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"These girls aren’t wounded so much as post-wounded, and I see their sisters everywhere. They’re over it. I am not a melodramatic person. God help the woman who is. What I’ll call “post-wounded” isn’t a shift in deep feeling (we understand these women still hurt) but a shift away from wounded affect: These women are aware that “woundedness” is overdone and overrated. They are wary of melodrama, so they stay numb or clever instead. Post-wounded women make jokes about being wounded or get impatient with women who hurt too much. The post-wounded woman conducts herself as if preempting certain accusations: Don’t cry too loud; don’t play victim. Don’t ask for pain meds you don’t need; don’t give those doctors another reason to doubt. Post-wounded women fuck men who don’t love them and then they feel mildly sad about it, or just blasé about it; they refuse to hurt about it or to admit they hurt about it—or else they are endlessly self-aware about it, if they do allow themselves this hurting.
The post-wounded posture is claustrophobic: jadedness, aching gone implicit, sarcasm quick on the heels of anything that might look like self-pity. I see it in female writers and their female narrators, troves of stories about vaguely dissatisfied women who no longer fully own their feelings. Pain is everywhere and nowhere. Post-wounded women know that postures of pain play into limited and outmoded conceptions of womanhood. Their hurt has a new native language spoken in several dialects: sarcastic, jaded, opaque; cool and clever. They guard against those moments when melodrama or self-pity might split their careful seams of intellect, expose the shame of self-absorption without self-awareness.
I know these dialects because I have spoken them; I know these post-wounded narrators because I have written them. I wonder now: What shame are they sculpted from?”
This is not about “protecting women.” It’s about cleaning out the sewers that our games have become. This will not be easy and it will not be fun. Standing up to these little jerks will require the same courage from us that women like Anita Sarkeesian have already shown. We will become objects of hatred, ridicule, and contempt. Our manhood will be questioned. But if we remember who we are and stand strong together, we can beat them. In any case we won’t be threatened with sexual violence the way women are. We have it easier than they do.
Eventually a person gets to the point where they can longer withstand the constant blitzkrieg of bullshit. So, Steve King, Todd Akin, and shouty Twitter conservatives: you win. Rape outrage limit reached. I have given this all of my fucks, and the fucks I have given are still not enough fucks. So many more fucks need to be given, and I have exhausted my fuck supply. The fucks are on backorder. Employees are working overtime to restock my fucks, but in the meantime, please accept this 10% off coupon while we wait for the fucks to arrive via FedEx. I’ll be over here, drinking wine from a Pac Man mug and watching cartoons.
For anyone who’s missed it, over the weekend Rep. Todd Akin said that “legitimate rape” doesn’t result in pregnancy because “the female body has ways to shut that whole thing down.”
Feministing contributor Chloe says (among other brilliant things):
“I also want to thank him for revealing the contempt and mistrust that lies at the heart of so much anti-choice rhetoric. The contempt for women who have sex for pleasure and accidentally get pregnant. The mistrust of women that feeds the belief that we lie about being raped so we can get abortions, and the mistrust of women that justifies the idea that we don’t know when we’ve been raped and that politicians get to decide that for us.
I want to thank him for demonstrating the complete disregard for women that is necessary for a person to want to ban abortion. Notice that in his response, he mentioned the hypothetical rapist, and the “child,” but he didn’t mention the woman. The woman who has been raped and is now pregnant and will now be forced to give birth to her rapist’s baby because the government says so. Because what she wants isn’t relevant in this situation.”
"[This is] an insultingly stupid portrayal of modern Pittsburgh. We’re working on curing diseases and disabilities but MY UNCLE WENT TO PITTSBURGH IN 1982 AND HE SAID THERE WERE HOMELESS PEOPLE WITH WHISKEY BOTTLES LYING IN THE STREET AND NO ONE COULD BREATHE BECAUSE THE AIR IS 85% COAL.
Also: The Waterfront was never developed, the cost of living is too prohibitive to afford anything but cheap liquor, and Lord Xenu sealed alien ghosts in volcanoes.
Look, some of these complaints are accurate. Mainly the ones about Steeler fans being arrogant. I get that. That’s fine. Success breeds two things: arrogant fans, and external hatred. Plenty of that is evident here. I bet there’s a similar issue in Boston, where all of their major sports teams have won championships in the past decade. That’s fine. I hate Boston fans, too. It’s okay.
What’s not okay is to just make up things about a city and its people. Pittsburgh has an excellent quality of living overall. There are very nice (even upscale!) neighborhoods just as much as there are Hill Districts (which, by the way, has begun improving). To say that Pittsburgh is just some awful little town that still lives in the Great Depression is lazy. There are a ton of creative things you could say about the actual Steelers (surprisingly few Ben-Rapistberger jokes) but instead, the only thing they consistently attack is the city itself. People who have been to Pittsburgh know it’s nice. People who haven’t since the mid-80s are quoted in this article…
Now I’m going to back to work at the job I have even though I live in the apparently povery-stricken wasteland of western Pennsylvania.”
