Archives for April 2013
This soon-to-be-released new book came on my radar screen the other day, courtesy of John Durant. It’s by Helen Smith, PdD. Who’s she, beyond being the wife of the original Instalauncher, Glenn Raynolds?
Helen Smith is a forensic psychologist in Knoxville, Tennessee who specializes in violent children and adults. She holds a PhD from the University of Tennessee and masters degrees from The New School for Social Research and the City University of New York. She has written The Scarred Heart : Understanding and Identifying Kids Who Kill and was writer and executive producer of Six, a documentary about the murder of a family in Tennessee by teens from Kentucky. The film highlights the inadequacies of the school, mental health and criminal justice systems in preventive treatment of troubled teens.
American society has become anti-male. Men are sensing the backlash and are consciously and unconsciously going “on strike.” They are dropping out of college, leaving the workforce and avoiding marriage and fatherhood at alarming rates. The trend is so pronounced that a number of books have been written about this “man-child” phenomenon, concluding that men have taken a vacation from responsibility simply because they can. But why should men participate in a system that seems to be increasingly stacked against them?
As Men on Strike demonstrates, men aren’t dropping out because they are stuck in arrested development. They are instead acting rationally in response to the lack of incentives society offers them to be responsible fathers, husbands and providers. In addition, men are going on strike, either consciously or unconsciously, because they do not want to be injured by the myriad of laws, attitudes and hostility against them for the crime of happening to be male in the twenty-first century. Men are starting to fight back against the backlash. Men on Strike explains their battle cry.
While books like this are of value perhaps in turning some young women away from a dismal life of shrill misandry (by means of using “misogyny” in every other sentence and misogynist to describe every other thing) I personally think that the best policy is simply to boycott feminist, multiculturalist, moral relativists—both male & female—for life, with no shot at redemption. But that’s just me.
The true value of a book like this, then, is in educating young men just what they’re up against; and consequently, who to stay as far away from as possible…in life, love, work, business and in particular: mariage or having children.
Now, connect this dot from The Wall Street Journal: Judith Grossman: A Mother, a Feminist, Aghast
I am a feminist. I have marched at the barricades, subscribed to Ms. magazine, and knocked on many a door in support of progressive candidates committed to women’s rights. Until a month ago, I would have expressed unqualified support for Title IX and for the Violence Against Women Act.
But that was before my son, a senior at a small liberal-arts college in New England, was charged—by an ex-girlfriend—with alleged acts of “nonconsensual sex” that supposedly occurred during the course of their relationship a few years earlier.
What followed was a nightmare—a fall through Alice’s looking-glass into a world that I could not possibly have believed existed, least of all behind the ivy-covered walls thought to protect an ostensible dedication to enlightenment and intellectual betterment.
It began with a text of desperation. “CALL ME. URGENT. NOW.”
Go read it and weep. Basically, it’s a story reminiscent of Salem Witch Trials. Notice how there are always men involved in these sorts of perversions, either way they turn. Why do you suppose that is? Moving on, methinks that a whole lot of son-to-mother chickens are gonna be coming home to roost in the next decade. No mercy. But that’s just me. Did these feminists perhaps forget that every male ever born was born of a woman, had a mommy, loved a mommy, followed and cried eyes out for want of mommy, and would generally—all else being equal—take her side against daddy?
Now, as I told commenter Marie—who shoved that in my face, saying, “watch it, you misogynist cretin!” (not really :) —I give it about a 7.5 / 10, but only for her advocacy of various forms of Affirmative Action: Duh, two wrongs don’t right a wrong. Just set the past aside and stop being wrong. Simple pimple.
But, her scathing rebuke of western feminism and its moral relativism on grounds of multiculturalism—that starts at about 21:00 into the 30-minute talk—is spot on. It’s always been my bugaboo about all of this. Why is the feminist focus always on white western males—tossing around the term “misogyny” like candy in a piñata factory—while turning a blind eye to the true misogynists on planet Earth: the Muslim, male, domineering patriarchy; and to lesser but still great extent, certain orthodox Jewish and Christian faiths; Indian, and Chinese cultures? Here, you have worlds where to various degrees, women have almost no legal rights, can’t own and direct assets, receive no inheritances of wealth, are circumcised, forced into marriages, can’t operate a motor vehicle, receive zero support even from their own mother if raped…or…were never even born in the first place, because modern technology affords means of gendercide now, in terms of aborting a female fetus.
So why isn’t modern feminism’s focus on all of that or indeed, is often even in stated opposition to stern and deliberate measures against it? Follow the money? That simple? Yea, I suspect so. 14th Century Dirt Scratching, Dirty Nightshirt Wearing Savages don’t have a lot of money.
…I was fortunate. I’ve never actually been very near a modern feminist, never had one in my life. The women in my life had true strength & social, familial power, whether chosen (like my wife, who volunteered to go help fix a very, very bad school and as of now, has successfully turned all but about 7 of her 30 sixth graders) or unchosen accidents of birth. Here’s the women I got stuck with, each of whom always mocked feminism generally. They wanted more power—genuine, earned self bargained-for power—than feminists could ever offer them.
- Maxine Sholz. My maternal great grandmother (“grandnana”). Born in 1904, ran away from home with a guy about 1918, at the age of 14. Gave birth to my grandmother in 1919 at the age of 15. She subsequently had Leroy, left her husband, and raised two kids as a single mom during the Depression. By the time I came on the scene in the 60s and took note, it was a few husbands later, and she was chauffeur for stroke ridden Victor. He died when I was very young and she resumed her single, independent life for the last 25 years of it. In the early 70s, while in her late 60s, she was hit head-on at 60 mph (no seatbelt) by a car that crossed the line. All six in that other car, including an infant and a dog, died. She was in convalescence for months, in a literal body cast. A few years later she went on a three-week excursion with her church group to the lands and places of The Bible. I count myself lucky that she was part of my life until I was 28.
