Get To Work, Boys!

After my loooong post the other day, I am presenting you with a shorter post on the same topic, addressing another of the supporting arguments in that ridiculous indictment of feminism that I lambasted because I was feeling fed up with the state of the sexist world that day.

The argument:  Because men simply won’t do housework, women have to work hard not only outside of the home, but inside, too; therefore, women should not work outside the home. (In my last post, I shared another example of this guy’s stunning logic.)

To be fair, here are some of his actual words:

The feminist promise that everything in their marriage will be 50-50 — each partner will do half the outside work, half the housework, and half the child rearing — has rarely panned out.

Most men will work their tails off outside the home, but won’t inside the home.

Consequently, many working women either experience increased tension with their husband or increased pressure to succeed both outside the home and inside the home as mother, homemaker, and wife.

Those dastardly feminists, expecting that men would help with housework. What a brilliant solution:  since men will not cook or clean, wives will simply have to quit their jobs and stay at home full time to do these things.

Hey, I want a wife! (Oh, haven’t I read that before?)

But there really is a logical solution to this problem. Raise boys who understand that it is their job to a) cook b) do dishes c) do laundry d) change diapers and e) etc., including all other household duties. Raise daughters who are aware enough to marry these kinds of sons and not the kinds raised by clueless parents who live by the ancient theory that drudgery is women’s work. When men can’t find slaves—er, I mean wives—they will be forced to change.

When I grew up, we girls helped with cooking, we did the dishes, cleaned floors, dusted and vacuumed. The boys took out trash and that kind of thing (I honestly can’t remember what else that kind of thing entailed—I suspect we were outworking them even then). One of my brothers now participates in all the household chores, while the other is of the persuasion that is is not his job to do housework (the funny thing is, his wife is of the persuasion that it is not her job either—this becomes distinctly not funny during family get-togethers when they both lounge about like the queen and king while the rest of us take care of the business of cooking and cleaning).

Okay, I promised this would be short and it’s becoming unshort.  Done.

Addendum:  Oh, and all you women who are married and working out of sheer necessity, if we follow Mr. Logic’s solution—sorry, you’re SOL.



Filed under family, lifestuff

Sexism Sux

Watching Hillary being treated like a dog (well actually, far worse than any dog I know) throughout her campaign was incredibly disheartening. If we had an idea that we live in a country in which women are respected, all we have to do is look at what she went through to know it isn’t  true.

And all I have to do is look at my inbox—at the sexist jokes and cartoons that come in weekly from various family members.  Today an uncle sent me an email that began ” With all the political stuff, gas price woes, Iraq war, etc., hitting from all angles, the following cartoons are a breath of fresh air.” The “fresh air” was a host of largely sexist “jokes.” (And yeah, the answer when we get upset at these jokes is either “It’s just a joke, don’t take it so seriously” or “You have to be able to laugh at yourself.”) Sorry, but these “jokes” represent the way women are seen in this country and the fact that they are forwarded around and, apparently, found humorous, by so many, is a clear, clear sign.

At Linda‘s earlier in the week, I found this link to an article explaining to us why so many women are depressed. It’s because (as the conservatives never tire of telling us) the feminist revolution failed us. It’s because we women bought the lie that we could have it all and now we’re paying for it. This man is happy to tell us stupid women why we’re unhappy:  too many of us work, when what would really satisfy us is staying at home with a few children, cleaning and cooking. (He explains, “The feminist emphasis on career has been an obstacle to many women’s happiness.” Isn’t it just like some men to blame women for creating our own unhappiness?)

If we buy that lie, we’re back in the fifties. Anybody who is buying that lie ought to go read Betty Friedan’s eye-opening book, The Feminine Mystique, about women who were depressed precisely because they were trapped with no way to fulfill themselves outside of the home. (Read the first chapter here.)

Working isn’t what’s depressing women—it’s the empty, sexist society we live in.