It will never cease to amaze me that some men truly think that every woman in the public eye–whether it be politicians or Olympic athletes–should exist solely to be attractive to them. But what’s even more astounding is the fact that they really seem to believe that women actually care if random trolls on the internet want to bone them. As we well know around these parts, while the internet can be an ugly place for both women and men, women often face very gendered abuse. And the “I wouldn’t fuck you” insult is perhaps the most obvious example. It’s basically impossible to imagine a dude receiving the same type of comment.
Smith went on to break the British clean and jerk record in the women’s 58kg event by lifting twice her body weight. She hopes that if her words didn’t silence her critics, maybe her performance will. “It’s two fingers up to them, basically,” she said. “‘What are you doing with your life? I’ve just competed at the Olympics!’” Word.
In short, the fucking loser troglodytes behind this harassment campaign against Anita Sarkeesian have created a video game in which you can beat her up.
Coooooooooooooooooool oh wait
1. Don’t feel the need to respond to every text message, phone call, and email the second it reaches you. Once upon a time, it took longer than a minute to reach someone. People used stamps and envelopes; they had answering machines they didn’t check for hours, sometimes days. No one will die if you don’t immediately respond to every message you receive.
Seriously, people, don’t nag me if I don’t answer you right away. I’m just, you know, doing something else with my life.
3. Never turn down an open bar. Seek them out and make them a priority. Indulging in open bars when you’re older isn’t appropriate because a) people will think you have an alcohol problem and b) you’re supposed to have enough money to afford your own alcohol.
I have no shame in doing this. It is a good idea.
8. Learn how to cook. Here’s an idea — instead of spending all your money on ridiculously marked-up restaurant food, save your money by buying non-processed WHOLE FOODS and LEARNING HOW TO MAKE A MEAL OF REAL FOOD. A meal of real food is not a box of Annie’s Organic Mac and Cheese — that’s PROCESSED FOOD. A meal is something like sauteed brussel sprouts with onions and pinto beans garnished with salt and pepper. You’ll thank yourself for learning how to cook when your metabolism catches up to you.
This is such a good idea and if you aren’t admitting to yourself now that this is a necessity, well…
17. Sit down, unplug, and read non-fiction. Do this daily. None of your peers are doing it. They’re playing video games and refreshing Facebook and Gmail chatting about nothing in particular. After a month you’ll be smarter than all of them.
21. Go to/host theme parties. Once people age out of their 20s, no one’s trying to wear pajamas or Saran Wrap out of the house. The only theme parties that exist after your 20s are ‘Wedding,’ ‘Baby Shower,’ and ‘Funeral.’
Back to things that make me angry, okay, one, Justin Timberlake already brought sexy back so y’all are way late for that train.
BUT. Can we please, please, please stop with the myth that condoms don’t work and that contraception is bullshit? Can we please stop pointing to the rates of STIs and unplanned pregnancies and crowing that contraception doesn’t work and doesn’t prevent anything except Jesus-sanctioned sex? Can we consider that perhaps rates like this are so high because we, as a nation, absolutely fucking refuse to explain to our children how sex works?
"Groups like 1flesh love to blabber on about how contraception success statistics are bullshit because people don’t know how to use condoms properly, but they always ignore the oft-proven fact that abstinence-only education — the idea that it’s oh-so-simple to wait until marriage —DOES NOT WORK AT ALL. And that’s why the movement is more than a laughable attempt to make antiquated notions of sexuality relevant. 1flesh should be held accountable for more than its lameness.”
Seriously. Abstinence-only education doesn’t cover contraception. 37 states have sex ed curriculums on the books that require abstinence to be taught; 26 require it to be taught as the best/only method. So those kids have sex anyway, they just don’t use contraception, because they don’t know how. I wish people would just wake up to the fact that kids are going to have sex anyway. You can tell them not to until you’re blue in the face, but they are going to. Whether they are equipped with the tools and knowledge to do it safely and responsibly is up to y’all.
Horrifying misogyny aside, I am actually amazed at the outpouring of hate and vitriol directed at this woman who has done nothing more offensive or terrible than suggesting we ought to take a look at female tropes in video games. It’s truly incredible, the amount of absolute psychopathy aimed at someone who is essentially a stranger.
