Politics and the City

Oh god. Oh god. Really?! It wasn't bad enough we had to endure the semi coherent mutterings of June Sarpong on T4, but now she's communicating on the Internet as well? And on a site, gag, designed for women who like politics. Or at least what some dumbass at a media organization thought would be a site for women who like politics.

Suit: 'Hey, I got an idea! You know how blogging is a popular past time?'
Intern: (Yes, everyone knew this 8 years ago.) 'Yes.'
Suit: 'And the women, they loves them some clothes? AMIRITE?'
Intern: (Shoot me.) 'Er, yes.'
Suit: 'I know what we should do! Put together a site to make all of that happen. The women will flock to it! It will get women politically involved! And we can sell stuff to them! Oh hooray!' *starts furiously licking is arm* 'I taste of success!'
Intern: (Really, I'm sure there's a replica gun for sale somewhere in London.) 'I am still here.'
Suit: 'Oh. Sorry. Anyway, get me some coffee!'

And thus Politics and the City was born.

The first posts are from June, introducing us to this amazing breakthrough in poltics and discussion. She delightfully points us to Lily Cole's blog where she rambles about music and forgets to capitalize things. Amazing.

These supposedly political and insightful ramblings are encased in, um, exactly what blogging isn't supposed to be about. Comments are moderated. Which is why, on Sarpong's blog, you find a bunch of supposed readers squealing like pigs in a throw down about it's greatness and not a word of criticism.

The site itself is overrun by Flash, slow to load and doesn't include tags or trackbacks. Amateurish at best. Not to mention the supposed female demographic inducing chick graphics.

Oh, and there's a blog for a dog.

You know, I think I'll stick to Private Eye...

Comment moderation in action!

An insight into the girls at conventions world.

For the love of...

Some background for those blissfully unaware.

Some group of jackasses decided that women should feel 'comfortable enough with their bodies' to have their tits touched. Sexually liberated and all! I mean, I've been obviously brainwashed by The Man to value my personal space and body to the point of NOT wanting creepy con guys to touch me.

So, they created the Open Source Boob Project (gag, gag, I know.) Basically, they wander up to women and ask if they can touch their boobs. They even created badges. There's a whole giant BS philosophy that goes behind this, but it boils down to them wanting permission to grope strangers at conventions.

I think you can tell how I feel about this.

(Side note: I never thought these assholes needed permission, seems to me they try and do it anyway!)

My first thought about this, as a response to these creepy motherfuckers if they ever approached me was to say 'sure, if you let me kick you in the balls first!'

Well, someone got around to writing that up.

What's really making me go WTF is the amount of people in the comments of that post who don't understand why random groping is a violation. Hell, even the question implies disrespect. 'You're so beautiful, can I fondle your tits?' That's a little scary.

I'm carrying mace with me at US conventions like forever now.

Edit: On thinking about this a little more, the implication that women go to gaming/comic/anime conventions for the attention of some Pauly Shore looking motherfucker and his band of pretentious lecherous saddos is really pissing me off. We can't go to a con just to enjoy the content, can we? It's all about the other half.

(Taken from )

Urbane Female

In the mornings, weather and train timeliness permitting, I walk from Salford Central to St. Peter's Square. I like it, it gives me a chance to move my legs (something that doesn't happen nearly enough) and I breathe some non-germified train air (traded in for some delicious Manchester pollution.)

And I enjoy my walks very much, except for the slow walkers. And slow walkers are inevitably women. They're women dressed in heels of some kind, usually boots, in uncomfortable suits on their way to the office. I dodge them in all manner of creative ways, the overtake, the cigarette, the 'accidental' nudge. I can't stand getting stuck behind some trundling mortgage advisor because she chose the 'fashionable' option instead of the practical one. And my trusty Docs are the reason I move so much faster, but they're a clothing accessory that got me a severe looking over by one of our customers yesterday. But screw her, I learned a long time ago that there are things that simply do not go with heeled boots.

