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Monday Media Watch, Edizione Internazionale

Categories: douchebaggery, media tool kit, politicians have penises

O HAI AGAIN, DUCKS! And yes, this really is a Monday Media Watch–I get in just under the wire by virtue of being in California.And being in California, I decided to put aside my usual Monday Media Watch sparring opponent–the New York Times–and try one of the local papers for a change.

So today’s target: The San Francisco Comical, er, Chronicle, and specifically this article on Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi! Take it away, Joel Brinkley:

So Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi is shaming his nation. That’s what pundits and commentators are saying as the Italian courts pursue charges of bribery, corruption and tax evasion. But by far the most visible allegations revolve around his sexual escapades.

But before we all clamber aboard that bandwagon, is it possible we misunderstand?

 Hey, that is one promising start, Mr. Brinkley–because certainly lady people have noticed a disturbing trend to judge us by our sexual escapades rather than the substance of our scandals! In fact, we often get judged on our “sexual escapades” in the absence of any other “scandal”! Let’s take a look at Mr. Berlusconi’s issues:

After all, as the prime minister explained at a recent news conference, “to my male colleagues present here I say: Raise your hand and tell me you don’t think it’s nice to rest your eyes on pleasant and enjoyable feminine presences – rather than sitting at a table with people lacking aesthetic qualities.”

Oh. I see. I think I can diagnose these difficulties. He’s a douche.

Now, “pleasant and enjoyable feminine presences” by its very nature is enough to make me do a Radfem Stomp. But for the sake of my blood pressure, and the possible edification of a dudebro who stumbles upon this site, let’s unpack that: first, only feminine presences are pleasant and enjoyable–this comes as a surprise not only to big ol’ bisexual me, who has been known to find masculine presences both pleasant and mm-hmm-hmm enjoyable, but it also pretends that there are no men who might agree with Your Duckmistress about said pleasant and enjoyable masculinities.

But let’s dig, Starbuck, to the little lower layer: you can’t just utter a sentence like that without it seeping context. And the context for it is that for men in power, women have far too long been seen only as, well, pleasant decoration and the occasional useful sex object. One would presume, just from his saying such an asinine thing, that a room with Chancellor Merkel, Baroness Thatcher, Secretary Clinton, and Secretary Albright would not be one of “pleasant and enjoyable” presences, despite all the named presences being female. So to sum up, on the Berlusconi scorecard of douchiness:

Female Heterosexual Desire…………………………………………….Inconsequential
Male Homosexual Desire………………………………………………..Invisible
“Plesant and Enjoyable” Males…………………………………………Ignorable
Women Who Aren’t “Pleasant and Enjoyable”
by virtue of Silvio’s Lust………………………………………………….Inconceivable

Okay, I know what you’re saying: I’m making some leaps of logic here. Maybe his (very debatable) Excellency isn’t a douchebag–maybe he’s just a man of his time, well-meaning but saying douchey stuff. Allowances should be made, etc. And maybe you’re right; maybe I haven’t given him a fair shake…

Certainly that must be why he showed up at 18-year-old Noemi Letizia’s birthday party last spring. It’s probably a coincidence that Letizia, a model, poses for provocative photos in her underwear. That couldn’t have been why he gave her a nice birthday present, a gold necklace worth about $10,000.

Berlusconi’s wife was angry. She left him, saying his visit to the birthday party “really surprised me because he has never come to the 18th birthday parties of any of our three children, despite being invited.”

Come, now. Berlusconi is the prime minister of Italy. He has a busy schedule. Even a young Noemi Letizia understands that. “I am in awe of him,” she told an interviewer. “He calls me, and I go to him.” But only “if he has time.”

 Right. Well-meaning guy who can make time for underwear models but not his own children…como si dice “douchebag” in italiano?

But let’s not stop at Italian heads of state–there’s plenty of members of the doucheoisie right here at home!

For example, two newspapers, Corriere della Sera and La Stampa, recently reported that [businessman Giampaolo] Tarantini told police he lined up 30 women for Berlusconi and his friends, “if the need arose,” and brought them to 18 parties in Berlusconi’s homes in Rome and Sardinia in 2008 and 2009.

