Monthly Archive for May, 2011

Spinster aunt: “white,” perhaps, but not white

Skin color

A selection of hues from the skin of my left forearm. The next time I have to check a race box on some form, I’m gonna tick “other” and write in “aubergine.”

UPDATE: I realize that this post may need a bit more explanation. Here is how I got these swatches. I took a photo of my arm with my iPhone, and put it in Photoshop, and moved the little eyedropper around. I got a buttload of different CMYK values, many of which I suspect I have in common with most everyone else on the planet (as someone said in the comments, alluding to the purple swatch, yeah, if you mean the planet Obstreperon).

I did this in response to a comment suggesting that skin color/ethnicity can be objectively determined (as opposed to, say “whiteness,” which a construct). My point — not breathtakingly original, perhaps, but a point nevertheless — is that a person’s actual measurable skin color is not necessarily always what one would expect based on the ethnicity with which that person is identified. Also, ethnicity is totally a construct.

ArmHere is the original photo, and yeah, it looks like maybe the white balance is skewed a wee bit toward the blue end of the spectrum. Also, I should maybe have rinsed the hay particles out of my arm hair before taking the picture. The purple swatch came from a freckle, not from the shadowy part of the photo.

Spinster aunt remembers something from the 90s

It’s true that spinsterdom has been keeping me pretty well preoccupied with matters unrelated, except in a general weltanschauung-y sense, to this patriarchy-blaming blog, but I did happen to notice that one blamer recently commented thusly:

Well, I keep reading about how not all women have breasts or uteri, and not all women have XX chromosomes, and how womanhood can be defined as “feeling like a woman”, which makes me think I have no idea what a woman is. And if I don’t know what a woman is, what do phrases like “women’s oppression” even mean? The oppression of who?

Then somebody responded with a comment about conflations and pipe dreams and Shania Twain. I didn’t know what that comment meant, but I appreciated that it was trippy. One is sometimes burdened with a sense of regret when considering that, uproarious good fun though patriarchy blaming is, it often lacks that certain psychedelic je ne sais quoi.

Who woulda thunk that here the Twain would meet?

Unfortunately I was unable to find the magazine cover to which I allude in the post, but here's Shania on the cover of Maxim (June 2003) in essentially the same capacity.

Shania Twain, though. I don’t know jack about her, except that she was on the cover, dressed in tuxedo hotpants, of a dykeygirl magazine that was for some reason a fixture in my downstairs bathroom for several years in the 90’s. One is sometimes burdened with a sense of regret when considering that, of the precious few memories one has managed to retain from the colorful, impetuous, funfeminist era when one played in an indie rock band under the moniker Spitzie West, one of them is used up by this trivial Shania Twain magazine cover detail.

Spitzie West was my stripper name.

Which leads me to my larger point:

A woman is anyone perceived by anyone else (including herself) to be a member of the sex class.

That is, woman is a made-up figment. A pastiche, if you will, of dudely fantasy. An archetype in pscyhosocial folklore invented as a means to illuminate, support, or catalyze the action-man exploits of the dude protagonist. For example, the cover photo of Shania Twain in tuxedo hotpants wasn’t meant to represent the truth about a human being, it was meant to re-tell a myth for and about heterosexual men (that woman = sex).

Hey, this’ll be fun. Let’s say some right-thinking activists from my home planet Obstreperon finally showed up and neutralized all the dudes by shifting them en masse into another dimension (Don’t worry! They wouldn’t be dead — mostly only imprisoned, probed, and used in alien experiments). Would “woman” still exist in the absence of its defining characteristic? Hell no. We’d all just be people. Strolling around alone after dark, having a couple of cocktails, wearing clothes and shit, pretty much without incident. Getting PhDs in astrophysics, directing films, being firefighters, pretty much without incident. You grasp the gist.

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Photo swiped from here.

Spinster aunt watches komedy klips on Internet

OK, Jerry Seinfeld isn’t much of a feminist icon, but he’s often good for a couple of yuks, and let’s face it: a couple of yuks are what gets a spinster aunt out of bed in the morning.