They are:
1. Running for trains/trams
2. Walking to the shop on cobblestones
3. Walking faster than an elderly snail

But for the sake of fashion, most of the women I see trundling up New Bailey cripple themselves in bunion causing designer knock offs. Men wear Doc boots, or dress shoes that no matter how they pinch, aren't as bad as the worst sky high Anna Sui heel. Men get the better deal.

Yesterday morning I walked through the door to my office and was greeted by a good up and down look by one of our delegates. By the resulting look on her face, I was not up to par. What was so atrocious? I was wearing a black wool overcoat, a black v-neck angora sweater, brown trousers and my same Doc Marten boots. Nothing about that screams fashionable, but at the same time, it's all comfortable and doesn't scream hobo either. Doing my job, I never know when I'll have to crawl around under a table to fix a cable, or carry a PC from classroom to office. I never know when I'll have to wrap myself around the back of our pissy little server rack to find a reset switch, or do some basic DIY. It's the nature of the beast. A button down shirt, most slacks, most women's shoes would result in all kinds of creative injuries. I'm not going to slip off a ladder and break my damned neck for the sake of fitting in with the Hello! crowd.

Plus, regardless of the tomboyish rigors of my job, I was still business casual. What does it matter if I wasn't wearing killer heels like her instructor, or a 2-piece Liz Claiborne suit with an overpriced Karen Millen top? What does it matter if the only make-up I wear in the morning is some Lush moisturizer? And most days my hair is tucked back in a low pony tail or messy bun? Who says I have to wear make-up? Frankly, our dress code is so loose that as long as I don't turn up in a boob tube and jeans Monday-Thursday I'm in the clear.

My employers seem to agree, I'm always ignored when the internal 'look more professional' e-mails go out. For the most part, what I wear is clean (if covered in blonde hair) pressed, not that worn and simple. But by the look this woman gave me, you'd think I was dressed in hotpants and thigh high hooker boots. I should mention, she was wearing what you'd expect from a woman going to work. She even had the typical Manchester hairstyle: paper straight. (There's a right way and a wrong way to use GHDs ladies.) What about women wearing simple clothes is so deeply unacceptable?

I think I have the winning ticket over Miss Dirty Look 2008. My shoes are comfortable, have good soles that won't shock the ankles or knees. My trousers were kind of stretchy and a little loose, good give for bending over and picking things up. My sweater was functional and warm without showing cleavage. Even my undergarments were practical, except my boy style underwear had little brown and yellow skulls on them. What she had on probably required a push up bra due to the poor cut of her jacket, stomach scrunching undies, thanks to the A-line, and Scholls party feet so she wasn't bleeding my the end of the day. Me:1 Her:0

I do groom a bit during the week, of course. There's nothing quite like the whispy feeling of wind going through the hair on my mole to get me to pluch. I find a pair of pliers and the back of my iPod works well for taking care of that. (Me:2 Her:0, I always have a way to pluck at work.) I shave my legs because I hate the itchy feeling I get if I don't. I shave my pits because, frankly, bacteria loves hairy dark places and I dislike smelling. One of my huge girly vices is perfume. I have tons of it, made by various people. At the moment I'm wearing something I bought from Victoria's Secret that smells like spring. I moisturize because I smoke and I'm already getting some creases around my mouth.

If you've seen me at ARA or Jilly's then you know I do actually have a decently feminine wardrobe. In Portland I bought a adorable Oscar de la Renta dress from Buffalo Exchange that I thought I was going to have to fight for to get out of the store. (I heard 'OhMyGodThat'sSoCute' about 6 times between the fitting room and the counter.) But all that ARA shit takes around 2 hours to put together. And while I love dressing up for games, or to go out, I don't want to waste my morning putting it all together to work on computers. For one thing, people might get the wrong idea about what I do and think I'm an Office Manager or Belle du Jour. For another, I'd rather be drinking my coffee, watching BBC breakfast and pulling on my shoes. There's more to life than grooming. With my morning shower I take about 30 minutes to get ready in the morning. I know for a fact some of these girls are getting up at 6:30am to do full face, hair and outfit selection. I'd miss CSI:Miami on Tuesdays if I did that and that's more important to me than fitting into some dated notion of what it means to be an office working female.

