Now is the Autumn of my exuberance

Way back in July 2011 I wrote a post called Got Milk, Fuckpants? 

It’s possibly one of my favourite things I’ve written because what I was writing about was so extraordinarily absurd and stupid that I could vent my spleen without worrying too much about nuance, or being even-handed. Sometimes dumb is just dumb.

So, it made me extremely happy when Autumn from Autumn’s Antics on Etsy immortalised a phrase I coined in the aforementioned article, “I’m just PSYCHO when it’s P-time in the V-town”, in the time honoured tradition of making a cross-stitched sampler.

Truly, this made me one of the Gods. Forever would my work remain on this earth through the beauty of thread and generations to come would know my name, fear my PMS, and be really really jealous that they didn’t own this.

But here’s the rub, I never owned this. I slacked off and missed out on the sale. What is the point of my magificence echoing throughout the annals of history if I couldn’t hang this on my wall?

Hearing my melodic, mournful cries sexily tumbling down the rockface of Mount Olympus, Autumn sprung into action, promising to send me a wee trinket to soothe my troubled heart.

But first she sounded a warning: it will not be as amazing as the sampler.

And she was right. It’s not. It’s BETTER.

You see that pile of awesome? The truly excellent badges that Autumn sells in her shop and that you should totally buy?

More importantly, see that item to the left?

That, my friends, is a necklace with ‘I am just PSYCHO when it’s P-time in the V-town’ cross-stitched into it. OH MY GOD. I am going to wear this everywhere like a goddamn talisman.

This is going to be my new family crest. That’s how excited I am about it.

Autumn, you complete me. You hold the needle and thread to my heart.

An Open Letter to Gary Johnston of Jaycar Electronics

Dear Mr Johnston,

As a Bulldogs supporter, consumer, and…y’know, a human being I am offended by your suggestion that the sexist verbal abuse lobbed at Jayne Azzopardi by Bulldogs players/others associated with the club was somehow her fault for being near these players and their Mad Monday party:

“If a woman walks into some bars in Sydney, she will be ogled, she will be treated as an object, and that’s the way it is…She doesn’t have to walk into those bars”

Your logic is inherently flawed.

Firstly, public spaces are not male owned. They are not the sole domain of men. Nor should they be.

Secondly, women shouldn’t have to fear to go into public or private spaces because of sexism and sexual violence. If women were to stop themselves from doing a certain activity for fear of sexism and misogyny then we’d never do anything.

Women experience sexism and sexual violence at work, at university, on the internet, out at bars, walking down the street, hanging out with friends, and in their own homes.

What then is the solution? According to your logic the solution is for women to avoid these places. Unfortunately for women that would mean we’d have to either live in a female only society or cease to exist.

Personally, I’m not much in favour of either option.

Universities and any kind of business environment used to be an even higher risk situation for women to be in than they are now (in terms of sexism, sexual assault or harassment) but that problem wasn’t solved by women avoiding those places for fear of them. They were solved by changing the nature of the institutions (and society) through increased enrolment and employment of women.

Avoiding sexism doesn’t solve it.

You are suggesting that women should 1) not do their jobs if that job involves a ‘male’ environment and alcohol (so, no female bartenders then?) and 2) that if women suffer from sexism in that environment then it’s partly their fault for…existing?

Your logic is flawed and repercussions of that logic are very damaging. It echoes beyond this singular incident into the way people talk about women in general and particularly about sexual violence. In fact, I read the other week that a woman who was sexually assaulted at a bar was told by the judge that it was her fault for being at that bar because ‘those things happen in bars’. Sounds rather similar to your comments, don’t you think?

Your suggestion that Jayne Azzopardi is at fault for standing outside of a building containing a group of men having a party is ludicrous to me.

The solution isn’t to prevent a woman from doing her job, it’s to instil better values and a healthy respect for women in the people being vile in the first place.

Thirdly, the Bulldogs are not being persecuted for being celebrities as you suggested – “It’s only an outrage because these people have some sort of celebrity status.”

