“I beg your pardon I didn’t recognize you—I’ve changed a lot.” ~ Oscar Wilde

When in doubt, Oscar Wilde’s words will always work . . .

 

Saturday afternoon. Partly cloudy and mild, 73 degrees.

Apparently, I have a new follower. And she loves to comment. And she thinks I’m someone else, because apparently anyone using the moniker Lola, must be the same individual. And apparently, I have lots of time with which to run multiple websites.

Cool.

Apparently, this is who I am:

lovelolaheart

I am a writer and have lived in Manhattan for most of my life. In addition to the random musings of my blog, I am presently working on a sci-fi novel, two mystery novels and a book on my saint squeeze, the Archangel Michael.

Man, I wish that I were this busy . . . and I wish that I had as many books in the works as this particular Lola claims to have. But what is up with the Kate Middleton fixation on both ends of this, er, um, dialogue?

Anyway, apparently, Gillian, my new best friend, thinks that I’ll take down her messages. Oh, my. Not for a million dollars would I delete any of this.

Although I have refrained from reverting to editor role and correcting grammar and syntax, I must admit that I just couldn’t help but respond here and there (emphasis and/or responses in italics mine). Oh and, feel free to comment. You guys (all three to five of you) know that I love to get comments.

Enjoy.

Gillian

I want you to post this to your Kate-Hate bitches too, see below:
Although I know you will take down my posts (not a chance) on this and your other crappy websites (would you mind terribly letting me know about these as I must be neglecting them from my dearth of knowledge as to their existence), I have spent – ie. wasted – enough time perusing your self-obsessed, ultimately self-hating whining against other women who have done you no harm. I will leave you to your shameful secret web-mining and hateful group-shaming and bullying posts against Kate Middleton  and other women you have never, and will never, meet. I have a backlog of Veep episodes (I’ve heard this is a really good show) to watch which is a far better use of my time. You will never make it as a legitimate published writer – also remember this crap is uploaded forever and will come back to bite you. You should have stuck to quilling! (what an interesting word, and it implies that I actually may have some artistic talent, which I don’t) You may big-time yourself (is big-time a verb? I’m confused) at Starbucks with your laptop (man, so my other self has a laptop? So jealous), but as you judge, remember most of those “little people” around you think good thoughts, including about a woman trying to do her best to bring good cheer to others. Face it, it is more than you do in your quotidian routine life (love this phrase, perhaps I’ll borrow it). She puts forward her best inner self and actively works on her outer health and beauty too. Since you don’t, you therefore choose to hate her for it. Gosh I’m glad I’m not you! Errhh, this whole web-interaction (were we interacting? Sorry, wasn’t paying attention) has left me feeling a bit depressed that the internet now gives unsuccessful writers, who would never have the talent or resilience to get past the junior editor or press cadetship, a chance to publish their rants. This is why fascism, racism and sexism exist, intolerant and judgemental people like you…(PS. If you can publish anonymously, (um, I don’t publish anonymously; anyone wanting to can see my identity) why can’t I? Hypocrite)

Gillian (I guess she wanted to make sure I really paid attention to this comment, so she posted it twice, but I think that it would be overkill if I were to make the same responses twice.)

Although I know you will take down my posts on this and your other crappy websites, I have spent – ie. wasted – enough time perusing your self-obsessed, ultimately self-hating whining against other women who have done you no harm. I will leave you to your shameful secret web-mining and hateful group-shaming and bullying posts against Kate Middleton and other women you have never, and will never, meet. I have a backlog of Veep episodes to watch which is a far better use of my time. You will never make it as a legitimate published writer – also remember this crap is uploaded forever and will come back to bite you. You should have stuck to quilling! You may big-time yourself at Starbucks with your laptop, but as you judge, remember most of those “little people” around you thing good thoughts, including about a woman trying to do her best to bring good cheer to others. Face it, it is more than you do in your quotidian routine life. She puts forward her best inner self and actively works on her outer health and beauty too. Since you don’t, you therefore choose to hate her for it. Gosh I’m glad I’m not you! Errhh, this whole web-interaction has left me feeling a bit depressed that the internet now gives unsuccessful writers, who would never have the talent or resilience to get past the junior editor or press cadetship, a chance to publish their rants. This is why fascism, racism and sexism exist, intolerant and judgemental people like you…(PS. If you can publish anonymously, why can’t I? Hypocrite)

(Let me pause here for a moment: Gillian, my dear, I have to agree with you on this one: Lola of lovelolaheart does seem to be obsessed with the Duchess. It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?)

