Another Post About How Kleinheider is Wrong and Sarcastro is Being Tainted by Feminism, Finally

I have the cutest picture of Dr. J and me kissing at some drunken Halloween party.  I went as a cat and she’s wearing my ears.  It’s a real kiss, not one of those fake “for the boys” kisses you see some girls do. And it’s one of those photos that I look at and it just makes me laugh.  It’s cute and sweet and funny and, since Dr. J is one of my dearest friends, I’m glad we smooched and it was caught for posterity.  Probably, at the time, it seemed a little scandalous, but now, it just seems sweet.

I say all this up front just because that’s the first thing I thought of when I saw the now infamous photos of Bob Corker’s daughter.  I saw it, thought “Give her a real kiss, you wimp,” and smiled and moved on.

I wish I’d had the guts in college to say, “Fuck my dad’s job.  This is my life and I’ll do whatever dumbass thing I want, even if he’ll find out.”  I did not have those guts, which is why my college career was marked by long passages of doing nothing interrupted by brief drunken bouts of awkward indiscretions.  It wasn’t until I got to grad school that I even thought of doing shit just for the hell of it, just because I thought it might be fun.

So, good for you, Julia Corker.

But… and you knew that was coming… apparently that’s not the majority attitude.

So, go read Kleinheider’s post and then come back here where we attempt to parse the salient points.  Trust me, it’s worth it, if only to see Kleinheider speculate about Sarcastro‘s masturbatory habits.

Okay, then, let’s get started.

Point Number One: Kleinheider Thinks He’s Defending Corker’s Honor, When Really He’s Slut Shaming

Slut shaming, for those of you not up on your third-wave feminist terms is the act of attempting to make women feel ashamed for enjoying or, and this is critical, seeming to enjoy sex.  As any girl who’s been through high school knows, you can be a slut even if you’ve never had sex.  It’s not about what you do or don’t do, it’s about keeping you in line.

Here’s how things work: under our current system*, women are responsible for men’s behavior and it is our duty to make men behave properly in all aspects of society by allowing or cutting off access to our vaginas in order to insure that men do what they’re supposed to do.  This is really a bullshit role for women, because it means that our primary relationship to sex is therefore one of duty to society and not pleasure for ourselves.  Since it is a bullshit role, women have to be forced into it.  The main way we are forced into it is by indoctrination into the belief that women who enjoy sex, or seem like they might enjoy sex, are bad and evil–this is accomplished by slut shaming.  A “slut” is discovered and she is ridiculed, not only to ostracize her from the community, but also to frighten other women from acting out (or, more realistically, being discovered) in ways that contradict the current system.

So, here’s what Kleinheider is up to.  There’s these pictures of Julia Corker acting in a way that is outside the parameters of appropriate behavior for women under our current system–“The pictures are out there. It was a despicable thing to do but they are now in the public sphere.”  Does Kleinheider then argue that the current system is stupid anyway?

No, Kleinheider rushes in to defend her honor–posting her pictures is wrong, linking to them is wrong, looking at them is wrong.  Kleinheider’s so sure that the pictures are naughty, that Corker should be ashamed of them, that he’s arguing that decent people will look away.

See, he doesn’t think he’s calling her a slut.  He thinks he’s defending her from charges of slut-dom.  But it’s only because he thinks that behavior could be perceived as slutty is such a defense necessary at all.  Do you see what I’m saying?  He’s saying that her behavior, which might be perceived as slutty, could be construed as something to be ashamed of.

Point Two: Has Sarcastro Become a Third Wave Feminist?

I don’t know.  I just don’t know what to think.  But check this:

Your whole argument seems predicated on extolling some Eisenhower-era mores while tossing in the “but, what if she was a (insert hypothetical)” card at every opportunity. Well, she isn’t. She’s an attractive girl, smart enough to make her own choices, who was having some fun and someone took a picture.

And who’s making the “women don’t need to be rescued” argument?  Again, Mr. Smartypants:

Good thing she has you as the defender of her virtue, her secrets, her solitude, and her soul.  […]  When you appointed yourself her Galahad, did you bother to ask what her opinion is of the pictures? Or are you just assuming that girls with a couple of drinks under their belts aren’t capable of making decisions? For all you know she is proud and unapologetic.

Holy shit, Sarcastro, look at you throwing around feminist philosophy like it’s nothing but common sense!  Shoot, you make me want to take back all those mean things I’ve said about you.

Point Three: We are Sexual Beings.  There’s Nothing Wrong With That.

Y’all, Adam Groves looks at those pictures and says, “All I can do is preemptively say how disgusting it is” and Kleinheider is all throwing his hands up in the air and running around like someone seeing a picture of a girl in her underwear or kissing another girl is so humiliating that we all ought to be ashamed for even looking and that Sarcastro is some big pervert for not poking his eyes out after accidentally viewing the photos.

The honest truth is that the only person who has anything to be ashamed about is the dink with the bad haircut who seems to be trying to horn in on the kiss.  Good lord, man, where are you aiming those lips?

But the rest of us?  We’re sexual beings.  We look at each other and enjoy it.  I like the way a man’s shoulders move under a dress shirt.  And I’m a sucker for scruff, the way it looks, the way it feels.  I love how it feels when a man puts his mouth on mine and I don’t think it makes me a pervert to think about that.  I love soft and curvy women and often think about how much fun it would be to squeeze them to me.  That’s how it works.

