Reblogged post from ‘La venganza de Hipatia’ — Lo posmo (2): los coños feroces

And brave men too…

La Venganza de Hipatia

Feminismo… feminismo posmoderno… nadie sale vivo de aquí hoy. ¿Por dónde empiezo esto? Ya sé que la mayoría de la gente que llegue a este texto no se va a parar a leerlo, pasando directamente a los comentarios señalándome como una vil materialización de la falocracia, un enemigo de las mujeres, un apologista de la cultura de la violación y mil barbaridades más que, lamentablemente, los harán sentirse muy bien con ellos mismos. Las razones de la extraña situación de extrema irritabilidad respecto al tema de este texto son varias. En primer lugar, simplemente es cool. Ser una brujita atómica o un guardaespaldas de las indefensas mujeres, ejerciendo de policía del pensamiento e intentando por todos los medios no tener que salir de la zona de confort de lo políticamente, y a veces absurdamente, correcto, es algo que en ciertos círculos da muchos réditos sociales. Y es un drama…

View original post 4,467 more words

Advertisements

Seen on my walk today

A woman in her sixties standing well in the middle of a parking lot, guarding it against competing drivers, waiting for her husband to make his driving around the block and park right on the spot,

And an auto repair shop with a wall plastered with calendars of pin-up girls,

Relics of a world that was.

Disguised as human beings

One of my political heroes was the late South African politician Helen Suzman, for many years the only anti-apartheid member of the (all-white) parliament in Cape Town. As a leader of the opposition party she sat right across from the government, speaking directly to their menacing faces. On one occasion she said to them: “You should really visit one of the townships, to see how blacks live in our country. I suggest that you go disguised as human beings.”

From the always excellent Peter L. Berger.

https://www.the-american-interest.com/2017/03/08/bernie-sanderss-nightmare/

Until then, I’ll cry instead.

I used to listen to my songs in random order, but now I go through them alphabetically by name. That has made me notice something remarkable —out of 38 songs in my collection whose name begins with ‘I’, 14 are from The Beatles.

You know them —male, white, middle class, unapologetically heteropatriarchs, and as I can see now, a bunch of egocentric bastards.

As if the world revolted around them, or as if we gave a damn about the pettiness and hollowness of their pathetic partying around for a girl’s kiss in caverns in Liverpool.

The world would be a better place if they had checked back their privileges, assumed their guilt,  apologized to the oppressed, pledged them for acceptance and forgiveness, and redeemed themselves by assuming the role of the meek and humble, low-key unconditional background supporter of those whose moment in history has arrived.

And what did they do instead? A batch of silly songs no one wants to hear which should be given absolutely no platform in any college radio station.

Ban’em, here, there, and everywhere.

 

And be like Johnnie too good

Saturday morning. I go biking. On my way out of the city I see a female coworker in her way in to the city to waste some hours doing overtime at the so-called parking day in which some streets are emptied of cars and children are invited to be expected to what? Don’t play soccer don’t play rough don’t play un-inclusively no competition allowed everybody has their prize don’t dare go to the street beyond don’t do anything without adult supervision if you’re wronged come here my darling and tell your teacher. But at least she’s worth looking at, in passing.

Although I’m out of form, I try na Burguesa, the tallest peak around. I fail at 2/3rds of the summit. No fellow cyclists around, by the way, and definitely none of the ones carrying 3000 euros worth of equipment on them. Just one mountain biker on my way up and two on my prudish and ridiculously-paced way down.

Saturday evening. Richard Linklater’s Everybody Wants Some. You end up wondering if you’ve been cheated into thinking you’ve just seen another no-brains movie or if, on the contrary, a very inconsequential film is infiltrated with very interesting dialog and scenography to make you think this isn’t another no-brains movie.

Sunday morning. I try my new gadget to clean windows—a windows sucker. You apply your ordinary windows cleaner to the glass and then you proceed to vacuum. And it works, actually better than expected.

Sunday afternoon. Rio Conchos. Not a bad story made into a very watchable western whose very most merit lies on the way their heroes are not.

I must be set in my old ways

This young man held a post in this office some time in the past, and then got a promotion and went elsewhere. He was liked and well regarded by his colleagues at work.

After he left, he got involved in high school activity as a father of two girls and was appointed president of the federation of parents’ local associations, which gave him some renown and made him kind of a (lesser) public figure.

Last week, his face showed up in a photograph in a local paper, because an old, leftist political party in quest of renovation had apparently sounded him for a leading place in its lists as an independent candidate. The article was badly laid out, though, and actually induced the casual reader to think that he (our young man) was in fact being engaged with the old, rightist political party.

When a guy at the office wholeheartedly, cheerfully, naively points to the young man’s picture in the paper and says out loud for everyone to share his joy, ‘Look, it’s <the young man’s name>, he’s on the news again, and this time big time!’ another coworker raises her ugly,  anger-filled face to bitterly retort, ‘Yeah, but he’s joining the <name of the wrong party>’.

So there you have it, spontaneously acted out for the benefit of your eyes and ears —atavistic, careless, silly bonhomie (he’s our friend, he’s flourishing: let’s celebrate) versus sophisticated, pointed, self-righteous and hate-inducing moral and political judgmentalism (he used to be on the right side; now he’s mean, less than decent; he’s not our friend any more —quite the contrary).

Collecting sinners in an old tin cup.