Belle Waring

This post is reproduced from September 13, 2004. I don’t think I have anything better to say, but I wanted to say something. My thoughts are with the families of all those who perished five years ago. [click to continue…]

You’d probably like to hear Ross Douthat explain how Margaret Mead, Stanley Fish and a bunch of hippies are responsible for the excesses of racist BMOC frat boys who hire strippers. C’mon, you like that sort of thing in small doses, admit it. It’s a good thing that last month’s secret feminist world-domination meeting involved a solemn pledge by all sexually active women to deny young Mr. Douthat any sexual contact outside of marriage, or going beyond the plain vanilla missionary-position type sanctioned by traditional mores, otherwise all this insufferable priggishness might have a whiff of hypocrisy about it. Best comment: “Yeah, raping strippers is awful, and meaningless sex isn’t great either. Also, some academics are crazy. I guess we should ban birth control.” Roy’s suggestion is bumper stickers reading “If you can eat pussy, thank a liberal.” I am afraid that a cold appraisal of continuing sexism leads me to conclude that advertising to men that they owe liberals a thank-you note for every blowjob would be even more effective. Black ink on white or cream stationery only, please. I suppose you can send them to Norbizness.

This post from the Freakonomics blog on why beautiful women sometimes marry unattractive men seems somewhat incomprehensible to me. Maybe you all can help:

…a new study by Satoshi Kanazawa, an evolutionary psychologist at the London School of Economics, suggests it may be a simple supply-and-demand issue: there are more beautiful women in the world than there are handsome men.

Why? Kanazawa argues it’s because good-looking parents are 36% more likely to have a baby daughter as their first child than a baby son—which suggests, evolutionarily speaking, that beauty is a trait more valuable for women than for men. The study was conducted with data from 3,000 Americans, derived from the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health, and was published in The Journal of Theoretical Biology.

According to this news article, “Selection pressure means when parents have traits they can pass on that are better for boys than for girls, they are more likely to have boys. Such traits include large size, strength and aggression, which might help a man compete for mates. On the other hand, parents with heritable traits that are more advantageous to girls are more likely to have daughters.”

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Feel like getting really angry? Go read this Pandagon post and the zuzu post at Feministe it refers to. And the comments. From Amanda:

Zuzu at Feministe, in trying to write a normal blog post on how this case is being blown up to bolster racist fears, ran into this problem when some of their regular commenters started to bleat about how Moore has only herself to blame for what they considered the outrageous behavior of being young and leaving the house to have fun. Always these people say they mean well, of course, but in this case, the commenter slipped up and showed the true purpose of her bleating:

I don’t know about the whole race thing you’re getting at, but I agree that the coverage seems to be trying to force her into the victim role. It’s tragic what happened, but Jennifer made a number of really stupid decisions that are not terribly sympathetic (to me, at least). Driving into manhattan to get tanked (while underage no less), then not calling parents or authorities for help when she and her friend got stranded was profoundly bad judgment.

You read that right. People are “trying to force…into the victim role” a person who was raped, murdered, and then dismembered and left in a dumpster. I know that there is strong psychological pressure to find some reason why someone else was raped, a reason you could avoid. If I just do this and don’t do this and… Why? Because it’s just really scary to think that you might become a victim for no reason at all. People feel that if they can just do some magical thinking they will stay in the not-victim chalk circle and everything will be OK. The problem is not that women sometimes get drunk or go dancing or get into cars with strangers because someone threatening is following them down a dark city street. The problem is the rapists and murderers. Keep your eyes on the ball, people. Now let’s have the comments thread degenerate into a pointless discussion of what women should be doing to avoid getting raped, because god knows I’ve never heard any of that before. C’mon, Steve, advocate concealed carry! [NB: I am not actually particularly opposed to concealed carry laws (or Steve!), but I don’t think they would put a dent in the US rape rate, because most people are raped by someone they know and no one is likely to tote their pistol around from room to room in their own goddamn house while they talk with a friend. Which nonsensical behavior is also not relevant to concealed carry. And I don’t want to hear about it at all.]