“I wanted to meet Premier Berlusconi, and to that end I spent a lot to get into contact with him, knowing his taste for women,” Tarantini told the papers. “I merely accompanied to his house young women who I introduced as my friends while keeping quiet about the fact that I sometimes paid them.”

You’d assume that all of the press coverage, all of that back-room business, would spell Berlusconi’s political demise. Think of Gov. Mark Sanford of South Carolina and Sen. John Ensign of Nevada, both of whom are accused of covering up extramarital affairs. The South Carolina legislature is considering impeachment, and Ensign’s re-election prospects in 2012 appear to be slim.

What about Berlusconi? Do we misunderstand? If the public opinion polls are an indicator, we do. His popularity among Italians, in recent polls, stands at 63 percent – a figure any chief of state would envy.

What do Italians know that we don’t?

Well, Joel, first off, maybe Americans do know something about this–President Clinton had approval ratings at or near the 60% range all during l’affaire Lewinsky. And you conveniently ignore the fact that in the case of Urbin and Sanford, a huge part of the scandal is the hypocrisy of a candidate who deliberately cultivates an image of being squeaky clean and virginal (outside the God-sanctioned marriage bed) being caught metaphorically with their trousers down. Neither Berlusconi nor Clinton built their image around their presumed superior morals, and more importantly neither routinely made political hay out of condemning other people for their presumed moral failings.

And of course the article ignores, or minimizes, the fact that Berlusconi is the richest man in Italy, someone who routinely throws bushels of money into his various political campaigns (he owns his own political party) and has been mired in controversy, legal actions, and charges of criminality pretty much from the inception of his political career. With Berlusconi, his sexist actions are just the tip of the iceberg. Which could have been an interesting jumping off point for an article that might look at how hidebound belief in personal superiority (such as sexism) might also be revealed in other aspects of someone’s personal dealings (such as rampant corruption from within the government.) But that wouldn’t be as fun to write as a “Europe good sexy fun, America evil Puritanical morals police” article, which continues to get written whenever any scandal remotely sniffing of sex heaves into view–witness how often people have taken this precise tack over the Polansky arrest, even when European opinion is hardly neither uniform nor even close to the perception of the writer.
And besides–writing about how a European leader who is both sexist and corrupt, and whose sexism reveals things about his corruption, might force you to consider the same things about American leaders–and then who would invite you to the cool parties, or give you op-eds in local papers?

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Bloggity Blogity Blog Blog Blog Note

Categories: why i blog

O HAI! Like, remember me? I used to post–sometimes more than once a week–on this here blog!

Sorry, ducks, I know I promised you more vitriol–I did try to deliver with tonight’s offering–but getting caught up with things out here on the west coast has been demanding. Also, my main client is playing the “we’re not going to pay you, nyah nyah nyah” game, which is awful fun–nothing like being far from home with two months income being held in hock.

HOWEVER, I am slowly regaining equilibrium–or, since this blog is about anything but that–massive amounts of rage, and will be writing more and more often. I promise–and I’ve never let you down before, except for all those other times. Ahem.

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Monster Rat: A Gallery of the Rape Culture

Categories: douchebaggery, hiram monserrate watch, media tool kit, politicians have penises, your rda of misogyny, Your RDA of Outrage

Hiram Monserrate is a douchebag.

Need proof? Consider the lovely legislative record of the freshman NYS senator: he not once, but twice threatened to caucus against his own party–which for the first time in over 40 years was in control of the upper house of the New York State legislature and had an ambitious progressive and reform agenda, including legalizing gay marriage–making good on his threat the second time and throwing the entire state government into chaos (and costing the taxpayers billions of dollars.) And both times, he couldn’t even stand steadfast to his own dirtbag principles (well, except the most important: look out for Hiram first)–he turned coat on his turncoat companions and slunk back to the Democrats.

And that’s not even what earned him his nickname: Monster Rat.

