Saturday, January 19, 2019

Feminism is about aborting female children

They've lied to us. They say, whenever the universal duty of women to support feminism is questioned, that feminism is just about being fair to women. And yet in the real world what feminists want includes that which is destructive--- no, actually deadly, to the most vulnerable of us.

In some parts of the world, like India, selective abortion of female children is very well accepted. There are centers which offer ultrasounds to detect the unwanted preborn girls, and abortions to clean up that problem. Since abortion centers are notoriously bad at handling the fetal corpses produced by their industry, there have been discoveries of wells clogged with female 'fetuses.'

International feminism doesn't care about that, being more concerned that all global restrictions on abortions be lifted and that Third World women be sold on the questionable notion that aborting their children will make them more prosperous.

In the United States, it has been proposed many times that laws be passed forbidding the selective abortion of females, or of babies of an undesired racial makeup. Feminism says 'no.' Women should have the right to abort all the female children, or half-Black children, that they want to.

To my mind, that means that feminism is more about shilling for the abortion industry than about doing anything that helps real-world women. Feminists even want to close down the pro-life pregnancy centers that offer actual help to pregnant women that don't want to abort their children. Many women have discovered that Planned Parenthood centers-- the largest abortion center chain--- have absolutely no help for the woman who doesn't want an abortion. You never hear of a Planned Parenthood center holding a diaper drive, or collecting used strollers, car seats, and cribs for young mothers in poverty. It's the prolife pregnancy centers that do that.

Feminism used to be better. I remember when feminists wanted to ban the dangerous I.U.D.--- a 'contraceptive' method that doesn't prevent conception, but which prevents newly conceived children from implanting in the uterus, and which causes health problems for women. I remember when feminists even made some lip service about getting housewives some sort of salary--- they probably meant a government program, and they gave that up quick because they wanted to force housewives out of their homes, even if it meant low-paying jobs that didn't even cover the cost of proper child care.

I know there are some misguided prolife women who call themselves 'prolife feminists.' I wonder why they are so set on linking themselves to a pro-abortion movement that doesn't even want them. Women have no duty to support a feminist movement that doesn't even care if women become the minority due to selective abortions, any more than men are required to join some 'masculinist' group they don't agree with. Even 'mere' women should have the right of freedom of opinion.

That large numbers don't think that is shown by an online discussion I read when Sarah Palin was a candidate for vice-president. They claimed that no one should vote for her because she was 'against women's rights.' I've never heard any MALE candidate dismissed utterly just because of having a prolife position, even though that would be 'against women's rights' as well. I guess that though people give lip service to the idea that women are equal, the idea persists that we are a lot less equal than men. At least if we refuse to bow to feminism we are.


Friday, January 11, 2019

The Strange Journey of the Western Genre

Television Westerns are undergoing a surge of popularity on certain cable TV channels. You can find them on INSP, Grit, Encore Westerns and many other channels. In addition, some channels brag about having John Wayne weekends where they show some of the most popular John Wayne Westerns. Usually they include ‘The Searchers’ or at least ‘The Sons of Katie Elder.’

Westerns in novel and short-story form started in 1860 with the first dime novels. These were contemporary stories of events in the Western states of the US— often featuring real-life Western men who’d made news either as outlaws or lawmen. 

The intended audience— men back East— were themselves sons or grandsons of the pioneers of their own regions. They had their own family and local pioneering stories about when their communities were first settled. They liked to hear about the same process going on further West. Both dime novels and Wild West shows created the myth of the West, of heroes and outlaws and larger-than-life men who were a bit of both.

A little later, pulp magazines got started. There were Western pulps, science-fiction pulps, mystery pulps, love story pulps…. Some of the stories in all categories were not well written, but others were gems that started their authors on the road to literary success. 

Westerns were beloved, but they also got a reputation of being shoot-‘em-up stories with poor characterization. Perhaps because mystery and science fiction pulp authors loved to use Western authors as a bad example.