What does my brother have to do with Bigelow Aerospace, asks internet legend Gary Farber. (I posted here about the sucessful launch of a 1/3 scale prototype for Bigelow’s inflatable modules, meant to be connected into a space station. You can read more about it here at Space.com.) Well, long ago Ben decided he wanted to be a space lawyer. And we all supported him. Sort of. Supported him in a way where you’re like “riiiight, cool idea, man.” And, to be frank, we said lots of things like “’I space object, space your honor!’ ‘Space overruled!!’” John unhelpfully suggested that Ben, perhaps clad in a Nehru jacket-ed suit and boots, could someday be part of a thrilling, 2001-like scene in which he would toss a metallic capsule containing a scroll of papers at someone against the majestically rotating background of a space station, and then when the guy caught it say “you’re seeeerved!” But then he got into Penn Law, and that was pretty cool. And he went to GW for a one-year program in Space Policy. And now he’s assistant to the general counsel at Bigelow! They need lawyers to negotiate with other companies, and with the governments of the US and Russia, and to organize insurance, and make sure they are complying with the various regulations governing the export of missile technology. Also, to make sure the lasers they have pointed at James Bond’s crotch are up to code. A picture of Ben is in space right now, inside the module, which is pretty much the definition of awesome. He’s obviously on track to be the first person in our family to go into space. I hope that our descendents will pour a 40 out onto the frozen methane of Triton in his honor, where it will crackle into amber shards. It’s actually really one of my main goals in life to go into space before I die, and see the earth from orbit. I don’t care if I’m an old lady squandering my children’s inheritance on some 16 hour tourist flight so I can see what vomit looks like in 0g, I’m going. When I was a kid my dad told me that I had to grow up and “invent Waring Drive, to take mankind to the stars.” (Stoned people can be super-inspiring, if you’re 7.) It hasn’t worked out so far, but Violet’s got unusual mathematical aptitude for a 2-year-old (that is, she can count to 10 and knows how to read the numbers 1-5, and can rotate non-bilaterally-symmetrical shapes to get them into the shape sorter. Once numbers get higher than 13, though, she is less likely to “go on in the same way” reliably). Holbo Drive? It’s not as catchy, but I guess I can live with it.

Michael Ledeen fails to think things through:

In today’s “reportage” of the World Cup semifinal between Italy and Germany, the (lefty) Washington Post reported that the game-winning goal was scored on a left-footed kick, while the (righty) Washington Times reported it was scored on a right-footed kick. The Post account was correct, but don’t you find it mysteriously symbolic of something or other?

I…words fail me.

You should go now to the NYT Magazine and click on the “Lives” photo-essay. A photographer made a project of hunting up many of the original “Freedom Riders” from 1961 and pairing pictures taken of them today with their mugshots. The first pair of images is of a woman named Helen Singleton. Her mugshot shows a strange and wonderful facial expression: ineffable, justified self-satisfaction. When we think of someone being “pleased with themselves” it usually means we think they are being stuck-up or irritating. Mrs. Singleton looks pleased with herself in that picture, and it is anything but irritating. I wonder what the Jackson police photographer thought about that cocked eyebrow and that smile?

As a young girl I was an avid reader of Stephen Potter, especially the peerless Lifemanship. I also re-read Thackeray’s Book of Snobs many times, for the not particularly compelling reason that it was the only interesting book in my brother’s room at my grandmother’s house. (I say “not particularly compelling” in spite of the manifest excellence of the book, which is hilarious, but rather because we had a library on the second floor.) These two books did much to make me the cynical, frivolous person I am today. The thing is, I was convinced, at an early stage, that there really was a Lifesmanship organization at 681 Station Road, Yeovil, and it was a hazy dream of mine that I might travel to England and join at some time in the future. By the time I was 10 I think I was starting to suspect this was never to be (and, in my defense, I never imagined that I might actually meet, say Odoreida.) But I have always wondered, is there supposed to be something particularly funny about Yeovil? I gather that it’s a real place and everything. Is it a really boring place? A thrilling town full of laffs and hilarity? What?

You know, it’s very rare that I find myself agreeing with some Instapundit post about terrorism. Vanishingly rarely. And I find the tedious “media bias” paranoia on the right to be…tedious—wait did I say that? Still, the NYT account of the recent Canadian government action (in which they claim to have arrested the members of a terrorist group previously under monitoring when they accepted delivery of some 3 tons of ammonium nitrate) is sort of strange. I obviously don’t suggest that the headline should read “Muslims, trying to kill you, or trying to kill you and your children?”. That said, it actually is a little weird to have the info run as follows: 1) 17 Canadians arrested for plotting to blow things up; 2) the men were mainly of South Asian descent and varying ages as follows; 3) none were known to be affiliated with al Qaida (why would we even think they were? Oh.); 4) RCMP assistant comissioner notes: “They represent the broad strata of our society. Some are students, some are employed, some are unemployed” (right, now this is crazy, but do they have anything in common at all, like adhering to some fringe-group religious extremism? Anything?); 5) something something something; 6) something something something; 7) other stuff, also, stuff about border security, possibly zinging those who obsess about our southern border at the expense of real security; 8) “Islamic extremists.” Wait, what? Islamic extremists? Surely not!

