I embrace the label of bad feminist because I am human. I am messy. I I’m not trying to be an example. I am not trying to be perfect. I am not trying to say I have all the answers. I am not trying to say I’m right. I am just trying – trying to support what I believe in, trying to do some good in this world, trying to make some noise with my writing while also being myself: a woman who loves pink and likes to get freaky and sometimes dances her ass off to music she knows, she knows, is terrible for women and who sometimes plays dumb with repairmen because it’s just easier to let them feel macho than it is stand on the moral high ground.
“So my unsolicited advice to women in the workplace is this. When faced with sexism or ageism or lookism or even really aggressive Buddhism, ask yourself the following question: “Is this person in between me and what I want to do?” If the answer is no, ignore it and move on. Your energy is better used doing your work and outpacing people that way. Then, when you’re in charge, don’t hire the people who were jerky to you.”
I fucking love Tina Fey.
“The afternoon was loud with the giant miseries of the lake, and the flood was the almost flawless mirror of a cloudless sky, fat with brimming and very calm.”
“Dawn and its excesses always reminded me of heaven, a place I have always known I would not be comfortable.”
“If we imagine that Noah’s wife, when she was old, found somewhere a remnant of the Deluge, she might have walked into it til her widow’s dress floated above her head and the water loosened her plaited hair. And she would have left it to her sons to tell the tedious tales of generations. She was a nameless woman, and so at home among all those who were never found and never missed, who were uncommemorated, whose deaths were not remarked, nor their begettings.”
Despite the fact that the subject matter of Something Wicked This Way Comes didn’t jump out at me at first, I keep stumbling across wonderful surprises.
This immediately brought me back to Lord of the Flies:
If men had wanted to stay bad forever, they could have, agreed? Agreed. Did we stay out in the fields with the beasts? No. In the water with the barracuda? No. Somewhere we let go of the hot gorilla’s paw. Somewhere we turned in our carnivore’s teeth and started chewing blades of grass. We been working mulch as much as blood, into our philosophy, for quite a few lifetimes. Since then we measure ourselves up from the scale of apes, but not half so high as angels. It was a nice new idea and we were afraid we’d lose it, so we put it on paper and built buildings like this one around it. And we been going in and out of these buildings chewing it over, that one new sweet blade of grass, trying to figure how it all started, when we made the move, when we decided to be different.
The library deeps lay waiting for them.
Out in the world, not much happened. But here in the special night, a land bricked with paper and leather, anything might happen, always did. Listen! and you heard ten thousand people screaming so high only dogs feathered their ears. A million folk ran toting canons, sharpening guillotines; Chinese, four abreast, marched on forever. Invisible, silent, yes, but Jim and Will had the gift of ears and noses as well as the gift of tongues. This was a factory of spices from far countries. Here alien deserts slumbered. Up front from the desk where the nice old lady, Miss Watriss, purple-stamped your books, but down off away were Tibet and Antartica, the Congo. There went Miss Wills, the other librarian, through Outer Mongolia, calmly toting fragments of Peiping and Yokohama and the Celebes.
– Something Wicked This Way Comes, Ray Bradbury
Empty a man’s soul – and the space is yours to fill. I don’t see why you should looked so shocked, Peter. This is the oldest one of all. Orient up. Didn’t they all preach the sacrifice of personal joy? Under all the complications of verbiage, haven’t they all had a single leitmotif: sacrifice, renunciation, self-denial? Haven’t you been able to catch their theme song – ‘Give up, give up, give up?’ Look at the moral atmosphere of today. Everything enjoyable, from cigarettes to sex to ambition to the profit motive, is considered depraved or sinful. Just prove that a thing makes men happy – and you’ve damned it. That’s how far we’ve come. We’ve tied happiness to guilt. And we’ve got mankind by the throat. … Every system of ethics that preached sacrifice grew into a world power and ruled millions of men.
Maybe you should be an English major. At least, you get to read stuff that’s written by people who can write! You don’t have to do anything to be an English major, you don’t need any special talent, you just have to pay attention to what someone wants you to see – to what makes someone angriest or the most excited in some other way. It’s so easy; I think that’s why there are so many English majors.
– A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving