Posted 10:05 PM by Angie Schultz

A Message for the Kiddies

Toughen up, you little marshmallows. Life is not for the weak.

This friendly reminder is inspired by an article in Canada's National Post:

Education experts have apparently coined a term, "ecophobia," for the dread and helplessness children feel when confronted with apocalyptic forecasts. According to a recent British survey, half of the children between the ages of seven and 11 are anxious about the effects of global warming and often lose sleep over it.

When I was the age of these tender young things, we knew that those of us unlucky enough to survive the first nuclear exchange were going to die slowly and horribly of radiation poisoning, and the alternative to that was to freeze in the dark as the oil ran out and the inevitable man-made Ice Age consumed us all. Either one meant a poor, nasty, brutish, and short existence scrabbling for food while dodging roving packs of hungry mutants.

And then there were the Reds under the beds. Booga-booga-booga!

And through all of that we slept like logs, sprang from our beds, and played with our Jarts and our Thingmakers[1] and our real chemistry sets containing actual dangerous, disfiguring chemicals. So suck it up, you little pantywaists.

Be sure and check out the first page of the article, in which Canada's own eco-ogre, David Suzuki, forces little children to go through bizarre, Soviet-style ritual denunciations.

The real shame (and, of course, hilarity) is that little children are going to say something useless and moppety, like, "I want to save the Mommy and Daddy polar bears so the baby polar bears don't cry." I can imagine Suzuki making a presentation to Parliament. "There," he says with satisfaction as the lights go up. "We must keep the baby polar bears from crying. Even a child can see it."

Child endangerment dobbed in by Tim Blair. Mark C. of Daimnation wonders if this sort of thing is going to affect the Suzuki Foundation's tax status.

[1]These were molds into which you poured nasty plastic goop and baked on a hot plate. Once cooled, they formed a toy which wasn't very much fun to play with. Hurray! I had the Fun Flowers. Almost burned down the house with it! I can still smell the stench of baking goop.

Labels: Fools of Our Planet

Posted 3:07 PM by Angie Schultz

Today's Youthful Indiscretions

This recent Ellen Goodman column bemoans the fact that the youth of today can't get away with anything anymore; any stupidity they allow to be recorded is going to wind up being archived forever on the Net.

In addition to being a dead snooze to those of us who've known of the danger for a decade or more, her column is a bit incoherent -- covering not only youthful indiscretions such as Bush, Clinton, and Obama are said to have had, but the effects of the distressing stupidity of one's nearest and dearest (see the paragraph about Bob Corker and Brian Bilbray).

But her column would've been a lot stronger if she hadn't spent the first half of it rehashing the tale of the Edwards bloggers.

The problem with mainstream accounts of that episode is that they can't actually contain most of the quotes people found so objectionable. Goodman describes the content thusly:

There was McEwan's description of President Bush's "wingnut Christofascist base." There was Marcotte's slam on the Catholic prohibition on birth control as a way to force women to "bear more tithing Catholics."

Yes. Well, while the "more tithing Catholics" remark is a bit much, I suspect that quips about "What if Mary had taken Plan B after the Lord filled her with his hot, white, sticky Holy Spirit?" were the sort of thing that broke the camel's back. And then there's Melissa McEwan, with "...my habit of referring to myself as Queen Cunt of Fuck Mountain..."[1] (see here). But Goodman would find those quotes difficult to get printed in the newspaper.

The other problem is that Marcotte and McEwan weren't tripped up by a "checkered past", but by a checkered present. Marcotte's hot, white, sticky remark was posted in the dim mists of last June, for example. Oh, to be as young and carefree as I was last June!

I can't figure out why so much ink has been spilled over their firing, but so little over their hiring. Who in the Edwards campaign thought that was a good idea, and what were they thinking with? And are they still doing the thinking for Edwards?

Me, I figure that I'm endangering my future employment even by quoting McEwan, above. I just hope prospective employers remember that this post becomes one of my youthful indiscretions the instant I hit "publish". Or so Ellen Goodman seems to think.

Say, wonder what she's got in her closet?

[1]I'm assuming she's referring to her vocabulary, rather than her social life.

Posted 6:15 AM by Angie Schultz

Foto Friday: Garden of the Gods

What with one thing and another, I have had no time for scanning. Maybe next week I can scan in a bunch of California.

So for now, something I was going to re-do:

Garden of the Gods, Lanai, Sep. 2003

I just photographs 'em; I doesn't explain 'em. That's Molokai in the background there. As I said before, the Garden of the Gods is an area of colorful rocks on the island of Lanai, the smallest of the publicly-accessible, inhabited Hawaiian islands. There's a rainbow of rock there, from yellowish to purplish to brown, with a generous helping of red. Here's a similar picture (must've been the next rock over), and if you absolutely cannot get too much Lanai, and have a fast connection, you can look at this site. I couldn't wait for all the pics to load. (Dude, it's OK to cull the photos. Really.)

