Posts Tagged ‘ranting’

Vital gender under-class lessons from a sabretoothed squirrel

Just like I enjoyed Twilight while noticing its perturbing elements, I can appreciate the fun animation in Ice Age while REALLY hating the sexist cultural referents its humor depends on. Here’s what I’m talking about:

Here, we have a host of assumptions underlying the narrative of the guy squirrel and the girl squirrel. Which we know is a girl squirrel because it’s wearing blue eyeshadow and acts sexually manipulative. (Hint! Little girls! That’s all you need to become a Woman! Start practicing today!)

The guy squirrel possesses the fruits of his labor, which he has rightly earned and which he needs to survive. The girl squirrel uses a combination of sexual manipulation and faked distress to trick the guy into entering an implied contract to share resources based on love and sex. This would not make sense unless we understood and accepted that the girl is unable to get an acorn through her own labor. The girl then screws the guy out of his earnings. He has been a fool! (Little boys, take note! Don’t let this happen to you! It’s just how girls are!) The end.

Let me unpack it a little bit more for you. Women’s efforts and labor doesn’t actually count. If they do anything, or work at anything, or achieve anything, that can be instantly invalidated by saying they stole that tangible success through sex, ie through a transaction with a man trading the only thing women have of value, which is their sexual availability to men. Or, in this case, to goddamned sabre-toothed cartoon man-squirrels. That’s either just the way girl squirrels are because of their essential nature which results in wry romantic comedy hijinks, OR they’re that way because society has denied them the ability to make a living or if they (barely) have it, the actual credit for making that living is denied them and it must have been due to some man in the background who they’re blowing on the casting couch (or the VC board room, or whatever). Therefore, it makes sense to believe, and to base humor that “we all can understand” on the “fact”, the weird, powerful, and false idea, that there is a huge category of women with no legitimate personal interest in any particular subject who are just looking for some powerful man to fuck in order to access (and steal) his power (though how are they stealing it if they are actually exchanging something of value, ie, sex?) These women are looking to sleep with you, the powerful (!?) man to get a tangible benefit because they can’t (legitimately by your standards) benefit from their own labor. Given the slightest opportunity they will turn on you (the man who has earned everything justly, even if it has been by exploiting others’ labor). Unfortunately there is NO woman so powerful and accomplished that this misogynist patriarchal myth cannot discredit. Go ahead and think of one and let me know if you come up with any answers.

Bitchy Women’s News – old riot grrl zine

A couple of quotes for you from some of my Riot Grrrl mail from 1993, from Eulalie of Rude Girl in San Antonio — a parody newsletter of Witchy Women’s News called Bitchy Women’s News.

The WWN/SA-RCG would have all goddesses crammed into one grand goddess-over-all. All they have managed to do is force a sex change on the Christian God, and at that, the New Testament good-sweet-and-kind God. This is not the goddess, particularly not the triune goddess they appear to be speaking of… The WWN/SA-RCG has managed one thing — they have disarmed the goddess. What was once a huntress, creatrix, crone, is now a mockery; the sweet kindly woman whose only role is that of figurehead idol around which women gather to moan of their mistreatment.

oh also from the introductory paragraph, a harsh shot,

The Witchy Women’s News has, for some time, “envisioned the raising of a cone of energy.” So, they formed a council. Why a council? Because “Board of Directors” was too “patriarchal” I don’t think “council” is any less patriarchal; call it an Inner Circle and be done with it…

And then from an actual issue of Rude Girl, an advice column called “Ask Brother Prick”, critiques of critiques from Off Our Backs, anti-NAMBLA ranting…

and tiny stickers and paragraphs clipped out of newspapers

“I used to be something of an iconoclast, but now when I see signs of that in my son, I try to squash it immediately,” he noted with a rueful laugh.

What does it mean – it is kind of a poem, there on its own – was it carefully chosen – I think so.

Also in the envelop – a separate, fantastic, typed zine called Do-It-Yourself. Thanks Eulalie and Alison! (Zine credits: Alison Wonderland, Eulalie Fenster-Glas, Aleister Grumb, Tiajuana, Bobek, and Tiana!)

