'd read in 20 years and he should rethink his career choice. Because no male Federal judge has ever been that mean! And even if he was, they'd just have a beer after. Which you can't do with Judge Sotomayor--on account of her vagina!

Item: California Supreme Court upholds Proposition 8. No jokes here, just disappointment. My houseguest is a Californian, and we read the story on an iPhone while sitting in a park. Interestingly, all 18,000 same-sex marriages that took place before Prop 8 are still legal. This just in: California Supreme Court rules all animals are equal but some are more equal than others.

Preggers and Old Uns: Hit the Bricks!

Mustachio'd libertarian mouthpiece John Stossel showed up on The View today. (Yes, ducks, I was watching--I overslept today.)

I've long held that libertarianism is a luxury only the privileged can afford; if you're a victim of institutionalized prejudice, you tend not to be so sanguine about the idea of folks just doing what they want to do--like, say, issue literacy tests before you can vote, or decide that a penis was the most important instrument in a symphony orchestra.

Among the views Iron John elucidated:

There should be no laws to protect pregnant women in the workplace, because of the "unintended consequences." You might not hire a woman! Because of the Babies! Even Elizabeth Hasselbeck--Elizabeth Hasselbeck!--had a problem with that. "If you don't protect these women, aren't they more at risk?" she asked. Whoopi asked why the laws should be chucked instead of "tweaked." "Because tweaking never works," huffed John. I could swear I saw him twirling the ends of his mustache, but that might just have been me being blinded by outrage.

We protect seniors waaay too much because we spend 6-1 on the elders versus the young. Oh, and Ponzi scheme! Medicaid-paid for Viagra! The elderly have a higher net worth than the rest of the population! (Well, yeah, John, and if Bill Gates and I are in the same room together, our average net worth is higher than yours; most seniors I know are very worried about making ends meet nowadays.) Joy asked if he would income test Social Security at this point; when John said he would, she told him he was taking a very "liberal" position. "I'm a classical liberal," he smirked.

Sherri then wondered "If the government isn't taking care of seniors, then who is?" John's reply was that we should take care of ourselves, by saving. Let me tell you, ducks: my parents worked very hard in their lifetime; they each had made a major change in vocation in their thirties, and so had to make up a lot of time. In addition to the full-time jobs they both held, they taught college part-time, and for years had their own test prep side business. Because of that, when they retired they had a tidy little sum to carry them through their old age--my dad was even able to retire early.

Of course, the two Bush stock market crashes caused their net worth to drop pretty precipitously each time; both of them now work part-time. And they're the kind of success story Stossel wants everyone to have! Oh and Free Markets! Yeah!

Poverty is the natural state of all human beings. This came towards the end of the segment; the discussion of social security naturally blended into general social policy. Stossel gave the classic libertarian answer as to the purpose of government: it should do what only it can do: keep us safe, keep people from stealing things. (I've noticed that American libertarians always make national defense a priority, even though it would seem to be a logical inconsistency: shouldn't we all be able to defend ourselves? Certainly the Founding Fathers thought a standing army was the greatest instrument of tyranny known. Oh well.) In any case, Joy wondered about the Great Depression, and asked John about that, leading to the quote above, plus: "free markets!" (Ah, history blindness is another great privilege of the privileged; a lot of people at the time of the Depression saw it as proof of the failure of capitalism--and it certainly wasn't free markets that lifted us out of it, but massive government spending, first from the New Deal, then from World War II.) Oh, and private charities. (Whoopi: "are there no workhouses? are there no orphanages?")

Professional atheletes should be allowed to use steroids, oh and by the way the link to heart disease and cancer hasn't been proven. Right. Whatever.

The way to save endangered species is to eat them, since there's no shortage of chicken, and by the way when we allowed people to raise bison for food, didn't that bring them back from extinction? Of course, the great cause of extinction nowadays is habitat destruction--I wonder how you're supposed to build a rainforest to keep your valuable, edible frog herds alive?

I first encountered Stossel way back when I was in high school. I think I thought he made sense, until he did a piece on why giving to charity was counter-productive. (He told Ted Turner, who has given millions to the UN, this theory in an interview, and Turner nearly decked him; I'm aware that it doesn't take much to do that, but still.) He's been dishing out his libertarianism-light for years now, and getting praised for being a maverick and "telling uncomfortable truths." And yet, there's not a similar position from somebody on the far left: 20/20 doesn't have any segments where a socialist talks about the evils of government non-intervention. But I'm assured that the media has a liberal bias.