Firstly, we go to work and are lesser than the men there. Doesn’t matter if we’re smarter or more capable, we’re automatically several rungs lower on the ladder than just about any man around, no matter how incompetent he may be. (Read about my own experience, if you’d like.) If this isn’t depressing, I don’t know what is. Even when there are corporate rules in place to combat blatant sexism, women still make 77 cents on the dollar compared to men and are not promoted to the upper echelons of management as readily.

Second, we live in a country that doesn’t support mothers, whether we work or not. And by support I do not mean supporting the idea that we should be at home with our children 24/7. I did prefer to stay at home with my daughter, and did for many years, but that doesn’t mean all women want to, or can. See this report, that ranks countries according to how mother-supportive they are. The U.S.—this great superpower—ranks number 26, tied with that other superpower, Hungary. (H/T to Charlotte.) How about, for instance, decent, affordable daycare, so all the women who have to work (yes, for many women, it simply is not a choice) don’t have to worry all day about their children? Maternity leave? Health insurance and decent health care? Supporting mothers does not equal saying they should be home.

Third, we live in a society where our appearance is the most important thing about us. I’m not an unattractive woman and I find this depressing (my answer to those who say only “ugly” women resent it). I don’t watch t.v., but on Charlotte’s blog I read about a new show called Beauty and the Geek about smart young men and beautiful bimbos. Excuse me, are we back in the seventies? And I find it endlessly depressing that women participate in debacles like this.  Where is your sense of self worth?  Trust me, chasing after male admiration isn’t as gratifying as you might imagine, even though you may be nineteen and have heard your whole life that it is what matters most. Depressing? Heck yes.

More than one person seemed to think the greatest compliment they could give my very bright daughter when she was in high school was that she could be a model. I heard this from several women—oh, she could be a *model* (ooooeee! what an amazing achievement that would be!). Depressing.

Yeah, women aren’t depressed because they’re treated worse than dogs, or like children or like meat, it’s because they work.

It’s not feminism that let us down, it’s the backlash against it and the fact that we still live in a very sexist society. Look around! When half the people are treated—yes, here’s the cliché—like second class citizens, why the surprise that they’re depressed?

Here’s a quote from the article mentioned above:

Feminism raised women’s expectations beyond what life can deliver to the vast majority of them. It was hard enough for women in the past to realize their far fewer expectations of marrying a good man and making a happy family. But feminism told a generation of women that they can not only expect to have that but, perhaps even more important to feminism, they could also expect to have a fulfilling, financially rewarding, society-honoring career.

He asserts that women are more clinically depressed than ever and that proves that we were led, like stupid cows, to our own slaughter, not smart enough to see what was happening to us. What I find most insulting is that condescending attitude: let me—the male—explain it to you because you women just don’t get it. His logic is so simplistic it’s laughable. Even I, mere woman that I am, can see through his arguments.

My grandmother was depressed and I am quite certain she was depressed at least in part because she was an intelligent human being not allowed fulfillment outside the home. My grandfather was a good man, but he was a product of his time and believed he should be the bread-winner and she should stay at home. Now, she wasn’t, technically, clinically depressed, because she was never diagnosed by a doctor. How many women in the forties and fifties went to a doctor and got a diagnosis of depression? (Or even well into the seventies and eighties?) If they went to a doctor, they were likely to be given tranquilizers or told it was all in their heads! (What you need, little lady, is to scrub the floor a little harder—maybe twice a week instead of once. You must accept that this is all the fulfillment you’ll get in this life.)

Brilliant—take two facts (the feminist movement started in the sixties and women have since been diagnosed with depression at higher numbers), create a connection and twist it to suit your own bias. I eat oatmeal for breakfast most mornings and I enjoy walking my dog—therefore, oatmeal eating leads to enjoyable dog walking (or, if I feel depressed, was it the oatmeal? or could it have been the walk?).

While his argument is obviously based on very bad logic, I know that a lot of women are depressed.