Internet Dudes everywhere have become completely and totally unhinged at the very suggestion that some woman, somewhere, might want to examine how females are treated in electronic gaming culture. They have lost their heads. They have taken leave of their senses entirely. DDoS attacks on her site. Photoshopped images of her being raped. Misogynist memes created about her. People trying to access and post her personal information (phone number, address, etc.). The YouTube comments, of course. Death threats. Wishes that she would experience some kind of violence, usually overtly sexual violence. Reporting her social media accounts as hate speech, terrorism, and spam. I mean, really crazy stuff. It’s insane. They don’t even know this woman, but the tired old message they’re sending is coming through loud and clear:
Tits or GTFO.
What You’re Saying With Your Drink Choice [Click to continue reading]
Here’s the rub: this speech (David McCollough’s now-infamous “you aren’t special” high school graduation speech) is misplaced. It doesn’t belong in an address to the generation graduating into an economy that wipes its rear end with their high school diplomas. It doesn’t belong in an address to the generation who began running the rat race at age 4. It doesn’t apply to the generation that knows hard work guarantees nothing, that can’t hope to own a home before we have our own children, that pours coffee for other people’s parents for free in the name of gaining “work experience” through “internship.” David McCullough ought to have given that speech not to the graduates, but to their parents. We have not yet begun to shape the world: we are living in the one you created. And it’s killing us.
We stopped believing in our own specialness about the same time that we figured out who was the real Tooth Fairy. We grew up accruing praise, but not self-esteem. We learned that praise was a parenting strategy, not a sincere reward for merit. We stopped listening when you told us we were smart, brave, beautiful and unique. “You have to say that because you’re our parents,” we told you. You agreed.
So we looked to our teachers to learn where we stood. They couldn’t tell us the truth, either. “Did I get an A because I really wrote an exceptional essay, or because my teacher was afraid to deal with my parents?” We learned to suspect the latter.
When our teachers couldn’t tell us, we looked to our bosses. They despised us: the pampered, electronic generation who doesn’t know the meaning of hard work. When we worked hard, they were surprised. But they cynically assumed we were only working hard to build our resumes. That 16-year-old who went on a humanitarian relief trip to Haiti? Just another yuppie trying to pad her Harvard application. What would it take to convince you that we really care? Even the things we do for fun – playing sports, joining a band, riding a horse, writing a story – you have made into a competition. You’ve taken our creativity and told us that it matters not because it fulfills us, but because we can sell it to a college and reap the returns on our “investment” decades from now. Every little thing we do must be harnessed for profit. And you wonder why we seem to have no spontaneity left.
Katie Williams writes for Kotaku of her experiences at E3, where, apparently, pretty girls do not play games. One experience in particular is described below, as a PR representative for a game she had signed up to try out mistakes her amazement at the graphics for total lack of comprehension as to how PC games, shooters in particular, are played.
FTA: "I think I better play it for you," he said finally, prying my hands away and turning the keyboard towards himself.
And so there I was, hands twisted awkwardly and uselessly in my lap as a guy walked me through his game. In laboured detail, he explained to me simple mechanics that any shooter player would be well-acquainted with. He avoided the gameplay due to some apparent strange belief that I was not there to learn about shooting things in a shooter game, that perhaps my delicate girl senses might be offended by killing with guns and missiles. He pointed out rabbits in the grass with all the condescension of an adult trying to distract a noisy toddler, as if my interest in this simulation-grade shooter lay in some wildly misguided assumption that it would be full of adorable, fluffy animals.
I looked down the booth and saw gamers at the other computers playing their own games, their own hands controlling the avatars. No PR representatives were hovering at their shoulders, pre-empting that a lack of knowledge would lead to them playing the game “wrong”. I felt ridiculous and unwanted. I felt it ridiculous that I should feel unwanted.
I can’t with this. ”Look at the bunnies! See! Look here, sweetie, let me do this for you. Looky! Pretty flowers!” I would like to have punched that guy square in his condescending, smarmy, idiot face. Why she just sat there and let this guy treat her like that is totally beyond me.
These are almost always bad, but Ben Reininga has compiled the absolute worst. Ahead: lots of odd penis-smacking; weird breast action; lots of messy food-related items; things that sound painful and unpleasant; and warnings not to watch funny movies because if you laugh your belly will jiggle and no man will ever love you. Just generally unsexy, Cosmo. Not that we’re expecting cutting-edge reporting, here, but… come on.
Just… go read this. For this guy to say the things he said, it’s just, wow. Amazing.
In short, the Rangers are an elite group of men who love America more than they love themselves and that’s why they deserve to be there, and this candidate for Dick Smack of the Year says we should not ruin the glory of the Rangers with the “me culture” that apparently is inherent in females. Because, you know, women are historically famous for putting themselves first before all other things.
"Sorry, Officer, I was going to go to this training session, but there was a sale at Macy’s, and I really need a new pair of pumps." "Oh no! We have to stop! I broke a nail!" "WATER? Are you kidding? I didn’t put on my waterproof mascara this morning!" SIGH.