A group called Conscious Men is apologising to the whole of femaledom for countless millenia of “the imbalance between male and female energy”, which is a new age way of saying that men have been assholes since time was time. Prostitution, rape, burning at the stake, inequality, subservient chores. You name it, they’re sorry for it and they’re ready to turn things around for a new era of co-creation. After struggling to watch the group’s 8.5 minute manifesto “Dear Woman”, it’s pretty clear that Conscious Men needs to add itself to the list of regrets.
I assume you didn’t get far, so let me sum it up. These blokes “feel deep love, great respect and a growing sense of worship for the gifts of the feminine,” as well as ” deep sorrow about the destructive actions of the unconscious masculine in the past and present.” They also honour a great number of things about women, such as our deep connection to the earth, intuition and profound capacity for feeling, beauty and integrity of our bodies, sense of compassionate justice, and capacity to listen to our bodies and its needs for food, rest, and playtime.
It’s as if they’ve never met a woman at all, but is that a real surprise? This video is loaded with skeevie child molester types and dudes who look like they have roofies in their pockets. It also sports a “Deliverance” extra, a white guy with dreadlocks who isn’t Adam Duritz, and a chap who celebrates women’s ability to “pay attention to what is here, right now” while standing in front of a drawing of a large kitten. I don’t get vibes of sensitivity and awareness from this crew. I feel like I should call Benson and Stabler from Law & Order: SVU and get them on the case before I’m the next one tied up in the sex dungeon.
What’s sad is part of me still wants to believe that these guys are sincere. Luckily, my good sense takes over and remembers that sincerity is about actions, not words delivered in a sappy, overwrought manner that makes the skin crawl. These tools aren’t sensitive or in touch with their feminine sides. They’re needy, self-indulgent creepers who can’t get laid. Instead of working on being a little more attractive to the opposite sex, they turned to what I can only assume is a new age sex cult with a compound, tax free status, and a Facebook page. It would certainly explain why Chameli Ardagh, wife of Arjuna Ardagh - one of the group’s founders who is also hawking his “Deeper Love” retreat in Corfu, stepped off the sanity ladder to pledge her own apology to men on behalf of her “sisters” (women):
“In our bitterness and feminine starvation we empower ourselves by making you small and ridiculous. We speak of the masculine with contempt and disrespect and instead we took it upon ourselves to compete with men, when this was a futile competition to start with.”
I wish there was a Woman Card because I’d snatch Mrs. Ardagh’s out of her hands and cut her with it. The nerve of this bitch. To suggest that I and other women need to share blame for empowering ourselves and making men feel small and ridiculous is completely out of hand. I’m empowered and I’m not apologising for it and neither should anyone else. If that makes a man feel small and ridiculous, then fuck him. He’s not a man and I don’t want him in my life.
“The word is ‘nation’.”
“Nation. May I have the language of origin, please?”
I love ironies – even when they’re as weak and lame as this.
LINK (likely with typo corrected)
It may come as a shock but I’m not all depressed and ruined over Arsenal’s Champions League exit to Barca on Tuesday. Instead, I’m livid. Completely aggrieved. And you know what? I prefer it this way. Arsenal got rocked in the first half and never had a shot on goal, but we were surviving until a screw job by a useless, crooked cunt sealed our fate. That’s much easier for the soul to handle. Surprisingly, even Sp*rs’ undeserved result against AC Milan can’t harm me. Those twats may be in the quarters but they’ll continue to play second fiddle to Arsenal in North London for the rest of eternity.
In other news, when former NBA and scUM baller Jalen Rose was 18, he thought Duke recruited Uncle Toms.
“For me, Duke was personal. I hated Duke. And I hated everything I felt Duke stood for. Schools like Duke didn’t recruit players like me. I felt like they only recruited black players that were Uncle Toms.”
Is it worth pointing out that 18 year old Jalen couldn’t have told you the origin of the term Uncle Tom, thus illustrating exactly why he wasn’t Duke material? What about the fact that Duke heavily recruited Fab Five teammate Mayce Edward Christopher Webber III, er, excuse me, C-Webb, he of the Detroit Country Day School and 1300-level SAT score? True, he used basketball to get himself out of the killing fields of southwest Detroit and into a prep school, but if Coach K had swayed him, wouldn’t he be an assimilated sellout, too? Frankly, it doesn’t matter at this point. Why? Because Rose was 18. Everything that comes out of an 18 year old’s mouth reeks of idiocy.
However, when ESPN’s “First Take” gave an older, wiser Jalen a chance to reflect on those comments, he basically embraced them.
