Why a healthy society should resist the new generation of gender-neutral pronouns

You can cut off Thomas Beatie's breasts and give him hormones to grow a beard, but he's not a pregnant male, he's a bearded, breast-less pregnant female

You can cut off Thomas Beatie’s breasts and give him hormones to grow a beard, but he’s not a pregnant male; he’s a bearded, breast-less pregnant female

I understand that language changes.  We don’t speak like this anymore:

Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;

Or like this:

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Silver’d in the moon’s eclipse,
Nose of Turk and Tartar’s lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

Or even like this:

Look at the gams on that dame — and that chassis.  Hot diggity-dog!  She’s the bee’s knees.  This sheik wants to spend some time with that sheba.

Nevertheless, fossil that I am, I find disturbing the fact that the young generation is trying to define away biological reality.  On the same day that we learn (yet again) that men and women don’t only have different hardware (that is, their physical attributes), but also an entirely different operating system (their brains are wired differently), Breitbart reports that the younger generation is trying to introduce gender-neutral pronouns into the English language:

For those who revere clarity in the English language, be prepared; there are a number of young people who are now preferring to eschew the two traditional pronouns for human beings, “he” and “she,” and choosing instead to identify their gender by such terms as “they,” “ze,” sie,” “e,” “ou,” and “ve.”

This may come as a surprise to these politically-correct, non-heteronormative statists, but English already has a gender-neutral pronoun: IT.  Of course, calling someone who is neither male nor female an “it” seems to dehumanize them, so I can see why activists insist on change.  I’m just not willing to go where they’re going with this type of assault, not only on the English language, but on reality.

Take Chaz Bono, for example, someone who seems like quite a nice person.  Chaz has female plumbing under the skin and, thanks to surgery and hormones, a vaguely male appearance at a superficial level (scanty facial hair, no breasts, and goodness knows what external plumbing).  Chaz doesn’t want to be called “she,” but it’s denying reality to call Chaz “he.”  When I write about Chaz, I avoid pronouns, which allows me to respect Chaz’s choice without doing damage to reality or to the English language.

Incidentally, Chaz has come in for some flack lately from “Stephen Ira,” who was born the daughter of Warren Beatty and Annette Benning.  As did Chaz, Stephen took hormones and had surgery to change a female body into one resembling a male body.  As far as Stephen is concerned, Chaz is trouble because Chaz actually clings to antiquated notions about “male” and “female.”  According to Chaz (and I think accurately), the mismatch between a body’s gender and a brain’s gender identification is a form of birth defect.  Stephen took umbrage, writing that Stephen does not feel that, in Stephen’s own case, this mismatch was a birth defect.  Worse, says Stephen, Chaz “is a trans man who seems to believe that his female-assignedness and socialization makes him immune from being a misogynist, and he is manifestly wrong.”  So there!!

I have nothing but sympathy for people whose sense of self, which comes from the brain, is so at odds with the body attached to that brain.  Some people with this disconnect get eating disorders, some people get disfiguring plastic surgery, and some people alter their body’s external appearance to bring it in line with the message their brain sends to them.  While I don’t applaud those with body dysmorphia who starve themselves or throw-up, or who turn themselves into monstrous caricatures through surgery, I don’t see a problem with using surgery and meds to create the illusion of a different gender (although studies show that happiness is not an inevitable sequel to surgery to alter gender appearance).

The fact that I support the fact that some people people take proactive steps to improve their own reality does not mean that we as a society must deny reality.  Denying reality, however, is precisely what this bizarre gender-neutral language is trying to do.  As a percentage of the whole population, there are very few boys who will be girls and girls who will be boys.  The rest of us are pretty clearly round pegs in round holes and square pegs in square holes, and our English language accurately reflects this actual, rather than politically-correct, reality.

 

Colorado tries to sell Obamacare by using drunks

It seems that excessive alcohol consumption is the name of the game this week at Bookworm Room.  Yesterday, I posted about the fact that my liberal friends believe that it’s wrong to tell teenage girls and young women that they increase their chances of getting raped if they drink to excess at parties.  They don’t believe it’s wrong because it’s inaccurate.  Indeed, all freely agreed that young men and women who drink too much are a recipe for rape.  What bothered them was that this implies that girls have some control over whether or not they become victims.  It makes them actually responsible for themselves, and that’s just unfair as long as there are men out there raping.  You see, the men are the real culprits so it’s just wrong to let them off the hook in any way, shape, or form by implying that women have some power in the situation.

Today, Igorvolsky tweeted out a genuine, bona fide Obamacare ad out of Colorado:

 

Party hearty, dudes!  Drink up!  Just don’t, like, you know, rape some drunk chick.  But dude!  Here’s the really awesome thing:  If you do rape the drunk chick, and she gets pregnant, Obamacare will, like, pay for the abortion.  Awesome!

The core issue between Islam and the West is control over women

I have written often at this blog about the wise words a friend of mine told me more than a decade ago.  I can no longer remember his precise words, but I can summarize them:  Islam’s problem with the West, he said, boils down to sex.  Muslim men are terrified that accepting Western ways means losing the stranglehold they have over women.  A religious and political leader in Iran confirms just how right my friend was:

Ahmad Khatami, a senior Iranian cleric and a member of the Assembly of Experts that chooses the next Supreme Leader has warned Iranians not to fall into the trap of negotiating resolution of the nuclear issue with the United States. “If this issue is resolved, the [US] will raise the issue of human rights,” he said, explaining, “Today their problem is the nuclear issue, and when this issue is resolved, they will raise the issue of human rights and say whatsoever rights men have, women should have them, too.”

Read more here.

