Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Strike one occurred back in the 1980s when my mom's then-chiropractor responded to her not unreasonable request to examine her 8-year-old daughter's seemingly curved back with "She just has a large behind." Which a) I should be so lucky, b) is creepy and c) is a lazy, gross, patronizing excuse for medical treatment. (For the record, it is not so much the size of behind as the fact that it is constantly parked on the couch that accounts for my still lousy posture. Hey, do I get a pretend medical degree now?)
Strike two was back in the undergrad years, at the university's walk-in clinic:
Me: I'd like to get my pill prescription renewed, please.
Doc: When was your last physical?
Me: I'm a virgin.
Doc: Good for you!
"Good for you!", as if I'd spent the last eight or so years since menstruation fighting off an army of sweaty, shirtless James Masters-lookalikes, instead of being a gangly and self-conscious homebody who spent her spare time reading Stephen King novels and writing terrible poetry about not wanting to be a virgin anymore. "Good for you!" as if virginity was some sort of grand accomplishment and not the inevitable by-product of my particular blend of self-esteem issues, shyness and tendency to dork out to the extreme in front of any boy I liked. "Good for you!" as if 'virginity' is a medical term requiring no follow-up questions and not some sexist and heteronormative social abstract which means different things to different people and exists only in their minds, anyway.
Now that's a rant and a half, but I have saved the rantiest for last! Strike three happened just this summer when I, a grown lady who had spent a good half her life with (to the best of my knowledge) working lady bits, and had yet to cause some sort of international incident or natural disaster with them, went to get my pill prescription renewed yet again. In my mind, I was qualified to a)make requests as to my reproductive needs, and b)receive medical advice in a professional, objective, and non-douchetastic manner.
BZZZZTTT!!!! WRONG!!! At least according to the douchiest of all dudely doctors, with whom I had an unfortunate encounter at the walk-in clinic I was frequenting while trying to find a family doctor in my new town. (Which I totally have now, and she is also a lady, and she is pretty swell).
This guy was such a douche, he earned his own three strikes within our five-minute appointment, for:
1) Telling me that once every two years wasn't enough for women with multiple partners, after I had just told him that I was in a long-term, monogamous relationship ("Whatever, slut!");
2) Looking so pointedly at my (wedding ring-less) hand the whole time that I finally snapped a "I'm married; we don't wear rings", which I hate because a)marriage is a legal relationship and NOT a medical one and therefore NOT RELEVANT to this particular conversation, dipstick, and b)when I have to pull the marriage card it reminds me just how patriarchal and sucktastic a lot of people want marriage to be and means that I am in the presence of someone who is probably against things like same-sex marriage, women's equality, and kittens. Because he is an asshole.
3) After the marriage admission, writes me a six-month prescription, "Since [you've] been such a good girl."
If ever you needed proof that Angry Floyd still has self-control - I am currently blogging about this instead of serving time for "aggravated assault with various medical implements". So there.
Ladies, gents and every in-between? Any douchestactic doctor experiences?
Thursday, February 05, 2009
"Lady" is the formal equivalent of "Lord" or "gentleman". Unless it's made up entirely of British aristocrats, it is a women's sport/event/competition.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Couldn't wait until Friday...so much good stuff out there on teh Interwebs.
Guess which political party is arguing against their country's economic stimulus package by measuring it in Jesuses? Contrary to what I say in the comments, Canada's is almost 3.5 Jesuses. Not too shabby! Er...holy?
The dudes' answer to "My Humps". Why I am not watching this show?
Two thousand words on why atheists are (and should be) angry.
Two thousands words on why feminists and anyone who cares about women are (and should be) angry, but maybe also a little bit hopeful.
Two very thoughtful pieces on the Michael Phelps "controversy" - a look at how pot-smoking is worse than rape and what Phelps should have said.
And let's end off with on a personal anecdote - I went to my first rugby practice with a new team this week and totally face-planted in front of everyone. This site makes me feel better.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
DeNiro makes a deal with the douchebag, OR
Suggest your own caption in the commments section!