We all understand (well, all of us except the man who wrote that article) that depression is multifaceted. While I do believe sexism plays a part, there are other culprits, including the inherent emptiness of a society obsessed with, no—not only women’s bodies—but with that great delusional pie in the sky: money. We live in a society that puts money above people at every turn. Corporate profits are more important than education, more important than public health, than the well-being of the earth we live on, than families (no matter what Republicans say—read their votes). Don’t believe the lie that women are our own worst enemies—feminism did not fail us, conservatives did.

The greatest lie we have been told is not that we can have it all but that it’s all about money. No—it truly is about family, about people, about love. Sending women back into the home one by one will not solve the basic falsehood that lies at the heart of our society. It doesn’t matter who is doing the earning, it matters what we put first in our lives, and in our life-in-common. We have forgotten the truth.

– – – – – – – – – – – –

P.S. Just checked my mail; lo and behold, my dad thought the sexist cartoons were such a breath of fresh air that he forwarded them, too. (We live in a society in which fathers send sexist jokes to their daughters—yeah, we’re all equally respected here.)


Filed under lifestuff, politics

J.K. Rowling and Amnesty International

This is an excerpt from J.K. Rowling’s commencement speech at Harvard. I am sharing it because, as a member of Amnesty International’s Urgent Action Network, I believe strongly in this work (see bottom of this post for links).

One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working in the research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.

There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.

Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to think independently of their government. Visitors to our office included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had been forced to leave behind.

I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.

And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just given him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.

Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.

Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard and read.

And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.

Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.

(You can read the entire speech here.)

To see an example of the current work that AI is doing, and the simple steps we can all take to help, click here. And click here to join the Urgent Action Network. By the way, you do not have to donate money to participate in helping human rights victims in this way—you can, as they say, just do it.


Filed under lifestuff

Was I Crazy

to let Isabel ride in the backseat with me on the loooong drive home?

Aw, but don’t she look happy. . . ?

She didn’t like sitting back there in doggy prison. I am such a sucker for sweet puppy eyes.

Unfortunately, she got so matted on this trip that the groomer wants to shave her! Poor girl. Hubby says no, he’ll de-matt her. What fun. She’s a happy girl, matted or not.

Here you get a bit of an idea of why the groomer is less than pleased with us. Our ragamuffin:


Filed under dogs, Isabel


Yesterday, I was walking at an outdoor mall with my husband after attending a poetry reading, enjoying a gorgeous spring day, when two guys approached—one with a big fuzzy mike and the other hidden behind a video camera. An introvert’s greatest fear suddenly leap-frogged into my ordinary day. I frowned at them. But the camera was running, so I moderated my frown. I wanted them to know I didn’t want to be filmed, but they already were filming; I decided I didn’t want to look like a nasty woman on film.

“Hi! We’re from a local university. Can I ask you a quick question?” the one with the mike asked. I didn’t answer. He said, “It’s just one question.” I said nothing, feeling like a stalkee and wanting to stalk away, but that camera was staring me in the face with the guy walking in closer and closer. I was a bug under a microscope. With a pin stuck in it. I thought, What if I can’t answer the question? What if I can’t answer it and it’s a very simple question that everyone should know the answer to? Like those quizzes that show how stupid Americans are. What hemisphere is North America in, the north or the south? Uuuuuh. Duuuuuh. Can you name the capital of Iraq? Uuuumm, how many tries do I get?

I squirmed. I wanted to say leave me alone, go away, get that camera out of my face. Unpin me! I thought of how rude people in Michael Moore movies always look. Rude and stupid—throwing up their hands in front of their faces or trying to hurry away, making everything worse, so much worse. I thought, Michael Moore isn’t here; these guys look nothing like Michael Moore—they’re skinny, they’re young. That didn’t help much. I imagined my face on a big screen and people I know saying, “Oh my God that’s wyrdbyrd; how rude and stupid she looks.”

I uncharitably wished it was my husband who had been cornered. But I’m pretty sure he was sidling away, distancing himself. He was probably having similar thoughts, of the male variety: Do I look rude and stupid? Do I look like a Michael Mooree? Oh God let me out of here; unpin me.