That comes as a result of the “incident” of December 19th, 2009. Monserrate brought his girlfriend, Karla Giraldo, to an emergency room over a half hour from his apartment. She had been slashed down to the bone by a broken glass. Monserrate claimed he had tripped in a darkened room and accidentally smashed the glass into her face. Giraldo disagreed, although she would later recant and say that his version was correct. But that night she called him “crazy” and said, “I can’t believe he did this to me!”

It seems that he had been driven into a jealous rage by finding another man’s business card in her purse. A security camera would later show images of him beating her in the hallway, dragging her by her hair. She tried to get away from him but nobody opened their door.

He was indicted, but once Giraldo changed her story, it proved impossible to convict him of anything but misdemeanor assault.

Now, I can leave it there: yet another case of a powerful man using his privilege to abuse a woman and get away with it–as Joanna Molloy did in the New York Daily News:

In the hallway after the verdict, women in jeans and lawyers’ suits clustered in groups and shook their heads. “This sets women’s rights back a long time,” said one female court officer.

Forgive us if we find the couple’s story the most incredible coincidence since Thomas Jefferson and John Adams died on the same Fourth of July.

Erlbaum did find Monserrate – who courthouse wags have been calling Monster Rat – guilty of reckless assault, for forcibly dragging Giraldo out of the apartment in a scene caught on videotape.

It’s a misdemeanor, so Monserrate gets to keep his job in Albany.

So for your enjoyment (read: rage), here is a gallery of Bramhall’s cartoons, which are disturbing and triggering enough that (in a Second Awakening first) I present them after the jump.


A Gallery of the Damned

Politics
Most often, Bramhall used Monserrate’s image as a commentary on politics, albeit one divorced completely from anything having to do with women’s politics:

Don’t you just love the terrified woman in that last cartoon? Way to exhibit sensitivity as well as your usual perspicacity, Bill!

The Cartoonist’s Chore

A few times, Bramhall includes an image of Monserrate in cartoons commenting about how hard/easy it is for him to do his job, i.e. come up with cartoons:

Almost, But Not Quite

Once or twice, Bramhall almost shows some sensitivity to the underlying issue of violence towards women–but then as usual completely smothers that in a smug blanket of privileged fuckery that uses images of that violence to make a crude joke:

The Big Finish

This last cartoon ran during the height of the Senate leadership crisis. It is so full of douchebaggery and misogynistic imagery that it practically makes up its own genre: douchedy, maybe, or WTF-tire.

For those uninitiated into New York State politics: in addition to Senator Douche, you can see former New York Governor Eliot Spitzer (presumably with a prostitute) at upper center, and in a nice homophobic touch former Senate Majority Leader Malcolm Smith dressed in the little Lord Faunteleroy outfit. The horse’s ass at lower right is Assembly leader Shel Silver (and an assessment of his character I tend to agree with.)

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Blog Note

Categories: Uncategorized

I know I’ve been away. Thank you for all your concern about my mental health: it is improving as my withdrawal stabilizes. Also, I’m currently on a transcontinental sojourn, which means that I have nice weather (I am typing this from a patio in California) and that can’t but help my mood.

And that means more yummy vitriol, coming your way now!

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Yet Another Below The Belt Post

Categories: below the belt, i get around

That time of the month again:

The first person I knew who told me they weren’t transgendered was a crossdresser I’ll call Gene. He (and he did later come to insist on male pronouns, and stopped calling himself Gina on the message board we met on), decided that he really was in it for the clothes, and didn’t find himself aligned with the other crossdressers on the board, who all thought of themselves as transgendered.

It was a little jarring to me at first; I had naively assumed that crossdressing=transgendered, so having someone overturn that conviction was surprising. But as I reflected on it, I could see his point. And since that time, I’ve met other people like Gene, some crossdressers, some genderqueer, and even some transsexuals who identify completely as their post-transition gender and have no desire to continue with any kind of transgender identity.

There exists, however, a group of trans women–at least, they seem to be exclusively trans women–who resist being placed under the transgender umbrella. Some refuse to even call themselves transsexuals, preferring the term Harry Benjamin Syndrome instead. They claim that transsexualism is a case of being “neurologically nteresexed” by which they mean that they have a “female brain,” and therefore a medical, not a psychological condition.

