Posts filed under ‘Gay Rights’

The Best of the Web

"Works Progress Administration Project 19...

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I thought it was time to brag on some other writers and visionaries for a change. There are a lot of other great blogs out there that are doing creative things, making progressive statements, advocating for women, and featuring more important stories than Jesse James’ tragic breakup from Kat von D. I really thought that would last forever. I’m just devastated!

First off, there’s a great cartoon site that I found through WordPress, mostly because she was kind enough to click the “Like” button on one of my posts. The Adventures of Gyno-Star: Fighting the Forces of Evil & Male Chauvinism is a cartoon gem that gets updated twice weekly on Tuesdays and Fridays. The artist is supremely talented. Her superhero has a sidekick named Little Sappho, and together they fight nemeses like Stay at Home Mommy and Vlad Deferens. Clever fun, and the illustrations are fantastic!

At Rebuild the Dream you can sign a contract for a return to the American dream. Van Jones heads this campaign with the support of many other progressive organizations, most notably The idea is pretty simple. Start investing in America again. Update our infrastructure and invest in the future, create jobs to do this and hire Americans to fill the jobs.

What does that sound like? Why, if it weren’t for the green energy component, I think it sounds an awful lot like the Works Progress Administration. The WPA? You don’t say. The brainchild of FDR, a plan to bring us out of the Great Depression, improve our great nation, and feed our families, the WPA is still present in concrete and signs in small and large communities throughout the United States. How do we pay for this? By taxing the rich.

This brings me to another great website. Sometimes people, myself included, like to cast the rich in the role of villain in the deterioration of the American dream and the American economy. But that’s not entirely fair. There are some millionaires out there who are lobbying that their taxes need to be raised.

You can find those millionaires and billionaires on a great website called, Patriotic Millionaires for Fiscal Strength. These people are true patriots, and their message reminds me that with great wealth comes great privilege and with great privilege, great responsibility. These people incredibly, selflessly get that. They make me proud to be an American.

Speaking of being proud to be an American, some people make me proud to be a Christian as well. John Shore, whose blog I’ve championed before, had a great article about a woman named Kathy Baldock and how she came to form a non-profit called Canyonwalker Connections. Kathy had t-shirts made, and she attends gay functions like Pride parades and wears her t-shirt, offering an apology to any LGBT who’s been traumatized by the bigotry of churches who reject homosexuals.

Here’s a great video I found:

The video is a commentary on how household cleaning products are always marketed to women, using women almost exclusively to sell the products to women almost exclusively. The only exceptions I can think of to this are Orange Glo and Oxy Clean. Mr. Clean doesn’t count since he’s a fictional character who never actually cleans anything anyway. The Tidy-Bowl Man is a tugboat operator; he doesn’t clean anything.

What is marketed almost exclusively to men? Beer. How is it marketed to men? Using scantily clad beautiful women to imply that if only you drink enough beer women will want to have sex with you. Maybe if only the women drink enough beer they will forget that they have to do all of the cleaning and will want to have sex with you. Or, and here’s a novel concept: maybe if a man did his share of the chores around the house a woman might be inclined to have sex more often. Beer is optional.

I found this website by happy accident. Hugo Schwyzer is a Christian and a gender studies professor. He’s written many, many enlightening blog posts about issues relating to feminism and Christianity, including weighing in on the recent controversy over actor Doug Hutchison’s marriage to a 16-year-old child and’s pimping out of college girls. He writes about his views on porn and even cites Andrea Dworkin. He’s sharp, and he’s a pleasure to read.

Hugo Schwyzer also blogs on The Good Men Project. The Good Men Project bills itself as “a cerebral, new media alternative” to glossy men’s magazines. In other words, it’s the anti-Maxim. There are great articles on gender issues and relationship advice, and something for everyone. This website renews my good faith in men.

The Women’s Media Center is a non-profit that seeks to make women more visible and women’s voices more audible in all forms of contemporary media. Their website features a Sexism Watch. They sponsor conventions and leadership panels and encourage women to produce films and documentaries that tell women’s stories. They are fighting to see women represented more in the news and on political commentary shows. Check it out.

August 13, 2011 at 3:30 pm Leave a comment

The Message in Easter

[ C ] Caravaggio - Martha and Mary Magdalene (...

