Tag Archives: Feminism

Keep Your Heads Up, Friends

1000-1500 kids are about to walk past my office building to the state capitol to demand that government value their lives at least as much as they value guns. I hope they can bring this fight to help kids in Flint have clean fucking water for the first time in years.

Some of the best articles I’ve read recently, all verging on the political:

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Tis the Season, The #metoo Season

Just about all women I know have gone about their dailies, walking down the street, talking to a colleague at a conference bar, filing some paperwork, and had an anvil fall on their heads: I am not a person. I’m a collection of parts to be used by others. I am breasts and a vagina, and sometimes also an ass.

My deepest wish for this chaotic #metoo season is that our culture finally understands the depth of trauma sexual harassment incurs. That we stop making women feel like they should, if they’re strong and good and right enough, shake it off, suck it up, and hold it in. That their violation wasn’t as bad as other women’s, so they don’t need to demand their right to bodily autonomy, nor loudly protest its abrogation. Continue reading

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Roxane Gay Believes in Love

Readers may already be familiar with Roxane Gay’s primal story: A bookish, awkward 12 year-old girl, obedient daughter of Haitian immigrants, biked with her sexy, controlling, popular boyfriend to a deserted cabin in the woods where he and his friends raped her. She hid this trauma from her family for years and protected herself by doggedly making herself huge, maintaining her size through fat camps, parental distress, and professional peregrination.

She has told and retold this story through her increasingly prominent books, both fiction and nonfiction: An Untamed State, about a Haitian-American woman kidnapped by Haitian dissidents; Bad Feminist, a collection of cultural and political criticism; short story collection Difficult Women; and, most recently Hunger, a memoir that only ostensibly addresses her trauma and its lifelong effects more directly than her other work. Continue reading

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Masters of Sex Season Finale Reviewlet

In the year of Hillary, a nuanced drama about power and intimacy reverted to a story about ambitious women who are, in fact, lying bullies whose success depends on manipulating the good men unfortunate enough to love them. 

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Me and the Youths

The younglings continue to break for Sanders, while the olds continue to hope that we can finally please oh please could we just please get a woman in the White House already what more does she need to prove to you people.

And since I’m apparently peeved about getting older, as well as increasingly anti-capitalist as those years insist on speeding past,  I keep wondering why I don’t side with the people who know how to use “fleek” on  electing someone unafraid to call out the Rockafellers for their depredations upon our society. (Is it a noun? An adjective? Verb? Dependent on context?)

Why am I unmoved by this apparently viable candidate whose platform consists of free college, universal health care, and prioritized mitigation of income inequality? Who’s Jewish? Why am I not only unmoved, but downright hostile to him?

Who am I?

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Seriously, #TheGoodWife??!!

Magical black friend with no backstory hugs the white lady and suddenly Alicia’s all making out with Foxy Dude and getting job offers?! Personally transformed? An emotional trajectory from permanumb to all the feelz, catalyzed by a black lady’s offer of friendship?


Magical black friend around whom inexplicable factoids collect, masking the absence of real human character?

Magical black friend is 30 with no friends but Alicia? And a bum brother?

Magical black friend likes to dance? And roll her eyes at nonsense?

Magical black friend likes dating artists but eventually gets bored?

TV, whatever points you scored by letting a middle-aged woman have sex on network TV, you’re gonna lose on Lucca.

Make Alicia do something for her. Testify on Lucca’s behalf. Bring Lucca chicken soup so we can see the inside of Lucca’s apartment. Shop for holiday gifts together and marvel at both the detritus of consumer culture and the frail family bonds that are supposed to be shored by it.

Make them real friends. The distance of differing race and class positions overcome by shared hotness, iciness, rejection of nonsense, and love/hate of The Law.

Two real women, friends on TV.

That would be revolutionary.

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