So, since I have no time to post — and by the way, not posting is the new posting, in case you were wondering about all this crapola I’ve been publishing lately — here are a few Seinfeld bits that you may find pleasantly amusing.

I had never seen the clear toilet seats to which he alludes, so I Googled it. I was floored by the astonishing variety of acrylic toilet seats with stuff embedded in’em available for purchase on the modern Internet. Sea horses, ducks, skulls, and of course, money. If only I had 37 bathrooms. I would put a different stuff-embedded acrylic toilet seat in every one.

iBook Store bleeps out raunchy X-rated title of feminist classic

No time to post, but check this out: the only book by Andrea Dworkin available at the iPad store is titled “I*********e”.

Yet they leave Tucker Max’s I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell intact!

I’m downloading B*ss*p*nts right now.

What a world.

Girls in India: endangered species

No time to post! So I leave you with this remarkable remark from this morning’s BBC news feed, a story on the habit of certain segments of Indian society to selectively abort female fetuses, and the resulting “gender disparity” in India.

“Clinics from Punjab were boasting that they had 10 years’ experience in eliminating girl children and inviting parents to come to them.”

Here at Spinster HQ we’re all for women aborting whatever pregnancies they don’t want, for whatever reasons they do want. But we strenuously object when the objective is “eliminating girl children”, the practice is limited to female fetuses, and is mandated against women’s will by churlish husbands who beat their wives for “producing” females, and who only want male children so they can collect dowries when the son and heir gets married.

As a result of this fucked up setup wherein female children automatically incur a negative cash flow, and wherein “infanticide, abuse and neglect of girl children” is not uncommon, there are, according to the Census of India, only 914 girls for every 1000 boys under the age of 7.

It’s gynocide.

Brit royals pay homage to unidentified cartoon

Origin unknown. Sent in by Tidy.

Why didn’t I think of that?

Once in a while there emerges an idea so radiant, so silky, so bursting with nourishing emollients and nutraceuticals, that the staff at Spinster HQ can but put down their string cheese, gaze up from their microscopes, and raise a prickly-pear margarita to its genius.

Today I allude to this, one man’s response to the announcement by some apocalypse-predicting old godbag that the world is gonna end on Saturday:

An atheist and entrepreneur from North Hampshire, Bart Centre, is enjoying a boost in business for Eternal Earth-bound Pets, which he set up to look after the pets of those who believe they will be raptured. [cite]

God.

I mean God, the actual fictional deity. A real prince of a guy. He hates homos, women, Arabs, and communists; he loves blastocysts, white folks, America, and pedophile priests. He gives AIDS to babies and turns a blind eye to genocide in Sudan. Hell, he even gave me breast cancer! So it’s just like him to suction up 200 million pious animal caregivers through his giant Heaven Vacuum Tube and leave all those innocent dogs and hamsters and parakeets to starve to death or — the more likely scenario — get eaten alive by all the marauding infidel zombies God will have left behind to rot in squalor and pestilence. After Darfur, a thing like that would be pie to a guy like him.

Often I scratch the spinster noggin with a puzzled finger, unable to quite fathom why anybody would care to worship a fictional depraved shitbag like that God guy, but then I remember that fictional depraved shitbags are often charismatic, and that the godly, who have been lied to all their lives, can’t help being gullible.

Spinster aunt temporarily icked out by stupid Geraldo Rivera column

Holy shit, remember that dude Geraldo Rivera? The edgy, muck-raking journalist from 40 years ago? But then he kind of turned into a supremely annoying one-man tabloid? I hadn’t seen him around lately, so I’d assumed he’d been sent off to Joke-Butt Island, where guys with 70s porn mustaches go to die, but no, he popped up in my news reader this morning with a column in Fox News Latino on professional throbbing-gristelian (rhymes with “Aristotelian”) Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Rivera writes like a third-rate blogger. As a second-rate blogger, I ought to know.