We look at each other and appreciate what we see.

And, more importantly, most of the time, we like to be looked at.  Sure, it’s weird as hell when people hoot at me when I’m out walking the dog, but it’s also flattering.  And don’t think for a minute I’m not delighted when I catch y’all staring at my tits.  It makes me feel sexy and powerful.  And if construction workers want to holler out the things they’d do with me if they only had the opportunity, as long as it’s in a manner that doesn’t suggest that they’re going to pluck me off the street to do it, admire away gentlemen.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be looked at and wanting people to consider you as a sexual being. 

There’s nothing wrong with being photographed looking like a sexual being.  If anyone needs to reconsider what’s shameful behavior, it’s the folks who think that acknowledging women as sexual beings somehow might insinuate that those women are bad.

That’s something to be ashamed about, that you can’t get over the idea that women who look like they enjoy sex are slutty, and therefore, when “nice” girls look like they might enjoy sex, they need to be protected and sheltered from people who might “misunderstand” what’s going on.








*i.e. The Patriarchy

Ways My Day Has Rocked (Knock on Wood)

1.  I parallel parked in two swipes with NO right mirror.

2.  Wiggly fries at the Tin Roof.

3.  Lunch with a scholar whose work I’ve admired for years.

4.  Smart, interesting discussion about rap and country music.

That’s right.  I parallel parked that car with no right mirror.  I’m so cool I almost can’t stand myself.

In Which I Search for a Word

A “crush” is when you like someone and sit around the office all morning thinking about how you should be preparing for this big lunch meeting, but instead you’re dwelling how dreamy the object of your crush is and how much you’d like to smooch him or her.

What is the word for when you like someone and sit around the office all morning thinking about how he or she should start dating all your friends?

Because that is what I have on the Nashville Knucklehead.  I totally think he should date someone I know.

Man-oriented folks, look at this guy!  The dimples, the cute blue eyes, the great food.  How can you resist?

Meanwhile, Knuck, the next time some dude with a silver beard crosses your path… Well, you know where to find me.

Mrs. Wigglebottom Pictures!

I think I’ve told y’all how Mrs. Wigglebottom likes to have all her things near her at all times. Here are some pictures of her chewing on the bones of married men (I kid! I kid) and, if you look closely, you can see that she also has her gross green thing there and, in one of the pictures, you can see another bone between her front paws.

In another life, I think she was Fafnir, and has been sent back repeatedly to learn to let go. She’s no longer hording gold, but she can’t yet give up collecting things all together.



My Brother, the Shaman

I like to believe that I’m not bothered by the Butcher’s recreational activities.  To each his own, I say.

And yet, now he’s found a perfectly legal way to enjoy himself and I feel all prissy and bothered.

It’s weird when you stumbled across the ways in which you’re kind of a judgmental asshole and hadn’t realized it.

This is Why He’s the Wayward Boy Scout

Our favorite Wayward Boy Scout has a dilemma:

Should I go tell this girl that she’s flashing ten or twelve people?

Mrs Schwartz is of the opinion that I should not, and I’m a pervert for noticing. I feel it’s like having your fly down; I’d want someone to tell me, if it was me.

I’m sorry.  I just think this is so cute!  He’s wayward enough to notice and boy-scouty enough to want to help.

My thought was that, of course, she must know she’s flashing everyone, because, if you’re at the gym to actually exercise, you’re probably going to wear breathable underwear that doesn’t ride up when you’re moving around.  So, if bits are visible, she must intend for them to be so.

But then it occurs to me that I don’t go to the gym.  What the fuck do I know about how underwear at the gym behaves?

Things I’d Like But Don’t Have

A Week’s Worth of Dishes, Including Pots and Pans–probably 4 out of 5 stars.  It’d be great to not have to do the dishes but once a week, but where would I stack them all when they were dirty?  Sure, I could immediately put them in the dishwasher, but then where would my clean dishes live?  I don’t have cabinets big enough for a week’s worth of dishes, including pots and pans.

A Dishwasher Big Enough to Hold a Week’s Worth of Dishes, Including Pots and Pans–5 out of 5 stars.  Fuck me!  That’d be so awesome.  I’d love it if I only had to do the dishes once a week.

Photoshop–2 and a half stars.  I had this brilliant idea right before I left work that I could take that naked Burt Reynolds picture and put Sarcastro’s face on it and then email him about how I’d come into possession of a naked picture of him and was going to post it; hope you don’t mind; and hilarity would ensue.  But what the fuck?  Even with Photoshop, I don’t have Photoshopping skills and it wouldn’t be very nice of me, even if it would be funny.

Sex with Ghenghis Khan–Eh, maybe 2 stars?  I’m betting he smelled.

Berry Hill–four out of five stars.  We’re planning on heading back over to Mothership Barbecue for lunch on Friday, me and a couple of the folks from work.  Considering that Berry Hill is a little rebel city surrounded on all sides by Nashville, we were wondering how many armed Nashvillians would have to show up in Berry Hill before it’s considered an occupying force.  With a big enough army, could I claim Berry Hill for my own?  I don’t know much about military tactics, but I do know an army travels on its stomach, so it’s a good thing our first stop is for lunch.