For an Angry Black Lady, she sure smiles and laughs a lot:
I’ve been informed that I am cranky.
This post is in: Open Threads
For an Angry Black Lady, she sure smiles and laughs a lot:
I’ve been informed that I am cranky.
This post is in: Excellent Links, The War On Women, Rare Sincerity
I agree with Kathleen Geier at the Washington Monthly — this is a must read, but probably not in public if you’re easily upset. Andrew Solomon, in the New Yorker, on the pregnancies, and children, resulting from rape:
Writing in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine, Dr. Felicia H. Stewart and Dr. James Trussell have estimated that there are twenty-five thousand rape-related pregnancies each year in the United States. While these numbers make up only a small part of this country’s annual three million unwanted pregnancies, the numbers are still extremely high…
I have been researching a book, “Far from the Tree,” that deals in part with women raising children conceived in rape, and have therefore met the living reproof to Akin’s remark. Life for these children may be extremely difficult. One of the few groups founded to address this population, Stigma Inc., took as its motto, “Rape survivors are the victims … their children are the forgotten victims.”…
For several of the women I interviewed, the crisis was exacerbated by the question of what rape means, by the idea that some rape is not forcible or legitimate. Men who have gotten away with rape seldom retreat in shame or repentance; they often play out their ghoulish exuberance by claiming their reproductive successes. Among the women I interviewed, such men’s bids for custody or visitation rights felt far more like acts of further aggression than expressions of care. Nevertheless, in instances where rape cannot be proven or charges were never filed, the threat of joint custody is real. Many women who cannot cope with prosecuting their assailant are then left without any proof of assault. In a time when DNA evidence can establish biological ties scientifically, this lack of evidence as to the social circumstances of conception can be a serious problem…
The aftermath of rape is always complicated. Many victims are simply in denial that they are pregnant in the first place: a full third of the pregnancies resulting from rape are not discovered until the second trimester. Any delay in detection reduces women’s options, especially outside major urban centers, but many women struggle with the speed of the decision; they are still recovering from being raped when they are called on to make up their minds about an abortion. The decision of whether or not to carry through with such a pregnancy is nearly always an ordeal that can lead, no matter which choice is ultimately made, to depression, anxiety, insomnia, and P.T.S.D. Rape is a permanent damage; it leaves not scars, but open wounds. As one woman I saw said, “You can abort the child, but not the experience.”…
There can be no question that, for some women, an abortion would be far more traumatic than having a rape-conceived child… But ready access to a safe abortion facility allows a woman who keeps a child conceived in rape to feel that she is making a conscious decision, while having the baby because she has no choice perpetuates the trauma and is bad for the child. Rape is, above all other things, non-volitional for the victim, and the first thing to provide a victim is control. Raped women require unfettered choice in this arena: to abort or to carry to term, and, if they do carry to term, to keep the children so conceived or to give them up for adoption. These women, like the parents of disabled children, are choosing the child over the challenging identity attached to that child. The key word in that sentence is “choosing.”…
Seriously: You should read the whole thing. And then maybe forward or facebook or otherwise bring it to the attenton of the Todd Akin defenders among your acquaintance.
by $8 blue check mistermix| 196 Comments
This post is in: Open Threads
Miss Peggy Lee for an open thread, via Dennis SGMM.
This post is in: Election 2012, Open Threads, Republican Stupidity, Ever Get The Feeling You've Been Cheated?
(Mike Thompson via GoComics.com)
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I know, I know, but it’s a long weekend and the post-con stories will be leaking out until Charlotte gets everyone pumped again. Also, The Stranger‘s Paul Constant is excellent:
The Tampa Bay Times Forum is basically one gigantic roach motel. You can get in, but you can’t get out. And once you’re inside, there is nothing intuitive about where you should go. One narrow escalator provides service to the whole sixth floor. The elevator banks are small and make strange connections between floors—you can go from the third level to the fifth level on one set of elevators, but you have to walk in circles to find an elevator that will take you the extra flight up to the sixth level, where the print journalists have been stashed, far away from the view of cameras and delegates. Some stairwells end in flat concrete expanses with no doors at all…
There are only a few avenues into and out of the RNC area, and those avenues are flooded with people. Almost entirely white. Mostly older. Mostly male. These delegates to the convention carry pockets full of pins exalting their home state, and a little magpie trading economy has broken out where people trade potato-shaped Idaho buttons for a pin in the shape of North Carolina. Some delegates make it their duty to try to collect every single state button by the end of the convention. Which is good, because it gives them something to do when they’re standing in line. Republicans really, really hate standing in line, and conventions provide nothing more than opportunity after opportunity to come together by standing in line.
Lines are tough when they’re full of self-entitled people who believe they and they alone should have the right to get ahead. I overhear several graying men grumble to their soothing wives that walking to their car has been a nightmare, they’ve had to walk a dozen blocks, and they’re going to make DAMN sure, they’re going to do EVERYTHING in their POWER, to ensure that Tampa never hosts another convention again. One Southern man on my left makes it a point to look every National Guardsman in the eyes and thank them for their service to the country. Impatient people grunt and sigh and cut around him; he’s between them and their after-party. A young man is telling his wife that he thought the speakers should have mentioned Hurricane Isaac more, to defuse the media’s inevitable comments. “Only like one person was killed” by Isaac, she whispered back. “Big deal.” His eyes search the crowd guiltily, trying to see if anyone heard her say that. Then he chuckles…
…[T]he messaging sounded inoffensive, but when you really think about what is being said at this convention, you realize that all the red, white, and blue bunting and clothing and video imagery is a put-on. All the talk about patriotism, about supporting the troops, is just lip service. This is the most unpatriotic crowd I have ever been a part of. What they are against is community. Every sentence is devoid of empathy. Every finger-wag is aimed directly at an American who can’t afford health insurance, who hasn’t had a raise on their minimum-wage job in four years. Even as they rail against a statement that the president never really made, they are talking about tearing America down and leaving something meaner and greedier in its place. They’re radicals—radicals who’ve gone over the edge and are trying to make their radicalism mainstream.