I was thinking that this was really the feminist press explosion where we all took our CR sessions to a public forum – more public than closed discussion groups anyway. We didn’t have a lot of continuity other than in snip & pieces of history or writing – not a lot of public talk about feminism that we could understand as us or ours, anyway – and just said, collectively, fuck it, we’ll talk about whatever it is, fast as we can come up with it, and send it out like dandelion seeds, not worrying if it’s good enough or done enough or what it’s for.

The media representations of us were so horrible – compared to the wit & punk charm and fuck you ishness of people trying to figure out what societal structures to undermine and how (graffiti and putting glue on top of one’s postage stamps being the tip of the iceberg) reduced to cute belly buttons, well — beyond annoying and into horrible.

Just a silly crazy little babbling rambling random self-deprecation alert from a no-one girl

I would like everyone, including myself, to use less self-deprecation, in their blogs, blog titles and descriptions, posts, emails, conversation, and life in general. How are you gendering your self presentation and what survival strategy is this? Do you need it? Is it working? Are you doing it on purpose? Consider.

We can do this on purpose and reclaim patriarchal judgments on “feminine” discursive strategy and that’s what’s often being attempted – and we can join the “howl” and do the girlpower thing and YET… YET… YET. It doesn’t always work. Out of a context of reclaiming, it is completely misinterpreted.

In many contexts it’s not reclaimable, just as performative sex-positive femininity is not, because we don’t have control. Rather than revaluing uncertainty, subjectivity, non-expertise, un-knowing, as we want to, we’re disempowering ourselves systematically.

Here are some words and phrases to watch out for.

* babbling
* random
* crazy
* silly
* rambling
* ranting (see my tagline, above!)

Infantilization and belittling
* little
* girl
* girly
* mommy

* just (“just a random girl”)
* only
* little
* silly
* tenative
* halfway

Disclaimer phrases to disavow responsibility
* I think
* Maybe
* I don’t really know, but
* I’m not an expert, but
* I’m not sure,
* You’re probably much better at this than I am,
* I don’t really understand,

My mission:


Yes, we are judged harshly as women if we DON’T use these rhetorical strategies to pre-devalue all that we say — whether we’re right or not. And we’re judged more harshly if we make a positive statement and happen to be wrong. SO WHAT. Stand up and be wrong then.

Yes it’s okay to say “I don’t know.” It should be more okay.

It’s also okay to make a strong statement without qualifying it.

I’m resolving to fight this a lot harder.

We should work on both fronts. We need to be calling each other on self-deprecation. Arrogance training.

At the same time, working harder to get men to talk in a way that is less damned arrogant and sure-acting and expert-y when they don’t know any more than we do. Calling them on it, being more aware of it, pointing it out in public. It’s especially helpful when men call out other men on their BS-ing — in front of women.

A combination, a balance, code-switching according to context, could work — but won’t bring down the system that rewards men for overconfident arrogance and women for self-deprecating bullshit.

What do you think? What ways do you notice other people doing this? And what ways do you note your own participation in this gendered communication system?

Peaceful weekend, but a little rantiness

It’s been a fairly quiet weekend here at the Nuthouse. House full of kids in and out, Moomin’s friends and Peanut from next door. They’re in the hot tub right now all flailing around. (Thankfully supervised by someone else.)

I have done increasing amounts of housework and cooking and playing with kids over the past week since stopping baclofen). I also looked a bit at work again finally (not working so much as just paying attention) and poked at some layout for poetry books. In short, I’ve been perking up and able to do more.

Days have been pretty good, but by evening I’m in a lot more pain and am unsteady on one or both feet.

My right foot and calf remains messed up. It does all the weird things it’s been doing; right now it hurts and my outer toes and ball of foot is weird and tingling and numb, and doesn’t seem to work right.


It’s nice… really nice! to have my arm strength back. I continue realizing how bad the last two months have been.

Also the strength in my left leg. I can go up stairs slowly with alternating feet. NOt all the way up a flight of stairs, but a bit of the way, with the crutches or 1 crutch and handrail.