Gillian

Anyone visiting this page, please refer to the bitchy envious attacks against someone this woman has never met at: lovelolaheart.com, (I have to admit that I am a bit torqued that this Lola is using the word musings in the title of her blog; that’s my word; I like the internal alliteration) then see if you want to keep reading this so-called “liberal” and “feminist”. She never got over being the unattractive little pudgy girl (um, pudgy now, yes, but in school, a bit too skinny, just saying) from an ethnic background (Filipino. Let’s be clear here) at school, rather than wanting to be the posh Anglo-Saxon prefect (Prefect? As in, you know, one of those students in charge at Hogwarts? Now that would be cool). Show ALL your posts to a psychiatrist and start drinking genuinely good coffee (I happen to like my coffee, Mayorga; it’s strong and tasty) (at the Grumpy Cafe for example where you will feel intimidated by genuinely creative people) rather than spending hours in Starbucks (If I did this, it would mean that I would a) have to leave the house, and b) have the money to hang out drinking Starbucks coffee) pretending to yourself that you are a writer, sneering at the little people.

Gillian

You and your other Kate-Hate friends are all a bunch of hypocrites (I have friends?).You profess to that you are not making envious attacks, that you are concerned Kate Middleton carries out insufficient royal duties, that she is undermining the institution of royalty, that you had to work full-time as well as raise children, that royalty is waste a money and irrelevant. Yet you all (fifteen of you) (wow, fifteen? Really? Are they all named Lola? Where are these fifteen duchess disparagers?) seem to spend hours trawling the internet and blogging comments that are misogynistic, indirectly aggressive (the psych term for bitchy), derogatory and highly critical – despite claiming that you are not at all jealous. (Now I must pause here and be serious for one moment: I’ve been called many things, but misogynistic is definitely not one of them. Perhaps, Gillian, you should look through my posts for the past six years, which, by the way, also serves as a direct indicator that I didn’t start this blog to excoriate the Duchess.) So why do you care? How does it negatively impact on your life? If it doesn’t, why are you wasting your time being a “Mean Girl” to someone you never met in such a cowardly way? You would never, ever say this to the woman’s face, or her husbands, were you by chance to meet her. If you say you would, then protest publicly in your real name with a real address by writing a letter to a UK newspaper – if you don’t have the guts, then why are you wasting your time on this. Maybe you should spend it constructively doing charitable works yourself at a local women’s shelter or playing/socialising with those kids that you had to raise part-time for the hours every week you spend on this drivel. If you are unwilling to show your writings to a colleague outside any posters on this page, then you are exhibiting shame and embarrassment about this activity.(Beg to differ with you on this particular point, only as regards my actual blog: I don’t share my writings with any colleagues because, well, I don’t have any of those any more, not since going out on disability, just my meager little audience here who can attest that I am actually not at all interested in the goings-on of any royals, anywhere.) I can’t believe there are adult women, many of whom have university educations, participating in this exercise in the group-shaming of a young woman who has never committed a crime, never abused a child, never purposefully behaved harmfully towards another human-being (You are absolutely spot on here, Gillian). She wears a thong because if she had a visible panty line, no doubt the press would pick on it (TMITMITMI). She wears off-the-rack accessible clothing and unfortunately, helicopter down-draft caused her skirt to flap for less than a second. She has been photographed behaving with goodwill in an appropriate manner millions of times by now. The travel agent amateur photographers is being ostracised by the local community in the Blue Mountains now because they consider her behaviour towards a young woman generously bringing funds and publicity towards their plight disgraceful. That’s reflects the way almost all people would respond to the comments on this and similar pages you all frequent. If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all, was what my mother used to quote. (I’ll just let this speak for itself, shall I?) I would say this to each of you to your face. If you can’t honestly say that you would post this garbage in your own name, in full knowledge of your family, friends and colleagues, then don’t waste the world’s and your own time. If you think you need psychological help because you recognise that it is odd to demonstrate so much ill-feeling towards a woman you actually don’t know or have any interaction with, then please get it (I will certainly address this with my therapist at my next appointment, but it will have to come right after my ongoing discussion regarding my response to recently losing my last parent. Priorities, don’t you know). Publish the Blue Mountains Mayor’s comments because they reflect what most people think, not your own mean-spirited musings…. Bet you don’t even have the guts to post this or his comments Lolita (Hooray! You got my name right!). I am going to refer you and other Kate-Hate middle-aged ranters (love this) to the Daily Mail as story material. Your self-obsessed and hateful behaviour is appalling – no wonder you also have a low opinion of yourself.