His column is titled “Geraldo Rivera: Arnold’s Telenovela.” In it he enumerates the “three stereotypes [that] color her story.” By ‘her’ he means Mildred Baena, the woman who Schwarzenegger — who as you know is now at the center of a so-called “love child” scandal — exploited, pronged, and impregnated. Rivera calls Baena “Patty” or “The Mexican Maid!”

The “three stereotypes” involve Baena’s status as an immigrant menial whose sex appeal was irresistible to the powerful robot governor. Rivera fills in the narrative with colorful speculation.

Rivera’s main objective in the piece appears to be a takedown of Schwarzenegger (flecked, of course, with the admiration all dudes feel for other dudes who demonstrate in their sexploits “chutzpah, arrogance, narcissism, and cosmic balls”). He does, in fact, suggest that, if the title weren’t already held by John Edwards, Schwarzenegger would be “the creep of all time.” However, no journalist — and certainly no “journalist” — was ever able to resist depicting the victim of a famous sexual harasser as anything other than the essence of sex itself, and Rivera is no exception.

Using a writing style that is both lumpen and pulsating with tabloid idioms (“honey trap,” “uncontrolled sex machine”), he wastes no time in insulting Baena. I give you the first two sentences of the article:

Mildred Patricia Baena [...] would never be mistaken for Salma Hayek; yet she has now become the country’s most prominent Latina, temporarily eclipsing even Shakira and JLo. Like Latina Raquel Welsh or Rita Hayworth in their time, she was irresistible, attracting the affection, loyalty and generosity of a big man, larger than life.

He then flips the misogyny switch from pornulation to sentimental maudlin mode. Not just a woman with “classic smoldering appeal,” Baena is also the essence of fantasy wifeliness: long-suffering, patient, self-sacrificing, loyal, will put out and do laundry, etc.

“To raise her son in the literal shadow of that swaggering man, keeping the truth of their child’s parentage secret for a time even from Arnold, required world-class love and trust.”

That’s right, Geraldo. She was his toilet; that always breeds world-class love and trust.

Kill me now.

Science dude states obvious, gets news and blog media coverage

Stephen Hawking has announced that “the afterlife,” that mythical spirit-world so beloved of godbags, is a “fairy story for people who are afraid of the dark.” At last, a certified smart dude validates my lunatic determination to base my afterlife views on the overwhelming non-evidence for the existence of an omnipotent cosmic concierge with a fetish for human blastocysts! It’s about time he cleared up that nonsense in A Brief History of Time about “knowing” the “mind of God.” What a boner that was.

The above-quoted Guardian interview approaches Hawking like he’s some kinda seer, or oracle, or holy guy. “Why are we here? What should we do with our lives?” is the cry. Apparently, now that No. 1 Science Information has made the contingency of Jesus loving you forever appear ever more remote, people are demanding that science (and Hawking = Science) step into the void to confirm our special purpose in the universe. But Hawking, it turns out, isn’t God2K. He remarks that human existence is a totally random happenstance. “Do your best,” he says (I paraphrase), something your Mom might say.

It had to be a dude physicist saying this fucking obvious stuff, by the way, not because there aren’t any women physicists, because there aren’t any women physicists who are famous and revered enough to give interviews to the Guardian wherein they would be permitted to get away with stating that God is a buttload of bullshit. There aren’t any such women physicists because academia is seriously fucked-up-sexist, the media are seriously fucked-up-sexist, and the entire world order is seriously fucked-up-sexist.

via Pharyngula

Hugs, Twisty: rapist is asshole

Dear Twisty,

Please Jill! Cast the jaundiced spinster eye apon the recent IMF rapist? I need your unique perspective.

redpeachmoon

Dear redpeachmoon,

What luck! I just happen to have handy just such a perspective on the IMF rapist. However, you might not interpret it as particularly unique. It goes like this:

That guy is a fucken tool.

Sure, I’ve got a little more, but that’s pretty much the gist. So if you’ve got something else to do, go on ahead. I won’t mind.

Meanwhile, if, unlike blamer redpeachmoon, you serenely abide in your cloister under a self-imposed news blackout, you may not have heard of the IMF rapist. No great loss. If you’ve heard of one IMF rapist, you’ve heard of’em all.