We were there twice during our stay on Lanai. I think this was taken near sunset. Sunset and sunrise are the best times to photograph the Garden, but it takes actual divine powers to get Niles up before dawn.

Who or what stacks the rocks like that, I don't know. The Gods are said to have done it, but I think -- and call me a fearless iconoclast if you must -- it was done by humans. On our second trip to the garden, we were about to leave when we turned to notice a ledge just above our heads on which someone had carefully spelled out, in rocks, FUCK MURDOCH.

That would be David Murdoch ("billionaire and high school dropout"), CEO of Castle & Cooke, a real estate company which is (or was) a part of Dole, the pineapple company. Within the last few years, Dole has ceased its pineapple operations on Lanai -- an industry which employed essentially everyone on the island. They've replaced the pineapples with some plush resorts. The Aug. 15, 2003 edition of the Lanai Times[1] reported Murdoch's impromptu remarks at the 11th Annual Pineapple festival. He urged the residents to grow more stuff in their gardens and start making a bunch of artsy tourist gewgaws in lieu of their former pineapple-centered occupations.

Anyhow, from the remark written in stone in the Garden -- ostensibly by Gods, remember -- one gathers that the transition from pineapples to gewgaws was not going smoothly for everyone.

[1]No link. I have a souvenir dead trees edition. But a search for the paper turns up a Houston Chronicle article on the island that begins:

LANAI CITY, Hawaii - A notice in the monthly Lanai Times shook at the very fabric of society on Lanai, an this Hawaiian island of 3,000 residents.

A new law, the newspaper reminded, prohibits leaving car keys in the ignition at the airport.

Lest, I suppose, someone steal the car and drive to Maui.

Labels: Foto Friday, Hawaii

Posted 9:37 AM by Angie Schultz

Foto Friday: Sydney Morning Harbour

Well, this is the first Foto Friday under the new Blogger. Let's see what they've managed to screw up.

Morning at Circular Quay, Sydney, Oct. 1999

Hmmm, suspiciously OK.

You know, you look at pre-photography paintings of everyday life, and think that no one would paint those scenes today. Imagine a painting with modern cars or highways or tractors. It would be silly. (Of course there are such paintings, and they often look silly.)

But this scene, this you could paint, and it would look fine.

This is at Circular Quay -- pronounced "key", not "kway" -- which is the main drag of Sydney Harbo[u]r. I don't know why it's called that -- it's actually sort of U-shaped. That is of course the famous Sydney Harbor Bridge; the Opera House is way off to the right, but there are several buildings in the way.

I'm sure there are better views, but this is where I had to wait for the ferry to the zoo. I took three shots of this, mainly because I was bored. I find I take my best pictures when I don't mean to. The lesson is to take pictures of everything, which I do, much to the disgruntlement of my companions. I also waste a lot of film.

I've caught something over on the left side of the picture, in the sky above the near bridge support. I don't think it's a flaw on the film or a scanner artifact. It could be a bird or plane or even frog, or one of the enormous fruit bats that infest the area. Looks like a B2 bomber, but I think I would've noticed that. They're rumored to be noisy.

UPDATE: I've changed the title on this post slightly since I first published it. In retrospect the new title was sort of obvious.

Labels: Australia, Foto Friday

Posted 12:39 PM by Angie Schultz

This Here Now Blogging Thing

Well the knuckle-dragging corporate woman-hating patriarchs at Blogger/Google (see previous post for context) have taken away my right to choose not to have to think up a new password and learn a new blogging interface.

But this is one Woman who will not be silenced! So I defiantly caved in and switched to the new Blogger. (They made me. There was no option to go to the old one. Bastards!)

It seems pretty much the same, except that I now have these cool labels for collecting and categorizing my snark. I'd been dragging my heels about switching because Ann Althouse had such a hard time of it.

Labels: technical difficulties

Posted 4:49 PM by Angie Schultz

Mandy the Mighty Mouth

It seems like every time I have to be away from blogging for a bit, a big fat juicy blog scandal erupts, and I'm unable comment on it.

This time it's the Marcotte Moment. Fool that I am, I thought there would be plenty of time to taunt Mandy the Mighty Mouse, because she had been hired on as campaign blogger for John! Edwards!, our nearly-Vice President. But alas, it is not to be, for she has resigned.

I was dismayed that Edwards hired her, but I'm absolutely crushed that she's resigned. I was looking forward to watching her gyre and gimbal as she tried to explain that she didn't mean to say something she'd obviously said.