I was really encouraged to read something today where women echoed my sentiments. I think living in the Manchester area where women really push it out (even in fucking trackies these girls have enough make-up on to recreate 10 Mona Lisas) I forget that there are some places in the world where brown trousers and a black angora sweater won't get you a nasty once over, or a suggestion you're a lesbian. It also takes me half the time to walk up John Dalton, that's well worth it. And really, shouldn't it be that way all the time everywhere?

http://www.observer.com/2008/urbane-tomboys via Jezebel

American women are Barbies, British women are dogs.

Oh wow. Just when you think articles about women can't get any more ridiculous comes along Tad and his insight into the differences between British and American women.

am a massive fan of British women. UK girls, in my opinion, are the greatest natural beauties in the world . . . when they’re 17 or 18 years old. The girls I was surrounded by when I was a teenager were sublime roses with lustrous hair, flawless skin, bright eyes and lithe, athletic bodies. They dressed as if there would be a prize at the end of the night for the girl wearing the least. I then went away to Philadelphia for university. Four years later, I came back and wondered: “What the hell happened to all the beautiful girls I knew?” My first assumption was that one half of them had eaten the other half and washed them down with a crate of lager. These girls looked phenomenal when looking good took no effort. But when British women get to the age where they have to make an effort, they appear unable, or uninterested, in rising to the challenge.

Got news for you honey. Looking good at 18 is easy. I'd be curious to see what this guy looks like. Calvin Klein model?

An informal poll of my US female friends revealed that they spend roughly $700 (£350) a month on what they consider standard obligatory beauty maintenance. That covers haircut, highlights, manicure, pedicure, waxing, tanning, make-up, facials, teeth whitening etc. They will spend a further $1,000 (£500) a month on physical conditioning such as military fitness, spinning sessions, vikram yoga, Pilates, deep-tissue sports massage, personal training etc.

Who are these women? Seriously? An informal poll of my female American friends would probably find something completely different. For one thing, they don't have the time to do all that. They're too busy worrying about jobs/houses/cats/scooters/university/game development/freelancing. I've never had the time to do all that. I suspect Tad should probably stop spending time with low rent actresses in LA and maybe get out a bit more.

American women see these costs as a simple and sensible investment in their future.

Uh-huh. If they're actresses or models. As an American woman I see a retirement account as an investment in my future. Not spinning classes.

At dinner, I found myself sitting opposite something that surely would have been happier hunting for truffles in the forests of France or grazing on the grassy marshlands of Canada. My friend’s wife had told me that Sophie still had the body of a 20-year-old. Maybe she did . . . dismembered in her freezer at home. She certainly didn’t have it on her skeleton.

Oh you're a catch you are.

Even more insulting was when my friend’s wife pointedly said: “Tad, I hear you just sold a screenplay to the producers of My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” I could not believe it. She was selling ME to HER!?

Yes, your friend was. Do you know why Tad? Because you're a dick. Sophie can always mosey off to a spinning class, but it's going to take years of brainwashing to rid yourself of what appears to be inherent assholeness.

I sat there watching Sophie tuck into a second huge plate of shepherd’s pie and realised why no self-respecting American girl consumes carbohydrates after 2pm.

SERIOUSLY. WHO ARE THESE WOMEN?

As with many societal ills, I blame the parents. British mothers do not instruct their daughters the way American mothers do. In the US, beauty treatments appear to be a large part of their growing-up experience. A trip to the beauty salon is a group event for girls, an opportunity for a gossip and a catchup.

Sure. You know, I used to go to plays with Mom. She took me to see Stomp! and the Nutcracker. Am I at all resentful that we didn't have a fun day getting our cuticles dissolved? Er, no. She was fermenting an interest in modern theatre, ballet and classical music. You want an investment Tad? Brains are good things. No amount of Botox is going to keep someone sharp. No amount of bikini camps are going to keep me in financial solvency.

I tried to engage my neighbour in conversation. She totally blanked me. I even tried to engage my manicurist in conversation, but there too failed miserably . . . mainly, though, because my Cantonese is poor.

How has this guy survived for 17+ years in England? Really? Because I'd never try and talk to English people in a Chelsea salon. It's just against the rules. It's something you don't do. But then, I think we've worked out that Tad is a bit... on the slow side.

