Patriarchy's many cornerstones

Over at I Blame the Patriarchy, my fellow spinster aunt hits the nail on the head yet again in her discussion of a couple of issues that continue to baffle me beyond all reason.

"... I reveal no secrets when I say that many traditionally whitedude-o-centric institutions are so deeply entrenched in fucktarded patriarchal ideology that the spinster aunt necessarily writhes in ambivalence when she hears of women (or other oppressed groups) who try to bust through venerable dudely barriers to claim a piece of the action."

Yeah, exactly.

What set her spinning on this one was a news item that I noted sort of sadly and moved on before it made my brain hurt too much: a bunch of Catholic women risked excommunication by ordaining themselves or each other or whatever (unofficially of course) as priests and deacons. Out on a boat, I guess, so that they were not subject to the jurisdiction of any particular terrestrial authority (and, I imagine, they didn't want to drag some unfortunate parish through hell along with them, just in case there was trouble).

It just seems silly to me somehow, to want so badly to participate in a system that prohibits you from participating and works against your interests. No, not merely silly -- it's fucking nuts. Commenter Jennifer, over at Twisty's place, quite properly invoked Audre Lorde's The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle The Master's House.

Duh.

But then Twisty also brings the gay marriage question into the mix. This is another one that makes my head spin. I mean, it's totally crazy that some people are allowed to participate in this sanctified activity and some aren't. It's a total no-brainer in my view that if straight people are allowed to do it, gay people should not be prevented from doing whatever it is that people do to get married, nor taking advantage of whatever patriarchy-supporting (or not) perks it offers. What puzzles me is why anyone wants to do it, and why there are so many perks attached to it. I guess Twisty says it more succinctly here:

"It’s not that I think homos shouldn’t get married; it’s that I think nobody should get married. Of patriarchy’s many cornerstones, marriage is the cornerstoniest. So, c’mon, let’s abolish the whole thing! Who’s with me?"

I'm in! I'm in!! Though as I pointed out in the comments over there (can I quote myself here?), I support it in an abstract "why the hell not" kind of way:

"I don't want my relationships regulated or defined or subject to legal obligation. [...] The only benefit to me personally that legally-sanctioned same-sex marriage could possibly hold is that I could more meaningfully choose not to marry anyone at all. I have successfully taken a stand against marrying a man by not actually marrying any of them, but my opposition to marrying a woman has gone largely undemonstrated."

You won't find me at any protests carrying any signs or arguing much about it. I guess I can't get all worked up about being denied a right I don't especially want, even if (in the context of things) it's only fair that I should have it.

But the light that dear Aunt Twisty flipped on for me was the one illuminating that towering institution of misogyny and patriarchal power: the symphony orchestra. I haven't been paying a lot of attention to the classical music world for a very long time now, and it was with a little surprise that I noted the fuss about Marin Alsop's confirmation as music director of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. Surely that can't be remarkable? Alas, yes it is. She's not the first woman conductor, but the first woman conductor to be appointed artistic director of a major orchestra.

This one caught me up a little short, as it was once upon a time my ambition to be a symphony conductor. I had no idea the odds were so stacked against me. I mean, it would have been much easier for a little girl growing up in the 60s & 70s to become a fireman or an astronaut. It seemed at the time, that women my age would have a much harder time fighting their way to the top in law or medicine or business. Surely not music? But it occurs to me: f I'd known all this, would I maybe have fought harder for it? Like somehow if I'd stayed there & fought for my right to exist in that particular patriarchal edifice, would I now have some kind of clue what would motivate a boat full of Catholic ladies to defy authority and ordain themselves in order to participate more fully in an organization that oppresses them? Maybe I'd be able to get a little bit more excited about demanding to be allowed to marry a girl if I wanted to.

Then again, maybe not.

Beer just wants to be free

Open source beer? Yep. Via BBC.

Spider pics

Some nice photos of jumping spiders via Hattie's Blog.

Still too busy to post much, but do check out the puppy pictures over at Twisty's place -- and read her posts while you're there. She's very funny. And smart.

Karaoke anyone?

TC Byrd was up too late last night over at Hattie's Blog and tossed me the ball (which she got from Gwen at Gwen's Petty, Judgmental, Evil Thoughts) on this goofy 'Fantasy Karaoke' meme. All there is to it is to name the song you wish you could sing at a karaoke bar but so far don't have the guts to do it.

That would be all of them, I'm afraid. It's not that I don't have the guts, but I just am a totally lame-ass singer, and I can't remember lyrics, and I can never quite see the words on the teleprompter screen. I just don't have this kind of fantasy. Ever.

I confess I've never been to a karaoke bar, although we did once bring a karaoke machine into the radio studio during a fundraising drive and I did participate in the "call in your pledge right now or we'll sing 'McArthur Park' all the way through" episode. But I didn't sing; I played air tambourine or something. If there was anyone still listening they did not call for fear of being made to sing on the air. We had to sing it.