Image by centralasian via Flickr

Matthew 28:1-10After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb. There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.

The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.”

So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them. “Greetings,” he said. They came to him, clasped his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” (NIV)

This Sunday I celebrated Easter at church. It was great. The Mr. Brewsters and I went to MCC in Austin. It’s the second time I’ve been. Lots of churches in Austin claim to be inclusive, but this one may be the first where I’ve actually seen gay and lesbian couples and transgenders free and welcome to worship. They are comfortable here, and it’s a loving, affirming environment.

Also, this is a true Christian church. The theology is sound. It’s not all over the map. It’s not new age. It’s not read Eckhart Tolle and the Dalai Lama and Deepak Chopra and believe whatever you want to believe like the Luby’s Cafeteria of theology — but neither is it dogmatic. And it seems to get the emphasis of Christianity just right. It’s about the love, the faith. We can debate and overthink the miracle of Christ until we suck all the joy right out of it, and that doesn’t make us any different from the atheists.

About a week ago a young man who writes his own very funny blog left a comment on a post of mine about Early Christianity, and he noticed that I seem to be concerned with women’s issues. He asked me to expound upon the significance of Jesus’ appearing to the women on Easter. And I think I’m ready to address that issue now.

First off, one of the things we know about Jesus and his ministry is that he was chiefly concerned with the “little people,” if you will. He ministered to people that his society shunned. In some cases these people were truly corrupt individuals and in other cases they were just people who were needlessly suffering.

Regardless of whether the person’s status in society was of his own making or simply a byproduct of blind misfortune, Jesus ministered to them all. He shook hands and broke bread with tax collectors and lepers and prostitutes.  If He were on this earth ministering today, He would be ministering to the gays and the transgender and the homeless and the crack addicts and AIDS victims and, yes, the prostitutes. Some things never change. Jesus said that the last shall be first and the first shall be last.

Women, in Jesus’ time, as they still are in many Asian and African and Latin American countries, were considered to be second-class citizens. Actually, that’s a fallacy. They were literally considered property, like cattle or children. That Jesus ministered to women and that some of his most faithful disciples were female should come as no surprise. They might not be listed in our Bibles as one of the twelve “chosen” apostles, but make no mistake that Mary and Martha and Mary Magdalene were just as devoted to Jesus as any of the men. In fact, the women did not deny Jesus after His death; it was the men who did that.

On the morning that our Lord rose from the dead and the angel rolled away the stone, the women were coming to attend to Him.  This was woman’s work, preparing a body for burial. There is irony in the fact that the first eyewitnesses to the resurrection were women. This is because women in those times were not considered to be reliable witnesses. They could not give testimony in a court of law; it would not have been accepted.

This explains why, when the women obeyed the command of the angel and went to tell Jesus’ disciples that he was alive, they initially refused to believe. In fact, they would not believe the resurrection until they saw the empty tomb for themselves. And one of them would withhold his faith until he was able to literally poke a finger through the Lord’s wounds. But the women, faced with a rolled stone, an empty tomb, and an angel, believed. They didn’t question it. They didn’t ask for proof. They didn’t ask the angel how he pulled off that trick. When the angel offered a wholly implausible, insane explanation, they accepted the word of the angel without question.

God is the master architect. Don’t mistakenly think that the women coming upon the Lord’s empty tomb was by happenstance. The women were meant to be the bearers of the Good News, the most important and defining brick in the mosaic of our faith, the resurrection that is definitive proof of our salvation. What an honor, if you think about it. The last shall be first.

April 26, 2011 at 11:38 pm 1 comment

Mini Makeover Weekend

Hair coloring

Image via Wikipedia

My hair was getting to the point where I could not do anything with it any longer. I was pulling it into a ponytail every day. My sneakers (not the fancy shoes; those I only wear when I work out) needed to be replaced. I needed new contacts and glasses. Worst of all, I botched a haircolor job so badly that the top of my head was almost blonde while the rest of my hair was a medium/dark brown. It was time for a mini makeover.

So, after work on Friday I went to get a pair of those special sneakers that are supposed to work out your butt, etc. They were on sale for $20. Now I had heard that these shoes really didn’t do much beyond improving your posture, especially if you already walk heel to toe like you should. Well, bullshit, either that or my posture is really poor. I give myself a workout just walking around normally.