Another part of the problem is that women in Britain do not help each other. American women have no qualms about telling their friends, in no uncertain terms, when they look like crap, or have put on weight, or are dressed like a bag-lady. They talk of the top aestheticians with a reverence usually reserved for Nobel laureates and trade cosmetic surgeon business cards the way that boys in playgrounds trade football cards.

Wait, they don't? Tad, for a screenwriter, you're a bit damned unobservant. I had a female friend tell me I looked like a maid on Saturday (accurate, I have to do something with that dress. It's cute, even if I look a bit like I'm cleaning house in a porno.) The thing is, American girls go 'YOU LOOK LIKE A HOOR,' while a lot of English girls go, 'I don't knoooooooowwwww.'

A beautiful English ex-girl-friend of mine was, at the age of 29, as uncomfortable operating an eyelash curler as I’d be operating a crane. She approached beauty salons the way men approach buying porn – with darting glances and prayers of “Dear God, I hope no one sees me”. For some reason, being seen to make an effort with one’s appearance is regarded as shameful among British women.

Perhaps English women don't see the point of such a vile contraption. Eyelash curlers are one of the great frauds of grooming products. They effectively do sweet FA in the most painful way possible. I also think perhaps Tad (what the hell kind of a name is that anyway?!) hasn't ever ventured north. In Manchester grooming is a necessity. The things I see walking around this business park are utterly, utterly insane. I could never hope to groom as much as women do in the Greater Manchester area because I value my sleep too much. And in Portland, women look a lot less dolled up. But then Portland is one of those places where beauty standards tend to be, dareIsayit, a bit less Hollywood and a bit more homegrown. Tad wouldn't like it.

In return, they will immediately want to know “all” about you, ie, how much you earn, how much you have earned in the past, what your future earning potential is, whether you own property, whether you have an investment portfolio, where you shop, where you “vacation”, what you drive and how large your parents’ house is. I once got to the end of a date in New York, pulled out my credit card to pay and the girl solemnly remarked: “A green American Express card? I didn’t know they still made them in that colour.”

WHO ARE THESE WOMEN?!! Tad, I have news for you, I think you're being vetted. Having proven yourself as an asshole they're probably trying to ascertain if you could at least buy them a meal. Like maybe you have one redeeming quality amongst all that chest thumping crap.

It's pretty telling that the best known non children's film this guy wrote is about two brothers trying to get laid. It's also fairly revealing the producer is his, er, brother. So, nepotistic asshole then? Great. Can't imagine why he's on blind dates.

Just in case you want to read Tad's drivel

Edit: I think we found the TADSTER's photo.

http://www.facebook.com/people/Tad_Safran/657111861

He could do with an eyebrow pluck. Maybe some time at the gym? He looks a little scrawny. Is that a receding hairline? And those shorts. Oh Tad.

Feminists are ugly single middle aged women. That's why they're feminists!

There's a whole subset of various social sciences that would be pretty surprised at the revelation in the title.

Glenn Stacks wrote a pretty decent response to the idea that liberal women are ugly and conservative women are attractive. He points out that you can find pleasant aesthetics in both political parties easily and frequently such campaigns are a tad biased.

Not to mention more than a little bit silly, since being attractive isn't a valid political platform.

Sadly Stacks is let down by his readers who betray the usual ignorance about a political movement and its motivations. Below are a collection of comments from the great and good of Stacks' readers!

I would point out that there are DAMNED FEW attractive feminists, though, whatever you might believe about Susan Estrich.

Lack of attractiveness results in quite a few middle-aged, embittered women, women who are ready, willing, and able to declare war on men. They did not have a line of men vying for the right to support them and their life-choices, looked around for a convenient class of oppressor and learned in their Womyn's Studies that they were being oppressed by MEN all along!

9's and 10's among women generally do not NEED those artificially constructed entitlements and privileges for women - they have men willing and able to cater to their comforts and needs.

So…. don't get caught up in Ann Friendman's ovary-think, Glenn.