“Certain schools recruit a typical kind of player whether the world admits it or not. And Duke is one of those schools. They recruit black players from polished families, accomplished families. And that’s fine. That’s OK. But when you’re an inner-city kid playing in a public school league, you know that certain schools aren’t going to recruit you. That’s one. And I’m OK with it. That’s how I felt as an 18-year-old kid.”
Rose insinuates a level of unfairness or discrimination on Duke’s part. Coach Krzyzewski operates a well-oiled machine that wins championships because it stocks talented, hard-working players who buy into his system, play as a unit, and – this one’s important – stay four years instead of bailing for the NBA. It’s not a conspiracy against poor black kids or a devotion to a polished image. It’s about sustaining greatness. Players like Jalen Rose don’t help you sustain greatness. They help you get NCAA sanctions.
Rose also seems resigned to the idea that certain schools don’t recruit inner city kids as a matter of policy — like it’s a fait accompli. Now, maybe I’m not remembering the details of Uncle Tom’s Cabin accurately, but isn’t the character maligned for being passive, complacent, and unwilling to proactively challenge Simon Legree and the white man’s system? By that definition, doesn’t Jalen Rose fall in the Uncle Tom category, too? Or am I not allowed to ask that question?
Or will it even matter? Tonight, we head into Camp Nou – a place that paralyses the will - for our Champions League duet with Barca, and I only know two things for sure:
1. We have a 2-1 advantage
2. That’s not nearly enough
The pessimist, rather, the realist in me, who has watched Arsenal piss away chance after chance in league and cup play, is pretty sure this match is over before it even begins.
After all, this an Arsenal whose idea of seizing opportunity is squandering it with 90 minutes of beautiful passing and movement that constantly meets its end just outside the box. This is an Arsenal who comes out flat against lowly opponents only to fall in embarrassing fashion because of junior varsity mental errors by persons paid to know better. However, this is also an Arsenal who, on a night when the world expected it to be shamed out of its own stadium, delivered a second half performance of vengeful counterattacking that was nothing short of sublime.
Not often in the last couple years have our lads shown a superior opponent that it is made of equally strong stuff. Perhaps, tonight – one where we aren’t given a snowball’s chance in hell of scoring, let alone holding off a suffocating assault by Messi and the Catalans – is our night. Perhaps, this is the type of match our side has been waiting for. I know it’s crazy to hope. I know it’s foolish. I know it goes against all reason. That is precisely why I like our chances. For once, Arsenal have nothing to lose, and for once, I think we will see men in the red and white who play that way.
Sadly, I will be seeing it from my television. I had tickets for tonight’s event, but Mr. Flash put the kibosh on attending. Initially, I thought he was concerned that emotions caused by the outcome would be too much for me, and, thusly, our baking bun. It certainly was at Wembley when I got so upset that I lost my all of my in-game snacks outside the grounds after our disastrous loss against Birmingham. It was again when my anger worked itself into a debilitating migraine after our tepid failure against Sunderland. But alas, his intentions weren’t nearly so sweet. As it turns out, he was more concerned that I’d run off at the mouth and get myself attacked by a Catalan mob.
“You’ll start something with a Spanish nutter and he’ll hurt the baby.” “You think I will start a row in a crowd of rat arsed Barca fans.” “Yes.” “Do you think I’m crazy?” “Yes.”
At least he’s honest.
Arsenal 2, Barca 2
The Iranian National Olympic Committee threatened to boycott the 2012 Olympics because its secretary-general just realised that its logo, which was revealed in 2007, can be rearranged to spell the word “Zion”.
Zion is a biblical term for Jerusalem, and, by extension, the Biblical land of Israel. And veiled Zionist conspiracies, as you know, are racist – not to mention, totally rude.
“As internet documents have proved, using the word Zion in the logo of the 2012 Olympic Games is a disgracing action and against the Olympics’ valuable mottos,” the Iranian government wrote in a letter to the IOC.
At best, the logo looks like a clusterfuck of cutouts that my two year old nephew created with his plastic Crayola scissors. Wait, what am I saying? I’m a proud member of a religion with 3,000 years of beautiful tradition from Moses to Sandy Koufax! That logo is definitely a swastika. I bet that cartoon villain John Galliano is behind it.
Anyway, after making claims based on things seen on the internet, which I didn’t even know was permitted in Iran, the complaint insinuates that other Muslim nations may join it in boycotting the Games. This, of course, is hilarious since these nations collectively field about 16 “athletes” who engage in a quadrennial battle to the death for last place.
“There is no doubt that negligence of the issue from your side may affect the presence of some countries in the Games, especially Iran which abides by commitment to the values and principles.”
