Sponsored posts on Facebook often make me sigh in frustration or roll my eyes, but all I could say when this one popped up was — what the ever-loving actual fuck?
Unlike working in Silicon Valley, women in STEM at NSA enjoy the kind of work-life balance that only comes with the Intelligence Community. That’s because you literally can’t take your work home with you (it’s classified). Learn more…
Facebook, November 2, 2019
Maybe someone at the NSA has a sense of humor or something, but is there actually anyone who thinks that the solution to misogynist techbro harassment is — to become a spy? To go into the intelligence business, <sarcasm>well-known for its embrace of feminism and queer rights? </sarcasm>
I’m undecided about whether this counts as Ultra-Peak White Feminism or not, because it seems unlikely that it came from an actual feminist. On the other hand, we have groups like New Wave Feminists grabbing the handle as a way to make anti-choice politics “hip” again, so you never know. In the age of Trump, every day makes me feel like I’m on a really bad acid trip.
I get my joy and hope where I can, these days. It’s hard with Trump parading around the White House as everyone pretends that he’s President. Hannah Arendt put her finger on something important when she coined the phrase “The Banality of evil,” in Eichmann in Jerusalem. Trump shows us something else, though: The pettiness of evil. He’s far too flamboyant to be banal; most of the time, he seems to be trying to act out a classic supervillain who cackles and boasts to the hero about his evil plans. But everything Trump says or does is driven by a pettiness of mind, spirit, and imagination that you just don’t get from Doctor Doom or a Bond villain.
On this, the first Monday in Pride Month 2018, I woke up to find out that the Supreme Court had flipped the bird to queer communites by ruling in favor of the Christian bakery that refused a gay couple. I spent yesterday going back and forth from the bathroom while dealing with a massive upset stomach, and the Supremes’ decision makes that look like the highlight of my week.
What I really find upsetting is not the decision itself, but the way that people in my social media feeds are responding to it. A lot of the reactions amount to queers and progressives throwing up their hands and going, “Welp, we’re doomed. This is the beginning of Gilead.”
Things like this ruling shouldn’t be an excuse to surrender; they should be seen as a call to action, especially at the beginning of Pride Month. This is a month when we commemorate transgender women and sex workers throwing bricks at the cops, even if we sometimes forget that as we watch Budweiser floats with muscled cis-boys in their twenties roll by.
I had an idea the other day: Let’s turn “incel” into a verb. Not just a verb, but an insulting curse to wish bad luck on people who just can’t help being assholes. Instead of saying “Fuck you!” now we’ll say “Incel you!”
David Smalley just published a blog post over on Patheos that is so pompous, so hackneyed, so insufferably wrapped in ego and bad argument that I almost feel inspired to start a Social Justice Nonfiction version of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest in order to pay tribute.
Point number one: Fuck you, Trevor Noah . The line “vegan ISIS” might have sounded very, very clever in your writers room, but it has fuck-all to do with reality.
There’s a lot of potential, legitimate discussion to be had about the tactics of antifa groups and black blocs. Not a single one starts with the assumption that protesters who oppose fascism and white supremacy are moral equals to the cheap-suit Klanners who marched at Charlottesville and attempted to do the same in San Francisco and Berkeley just last week.
I think of Gary Numan as an icon of early 1980s new wave, so it was a really pleasant surprise to find out that not only does he have a new album and video out, but he’s been very active in the last 37 years since “Cars” hit the U.S. charts. Even better, those years look to have been really good to the man, creatively and otherwise. I admit that mentally I’ve had Numan kind of locked away, preserved in a lucite box where skinny ties and Moog synthesizers will always be cutting edge. Numan, apparently, wasn’t willing to stay in that box.