Okay, now seriously, I cannot tell you how much this collection of comments has brightened my Saturday afternoon. It’s been a very long time since anyone paid any attention to my little blog, other than the few compatriots who lend me a bit of their time by commenting on my relatively inane ramblings. The last time this happened, it was the psycho stalker who was hanging about in the shadows wreaking havoc. That individual chose not to come forth and identify herself, so that makes this little interlude all the more special.

It’s funny, but whenever someone attempts to disparage me, I always think of Oscar Wilde, who, because of his lifestyle, was constantly harangued in the press, yet he chose to respond with wit and wisdom. I only wish that I could be so urbane, but as I am not, I decided to include some of Wilde’s more apropos words.

So I’m taking the following from Gillian’s (I’ve always loved that name) rather heated rant:

  • Lola (of the other site), stole my musings phraseology
  • Said Lola writes a lot about Kate Middleton, none of it very flattering
  • Somehow, that Lola, and my alter-ego Lola have merged to become one.
  • This rather unsettling intermix has resulted in a reality akin to that strange movie Inception.

For the record:

  • I happen to think that Kate Middleton is beautiful and stylish, and her son is adorable, but other than that, I don’t really spend an inordinate amount of time contemplating the Duchess or the royals in any significant fashion.
  • I may be a bitch, but I am never a misogynist, nor am I remotely fascist.
  • Intolerant? Me? Seriously?
  • My aggression is never indirect.
  • And yes, I can be very judgmental (just ask my family), but I am never ever racist.
  • I am in no way embarrassed by anything that I write in this blog.
  • I have never made any attempt to hide my identity, but I choose not to post my full name on here because I don’t want to show up on some pedophile’s Internet search for
    “lovely young Lolitas.”
  • Someone once asked my mother if I was malnourished because I was so skinny as a child. Would that it were so now.
  • Telling me that the Duchess wears a thong is too much information.
  • Who is the Blue Mountain mayor?
  • If I ever were to meet the Duchess (not that that is even remotely likely in this lifetime), I would do the polite thing and call her “Your Majesty.”
  • I have never been called a bully, and I would need to belong to a group in order to participate in group-shaming.
  • You are probably correct in saying that I will never make it as a published writer, except for that niggling little detail that I actually have published a few poems and essays, articles, and a retrospective booklet, just not the mysterious mystery, the plot of which continually bounces around in my brain.
  • Who are these little people of whom you speak?
  • And as far as not making it past a junior editor, well perhaps you are correct; although since I worked as a senior editor that assessment may be a bit off the mark.

Thank you, Gillian. Truly. It’s been lovely.

More later. Peace.

Music by The Kinks, “Lola” (what else?)

                  

Confessions

I once shoplifted
a tin of Vienna sausages.
Crouched in the aisle
as if to study the syllables
of preservatives, tore off the lid,
pulled out a wiener and sucked it down.