“Do you know who Ron Mason is?” the young man asked and further visions of me appearing before the world, a twenty-foot vision of my clueless face in full digital color, floated into my mind.

“No,” I said in a curt voice meant to cover discomfort and insecurity.

“Thank you, that’s all,” he said, and I fled, pondering Ron Mason. With my haphazard attention to the news, and such an ordinary name, he could be anybody: a scientist who’s discovered a cure for cancer; a surprise candidate for president; the leader of the most famous band in the world; someone who’s been on every television in the nation for the past twelve hours after committing an atrocious act. Someone everyone but me has heard of. I asked my husband, Have you heard of him? No, he said. Well there’s that; If I’m stupid, so is he.

Naturally, I looked up Ron Mason. But not right away—not until today; maybe I wanted to pretend I didn’t care. Turns out he’s a film dude and I sighed a little sigh of relief, thinking these must be film students checking if anyone’s heard of their idol. But not too much relief, because then I imagined my face, wearing my new REI sunglasses, the ever-present groove between my eyes, gigantic on a screen in some classroom, and a bunch of eighteen and nineteen year olds laughing gleefully. And oh yeah, I haven’t had my hair done in five weeks.

But that’s my private face, I want to say to the two men, how dare you commandeer it for your own purposes. That’s my private grey hair peeking out at the roots. Unfair, unfair!

I admit to feeling more sympathy for those people who, cornered, appear rude and stupid and, yes, unattractive, in Michael Moore films. It’s a bit delicious when it’s someone else—particularly someone with obnoxious opinions—but not the least bit of fun when it’s you. I mean me.


Filed under film, lifestuff

A Story of Injustice (Mostly) And Justice (A Little)

I’m sure many women readily relate to Rebecca Solnit’s story of the haughty man talking down to the woman in my last post. A later paragraph in her article reminded me of a difficult time in my life about ten years ago.

Solnit wrote:

Most of my life, I would have doubted myself and backed down. Having public standing as a writer of history has helped me stand my ground, but few women get that boost, and billions of women are out there on this 6-billion-person planet being told that they are not reliable witnesses to their own lives, that the truth is not their property, now or ever.

Now I do not want to give the impression that I am a man-hating anger-filled woman (okay, some anger, but you’ll see why). I have a beautiful husband, I have male friends who are generous and good people. Certain men make me crazy but I don’t hate the male species. There have been periods in my life when I had more male friends than female.

That said, Solnit’s quote, above, reminded me of a time when I was told that I was not a reliable witness to my own life, and yes, that truth, as she so aptly put it, was not my property. One man in particular, and several others, wielded power over me and did their best to keep my story from being told, and later, from being believed.

For eight years, I worked as an analyst in a scientific field. I was adept at my job and, in fact, in a government agency overloaded with retirement-age men, was quicker to learn the latest computer-aided analysis methods. In truth, I was way better at the job than most of the men. (Plus, with my obsessive personality, I could analyze data to death). But they had seniority and I was merely a female contractor (the first woman to work there as an analyst and the only one at the time).

Toward the end of the eight years, one of my colleagues left to pursue a better-paying job. I approached the Chief of the operation about moving into the position that was opening, as it paid higher. Now the Chief, a relic well into his seventies, a veritable computer illiterate who, frankly, did not have the ability to assess the quality and nature of my work, said no. Simply said no. Without discussion. I couldn’t believe it. After eight years, he planned to bring in someone new (a male, no doubt) and train him to do the job for which I was already more than skilled. He not only said no but then—like the true alpha he was—he turned away from me. Not just no, but no you are not even worthy to be standing in my office asking me this question. So I went away, but then I screwed up my courage (it took a lot of um, twisting) and went back to ask him to reconsider, at least to give me an explanation. In his military man eyes, this was insubordination—who the hell was I to ask him for an explanation?—and certainly a shock after all those years of mousy obedience.