In actual fact it is an outrage because sexism and sexist behaviour are not acceptable in our society and when it is so plainly visible, as it is in this case, it requires immediate and strong condemnation.

If the Bulldogs (or whomever) can’t consume alcohol and “let their hair down” without acting like this then that is their fault, it is not the fault of women. They’re not going to learn that such behaviour is unacceptable if women simply avoid them in a professional setting. If we stop sending female journalists in to report on football, then do you think that would stop players being sexist towards other women they meet?

I’m sorry but ‘boys will be boys’ just doesn’t cut it anymore.

Fourthly, I find it farcical that you suggest that women should not be around football players. Perhaps you didn’t notice how many female fans were in those stands barracking for the Bulldogs and the Storm. Women should feel completely comfortable going to games, meeting players, reporting on teams and so on.

Perhaps you also fail to realise that over half of the world’s population is female. Yet we should be punished for sexist ignorance by not being able to do our jobs or enter certain public spaces?

It’s unfair to punish women because footballers can be sexist idiots. It’s setting the bar low for men and forcing women to suffer the consequences. That is not acceptable. Change doesn’t happen that way.

Finally, I will say this. There is no one more aware of the threat of sexism, sexual abuse, and sexual violence than women. We deal with it every day. It is an ingrained part of our consciousness. It is constantly factored into our thinking and we continually have to negotiate around it in our day to day lives.

I wonder when the last time was that the threat of rape made you fear going jogging at night, going into a bar, attending a house party, going on a date, walking down a dark street, getting a taxi, or being alone with someone of the opposite sex.

I wonder when the last time was that the threat of sexist remarks made you reluctant to look at the comments section on a website, go into work, attend a class, go to a party, or even come out publically as you have about a highly controversial incident involving sexism?

I wonder when you last strategised against the threat of rape or sexual harassment – like avoiding eye contact with the opposite sex when you walk down the street, altering what you wear, having your car keys out ready to use as a weapon, not putting your drink down at parties, not accepting a drink from someone of the opposite sex, crossing the street when you see a group of the opposite sex, not accepting a ride home from someone of the opposite sex, or pretending to call a friend you’re ‘just about to meet up with’ when you feel threatened to let them know where you are.

The list goes on and on. These are common experiences for women.

I can say to you with certainty that I do not know one woman who was not been subject to sexism in one form or another.

It is an inherent part of our lives, we just don’t let it control our lives. We keep going to work, we keep going to university, we keep going to bars, we keep walking down the street by ourselves.

And let me tell you, sometimes it’s bloody hard to do. But we do it, not only for our own sake, but in the hope that ‘the way it is’ won’t be ‘the way it is’ anymore. That things will continue to improve for women and that sexist attitudes, abuse, and violence will in some way diminish. It would be idealistic for me to say it will disappear.

I sincerely hope you reconsider your remarks and your attitude not just about this isolated incident, but about how sexism operates in our society, how women deal with that sexism, and how you can be part of the solution rather than part of the problem.

Sincerely,

Me

(Anyone else wishing to email Gary Johnston about his remarks can do so via this address: techstore@jaycar.com.au)

http://wwos.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=8542476

P-time in the V-town

Well this is an incredibly belated post that I’ve been meaning to put up for ages.

Basically, I have some very exciting news courtesy of fellow Regretsy follower and Etsy seller ‘Autumn’s Antics’.

Inspired by my post ‘Got Milk, Fuckpants?‘ Autumn has awesomely cross-stitched the now famous (in my mind) phrase “I am just psycho when it’s P-time in the V-town” into a sampler that can be proudly hung on your wall at home- reminding everyone of what a rabid, crazy monstrosity you are when your lady troubles are around.

I cannot express how much I truly love this. Somehow I managed to miss it being sold in AprilsArmy‘s shop (Regretsy’s Etsy charity shop) and so now I weep and weep that I cannot own it.