Elizabeth Edwards and the Faux Double-Bind

Elizabeth Edwards, wife of John Edwards (ex-senator from NC, ex-Democratic Vice Presidential nominee, ex-Presidential candidate), has a new book out. Edwards, in case you've forgotten, suffered a terminal relapse of breast and bone cancer during her husband's campaign.

Also, it turns out, during the time he was cheating on her with a "videographer" that he paid over $100,000 to. And had a kid with.

In her book, Resilience, she says that her husband should not have run, and that she tried to talk him into dropping out after he admitted to the affair. It also turns out that he was less than honest with her: he told her it had been a one-time dalliance, even while he had his mistress stashed away, and his staff scrambling desperately to cover up evidence of the affair.

So, for those of you playing at home, here's the scorecard: second bout of cancer turns out to be terminal; husband cheating on her; husband lying about cheating on her; husband still delusional enough to think he can be President.

All in all, that's pretty terrible, and I have a lot of sympathy for Ms. Edwards, who seems to have gotten the shortest of short ends of the stick. But what makes this story of interest to this blog is the backlash I saw today.

First, Michael Goodwin weighs in for the New York Daily News:

...the temptation is to shout, "Leave the poor woman alone."

That's easier said than done. After all, Elizabeth Edwards helped to perpetrate a fraud on voters, namely, that her husband was fit to be President.

She knew better and now says she told him to drop out because of the affair. He didn't and she tried to get him elected, raising money and stumping with and for him. She excoriated the media for giving "the Cliffs Notes" of the truth about candidates.

If only we had known the truth she was hiding.

Ah. Way to empathize. Let me ponder, what, exactly her choices were once John refused to drop out. Leaving the campaign trail would have been--no doubt about it--a major distraction. The question would have been why, after not stopping campaigning despite being diagnosed with breast cancer, had she suddenly vanished. It would have been a staggering blow to an already staggering campaign. And, if as seems to be the case, she didn't realize the extent of the affair, then maybe--maybe--she really did think he was qualified to be President. After all, many Democrats still think fondly of Bill Clinton, and he was a serial womanizer as well. (In fact, weren't many of us wringing our hands about how a person's personal life didn't have to reflect on his ability to do the job at the time?)

Goodwin winds up with:

"Her illness has put a halo over her head and it doesn't belong there," another reader posted. "If she were not sick, there would be far more criticism of her for hiding this kind of news . . . By participating in his charade, Elizabeth is mighty guilty herself."

Me? I second both emotions.

Which leads nicely into Maureen Dowd's column in the Grey Lady:

But now Saint Elizabeth has dragged him back into the public square for a flogging on “Oprah” and in Time and at bookstores near you. The book is billed as helping people “facing life’s adversities” and offering an “inspirational meditation on the gifts we can find among life’s biggest challenges.”

But it’s just a gratuitous peek into their lives, and one that exposes her kids, by peddling more dregs about their personal family life in a book, and exposes the ex-girlfriend who’s now trying to raise the baby girl, a dead ringer for John Edwards, in South Orange, N.J.

So, to update your scorecard:

Bill Clinton, serial adulterer, perjurer, and not as liberal as you think--the greatest President since World War II, at least according to Al Franken.

John Edwards, serial adulterer, class hypocrite, not as liberal as you think but unable to even be Vice President: lying cad.

Elizabeth Edwards, cancer survivor, adultery survivor, cancer victim, way smarter than her husband: whiner who is needlessly exposing her family to ridicule for unknown reasons.

What I'm getting at is that this is a completely fake double-bind, and I call sexism. Bill Clinton wrote an enormous autobiography, which talks about his affair, but because he's a Serious Politician (and Has A Penis), that's statemanlike. Elizabeth Edwards, who, as Dowd says, "would have made a wonderful candidate herself. But she poured everything into John[...]" writes a book about the most wrenching time of her life, and she's accused of dragging herself shamelessly back into the spotlight, not to mention her family, and O Won't Somebody Think Of The Children, and after all, she doesn't have a penis.

If she did, maybe she'd get more respect. Though if she did, her husband couldn't have run for President.

Hell, he'd not even be her husband.

Except in Massachusetts, Vermont, Iowa, and (yay!) Maine, that is.