posts that make me smile or laugh

(Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal by Zach Weinersmith)

I know what I am doing is wrong

I know there is an activity that looks similar that is not wrong

I should have known, of course.

A little old hotel in the middle of nowhere, with a creaking wooden sign instead of neon? Red flag.

A hollow-eyed, weary-looking young woman at the desk who seemed hesitant to let me get a room? Red flag.

A picturesquely old-fashioned room with a patchwork quilt on the bed that smells a little too musty? HUGE red flag.

Only they’re actually not. Not the first two, anyway. I travel a lot. There are a lot more seems-haunted old-house-turned-traveller’s-rest places than most people think, and in my experience most night auditors are hollow-eyed, faintly eldritch, and disinclined to let someone check in just before dawn.

Of course, the patchwork quilt should have been a dead giveaway. Tired 80s decor and a chenille bedspread? Entirely normal. Patchwork quilt and nineteenth century charm for less than $100 a night? Sus. Very sus. Should have warned me then and there.

In my defense, I was really tired. I’d been driving for two nights and a day, I was exhausted, all my car snacks were gone, and I just wanted to close my eyes and get horizontal. I handed over some cash, stumbled upstairs, made sure the blinds were down, and passed out.

I didn’t wake up until late afternoon, and I felt like shit on a shingle when I did. It took me a couple of attempts to put on my pants and stumble out of the room to look for some sustenance. My expectations weren’t high, but most places at least have coffee-making facilities, and in a pinch a cup of coffee and chugging all the available milk will keep me going for a while. There might even be some of those little packages of cookies, which usually give me an upset stomach but are better than nothing.

There wasn’t a coffee station. What there was was a vending machine with a buzzing, flickering light inside it that made the dusty snacks look even less appealing than they already did.

I was debating whether to risk a can of soda of unknown brand and vintage - sugar and caffeine don’t readily go bad, and I was starving - when I heard a little cough behind me. “Are you a guest, dear?” the old woman said when I turned around to blink at her. She was thin and tottering, faded-looking, and while there weren’t actually cobwebs on her, she looked as if there should be.

“Yes. Is there a kitchen or something where I can get some food from this century?”

Her eyes flicked away. “There’s a diner,” she told me. “Not far down the road. You should try there. I’m afraid the facilities here aren’t what they once were.” She sighed deeply.

Belatedly, my sense for the uncanny started to tingle. “So I should check out and keep moving, huh?”

“Yes, dear. If you can,” she added, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Before sunset.”

Aha.

the ways in which its flawed definitely interface w transmisogyny - and i think some antifeminists describe ideology like this as 'segregating the genders!!' in a way thats Wrong, but like, it's important that if we want a feminist future, people who might be percieved as men are accepted and allowed to learn and treated as people with equal potential to create a more just world and some of them become women and thats awesome and some of them dont, yaknow? fundamentally it comes back to the radfem idea that 'the people i think are Men have a sort of Evil Particle in them' being so unconducive to a meaningful feminist movement cos it prevents people from sharing their own experiences under the patriarchy and forming solidarity. it also positions the ultimate conflict of society as Men vs Women which very handily erases a lot of other lines of oppression in a way that benefits the white women who perpetrate it.

About half of them went on to have children. And some of them had boys. Or at least children that were assigned male at birth. They also had girls, obviously.

I don't think this setting was good for either the girls or the boys, and I know some samples of both.

The ones that were assigned male at birth, really struggled for multiple reasons:

They were initially part of this really supportive and kind community, showered with love and affection from a lot of mother figures. But around 5 years old, some of the women stopped being comfortable with having those boys in their spaces. Which means boys were kicked out of the only community they knew, and the only community their moms were a part of. At 5 years of age. Holy abandonment issues, batman.

They were surrounded by women who thought that all of humanity's problems were caused by men. They were surrounded by women who thought all sexism was the fault of men (surprise! a lot of misogyny is perpetuated by women! it sucks but it's true!) They were surrounded by messages that said that women were victims and men were violent, harmful beings.

They were told a lot that they had to be very careful to not talk over others, to respect other peoples' boundaries, to be gentle and kind, etc, which is great as far as it goes- but they weren't told about respecting their own boundaries, or stepping up for themselves, or protecting themselves from harm.