The Western genre grew because of men who were good writers, and who also were willing to research the truth about the historic West. Louis L’Amour, one of the most highly popular of Western writers, had experience of life in the West himself— and he had shelves of Western history books as well. And he understood the mind of the common working man— fellows who didn’t read fiction for entertainment as a general rule— well enough to win such men over not only to his own novels, but to reading as a pastime. To this day, Louis L’Amour books are popular in the secondhand market, and in reprint. One might mention also that Louis L’Amour’s first book was of his own poetry, which included some fine sonnets. 

During my own childhood, Western television shows were common, though I thought I didn’t like Westerns because I hated ‘Gunsmoke.’ I still don’t care for Gunsmoke, though I watch Lawman, Wagon Train, Have Gun Will Travel,  and some of the other now-available shows. I also like Maverick, at least when James Garner is in it.

In novel form, Westerns are also still available. Most of the best are the fruit of serious historical research. There are also novels of the contemporary West. And, unfortunately, Western ‘romances’ which are often just a renaming of Western smut, written for a female audience. 

There are also cross-genre Westerns and ‘weird Westerns’ with zombies, witches and talking unicorns. And, of course, the movie Cowboys & Aliens. They may bow to modern political correctness by featuring modern-feminist women in the 1870s, and similarly out-of-place Black militants and political-activist Indians. 

I don’t care much for that myself. My own current Western WIP— though it’s weird, with space aliens stopping the Civil War, and lizard-alien cowboys— is going to allow the characters to be people of their own time. Admittedly a time that was different from the historical one, because of the alien thing. 

The greatest value of the Western genre is that the male persons in a Western story are often still allowed to be manly men. They don’t have to bow down to the opinions of feminist women, and they don’t have to wear dresses or show off a feminine side. They can just be men, and other characters male and female don’t judge them harshly for it. Not that a Western novel hero would give a hoot about what other folks thought of him. He’d live by his own code, a Western code, and do what was right even if other folk wanted to shoot him over it.

Tuesday, January 8, 2019

Asperger Syndrome: Life Without Friends

When I was a little girl, I did have friends. We lived in Chula Vista, California, in a little cul-de-sac neighborhood that had nice families from many ethnic backgrounds. I was in 2nd and 3rd grade and I actually had a best friend— Shane Lopez, a girl from down the street. I also knew her two brothers and her older sister. I actually kissed her brother Robert— who’s now a gay Elvis impersonator. I swear, I didn’t do it! Maybe he made me ‘that way!’
For fourth grade we had moved to Tacoma, Washington. I remember my mother became leader of my Camp Fire Girls troop. She probably wanted to help me have friends. But, though there were kids I played with in Tacoma, none were more than acquaintances. At least, that was the way they seemed to think about me. I probably thought of some of them as friends. They just didn’t talk to me or come to my house or invite me to their house.
When I was about to enter 6th grade, my dad, a Kmart manager, was moved again, this time to San Jose, California. I was hopeful, since I’d had an actual friend last time we lived in California. I remember sitting in front of our San Jose house— just in front of the little palm tree— and waiting and hoping for other kids to come along. I didn’t actually make friends there, though. I had a few people I talked to in different schools. I even had an enemy, who tried to beat me up once, only she couldn’t hit hard enough for me to notice.
And so it goes. I was not diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome until much later in adult life. At the time, schools diagnosed me as bad, or weird, or unhappy. I was sent to various shrinks, who never diagnosed me and never gave me useful help on making friends or developing social skills.
I met people that I talked with when I was in college, and on my first job as a teacher. Not one turned out to be a long-term close friend. I failed at my teaching job mainly because I didn’t have the social skills to please the principal, even though he admitted I was a good teacher. I was foolish enough to quit because he questioned my commitment to my role as teacher. (Hint: never quit. If you wait til they fire you, you put in more time working and may become eligible for benefits or to sue your workplace for discrimination against persons with disabilities, if you get diagnosed as such.)
Since then, I have been essentially in solitary confinement, without the fun of committing an atrocious crime first.  I have gone without friends. There is no one in this world I can call on the phone for a bit of human contact except my 91-year-old mother. My blood relations don’t even call me to invite me to Christmas dinner, which is why I spent Christmas alone this year. 
But there are some bright points. A number of years ago, some Serbian-American guys from Chicago came to my place to buy a meat goat— they are fond of chevon (goat meat). They had some hunting land in our area and came up regularly. We became friends. One of them, Petar, retired to a house near where I live, and the other two may also be planning to retire up here. Of course, they don’t share any of my interests other than goats, chickens, and other critters.
I also have online friends. Online friends are not exactly like real-world friends. Sometimes someone who felt like a close friend stops using social media for a while, or uses it less or in a different way, so I’m pretty much cut off from them. And it’s always hard to figure out social interactions, even online. Should I take the initiative and contact them? Or would it be intrusive or creepy? Impossible to say.