To make a long, long story short, the man proceeded to: First, decide to fire me for having the audacity to ask—not once, but twice—to move into a higher position and second, during a long drawn-out legal process, to lie about the work I did (laughable, since he didn’t understand it in the first place). One of his male colleagues, who had worked for him for many years, astounded me by lying or pretending not to remember details, like whether or not I had ever (yes ever in eight years) worked on a particular type of important project, which of course, I had worked on, many, many times and he darn well knew it. It was unbelievable (yes, I was naive). When I went to the Chief’s supervisor to discuss the situation, he attempted to perform certain acts with me (ahem). Does this sound like a very bad movie? It does to me, and it’s my life!

Thankfully, there were some honest men, mostly younger, who were willing to tell the truth and the truth did, in the end, prevail, but only after much tribulation.

Several years before, when I had pointed out to the contract supervisor that I should not be paid less than the men, since my work was similar, though more complex, he responded, “Just be glad you have a job.” As a single mom, I swallowed my anger at the injustice. But one injustice piled upon another was finally too much and I did what I thought was right—I stood up for myself.

This is hard to write about. I don’t even talk about it. It was a tough, tough period in my life. For one, I was taught to be a submissive female by a domineering father who, perhaps not coincidentally, is very similar in personality to the Chief. I also have a naturally quiet disposition. I am not a trouble maker. I decided to do what I thought was right, to stand up for myself and for hypothetical future female-analysts, even though it was extraordinarily difficult. I suppose I also thought it would set a positive example for my daughter, who was eleven at the time:  Look, Mom will not let herself be treated unfairly.

Was it worth it? No, not for me—although it may still be too soon to tell if there was some aspect of that hell that resulted in a smidgen of benefit. The harassment I was subjected to, losing a job I was good at, losing friends, losing the respect of people who did not know my side of the story, losing job references after eight years of devoted work, the incredible strain of legal proceedings, being called a liar (oh, and they tried to hang an affair with a married man on me)—does this sound like a positive event in my life? People who stand up to injustice often pay a huge price and whatever they may get in return is seldom worth it, in my assessment. Let’s just say I did not become a millionaire, but I did, according to one therapist, exhibit symptoms of PTSD, including horrific nightmares that lasted for years. And I think my daughter didn’t need this particular example to respect me—though I tried to behave as I always had, how could the stress not have affected her?

A couple of female analysts were hired after I left. In fact, I imagine the agency was ordered to hire a woman or two and to treat them well; if it were up to my old boss, he would’ve never hired another woman, I am certain of that (he didn’t hire me in the first place, I was inherited from another arm of the agency). So for the new analysts, it was worth it. Ironically, they don’t know me—I doubt they even know they have me to thank for anything. But whether they know it or not, they are standing on my well worn shoulders.

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And:  GRRRR:

McCain opposes equal pay bill in Senate

Republican Sen. John McCain, campaigning through poverty-stricken cities and towns, said Wednesday he opposes a Senate bill that seeks equal pay for women because it would lead to more lawsuits.

Senate Republicans killed the bill Wednesday night on a 56-42 vote that denied the measure the 60 votes needed to advance it to full debate and a vote. Majority Leader Harry Reid, D-Nev., had delayed the vote to give McCain’s Democratic rivals, Sens. Hillary Rodham Clinton and Barack Obama, time to return to Washington to support the measure, which would make it easier for women to sue their employers for pay discrimination.

McCain skipped the vote to campaign in New Orleans.

“I am all in favor of pay equity for women, but this kind of legislation, as is typical of what’s being proposed by my friends on the other side of the aisle, opens us up to lawsuits for all kinds of problems,” the expected GOP presidential nominee told reporters. “This is government playing a much, much greater role in the business of a private enterprise system.”

The bill sought to counteract a Supreme Court decision limiting how long workers can wait before suing for pay discrimination.

It is named for Lilly Ledbetter, a supervisor at the Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co.’s plant in Gadsden, Ala., who sued for pay discrimination just before retiring after a 19-year career there. By the time she retired, Ledbetter made $6,500 less than the lowest-paid male supervisor and claimed earlier decisions by supervisors kept her from making more.