It makes sense, actually. Humans have needs (food, water, shelter, etc.), and humans have drives (sex, power, etc.). Once the needs are fulfilled, sex is undoubtedly the strongest drive. Western society constrains men’s sex drive; Islamic society constrains the women in service to men’s sex drive.

Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines isn’t a rape song; it’s the depressing 21st century descendent of classic seduction songs

Robin-Thicke-Blurred-Lines-Ft-TI-Pharrell

It’s time for me to take a break from trying to save the world by using my infinitesimally small corner of the blogosphere to talk some sense into the Left (although, somehow, I don’t think they’re listening to me) and, instead, to leap to the defense of an unlikely pop culture figure:  Robin Thicke.  My thesis is that his song is not about rape.  It is, instead, both the lineal descendent of classic (and respected) American seduction songs and a depressingly insightful look into the schizophrenic nature of sex among American young people, which treats women like whores, but allows them to cry foul like delicate Victorian maidens.

One could say that Robin Thicke, riding high on the wave of one of the biggest hits of the year, a song called “Blurred Lines,” doesn’t need my help.  He’s raking money in hand over fist.  If I earn in my lifetime a tenth of what he’s earning on this song, I’d be a very rich woman.

Nevertheless, Thicke has incurred feminist ire because, they claim, Blurred Lines is about rape or, at least, it’s “rapey”:

Having already clinched the number 1 spot on Billboard’s Hot 100, Robin Thicke’s catchy single “Blurred Lines” is on the path to being the party anthem of the summer.

However, despite its popularity, the hit song — which also features Pharrell and T.I. — and its accompanying music video haven’t been sitting too well with some critics who say the tune is not just disparaging to women, but could be seen as “rape-y.”

Has anyone heard Robin Thicke’s new rape song?” blogger Lisa Huyne wrote in a post in April. “Basically, the majority of the song…has the R&B singer murmuring ‘I know you want it’ over and over into a girl’s ear. Call me a cynic, but that phrase does not exactly encompass the notion of consent in sexual activity … Seriously, this song is disgusting — though admittedly very catchy.”

Before I get any further into examining the claim, let me note that the people who are claiming the song is “rapey” overlap to a significant degree with the women who advocate something called “gray rape.”  Gray rape is consensual sex right up until the woman says it isn’t.  The catch with gray rape is that the woman doesn’t have to say “no” before or even during the actual sex act for it to be rape.  She can decide hours or days later that, despite her drunken “yeses” and gropings, in retrospect she really didn’t want to have sex with that guy, so it must have been rape.  Talk about “blurred lines.”

You’re a classy crowd, my dear readers, and I suspect many of you don’t have children in their teens and twenties.  I’m therefore willing to bet that many of you, even if you’ve heard of the song, haven’t actually heard the song itself or, if you heard it, it was in the context of Miley Cyrus’ twerking and tonguing.  (I have to admit that the twerking was indistinguishable to me from the vulgar dancing that characterizes all modern popular music performances.  It was that tongue . . . that loathsome, snake-like tongue, that seemed to have an independent life force.  Ick.)

You might also have heard about the song because of the unrated video with the topless women (and don’t forget the repeated boasts about the size of Thicke’s  . . . er.  Never mind).  Or maybe you just heard about the yucky allusions to all sorts of perverted sexual practices in the mainstream video (the one your kids and grand-kids watch), which is filled with nudge, nudge, wink, winks about everything from bestiality to bondage.  Both videos are nasty enough I don’t want them at my blog.

But I don’t want to talk about the videos.  I want to talk about the song’s lyrics, which are “rapey.”  Just to be clear, here “rapey” song lyrics are bad.   Drugging and sodomizing a protesting 13-year-old girl, as Roman Polanksi did, isn’t bad because it’s not “rape-rape.”  Presumably, if Polanksi had sung to the protesting teen while he had his wicked way with her, that conduct would have been “rapey” and therefore bad.  It”s important to keep these details straight….

My first point about Thicke’s song is that it’s just the latest in a long line of American seduction songs.  Let’s do a little time travel . . . back to 1949 when Frank Loesser wrote the classic Baby, It’s Cold Outside.  It is such a great song.  My favorite version is the one with Johnny Mercer and Margaret Whiting, and I have no fear about sharing it with you here:

Were this song to be released today, it would definitely be called “rapey.” I mean, the sleaze is telling the protesting woman how attractive she is and assuring her that she wants want he has to offer. You can see how coercive — e.g., rapey — he’s being when you study the lyrics. In the words that are not in parenthesis, you know that she’s conflicted (blurred, maybe?) and desperate to escape, while in the parenthetical words, you can see how this sleazy octopus groping her, assuming that she wants what he’s offering her, and not taking “no” for an answer. Rapey!!!

I really can’t stay
(But, baby, it’s cold outside)
I’ve got to go ‘way
(But, baby, it’s cold outside)
This evening has been
(Been hoping that you’d drop in)
So very nice
(I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice)

My mother will start to worry
(Beautiful words you’re humming)
And father will be pacing the floor
(Listen to the fireplace roar)
So really I’d better scurry
(Beautiful, please don’t hurry)
Well, maybe just a half a drink more
(Put some records on while I pour)

The neighbors might think
(But, baby, it’s bad out there)
Say, what’s in this drink?
(No cabs to be had out there)
I wish I knew how
(Your eyes are like starlight now)
To break the spell
(I’ll take your hat, your hair looks swell)

I ought to say no, no, no sir
(Mind if I move in closer?)
At least I’m gonna say that I tried
(What’s the sense of hurtin’ my pride?)
I really can’t stay
(Oh, baby, don’t hold out)
Ah but it’s cold outside
(Baby, it’s cold outside)

I simply must go
(But, baby, it’s cold outside)
The answer is no
(But, baby, it’s cold outside)
The welcome has been
(How lucky that you dropped in)
So nice and warm
(Look out that window at that storm)

My sister will be suspicious
(Gosh, your lips look delicious)
My brother will be there at the door
(Waves upon a tropical shore)
My maiden aunt’s mind is vicious
(Gosh, your lips are delicious)
Well, maybe just a cigarette more
(Never such a blizzard before)

I got to get home
(But, baby, you’d freeze out there)
Say, lend me a coat
(Its up to your knees out there)
You’ve really been grand
(I’m thrilled when you touch my hand)
Why don’t you see
(How can you do this thing to me?)