That was not my fantasy though. And I had much better luck fundraising-wise when I threatened to play Side 2 of "Hammered Dulcimer Holiday Classics" if nobody called. I got lots of pledges. Then about an hour later someone called and said she would pledge a whole pile of money but only if I played said side in its entirety.

You win some, you lose some.

OK, maybe I'd do 'Proud Mary,' or that one about 'Jeremiah was a bullfrog,' which we used to play on the jukebox and get up on the stage above the dining room and lipsynch to at my friend's dad's restaurant. With choreography. When I was in like second grade.

But I'll only do it if you don't call in your pledge right now.

It's not the heat, it's the stupidity

The first thing I heard this morning was the annoying local host on our NPR affiliate telling me the high today was expected to approach the record set in like the 1940s or something - around 100 -- and that the heat index was 107, whatever that means. And plus there's an air quality alert of Level Orange, which means you shouldn't go outside, basically. Especially not to ride your bike. Which I did anyway.

I left the house early, and it was plenty cool, considering. The ride home is very likely to suck. On the other hand, it's not very far, and there's beer in the fridge. And lots of other icy cold beverages. And even some mint-flavored Klondike Bars in the freezer.

I'll wait & see how bad it is when it's time to go home; maybe I'll leave the bike here. Tonight's low temperature is supposed to be around 80, so I suspect it won't cool off all that much. On the other hand, it's a bad air day & I'll feel guilty calling a cab.

Sunday shoe blogging

I know it's Monday, but here is my neighbor looking at a 1960-something (?) BSA Rocket 3. I like his shoes quite a lot. I guess you'd have to call him a metrosexual; he's the only straight guy I know who has more shoes than I do. You can click on the image to see a little bit more of the motorcycle if you want.

Dog dream

I dreamed last night that I was running with the alphabitch herself. That's her at left, sitting in what was then the only comfortable chair in the house. We used to fight over it sometimes. I wish I had a picture of her running, so you could see how perfectly beautiful her tail was. I can remember it, but sometimes I'm afraid I'll forget.

In the dream, we were just running together, down by the creek in the park, and she wasn't on her leash. I'd always wanted to do that with her, let her run off the leash, but she was a little bit unreliable and liked to start fights with other dogs. And eat garbage. But in the dream, we just kept running. Sometimes she followed me, and sometimes I ran to catch up to her, and sometimes we ran beside each other.

It was a very happy dream, and she's been on my mind all day. Maybe I'm having dog dreams on account of looking at pictures of TwistyFaster's dangerously cute new puppy. I can't help going back to look.

Visitor

I guess this is going to be an all-bug blog for a while. I'm too tired of looking at words all day to write anything, so here's another nifty bug.

You can click on the picture for a closer look, should you want one. It's not a very big specimen, but I think it's kind of pretty against the peeling paint and the oxidized metal. Not a great place for a bug to be, what with people going in & out & closing the door, so my friend transported it across the parking lot & into a nice leafy tree. It stayed there for a while but was gone by the time I arrived, alas.

Glad I got to see the pictures, anyway.

Fish or cut bait

This is a catalpa (or catawba) worm. It's the caterpillar stage in the life cycle of the Catalpa sphinx moth. The moths lay zillions of eggs on the leaves of catalpa trees, and when they hatch, they (very swiftly!) eat all the leaves & climb down to the ground to pupate in the dirt. I think you'll get a larger picture if you click on that one, & you can sort of see the bare twigs where there used to be leaves. Apparently these make excellent fish bait, but I'll probably never confirm this myself. I'm also told that there is a species of hunting wasp that lays its eggs on these particular caterpillars; haven't seen any of them yet, though.

Not a dog blog, exactly

I got a nice note admiring Stella from ae at arse poetica with an invitation to visit her dog (dingo!) picture archive featuring the very lovely & pointy-eared Kate, a.k.a. Miss Katherine Fuzzypants. Worth a visit. Nice blog, too. Thanks ae! Stella (a.k.a. Mrs. Snackwell) enjoyed the pics also. Here is an old picture of her from her second birthday party. Note the pearls, a gift from my stepmother.

It's not too late

You can still tune in to World O'Crap's "Ultimate Wingnut Challenge" in which she has, I guess in the manner of some kind of sports tournament or one of those survival-on-an-island type reality shows, chosen a field of nutjob columnists and is having a contest (readers get to vote!) to determine who is the "King of the Wingnuts." It looks like we're still in some preliminary elimination rounds. Go here and scroll down to July 11 for the first post & then read 'em all, if you haven't been following it.

I can't stop giggling.