The Supreme Court voted 5-4 last year to throw out her complaint, saying she had waited too long to sue.

A clueless white male bravely standing up against the possibility of increased lawsuits “in a private enterprise system.” You go, John! You know what’s important, man. (Hey, if you’re so against lawsuits and so in favor of equal pay, why don’t you promote enhancing the capacity of the EEOC to do its job?)

I can attest that the time limit is unfair. If you are not lucky enough to quickly find a good lawyer willing to take your case on a contingency basis, the time limit may pass before you can file your lawsuit. While I doubt the value of my own actions, because of the high personal cost, at least I was able to pursue justice, whereas most women in similar situations are denied even the prospect of justice. Of course, Mr. McCain, if the EEOC were properly funded and staffed, it wouldn’t be necessary for all these women to find their own lawyers and sue.

The rest of the news article is here.


Filed under lifestuff

Let Me Tell You, Since Obviously You Are Too Female To Understand

I have to share this with y’all (okay. . . all three of y’all who read this blog). Found at Dark Orpheus. It’s long; bear with me, it’s worth it.

Men who explain things
Every woman knows what it’s like to be patronized by a guy who won’t let facts get in the way.
By Rebecca Solnit

April 13, 2008

I still don’t know why Sallie and I bothered to go to that party in the forest slope above Aspen. The people were all older than us and dull in a distinguished way, old enough that we, at 40-ish, passed as the occasion’s young ladies. The house in Colorado was great — if you like Ralph Lauren-style chalets: a rugged luxury cabin at 9,000 feet, complete with elk antlers, lots of kilims, and a wood-burning stove. We were preparing to leave when our host said, “No, stay a little longer so I can talk to you.” He was an imposing man who’d made a lot of money in advertising or something like that.

He kept us waiting while the other guests drifted out into the summer night, and then sat us down at his grainy wood table and said to me, “So? I hear you’ve written a couple of books.”

I replied, “Several, actually.”

He said, in the way you encourage your friend’s 7-year-old to describe flute practice, “And what are they about?”

They were actually about quite a few different things, the six or seven out by then, but I began to speak only of the most recent on that summer day in 2003, my book on Eadweard Muybridge, the annihilation of time and space and the industrialization of everyday life.

He cut me off soon after I mentioned Muybridge. “And have you heard about the very important Muybridge book that came out this year?”

So caught up was I in my assigned role as ingenue that I was perfectly willing to entertain the possibility that another book on the same subject had come out simultaneously and I’d somehow missed it. He was already telling me about the very important book — with that smug look I know so well in a man holding forth, eyes fixed on the fuzzy far horizon of his own authority.

Here, let me just say that my life is well-sprinkled with lovely men, including a long succession of editors who have, since I was young, listened and encouraged and published me; with my infinitely generous younger brother; with splendid male friends. Still, there are these other men too.

So, Mr. Very Important was going on smugly about this book I should have known when Sallie interrupted him to say, “That’s her book.” Or tried to interrupt him anyway.

But he just continued on his way. She had to say, “That’s her book” three or four times before he finally took it in. And then, as if in a 19th century novel, he went ashen. That I was indeed the author of the very important book it turned out he hadn’t read, just read about in the New York Times Book Review a few months earlier, so confused the neat categories into which his world was sorted that he was stunned speechless — for a moment, before he began holding forth again. Being women, we were politely out of earshot before we started laughing.

I like incidents of that sort, when forces that are usually so sneaky and hard to point out slither out of the grass and are as obvious as, say, an anaconda that’s eaten a cow, or an elephant turd on the carpet.

The whole piece, from the L.A. Times, can be accessed here.

Rebecca Solnit is the author of many books including A Field Guide to Getting Lost, River of Shadows: Eadweard Muybridge and the Technological Wild West and Hope in the Dark: Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities.”

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I have something to say about this, in particular a later paragraph in the article, but I shall save that for another day in the interest of not over-taxing my dear patient friends.


Filed under lifestuff