There’s bound to be talk tomorrow
(Think of my lifelong sorrow)
At least there will be plenty implied
(If you caught pneumonia and died)
I really can’t stay
(Get over that hold out)
Ah, but it’s cold outside
(Ah, but it’s cold outside)

Where could you be going
When the wind is blowing
And it’s cold outside?
Baby it’s cold, cold outside

With those classy, elegant, seductive lyrics in mind, please take a look at the lyrics to “Blurred Lines” and you’ll see that, while they’re more graphic, the tone is identical:  He’s telling her she’s hot, he’s assuming he knows what she wants, and he’s not taking “no” for an answer:

Pharrell & Robin Thicke Intro:
Everybody get up, WOO!
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey

Robin Thicke Verse 1:
If you can’t hear what I’m trying to say
If you can’t read from the same page
Maybe I’m going deaf
Maybe I’m going blind
Maybe I’m out of my mind

Robin Thicke Bridge:
Ok, now he was close
Tried to domesticate you
But you’re an animal
Baby, it’s in your nature
Just let me liberate you
You don’t need no papers
That man is not your maker
And that’s why I’m gon’ take a

Robin Thicke Hook:
Good girl
I know you want it
I know you want it
I know you want it
You’re a good girl
Can’t let it get past me
You’re far from plastic
Talk about getting blasted
I hate these blurred lines
I know you want it
I know you want it
I know you want it
But you’re a good girl
The way you grab me
Must wanna get nasty
Go ahead, get at me

Robin Thicke Verse 2:
What do they make dreams for
When you got them jeans on
What do we need steam for
You the hottest bitch in this place
I feel so lucky, you wanna hug me
What rhymes with hug me
Hey!

Bridge

Hook

T.I. Verse 3:
Hustle Gang Homie
One thing I ask of you
Lemme be the one you back that ass up to
From Malibu to Paris boo
Had a bitch, but she ain’t bad as you
So, hit me up when you pass through
I’ll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two
Swag on ‘em even when you dress casual
I mean, it’s almost unbearable
In a hundred years not dare would I
Pull a Pharcyde, let you pass me by
Nothin’ like your last guy, he too square for you
He don’t smack that ass and pull your hair like that
So I’m just watching and waitin’
For you to salute the true big pimpin’
Not many women can refuse this pimping
I’m a nice guy, but don’t get confused, this pimpin’

Robin Thicke Breakdown:
Shake your rump
Get down, get up-a
Do it like it hurt, like it hurt
What you don’t like work
Hey!

Robin Thicke Verse 4:
Baby, can you breathe
I got this from Jamaica
It always works for me
Dakota to Decatur
No more pretending
Cause now you’re winning
Here’s our beginning
I always wanted a

Robin Thicke Hook

Pharrell & Robin Thicke Bridge:
Everybody get up
Everybody get up
Everybody get up
Hey, Hey, Hey
Hey, Hey, Hey
Hey, Hey, Hey

Pharrell & Robin Thicke Outro:
Everybody get up, WOO!
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey

I’m not comparing the quality of verse.  Loesser’s song is sophisticated and charming, with delightfully light, intelligent lyrics.  Thicke’s song has a catchy (very catchy melody) but the lyrics are crude.  They reflect the realities of culture that celebrates “Hooking up” as a sign of female liberation, even while blurring lines about what constitutes a “nice” girl, a “girl in touch with her sexuality,” a girl who enjoys what voters in Colorado and Washington say should be her inalienable right to pot, and a “girl who’s going to cry ‘gray rape'” the next day.  There are no boundaries in this world — both the world of the song and the sexual world in which we’ve placed our young people.

Yes, the T.I. line that “I’ll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two” is absolutely revolting, but for high-school-aged kids this is their reality.  At high school dances across America, the only dance the kids do is “freak dancing.”  For those unfamiliar with it, freaking is kind of like twerking, except that the girl doesn’t bend over.  Instead, she writhes erotically while the guy stands behind her and rubs himself against her butt (not near her butt, but against her butt).  As I described it the teenage girls I know, take away the “transgressive glamor” and all that freaking means is that a strange guy masturbates against your butt.

My children tell me that this is the only type of dancing done at their high school.  If you don’t want to freak, you don’t get to dance.  Yet another blurred line in today’s sexual culture.

To the extent there’s anything wrong with Thicke’s vulgar, yet catchy song, the problem isn’t with the song, it’s with the culture that gave rise to the song.  (You can read whole books on the subject: Sex and God at Yale: Porn, Political Correctness, and a Good Education Gone Bad.) Within that context, the song simply describes the myriad kinds of sexual activity in which America’s young people are encouraged to engage, with the only limitation being a woman’s right to cry rape at any time, before, during, and after apparently consensual intercourse.

I’m not trying in this post to excuse rape.  I am saying only that Thicke and his team, in addition to writing the 21st century version of a “seduction song,” have unwittingly exposed something deeply disturbing about young America’s sexual culture.  It’s a sick Faustian bargain in which boys get virtually unlimited sex, provided that they’re willing to take the risk that the girl who writhed against them Saturday night, got stoned and drunk with them around midnight, and apparently willingly engaged in all kinds of variations on old-fashioned male/female sex with them in the wee hours of Sunday morning, can claim later that, hey, she was just blurred, and her real line was “no.”

