Archive for the 'Anxious masculinity' Category

Yesterday’s depressing thought

Published at December 12, 2010 in Religious nuts and Anxious masculinity. 3 Comments

I still don’t have a car, so I’m not on the road much, but yesterday a co-worker and I went to the movie theater to catch the Met Opera Live in HD simulcast (Don Carlo, if you’re interested.  Nixon in China will be playing in February).  On our way back, we were stopped at a light behind a pickup truck that had a series of right-wing, jingoistic, anti-Obama, anti-Pelosi bumper stickers on the rear window.

And.

And a pair of Truck Nuts.

This was my first sighting of Truck Nuts in the wild.  Which led to yesterday’s depressing thought: “I live in a place where people have Truck Nuts.”

I’m so getting out of here in a couple of years.  Mild winters and citrus trees can’t fully offset the Truck Nuts.

Oh, mercy! It gets better!

Published at September 13, 2010 in I will die alone eaten by my pets, Terrorists ruin all my fun, New York Fugging City, Anxious masculinity and Dipshittery. 3 Comments

Continuing the saga from OK Cupid:  I responded.  Yeah, probably shouldn’t have, but the Wingnut Christmas thing really pushes my buttons.  So here’s what I wrote to him:

Well, now I’ve seen it all. 9/11 as a pickup line. Though you’re not the first member of the Giuliani administration to be macking on the bodies of the dead.

Even if I didn’t find that offensive, your spam approach, not to mention your association with that authoritarian asshat Giuliani, would have killed any chance you and your blank profile would have with me.

I see some grammar issues.  Probably should be “macking over” instead of “macking on” (as “macking on” implies necrophilia) and “would have had.”  Nonetheless.  His response [misspellings his own]:

You know, I often wonder if framing my relationship with a political figure would be a mixed blessing, or for that matter, wise. The land in which I come from, obviously not liberal-land as do you, character means a great deal. I’m proud of my association with Mayor Giuliani and proud of my character and the way I have conducted myself thoughout my life and with others. Obviously, these virtues are meaningless to you. So be it.

I dont know what rock you have crawed out from under in answering my reply to your profile the way you have, but most assuredly it is to my benefit. A good dinner and better glass of wine would have been otherwise wasted during a dreadful encounter that potentially we would have had.

Oh, and one more thing, when you have engrained in your mind the experience of having pulled parts of people out from under debris and rubble, yeah, you have a right to talk about it all you like…

Because shut up, that’s why!

I suppose “I was there on 9/11″ as a pickup line was inevitable.

Published at September 13, 2010 in I will die alone eaten by my pets, Anxious masculinity and Dipshittery. 5 Comments

I just got this email from someone at OK Cupid [redacted for privacy, emphasis mine]:

My name is P[], I’m 45 and an attorney from New York City. I was browsing the profiles and came upon yours and thought your photos were just incredible. I’d love to learn about your personality.

As you can see, I do not place much info about myself online. I do Love to travel within the States- especially the great south west, am into fine dining, good wines, producing (TV documentary) entertainment and charitable events. - I worked for Rudy Giuliani for 14 years, 8 of which as a NYC Agency Bureau Director while he was Mayor of New York. I was with him on 9-11.

If you’re interested in saying hello or are curious about what I’m like, let me know and I’ll get back in touch with you.

I’m [] on AOL and MSN instant messenger & []on yahoo. com for email and Instant Messages.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Oh, let’s count the ways this message offends me, shall we?

First, it’s clearly spam from someone who hasn’t actually read my profile.  He opens with a generic “loved your photos,” and that’s as far as we get in terms of showing me that he’s interested in meeting me.  The rest of it — odd capitalization, random punctuation, and all — is all about him.  Mind, you should let the person you’re trying to pick up know what’s in it for them, but you also want to make sure they know that you’re interested in them, and why.

Second, his “I do not place much info about myself online” is rather an understatement — his profile is blank except for a few pictures, his age and hometown (listed as Boca Raton).  FFS, man, put up a little breezy twaddle.