I mean speaking, of course, of the totally irredeemable "comedy" Meet the Parents, which I saw on the plane during one of my frequents trips home from school, and by "saw" I mean "watched the first five minutes with interest and then slowly grew angrier and angrier as the plot unfolded before turning it off and trying to avert my eyes from the other screens lest my rage overwhelm me to the point that I must be tackled and restrained while trying to use the emergency exit at 10,000 feet".
Rather than recap the whole film (because, obviously, I didn't see the whole thing) let me present to you the scene in which two anonymous douchebags come up with the story:
DB1: Okay, so, our main guy, he's gotta be funny. How can we make him funny?Hmmm...He could be well-written and the centrepiece of a clever film? [pause] Naw, that's too hard.
DB2: Let's give him a funny name, like 'Weiner'.
DB1: Naw, too obvious...kay, let's get back to that f***ker later.
DB2: Focker! Awesome.
DB1: Awesome! [high-fives]
DB2: Okay, now we need to give him, like, a funny job. Something really embarassing...like, outhouse cleaner or something.
DB1: Hey, you know what's really funny to my emotionally-stunted mind? When men engage in activities considered by our society to be feminine, which, by illustrating the arbitrariness of gender boundaries and calling into question the rigid social structures based upon these boundaries, challenges my own innate sense of privilege based on my manly superiority to women.
DB1: It's totally funny when dudes do chick stuff.
DB2: Yeah! Like, I have this cousin, and he and his wife run a ballroom dance school, and charge like $200 bucks for a lesson and he's always, like, dancing around with women and shit, and I'm like, dude - that's so gay.
DB1: Yeah, like, why don't you just go be, like, a male nurse or something!
DB2: [laughs uproariously] MALE NURSE! That's awesome. You can't make that shit up. I love it.
DB1: Yeah! So this Focker, he's a [giggles] male nurse, and he wants to marry this hot chick, but first he needs to get her dad's permission to take ownership of his property, because it's not like a grown woman is capable of making her own decisions, and would be angry rather than bemusedly tolerant of her father's inappropriate and borderline-abusive treatment of the man that she loves!
DB1: Chicks know their place, and let the men duke it out because that's just how we roll.
DB1: And the dad will be super-scary ex-CIA guy, but then he'll totally love sissy shit, like flowers and cats.
DB2: MAN WE ARE GONNA BE EFFIN' RICH!
And don't even get me started on the sequel. For the sake of my blood pressure, I try to pretend that it doesn't exist.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Top craft idea that might make me participate in a holiday I normally avoid completely, other than crawling out of my hole to snark at: Anatomically correct heart cutouts (via Craftzine blog)
Top craft idea that I don't really avoid but sometimes participate only grudgingly to but mostly do it grudgingly to it: FSM cookies for the holidays(also via the Craftzine blog)
Top piece on a feminist issue that I hadn't really thought of as a feminist issue and which helped explain why I was always kind of sympathetic towards Yoko Ono and, despite the awesomeness of "Live and Let Die", kind of alternatively underwhelmed and slightly creeped out by Paul McCartney: Cara on Yoko Ono (Pandagon once again).
Top piece of snark: The 50 Most Loathsome People in America: It's a bi-partisan list, with Obama at one end and an (in)famous Republican at the other. Can you guess which one? (via Pharyngula)
And a special bonus item:
Top new saying courtesy of Kanye West.
(Can you work this into everyday conversation? I haven't been able to yet - let me know if you can).
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
No, this post is all about how much I love the library that I currently use, the ones I've used in the past, and the concept of libraries in general. Maybe I'm just on a library high because no fewer than five (5!) books that I've wanted to read for a very, very long time (like, maybe even, months!) all came in today and I just wanted to throw them on the bed and roll around with them but that would be gross a)for me and b)for everyone after me. So I didn't do that. But I did look at my bag o' books longingly all afternoon, waiting for the work day to end so that I could take them home and we could be alone...