I’ve cheated on exams.
Made love to foldouts.
Walked my paper route in a snowstorm after dark,
so I could steal down a particular alley
where through her gauze curtains, a lady
lounged with her nightgown undone.

I’ve thrown sticks at stray dogs.
Ignored the cat scratching to come inside.
Even in the rain.
Sat for idle hours in front of the TV, and not two feet away
the philodendrons for lack of a glass of water
gasped and expired.

So many excuses I’ve concocted to get by.
Called in sick when I was not. Grabbed credit
for happy accidents I had no hand in.
Pointed fingers
to pin the innocent with crimes
unmistakably mine.

I have failed
to learn from grievous error.
Repeated gossip.
Invented gossip. Held hands
in a circle of friends to rejoice
over the misfortune of strangers.
Pushed over tombstones.
Danced the devil’s jig.

Once, when I was barely old enough
to walk home on my own, I hid
behind an abandoned garage.
Counted sixteen windows.
Needed only four handfuls of stones
to break every one.

 ~ Lowell Jaeger

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Friday leftovers . . .

                   

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

image

Okay, after spending so much time yesterday culling through bullshit that left me feeling dirty and broken and mostly icky all over, I definitely think that’s time for a bit of comic relief, hence, a leftovers post filled to the brim . . .

An overabundance, a plethora, if you will. Enjoy.

Alternate ending to Tyrion’s speech:

Just. can’t. Nope.

Omigawd . . . Alex Trebek as a rap star . . .

Oh, I love this man . . .

People are strange . . .

More people are strange . . . how do you not notice someone living in your closet?

And finally . . . this is beyond awesome . . .

                   

Music by The Doors, “People are Strange” (what else?)

“When we don’t speak up, we tacitly affirm the ‘whistle’ as a display of manhood. Thus we affirm misogyny and toxic masculinity” ~ Imran Siddiquee

Content warning.

                   

practice violence against women but live with the threat of male violence. Every. Single. Day. All over the world.” ~ Soraya Chemaly, Twitter post

Thursday afternoon. Cloudy and much cooler, 65 degrees.

I know that I’m on a bit of a tear lately, but I make no apologies.

I read a post yesterday about a young woman who was being harassed in school because of the size of her breasts. When she confronted the group of boys, she was groped. When she lashed out verbally, the boys escalated in their behavior. Ultimately, the school officials told here that “boys will be boys” and that she should just not pay attention . . . School officials took no action against the boys, told the girl she was lucky she wasn’t being suspended, and made no report. Only once the student confided in a teacher who then went to security and didn’t back down was something done.

And this really made me pause. Why should females bear the brunt of not paying attention, of ignoring unwanted advances and/or catcalls? Why is the excuse “boys will be boys” such an ingrained part of our culture? I don’t know exactly when it entered my brain that I would not rise to any catcalls, that I would simply keep walking, but at some point it did, and that is how I have always reacted. It’s a socialized female response. But you know what? It pisses me off that this has to be our response. But the truly frightening part is how ignoring such unwanted verbal attention can now morph into acts of violence. I find this horrendous.

Want to know something else I find horrendous, the incredible male backlash regarding women speaking out. Here’s an example: “: I’d like to see more women walking around with cigarette burns on their faces.”

I didn’t just make that up.

 

This, right here, is exactly why we need to continue to have this discussion.

“Women are people and you can’t own ANY people. Also, she owes you nothing. And you are not bigger for demeaning her.” ~ Imram Siddiquee, Twitter post

The clipped image above from a Twitter feed is a prime example of everything that is wrong in this discussion. I made the mistake of tracking down this guy’s feed, mostly to try to determine if his assholiness is isolated to the #yesallwomen feed, but it’s not. His feed is just filled with deliberate baiting, like his pondering of whether or not rapeable has an e, or his discussions of all of the things he wants to do to someone’s *hole. He even jokes (using the term way too loosely) that you can send him rape stories so that he can jerk off, and declares that he’ll “rip through this like some vagina.”