I worked all afternoon helping Zond-7 pack some more for final bits of moving to his new place. Mostly I did the kitchen and I did it sitting down in a chair. We got back here & I collapsed & he helped me take off my boots and pants. I took half a vicodin. An hour later or so I took a very perfect bath.

You realized that on the baclofen I barely had the strength to wash… and to get undressed and get in the tub and dress again was an ordeal… so exhausting and painful & miserably cold to get undressed & then be wet afterwards. I was bathing only every 2 or 3 days, for all of November and December.

I look at how I was after the EMG and I was bad, but you know? Not worse than I was other times, like this spring. It was the drugs that messed me up catastrophically, & how.

RANT ALERT. Here it comes!

Mailing list buddies are telling me all the details of their years and years of diagnosis and un- and re-diagnosis. People who were told PLS, then rediagnosed with it, then had abnormal EMGs, then didn’t then had lesions and then didn’t later… It’s obviously a hot mess. Looking at all the emails, what I see is that by the time you’ve been through 10 years and 6 diagnoses you’re on 6 different drugs and who knows which end is up any more. Add that bit of data to my conviction that we are all vulnerable to overdrugging and this just strengthens my resolve to stay off all the drugs that get thrown at me. If I wanted, even slightly, I could right now legally be on vicodin, carisoprodol (Soma), baclofen, and Lyrica, with ambien on top and anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds on top of THAT. In short I could be high as a kite every second of the day if I told doctors that I felt better that way — because I’m upper middle class and have insurance. While people vastly more miserable than I am cannot get the most basic medications necessary for their health; and while other people in difficult situations can’t get any sort of medical care or psych help and turn to street drugs and get thrown in jail.

I have more ranting to do, but not here & now. Must process a bit more in semi-private before I bust out with it.

Oh… and it feels a little weird for people to congratulate me on being un-diagnosed. I mean thanks but, it’s just odd feeling and I don’t know what to say. Thanks but you know what things are still hard and I’m still in pain and still afraid for my future in so many ways. Yes, it’s a relief that I have some objective evidence of not having ALS. Yes, it’s a huge though somewhat qualified relief to have another neurologist say I don’t have PLS and she doesn’t think I have MS either. I mean, yay. But… on the other hand… still in pain and disabled and dealing with the same things I have been since early last year. And still with a hefty chunk of uncertainty as to why and what happens next. I’ve still got one neuro saying one thing and the other disagreeing. I do appreciate it that other people are and have been worried about me and haven’t wanted to hear it that they might have to see me go through a progressive illness. But, you will have to bear it that I’m not like… BETTER. okay?

Long slow weekend incoherent books resolutions

I stayed in bed rather a lot the last few days, since the storms hit, venturing out for noodle soup with whump and ska-rat yesterday, and to SF to Zond-7’s house today & back. I’ve been hurting a lot and a little depressed maybe, or emotionally shaky, or something. Often i’m in such heinous pain I whimper by accident. I’m in that state now, embarrassing. I dont’ lie around sighing or acting hangdog with just any pain. instead i am here typing and acting normal as possible but then whine out like a dog with its tail stuck under the rocking chair. I swear if that thing had just happened in YOUR ankle you’d sing out too. damn.