After I bought the special shoes I went to get my hair cut which magnified the hair color issue since I could see it more clearly in a large mirror, up close, with lots of light, and with my hair wet and parted. I looked like a skunk. The hairdresser told me my hair was too dark, and I needed to start moving toward a blonde shade so that it would blend in more with the gray. So, I got my hair cut and my brows waxed and then went to Wal-Mart and bought two boxes of something called light caramel brown. Naturally, I had to buy new makeup, too. I’m gradually going blonde. I just took the first step. The skunk issue is vastly improved.

I fixed my hair while watching John Cassevetes’ A Woman Under the Influence. I just got the DVD on my Netflix queue. I’m thinking about reviewing it in a blog entry later, but I’m going to view it with the commentary first.

I participated in Keep Austin Beautiful the next morning. We were three women picking up trash, armed with plastic gloves and large lawn trash bags. We found part of a dildo and three condoms! Woot!

Maybe I should have rethought wearing my new sneakers. An hour and a half of picking up trash over several city blocks in “special” shoes damn near killed me. An African Amercian gentleman in an SUV pulled up in the driveway of the yard where we were picking up trash.

He said, “I really admire what you’re doing. Would you like some water?”

Well, being polite, we declined, but then we rethought that and took him up on it. He gave us each a cold bottled water.

He said, “My granny lives here. Her birthday is today. She just turned 99. She walks to the Neighborhood Community Center everyday to spend time with her friends, and she picks up cans on her way. I don’t want you cleaning up any more trash in this yard. We got enough people inside to do that.” In truth, there wasn’t much trash to pick up. Granny’s yard was pretty tidy.

Granny lives in a very cute little manufactured house, fixed up with shutters and window boxes, a small front porch, and skirting. She has always lived in this neighborhood from the time that it was just a loose affiliation of black Americans who got land from a local black preacher. She has lived here since before it was a part of Austin, before the neighborhood had either running water or electricity. She came to the screen door and waved at us from the living room in her housedress.

One of the women in our small band said, “Wow. That was something. Don’t you bet that was a treat for her to see three white women picking up trash in her yard?”

I thought it probably was. The changes that woman has seen are extraordinary. She was born in 1912.

After the cleanup I went to Sonic and got a Chicago dog and some apple slices with caramel sauce. Then I went to bed and took a nap for three solid hours.

I got up and went grocery shopping. I bought only healthy food. Yay, me. Then I went to La Madeleine for a bowl of soup and later went to see The Lincoln Lawyer.

This morning I went to church with one of the Mr. Brewsters at a gay friendly church down south, and he asked me if I wanted to do the 5K for Gay Pride on June 1st, and I said, of course, I want to do the 5K for Gay Pride on June 1st. I’m doing my second 5K in another two weeks, one for the Austin State Hospital. If I keep up this exercise stuff I might not lose weight, but I will definitely amass a nice collection of t-shirts.

After Mr. Brewster dropped me off at home I went to the eye doctor’s. I got new contact lenses and paid for a new pair of glasses. I feel transformed. This is definitely one of those weekends when life is good.

April 10, 2011 at 11:12 pm Leave a comment

White Diamonds


Image by dovima_is_devine_II via Flickr

“I don’t entirely approve of some of the things I have done, or am, or have been. But I’m me. God knows, I’m me” – Elizabeth Taylor

I’m loathe to write about Elizabeth Taylor because there’s nothing I could write about her that’s not already been written. However, it seems a shame to allow her death to pass without commenting on it. She was, after all, the first woman to be paid $1,000,000 salary for a movie, an exorbitant amount of money for the time. Taylor was widely reported, for many years, to be the world’s most beautiful woman. She was famous for her violet eyes, her many marriages, her soap opera-tabloid lifestyle, her entrepreneurial successes, her philanthropy, and her jewelry collection.

She hastened the end of the marriage of Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds (let’s face it; those two would have eventually divorced anyway), and she was denounced by both the Catholic Church and the United States Senate for her affair with Richard Burton. The affair with Burton hastened the end of her marriage to Fisher, and ended Burton’s marriage to his first wife, Sybil.

