He also does some awesome send-ups of sexist, violent rap, but how could I not post a song that samples "the Celine Dion song from the movie Titanic"?
Friday 25 September 2009
Tuesday 22 September 2009
Nicked from Femin-Ally:
Sexual Assault Prevention Tips Guaranteed to Work!
1. Don’t put drugs in people’s drinks in order to control their behavior.
2. When you see someone walking by themselves, leave them alone!
3. If you pull over to help someone with car problems, remember not to assault them!
4. NEVER open an unlocked door or window uninvited.
5. If you are in an elevator and someone else gets in, DON’T ASSAULT THEM!
6. Remember, people go to laundry to do their laundry, do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room.
7. USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If you are not able to stop yourself from assaulting people, ask a friend to stay with you while you are in public.
8. Always be honest with people! Don’t pretend to be a caring friend in order to gain the trust of someone you want to assault. Consider telling them you plan to assault them. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the other person may take that as a sign that you do not plan to rape them.
9. Don’t forget: you can’t have sex with someone unless they are awake!
10. Carry a whistle! If you are worried you might assault someone “on accident” you can hand it to the person you are with, so they can blow it if you do.
And, ALWAYS REMEMBER: if you didn’t ask permission and then respect the answer the first time, you are commiting a crime- no matter how “into it” others appear to be.
Monday 21 September 2009
www.blogger.com hates women
Does that sound melodramatic? Well boo-fucking-hoo, because once again, one of cyberspace's most prominent websites is effectively sanctioning hate speech against one group that, were it directed at any other community, would be smacked down faster than a cock-ring at a Silver Ring convention. Because, y'know, it's not really an -ism to have a go at... women, right?
Actually, wrong. But despite repeated reporting from various groups, the veritable oevre that is I Hate White Women (tagline: "WHY I HATE AMERICAN AND WESTERN WOMEN", in case the anyone was feeling left out) remains online in all its deluded, embittered glory. Of course, any woman of any ethnicity would greet this idiot's "boycott" of their person with relief and revelry, but that does not render his rantings harmless or their continued hosting by Blogger acceptable. Nazism is a joke too, but the Holocaust sure as hell wasn't funny.
So, to abandon reason and broach the moronic inferno for a moment, let's have a closer look at what this angry young man has to say for himself...
I am a white American male (good to know he's far away!) and I hate white women. In a nutshell ("nut" being the operative word), white women are the most likely (any research? Nah, didn't think so) to cheat on you (I smell misogynist heartache!), to divorce you (wouldn't you?), to get fat (again, stats?), to steal half of your money (has he informed the Police? Oh wait, he means getting married - has anyone ever accepted his proposal?), don't know how to cook (my two-year-old niece can feed herself, why can't he?), etc (yeah, ETC, like, that's totally fucking definitive, dude). Therefore, what intelligent man (yes, WHAT intelligent man? Oh wait, he means... aww, bless) would want to get involved with a bitchy white woman?
White women are generally immature (unlike a supposedly grown man who dedicates an entire blog to his peculiar bitterness), selfish, and extremely arrogant and self-centered (whine, whine, whine, WHINE...). The behavior of most white women is utterly disgusting, to say the least (yeah, rejection is, like, so mean).
This blog is my (failed) attempt to explain why I feel white women are inferior to all other groups of women, such as Asians, Middle Easterners, Mexicans, Blacks, etc (because, it's, like, totally not racist or patronising or unsound to lump people -oops, sorry, women- together like that. And, er, you can be any of those ethnicities while also being American and Western).
BOYCOTT AMERICAN WOMEN! (Women: they're just like South African grapes, really).
Pfffft, like the lazy, entitled, hellish Western women that I am, I can't be bothered to wade through any more of his inarticulate idiocy. I wonder which is smaller, his penis or his brain? What glory is there supposed to be in whining about a group of people who have already pre-empted any kind of victory by rejecting you to start with?
So yes, he's a joke. But it's not funny. And Blogger should realise that.
Actually, wrong. But despite repeated reporting from various groups, the veritable oevre that is I Hate White Women (tagline: "WHY I HATE AMERICAN AND WESTERN WOMEN", in case the anyone was feeling left out) remains online in all its deluded, embittered glory. Of course, any woman of any ethnicity would greet this idiot's "boycott" of their person with relief and revelry, but that does not render his rantings harmless or their continued hosting by Blogger acceptable. Nazism is a joke too, but the Holocaust sure as hell wasn't funny.
So, to abandon reason and broach the moronic inferno for a moment, let's have a closer look at what this angry young man has to say for himself...