Look, this guy would probably rely on that age-old fallback justification—that he’s just joking, just being irreverent, that women should loosen up and not take everything so seriously. But I would bet my house that if a woman he knew were ever raped, he would go ballistic. But that incense wouldn’t come from her pain; it would come from his sense of power being taken. What men like this don’t understand is that some subjects aren’t joke-worthy. All of his male posturing is just so much bullshit.

Consider this: When was the last time you heard of a man being told to text his friends to make sure he made it home without being raped and/or abducted? How many men do you know who carry pepper spray with them just in case some strange woman tries to drag them behind a dumpster? Do any of the men in your family walk with their keys between their fingers because they were told that keys could be used as weapons?

Will we ever reach a point at which men no longer feel that they can call out sexual advances to total strangers? Will we ever reach a point at which these men realize that unwanted catcalls are not flattering, and that ignoring them is not an excuse to escalate behavior? I doubt we’ll ever reach a point at which subhumans such as the poorexcuse guy will not find it hilarious to make fun of subjects that aren’t even remotely funny.

“Each time a woman stands up for herself, she stands up for all women.” ~Maya Angelou

I don’t know that I will see the end of this behavior any time soon, not in my lifetime, and perhaps not in my children’s lifetimes, mostly because so much of this behavior is ingrained in our society—it’s in our faces 24/7, in movies, television, magazines, advertising, billboards, songs, even on our clothing. The female body is an object, and even though that object happens to belong to a person, that person is secondary to her sex.

Her breasts are there for people to ogle. Her derriere is there for people to rub against. God forbid she might be clad in something form-fitting, something short, something tight. Doesn’t she know that by doing so, she’s putting herself out there to be objectified. You know, like a pork chop? Doesn’t she know it’s her responsibility not to cause sexual arousal in total strangers?

Think about this: Maybe she lost 50 pounds and wants to show off her new form. Maybe spaghetti straps are cooler in the summer. Maybe yoga pants are easy to throw on for errands. Just because a woman is wearing a thong, and you can see that thong line, it doesn’t mean that she wants you to comment on her underwear. It doesn’t mean that she wants you to come up and rub her butt. ‘Tis no matter. It’s her responsibility to make sure the males out there don’t get any hard ons. It certainly not the responsibility of those red-blooded males. I mean, no one ever told them that their penises weren’t the end all and be all of their identity.

Please.

We have to do better. All of us. We need to educate our children and our grandchildren, and our nieces and our nephews: it’s not okay to place another person—male or female—in a context that reduces that person to their sex.

We all have to do better.

tweet

“Dear , you deserve zero praise for not being a rapist. Aim higher. The best thing you can do is listen and support ” ~ Jay Wood, Twitter post

Consider this story by Soroya Chemaly, which appeared in the Huffington Post last September:

A man in a car pulled up next to a 14-year old girl on a street in Florida and offered to pay her $200 to have sex with him. Some people would say that’s a compliment. It’s part of being out in society, learning to deal with people, navigating relationships between men and women. Or, at least that what many commenters on articles I write about street harassment think. That or maybe they’re thinking, ‘She must have looked like a prostitute,’ and well, you know.

The girl said no. So what does this guy do? He reaches out, drags her, by her hair, into his car, chokes her until she blacks out, tosses her out of the car and then, not done yet, he runs her over several times . . . What was the Deadly Weapon referred to in the charge I wonder? Given our normatively male understanding interpretation of what is threatening, does a man pulling up to a girl like this and talking to her in this way constitute imminent harm?

This was an incident of street harassment taken to extremes.

You’re thinking,  “He’s crazy! You can’t possibly put what he did in the same category as street harassment!”  Yes, I can.

He stopped and talked to a girl he did not know and he told her what he thought and what he wanted her to do.  Clearly, he felt this was okay, or he wouldn’t have done it. This isn’t insanity, it’s entitlement. This is, in principle, the same as men who say, “Smile,” “Want a ride?” “Suck on this” and on and on and on.  And, that’s all before the public groping that might ensue.