I am thinking that perhaps I will simply pester Autumn to make me another one so that I can hang it on my wall as an homage to myself and how great I am. I mean sure, I already have a mirror, but that only reflects my visual magnificence. I think I need something to reflect the majesty of my thoughts and words without wallpapering my room with print outs of my blog posts like I know so many of you already have.

Anyway, even though this is no longer for sale I just wanted to thank Autumn for being a super-awesome and unique snowflake of a human being and to acknowledge the greatness of her cross stitching skills.

You can check out Autumn’s shop on etsy here (she sells some truly great stuff): http://www.etsy.com/shop/autumnsanticsstore

She is also available for your fan-like awe on facebook: https://www.facebook.com/#!/AutumnsAntics

Here is the listing for the sampler, with more pictures and general greatness: http://www.etsy.com/listing/80630637/p-time-in-v-town-framed-cross-stitch

Thanks again, Autumn. Once gay marriage is legalised in Australia I think we should get hitched. Then, once our periods are in synch, we can be psychopaths together to the point that the local newspaper ends up dedicating a monthly section to our naked rampages through town and various other acts of disturbing irrationality.

Until then, I shall love you from afar.

Awww isn’t that stupid and pointless!

This sappy piece of shit is floating around tumblr today:

I’ve given it a try myself and I think I’ve done pretty well.

This is way too easy. Here’s another one.

IKEA + Man Nursery = Sexism

So IKEA have decided to introduce a new area in their otherwise painfully maze-like shopping complexes, where you can play video games, watch tv and otherwise chill out. Sounds awesome, right? Well it’s too bad they’ve decided to be deeply sexist about it.

You see, this isn’t some kind of general entertainment area. No. It’s a ‘man nursery’.

WHAT IS THIS?

I mean, this is exactly what it sounds like. Women go drop off men at the ‘nursery’ so they can go spend all their money and look at pretty fabrics (every woman’s dream!). Not only that but women are given a buzzer that goes off after 30 minutes to remind them to go pick up their partner. You know, like you would a meal at the pub. Because apparently men are 1) forgettable 2) like children and 3) inanimate wastes of space, who (if not collected) would stay in IKEA’s man nursery indefinitely.

See the girl ‘dropping off’ her boyfriend at 1:36? That weird breathy giggle she gives? It’s because she has no idea what the hell is going on.

Apparently this is all to help women, so they don’t have to put up with a “whinging guy hanging around with them while they’re shopping”. You know, because of how men are incapable of properly contributing to an equal partnership. I mean, that’s exactly how I view any man I go out with- as an annoying lump of wood that I have to cart around while I’m shopping. Especially because as a female, I have an irrepressible compulsion to shop and I also have the inability to leave the house alone- hence why I just can’t stop dragging my big dumb boyfriend everywhere while he sacks around like a whiny piece of shit.

As Lisa Wade says:

“…this is more insidiously problematic even than that.  It tells women that they can’t expect men to be grown ups.  And if men can’t be grown ups, then we certainly can’t expect them to do their share of the dishes or the hard work of raising families or, for that matter, be a true and equal emotional partner.”

Brilliant. Men get to be irresponsible children while women do all the boring domestic stuff because…we have ovaries?

Yeah, this isn’t insulting to anyone. Because, as we all know, most male/female relationships are exactly like the show ‘Married with Children’. In fact, I’m pretty sure that was a documentary.

Paltrow Watch 080911

I’ve decided to install a regular feature here called ‘Paltrow Watch’ at the suggestion of my very clever sister.

Often I have come across pieces of news about the Paltrow that has infuriated me and I have wanted to rage about it without adding to my already lengthy open letter to her (https://ihatedolphins.wordpress.com/2011/08/06/an-open-letter-to-gwyneth-paltrow/), so I think this is the best solution.

In honour of Paltrow Watch’s debut I am going to talk about two things I heard about her recently.