The Left uses sex to break up American families

I had an interesting conversation with my mother, who may be 90, but is still sharper than most people you’ll meet.  We got to talking about the Gosnell abortion/murder trial, which came as something of a surprise to her.  Despite the fact that she watches the news and reads the newspaper, she hadn’t heard a thing about it.  That wasn’t a surprise to me.

From there, the conversation wandered to the moral merits of abortion.  My Mom came of age in a time and place when abortion was neither approved of nor frowned upon.  It just existed.  In the turmoil after the war, when people were starving in cities decimated by fighting, having a baby seemed like an impossibility — and it could be a death sentence for both mother and child.  Nobody approved of abortion in war-torn streets, but they didn’t stop it either.

For that reason, it’s always been hard for my mother to understand the fervor Americans feel about abortion.  To her, it just . . . is.  (That’s probably the case for a lot of people who aren’t committed to one side or another of the abortion debate, which is why the media couldn’t risk the Gosnell trial coming into the open, in case it swayed indecisive people into the pro-Life column.)

While Mom couldn’t quite get the morality of abortion, I was able to get her to understand that the modern American state uses abortion to separate children from their families.  We’ve talked before here about the fact that, in California, youngsters under 16 or 18 can’t play paintball, get their ears pierced, or get a fake tan without a parents’ permission.  They can, however, get birth control, get abortions, and get treated for sexually transmitted diseases, all without a parents’ knowledge.  Putting aside the invitation to the worst kinds of child sex abuse, what’s happening here is that the state promises children the keys to the kingdom of pleasure.

Food and shelter are necessities.  Good food and good shelter are pleasures.  But sex . . . there’s the ultimate endorphin rush.  Mom and Dad, being mean, spiteful people, won’t let you have it, and they’ll give you Hell if there are consequences because you ignored their strictures.  The state, though, it puts no obstacles in your path.  Indeed, it helps you along with condoms, birth control pills, patches, and morning after pills.  If you get pregnant, you get the Morning After pill or an abortion, and if you get an STD, it gives you antibiotics — all without the knowledge or consent of the people who, in 90% of all cases care about you most in the world.

The Left claims that this legislated immorality is to protect young girls from abusive parents who will leave them homeless or beat them if they come home pregnant.  (Again, let’s ignore the fact that everything the Left does actually encourages the sexual abuse of children.)  Using an argument that focuses on an extreme minority, the Left has put us in a position that sees all girls and boys in America get to have free sex courtesy of the State.  The state has driven a wedge into the family unit, using the most potent endorphin driver available to motivate and reorient young people.

When I put it that way (as opposed to debating abortion’s morality), my mother suddenly sat up very straight, looked me straight in the eye, and said “But that’s socialism!”  I practically jumped up and down applauding that she had realized what was going on. It turned out there was a reason for her insight.

I’ve mentioned before that my Dad came from a Communist milieu and, while he eventually voted for Reagan, his sister remained a devoted Communist until the day she died.  Although she escaped Nazi Germany and eventually ended up in Palestine (and, after the War of Independence, in Israel), she decided that this young socialist state wasn’t properly committed to true Marxist socialism.  She therefore returned to East Germany, where she lived out the remainder of her life.

She was still living in Israel, though, when my Mom and Dad got married.  One day, when my Communist aunt was present, the subject of children came up.  Mom said that she wanted to wait until she had a nice home of her own and some security before she had children, so that she could have the joy and comfort of really raising her own family.  My aunt was shocked.  “No.  That’s wrong.  The children belong to the State.  You do not have the right to withhold them from the state, which should raise them.”

With this conversation living in her memory, my mother immediately understood the ramifications of a government severing the ties between parents and children.  In some places, such as Mao’s China, it uses coercion.  In America, it uses sex.  No matter the method, the goal is socialist.

Keeping in mind the above, it’s understandable why people who fear socialism (as I do) greeted with howls of outrage the MSNBC contributor who said quite clearly, “All your children are belong to us.”  Melissa Harris-Perry framed it cutely as it takes a village to raise a child, but that soft overlay covers pure, brute-force socialism.  Villages are voluntary communities that share values.  Homes are the ultimate refuge of the individual.  Socialism holds that individuals have no value, except to the extent that they provide bodies to power the socialist state:

Learn about the world-wide sex trade and what you can do to help save its victims

MacG sent a notice to me that I would like to share with you.  If you live in the Marin area, his church is screening a movie that sounds important, although deeply saddening:

On Sunday the 24th, 5PM @ New George’s downtown San Rafael my church, Hillside Marin (based in Corte Madera), will be showing Trade of Innocents. We are doing so raise awareness of this devastating underage sex ‘trade’ and it is, as I understand it is also occurring right here in the USA.

If you don’t live near MacG’s church (which I’ve attended and can assure you is filled with very nice people), please keep your eye open for this film, or talk to your own church, synagogue, mosque, community center, parent group, etc. about screening this film.  Bad people have traded in sex since the dawn of time, but it seems worse lately.

Just today, I did a post at Mr. Conservative that sounds rather shrill — Ten Horrifying Stories of Muslims Gang Raping White Woman — but it’s actually not overblown.  If anything, it’s underblown. It took me less than 20 minutes to find those stories. I composed a Bing search: “gang rape muslims ______.” In the blank, I simply inserted country names (Germany, England, Sweden, Norway, Holland, etc.) and came up with hundreds of stories. Many of the stories involve gang rape as an instrument of power in the sex trade. In a world where sex is a commodity and where stable, two-parent homes are vanishing, young girls are easy prey for men who offer them compliments and drugs. And then the girls are gang-raped, demoralized, blackmailed, and trapped in brothels.

