I know. I recently intimated that once I’d returned from my tarriance in North Texas I would resume posting substantive radical feminist/science fiction critiques of contemporary civilization. Inconveniently, it turns out that it’s thunderstorming today, so I can’t possibly embark on any endeavor more intellectually strenuous than putting fresh batteries into the remote, clapping my wrist to my forehead, and taking to my bed.
You know, ever since Dr. Uterus separated me from my ovaries, gloomy weather seems to reduce the pressure within my obstreperal lobe, which induces in me a kind of melancholic torpor. It’s not altogether unpleasant, but it does tend to cut into what some have described as the spinster aunt’s already minimal productivity. Not to mention the national Cool Whip supply.
Anyway, what this means for the blog is that today’s patriarchy-blaming will be, unlike the Kung Pao Shrimp I intend to have delivered for lunch, lite. We begin with a query from affable reader Jane Awake, who writes:
Hi Twisty, I was wondering, what is the dish pictured on your banner? Every time I look at it, I get hungry. My grandma gave me a cookbook called Cooking with Soup, and after reading it, I started using cream soups as sauces. I assume you have a more advanced recipe. Anyway, I am curious.
Cooking with soup! Naturally my initial reaction to this astonishing revelation was “well, if you’re going to go to all the trouble of making cream soup, why not just make the sauce instead?” Then I realized that, duh, Jane means canned soup! The mind reels.
Anyway, Jane, the dish in the photo is chicken-fried steak with milk gravy, canned green beans, margarine, and mashed potatoes, and it was a triumph. I did not cook this particular specimen, and cannot recommend doing so yourself, because it makes your whole house smell like the bastard son of What-A-Burger and the State Fair of Texas for two days. I got mine at the Hill Country Cupboard in Johnson City, TX. In a bold and iconoclastic break with tradition, they offer it with a “homemade Mexican sauce” option, which I have never tried because I flatter myself that I am not insane. They also have a “large” version, which I believe is half a cow, breaded, deep-fried, and dunked in library paste.
Those who wish to construe this as an endorsement of butchery, and/or who object to the use of the word “bastard” to describe the lingering aroma of chicken-fried steak, are free to blame me.
Speaking of Texas and vegetarianism (both of which I do endorse), homegirl Redneck Mother, who, as part of her indispensable hell-raising service, occasionally emails me articles from the local paper (which paper I, rightly or wrongly, refuse to read on grounds that they keep sending their minions over to litter my driveway with unsolicited free samples that I then have to expend valuable energy throwing away and complaining about), sends this howler on the subject of PETA’s “Sexiest Vegetarian Alive” beauty pageant. Apparently a local “tomato” who likes spinach is in the finals. (I warn you right now that the article contains sentences like this one:
“When you get right down to it, vegetarian chicks should be pretty cute, because they have less fat content.”
If the reader wishes to imagine that by posting this link I endorse sexism, fatphobia, PETA, or beauty pageants, I wish her the best. Blaming me is every citizen’s right.)
Finally, because blaming never really takes a holiday: NARAL reports, following a Georgia woman’s run-in with a godbag pharmacist over Plan B, that American mega-grocery chain Kroger Co. is the latest on the list of corporations who permit faith-based tramplings of a woman’s right to superintend her own fucking uterus.
But there’s good news, too. The Bush-appointed anti-contraception, anti-choice director of Health and Human Services’ Office of Population Affairs, Eric Keroack, has resigned in the wake of a mysterious, unnamed “action” taken against him by Medicaid in Massachusetts. You will recall that Keroack used to work for a “Christian pregnancy counseling” outfit, which, as I pointed out in a previous post bemoaning his appointment, is godbag code for “you’re so havin’ that baby, bitch!”
You know, I was going to shut up, but the subject of compulsory pregnancy reminds me of another notable moron. This one, like so many morons before him, is a Texas State Senator, who Textriotically proposes to compensate for the loss of American lives in Iraq with a slew of state-purchased Texan babies. His brilliant idea — which he has actually filed as legislation — is to bribe women who visit abortion clinics with $500 to gestate (and ultimately give up for adoption) fetuses they might otherwise terminate. Quoth Sen. Dan Patrick:
If this incentive would give pause and change the mind of 5 percent of those woman [sic], that’s 3,000 lives. That’s almost as many people as we’ve lost in Iraq.”
State Senator Patrick knows women, all righty. Just dangle a few C-notes under their nose and they’re yours.