It merely invites suspicion to dance around an obviously relevant point. I do not think that the risk of anti-Muslim pogroms among readers of the NYT rises appreciably as the issue is mentioned in earlier paragraphs of the article. If Nazis plot to blow stuff up, just go on and say they’re apparently Nazis in paragraph one. I promise not to go look up some random blonde guy and pistol-whip him. Unless he’s this one ex of my sister’s, who’s a racist skin, and…what? OT, sorry. If radical Islamists plot to blow things up, then just go on and say so.

UPDATE: James Wimberley’s point about the “Nazi’s” noted. Namely that they’re Nazis.

FURTHER UPDATE: I thought you all knew enough about me to know that I think Roger Simon is a crazy person—with a hat! It’s my birthday and everything, y’all; be charitible.

Just when you thought the lamentable “we are too the 101st Flying Keyboardists” thing had plumbed the very depths of warblogger self-regard…you got another think coming. Here I must interrupt myself to post the best warblogger comment of all time, from the “Captain” Ed thread:

Captain,
It seems to me that when one’s country calls, one should respond with the very best one has – with what you are best at. Having served in the military a very long time ago, and being an unwilling victim of advancing age and persistent gravity, I find that my best resource is my ability to express my conviction as eloquently and persuasively as I can. Not to convert those on the opposite end of the spectrum, but to buttress and strengthen those who share my world view and inform those whose opinions are yet unformed. On the surface, of course, this sounds laughably self-serving and a towering rationalization[you reckon?!—ed]. Bear with me a moment, however, for I have a point to advance.

As I have stated on previous occasions, the great achilles heal of a free society at war in defence of its freedom, is its ability to maintain the support of its citizens. If the conflict be short, the enemy of obvious evil and the victory clear, then the support will be easily held. Victory has a thousand fathers, afterall. If however, the war is long and the enemy is elusive and victory is ill defined, then a free society is at a distinct disadvantage. A nation that cannot be smashed, can instead be nibbled to death!

And so, I and my keyboard stand at the pass – the weakest point [He’s like a noble Lacedaemonian, combing his long hair, oiling and strigilling the dust from the bodies of his loyal…where was I?—ed]. Armed only with words and whatever wisdom I may have gained along the way, to point to the danger and urge the defenders determination. To clarify the mist of confusion and uncertainty and to defend the vision of our purpose. These are my best weapons and I stand, old and bent and nearly used up, in the critical breach.

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I sympathize with the commenters who affected shock, but I really am quite convinced that Eugene Volokh is a nice, intelligent person whom, if I met him in real life, I would like. This may be based on class solidarity. He is a smarty-pants law professor, and I like smarty-pants law professors. I happen to know two other former Supreme Court clerks living in Southern California who are nominal Republicans (these people also know Prof. Volokh and vouch for his character). Despite being Republicans, they are both nice people, and not just in the “he always seemed like such a nice boy” fashion of the opinion of the serial killer’s elderly neighbor, but the real-life type of nice person. [click to continue…]

Now, I post this with a heavy heart, because the truth is, that despite any previous complaints about puppies, I actually regard Eugene Volokh as an intelligent, thoughtful person with whom I would love to have a beer or two. (In fact, we have friends in common.) So, I was basically floored by this:
The premise of this post is that laws which prohibit unwanted sexual touching are based on the fear of involuntary sexual arousal on the part of the victim. And I’m sorry to say, that’s just crazy talk.

Say, on the other hand [vs physical contact ordinarily regarded as non-sexual, but which may be unwanted, such as shoulder-patting], that someone intentionally touches your genitals, or intentionally caresses your breasts (if you’re a woman). In many circumstances, this would be considered a crime. Why the difference? I think that here too there is a connection with sexual arousal—either the possibility that you might be involuntarily sexually aroused, or the likelihood that the other person is deriving some sort of sexual arousal from touching you.

Now, the premise here is that unwanted sexual arousal forms the basis of objections to unwanted touching of, say, a woman’s genitals by a stranger on the subway. Now, I would be inclined to give Eugene the benefit of the doubt here. Except for the part where he totally forfeits my trust.

Why the difference? I think that here too there is a connection with sexual arousal—either the possibility that you might be involuntarily sexually aroused, or the likelihood that the other person is deriving some sort of sexual arousal from touching you.

Again, taken alone, this might be reasonable, if only in a thought-experiment way. But the conclusion? Does it perhaps exclude the most obvious problem? Sources say, yes:

So while I’m not positive, it seems to me that there’s something interesting and possibly important in play here: Some conduct that involuntarily sexually arouses another (or seriously risks doing so) may be improper, even if similar conduct in which involuntary sexual arousal is absent is generally fine.

