A couple of weeks ago my father-in-law told me a story about an old art teacher of his. One day in class said teacher was quickly critiquing pieces, one by one. He said something nice about one piece, he said something nice about the next piece. He got to my father’s-in-law piece and said “So what?” In other words, “What about this is special? What about the color/composition/subject matter makes you want to look at this?”While the critique stung, my father-in-law knew there was just nothing about the piece that jumped out, that was special, that demanded you look at it. Many times I have completed a piece and thought “So what?” Sometimes I’ve reevaluated that “so what” and answered myself with “Oh yeah, here’s what.” Happily, I would not say this is a “so what?” about my latest work, though it remains to be seen if it will end up being a favorite of mine.
Author Page for bspencer
I couldn’t resist snapping a picture of this car on my way into this fine establishment to enjoy some brunch with the fam. (License cropped out to protect the idiotic.)
Now I’m wondering to whom among the friendly, well-dressed people surrounding me that creatively-grammatical* sign belonged.
*Cue misguided pedant-wannabes telling me that the misuse of quotation marks and apostrophes is really fine because language is evolving and blah fucking blah utter fucking nonsense.
I’d like to be posting more, but my awful family is making me spend time with it. I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, here’s some links:
- Jessica Williams assures us that people are not racist anymore. But kitchens are!
- Roy Edroso is covering CPAC. “DELICIOUS,” she said as she arched an eyebrow and tented her fingers.
- Bill O’Reilly tells two remarkably polite–yet clearly annoyed– women, that there “has to” be an issue with a woman being president. Tide goes in, tide goes out. Bing bing bing. There just has to be. You can’t explain it.
- Got my hair cut a few days back. My stylist’s daughter’s name is “Kayleigh.” No link–I just wanted you to know.
I picture Vox Day crying hysterically as he explains why he is not allowing girls into his He-Man Woman-Haters club. I mean, he may not have actually been crying hysterically, but I’m pretty sure he was crying and possibly crapping his pants. And it’s just funnier to imagine it that way. Try it!
I am a game designer. I am designing and producing a game that does not, and will not, have a single female character in it. This is not because I am misogynistic. This is not because I do not [want] women to play the game. This is because putting women in the game makes no sense, violates the principle of the suspension of disbelief, and will not make the game any better as a game.
There’s pretty much nothing about the Vox Day treatise that is not 1000% awesome, but this is my favorite part!!!!!:
I am the lead designer of First Sword, a combat management game. The game has orcs and men, elves and dwarves. It has goblins and trolls. But it has no women.
Well, this makes perfect sense, because, on a daily basis, I run into many more orcs and trolls than I do women. What I take issue with is the idea that any given man is one orc-sighting away from transforming into Leonidas from “300.”
This is the “every man has an inner badass and one tango with a troll will unleash it” writ large. And I hate that I’m having to disabuse people of this idea again. But here goes: YOU ARE NOT A BADASS. It is not remotely realistic that you would make a good gladiator. 99.9% of men would fare POORLY in the ring. YOU ARE NOT A BADASS. YOU ARE NOT A BADASS. YOU ARE NOT A BADASS. You are just an ordinary person, living out your pathetic fantasies through a video game because you’re not BADASS enough to live them in real life.
Also, I had no idea that orcs reproduced asexually, but I’ve never read “Lord of the Rings.”
I’m stealing Roy’s money quote. Here David French describes non-gun-molesters as the “dependent class.” As in, we don’t approach every day as if we’re playing “Tombstone” in a loop in our heads, just waiting to say “I’m your Huckleberry” to some “bad guy.”
The protected class has a different view. The protected class is a dependent class — not economically dependent of course, but dependent on the state in perhaps a more fundamental way (for their very lives) – and like members of other dependent classes, they are terrified of flaws in the state’s protective apparatus. Walled off from gun culture, they read the occasional, aberrant story of (legal) gun-owner stupidity or recklessness and cower in fear of a nonexistent threat.
It’s a pretty
mind-numbingly stupid neat Jedi mind trick. Because, obviously, the exact opposite is true. In fact it is the gun-kinksters who are the dependent class, depending on law enforcement and emergency services to clean up after their accidental testes-shootings and their homicides. If David French would quit frenching his gun for five seconds, he’d understand the whole premise of his argument is made up of nothing but derp vomit. Actually, it’s not even as substantial as derp vomit.
And there’s the use of the phrase “nonexistent threat” to describe actual threats and, you know, murders. It reminds me of when people use the word “literally” wrong. Like “David French made such sweet, frenzied love to his gun that it literally slipped inside his body and poked a giant hole in his brain.” Now obviously that didn’t literally happen because David French doesn’t have a brain. But David French’s argument is surely literally the dumbest thing on the internet right now.
UPDATE with a fantastic post by witless chum:
It’s been said before, gun nuttery is like LARPing with a body count. But that’s really unfair to LARPers, who generally don’t believe they’re actually elves or whatever while they’re sitting in their cubical or stopping at the convenience store.
The gun nuts who talk like David French are scary both because of the gun part and the part where they profess to believe in this fantastical ideology where they’re the sheriff of Dodge City and the last line of defense between society and the hordes of “criminals.” The fact that while the country has been getting safer, their gunhumping is getting more energetic is an extra-worrisome detail, because it firmly shows that when reality contradicts their fantasy, they’ll pick the fantasy every time. And maybe shoot at reality if it plays its music too loud or something.
I bring this to your attention because it’s fun to do a little thought experiment with a “What Your Favorite Kind of Cookie Says about You” kind of story. And here’s the experiment: What would be worse–if someone were paid to write this or if someone did it gratis? Honestly, the idea of someone doing it for free makes me sadder.