The first comes from an interview she did with Elle Decor magazine, where she twaffles on about the things in her life that she can’t live without.

I am only going to tackle the intro to Gwyneth’s interview, which is just as infuriating as Gwyneth herself because it buys into the myth that she’s amazing.

“Act, cook, write, sing: Gwyneth Paltrow famously loves to do it all.” She famously loves to do it all? Or she famously loves to tell everyone how great she is at doing it all?

Homage is then paid to Gwyneth being a ‘serious design buff’ with such credits to her name as adding ‘funky’ touches to her house like a “rumpus room for the couple’s two children and a skull-and-crossbones motif on the library’s mantel”. A rumpus room for children is a funky touch now? In that case my house circa 1987 was the complete tits.

I bet my shambolic box of lego pieces and the broken off arms of dolls would be a collector’s item. In fact, Gwyneth would probably buy it and surmise that it is ‘a testament to the chaos of childhood and the realisation, as a parent, that you can’t control it all. I feel that’s really reflected in this box of shit.’

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If testicles could fart, then this is what that would be called.

“I don’t understand the question and I won’t respond to it.”

– Lucille Bluth

That’s pretty much exactly how I feel about Glee.

My second dad joke

What do you call an accessory to stalking?

An obsessory.

(B-b-b-booyah!)

The reality of being Australian and why it is disappointing.

Australians have a pretty good reputation around the world. Sure people can ask us stupid questions like “Do you guys travel in the pouches of kangaroos?” and “So, is this a knife?” (the answer to both being, fucking obviously), but in terms of anything of real importance, such as our politics, current affairs and foreign policy, we pretty much get a mulligan. Nobody really cares about what we’re doing when superpowers such as America, Britain and China are hogging all the sweet ‘being a subject of scrutiny’ spotlight. In comparison we’re less leading role and more stagehand.

Whenever you travel overseas, as soon as people realise you’re Australian, they decide that the next best course of action is to get you drunk and make various jokes about wanting to go ‘down under’. Yet despite these frequent dalliances into the land of ingeniously thought out puns and witticisms, being Australian can have its drawbacks. Namely, that we’re a lot less awesome than we think we are and we don’t even realise it.

Apparently we have fallen for our own Tourism ads and accordingly we have a fairly good opinion of ourselves that is either not shared by others or is completely at odds with the reality of our situation. What am I talking about? I’ll tell you after I stop awkwardly asking myself rhetorical questions as a segue into the article.

We think we’re totally bad arse

Thanks to myths of bad arsery perpetuated by ‘Crocodile Dundee’, ‘Mad Max’, ‘The Crocodile Hunter’ and Russell Crowe’s right arm, Australia has put forth the idea that if we’re not out in the desert wrestling crocs or navigating a post-apocalyptic wasteland overrun by awful, awful children, it’s merely because the waiting list is just too damn long.

As mentioned almost everywhere on the internet, Australia is a veritable death trap of deserts, insects, animals and serial killers. As a consequence Australians enjoy a fairly consistent (if tongue-in-cheek) characterisation as indestructible desert people who battle daily through a deadly mire of things that want to kill us.

Calm down little fella or I’m gonna give you a spanking.

The problem doesn’t lie with the expectations of others, however, rather it lies with our own bizarre, usually subconscious beliefs that we actually are all those things that we pretend to be in the talkies (or the ‘big pictures’ as they’re commonly called). When confronted with danger, we almost immediately start convincing ourselves that despite having lived in the inner city for most of our lives, we are completely capable of Mad Maxing all over the place, entirely forgetting about the fight we lost to our bean bag last night in the eternal struggle to get up off the ground. In other words, we tend to buy into our own stereotypes to the detriment of our health and safety.

One example of this mentality is Australian comedian, Mick Molloy’s attempt to wrangle a snake whilst on holiday in Vanuatu, despite being city born and raised. Fortunately he managed to get a hold of the snake. Unfortunately he grabbed it by the tail and got bitten 27 times. On the dick.

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