Anyway over the weekend I took out a giant wad of poems and worked on them, and arranged them, and started messing with layout, and got a little bit further into an artistic funk as I looked at the little book of poems (“short”) that I made in 2002 and fiddled with its layout and thought about reprinting it and sort of loved and hated the old poems in the way you might too if you write something very overthinkily until it’s burned into your brain. There they are, they’re done, I’m not going to burn them or shoot them or anything — but I’ve passed them by. I fiddled with the arrangement of the poems in another book of poems, and then the enormous manuscript-thing that might should be broken up into two. This, sort of in the background of cleaning things up to have the house full of people and then cleaning up afterwards, so if I seemed abstracted I probably was… Then had a splendid time on the couch (forsaking the baclofen and taking a spacey-outy muscle relaxant) with z-amber and cyn, ranting about the hugos and then making a femsfaward LJ community as we looked over the list of eligible books by women and realized how many of them we hadn’t read, and resolved to read them and review them and to ask other people to write up the ones they’ve read. We got very punchy & giggly and had kind of worked up to it by cyn coming into the bedroom and telling me ominous ominous vague thigns about Blood in the Fruit and then we struggled to outdo each other in praising the 1st three Marq’ssan books & which parts of them perturbed us and led us into self-criticism (I think I cried randomly for several days as I thought about the ways I was like Zeldin with her shreds of privilege, and then later again as I thought about the bits of me that are like Weatherall. Oh, house of horrors!) And back to my own poems sometimes as I feel sort of small and down, needy and cranky and insignificant, I gawk at some sprawly grand scrawl of poemyness and wonder how I wrote so big, or so biggity. I like it, but it’s odd for that voice to be me. But when it is… it’s the best thing ever but it’s being up high and unsustainable, somewhere that I have abstracted myself to, to where I think Maureen Owen would approve and be leaping around from building to building in the Gotham night with me like superheroes cloaks billowing out – but Alta would roll her eyes… earthy hippie goddess on the other shoulder… and tortured ginserouac clashing with cid corman somewhere around my neck, like lice scurrying around … glass bead games as I position carefully in tone and branch out and attempt to grow an architecture suddenly in the middle of someone else’s poetic driveway…

Rook just caught me crying and offered to move my leg around but it was too painful. I’m having trouble with the weight of blankets which sucks becasue I’m cold. the vellux blanket is good for the foot part because it’s so light, and then the electric one can go across my legs. The bad parts right now are my big calf muscles, and the smaller ropy ones next to them on the inside, especially near knees and ankles and then there are othe rmuscles doing stuff in places I didn’t know I *had* muscles. The bottoms of my feet ! Clearly one has muscles there but they aren’t supposed to DO ANYTHING while you’re lying in bed. The thing that just made me yelp was some kind of thing with my big toe leaping up, but….leaping up somehow against something very hellaciously tight up higher. So in trying to pull back against it I burned some other muscle. I wish Tom had not been such a drunken creep pawing at me, because he was the best at un-spazzing my legs when not out of his mind. The feeling is awful; it’s the same awfulness i had during transition in labor, where it felt like my leg muscles were ropy snakes at war with each other.

the ska-rat showed me pictures, in 2nd life and without, kids, family, old friends, fascinating, and paintings. he sweetly left a painting of the view out my study window and i taped it next to the window so that I can have the refreshing mediation of reality always there before me. i like the movement in his drawings and also the utopian glow of the way he paints strip malls, backyards, traffic lights, and suburban swimming pools, infused with grace and mystery. I worried that the slow pace of my life appalled him. Yes, it’s relaxing and I believe it, but, bascially, if you want to hang out with me at the moment it’s at the cusp of sublime and boring. I’m not hopping onto my motorcycle to tour the big city… not till the sun comes out.

So instead of a game we had a little sparky cabal meeting. (Since I took a pain pill I was chirky enough to sit up and be social instead of brooding over my legs in bed.) now part of the problem for me and reading patterns is that I read whatever free piles of books come to me. I’ll change that and start reading new sf by women that comes out as best I can, especially if it comes already recommended!

I miss Zond-7 and wanted to stay over, but Moomin has school tomorrow and rook starts his new job, and plus it’s his birthday! hey! I thought I’d make a cake from scratch if I can manage it. Tues. I’ll go up to the city and then be there Wednesday for my scary but longed for appointment at the ALS clinic.

The kids were lovely today with only minor moments of squabbling. Really it’s amazing how they will just play for hours in elaborate pretending games. Even Peanut was in on most of it though she’s younger. I talked with Moomin a bit today about it being rough being the oldest in a bunch, and asked him to go easy and not to scorn them for a) not knowing somehting b) not being always able to handle their emotions. We talked about who we know with virtues and flaws.

