I didn’t have a picture of a beignet, but I just happened to have this snap of Bert.
Revolution: Only A Beignet Away
It is the nature of the spinster aunt — which nature is by definition that of the free-wheelin’ iconoclast — to prefer liberation to namby-pamby equality, to throw out the bath-water regardless of its infant population, to boldly go where no old biddie has gone before. Thus I reveal no secrets when I say that many traditionally whitedude-o-centric institutions are so deeply entrenched in backward patriarchal ideology that the spinster aunt necessarily writhes in ambivalence when she hears of women (or other oppressed groups) who try to bust through venerable dudely barriers to claim a piece of the action.
Which is not to say that I’m not happy as a clam when the downtrodden manage to succeed and thereby stick it to The Man. But nevertheless it would be nice if these oppressed classes would sit down with a beignet and a cup of coffee and reflect. Ideally, the beignet would have been made by a competent beignetier, and would, as do all well-composed lumps of deep-fried dough, promote in the beignetees a spasm of clarity. Whereupon it would be possible for them to grasp that patriarchy is a flawed system, and that the can’t-beatem-joinem gambit, though perhaps initially beneficial to those previously excluded from savoring society’s daintier bonbons, is actually tantamount to an endorsement of organized oppression.
If the beignet were really top-notch, it might foster a complete repudiation of any social system based on the unequal distribution of power.
Note that in this essay, beignet is code for critical thought.
Take the whole gay marriage dealio. Why the heck is Queerville so eager to invite the state into its relationships? I ask because hetero marriage — a condition for which the spinster aunt can have but little sympathy — is nothing to write home about; historically it has provided the infrastructure for applied misogyny, it continues to be disproportionately advantageous to the male partner, and its tendency is to morph into the Nuclear Family, the primary unit of modern serfdom. Is discrimination and bigotry asinine? Of course. It’s not that I think homos shouldn’t get married; it’s that I think nobody should get married. Of patriarchy’s many cornerstones, marriage is the cornerstoniest. So, c’mon, let’s abolish the whole thing! Who’s with me?
But I digress.
What got me thinking about the heartbreakingly counterproductive tendency of the persecuted to seek fully human status by emulating the ideologies of their oppressors was one of those articles I’m always coming across about oddball women blazing defiantly and inspirationally into traditional Y-chromosome territory. Last week it was Marin Alsop, the first woman in the history of the universe to head a world class symphony orchestra. Today (or maybe it was yesterday) it’s a few hardcore gals who became Catholic priests. They boarded a boat, or maybe it was an ark, and floated out into international waters, where they figured the long arm of the infallible pointy-headed woman-hatin’ pope couldn’t reach’em, and got themselves ordained.
I mean, you go girl and all that, but Jesus Christ, why-o-why? To paraphrase the brilliant René Spencer Saller, a chick priest is like a Log Cabin Republican. Who are they kidding? Why do they think that if they infiltrate the church they won’t absorb its patriarchal toxins, become drunk with power, and turn into gasbag ideologues who get all up in everyone’s shit? That’s what church is for.
The women priests are unlikely to get very far, I suspect. This is because Catholicism — the religion that gave Galileo the boot but wrote love poems to hordes of pedophiles — pretty much has its head up its butt. It thinks women should live quietly and uncomplainingly as dimwitted receptacles for male incontinence, the way God intended. Pope Ratzi has already excommunicated the women priests because he knows Jesus doesn’t like hangin’ with chicks. “Sacrament,” opined one male archbishop, alluding to the theatrical hoodoo-voodoo used for centuries to cow the ignorant peasantry, “is so precious, and they are trivializing it.” With their impertinent vaginas!
Come on, girls, the Roman Catholic church is like some old moth-eaten, syphilis-encrusted mattress the cat peed on. Just throw it out!