But it began a new and tempestuous marriage that spanned a decade, two weddings and two divorces. It also gave us the great performances we see in, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” Would a movie version of Edward Albee’s play have been nearly as fascinating with anyone else playing George and Martha? I hope we never have to find out.

For all her addiction issues and flights of excess, sexual promiscuity and sense of entitlement (she was famously demanding, spoiled, and difficult to work with), she will also be remembered for her courage to speak out against AIDS at a time when no one was doing so. She was, by all accounts, an excellent mother, and this will be one of the many parallels that cause people to compare her with Angelina Jolie. She had a sense of humor about herself and would famously poke fun of herself on talk shows and with her friends. For instance, she stipulated that her coffin would arrive fifteen minutes late for her own funeral.

She had a great love for the gay man, and what gay man wouldn’t love Elizabeth Taylor? She was an icon and a diva. She had a longstanding and close friendship with Roddy McDowell, with whom she starred in one of the Lassie movies. As a young woman she fell helplessly in love with Montgomery Clift, and even though he preferred men, they remained close throughout his lifetime. She was Rock Hudson’s friend and his champion. When AIDS was denounced as a punishment from God for being gay, Elizabeth Taylor stood up and called that viewpoint nonsense. She was, above all, a spectacularly loyal friend, and her steadfast devotion to Michael Jackson proves that beyond a doubt.

Elizabeth battled lots of continuous health issues and went to rehab more than once. In her middle age and beyond, her metabolism caught up with her, and she battled  the bulge many times. Sometimes she won, and sometimes the bulge won. But even as a woman in her 70s, suffering from pain, poor health, and mobility issues, she was still famously beautiful. If you could find anyone in the world who didn’t know who she was, they would have inevitably been struck by the thought of what a striking woman she must have been when she was young. She was the kind of woman that you literally couldn’t help staring at, at any age.

What I most remember Elizabeth Taylor for is that she shared my father’s birthday. My dad was born on the same day as Elizabeth Taylor. He’s five years older than her. He liked to say that the gap between their ages increased over the years but given her childhood stardom, I find this unlikely. It’s probably just my dad’s sense of humor. Elizabeth Taylor’s death reminds me that true beauty, like life, is fleeting. Appreciate it while you can.

April 1, 2011 at 12:31 am Leave a comment


Troy Aikman, American football quarterback.

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No, this post is not about fast food burgers. This post has been inspired by recent events in the media. Tiffany (remember her?) outed one of the New Kids on the Block. This was done inadvertently. I guess she didn’t know that he hadn’t officially come out of the closet, and there were some twitters back and forth, etc.

A few weeks before that Carrie Fisher made the news again with her comments about John Travolta in The Advocate, which for those of you that live in the mainstream and don’t know, is a gay publication. John Travolta and his wife Kelly Preston have recently made the news for having another baby, which Kelly delivered at the age of 48. He, like another Scientologist actor, has been dogged by rumors of homosexuality for decades. He’s spent a lot of money on lawyers to sue people who make the allegations.

Carrie Fisher and John Travolta were friends, but I doubt if they are now. Carrie Fisher said that everyone knows and no one cares. And I think Carrie’s right about that. Everyone knows, and no one cares. He could be bisexual or homosexual, and most people know this and like him anyway. Of course, only John knows for sure.

Now again, the latest speculation in the media that someone is gay is swarming around Troy Aikman, the sports commentator and former Dallas Cowboys quarterback. He and his wife are separating and getting a divorce after two daughters and eleven years.

I lived in Dallas for seven years when I was in my twenties, and I’ve “met” Troy Aikman. I met him at a book signing after he wrote a children’s book. My brother was a big Cowboys fan so I stood in line for hours to get Aikman’s signature for my brother. Judging from the lack of clothing on some of the women, not everyone had gotten the memo that Aikman was gay.

I’d heard the rumors. People would talk about having seen him walking around Turtle Creek. That was enough to get a rumor started, walking around a toney area of Dallas that’s known for an all gay male chorus. I think there may have been other factors as well. Aikman was also rumored to be a racist, and the black culture tends to look very negatively upon men with homosexual or bisexual tendencies. That’s where the term “on the down low” comes from. It could have been a simple matter of “office politics.”