But is that really true? Are they the monsters I think they are when the lights are down and the demagogues are predictably spreading their demagoguery? They roar like monsters in the darkened halls of the Forum, but I look at the people around me, milling forward in the embrace of waist-high concrete barriers to their left and right, trying to get back to their cars, or their buses, or their hotels. They’re grumbling about the blisters caused by their good pair of shoes. They’re hungry. They’re tired. But they are unmistakably human beings. That bald man whose wattle hangs down over his shirt like a meaty necktie, that woman whose perm looks as arid and dry as a tumbleweed. These are peoples’ grandparents. Real human beings will weep when they die (and for most of this ancient crowd, the day that they die will probably be sometime soon). They’re scared of the imaginary world of the 1950s in their heads dying forever, and the problem is that scared people make dumb choices….
And one more entry for the “Great All-Time Post Title”: Tom Scocca’s The Assassination of Clint Eastwood by the Coward Mitt Romney
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Apart from bidding fare-not-well to the RNC’s hopes and dreams, what’s on the agenda for the day?
Saturday Morning Open Thread: “One Giant Roach Motel”Post + Comments (128)
by Sarah, Proud and Tall| 10 Comments
This post is in: Open Threads
Well dears, the convention is over. I had intended to write so many posts keeping you up to date on what was what, but what with this and that, and that and this, I somehow could not find the time. I’m writing you a long post with all of my adventures, from the minor Paulite revolution I fomented to the rather odd orgy I ended up at in the Bachmann’s suite. It was remarkably like the video above.
I blame grindr. More on all that later.
In the meantime, I note that I also omitted to follow up on my thread to find the best personal ad from the convention. I checked on my gays every day and, frankly, I was a little disappointed. The boys of Tampa just didn’t seem to be putting in much effort to snare some Republican arse, and the Republican Youth seemed to be keeping it indoors at the convention. I popped into one toilet at the Times Forum and all the lightbulbs had been removed. Thankfully I had my little torch. I’ve never seen so many lily white white arses moving quite so quickly before.
Anyway, aside from the Gay Joe Cool that JGabriel found, the only ad that really made me laugh was this one:
Much love. Have a drink on me. I’ll be back to you once I’ve managed to get Michele Bachman out of my closet so I can check out and get on my plane out of this shithole.
This post is in: Election 2012, Open Threads, Assholes, Romney of the Uncanny Valley
(Jim Morin via GoComics.com)
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Mr. Pierce wraps it up, and he’s not completely happy:
… I have to give the man credit. Romney on Thursday night came as close as he ever has in his political career to being thoroughly human. He worked so damned hard at being empathetic that, even if I didn’t buy a word of it, the sweat equity was positively profound. Really, at times, he looked like a guy trying to push a truck up a hill…
I think that, somewhere along the trail, it occurred to him that, really, all he was doing was conducting another sale, and that, if there was one thing he can do, it’s that he can sell. And he has learned very well how to sell an indictment of this administration that is not going to be as easy to parry as this president’s people seem to think it’s going to be…
I was moved by the couple for whose dying son Romney wrote a will. I was moved by the woman whom the Romney’s helped through a difficult childbirth. Wasn’t there room for one family from Massachusetts who could have come out on the stage and explained how much easier their lives have been since Governor Romney worked with the Democrats in the legislature to pass comprehensive health-care reform? When Healey talked about his gift for compromise and bipartisanship — which were largely illusory, especially when he stopped giving a fk about being governor — couldn’t she have spared a mention for the most monumental achievement that gift produced? Couldn’t Jane Edmonds have mentioned how hard his cabinet worked to make sure that we would have the system we have today, with 93 percent of the people in Massachusetts, and almost all the children, covered by health insurance?
What do you make of a man who runs away from the good he’s done, who won’t let the people who most benefitted from his presence in our politics share his finest hour? This is not a mistake Bill Weld would have made, because he is the person Willard Romney is trying to manufacture out of himself. This is the Willard Romney in whom I choose to believe. A man who will bring “backbone” to our dealings with Russia, but who can be talked out of his justifiable pride in his greatest accomplishment because his party has lost its mind on the subject. But that’s just me, and I’m one guy, and something of a provincial at that. On Thursday night, Willard Romney may have come as close to humanity as he needs to come. The rest is all just waiting for him out there — 8-percent unemployment, and a Democratic Party that may well spend a week talking about how much they’re willing to cut and how serious they are about The Deficit. I felt a pulse on Thursday night, and I saw a certain vigorous color come to his cheeks. I think Romney’s alive now, and it bothers me, because I think he’s a lot closer to becoming president than he was at the beginning of the night.
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Apart for preparing, in spirit, to share next week’s Big Democratic Adventure with Cole and Imani, what’s on the agenda for the start of the long holiday weekend?
Friday Evening Open Thread: Post-Con DroopPost + Comments (94)
by John Cole| 47 Comments
This post is in: Open Threads
By this time tomorrow, Angry Black Lady and I will have had our second fist fight. I hope I win one of them.