That's right, because the 9s and 10s among women don't need equal pay, sexual harassment laws or maternity leave. Consider this WAR bucko! WAR.

Even if all feminists looked like a model their obnoxious, hate mongering will allow them the same dislike and distrust as the ugly male-haters get today.

Yeah, that's right, my desire to be judged equally to those with a penis makes me a man hater. Good logic there Christian.

If the Democratic women out there don't like it: tough sh*t. Hey, it's not like they are reasonable or fair towards us men.

OH MY GOD. HOW DID HE KNOW? The female Democratic platform is designed to oppress MEN. Obviously.

He is though of course correct. I took my oldest son to lunch today. He was approached by a woman I didn't know who was very friendly to him. It turns out she is the mother of a girl who is his long time peer and class mate.

She looked at me kind of strange. She was very friendly on the surface. She obvfiously knew nothing about me — asking whether I lived in town, for example.

It my be my imagination, but I couldn't help but think she was viewing me badly — as a deadbeat dad, etc. I am and always have paid my child support, but this is how all noncustoidal parents are viewed due to all the ugly propaganda.

Or she could have responded strangely to him because he was acting a little paranoid.

Maybe Republican women are more "attractive" than Democratic women because Republican women are trying harder to "attract" men. Why should I want a relationship , political or otherwise, with women who keep telling me that I'm not worth attracting?

BobH, I can't imagine why you're single.

I can understand Glenn possibly wanting to show the other side how "decent" MRAs are, but not until we see a little decency from that side of the gender aisle. We were "decent" when we gave them the right to vote. We were "decent" when we supported women's lib in the 60's. How has that decency been returned? Let me twist that knife in your back just to give you a little reminder.

I see. So, because we were given basic human rights under the constitution, we should be forever grateful and keep our mouths shut? Sorry, I didn't realize I'd offended you.

The trouble is a whole lot of us have met a lot of "feminists" and we have been hearing about feminism one way or another just about everyday of our life and many of have yet to meet a feminist who actually believes in equality between men and women. If that were the case the "feminists" would have stopped taking all the privileges, special rights, and special advantages they have been hogging (the anaolgy fits) for decades now and accepted equal responsibilities with equal rights.

I think this is Dennis but he signed that bit Denis. Don't worry Dennis/Denis, I did the same thing at Thanksgiving when I was about 9. My uncle thought it was hilarious.

And you're spot on there D, I'll take all my rights to vote, work, wear pants in the office and not get hit on by my boss! It's great.

….Most of the feminists I've met were about hogging more state/federal femi-pork by promulgateing more and more women-as-victim agit prop on every billboard that could hold another poster!!

Yep. Rape awareness=agitprop.

What strikes me most about these stunning examples of critical thought is how damned angry they are. How would you ever, ever, ever get the idea that women are at all viewed equally? When was the last time you saw a male conservative/liberal poster of hot or not?

"Your Women Are Ugly!" is not a political argument via

Off topic, what amused the hell out of me is all the UK flash advertisements on Men's News Daily are for The Sun. The same paper that features page 3 girls.... and articles so good 8 year olds could read them. Maybe men are more put upon than I thought....

Why no shoes?

From Art.com

I ventured out into the wildes of Manchester city centre yesterday. It was a nice afternoon, the first that's lasted more than 4 hours in what feels like about 50 years. I'm not a big fan of the whole shopping experience. I find it tedious and wasteful and a massive test of patience. But I had some shopping to do for various birthdays, houswarmings and necessities.

Oddly, Market Street wasn't the usual blend of rudeness and shop worker malaise. People were helpful and with the sunny weather, in a decently good mood. In some cases, too good. (I'm talking to you chubby Chav on tram who's going to get SOOO STONED LIKE ON FRIDAY WITH HER LIKE PREGNANT FRIEND LIKE AND IS BEGGING MONEY OFF EVERYONE SHE KNOWS. Curb your damned enthusiasm. Also, quit the cigs sweetie, you sounded like you're about 40.)

