Really Old

Well, for the internet, this is old. But every time I think of it, I have to laugh. After a full month of me sniggering about this last night my wife demanded that I blog about it. I suspect she wants me to get it out of my system.

A few months ago one of the silliest exchanges between Right/Left bloggers occurred. Amanda at Pandagon touted her cat as a model of gender equality while curved laundry baskets (which make it easier to brace the basket against the body with one hand) are Tools of the Patriarchy. OK, that’s a little hokey, especially when she segues into ‘ergonomic laundry basket as symbol of pro-life oppression of women’. In typical fashion, Jeff Goldstein of Protein Wisdom weighed in with a satirical ‘poem’ so chock-full of lefty/feminist buzzwords that it clunks along like Amanda’s original argument. Not a comedy goldmine, sure, but a nice mockery of Amanda’s usual attempts at symbolic allegory.

There were positive and negative replies, of course. A lot of Jeff’s comments are positive, PZ Myers weighed in against it with all the literary skills of a biologist, and Chris Clarke wrote a poem mocking Jeff. There was the usual ‘righties like Jeff’s poem, lefties like Chris’ poem’ blather, and then….

Then happened that thing that still makes me chuckle every time of think of it. Every. Damn. Time.

Amanda wrote about the exchange and declared Chris the superior poet (no surprise) and then typed this gem;

“…there is a bit of tension evident in [Jeff’s follow up], no doubt caused by the confusion that arises when one feels emasculated because you have been out-poetryed by a sensitive left wing feminist man.” (emphasis added. lousy grammar, although it looks like my work, in the original)

No, she really wrote that. I posted a reply to this at Pandagon, but it didn’t make it past moderation. This concept, that a conservative man (heck, any man) would feel emasculated by a poem is just so far removed from reality that I marvel at the fantasy world the writer must live in. As a guy who gets up for work each morning, labors to feed, clothe, and shelter a family, and tries hard to squeeze in some reading and writing for pleasure each week; when I looked at Clarke’s poem my reaction was not “oooooh, Jeff is going to feel that in the morning!”, it was “Looks like Clarke is between jobs”. I suspect that the VAST majority of men anywhere in the world would feel the same way.

So my laughter is not from some deep insight, nor some profound reflection. It comes from the simple wondering thought,

“I wonder what color the sky is in her world?”