It’s not just Muslims, of course. Wherever there’s poverty and disenfranchisement — whether the former Soviet Union, Mexico, India, or Thailand — the sex trade flourishes. The world must stand against it as firmly as it did against racial slavery in the late 18th and first half of the 19th centuries.

Porn, comedy, and an increasingly jaded culture (but don’t give up all hope)

I overheard two women talking the other day.  One told the other that her teenage son was looking at internet porn.  Worse, her husband wouldn’t help her stop this behavior because, as he said, “I used to read Playboy when I was his age, and it didn’t hurt me.”  Is it really possible for the father of a teenage boy to be that clueless? This daddy’s ignorance about internet porn is so great that it may prove that reading Playboy when he was a teen did hurt him.

Playboy nudes were wholesome.  I know this sounds like an oxymoron, but the Playmates were like the girl next door, except without clothes.  For at least the first twenty or more years of Playboy‘s history, these gals were an every man (or boy) fantasy brought to life.  The teens and young men perusing the pages could easily pretend that Miss January was that cute brunette down the street, or that Miss July was the hot girl you admired on the other side of the classroom.

Marilyn Monroe Playboy picture

Eventually, though, the pleasure centers in male consumers’ brains stopped getting a thrill from “mere” nudes.  They started gravitating in greater numbers to magazines such as Penthouse or Hustler that showed women who were not only undressed, but were also engaging in sexual acts.

With the advent of the internet, though, the old-line magazines, both hard and soft core, couldn’t keep up with the gravitational pull of the internet.  And in the internet world, where porn is king, purveyors had to keep on-upping each other if they wanted to keep traffic coming to their sites.  Changes to content, instead of happening in human years, over the course of decades, happened in fruit fly years, over the course of weeks or even days.  If I’m a porn site mogul, I show nudes, but lose traffic to the guy who shows nudes playing with themselves, so I up the ante by showing two nudes playing with each other, so he ups the ante by adding two men and, perhaps, a dog or two. And so it goes, with each competitive iteration getting more perverse in a never-ending effort to catch the attention of an increasingly jaded viewing public.

Eventually, you end up with scenes such as this one, which I’ve censored appropriately to remove any and all pornographic or distasteful images: [Read more...]

The narcissism of Leftist culture — where bad things are never their fault

I recognize that my mind makes strange, often counter-intuitive connections, but as I hear Progressives rail against guns, I can’t help but think of slut walks.

Slut walk in London 2011 (image by Chris Brown)

What?!  You don’t know what slut walks are?  Slut walks are the latest manifestation of the feminist/Progressive rule holding that a women has no responsibility whatsoever if she is raped.

Slut walks are the exhibitionist version of the same ideology that says that a young woman can go off to college, get blind drunk, fellate several equally drunk young men and then, when she wakes up the next day and realizes that one or all had sex with her, cry rape.  In each case, the entire responsibility for rape (whether it was quite obviously rape at the moment occurred or transmuted into rape along with the morning hangover) is on the man.

Drunken college girls

Before I get deeper into this one, I should say that a man is always guilty if he enters a woman without her consent, just as a robber is always guilty if he enters a house with the homeowner’s consent.  This is true whether the woman is walking down a dark alley in a bikini or the homeowner has left the front door wide open.  Nothing I’m about to say removes the moral and, almost invariably, legal responsibility the man or the robber has for the act he committed.

Burglar

Having said that, though, you and I both know that, if a homeowner leaves a window open at night or the keys in the front door, he’s going to come in for ridicule and criticism from the police and, if he has the courage to confess his carelessness to them, from his friends, neighbors, and colleagues.  “Damn, dude!  That was really stupid.  Why didn’t you just hang a sign on the door saying ‘come in and take my television’?”

Everyone engaged in this chaffing or ridiculing would understand that the homeowner’s stupidity didn’t make the robber less culpable — but that it did also make the homeowner culpable.  And we would all make extra sure to lock our own doors.  Heck, we might even buy an alarm system if we suspected that there were robbers trolling our neighborhood.

Drunken woman on the streets of Cardiff

When it comes to rape, though, political correctness mandates that we exonerate the woman of any responsibility for what happened.  Pardon me if I sound like Mr. Spock, but that’s illogical.  We know that if a half-naked drunk woman walks into a biker bar, she’s more at risk of sexual assault than if a woman in a bulky sweatshirt and mom jeans walks into a church social.  Basic common sense makes this obvious.

In the bad old days, if the half-naked drunk woman was raped in that biker bar, authorities would say “she asked for it,” and give the bikers a pass.  The problem is that, in the bad new days, if the half-naked drunk woman gives a slurred “yes” to the guy who looks cute through her beer goggles, and then cries rape the next morning, his life is over and she gets a pass.  Not only that, the message to other similarly situated young women is “Don’t change a thing — walk around the streets in clothes that western culture associates with the boudoir and get blind drunk or stoned on a regular basis.  We will never punish you.”

Depression; Poor Mental Health

Even if the Leftists give the woman a pass, though, the punishment is still there.  It’s there in the form of young men whose lives are destroyed and, even more, it’s there in the form of young women whose lives are also destroyed.  All those women urged by society into trashy, minimal clothing think that they’re never responsible for the consequences of their actions, but they’re wrong.  Even if society refuses to condemn them, nature does, whether it’s a pregnancy (plus or minus an abortion), sexually transmitted diseases, feelings of self-loathing, or irrational fears of all men that make future trusting, stable relationships all but impossible.

What drives this entire “slut” movement is the malignant narcissism that characterizes almost all Leftist social and political positions.  One of the hallmarks of narcissism is the narcissist’s inability to take responsibility for his acts.  It’s always someone else’s fault.