In the pho place ska-rat asked us what we would go back and tell ourselves 20 years in the past (when we all first knew each other.) I think whump’s were somewhat practical financial advice. (Buy *** stock!) and mine was to tell myself that I was doing it all just fine and to go right ahead. Perhaps with a side note to see a neurologist in the next couple of years. But what would that 18 year old self have wanted to ask me! I suspect some things about love and happiness to which I would have plenty of answers, all along the lines of “stay foolish, you’ll enjoy it.” But probably she would have had some warnings and tellings for *me* not asking for mine to her. “Don’t forget this! Don’t forget being like this! Don’t forget me, and this feeling and this other moment, this complexity, and this very beautiful thing! They were real! Don’t get old in that way that makes you lose your fucking heart and soul!” (I won’t… she wrote it all down very thoughtful of my well being.) Ska-rat did not report but clearly had some things in mind for his callow-youth-former-self.

Reading for the week: alternate histories and real history

I wanted to at least mention Farthing and Ha’penny, because I read them this week. Rook read Ha’penny and was up late feeling very perturbed and upset and was still ranting about it days later. When I read it, my own readerly expectations were set up by the dozens and dozens of British detective novels I’ve read over the years. Walton’s Scotland Yard dectective is just that same sort of decent man with ideals about justice, clomping around in his inspectorly boots feeling a bit out of place among the nobility in their country houses. The real point of the books for me was political resistance and then, for Ha’penny, political violence. At what point do people – especially privileged people – decide to go against the government or the status quo? To engage in civil disobedience, to flee from the justice system, to go into hiding? When do you know they’re about to “come for you”? And with Ha’penny the question pushed further into – When do you, or should you, become involved in violent revolution? When do you become that bomb-throwing terrorist, if ever? Is there a time when you should?

The same two questions also leaped out at me from the Harry Potter books, obviously.

Rook was disturbed in part because he felt Walton was implying strongly – was buying into – the idea that assassination was or is a solution. I disagree with him and think Walton was playing with it but not buying into it at all. The characters do — or actually… one character who intends to assassinate doubts the “Great Man” theory of history or the idea that you can change history by going back in time and killing one person. But the person who intends to stop the assassination believes it (more). It’s deliberately complicated and made ambiguous and I think the story’s setup undermines violent response. The bomb making assassin is romanticized heavily but I think we are meant to see that for what it is (rather than identifying with it) as the romanticizing character (ugh trying not to do any real spoilers!) goes deeper into confusion. I think Rook would say that their decisions are framed as unequivocally good and bad. But I’m not so sure about that. In any case, the book made me think about myself and my response to injustice. I’ve always wondered if there’d be a point where I would be pushed over the edge and join the montoneros or whatever… I think I might have as a teenager. But now I’d like to think that I’d be non-violent even in the most extreme political situation. I might not be personally non-violent if attacked though on some levels I also like to think I would be. But as political action I think that inspiring people to mass non-violent resistance is right. Also you could argue that it’s more effective in the long run.

I have spent more time thinking about just or unjust causes for war, but not really much time thinking out the ethics of non-state-sponsored violence. They are much the same in some ways; I don’t see that being a state gives any more legitimacy to killing people. So if you accept war then you have to accept “terrorism” as equally ethical. Just my two cents.

Zond-7 and I were talking about it this morning and he was saying that setting yourself on fire is probably much more effective than assassination. And also mentioned the fascinating idea from eco-extremist movement that the most ecologically useful thing we could do is to kill ourselves… i.e. nothing I do in my life as we in the U.S. are living, even if I were a super duper eco-activist, would be as effective in reducing my ecological footprint as if I just offed myself.

Anyway, I loved Farthing and Ha’penny and would recommend them to anyone — especially if you’d like to see the detective novel turned on its head a little bit & made super awesome and political. Or if you’ve ever imagined actually going back in time and killing Hitler… Then you will enjoy this.

I think Iris might be super annoyed by it as she might be with Rook on hating the romanticized bomb-maker and it will spark her off into writing me a 20 page email about how much she hates the IRA… But I told her to read it anyway.