Blogging vs. life

I don't have a computer at home any more, and I've been insanely busy at work lately. I mean the going back to work after dinner & walking the dog & working til 7 am, then going home long enough to shower & change & come back for more type of insanely busy. It'll pass, I'm sure. So I haven't had much time to post anything, or read anything, or think about anything. But I did add some new items to the blogroll (and made a separate list of other canine-related blogs). If you're interested. Especially check with Magpie, Shakespeare's Sister, Majikthise, and Baghdad Burning, and Orcinus; they're paying way more attention than I am these days.

It's probably a good thing I haven't been paying attention to the news; it makes me madder & madder every time I hear anything. I mean, what do people think? Are they surprised that the thugs we elected are acting like thugs?

Books Books Books

Oh dear -- I've been away for a few days and I got tagged for the infamous Book Meme.

Total Number of Books Owned: I'm afraid I can't give an accurate answer just now. See, my books are all mildew-y and I don't know yet how many will survive. At least a few hundred, I'm hoping. The paperbacks seem least affected. I've been going through them all wearing these silly purple non-latex gloves and a mask & eye shield wiping them off with bleach. Some can't be saved, but most probably can.

Last Book I Bought: Haven't bought many books lately on account of the mold problem. Must be that new collection of travel writing by Jan Morris that's sitting on the table next to my bed, and which I haven't read yet. And/or Bill Bryson's new book, "A Short History of Nearly Everything." I think I bought them both at the same time, and there they sit.

Last Book I Read: I haven't been reading very much lately, either. I think I read a few of the pieces in "Best Non-Required Reading 2005" or some such, before I loaned it to somebody. Or maybe one of those goofball 1970s mysteries by Oliver Bleeck that I found on eBay. I love those.

Five Books That Mean a Lot:

1. Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. I know that both Susie (of Suburban Guerrilla fame) and Fred Clark (at the highly excellent Slacktivist) named this one. Susie says she keeps getting too distracted to finish it, and I can see how that would happen. It's all about subplots. The first time I read it, I could hardly put it down even to sleep. But it's like 1400 pages long, so I did have to sleep a couple of times. Plus it's exhausting reading. You can't skim or let your mind wander for a second or you lose your place. Fred had the same impulse I did, though, which was to flip back to the front and start again as soon as he finished. I think I read it three or four times straight through when I first got hold of a copy. I read really fast, and I rarely need bookmarks, but with this book, I needed two: one to keep my place in the main text, and the other to keep my place in the extensive endnotes, which are essential if you are trying to understand what the hell is happening. It's a hilarious book, yes, but it's miles deep and also completely absurd and full of despair and hope and -- oh, just go read it.
2. The Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker. This one totally blew me away when it was first excerpted in the New Yorker in (I think it must have been) the mid eighties. I think this is the first book I came across that made such great use of footnotes and rambling, demented digressions about nothing in particular. Had rather too much influence on my own writing, I fear.
3. The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare. Young adult fiction about an orphaned teenager sent from the opulent, tropical plantation where she'd been raised by her rich (but alas deeply indebted, leaving her nearly penniless when he died) and indulgent grandfather to live with her mother's sister, who had run away and married a Puritan and lived in New England. Cultural misunderstandings rule the day, and though our young protaganist is a good sport, she is clueless about household chores and protestant worship practices, among other things. I loved this book as a girl. For one thing, I moved around a lot as a kid and changed schools nearly every year, so the "girl out of place" motif resonated powerfully for me. For another thing, I read anything I could get my hands on about the colonial-era witch trials in the US, and even though this one is fiction it quickly became a favorite -- in no small part, I think, because the puritanical witch-burning mindset is just background. The author does not explain or moralize or theorize -- and you could absolutely see how such things could have happened -- in a way that nonfiction just can't show the average third- or fourth-grader.
4. The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Suess. Meant a lot to me because my dad read it to me every night for years, always that one and one or two or please dad three more? It was also important to me because it was in staring intently at the pages of the book as dad recited it (he had long since memorized it, bless him) that it occurred to me that he wasn't just making shit up: the words he was saying corresponded in some way not just to the pictures but to these mysterious black shapes on the pages. I started noticing the same patterns in other books and it wasn't very long before my parents found me out & made me read the bedtime stories to them.
5. Only one more? OK. Ada, or Ardor by Vladimir Nabokov. Gloriously complicated (and in certain ways profoundly dysfunctional) characters, pyrotechnical wordplay (in multiple languages). I first read it when I was too young to fully get all the truly twisted implications it presents, but I think it was the first book I read that didn't delineate "good vs. evil" in the way I had come to expect. I think I'll re-read that if the mold hasn't totally consumed it. I only have it in hardback, alas.

This meme has been around for a while, so I'm not going to tag anyone in particular. If you haven't done it yet and feel like you want to, consider yourself tagged.