Finish up over here.

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Allow me to introduce myself…

Categories: all about me

Greetings, Ducks!

I seem to have taken an inadvertent week off from the blog there–sorry about that. Much of this is because my free time currently is being swallowed by some intense computer programming work; there’s a lot to get done, and I’m trying to get it done and over with already, and I’ve had to teach myself a bunch of things I didn’t know how to do before. (Today, I grabbed a static Google maps image and dumped onto my server! Yatta!)

The other truth, though, is that I’ve been struggling lately with my anti-depression meds. I went off of them over the summer–you may have noticed the intense, burning rage from that period–and went on a completely different med right before I left for Paris. It’s an SSRI, a kind of AD that I have a real love-hate relationship with: on the one hand, they seem to work really well for me; on the other, I get all the side-effects. (I now think that my caffeine-withdrawal insomnia the first few days in Paris was heavily exacerbated by the new meds, which have been giving me insomnia of late.) And while the meds definitely kept me from crashing into the slough of despond, I wasn’t exactly scaling the heights of ecstasy of late: in fact, my motivation has completely vanished. I haven’t done aikido since that night I trained in Paris, I’ve only posted once in the last week here, and in general I lack any willpower to get things done. (Let’s not even talk about my rapidly ballooning weight.)

So I’m going off them again, and maybe I’ll find a new psychopharmacologist to get me on something new, or maybe I’ll try to find another way to control my mood swings. But I can’t keep on going the way I was, with a head lightly wrapped in what felt like fabric softener sheets. And I can’t give up my writing, not after I finally began to reclaim it.

This, by the way, is pretty much par for the course with me–I’ve had a long battle against my depression ever since I finally began to seriously treat it almost a decade and a half ago (there’s a fascinating story about how that all came about, which I will save for another day.) The first time I took AD meds, I thought I had locked my depression in a cell deep in my soul and it would never bother me again. The second time, I realized I was locked up in that same cell, but my depression was safely chained up and couldn’t get me.

After the third time, I realized that my depression was chained up to me. And if I ever took my eyes off of, that fucker would kill me.

Don’t worry, I have an excellent support system and I’m not in any danger right now. And I’m sure I’ll get through this and cope–one of the reasons it took me so long to finally start working on my depression is that I’m so damn high-functioning. But it’s frustrating to keep ping-ponging around like this.

Also, withdrawal sucks, even with my tapering off regime.

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Today in Tales From the Douchoisie

Categories: douchebaggery, media tool kit, your rda of misogyny

Hello, Ducks! Can you guess what Google Reader threw up in my lap today? Did you guess Tucker Max? I didn’t, which I guess is what makes it sexy…or something; I’m not up on my fratire. But let’s check in, courtesy of The Frisky

Oh, what? The fratire thing?

The Frisky: Gawker deemed you a “ham-fisted frat s***.” The feminist bloggers hate you. You’ve been called a “professional sexist,” “anti-feminist,” and a “promoter of rape culture.” The New York Times labeled your prose “fratire.”

TM: Hold on now. The New York Times was not insulting me when they called my writing “fratire.” In fact, they said I invented a new literary genre, one that defines a whole new generation of writers and readers. How is that an insult?

Yes, the brave new world of Two and a Half Men, Maxim, and Ketel One ads:

I think that this isn’t exactly a new genre…unless you think that the needs, feelings, and emotions of young white dudes has been an underserved artistic destination for these last, um, 2,000 years.

Sigh. On y va

The Frisky: Are you a “misogynist”?

TM: Complete bulls**t. A misogynist is someone who hates women. I love women. Everything I do is to impress women. Without women, I wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning. Plus, half my fans are women. The people who call me misogynist are the ones who haven’t read or engaged my writing, and are just looking for a bogeyman to attack.

The Frisky: In your stories, women throw themselves at you. How many women have you slept with, and what advice do you give men on women?

