On the way home from the movies, I heard this guy Roy Zimmerman on the radio, and he said:
“Abstinence-only” education is like “just hold it in” potty training.
Archive for Deborah Lipp
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The Internet never ceases to amaze me
I just dropped Arthur off at his Homecoming Dance. He looked quite the debonair fellow. Unfortunately, earlier this evening, we had a problem I’ve always considered unique to a single mother with a son.
And found our solution online.
The mind boggles.
Toddler religion
I saw a bumpersticker tonight that said
The Fear of the Lord is the Beginning of Wisdom
…and I thought, Wow, that’s just about everything that’s wrong with religion today.*
Now, this quote probably originates in an older meaning of “fear.” Something more like “awe” was probably intended. And indeed, awe can be the beginning of wisdom. The left hand of awe is humility; the understanding that there are things we cannot understand, things greater than us, and that our answers are not the be all end all of answers.
But y’know, I think that’s not what the mini-van driver meant by it.
Fear of the Lord drives the kind of religious thought that is based in obedience. Doing what God wants and avoiding what God objects to. Because of the fear. Because you might get your ass spiritually kicked. “I’ll be good, God! Don’t kick my humble ass! PUH-LEEZE!”
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Friday Catblogging: Bookends
Anything you can do I can do cuter
My Obsession
Last night’s Question of the Day on Shakespeare’s Sister was, what’s your obsession? (Actually, it was a long, long obsessive thing on the joys of pumpkins, followed by, what’s your obsession? But anyway.)
So I wrote about boxes. Yes. Boxes. Or containers.
My son drags me through Ikea and TJ Maxx or I’ll just open EVERY. SINGLE. BOX. If it has a lid, I must open it. Boxes are cunnning. They are cute. I love them so much. Every since I was a wee little Deborah. Lids? Oh! Look at the lid! Look at the latch! Look at the enormous amount of room! Look at the tiny amount of room! I could put a safety pin in it. Just one safety pin. Isn’t that cute? Ohmigod COMPARTMENTS! This one has COMPARTMENTS. Look, the dividers come out.
So. Boxes.
I like baskets too.
If they have lids.
You won’t believe this
So I returned Before Sunrise and got Before Sunset, and sat down to watch it tonight.
It was damaged.
Oy.
Interacting with Image
I was kinda wondering last night how I ended up being included in two Big Fat Carnivals. I don’t consider myself a fat activist particularly.
Here’s the thing: Both of the included blogs were about movies. And this is what fascinates me; the image. The interaction between images and social constructs. The things we see on-screen (or on TV or in magazines) reflect the unspoken and often unconscious prejudices we hold. What is acceptable to see, what is unacceptable to see; what is shown as good, shown as evil, never shown at all. I honestly don’t see how you can watch movies with a critical eye and not notice the sexism and the narrow definition of acceptibility.
What makes The Celluloid Closet a great movie? It’s because it looks at homosexuality in the movies through that lens. Which is to say, it just looks. It looks and asks, ‘What is being shown here? What is not being shown?’ It doesn’t make any activist statements particularly, or issue any answers on right and wrong. It just says ‘Look at this.’ It exercises the intelligence of pattern recognition, and the pattern it recognizes is largely homophobic.
I’m interested in that. I’m interested in what movies say about women and age and size and Teh Gay and Teh Slutness and race and money. All that.
I’m very capable of getting worked up over triviality, because we express ourselves in triviality. The recent blogstorm over the intersection of feminism and femme beautification has everything to do with that. Looking For Mr. Goodbar says more about our reaction to women who have casual sex than any dissertation or politician ever could.
So, yes. I will keep reviewing movies. In case you were wondering.
(A cross-post is worth a thousand words.)
I totally love this stuff
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Femme socks
At this moment I am wearing black lace “trouser socks.” Trouser socks are a weird hybrid animal that sorta resemble socks and sorta resemble “knee-his,” which are themselves a hybrid of stockings and socks. There is more cross-fertilization among women’s hosiery than in the American Kennel Association.
I have to wear femme socks. If I wear plain black socks, they end up in Arthur’s sock drawer. Black lace is a form of self-defense. I also have these very cool black socks with pink toes and heels; the pink doesn’t show when you wear them, but they show when you do laundry, thereby warning Arthur away. I have like four of those.
So what do gay couples do? Loads of wash full of boysocks. Do they just…share socks? I suppose you could, I mean, I’m not attached to my socks, I just want an adequate supply. Or maybe separate hampers and separate washloads.
Or one of them could wear femme socks.