What did her in? Some speculate that it may have been this tidbit, from her review of the movie Children of Men:

The Christian version of the virgin birth is generally interpreted as super-patriarchal, where god is viewed as so powerful he can impregnate without befouling himself by touching a woman, and women are nothing but vessels.

Fairly mild, for Marcotte, but it's kinda hard to reconcile with that whole "didn't intend to malign anyone's faith" thing.

This is as good a place as any to point out my primary[1] objection to Amanda Marie Marcotte's blogging prominence. It's not that her political views are so different than mine (because they're not, really, once you subtract her millenarian hysteria). It's not that she uses her potty mouth in place of the vocabulary she doesn't have. It's that she's dumber than a bag of hammers.

If you read through that movie review, it becomes clear that here we have a woman far out of her intellectual depth (and it's a pretty shallow depth, at that). Take that one little quote above, for example.

The Christian version of the virgin birth...

The Christian version? What other versions are there? Yes, there are other religions which feature a virgin birth, but they tend to be small and/or extinct. Is this meant to be a self-conscious nod to multiculturalism? Or is she trying to assume an air of anthropological detachment?

...is generally interpreted...

Er, by whom? The voices in her head? The other girls in the She-Woman Manhaters' Club? Or is that more anthropology?

...as super-patriarchal...

That would be on the Marcotte Scale of Patriarchalicity. The other grades are Sorta Patriarchal, Kinda Patriarchal, Patriarchal, Very Patriarchal, Totally Patriarchal, and Phallofascist. Seriously, "super-patriarchal" compared to what?

...where god is viewed as so powerful...

Again, by whom? She's started out this sentence in a rather detached viewpoint, and yet this part of it seems to suggest that she's switched a Christian perspective, because surely our notional anthropologist doesn't view god in this way.

...he can impregnate without befouling himself by touching a woman...

Actually, the "befouling" part here is the "sin" of sex, and it's the virgin who is spared the taint.

...and women are nothing but vessels.

I can't see how a virgin birth necessarily implies that women are "nothing but vessels", and even the slightest acquaintance with the reverence in which Catholics hold Mary would tend to refute this idea, at least as applied to her. But logic is a tool of the Patriarchy, you know.

Now, The Children of Men (an adaptation of a P.D. James novel) is about a mysterious plague of infertility. The movie portrays the events surrounding the birth of the first child in a generation. Here we see Marcotte's cutting-edge feminist understanding:

...the one child in the movie is born to a woman who is dismissive of the idea that the identity of the father is even relevant. And it makes sense, actually, that if there hadn’t been a baby born on earth for an entire generation, the paramount importance of paternity would fade away and the obvious fact that maternity is more time-consuming and immediate would become undeniable....this movie offers an alternative interpretation of the virgin birth—one where “virginity” is irrelevant and one where a woman’s stake in motherhood is fully respected for the sacrifice and hard work that it is.

(This is the context for the digression about the super-patriarchal virgin birth. I'm not sure where the "virgin" part comes into it. Apparently the conception of the child is never explained, and at one point the mother quips that she's a virgin. Surely Marcotte must see that the origin of the child, far from being "irrelevant", is of supreme importance in the context of the movie; the fate of humanity depends on it.)

So we see that Marcotte somehow believes that now, today, in our world, the child is considered to belong much more to the father than the mother, and that the experience of motherhood is considered somehow less strenuous, less of a personal investment, than fatherhood.

It's difficult to know how to refute something so obviously self-refuting. Isn't there a common trope of the mother-as-martyr to her children? Don't women complain that men are not involved enough? Aren't custody disputes overwhelmingly decided in favor of the mother? Are there not legions of women who have decided that having a father really isn't necessary (except in a strictly biological sense) for their children?

While I know that in some societies, at certain times, the child has been considered legally the property of the father, I can't think of a time when this was particularly relevant in the US. Marcotte is bravely defying patriarchal norms that were considered moldy and ridiculous at least a century ago. You go, girl!

You may think I'm making rather much of a movie review, but it's in keeping with her other rants, most of which manage to convey the idea that we're only days away from The Handmaid's Tale.

I suppose that Marcotte might be an excellent spokescreature for some Presidential campaign, but I can't think of any plausible candidates right now. Even Screamin' Howard Dean is not as enraged as she is, and while she and Dennnis Kucinich probably agree on a lot of things, I don't think Grandfather Twilight would approve of Mandy's intemperate language. It frightens the baby bunnies and makes the ladybugs sad. Now, if Ted Rall were to run...

Consult this Cathy Young post for a nice sampler of Mandy's writings.