I managed to get just about everything I need, except the damned necessities. The two things I'm searching for: a decent messenger bag and new sensible-yet-not-vile-shoes weren't forthcoming. There were massive creations of vinyl/leather/sheepskin with crazy handles and heels into accessory infinity. But a bag that looked nice and slung over my shoulder and a pair of shoes that wouldn't put me in line for an AOP bus pass or A&E, nada.

My eyes glazed over row after row of ballet pumps, 6 inch spikes, 3 inch stacked, slippery soled boots, sandals made of a sliver of wood and a strip of leather. All completely inappropriate for dashing across the city centre to a train station. And utterly, utterly useless for protecting from Manchester weather. In the small sections dedicated to women uninterested in back pain and ankle problems, there were the quintessential black shoe of hospitals. The kind of vile jet black creation I had as part of my uniform at Burgerville. They'd probably work. But god help me, I'm only 28. I'm not ready for that sentence to horrible sensible just yet.

The bags were just as crippling. Huge things that looked as though the leather had been beaten into shape and sprayed in gold paint. The handles barely looked good enough to hold a tiny bag, nevermind these monstrosities. If designers had their way, I would have walked out of the Arndale balancing on one tiny stilletto, lopsided like something out of Notre Dame.

I honestly think all this crippling fashion still says something about how women are portrayed and behave. You can't move in most of what's on the display shelves. Look for something waterproof, reasonably nice looking and maybe a bit stylish and you're absolutely out of luck. For now I've gone back to my old favorite, good old 1925Z complete with steel toe for protection from crowded public transport.

Yes. I can cook.

One of my train buddies said to me 'so, what are you making your husband for tea?' Me, being me and missing the derisory nature of a lot of English humor completely missed it. 'Oh, I don't know. Pork chops maybe? Though I have some diced turkey in the freezer. Maybe a stir-fry?' Train buddy interrupted my ponderings with incredulity. 'Wait, you can COOK?' I smiled, this is what he was getting at.

I'm not the most feminine girly hanging around at Atherton train station. Today, for example, I'm wearing dark blue pinstriped trousers and a navy blue v-neck top. My hair is pulled back into a messy bun, I'm not wearing any make-up and my shoes are 8 eye Docs. When I go out I wear a tan Mac type thing, light enough to wear in Spring (and this particularly awful Summer) but warm enough to keep the chill of the Salford Quays winds at bay.

The effect is sort of nerdy, possibly a little dishevelled. Everything is clean, fits and suitable for business casual. I'm not making any statements by dressing this way, I wear what's good for my job. In the past when I had desk type employment (customer service, tech support) I'd wear skirts and dress up a little. Now there's every likelihood I'm going to have to crawl under a desk to fix a cable or dangle mid-air to change a projector bulb. Make-up (which is easily smeared and runs) carefully combed hair (really no point in the Quays) and fashionable shoes (5-inch spikes mostly) don't really have a place here.

To some degree I do feel as though I've sacrificed a bit of my femininity. I used to like wearing skirts to work, or even make-up. But now I can't even bring myself to put on a button down shirt for fear it gets caught on a wire or case somewhere. Not to mention how it bulges when you lift a machine against your chest. I make up for this by doing full make-up on the weekends and really going for it if we go out. It makes me feel quite girly again. Almost like a double agent. Secret geek in a girl's body.

Weekend Tiffany probably wouldn't have train buddies in awe she could make a casserole. They'd expect it. Red lips, red nails, not until the angry diatribe spilled from her mouth would they doubt she fulfilled a certain role. And maybe that's the problem here. Folks assume because I have a 'male' career, 'male' hobbies and 'male' dress that I also don't know a grill from an elbow. It's a shame too, cooking should be a life skill, not one relegated to housewives and the 'feminine.'

Dinner last night:
(Modified from a Sea Bass Puttenesca recipe. I couldn't find Sea Bass or capers. This was delicious as/is though.)

* 1/2 teaspoon olive oil heated and 1 clove garlic chopped & sauteed 30 seconds
* 1 cup chopped tomato, 1/4 cup white wine, salt & pepper added to mixture & simmered for 10 minutes until like a sauce 1 tablepoon black olives stirred into sauce
*Two fillets of Rainbow Trout placed on top of mixture, covered, & simmered for 10 minutes until fish is opaque