Ha, this was a weird day. But I got to see lots of people I like, so that was nice. The Butcher’s going to take me to the eye doctor tomorrow, because I know she’s going to dilate my pupils and I don’t know how safe I’ll be to drive clear home. I remember thinking last year that it was kind of stupid of me to be driving.
That’s right, Nashville. I’m being considerate of your safety.
I will wait until I’m on an overpass and drop rocks on you, like a civilized person.
So, our neighbors got broken into last night. Not the ones with the baby nor the one Mrs. W. is madly in love with, but the ones on the other side of him. They work nights and came home to find someone had wiped them out. They said the cop told them it looked like the burglars had taken their time.
The thing that creeps me out about it is the thought of someone watching their home long enough to figure out that they aren’t there all night.
I’m glad we have Mrs. W. But even the couple with the baby have dogs, and Leo aspires to be mean. So, I worry that Mrs. W. would not stop or be able to stop someone determined.
I think we should get a grizzly bear and keep it out back.
There’s another huge uproar in the feminist blogosphere. This one’s actually interesting because all sides have good points, instead of it just being a case of someone being an asshole and everyone else either rushing to condemn or defend. But I find myself caring less an less about that stuff. Maybe it would be different if I had ever been a more popular feminist blogger–my desire to keep my popularity might prolong my need to stake my side in these arguments.
But not only don’t I think you give a shit what I think about it, I don’t give a shit about having definitive feelings about it.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the end of BitchPhD and how it was an important place for a lot of feminists while also being incredibly terrible for a lot of feminists. And the thing is, I really want to say that, yeah, that’s exactly right and really, though we should work for better,this is the obvious end result.
Feminism isn’t a monolithic movement. People are going to drop the ball and not give a shit about picking it up and that’s going to suck. And that doesn’t mean that they also aren’t influential and important to other people and that doesn’t mean those other people are endorsing every thing about the ball dropper.
But the thing that bugs me is that I can’t tell if I think that because of privilege–if part of being a white, somewhat educated woman is that, in exchange for a lot of bullshit I’ve had to put up with, I’ve come to expect we all kind of turn away from each other’s unpleasant parts.
But then I think, no, actually, that’s exactly what I’m getting at. A mechanism my small group has developed in order to make our space a little safer for each other does, in fact, make our space a little safer for each other. AND it probably is complete bullshit when exported into other groups and situations.
I keep thinking that I’m pushing 40. Oh god. And the feminist voices I would like to hear from are the women who are at this point, who are figuring out what’s beyond the great doctrinal arguments (though, I don’t mean to be flip about them. I think they’re crucial as well, just a young person’s game, most of the time) and into “how do I negotiate space for myself as a whole person if I’m the one who has to take care of my asshole dad?” or “I want my kid’s teacher to stop calling him a pussy, but I don’t want to cause trouble for my kid” or whatever.
And I feel like the women who are doing those things and who could best write about them don’t write about them because they are busy doing them.
And that makes me sad.
I understand it, but it makes me sad.
Tiny Cat Pants 