I am a white American male (good to know he's far away!) and I hate white women. In a nutshell ("nut" being the operative word), white women are the most likely (any research? Nah, didn't think so) to cheat on you (I smell misogynist heartache!), to divorce you (wouldn't you?), to get fat (again, stats?), to steal half of your money (has he informed the Police? Oh wait, he means getting married - has anyone ever accepted his proposal?), don't know how to cook (my two-year-old niece can feed herself, why can't he?), etc (yeah, ETC, like, that's totally fucking definitive, dude). Therefore, what intelligent man (yes, WHAT intelligent man? Oh wait, he means... aww, bless) would want to get involved with a bitchy white woman?
White women are generally immature (unlike a supposedly grown man who dedicates an entire blog to his peculiar bitterness), selfish, and extremely arrogant and self-centered (whine, whine, whine, WHINE...). The behavior of most white women is utterly disgusting, to say the least (yeah, rejection is, like, so mean).
This blog is my (failed) attempt to explain why I feel white women are inferior to all other groups of women, such as Asians, Middle Easterners, Mexicans, Blacks, etc (because, it's, like, totally not racist or patronising or unsound to lump people -oops, sorry, women- together like that. And, er, you can be any of those ethnicities while also being American and Western).
BOYCOTT AMERICAN WOMEN! (Women: they're just like South African grapes, really).
Pfffft, like the lazy, entitled, hellish Western women that I am, I can't be bothered to wade through any more of his inarticulate idiocy. I wonder which is smaller, his penis or his brain? What glory is there supposed to be in whining about a group of people who have already pre-empted any kind of victory by rejecting you to start with?
So yes, he's a joke. But it's not funny. And Blogger should realise that.
Monday 14 September 2009
for your viewing displeasure...
Soooo, a few months ago I had a traumatic run-in with a flatmate's friend who thinks grabbing someone round the neck and incomprehension of the word "no" are all you need in your seductive arsenal. I haven't got time to elaborate on what a disgusting little inadequate moron I still know this fuckwit is, but yesterday, for the first time, I was almost able to laugh about it - or at least about him.I watch Bones, you see; it plays a strong second fiddle to my Criminal Minds obsession. And yesterday I was watching the conclusion of the long-running Gormagon saga. And I saw the monster finally revealed. And satisfyingly shot.
And I also saw, for a second, the vile "Carlos" (as I called him earlier on this blog). That may sound weird given Gormagon comes equipped with a set of dentures composed entirely of human canines harvested from victims, but he has a similar face, hair and repellence. And did I mention I got to see him satisfyingly shot.
I don't know why this makes me feel actually, really better, but it does.
Sunday 13 September 2009
Oh wisevid.com, why do you bother asking me if I'm alright to view the "mature content" of middle-of-the-road cop shows while simultaneously bombarding me with pop-ups of naked women? Is it, perchance, because you are a pile of sexist wank?
Yes. Yes, that's probably it.
Yes. Yes, that's probably it.
Monday 7 September 2009
tissues and issues
Alright, alright, sorry for the Charlotte Church quote, but it did seem suitably juvenile for the topic. I try not to bleat on about my family too much, on the internet as in life, particularly as there is no longer comparatively much to bleat about - but every so often something sticks in my inner child's craw and I want to shout it from the rooftops. Maybe I'm being irrational, maybe everything really is worse when it happens to me(mo), or maybe I'm just taking things too seriously, but I'm still considerably irked following a conversation I had yesterday.
The topic of discussion was Elizabeth, a mutual friend, who has just leapt from one relationship into another with barely a fortnight's breathing space. The popular explanation for this (apparently repeated) behaviour is that her parents divorced when she was twelve. Now, allow me to issue a disclaimer before I continue; I don't doubt for one moment that even relatively straightforward divorce can be traumatic for any children concerned, and I don't think the existence of some people's horrific experiences negates the legitimate effects of other people's only rubbish ones. But, I do think we should all have a sense of proportion.
So, when Jan trotted out the "but her parents got divorced" line again last night, I said so. I said that I thought that 26 was a bit old to still be clinging so resolutely to the trauma of your parents' split, because at some point (I think personally by the age of 21 or at the latest 25) you have to take a long hard look at your life and decide whether you want to live it as a testament or defiance to your parents, or in the most constructive way possible for yourself. I said that it's never particularly fun or easy to do, but it is possible, and I think it's a process most of us have to undertake in some form or another.
Cue utter horror - But her parents divorced when she was twelve! Her dad ran off with her mum's best friend!