Finally:  HE’S USING RUDY GIULIANI AND 9/11 TO PICK UP CHICKS.

What I Saw, Part II

Published at October 16, 2009 in New York Fugging City, Female trouble and Anxious masculinity. 0 Comments

Remember how I was so surprised a few weeks ago to see a woman on the back of a NYC Sanitation truck for the first time in 13 years here?

I just came back from a trip to Montreal, and the very first garbage truck I saw there had a woman on the back of it.

Methinks there might be a bit of provincialism/protectionism in the NYC Sanitation union.  But as someone on the City Council told a firefighter who was complaining about diversity meaning that guys whose fathers and uncles and brothers were firefighters couldn’t be assured of following in their footsteps:  It’s a civil service job. It’s not the family business.

Hulk Hogan, MRA

Published at April 15, 2009 in Crime, Anxious masculinity and Woman-Hating. 6 Comments

How dare the bitch leave me!

Pro wrestling legend Hulk Hogan, embroiled in a bitter divorce with his wife, Linda, told Rolling Stone magazine he can “totally understand” O.J. Simpson, the former football great found liable for the deaths of his wife and another man.

“I could have turned everything into a crime scene like O.J., cutting everybody’s throat,” Hogan said in the interview for a feature that will run in Friday’s edition of the magazine.

“You live half a mile from the 20,000-square-foot home you can’t go to anymore, you’re driving through downtown Clearwater [Florida] and see a 19-year-old boy driving your Escalade, and you know that a 19-year-old boy is sleeping in your bed, with your wife… . “I totally understand O.J. I get it,” Hogan said.

Note the possessive pronouns: it’s HIS stuff, goddammit, and HIS possessions include HIS wife. Nothing belongs to her, of course. Not even her own body. HE will decide who she can sleep with, and if it’s not him, it’s nobody.

This is exactly the kind of thing that leads to this. Or this. Or this. Or this.  Or this.

Fortunately, Linda Hogan and her attorney realize this, because she’s putting it out there:

A spokesman for Linda Hogan said Wednesday that the statement amounts to a death threat and that her attorney is “weighing all options necessary to protect his client.”

“Sadly, his recent comments remind us that his definition of fair is much different than what the law dictates,” Linda Hogan said in a written statement.

Her spokesman, Gary Smith, linked the comments to the 55-year-old Hogan’s three-decade career, during which he held multiple championship titles and, during his heyday in the 1980s, was easily the most popular wrestler in the world.

“We have always maintained that the fear that Linda has had to live with comes from the rage and instability much too often associated with pro wrestlers,” Smith said in the statement.

Though I definitely take issue with the idea that this is something limited to pro wrestlers. Sure, there have been some high-profile cases of pro wrestlers killing their families and themselves in rages, but what really fuels these guys is a frustrated sense of entitlement. There’s a reason that women are most in danger of being killed *after* they leave their abusive husbands or boyfriends. There’s a reason that MRAs are so obsessed with keeping control of their wives even after the divorce, through use of the courts or playing games with child support. There’s a reason that MRAs are so obsessed with bitches “getting themselves pregnant” just to trap them and take their money.

And there’s a reason a guy I met through OK Cupid last week (and I think the issue there is the free nature of the site attracting the freaks, not any sort of personal tear in the space-time continuum that keeps feeding me these jokers) went off on a long, angry screed about two women with whom he’d been on dates who’d committed the mortal sin of not reaching for their wallets on the first date when the lunch check came — to the point where he bailed on the second one in the middle of the date, called her from Starbucks to tell her she was old enough to pay for her own fucking lunch, and then passed the phone to some strange man (for some bros-before-hos support, I suppose) when she started yelling at him for being an asshole.

I failed to find this amusing, and told him so. And for pointing out that at age 41, he should really learn how to negotiate the lunch check in a civilized manner if he wants to go Dutch treat instead of running out the back door and then enlisting strangers in his efforts to avoid the consequences of such behavior, I got the following from him: “No bitch tells me to buy her lunch.”

When I responded that I considered bullet dodged, thanks much and happy hunting, he emailed back, “blow me.”