That being said, I remember the late 90’s and early aughts, and I remember taking a lot of “Which Sex and the City Character Are You?” quizzes. Turns out I was all of the characters providing they were beamed through a prototype of a trans-warping device and ended up being squished together into something that resembled a large tumor with teeth and hair. Yes, that’s right–I was Donald Trump.
ANYWAY, I rather like the idea of people walking around saying things like “You’re such a Coconut Macaroon!” to their friends. The Coconut Macaroon, of course, being the sluttiest of all the cookies.
Someone in Erik’s thread asks “Has bspencer been alerted?” Yes, yes she has. She felt a twitch in the force, so she investigated.
What’s the cause of all the twitching? Michelle Obama being a huge asshole, of course. See, it appears she douched it up by appearing at some state dinner like she’s the First Lady or something. To make matters worse, she dressed up–like some DUMB JERK– in a fancy-schmancy dress. WHO DOES THAT? Who wears super-classy, beautiful ballgowns to state dinners? I’ll tell you who: dipshits. I get twitchy just thinking about it.
Michelle Obama is the worst kind of monster. The kind of monster who…awww, screw it. I can’t even… This is so dumb, I’m left snarkless.
In conclusion, someone please sneak some elephant tranquilizer into Michelle Malkin’s next drink of rage juice.
There’s a heated battle going on at NRO to become the Internet’s Biggest Wingnut Punchline. All the wingnut welfare recipients over there are dirty rotten bastards who will stab a dude in the balls to secure this coveted title. But I doff my cap to Quin “Official Real Racist Inspector” Hillyer, who has sneakily forgone the ball-stabbing and gone straight into the Olympic-caliber Derp Vomit-Diving. Oh yeah. He dove right into a bucket of Derp and left his fellow Cornerites with nothing but heavy hearts and a little vom on their faces.
As Justice Thomas is quite literally the single living American I respect the most (aside from my own family, of course), I am inclined always to think his words are wise.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII LOVE IT! I give it a 9. Hell, even the Russian judges give it a 9, even though it’s kinda gay.
Question for MSNBC, re the Cheerios ad: Now just who is it again who objects to biracial families?
The first comment is a beaut:
Grew up in MA and moved to the south got married and adopted a black child – never had an issue from southern whites. Got lots of MSNBC blowback whenever I traveled back to MA from liberals or blacks. IMO the “racist” hype of the media is exactly inverted. The least racist are conservative whites and blacks while liberal whites and blacks are most racist
I was watching a show a few months ago featuring an author who wrote a book about talking to boys. In her book she asked boys, essentially, “What’s important about being a boy?” Number 4 on the list–if I’m remembering correctly–was “being funny.” This author also wrote a book about talking to girls. I’d bet folding money “being funny” wasn’t number 4 on the girls’ list. In fact, I’d be surprised if it made the list at all.
I’ve gotten into flame wars before about the subject of women and humor. If you’d like me to die of a rage stroke please tell me that men are inherently funnier than women. No, wait, don’t do that: I have lots more mediocre jokes to tell on a somewhat well-known blog known primarily for covering politics and baseball.
Anyway, yada yada yada men and women are both funny. And I think they’re equally funny. But there’s probably never going to be the same quantity of funny women as there are men until we start valuing and encouraging funniness in women. Basically, we need to get “being funny” on our lists.
It’s something we don’t do now. We tell women they aren’t funny. We also tell them, “Hey, funny schmunny, lemme get a look at that AZZ.” So, girls tend not to grow up thinking “I want to make people laugh.” They grow up thinking “I want to attract people.” And, of course, there’s nothing wrong with wanting be attractive. But I do think women are going to lag behind–ever so slightly–in the game of humor if they don’t start thinking about it almost as a competitive sport.
There’s also the matter of establishing yourself in the comedy world–it can be grueling. It’s not conducive to keeping marriages afloat and raising children. So for women (and women only, naturally), it often comes down to choosing between a career in comedy or having any sort of personal life. I watched a documentary about women in comedy and many of the comediennes said even dating was difficult. So until we have more egalitarian arrangements in our marriages and home lives, women will not have the voice in comedy that men have.
One thing I love about the internet is that so far as humor goes, it’s a decent equalizer. Yes, women are going to be harassed for being snarky and funny, but the bottom line is is that everyone can blog. So it’s heartening to me that some of the funniest voices on the internet are women’s. Perhaps being funny on the internet will translate to being funny everywhere someday.
Just a little peek at my process…
A lot of my work/hobby/passion involves looking at stock photography–I look at a lot of it. Sometimes I browse stock because I am looking for a specific person or thing; sometimes I look at it because it’s fun and it provides inspiration for new pieces. When I’m doing this I often stumble across a piece I want to use “just because.” I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. In the case of my latest piece, I’d say it’s fine, though this is hardly the most original or evocative piece of art out there. One thing I will say, though: it’d make a hell of a book cover.
I knew–in an abstract way–that calling that one gigantic, long-necked, long-tailed, small-headed dinosaur “Brontosaurus” was wrong. I knew that there was a dinosaur out there who was Bronto-like, but was not called “Brontosaurus” anymore. What I didn’t know was that the “Brontosaurus” never really existed.
Someone needs to tell Animalz. (I recently bought my son some of their toys and cringed when I saw the misnamed Apatosaurus.)
So, semi-interesting thing about me: I used to babysit this woman. Who, going by this article, has grown up to be a lovely person, inside and out. Neato!
I grew up in that “small Florida town” and sat for her when I was only a few years older than she (and also obsessed with the idea of becoming a model*). She and her little sister were really sweet kids and it was a good gig. “Sky” is not her real name.
Anyway, I’m just impressed as hell. My best to you, Jennifer Sky.
*Embarrassingly. I got better.