And yes, that's a horrible thing to happen - but one that happens to around a third of children in the UK. The fact is, a lot worse things happen too; including myself, I can think of one person who grew up with an addict and alcoholic, several more who grew up with "mere" drinkers and/or domestic violence, and another whose father left her aged 15 in charge of her two little brothers to go and live with another woman, after her mother had already died. Terrible things happen, and terrible things go on happening because of them - but in the end, you have to build some kind of modus vivendi with them in order to have any kind of life of your own.
Jan's response? But if something traumatises you when you're twelve, it can last for a long time.
And that, dear reader, is what really pissed me off. I don't think it's panhandling sympathy to say that if I and a considerable portion of my friends managed to get through situations far worse than a normal divorce (Christ, most of us would love to have had two functioning parents whose marriage fell apart and who went to court and were done with it in a year) then a very well-adjusted, pragmatic, mature, bright (because that is what Elizabeth is) woman of 26 must be able to come to terms with something that happens - not to put too expletive a point on it - all the fucking time. But no, of course (and this is what she was arguing - believe me, I checked) it's far worse to be "really traumatised" by your parents getting divorced when you're twelve than to have parents who are -somehow laughably untraumatically!- addicted, alcoholic, violent or dead.
And what further pisses me off, is that it's so rarely people who've been through comparable things who come out with this stuff, but people exactly like Jan from very solid, conventional, "boring" (but frankly, that's all you want from parents when yours are so "interesting" they're already passed out by the time you get home from primary school) families; it seems always to be the least experienced who assume themselves the greatest authority on these matters. I genuinely cannot fathom what leaden logic leads to such conclusions; is it because divorce is the only thing they can imagine - because other (worse) things are so totally beyond their ken that they don't seem real and thus can't inspire sympathy?
I don't know. I only do know how much I hate the catch-22 in which they leave me; not wanting to be one of those whiny people who choose to blame their entire lives on their childhood, yet also wanting so much to rub in people like Jan's faces how horrific mine was, to make the point how utterly moronic they're being. I doubt there ever has been, nor ever will be, anything so frustrating and divisive in human relationships as such gaps in experiential empathy. Or is that what the internet's for?
The topic of discussion was Elizabeth, a mutual friend, who has just leapt from one relationship into another with barely a fortnight's breathing space. The popular explanation for this (apparently repeated) behaviour is that her parents divorced when she was twelve. Now, allow me to issue a disclaimer before I continue; I don't doubt for one moment that even relatively straightforward divorce can be traumatic for any children concerned, and I don't think the existence of some people's horrific experiences negates the legitimate effects of other people's only rubbish ones. But, I do think we should all have a sense of proportion.
So, when Jan trotted out the "but her parents got divorced" line again last night, I said so. I said that I thought that 26 was a bit old to still be clinging so resolutely to the trauma of your parents' split, because at some point (I think personally by the age of 21 or at the latest 25) you have to take a long hard look at your life and decide whether you want to live it as a testament or defiance to your parents, or in the most constructive way possible for yourself. I said that it's never particularly fun or easy to do, but it is possible, and I think it's a process most of us have to undertake in some form or another.
Cue utter horror - But her parents divorced when she was twelve! Her dad ran off with her mum's best friend!
And yes, that's a horrible thing to happen - but one that happens to around a third of children in the UK. The fact is, a lot worse things happen too; including myself, I can think of one person who grew up with an addict and alcoholic, several more who grew up with "mere" drinkers and/or domestic violence, and another whose father left her aged 15 in charge of her two little brothers to go and live with another woman, after her mother had already died. Terrible things happen, and terrible things go on happening because of them - but in the end, you have to build some kind of modus vivendi with them in order to have any kind of life of your own.
Jan's response? But if something traumatises you when you're twelve, it can last for a long time.
And that, dear reader, is what really pissed me off. I don't think it's panhandling sympathy to say that if I and a considerable portion of my friends managed to get through situations far worse than a normal divorce (Christ, most of us would love to have had two functioning parents whose marriage fell apart and who went to court and were done with it in a year) then a very well-adjusted, pragmatic, mature, bright (because that is what Elizabeth is) woman of 26 must be able to come to terms with something that happens - not to put too expletive a point on it - all the fucking time. But no, of course (and this is what she was arguing - believe me, I checked) it's far worse to be "really traumatised" by your parents getting divorced when you're twelve than to have parents who are -somehow laughably untraumatically!- addicted, alcoholic, violent or dead.