Wait, remember above, where we were considering both the possibility that unwanted sexual contact should be avoided because it might cause unwanted sexual arousal in the victim and the crazy, totally improbable problem that the person feeling you up on the subway might be sexually gratifying himself at your expense without your permission? What happened to option two, eh?
And then, having knotted the noose in boy scout fashion, Eugene just sticks his head right in:

It[unwanted sexual touching of a woman’s breasts or vagina by a stranger] may be both arousing and disturbing; it might in fact be disturbing partly because of the arousal, or of the possibility of arousal.

Now look. I somewhat hesitate to claim magic feminist backsies on everyone who disagrees with me. But. I’ve actually been raped before! Sweet! And I have sat next to someone on the DC metro who was jerking off while I was sitting next to the window and had trouble getting out. I sort of feel like I’m pointing at the sky saying, “hey, it’s teh blue!” The problem of a dude rubbing his thigh against yours while he jerks off is not, and now I must get all caps, NOT, a problem about involuntary sexual arousal on your part. No, it’s more of the problem of where a dude is rubbing on your thigh and jerking off. And my sister got assaulted in the metro elevator before when she was 13 and when she punched and kicked the guy trying to feel her up he broke her jaw in 3 places! Again, and I hate to get all irritated, but the problem was NOT that she was geting all turned on by that guy. So, in short, WTF? And then, W.T.F.???

Ow ow ow. Michael Bérubé uses his “web” “log” to bring the burninating. Chicago Tribune columnist Clarence Page attempted to defend incoming White House Press Secretary Tony Snow from charges of racism stemming, in part, from one of Page’s own columns. Unfortunately, he also inadvertently let slip the secret of Tony Snow’s mutant power…the power to see the future! (It’s totally like in this one story from Anne McCaffrey’s To Ride Pegasus, where there’s this mutant empath folksinger!) Read, and be amazed…

Tony Snow is eminently qualified to serve as White House press secretary not only because he is a man of conscience who genuinely cares about solving the tough problems of poverty, bad schools and sour race relations, but also because he can see the future. If you doubt it—or if you think, as an out-of-touch liberal elite critic who doesn’t understand physics, that this sensible blog has suddenly degenerated into trippy Fafblogisms—look again at Clarence Page’s “contextualization” of Snow’s remarks:

“Snow was trying to explain why the former Klansman had just won an estimated 55 percent of the white vote in the Louisiana governor’s race. Snow wanted me to know that, just as those of us who attended Minister Louis Farrakhan’s Million Man March were not acting out of black supremacy or anti-Semitism, neither were all Duke voters moved by racism.”

That’s right: back in the fall of 1991, when David Duke had just won 55 percent of the white vote in the Louisiana governor’s race, Tony Snow was able to compare David Duke’s white voters to black participants in a Farrakhan-led march that would not happen for another four years. That’s the kind of foresight and sagacity the White House needs now! Oh, how I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when Tony Snow turned and said to Clarence Page, “You can’t write off Duke’s voters as racists, Clarence. After all, four years from now, many of your people will take part in a march organized by a nutcase anti-Semite. And don’t even get me started on O. J. Simpson! It may be hard for you to see it now, but I have the very strong sense that something bad is going to happen with that man, and many white Americans are going to get extremely upset. David Duke is just proleptically channeling that future racial tension into a right-now campaign, and if mainstream politicians don’t listen to the frustrations of ordinary people and address them in some constructive way, the loony extremists inevitably will move in.”

Man, Trogdor would be proud.

This is a very interesting post about sexuality and sex education as it applies to women with disabilities. (Obviously much could be said about men with disabilities as well.)

It raises questions in my mind. What does it mean to “have the mental age” of a 12-year-old? Should you necessarily have the sex life of a 12-year-old, for all your days? I think all of us can imagine both the nightmare of a mentally-disabled woman raped in a poorly-monitored group home and the nightmare of a mentally-disabled woman who is ruled out of bounds wrt any form of sexual experience by well-meaning supervisors.

The painful legacy of mainstream treatment of stipulatively “sub-normal” women and men [i.e., forcible sterilization] might incline us to extend the human rights of sexual autonomy to people who cannot reliably employ them on their own behalf. Or, American preoccupation with child sexual abuse might lead us to rule out-of-bounds an entire realm of human experience when we think about disabled adults.

As a mother, I am interested to hear about what the parents of disabled children think about this. I would be even more interested to hear about what disabled adults have to say, with the hopeful caveat that at least a few disabled adults read our blog.

When I was a kid there was a Latino family living in a house up the street from us. They had a funny hand-lettered sign above their door which said “my sweet Tunibamba.” None of us ever knew what that was supposed to mean. Of the 12 kids living there who were under 15, I would say 10 had Down’s syndrome (this is just a superficial judgement, but possibly somewhat accurate.) The meta-meaning of “Tunibamba” in my family was “don’t judge a book by it’s cover.” Like, “you think you know about this, but maybe ‘tunibamba.’”