OK. No big deal I’ve been told.  But, he went further, as is often the case.  When she said no, he just took her.  He crossed a red line that seriously needs to be moved.  “Taking someone” should not be the “red line” for public incivility and safe access to public space.

twitter pic
When you ask why I’m angry . . .

We hear about cases like this with dulling regularity and, undoubtedly, we don’t hear about even more. Just a smattering of examples:

  • In San Francisco last year, a man stabbed a woman in the face and arm after she didn’t respond positively to his sexually harassing her on the street.
  • In Bradenton, Fla., a man shot a high school senior to death after she and her friends refused to perform oral sex at his request. I
  • In Chicago, a scared 15-year-old was hit by a car and died after she tried escaping from harassers on a bus.
  • Again, in Chicago, a man grabbed a 19-year-old walking on a public thoroughfare, pulled her onto a gangway and assaulted her.
  • Last week, a runner in California — a woman — was stopped and asked, by a strange man in a car, if she wanted a ride. When she declined he ran her over twice.

are violent against women, but if we are just passive bystanders then we’re still part of the problem. ” ~ Kenny Miracle, Twitter post

I just started following a new tumblr called When Women Refuse, in which contributors share stories of women who have been murdered, raped, beaten, run over, and brutalized in countless other ways simply because they said no, because they said they didn’t want to get in the car, because they didn’t outwardly respond to some lewd comment, because they didn’t want to have sex, because they didn’t want to continue the relationship.

Each of these stories is mind-numbing individually, but collectively, they make a statement that is hard to turn away from: Women/girls who have the audacity to say no, are continually punished for doing so, and in many cases, their reactions/actions are dismissed by authorities.

Here are some of the stories that have been posted on When Women Refuse just in the past few days:

imgur

I think I have to stop now. I have a pit in the bottom of my stomach. Look, I have no answers, only suggestions. I only know that in a world in which so very many things are wrong, in which so very many things are heinous, that indifference to the very real problem of how women are treated is preventable in so many ways. No, we cannot cure rapists, but we can work on the essence of rape culture. No, we cannot eradicate misogyny, but we can do better in educating our sons and daughters.

We have to try, don’t we?

I mean, we just have to.

More later. Peace.

Music by Arctic Monkeys, “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards”

                   

Rape Poem

There is no difference between being raped
and being pushed down a flight of cement steps
except that the wounds also bleed inside.

There is no difference between being raped
and being run over by a truck
except that afterward men ask if you enjoyed it.

There is no difference between being raped
and being bit on the ankle by a rattlesnake
except that people ask if your skirt was short
and why you were out alone anyhow.

There is no difference between being raped
and going head first through a windshield
except that afterward you are afraid
not of cars
but half the human race.

The rapist is your boyfriend’s brother.
He sits beside you in the movies eating popcorn.
Rape fattens on the fantasies of the normal male
like a maggot in garbage.

Fear of rape is a cold wind blowing
all of the time on a woman’s hunched back.
Never to stroll alone on a sand road through pine woods,
never to climb a trail across a bald
without that aluminum in the mouth
when I see a man climbing toward me.

Never to open the door to a knock
without that razor just grazing the throat.
The fear of the dark side of hedges
the back seat of the car, the empty house
rattling keys like a snake’s warning.
The fear of the smiling man
in whose pocket is a knife.
The fear of the serious man
in whose fist is locked hatred.

All it takes to cast a rapist to be able to see your body
as jackhammer, as blowtorch, as adding-machine-gun.
All it takes is hating that body
your own, your self, your muscle that softens to flab.

All it takes is to push what you hate,
what you fear onto the soft alien flesh.
To bucket out invincible as a tank
armored with treads without senses
to possess and punish in one act,
to rip up pleasure, to murder those who dare
live in the leafy flesh open to love.

~ Marge Piercy

                   

Two other related poems, both worthy of reading but long: “Rape Poem To End All Rape Poems” by the Rutgers University slam team, and “Rape Joke,” by Patricia Lockwood