About half the women in that group were what was called at the time a 'political lesbian' which means they were choosing to ignore their attraction to men because they thought men were, to put it simply, bad and not trustworthy. Do think of the message that that sends to their children.

If you were thinking that this would lead to some really depressed individuals who hated themselves/their gender/their sex (and not like, in a trans way, but in a "men are abusive assholes, and I'm a man, therefore I must be bad despite a lack of any evidence to support that position" way, along with a feeling that you're doomed to be an asshole), who ended up getting taken advantage of and hurt by others, you'd be right. Really, really depressed. And hating every part of them that is considered masculine . That is not, needless to say, healthy.

But that's just the amab side. I've known a few women who were raised in that setting and:

They were taught that they had to be tough, and assertive, and make them selves heard.

They were taught that men are bad, and men were looking to hurt them

They were taught that men are not and cannot be allies, and will never be able to learn enough to be a good ally

So, as adults:

They automatically think they are smarter and more ethical than men.

They think men will never understand feminism (even though it's really not that difficult of a concept??? Like, seriously. It's not hard.)

They end up being straight up mean to their sexual partners (because being lesbian isn't infectious, so most of them are straight) and other male loved ones; being disrespectful, not listening to them when they bring up issues, belittling and shaming them.

Thinking that men are always wrong, so making fun of them for say, wearing sun screen. Yes, really. Sun screen.

Straight up tell men who were raised by the same feminist lesbians they were, who were taught feminism explicitly by their (shared) mothers and again in college, that lived and breathed feminism from birth, that they just couldn't understand sexism or feminism, and that they could never be a feminist.

Pigeon-hole their amab quasi-siblings as sexist and pathetic man babies, despite their siblings' partners explicitly saying, "no, he does more of the house work than I do. No, he's more emotionally skilled and does as much or more of the emotional labor than I do. No, we're equal partners. No, actually, we're both agender, so stop putting your (stupid) gender essentialism on us."

Have a huge double standard- if a childfree woman doesn't know how to change a diaper, that's a non-issue. If a childfree man (with vasectomy even) doesn't know how to change a diaper, well clearly he's sexist and just expects women to take care of the babies.

When one of their amab siblings comes out as trans, completely flip their behavior from the above, and immediately take on the protective, let-me-show-you-the-ropes big sister role. Has the person changed? Nope. But they're no longer a man so now their feelings matter.

To their credit, the women that were raised this way that I still talk to have gotten better, once enough women and assorted non-men pointed out their behavior. So, yay, growth.

The folks who were assigned male at birth? They're doing better now; I've managed to convince the one that I'm married to that they're not evil because of their genitalia, and I've even managed to convince them that they don't have to let other people belittle them and trample all over them.

You are posted out by the Hollywood sign tonight, sitting under the frame where the W used to be. It got burnt to a crisp during last week’s big superhero fight. A hero died right where you’re sitting. The whole area’s been closed down until Hero Force can coordinate a recovery effort. Usually it’d be done by now but no one’s willing to touch it until the ash has been completely blown away.

It’s a rule that the world must stand still when a hero dies.

“How much?”

The voice comes from behind you. The lights that illuminate the Hollywood sign are down to hide as much of the scorch marks as possible. You wouldn’t be able to see anything even if you did turn around, so you don’t.

You put some chapstick on, the glide of the balm against your wind chapped lips grounding.

“I said,” the Hero says, voice tightening, “How. Much.”

There’s the sound of gravel crunching now. They’re wearing heavy boots and the scent of fresh blood grows stronger the closer they get. Their breathing is smooth and even which means it’s not their blood.

You put the cap back on your chapstick and tuck it into your leather jacket’s inner pocket. “I don’t take money.”

“Then what do you take?” The Hero rounds the Y and comes into your line of sight. The dark hides most of their features, but you can make out a glittering gold mask and the dull shine of drying blood on their chest plate. Their breathing may be even, but their stance isn’t. They sway in place, back and forth, back and forth. Their arms wrap around their stomach. “I’ve got land. A house. You can have it.”