TM: I have no idea how many women I’ve slept with. Probably more than 300, probably less than 600? I don’t keep count, because that would be super creepy.

Some women absolutely do throw themselves at me. I think part of it is that there are always some women that are into rich, famous, and powerful men. Then there is the artist aspect. Half my fans are women, and they are fans because they love my writing. There is the masculine thing; I am one of the few people in media who is unapologetically masculine, and that’s very attractive to some women.

You know? He’s not a misogynist. Just a narcissist living in his own, private world where women flock to him to give him blowjobs, sexy girls (the only real girls: see Amanda Hess’ brilliant “Anatomy of a Tucker Max Joke“) never think he’s being insulting to him, and “I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell” is…

…an awesome and groundbreaking movie, and great art always finds its way.

Box Office total, after two weeks: $960,425.

But wait! Ol’ Tuck has an excuse for that!

It may not hit at the theater, but it will hit on DVD, and hit big.

Yeah, you and Joe Francis, amigo. Funny the company you keep.

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You Win Some, But You Lose Many, Many Others…

Categories: bitterness, i heart oppression, media tool kit, rape is hy-larious, your rda of misogyny

Double header of media mayhem!

First, the good news:

Roman Polanski lost the first round yesterday in his battle to avoid extradition to the US for having sex with a 13-year-old girl in 1977.

Already locked in a Zurich cell for the last dozen days, Polanski learned that he will remain incarcerated for an extended period after the Swiss Justice Ministry rejected his plea to be released from custody.

Swiss authorities said they feared he might leave the country if released. The director of film classics such as Rosemary’s Baby and Chinatown has been wanted by US authorities since fleeing sentencing 31 years ago.

“We continue to be of the opinion that there is a high risk of flight,” said the ministry spokesman Folco Galli.

He said the threat was too great for the government to accept bail or other security measures in exchange for the release.

Oh, and by the way? If you had any doubt remaining that this guy wasn’t a megadouche? Or that he had somehow made some recompense? Feast your eyes on this:

Roman Polanskiwas to pay at least $500,000 to Samantha Geimer, the victim in his 1977 child-sex case, under a settlement in a civil suit Ms. Geimer later filed against him, The Los Angeles Times reported over the weekend. Mr. Polanski, right, agreed to the settlement in 1993, but as of 1996 had not made the payment, according to court records provided to the news media in response to requests for access to the old case. It remained unclear whether the settlement was ever paid, though Ms. Geimer was still trying to collect as of 1996, by which time accrued interest had pushed the amount to more than $600,000, according to the court records.

Sheesh.

But don’t worry, the news can always get worse…especially when it’s the NY Daily News:

A shocked judge demanded prosecutors explain why they asked him to allow a prominent Manhattan therapist to return to the home where she’s accused of
slashing her husband Tuesday.

“I’m going to send her home to a 79-year-old husband when it’s alleged she stabbed him with knives?” Manhattan Criminal Court Judge Anthony Ferrara asked prosecutors.

“You’re assuring me he’s going to be safe, that this piece of paper is going to protect him from knives?” he said, after granting a “limited” order of protection allowing Joyce Poster-Lederman, 64, to return home.

Funny how people never seem to worry that it’s “just a piece of paper” when it’s a woman who’s being covered by it. Don’t believe me? Check out this site about orders of protection in New York:

You have been arrested because you got into a fight with your girlfriend or wife. Maybe there is a reasonable explanation or your girlfriend does not want to “press charges.” Unfortunately, at this stage it doesn’t matter. You are now before a judge and whether or not you are released, you must completely stay away from the complainant.
[…]
A “full” order of protection or “restraining order” is a an order by the court preventing you from having any contact at all with the complainant or alleged victim of a crime. This could mean that if you live together you may not enter the home. Alternatively, the police will arrange a time for you to enter and get some of your things. You will not be able to call the complainant or talk to the complainant even if she calls you. The burden placed upon you is quite severe.

Yeah. Imagine, not being able to see the woman–please note, it was assumed to be a woman who was the victim–because you beat her up! Oh, the humanity!

Which is kind what the order is trying to protect, ya know?

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