Ahem. Moving on. Now, I'm not a super spendy (why yes, that is a real word, thankyouverymuch) person in general, but books have always been the exception that proved that I was a big liar. Graduate school was probably the worst time for this, because I spent so much time with smarty-pants academics with offices lined with smarty-pants books that I spent hundreds of dollars trying to look smarty-pants myself ("look" being the operative word, as the academics with their book-filled offices had, in fact, written or contributed to or worked with the authors of many of those books, whereas I mostly bought them, held them tight to my chest, and then put them on the shelf and admired them from afar) on a research topic which I eventually abandoned. (In a completely unrelated bit of information, if anyone's looking for some collections on the public sphere, I can totally hook you up.) It was just so convenient - go to Amazon.ca, click a few times, enter your credit card number and blammo! Brand new box of shiny books to be read once (maybe) and then collect dust on my bookshelf. I felt smarter just looking at them.
Now, film buff that I am, I've still never had this problem with movies. I love watching them, but I've never really owned many, mostly because there's maybe a few dozen movies out that I've actually watched more than once (although what I lack in quantity, I make up for in...a different kind of quantity, having seen The Lion King 30+ times back when it was the only kid's movie we owned when my oldest younger brother was...er, younger, not to mention having seen each of the Star Wars trilogy 25+ times). There's even fewer books I've read more than once, and yet I have such a hard time parting with them that I've finally realized the real solution is to just stop buying them.
And now, thanks to the power of the Intertubes, getting books from the library is almost as easy as buying, plus free, so if you include the work I have to do to earn money to buy books (which I do now, because that is how I roll) then the library is easier than a frat boy during rush week. (I actually have no idea what rush week really is, but I think it has something to do with frats, so that's my joke and I'm sticking to it.) Instead of going to Amazon, I go to the library site, look up the books I want, place a hold, and then go pick them up at the library when they're ready. IT IS SO AWESOME I WANT TO BARF, THAT'S HOW AWESOME IT IS. I pick out books, and the magical book fairies find them and email me and I come get them and sign them out and it's all FREE FLOYD AND LIBRARIES BFFFS 4EVA.
Of course I guess that makes me a business-hating, economy-killing, tree-hugging, freeloading socialist. So be it. They can have my library card when they pry it out of my cold, ink-stained fingers. Of course, then I'd just go to the customer service desk during operating hours and get a new one. And maybe browse the magazine racks at the same time, suckas.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
"I may need a haircut, but you're going to hell!"
I've been on the receiving end of only a couple of these types of wingnutty emails (none that were nearly as bad as the ones on this site, thanks be to the Spaghetti Monster), but the few times it happened it's always a bit awkward. They only come from one family member (and people who know me can probably guess which gun-totin', rural-living', government-distrustin' one that is) who also happens to be someone I love, respect and admire. So what do you do when they display random acts of wingnuttery?
I've mostly taken the same stance with these types of forwards as the ones that tell me to Forward This to 10 Friends and Make a Wish and it Will Come True But If You Don't Your Hair Will Fall Out and You Will Get Scabies (Whatever That Is), or Bill Gates Will Donate $$$ If u Forrward this MessAge, or DANGER! my neigbor's SON/daughter/Goldfish was killed/raped/eaten because of HOT COFFEE EXPLODING IN THE MICROWAVE/Perfume bottels with DATE_RAPE druggs/HE tasted GOOD - ignore them.
This policy has worked pretty well for me in terms of emails, but it's often harder in person. I love me a good argument, but sometimes the time is just wrong, like the very uncomfortable Christmas dinner a few years ago where the host (a lovely man who is wonderful in many many ways) started in on the rabbi who had requested a menorah be included in the Christmas display at the Seattle airport, and how this was proof of the WAR ON CHRISTMAS!!! and part of the larger WAR ON AFFLUENT, STRAIGHT WHITE PEOPLE (PARTICULARLY MEN)!!!
Well, I couldn't think of which one of the approximately two hundred million things that are wrong with that statement to address first, then his daughter managed to change the subject, and the turkey was awesome, and we're still close with them, but boy did that memory stick out in my mind when I saw that website.
How about you guys? Any random acts of wingnuttery you've had to deal with?