Meanwhile, Zond-7 read me a bit out of Kevin Kelly Out of Control and I fell asleep to more about ants and bees and hive minds and the internet. Last night I read to him from Durant’s Rome book, Caesar and Christ, a bit about Tiberius Gracchus and Caius Gracchus and the Agrarian Revolts. I was falling asleep as I was reading, but kept going anyway. I hear that I fell asleep grinning. I wonder why?

Rambly jumbly hodgepodge of stuff

What is this radio silence from the Badger! Uncertain shifting boundaries, being busy, being spaced out, doing some offline scribbling, writing letters & chat, not posts.

A general shifting-ground feeling at work and in life…Which I can’t explain yet but will try to do that soon, in some way that is tactful and okay and honest. If I were to have followed it all online the past few days it would be alternating between ranting, flipping out, and burbling happily… you will have to imagine it.

Walking is up and down. I have popped back from the relapse of a few weeks ago, but am still in and out of the wheelchair. It’s heartening! And luxurious and nice!

Moomin likes Lego camp and has built a different motorized working robot car every day.

Susan Kitchens gives me some book recommendations:

contemporary: Lenaing into the Wind: women write from the heart of the west. isbn 0395901316 … and pioneer women, ed Joanna Stratton. She finished an anthology started by her great grandmother, so you get writing by Kansas-Territory-era women and later. Great stuff. Link:

My parents are gone back to TX and I miss them and wish we had gotten to do anything fun together… instead I was going back and forth between driven & exhausted. They did build me some good shelves which I totally appreciate.

martinemonster is here visiting from Norway and she is superawesome… I wish I could slope off and take her to the beach and do fun stuff… I love to play tour guide!!

I long for the beach and to bob around happily in the waves with a little surfboard and wetsuit and feel all shiny clean salty new – I’d like to be cold and then lie in the warm sand and smell a sandy seaweedy smell in the sun – but I am afraid to hurt my back worse and cannot quite picture if I can walk in sand or not and don’t want to disappoint myself with tantalizing ocean if I can’t get to it. Still maybe a good expedition for Sunday.

And meanwhile I am already dating someone else which I know makes me look fickle and hasty and perhaps annoying. But since it is obvious anyway I might as well at least allude to it shyly. I can’t figure out how to write about it yet.

I had my work event the other night and it went okay…. i was flipping out that no one was going to come but then they did. Still I am not quite doing event promotion right… I guess it has only been 4 months and I am still learning.

I am reading all the birds of prey comic books, a lot of poetry, I finished Carnival and started Whiskey & Water (which is good but I don’t like it so madly (yet) as I do Carnival). And realized that I had not finished the end of the Education of Fanny Lewald, so I started that again last night trying to figure out where I had left off reading.

This morning full of energy and coffee I made pancakes and washed all the sheets and blankets and helped Moomin clean his room. He came in and told me he was cleaning and organizing his room – and asked me for help! Man! No one could resist that. Now my back is twingy and little sheets of flame are going down my leg that didn’t hurt at 9am.

Wheelies and obstacles

Check out this collection of wheelchair technique videos! Some are obvious and simple and some less so. I yelled happily at the no-hands wheelie…

I am really good at this one – popping over high obstacles while moving. Timing is everything. I can’t do a curb yet though maybe if I had good, small wheels. Even a small sidewalk bump takes a bit of thought and practice. When I go across Church and Market where there are like 8 train track rails in a row on a complicated curb, plus potholes, I feel very studly if I can do it in one smooth run – seamlessly.

Damn, this is impressive – wheelie downhill with turns.

I am unnerved by the escalators but still want to do it… ever since i heard about a guy doing it at Web2.0 at Moscone. I would need a very narrow escalator to be able to do it. Going up looks doable but going down backwards, I’d be chicken.