When it comes to rape (or “gray rape” which is the morning-after guilt a woman feels when her drunkenness led her into acts she regrets), because of feminism’s push within Leftist corridors, it’s always the man’s fault.  No matter what the woman does, no matter how foolish she is, she bears no responsibility for her acts.  She doesn’t even count as a grim warning to others who follow.  (Again, I’m not saying that the man who rapes isn’t fully responsible for his conduct; I’m just saying that rational thinking demands that women must also be responsible for their conduct.)

Carnage after terrorist bomb in Tel Aviv

The same is true when it comes to guns.  What better place to put responsibility than on an inanimate object?  “It’s all the gun’s fault.”

Here’s a real-world fact, though, one that seems to have eluded the “reality based” political party:  Guns do nothing unless people handle them.  When courageous, principled people handle them, they save lives.  When crazy people handle them, they take lives.  Crazy people also take lives with knives, fertilizer bombs, glass bottles, boots, airplanes, box cutters, and whatever else comes to hand.  Knives don’t have great reach, but bombs certainly do — and that’s true whether the crazy person is listening to the voices in his head or the voices from the imam’s pulpit.

Pulp Fiction

Leftists (primarily the ACLU) have made it all but impossible to institutionalize crazy people, no matter how dangerous they quite obviously are.  Leftists have created gun-free zones to which a crazy person can head secure in the knowledge that there’s no one there to stop him.  Leftists operating out of Hollywood have glorified a the most bloody of gun violence of a type that a conservative culture would never countenance.  Leftists up and down the Left coast, with an eye to profit, have put out video games that make it routine and painless to blast human-looking avatars to death.  And Leftists have so highly sexualized our culture that two 7th grade girls at a local middle school had a major falling out because one girl gave a blow job to the other girl’s ex-boyfriend.

Leftists make rape easy by hyper-sexualizing our culture and by exonerating women of all responsibility for their acts.

Leftists also make killing an easy and attractive option for people who, in a more conservative culture, would be kept in humane comfort behind high stone walls.   The great thing for the Leftists, though, is that they can, in good conscience, attack the Second Amendment and the inanimate gun  because being a Leftist means never having to say you’re sorry.

From the same people who brought you the constitutional right to privacy: “You have no privacy.”

In 1973, the United States Supreme Court created a federal right to abortion by finding that abortion falls into an unstated Constitutional dimension called “the right to privacy.”  (Note:  British and American common law has always recognized a right to privacy, but the Constitution makes no mention of it.)  Thus, in Roe v. Wade, the Court explained the constitutional protections for abortion as follows:

The Constitution does not explicitly mention any right of privacy. In a line of decisions, however, going back perhaps as far as Union Pacific R. Co. v. Botsford, 141 U.S. 250, 251 (1891), the Court has recognized that a right of personal privacy, or a guarantee of certain areas or zones of privacy, does exist under the Constitution.

[snip]

This right of privacy, whether it be founded in the Fourteenth Amendment’s concept of personal liberty and restrictions upon state action, as we feel it is, or, as the District Court determined, in the Ninth Amendment’s reservation of rights to the people, is broad enough to encompass a woman’s decision whether or not to terminate her pregnancy.

With the Court’s pronouncement about the huge reach of the Constitution’s unexpressed “right to privacy,” Democrats, Liberals, Communists, and Progressives pronounced themselves satisfied.  The 10th Amendment, which once upon a time reserved to the states those rights not expressly delegated to the federal government, was meaningless.  If the Left thinks it should be in the Constitution, then — voila! — it is in the Constitution. Since 1973, therefore, Americans have believed that a person’s right to privacy is all-encompassing, and prohibits the government, as well as arms of the government, such as state founded or funded universities, from poking their governmental nose into anything that pertains to our own bodies.

With the exception of abortion, which is the most challenging issue because there are competing right’s (the woman’s and the fetus’s), most libertarians would agree with a common law (and therefore worthy of full respect) right to privacy, even if they would argue, as I do, that it’s tremendously damaging to the American body politic to pretend such a right is constitutional.  If we want a constitutional right to privacy, the Constitution spells out the procedure:  amendment, not judicial fiat.

Once they established this new constitutional principle, however, Progressives realized that they should have been a bit more careful in institutionalizing privacy as a core constitutional doctrine.  As they’ve discovered, the best way for a state to control individuals is through controlling their sexuality.  By asserting increasing state dominance over people’s sex lives (which is different a society enforcing traditional moral codes), the state can break familial bonds, destroy an individual’s sense of his inviolable self, interfere with core religious doctrine, and hand out sexual treats at opiates for the masses, all of which consolidate state power over individuals.

The problem for the Progressives arises if individuals are old-fashioned enough to believe that their sexuality is nobody’s business but their own. And no, traditional marriage is not necessarily proof that people are screaming their heterosexuality out loud. Having grown up in San Francisco, I’ve known of many marriages that involved agreed-upon sexual arrangements that had very little to do with traditional heteronormative behavior, and everything to do with people wanting to live their lives their way, free from prying eyes.

Progressive’s frustration with old-fashioned notions of personal privacy — the same notion that they promoted and cheered in Roe v. Wade — came to a head in 2008 at the University of Delaware.  In academia’s never-ending push to turn people into malleable little clumps of victim-hood, and class-, race-, or sexuality-based identity groups, the University of Delaware realized that it would need to force recalcitrant students to state whether they’re LGBT, GLBT, STR8T, BI, AC/DC, or LMNOP (oh, sorry, got lost in my alphabet soup there):

A female freshman arrives for her mandatory one-on-one session in her male RA’s dorm room. It is 8:00 p.m. Classes have been in session for about a week. The resident assistant hands her a questionnaire. He tells her it is “a little questionnaire to help [you] and all the other residents relate to the curriculum.” He adds that they will “go through every question together and discuss them.” He later reports that she “looked a little uncomfortable.”