This particular IMF rapist is Dominique Strauss-Kahn, 62, pink-faced captain of industry and managing director of the International Monetary Fund. Dominique Strauss-Kahn went on a little spree in Manhattan last weekend and assaulted a hotel employee. According to the first link I clicked on Google, this is how it went down: Strauss-Kahn “emerged from the bathroom naked and dragged [the hotel employee] through the suite from room to room in a violent sex attack.” He then high-tailed it to JFK, licketty-split, but was yanked off his flight to Paris just before takeoff, brought back to “a police cell in Harlem,” and denied bail as a flight risk. [cite]

The woman Strauss-Kahn attacked is being referred to as a “maid” or “chambermaid.”

Maid is a creepy-ass word. No matter what, a maid is not a good thing to be. In days of yore the term was used to denote a mythical female who had so far escaped — but would soon be forced into — getting pronged by some entitled prick. Denoting females thusly was of vital importance back in yore; owing to a lot of macho-religious nonsense that equated women with sex, as-yet-unpronged ladies were worth more than pronged ones. Intact virtue could make or break your career.

Nowadays maid still refers most commonly to a member of the sex class, but with less emphasis on purity, and more emphasis on the flipside of the misogyny nickel — suitability for interaction with other people’s filth. It means “low-status servant who cleans up after high-status assholes.”

Some high-status assholes make themselves feel like magnanimous benefactors by calling their maids “housekeepers,” paying them “more” than the maids would make back in the Dominican Republic, and treating them “like” family. Oh please. The job is fucking cruddy. It’s so cruddy that dudes are never, ever maids. If maids were actually paid what the work is actually worth, dudes would get all the maid jobs.

Also, your maid already has a family, Your Highness.

Anyway, in the narrative of IMF rapist Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the victim’s status as a sub-human hotel cleaner is an important detail. Apparently this Strauss-Kahn shitsack is a celebrated rapscallion, rake, and ladies’ man. Boys will be boys! His nickname in the classy world of international finance is reportedly “the great seducer.” So it makes titillating how-the-mighty-have-fallen news copy to depict him, not as a suave Casanova jetsetting around with supermodel heiresses, but as a privileged fiend predating a powerless, lower-caste menial. In a world where it’s generally considered OK to use women according to their universally-acknowledged purpose (sex), it is sometimes permissible to use them, as long as patriarchal prurience is served, for other stuff, such as, in this case, leverage in toppling a poobah. As for the actual woman herself, nobody gives a rat’s ass about her. She is merely a symbol of a towering potentate’s descent into ignominy, frothily recounted by patriarchal media. Like the virginal maids of yore, hotel maids are also receptacles for male disdain.

Anyone who goes around calling himself “the great seducer” is undoubtedly a serial rapist, so naturally other women are beginning to turn up with accounts of Strauss-Kahn’s abuses. One of them, a young journalist who had previously publicly recounted her assault (with Strauss-Kahn’s name redacted), now describes his behavior during her attempted rape as that of a “rutting chimp.” Not surprisingly, the woman didn’t press charges at the time. She didn’t want her career to be permanently stained with “she’s the girl who accused Strauss-Kahn of rape.” Which is exactly how rapists get away with it: fear, humiliation, and shame are superb silencers.

Dominique Strauss-Kahn will undoubtedly get away with it, too. He has retained Michael Jackson’s lawyer.

Speaking of entitled white patriarchs who use domestic employees as toilets, California ex-governator Arnold Schwarzenegger has apparently fathered a child with “a longtime member of their household staff.” Wife Maria Shriver, an original member of the long-suffering-stand-by-your-political-man wives’ club back in aught-three while candidate Arnie was at the center of a groping scandal, has finally left the schmuck.

Internationally powerful, white, rich, successful, married to heiresses they famously cheat on at every opportunity — these dudes are patriarchy’s poster-boys. You don’t become a global financier or a steroid-poppin’ muscleman California grope-ulator by being an enlightened sweetheart of a guy who doesn’t rape the maid.

Hugs,
Twisty