Ugh Blah Fug Meh Monday

Well, I had a really swell weekend. I knitted thirty scarves, and drank a glass of wine (tee! hee!). And then I had a few chugs of Slivovitz that my favorite aunt Gladys gave me for high-school graduation but I never drank (tee! hee! hee!). And then I decided to listen to some of my old CDs, and found this old dried out doobie in the Zep IV CD case (tee! hee! tee! hee!). But I digress! So anyway, I ended up texting one of my old fake boyfriends from college, who is really cute and smart but I could never be with him and he knows it and I know it but I'm not sure if he knows that I know that he knows it or not, so I texted him anyway. And he texted me back and was all like "Hey! Dr. Crazy! Whattupp!?!?" and I was all like "Yo! Old Fake Boyfriend! Sappenin?!??" And then it was all awkward, and I remembered that I could never be with him, but I just couldn't shake that intense feeling of wondering whether he knows that I know that he knows it, too. Anyway. Whatever.

When I woke up this morning, I felt really great that I knew that I could never be with old fake boyfriend, and that he knew it, too, so that was a pretty good start to my day. But then it occurred to me that I have to grade five million essays that my students wrote last week. I love my students but they are STUPID! No, no, I didn't say that. They are extremely enthusiastic and when they learn new things I feel so excited and powerful at my pedagogical SKILLZ! But the thought of grading five million essays just made me want to go back to sleep, but then the big fat cat starting meowing really loud and sitting on my head and I couldn't go back to sleep so I woke up. But I couldn't stop thinking about those five million essays and how my students CAN'T WRITE FOR SHIT! No, no, I didn't say that. Anyway. Monday sucks. That is all.

What the Fuck is a "Morely Safer?"

by Comradde PhysioProffe, as channeled by Historiann

Has this fucking douchehound been on television since the late Fordde Administration? Someonne should clue himme in on the fact that this new "electronic mail" technology canne be easily forwarddede on to friends who are reporters at the New Yorkke Fucking Times.

Also, Blogger suckes asse!

Dr. Stimpson Declined to Comment

So we will comment for her.

[Cross-posted at Roxie's World.]

In Which the Part of Historiann is played by Moose, the typist for Roxie's World.

Why? Because, darlings, some jobs call for a lasso, not a leash. Read on.

* * *

Veteran (by which I mean antediluvian and, apparently, anti-a whole bunch of other things) CBS newsman Morley Safer is "sorry" that a nasty little dispute over gender inside an exclusive Manhattan club called the Century Association (whose website, when we checked, was, conVENiently, "temporarily down for maintenance") has "become public." Translation: I am a big dumb wanker, and now everybody knows it! Poor me! No fair!

The New York Times declares that Safer has "ruffle[d] feathers" inside the club (whose members include -- get this! -- Henry Kissinger, Chuck Close, and Meryl Streep) in a series of e-mails over whether the Century should sever its ties to an all-male club in London, the Garrick, which permits women to enter only in the company of a man -- presumably, you know, a male member. No word on what Hank, Chuck, or la Meryl thought about the matter, but Safer, who strongly supported maintaining the club's relationship with the Garrick, went ballistic on Centurion Catharine R. Stimpson (English prof at NYU, founding editor of Signs, and a former president of the MLA) after Stimpson joked in an e-mail about taking the risk of seeming "whining and self-pitying" and then going on to list "10 unpleasant ways that she had been described by fellow Centurions because she advocated cutting ties with the Garrick." (Oh, what Historiann would not give to see that list!) Safer, according to the Times, "pounced" on Stimpson's joking self-description in his reply, which the Times somehow obtained, despite "club rules [that] strictly prohibit members from discussing internal matters with the news media." See if you agree that "pounce" is the right word:

“You’ve taken the risk and indeed you are as you describe: ‘whining and self pitying,’ ” he wrote to Dr. Stimpson and others. “You may also add to that, humorless and vindictive. And how about. Lacking in the common decency of that ancient saw: ‘Live and let live.’ So you can add nosy to those qualities that you catalog with such pride.”

Wow, Morley, you can haz misogyny much? Whining, self pitying, humorless, vindictive, lacking in common decency, nosy. How could you have left deep-voiced, castrating, and snake-haired out of your toxic stew of woman-hating imagery? Don't hold back, Morley! Let the old girl have it, why don't ya?

Now, in fairness to Mr. Safer, Historiann is compelled to acknowledge that Stimpson and women generally were not the only targets of his venomous rage. Earlier, in defending the right of clubs to maintain discriminatory policies, Safer engaged in a classic bit of slippery-slope rhetoric that is a hallmark of violated privilege. Again, as the Times reports it:

“What will be next?” he asked. “Disassociation with clubs that do not cater to vegans on their menus? Kosher dining rooms? Special facilities for nudists and transsexuals? Abolition of ‘Centurion’ to describe our members, given that the term is, according to the OED, derived from the all-male Roman army?”

Apologies to all of my Jewish, vegan, nudist, transsexual readers -- I should have put a trigger warning for rank stupidity ahead of that quote, I suppose.

What will be next? Gosh, Mr. Safer, I don't know. Perhaps you'll be run out of town like veteran UPI journalist Helen Thomas was after she made inflammatory remarks about Israel last year. Or perhaps you won't be, since male privilege was, last time we checked, still alive and well and doing a fine job of protecting members of the club whose "private" musings become uncomfortably public.

Here's what I do know, big fella: Next time Historiann comes down from the high desert and heads to the Big Apple, she just might drop by the Century, lasso in hand, to knock back a couple of pisco sours with Meryl and Kate. But don't you worry your (not so) pretty little head -- We and our lady parts will keep our distance from you and Kissinger. You two can drink port and look up words in the OED until H-E-Double Toothpicks freezes over. Me and the feminazi cowgirls got some serious work to do.

So, tell me, readers: What buttons does the sorry saga of Safer, Stimpson, and the Century push for you? Share your stories of Dinosaurs Still Roaming the Earth in comments, will you? I've got to feed the horses, clean the barn, and run six miles up a mountain and back before class this afternoon. Talk amongst yourselves and I'll check back in later to see how the revolution is progressing.

(Image and Inspiration Credits: Historiann)

Welcome to the Pseudonym Exchange!

You know the feeling.  You started blogging under a pseudonym so that you could project a certain persona.  You spent hours lovingly constructing your pseudonymous identity, leaving comments at your pseudonymous friends' blogs, writing posts that gave insights into your pseudonymous identity's thoughts and feelings.  It's not that you don't love your pseudonym. 

But sometimes you want to write about something that your pseudonym just can't accommodate.  And you don't want to go to the trouble of constructing a brand new pseudonym, and so you suffer in silence.

Suffer no more, bloggy peeps!  You've come to the right place!

The Pseudonym Exchange will allow you to try on a new pseudonym for a day, a week - heck, maybe even forever!  Play fast and loose with your internet persona!  Take a walk on the wild side!

Coming soon: Application information; terms of participation; and who knows what else!