“When did you discover your sexual identity?” the questionnaire asks.

“That is none of your damn business,” she writes.

“When was a time you felt oppressed?”

“I am oppressed every day [because of my] feelings for the opera. Regularly [people] throw stones at me and jeer me with cruel names…. Unbearable adversity. But I will overcome, hear me, you rock loving majority.”[1]

She is not playing along like the other students, and the RA confronts her using his “confrontation training,” but it isn’t working. He becomes so appalled by her resistance that he writes up an incident report and reports her to his superiors. After all, this is the University of Delaware, and the school has a zero-tolerance policy for anything remotely resembling “hate speech.”

This one-on-one session was not meant to be a punishment, some kind of mandatory sensitivity training for a recalcitrant student who had committed an infraction. It was mandatory training for all 7,000-odd students in the University of Delaware dorms. The sessions were part of a thorough thought-reform curriculum, designed by the school’s Office of Residence Life, to psychologically “treat” and correct the allegedly incorrect thoughts, attitudes, values, beliefs, and habits of the students. The ResLife staff considered students too intolerant of one another, too “consumerist,” and in dire need of reeducation to become responsible world citizens who could meet the planet’s environmental crisis and the requirements of social and economic “justice.”

(FIRE successfully mounted a campaign to force the University of Delaware to abandon this forcible effort to extract personal information from vulnerable freshman, but I use it as an example here, because it so perfectly encapsulates the Leftist attitude towards privacy and sexuality.)

Aside from having a girl-crush (but not an LGBT girl-crush, just an intellectual one) on the young woman who spoke of being opera-oppressed, I’m shocked, disgusted, appalled, etc. — the usual range of emotion a liberty-loving person experiences when an institution takes vast sums of money to control a young person’s life and future and then uses its coercive power to extort deeply private information from that same vulnerable student.

What makes this Progressive attitude even more distasteful is the fact that Universities claim to be all about privacy — at least when that privacy means isolating students from their own parents, despite a reasonable presumption that these same parents, unlike the vast, impersonal institutions, truly have their children’s best interests at heart:

College and University students have a right to privacy. In the United States, it’s called FERPA: the Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act. And there are a lot of rights and protections that you have as a student eighteen or over, and that you must respect as both a parent and a professor.

As a student, your grades, enrollment, assignments, and interactions with professors are all completely confidential. As a professor, I am not allowed, legally, to give out any information whatsoever about a student without that student’s explicit permission.

And, like practically all professors, I don’t. But this message is most important for parents, and for students who are worried about their irate parents.

Put another way:  your parent, who is probably paying for some or all of your education, cannot ask about your grades, but your university, which will have taken a minimum of $100,000 from you over the course of four years, while promising you a diploma with at least some market value, can force you to state your most private personal information.

I was going to end this post by saying the Left can’t have it both ways:  it either recognizes individual privacy or it doesn’t.  Then I slapped myself in the face and said “Don’t be stupid, Bookworm!  In Obama’s Leftist, narcissistic America, the Left can have it any way it likes it, both coming and going, as long as its demands drive the bottom line towards statism.”

A matched set, this time about young women, birth control, and sex

The American Academy of Pediatrics has a plan.  To protect your daughter from . . . you, it wants all girls who could be sexually active (that means every girl 10 or older) to have her own personal stash of “Plan B,” aka “the morning after pill:

During Thanksgiving week the American Academy of Pediatrics announced its recommendation that “morning after” prescriptions be issued to adolescent girls as a matter of course, allowing them the false security of what has long been described by advocates as a “fire extinguisher” in their purse to counter at least some of the consequences of risky behavior. “There’s no good reason” why there should not be follow-through on the recommendation, the San Francisco Chronicle asserts.

This is a heinous idea at so many levels.  I freely concede that there are young women out there who have the profound misfortune to be the daughters of abusive or unloving parents.  But I’m willing to bet that most young women have parents who love them.  The AAP is taking a problem for a minority of young women and trying to create a disaster for the majority of young women.  This is a plan that alienates young women from those who care for them most deeply — their parents:

“Girls often need support in order to avoid coercive early sexual activity, and the support of parents and medical providers is critical to enabling them to make healthy decisions,” [Anna] Halpine [founder of the World Youth Alliance and CEO of the FEMM (Fertility Education and Medical Management) Foundation] observes. “Girls want to be loved, not just used, and being affirmed in their pursuit of education and long-term dreams is a necessary part of the empowerment of any girl. Happiness is not an illusion; there are concrete things that can be done to achieve it, and explaining that to our girls is our responsibility and obligation. As the hookup culture grows ever more pervasive, it is matched by rising rates of female depression. We need to take these indicators of our young women’s development seriously, and make sure that we provide them with clear messages that help them fulfill their potential and achieve their dreams.”

Yes.  Yes, and more yes.  The government doesn’t care about my daughter, but I do.  The government cares about masses and batches of people, and the more dependent on the government they are, the better.

The government doesn’t only have no interest in young people when it comes to their emotional needs, it also doesn’t care about their physical needs.  Hormones are powerful medicines.  Every woman knows that the pill can interfere with the basic biologic function of pregnancy.  Most women know that the pill can bloat them and make them moody.  A significant number of women know that the pill can make them vomit uncontrollably.  The pill is also a not-so-rare factor in blood clots and strokes.  This is powerful stuff.  Girls who need parental permission to get their ears pierced or their bodies tanned are going to be handed hormones in sufficient doses to mess with their body’s natural functions.  Why aren’t more people outraged?