And what further pisses me off, is that it's so rarely people who've been through comparable things who come out with this stuff, but people exactly like Jan from very solid, conventional, "boring" (but frankly, that's all you want from parents when yours are so "interesting" they're already passed out by the time you get home from primary school) families; it seems always to be the least experienced who assume themselves the greatest authority on these matters. I genuinely cannot fathom what leaden logic leads to such conclusions; is it because divorce is the only thing they can imagine - because other (worse) things are so totally beyond their ken that they don't seem real and thus can't inspire sympathy?
I don't know. I only do know how much I hate the catch-22 in which they leave me; not wanting to be one of those whiny people who choose to blame their entire lives on their childhood, yet also wanting so much to rub in people like Jan's faces how horrific mine was, to make the point how utterly moronic they're being. I doubt there ever has been, nor ever will be, anything so frustrating and divisive in human relationships as such gaps in experiential empathy. Or is that what the internet's for?
Thursday 3 September 2009
love music, hate sexism
I like bands; proper bands. The actual Misfits rather than them three off X-Factor. But I also like being a girl.
I remember quite vividly the first time it occurred to me that these two things could be incompatible. I was fourteen, we'd just got the internet, and a whole new world of fandom was opening before me. And then there it was; a scan of Kerrang magazine, Davey Havok and Dexter Holland sharing the cover with the headline, "ROCK IN THE DOCK: is rock music sexist?" I never did track down the article, but I even neverer forgot its title.
Those words have come back to me a lot over the years, most times I've read about Courtney Love or Brody Dalle, and every time I've flicked past yet another male-targeted advert in a music magazine. (Yes, I sometimes read the NME; no, that does not mean I aspire to style my manly hair into so improbable a quiff that women will dance on tables in its honour thus allowing me to look up their skirts, Shockwaves haircare). But this week really took the balls-up biscuit. Shipped out to Marylebone because Euston thought it might perhaps possibly be on fire and with a four-hour train journey ahead of me, I trudged into WHSmiths for something to read. Oh look, a new Q! But oh wait, it's shrink-wrapped to FHM.
Er, what the fuck? I stared at it for a moment, processed the fact that one of my favourite magazines had just turned to shit before my very eyes, and walked out of the shop.
I don't care how much it comes down to publishers' alliances, I don't care what snivelling little marketing strategy is behind it, I don't care if some girl whose face has started popping up in the London Lite has taken her "hippy chic" clothes off, but I am fucking livid that a magazine I really respected precisely because it was so much more interesting, well-written, and generally grown-up than its peers has done that for which every successful band risks crucifixion in the music media; sold out.
Well, I'm not buying it. I'm not sure what I'll buy instead (the NME's too flimsy, no-one at Artrocker can spell... maybe Clash will fill the gap) but Q can stick it; I'm sure FHM can tell them where.
I remember quite vividly the first time it occurred to me that these two things could be incompatible. I was fourteen, we'd just got the internet, and a whole new world of fandom was opening before me. And then there it was; a scan of Kerrang magazine, Davey Havok and Dexter Holland sharing the cover with the headline, "ROCK IN THE DOCK: is rock music sexist?" I never did track down the article, but I even neverer forgot its title.
Those words have come back to me a lot over the years, most times I've read about Courtney Love or Brody Dalle, and every time I've flicked past yet another male-targeted advert in a music magazine. (Yes, I sometimes read the NME; no, that does not mean I aspire to style my manly hair into so improbable a quiff that women will dance on tables in its honour thus allowing me to look up their skirts, Shockwaves haircare). But this week really took the balls-up biscuit. Shipped out to Marylebone because Euston thought it might perhaps possibly be on fire and with a four-hour train journey ahead of me, I trudged into WHSmiths for something to read. Oh look, a new Q! But oh wait, it's shrink-wrapped to FHM.
Er, what the fuck? I stared at it for a moment, processed the fact that one of my favourite magazines had just turned to shit before my very eyes, and walked out of the shop.
I don't care how much it comes down to publishers' alliances, I don't care what snivelling little marketing strategy is behind it, I don't care if some girl whose face has started popping up in the London Lite has taken her "hippy chic" clothes off, but I am fucking livid that a magazine I really respected precisely because it was so much more interesting, well-written, and generally grown-up than its peers has done that for which every successful band risks crucifixion in the music media; sold out.
Well, I'm not buying it. I'm not sure what I'll buy instead (the NME's too flimsy, no-one at Artrocker can spell... maybe Clash will fill the gap) but Q can stick it; I'm sure FHM can tell them where.
Tuesday 1 September 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