Troy Aikman dated such beauties as Lorrie Morgan and Janine Turner. He could be straight. He’s never come out and denied the rumors. He just chooses not to acknowledge them, and that’s his prerogative.

I have to wonder why certain members of the gay community feel that it’s so important for everyone to come out of the closet and shout it to the rooftops. I get the concept of political activism, but you can still attend the Gay Pride Parade without being gay. They let straight people lend their support. Why is it a requirement to “out” as many celebrities as possible, even ones we no longer care about like some member of New Kids on the Block whose name I now forget?

Sex is a private matter. I don’t run around all day letting everyone know that I prefer to have sex with men, just in case there might be some confusion. Whether or not John Travolta is gay or bisexual, if he and Kelly Preston have some arrangement that works for them, then more power to them. If Aikman is gay or bisexual, I don’t care. His job is to be a sportscaster, not the poster boy for gay rights. It should be up to him whether or not he shares his sexual orientation.

January 28, 2011 at 12:52 pm 1 comment

The Perfection of Imperfection

Cindy on the cover of the magazine George.

Image via Wikipedia

I read two blog posts recently that really made me think about some things. People are always saying that God doesn’t make mistakes, and, indeed, I believe this to be true. God has a plan. We just don’t know what it is.

On John Shore’s blog, he published a piece of writing from a young man who was contemplating his first real exchange with a transgender female from the Thruway Christians. The young man talked about his struggle with how God could make a female who is trapped in a male’s body when God is perfect. Some people often use the same argument for why gays can’t be born that way. It’s got to be a choice because God doesn’t make mistakes.

There was another echo of that same concept on Julie Clawson’s blog, onehandclapping (also on my blogroll – please check her out), about Julie’s disability. Julie was born without an arm below the elbow. She talked of her frustration with well meaning Christians who believe that they should pray for her arm to sprout. And she talked about the same concept of God’s “perfection.”

Well, let’s think about that for a minute. Would we want a world where everyone was perfect? If perfect is a young Cindy Crawford, would we really want a world where every woman looks exactly like Cindy Crawford did in her twenties? I’m sure some guy out there will say yes. But I think most people like variety.

I realize that’s not quite the same thing as being born transgender or being born without an arm. But when we question God’s perfection over making people with disabilities or diseases or less than perfect looks, or less than stellar intellect, then aren’t we questioning God and his plan?

I don’t think that God is the god of eugenics. Do you? I mean, do you really think that God sits in his bunker in heaven with his tiny mustache and tries to create a super race of blond haired, blue-eyed specimens of perfection? Do you think the real problem is that we keep thwarting his master plan with our free will and haphazard procreation?

Yeah, me, neither. For one thing, the Hebrew people are God’s chosen race. For another, we’d all get tired of those tall blonde, blue eyed Nazis after awhile. Even they would get tired of one another and eventually long for some gorgeous, swarthy person of the opposite sex to whisper in Yiddish to them. I know I would, anyway. Please. Whisper “shiksa” to me.

The parallel may seem like a stretch – from questioning God’s perfection over a missing arm or a gender identity issue or a sexual orientation issue all the way to anti-Semitism and the Holocaust. But really, not so much. It’s all the same concept, just on a different scale. I believe those things that we humans see as being imperfect are not imperfect at all to God. Learning to love people who are “different” makes us all a little more perfect in God’s eyes. And remember, even Cindy Crawford has that mole.

January 12, 2011 at 12:10 am 7 comments

The Man Box

Cover of "Against Our Will: Men, Women, a...

Cover of Against Our Will: Men, Women, and Rape

I found a video on that they poached from TED. I love that site. They have some of the greatest ideas and speakers on TED. This guy is Tony Porter. I’ve never heard of him before, but now I’m practically in love with him.

His video is about preventing domestic violence and sexual assault, but it’s really a greater idea encompassing total gender equality. The men I know mostly don’t like to talk about the subject of domestic violence or sexual abuse. Good men. They don’t like it, but they also don’t want to even acknowledge its existence. When I was reading a groundbreaking book about rape, Against Our Will by Susan Brownmiller, my men friends who were usually so up for a conversation about anything didn’t want to discuss it at all. And if even good men don’t want to engage in dialogue about this issue, aren’t they really saying that they don’t care?