“Not,” I replied, “if your dick were made of chocolate.”

Zero to “blow me” took about four emails. If he ever manages to marry anyone, he will undoubtedly wind up in divorce court singing the same sort of tune as Hulk Hogan.

Oh. Boo. Hoo.

Published at March 12, 2009 in Female trouble, Sex miseducation, Anxious masculinity, Woman-Hating and Dipshittery. 7 Comments

How little sympathy do I have for Travis Henry?

Travis Henry was rattling off his children’s ages, which range from 3 to 11. He paused and took a breath before finishing.

This was no simple task. Henry, 30, a former N.F.L. running back who played for three teams from 2001 to 2007, has nine children — each by a different mother, some born as closely as a few months apart.

Reports of Henry’s prolific procreating, generated by child-support disputes, have highlighted how futile the N.F.L.’s attempts can be at educating its players about making wise choices. The disputes have even eclipsed the attention he received after he was indicted on charges of cocaine trafficking.

“They’ve got my blood; I’ve got to deal with it,” Henry said of fiscal responsibilities to his children. He spoke by telephone from his Denver residence, where he was under house arrest until recently for the drug matter.

Henry had just returned from Atlanta, where a judge showed little sympathy for his predicament during a hearing and declined to lower monthly payments from $3,000 for a 4-year-old son.

Three days after the telephone interview, he was jailed for falling $16,600 behind on support for a youngster in Frostproof, Fla., his hometown.

“I love all my kids,” he said in the interview, but asserted he could not afford the designated amounts, estimated at $170,000 a year by Randy Kessler, his Atlanta lawyer. Kessler said Henry was virtually broke.

$170,000 a year works out to $18,888.88 on average per child.  Obviously, some are getting more, such as the 4-year-old in Atlanta, but it works out to an average of $1574 per month per child.  Which is neither a huge burden for a pro football player with a $20 million contract *nor* a huge amount of money relative to what it costs to clothe, feed, educate, shelter, entertain and transport a child.  His cocaine habit probably cost more per month.

Actually, he got cut loose from the team because of injuries and the cocaine thing.  So he’s only been paid $6.7 million.  Are those tiny violins I hear? Continue reading ‘Oh. Boo. Hoo.’

David Brooks soils himself in fear over Michelle Obama’s biceps

Published at March 8, 2009 in Political theater, Anxious masculinity, Woman-Hating and Dipshittery. 5 Comments

Let’s ignore for the moment all the other dreck in this typically specious MoDo column. Let’s focus on the glimpse she gives us into the psyche of David Brooks:

Let’s face it: The only bracing symbol of American strength right now is the image of Michelle Obama’s sculpted biceps. Her husband urges bold action, but it is Michelle who looks as though she could easily wind up and punch out Rush Limbaugh, Bernie Madoff and all the corporate creeps who ripped off America.

In the taxi, when I asked David Brooks about her amazing arms, he indicated it was time for her to cover up. “She’s made her point,” he said. “Now she should put away Thunder and Lightning.”

I’d seen the plaint echoed elsewhere. “Someone should tell Michelle to mix up her wardrobe and cover up from time to time,” Sandra McElwaine wrote last week on The Daily Beast.

Washington is a place where people have always been suspect of style and overt sexuality. Too much preening signals that you’re not up late studying cap-and-trade agreements.

David was not smitten by the V-neck, sleeveless eggplant dress Michelle wore at her husband’s address to Congress — the one that caused one Republican congressman to whisper to another, “Babe.”

He said the policy crowd here would consider the dress ostentatious. “Washington is sensually avoidant. The wonks here like brains. She should not be known for her physical presence, for one body part.” David brought up the Obamas’ obsession with their workouts. “Sometimes I think half the reason Obama ran for president is so Michelle would have a platform to show off her biceps.”

Oh. My. Continue reading ‘David Brooks soils himself in fear over Michelle Obama’s biceps’

Question for the ages

Published at January 14, 2009 in Religious nuts, Anxious masculinity and Woman-Hating. 3 Comments

What is it with all these dudes who think that a worldview that requires the submission and suppression of women (and, in this case, any dissent) in order to lift up men is “edgy,” “cool,” “punk” or in any way transgressive?