- Larue Goodsell. My maternal grandmother (“nana”). She was 13 years junior in years to my artist grandfather, Clarence. Not only the strongest, take no prisoners—or bullshit—woman I have ever known, but arguably the strongest person I have ever known—and at a petite 4′ 10″ physical stature. By virtue of her lifelong marriage to Clarence, she became a competent hunter and fisherwoman. She got her mule-deer buck every single year with her favorite shot: a neck shot (why waste a lot of meat?). During the years he was hand painting every sign in every casino in Reno (and their vehicles), she ran the business end. She spoke, everyone listened. She drank, smoked and cursed like a sailor on liberty after 3 months at sea. She called me, endearingly, “the smart ass,” always reminded us that “you can’t fix stupid,” and rarely used the word “bullshit.” Instead, she just said “shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.” She was in my life until I was 40, and for the last 10 of it—once I came back from years living abroad—my absolute favorite drinkin’ & smokin’ buddy.
- Selma Nikoley. My paternal grandmother (“oma”). She gave birth to seven children during Hitler’s regime, six of them boys. One, Claus Peter, died in infancy. You’ve read my dad—Lothar’s—story of near starvation. But it was oma who worked for three years to get him back after the war. They immigrated across the Atlantic and bussed it to Reno in 1956. She was always under the thumb of Ernst, her husband, often to the consternation of the six kids. Perhaps that’s why the brothers who lived in Reno during those years of the 60s and 70s, visited almost every day….coffee after work. In her late 70s, she got up and left my grandfather to go live with her daughter here in the Bay Area. Guess who folded.
- Bonny Nikoley. My mother (“mom”). She was very fortunate. She only had four boys and thus, only ever four penises to worry about…because with girls, you have to worry about all of them everywhere. Nonetheless, we all got our frank, explicit, “the birds & the bees” talk at the appropriate time—from her, because dad-guys are just incapable of that shit; and let’s face it, dads are for going fishing with, fixing cars, hunting, building shit and arguing minutiae. Mom raised four boys, competent to live in the world. How fucking real is that? A man who does not honor his mother in that context (but, equally, setting sail when the time comes) is just no man at all and we owe all that to mothers…and, so, Mother’s Day is eminently more important that Christmas, eh? Consider that. Having fathers is a great convenience but when push comes to shove, real women become real animals. Mom has the most disciplined work ethic of any person I’ve ever known in my life—I know because she’s been my employee for 20 years, now, and managed things expertly at my company’s height of 30 employees. We just celebrated her 72nd last weekend on a camping trip with other family.
Yea, I adore all of the women I got stuck with and who influenced my life in the profoundest of ways; and by consequence, I knew which kinds of women to choose to be with in my life, and I have adored them all—even after parting. There is not one single women I have ever been with that I don’t hold in fondness in the retrospective: memory, dreams and banal recollections. Not one.
Why is that? Well, for one, no women I’ve ever had in my life considered that her worst day was when she was subjected to a wolf whistle…oozing patriarchal misogyny. Etc. No victims. No perpetual chips on shoulder.
…The bonds of such relationships can rather easily break on various pretense or raw circumstance—or just natural growth. But if you’ve chosen right in the first place, it ought only ever be a matter of circumstance and the direction of your own life; its values, goals—even incompatibilities—and so on. It ought never be because one hates the other for being a male or a female, nor for behavior that reflects such negative-sum attitudes. And if you have that experience either way, perhaps it’s that you didn’t experience my privilege of getting stuck with great and wonderful women (or, perhaps men, if you’re a woman). Get out now.
Let their anti-human ideas die on the vine. They will. Inevitable, or we all die. Hitler, Pol Pot, et al, were all about targeted extermination that was not gender specific. Modern feminism is about the extermination of the driving spirit of half the race…and I submit to your musing consideration: it’s something practically worse even than the physical extermination of half the human race. It’s about making half the race basically just like the other half, and such a thing is wholly unnatural, with unintended consequenses out the ass…and every orifice or leaky spot one could imagine.
The male-female, yin-yang, delicious, exciting antagonism over distinct spheres of social power and influence is what makes the world go round. And you thought it was cosmological physics. Ha! Laf. Ah, grasshoppa; you so shallow.
In once sense, this is not really a war against men; any men, even true misogynists. More fundamentally, modern feminism is a war against other women.
Misogynist: A man who hates women as much as women hate one another. — H.L. Mencken, cira 1930
The real war? It’s against the real women you men love and know why you love them.
Damn fine police work, laddies & gentlemen. You made quick work of that. Good show all around.
That is all.
Home alone. Seventh night, tonight. Loaded the three (2 dogs, 1 wife) into the car last Saturday morning at 5 AM. Beatrice, on spring break, spent the week with her family down south in Vista, near Oceanside, CA.
She’s on the way back and decided to camp out in Pismo for the afternoon & evening. Finish up tomorrow.
Rotor, in the foreground, is the 14-yr-old male rat terrier with the pancreatic insufficiency I taked about in the newsletter. He’s the one where his licking the kefir bowl clean when I’m done with the batch has greatly improved his digestion, from all soft-serve poop to turdliness at least some times (yes, he gets desiccated pig pancreas mixed in his food—$$$—and those airborne proteins make me sneeze like crazy for 3-5 minutes).
Nanuka—”Nuke”—in the background should have been a cat for the way she acts. She’s about 7. Rotor is a total people dog. Loves people, loves being around them. Studies them. Nuke is a cat.
Well, let’s see. It’s 8:30 PM, they’re expected back at 2 PM tomorrow. That’s about 18 hours.
I better get started cleaning up the place.