The Shy Guy said that he didn’t like the idea that sexual violence was misunderstood to be attributable to male aggression, the wish to subjugate, humiliate and hurt women. I asked him what he thought it was about. He never could explain this to me fully, but I’ll bet the explanation would have been something along the lines of the old, “men can’t help it” argument, which means that it’s okay for us to be placed on trial for our own rapes for being so damned sexy that they can’t control the impulse to rip our clothes off.

I wondered how his theory explained the elderly women who are so frequently raped during home invasions or women who are raped who might be of, hmm, less than average attractiveness. He said that I looked at him differently after that, and quite frankly, yes, I did, because after he told me his attitude on the subject it scared me.

There it was. The seed. I hate this seed that germinates into a doubt and wariness. I hate that I have to be scared of virtually all men at all times on a primal level. You may not know it, but if you are a man the woman you are with always wonders in the back of her mind…will he hurt me? Can I trust him? If you are a man reading this, rest assured that I don’t like that attitude anymore than you do, but I’m not sure how to overcome it.

When I was in college one of the guys that I befriended was a coworker from a little town in North Central Oklahoma. I would go hang out with him at his apartment. He wasn’t the guy for me and vice versa, but we had a little mutual crush thing going on that wasn’t any kind of secret. I’ll call him Vern. When our boss resigned they made him a photo album where Vern and I had no less than four photos in the back that looked like we’d had professional engagement photos taken for the papers. We were the official unofficial couple of the workplace, the one that everyone who’s older and more jaded thinks is kind of cute. Will they or won’t they?

He had four other male roommates, and he always had a bunch of guy friends hanging out. For a semester or two I used to go over about once or twice a week during the week and hang out. They would hang out and maybe drink beer and watch sports or hip-hop videos on MTV. Yes, it was that long ago. They were still playing videos on MTV. Sometimes they watched 90210. I think this was the second season it was on.

I was maybe all of twenty years old. It was kind of fun hanging out with Vern and his friends. Sometimes if a song came on MTV that he was really into he’d pick me up and swing me around like a rag doll. I was usually the only woman over there, so I got my share of attention. Vern was very into the whole bodybuilding thing, and he’d often preen around the apartment in nothing but his boxers while his roommates made fun of him. I actually went out on dates with two of his roommates.

Anyhow, one semester I took this night class, and all of the sudden Vern started showing up outside my night class and picking me up or walking me to my car. I remember thinking that this out of the blue chivalry was very strange. He insisted that it was for my safety, and I remember thinking that it was very odd that he was always there at the right time and place. I myself wasn’t worried about walking around campus at night. I suppose I would have taken reasonable precautions like parking close or where it’s at least well lit, but other than that I didn’t think about it very much. Vern, on the other hand, had thought about it a lot.

After several weeks of this he finally told me that one of his friends was a date rapist who had attacked some woman friend in the guise of giving her a ride home. I knew the guy. He was a nice looking guy. He wouldn’t have had to force a woman. He could have found someone that would have been willing. Obviously, he didn’t want a woman who was willing. Vern told me that I was to never be alone with this guy for any reason or to allow him to give me a ride home. And if Vern hadn’t given me this information I might have gotten in a car and accepted a ride from this guy. There was absolutely nothing about him that would have been a warning sign.

I’m pretty sure that story isn’t something that Vern would have made up, and I heard it repeated by both of the roommates I dated anyway. I always wondered if he knew something about this other guy that I didn’t. Rapists frequently target their victims and stalk them long before the attack. The woman never brought up any charges, and I don’t know if Vern and his roommates heard the story from the roommate or from the woman. I did notice, however, that they didn’t kick this guy out of their little circle. He still hung out with them.

Porter, in his video, talks about the Man Box, a very strict set of rules for what is and is not appropriate manly behavior. A man doesn’t cry or show emotion. He doesn’t talk about his feelings. He views women as property. A man doesn’t have a first time; he’s never a virgin; he was a born satyr. Even some of the good guys I’ve known in my life were quick to label other men as “girls,” or “pussies,” or “bitches.” The idea behind it is that the worst possible insult that you can hurl at a boy or a man is that he’s a girl. But what does that ultimately say about how our society values women?

December 26, 2010 at 10:10 pm 4 comments

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