A note, I just read a bunch of brokenclay’s archives and her page on wheelchairs really hit home for me. That is where I got to years ago, and that’s where I’m at again… with the chair I can keep up the pace of my life, without it, I have a lot more difficulty and pain and not so much stamina. I get the same amused look from doctors as if it is a whim. And I try to explain, well, what? you want me to tough it out just because using a chair is somehow a defeat or acceptance; too much acceptance of ‘being disabled’? No… I reject that way of thinking. If I need a chair I’ll use it. And they also seem to think i should signal temporariness by having a crappy rental E&J. NO WAY… I see people (especially older people) limping and then just not going anywhere… limiting themselves rather than use what is basically a piece of technology not a lot different than a car or a bicycle. but because of prejudice and their concepts of fixed identity.

anyway, thanks to brokenclay for saying it very clearly (and without the ranting I can’t seem to help)

What would help me feel better?

Concluded last night that I needed to read some disability blogs and history and find all that Independent Living stuff that used to help me so much 10 years ago. A little ass kicking culture and as betsyl put it, “turn-based ranting” would be very helpful.

Things like this free online ADA course, and a bunch of stuff about the 1977 sit-in at the SF Federal Building, which I knew about but didn’t know the fascinating crucial bit that the Black Panthers fed all 150 protesters, the whole time! And that after like 10 days, the Mayor declared an Emergency Housing situation and made the city go in and bring beds and blankets. And all the protesters laughing at the idea that they could be starved out or made so uncomfortable they’d leave. “We’ve had surgeries and endured hospitals and abuse and you think we can’t sleep on your office floor?” Inspiring and beautiful. I’ll think of them next time I go up a sidewalk cut or grab a bathroom handrail. Wheelchair Dancer‘s post led me to some amazing links. Maybe I’ll run into her around town, as it sounds like she’s in the area!

Ordered silly tshirt with flaming wheelchair, after a while cruising around really funny snarky ones with the familiar blue sign flipping off the “walkies”(!!) and great slogans… I would love the “It’s a miracle! I can walk!” one or “If you stare long enough I might do a trick” if only it was in better typography and on a dark shirt.

I have a Plan for tomorrow and for the week!

You know what this kind of talk means, right? It means I felt crappy yesterday and today and am seeking desperately for answers and solutions and strategies and Things to Do.

Physical therapy! Done it all day long! Walking around! And I’m vowing to swim first thing in the morning. And I’m going to go hang around the rehab shop and also will call all my doctors.

Rook was like “want to play a game and have some fun together” and I stared at him in disbelief. Instead, he held my leg in traction for a while, which was heavenly. I want to cry just thinking about it, and beg him to come do it again. TRACTION OH YEAH BABY!!! DO ME!

After those romantic 5 minutes while he looked up my skirt and I admonished him to pull harder, he then helped me clean up all the papers and things on the floor and do the laundry. And he changed my sheets. Now that’s romantic!

All the papers and things are now up high, where I can get at them and sort through them. It’s a big relief.

I still have a horrible lingering cough, so really should go on another round of prednisone… which might also be super nice for my back.

Brilliant rant from Zoe Williams

Hat tip to oursin. Zoe Williams barrels forward beautifully, and just past the killingly funny bit that slams some crap Fay Weldon said about how more women should fake orgasms so as not to destroy men’s egos, there’s the most awesome punch:

So, from the top: feminism has destroyed men, women, the happy congress thereof, any joyful union that might once have resulted from that congress, and in the event of accidental union, any chance that it might last. Let’s say it lasts long enough to produce offspring, feminism has destroyed our ability to care for and nurture them, destroyed men’s desire to hang around and provide for them, destroyed the confidence of this blighted spawn, craving as it does a mother’s love, and hereby stored up all the social ills commensurate with creating a child heedlessly, and failing properly to love it. If, however, you chance upon a feminist who hasn’t done this, it is because she complacently failed to have children at all, which is a downward spiral for the nation, and, indeed, the race, as well as, naturally, emptying a void into her soul that she will never fill, that will ache with sorrow until her self-induced cancer carries her away. Shucks, I forgot about her getting raped. She’s probably been raped, too, and it was all her own fault.

ZOMG love love love Zoe!!!! This was too hilarious – a brilliant and inciscive rant.

Knitting geeks will bridle at the closing sentence.

Technorati Tags: , , ,