I’m not done yet, though, because I promised you a matched set.  Here’s the match:

The elite University of California, Berkeley has seen a blow to its uber-serious reputation with a controversial article from a student boasting about her marathon campus sex sessions.

Nadia Cho’s detailed account was part of her weekly column in The Daily Californian, Berkeley’s independent, student-run newspaper.

Cho writes that she and an unnamed male student started their romp in Berkeley’s library, Main Stacks, the day before Thanksgiving, when the campus was ‘marvellously empty’.

[snip]

But other students were in the library studying while the two performed and more than one student walked by them in mid-act, Cho writes.

She and her partner then moved into one of Berkeley’s classrooms, as she graphically describes.

‘Sex isn’t always about c****** and having orgasms. Sometimes it’s for s**** and giggles,’ she writes.

It’s impossible to imagine Cho’s attitude in a world where parents preach a loving, caring morality and birth control pills and abortifacients aren’t handed out like candy.  Again, I know that not all parents are loving, caring or even moral, and I know that many young women have sex without birth control or rely on things other than the pill, but the fact is that Cho is the product of a society that’s saturated in sex untethered to love, morality, family, or even plain old decency.

 

Yes, I have a very peculiar sense of humor

I’m on a mailing list that introduces potential book reviewers to newly published books.  Today’s email was about “romances.”  I quickly scanned the list of books to see whether any were worth requesting to read and review.  None were, but this one caught my eye:

Kink is not my cup of tea, so it wasn’t the cover of the book that intrigued me, with its intimations of whips, chains, Great Danes, and three on a chandelier, nor was it the description of the various esoteric activities the book covers:

Christmas is a time of love and joy, and the New Year is a time of renewal. But they are also times of stress and strife, family drama, pressure and heartache – a potent mix of high expectations and conflicted emotions. Add in power exchange relationships, kinky gift swaps, and unconventional love in a sometimes unforgiving world, and you have a formula for a sizzling anthology of stories that tug at your heart.

Nope. None of that was interesting. What made me laugh, though, was this bit of information:

20% of all proceeds from O Come All Ye Kinky will be donated to the Domestic Violence Project of the National Leather Association–International.

First of all, I didn’t know there was a National Leather Association, international or domestic. Second of all, to the extent it celebrates, not just wearing leather, but using leather for “disciplinary” purposes (or, as it calls these activities, BDSM), it seems funny (to me, at least) that this organization focuses on domestic violence. I guess it’s not “domestic violence” if your partner agrees with the whole whips and chains thing.

Is working as a porn star the cure for mental health issues?

Did any of you catch a story the other day claiming that a study of porn actresses showed that they’re happier and better adjusted than their non-porn peers?

The report in the Journal of Sex Research found that porn stars are not more likely to have psychological problems than other women.

In fact, they discovered those in the sex entertainment industry had a more positive outlook on life with higher self-confidence and more flattering views on their body image.

‘In terms of psychological characteristics, porn actresses had higher levels of self-esteem, positive feelings, social support, sexual satisfaction and spirituality compared to the matched group,’ the report summarises.

Wow!

The way that study reads, it sounds as if those dealing with depression or other mental health issues should head for the San Fernando Valley in Southern California, home of myriad porn studios, rather than seeking out more traditional options, such as a therapist, anti-depressants, or, in more serious cases, a full-care residential facility.  Sadly, we have a thread of depression running through my family’s history, and various family members have (or could have) benefited from some or all three options.

Such options weren’t always available, of course.  My mother’s maternal uncle and her paternal grandmother both suffered greatly from mental illnesses that were probably bi-polar disorder in his case and histrionic personality disorder in her case.  The Nazis dealt with these problems quite efficiently by killing my great-uncle and great, great grandmother.  I don’t know about my father’s family’s mental health history, although most of them ended up being killed by the Nazis too.  Maybe all of them could have avoided these fates if they’d become happy porn stars.

Let me say that I don’t believe this study at all.  For one thing, it’s got a very small sampling:  171 porn actresses.  For another thing, these actresses were compared to some magical “average” woman.  Lastly, I’m dubious about this kind of self-reported happiness, given the lives they lead.  I know people who practice . . . hmmm . . . let’s say “alternate” sexual lives.  These women tell me, almost aggressively, that they’re “happy” with their choices and that having myriad sexual encounters with nameless, faceless men makes them feel like sex goddesses.

That’s what they say.  What I see are women who rely heavily on pot and other drugs to maintain an anesthetized distances from their life choices.  Indeed, the study acknowledges greater drug use amongst the porn actresses studied:

While the report challenged the stereotype of porn actresses as drug addicts, drug use was found to be more prevalent among the entertainers. They were more likely to have tried ten different types of drugs compared to the control group.

These women also age much more rapidly than their cleaner-living peers.  I don’t know if it’s the sex or the drugs, but you can tell that they’ve been around the block a few thousand times.

Of course, if you report yourself as happy, maybe you are happy.  After all, our emotional well-being is a state-of-mind and, as the saying goes, mind over matter works:  if you don’t mind, it don’t matter.  If these women are convinced that they’re not prematurely aged, substance using (not necessarily “abusing,” but “using) people whose lives are defined by their exhibitionist sexual habits, but are, instead, desirable, beautiful women, than I guess they are — their perception of reality defines their reality.

We know, though, that young girls who are sexually promiscuous are less happy than their peers.  Hearing that porn stars are happy shouldn’t be used as an indicator that exhibitionism is a recipe for happiness.  At most, with such a small sampling, the study shows that people with unusual predilections have found their niche.  Most people, I suspect, would find that niche to be a very demoralizing place, indeed, and certainly not a panacea for depression or just routine unhappiness.