Sunday, December 23, 2018

It's depressing when it's almost 'The Holiday'

Some days my life feels dull and depressing. So I relieve the stress of my lonely Asperger-Syndrome life by playing a game on my cell phone. Specifically, 'The Walking Dead: The Road to Survival.'

Only this game has factions. Groups of players who fight together. I was in what I thought was a pretty good faction. Only suddenly our faction leader has this great brainstorm: we're all going to quit the faction and join up with another faction. Our faction has always been about 1/2 strength anyway. But the faction that he arranged for us to join is a faction with a MISSPELLED NAME. The Feirce_Fighters. 

I can't join a faction with a misspelled name! It's like a math teacher joining a faction with a wrong arithmetic problem as a name. Can't be done!

So I'm in a faction where the leader and the most active players have jumped ship and there is a faction event (Survival Road) and I'm almost the only one putting points on the board from our 1/3 strength faction. No one is in faction chat, and I get by just by fantasizing about creating a NEW faction with me as the leader. I already have a name for my future faction. But it all seems so pointless....

On the good side I've been sorting through the bookcases in my book hoard. I have an extra bedroom where I keep all the books, and it's been a real rat's nest for a few years now. But I've moved 7 bookcases to new places, sorted out 3 bookcases for science fiction and fantasy, one for true crime, one for Westerns and historicals.... I have one more bookcase downstairs I have to move upstairs, and a second one I have to fix a little and then also move upstairs. Once I've got the majority of my books shelved, I can start sorting through and give some books away to Saint Vinnie's, compost a few falling-apart or evil-evil-evil books, and then I'll have shelf space to sort more of my keepers into proper categories. And my downstairs bookcase where I keep the cookbooks is moving from my cluttered kitchen into the downstairs bedroom. I'll just have to walk in there to consult cookbooks from now on.

But now I'm too tired from moving furniture to do more up there, and I still haven't got the call from family members about Christmas dinner so I still don't know if I'm invited, and they just don't like to call me which is why I'm too scared to call them (that and the Asperger Syndrome) and I'm sure there's nothing good on television.....

Once Christmas is over and life for other people is back to normal and my life is back to normal-weird, things with be better. Deo gratia!

Saturday, December 22, 2018

Blog Moving, again

I've always used Blogger blogs. But then one day Blogger made me join Google+ and I wanted out and you couldn't get out, and so I started a blog.

I have scads of other neglected blogs here. More importantly, I like features available here that you can't get on, or at least not for free.

I decided to start a version of the Wordpress blog here. And then found that I couldn't get to the page that allows you to start a new blog on Blogger, so I repurposed an old one. This used to be a private writing diary which I never use. So I deleted the old posts and am planning to start writing here.

I don't know what I'm going to do about my Wordpress blog. It's kind of annoying since people keep reading it. Well, I won't have that problem here. Or at least not at first.
Nissa Annakindt

Sunday, January 31, 2010

Poem: running about on hens' legs/for baba yaga

trouble, trouble vicks and tea
break the corners of tv
hide the harp and bend the lid
do you know what marko did?
too late
too late
simmer pansies vixen tee
build the carpet on the sea

2010 n. i. annakindt