Things are really hoppin here at Spinster HQ, and there is absolutely zero time for blogging today. For example, I have to slouch in the lime green recliner with a cup of Fair Trade half-caf and contemplate whether to adopt a Great Pyrenees from a rescue. There are some bluebonnets that need photographing. And that’s not all. I have to bait a bunch of mouse traps in the VIP quarters down at the bunkhouse; my sibling Tidy informs me that she’s punting the visiting Faster family matriarch my way, and the joint is fucking infested.
Did I tell you that I took my car in to the shop to remedy a clunking AC fan, and they actually extracted a mouse corpse from it? That’ll be $120, please, thanks for choosing Austin Rip-Off Car Repair!
Oh, and I can’t miss this: my zany mare Maypearl, who pulled a butt muscle last week, is getting a massage this afternoon.
A massage for a horse? Are you effing kidding me?
Nope. Maypearl’s trainer Cristina is a California flower child, and doesn’t hold with the centuries-old cowboy’s “give’er some Bute* and lope it out!” method of equine physical therapy. Cristina has put her foot down. If Maypearl does not receive a 3-hour massage toot sweet it’s animal cruelty and I’m going to hell.
I’ll post pictures.
Meanwhile, you know that Amy Alkon person from yesterday, the one whose views on human copulation and eating fried dough intersect? Well, I was sitting down to write about not writing today, and lard help me, her website was still open in my browser. As you know, the imp of the perverse afflicts me from time to time. So of course I read Alkon’s latest blog post, knowing full well that it would be like unto 47 toothpicks jabbing me in the corneas. As it turned out, it was more like 48 toothpicks.
The Alkon! It’s indescribable. She is outraged over racial discrimination. Discrimination against white dudes, that is.
What’s got her lipstick in a smear is this: back in 2003, 77 applicants took a promotion-qualifying test at the New Haven, Connecticut fire department. 19 African-American firefighters were among the hopefuls. None of the 19 scored high enough to win a promotion, so New Haven threw out the test. Naturally the high-scoring-yet-unpromoted white guys filed suit against the city. “Racial discrimination!” was their embittered cry. The District Court judge said, no, since nobody was promoted, there was no harm. Now the Supremes are on the case.
So Alkon does what any deluded self-promoting misogynist right-wing gasbag would do: she sides with the white dudes and backs herself up by quoting Martin Luther King!
It’s always hilarious when racists defend the Master Race against “reverse discrimination,” and simultaneously attempt to present themselves as non-racists, by trotting out Martin Luther King on judging people not “by the color of their skin by by the content of their character.” It appears to elude these patriarchy-denying chumps that, when the social order privileges a ruling class over a subordinate one based on skin color, there can be no such thing as true discrimination against the ruling class. That’s what makes them the ruling class, dumbshit! Discrimination, like all putrefied shit, can only flow in both directions if the classes in question are of equal status, which, obviously, they fucking well aren’t.
“I’m with him,” says Alkon. She means that she and Martin Luther King are two hearts that beat as one. Yeah, she’s with him, because when King said “I have a dream” what he actually meant was not “End racism,” but “Reward the deserving white guys who skunked the stupid black guys on the test.”
Look, if none — not a single one — of the black guys scored high enough for a promotion, something ain’t right. Something that looks suspiciously like racism. Maybe the test was fucked up. Maybe the white dudes cheated. Or maybe, you know, the black dudes, as members of an oppressed class, were marginalized from the git-go. Ya think?
* Bute is horse aspirin.