[1]My secondary objection is perennial gripe of mine: I try not to be too offensive. Although I believe that Marcotte is, really, out of her intellectual depth, I would generally not leap straight from that to saying something like, "She ought to give up poltics and go straight to the whorehouse, because apparently that's the only part of her that works well". See, now that would be offensive, and cruel,[2] and ordinarily something like that would not even occur to me, except for needing to give an example.

Aside from generally being a mild-mannered, inoffensive sort (pause for laughter to die down), the reason for this is that I do not want future employers to google me and conclude that I am some sort of foul-mouthed psychobitch who'll wear my NUKE THE UNBORN BABY SMURFS t-shirt to important presentations. This despite the fact that I will not be hired for my political opinions.

And yet not only do her extreme language and positions NOT prevent Marcotte from being hired by a major Presidental campaign, they were actually considered some sort of qualification. In the words of Slim Pickens, I am depressed.

[2]Although, seriously, if I were Marcotte I would milk this martyrdom thing for as long as I could, and then turn to writing a stack of ham-handed feminist por -- 'scuse me -- romances. They would feature Neanderthal fathers, professors, and bosses who were determined to keep the heroine down because she was an Indpendent Woman. After overcoming a series of unfair obstacles, she would find True Egalitarian Love in the arms of a Sensitive Modern Man eager to Smash the Patriarchy. I bet she'd be good at that, as long as she can come up with a few synonyms for "fuck". (I base this on the talent demonstrated here, though I urge you not to click the link. There she vows that lips that vote Republican shall never touch hers -- er -- except she's not talking about lips. Really, don't click.)

Labels: Fools of Our Planet

Posted 9:48 AM by Angie Schultz

Foto Friday: Uluru

Uluru is the politically-correct name for the Formation Formerly Known as Ayers Rock. It's a local Aboriginal family name. I had never heard of the name "Uluru" until I moved to Australia in '99.

Uluru, Northern Territory, Australia, Aug. 2000

In his book In a Sunburned Country[1], Bill Bryson rhapsodizes over the great mystical throbbing that emanates from it. But no. It's just a big rock. It's a lot more interesting up close than from far away. There are petroglyphs, and caves which hold "secret men's business" which tourists are not supposed to photograph, or even glimpse (the trail shies away from the Rock at these points), and places where captured rainwater has made little oases in the desert at its base.

There's also a path you can climb up the rock, but you have to be fairly athletic, and willing to ignore the fact that the locals don't like it. This, they believe, is the path their ancestors, the Mala (a type of wallaby) took, and they don't like outsiders tromping on it. So far as I know, they confine themselves to frowning about it, not having progressed as far as fatwas or jihad.

More impressive than Uluru, in my opinion, is Kata Tjuta, which means "Many Heads". The name the imperialist white oppressors gave it is The Olgas -- which no doubt leads the immature to much sniggering speculation over the original Olga's attributes. I have some nice pictures of them I'll post one of these days.

In truth it was named after Queen Olga of Württemberg. Ayers Rock was named after the then-Chief Secretary of of South Australia, Sir Henry Ayers. You see that a lot in Australia; explorers didn't name things after themselves, or their loved ones -- they tended to name them after some remote bureaucrat. (Or, in the case of Katherine, NT, after the loved one of some remote bureaucrat.)

We saw busloads of tourists toasting the Uluru sunset with champagne. It turns out that this is an ancient custom -- handed down from tour guide to tour guide -- whose roots go all the way back to that far-off day when a tour operator realized he could squeeze an extra few bucks out of the punters by ginning up a rummy champagne tradition.

[1]Which, down under, is known as Down Under. Newsgroup speculation at the time was that Americans were not familiar for this designation for Australia, and a phrase from an obscure poem (or possibly song; I'm too lazy to google it up) was considered so much clearer.

Labels: Australia, Foto Friday

Posted 10:07 AM by Angie Schultz

Foto Friday: Phaestos

Oh, no time, no time. So have some old thing I already have scanned.

Mt. Ida from Phaestos, Crete, June 1990

At the time, of course, I was annoyed that I'd managed to catch the guy on the motorcycle. Now I think it adds valuable local color.

This is from a Kodachrome slide. The mountains have a watery look you sometimes see in old slides, but this one isn't really very old. So I don't know how I got that.

No, I'm not sure which one is Mt. Ida.

I remember looking at the Cretan mountains and thinking, "Civilization has been here so long that there is nowhere, nowhere in these hills where people have not walked." It was a claustrophobic feeling. Where I grew up, in the Ozarks, you could pretend that wasn't true. You could pretend that you were the first to explore this ground, even if just one tiny patch. Or, at least, you could tell yourself that no one had been here since the days of the Indians. That is, until you were snagged by a rusting string of barbed wire, or a plastic six-pack ring.

Labels: Foto Friday, Greece