Sounds like the regular state of play for about the last 5 million years.

Oh, but this one’s got tattoos!  And plays loud music!  Must be edgy!

See also Jill from a couple of years back.

Credit where credit is due

Published at November 20, 2008 in The Teevee, Hear me roar and Anxious masculinity. 3 Comments

I watch a lot of Discovery Channel shows, and one of the things that’s always bugged me is the dearth of women on them, especially as they indulge their hardon for Manly Men in Manly-Men occupations.  Mythbusters has broken my heart by getting rid of Scottie and interns Christine and Jess, a welder and two engineers, and keeping Kari.  Who, while she pulls her weight and does a good job blowing things up, seems to have passed the producers’ test because of her looks rather than her skills.  The message seems to be that you can be accepted as the exceptional woman in the boys’ club by being hawt.

But now they have a new show, Time Warp, which seems to be quietly challenging that male dominance.  The basic premise of the show is to do various things and film them with high-speed cameras so that they can be played back very slowly and you can see what’s going on.   They’ve slowed down water droplets, wet dogs shaking off, a pole vaulter, car crashes, etc.  I started watching because some of the slo-mo over the credits looked really cool.

The hosts are two guys, Jeff and Matt.  Matt’s the high-speed camera guy, and Jeff is some kind of unspecified scientist and artist.  The show is based in Boston, and they use a lot of local experts to do various things or explain various things for the cameras.

But here’s the cool part:  a lot of those experts are women.  The pole vaulter, for example, and two archers (who were actually girls, since they were Junior Olympians), a pool player, a woman who was doing something with nails and steel-toed boots (I just caught the end of it last night).  And there are more pictured in the credits, but I haven’t seen all those shows.

I have to say, I’m impressed (I’d be even more impressed if there were more people of color included as well).  Given that the default expert is almost always male unless it’s a particularly “female” area of knowledge, the fact that they use women as experts for things that men do as well is very encouraging to me.  And they don’t make a big deal of it, either, it’s just, “So-and-so is a nationally ranked pool player who has won this and that title,” “Frick and Frack are archers who compete in the Junior Olympics,” “Thus-and-so is a pole vaulter on the University of Massachusetts track team.”

It’s a small thing, but it matters.  It matters because it shows women having skills, being expert at those skills, and being recognized for that expertise.  It shows that women can be accepted as authority figures.

And as for Mythbusters, they’ve gone from having a cast that was half female to doing a Kill Bill movie myth that was specifically about a woman (Uma Thurman being buried alive and punching out of the casket) and then using a male martial arts expert to determine whether “you” could punch through the casket and how much force could be generated.  Boo.

Welcome to the wonderful world of dating!

Published at December 22, 2007 in I will die alone eaten by my pets, Anxious masculinity, Vanity and Dipshittery. 20 Comments

Or, why Zuzu prefers to scratch the itch without getting emotionally involved at this point.

After reading some of the responses to this guest-post by Linnaeus over at Feministe, I decided that I’d give OK Cupid a try. It’s been a while since I’ve done any real online dating-dating, at least not since Nerve went from a buy-credits-to-send-emails model to a per-month-charge model, along with a really ugly site redesign. And since I don’t really get out all that much anymore, I’m not meeting a whole lot of men through activities (yes, I need to change that, for reasons apart from meeting men. I’m working on it). Mostly, I’ve been on, ahem, “alternative” personals sites for the aforementioned itch-scratching, but that’s been hit or miss, too. But at least there are no illusions, and few games, because everyone knows what you’re there for. Not that it keeps some guys from freaking out anyway, but that’s not my problem.

Anyway, for various reasons, I’m looking for a little something more. So in goes the toe.

I signed up Thursday, my profile got approved Friday, and I began filling it out and answering questions this morning. The first email I got was while I was still filling out the profile, and asked me why no picture. Had I known how that one would end up, I’d have ended it right there. But more about him later. Continue reading ‘Welcome to the wonderful world of dating!’