By commitment to values and principles, the Iranians must mean Holocaust denying, plotting to wipe Israel off the map, refusing to compete against Israeli athletes, treating its own citizens like ass, and being general assholes. A nation of true morals and integrity, that one.
IOC President Jacques Rogge recently responded to Tehran’s claims with a side eye and a chuckle, which no doubt angered it, but surely not as much as Pope Benedict XVI’s decision to exonerate the Jews of killing Christ. (Talk about a moment to wipe sweat from brow. Thanks, Pope Benedict!) Clearing Jews of a 2,000 year old alleged evil is clearly proof that Christians are working with us to further our Zionist agenda. Oh noes!!
Public Acts of Fuckery must be in the Steinbrenner genes because after two years of calm, Hank Steinbrenner is back to take his father’s mantle as a fat, epically ignorant windbag with no hope of redemption.
Hank went after the 2010 Yankees as being unfocused and complacent. Apparently, winning the 2009 World Series spoiled them, and instead of concentrating on victories (you know, like 2010′s 95 wins + ALCS appearance), they were too worried about “building mansions.” What players are building mansions? Derek Jeter. What a jerk.
For an encore, Steinbrenner took aim at MLB’s revenue sharing programme, noting that the Yankees expect 2010 luxury tax payments to total about $130 million. Honestly, he should take issue. The tax is too lopsided, the Yankees account for 92% of the taxes, money doesn’t go to the poorest teams, and minor market teams aren’t reinvesting the cash. But instead of saying that, Hank showed his ass:
“We’ve got to do a little something about that, and I know Bud wants to correct it in some way… Obviously, we’re very much allies with the Red Sox and the Mets, the Dodgers, the Cubs, whoever in that area…. At some point, if you don’t want to worry about teams in minor markets, don’t put teams in minor markets, or don’t leave teams in minor markets if they’re truly minor…Socialism, communism, whatever you want to call it, is never the answer.”
This, coming from someone who inherited a billion dollar franchise that dominates a monopolistic league and then took $1.2 billion in taxpayer subsidies to build a new stadium (and don’t forget the $30M from Hillsborough County, Florida taxpayers for the spring training facility). When you live in a box of hypocrisy, you know what you should do? Shut your fucking mouth. Instead, Steinbrenner bumps his gums like the kid who was born on third, thinks he hit a triple, and stopped paying attention in school the second he realised it.
Education: revenue sharing is the distribution of wealth, and regardless of what those Palin-following twats in the Tea Party try to tell you, that ain’t socialism. Socialism is the state or collective ownership of the means of production and distribution of goods. For it to take place in baseball, MLB would have to own the teams and that’s not the case.
But what’s important here isn’t Steinbrenner’s ignorance of basic political science. It’s his failure to understand that professional sports, especially sports relying on regional fan bases, are fundamentally different from other corporate structures.
Nike strives to put Reebok and Adidas out of business. Though it will never succeed, it will do everything in its power to continue increasing market share. Every customer gained, is a customer lost for its competitors, and given the power of brand loyalty, likely lost forever. Sports teams don’t have that luxury.
Eliminating teams from the minor markets leaves the Yankees with less teams to play, which means:
↓ fans of major league baseball
↓ people pretending to be fans in those $2,500 Legends seats
↓ league and team revenue – we’re reducing to about 12 markets, remember
↓ records and championships – because that’s what happens when you only play Boston, LA, Atlanta, Chicago, and the Mets
↑ fan boredom – see above
☆ Hankenstein wishes there was revenue sharing
Revenue sharing is seriously flawed, but, currently, it’s the only way to incentivise minor market owners to field decent teams, and that’s what keeps this league going. It’s not rocket science. It’s not even Lego-level science. It’s common sense. Obviously, this gorilla hasn’t any. Why he isn’t in a zoo while someone armed with a dart gun and magazine of sedatives guards his cage is beyond me.
I’m your typical Radiohead fan, which means I regard their songs as religious experiences, proclaim their superiority to anyone who will listen (and anyone who won’t), and have no trouble dropping £30 on new album packages before listening to a single note. In other words, I’m a pretentious twat of a music snob who judges you based on your iTunes library.
After 15 spins of the new album “The King of Limbs”, I’ve yet to see the face of Almighty and don’t know how to handle it. The band’s eighth album is good, don’t get me wrong, but I want it to be great, and I’m struggling to face the reality that it simply isn’t.** With the exception of “Pablo Honey”, Radiohead has delivered albums that may not have been what I expected or wanted but always turned out to be exactly what I needed. The fact that this album isn’t falling into that category (yet) makes me a little sad and confused. But let me show you the one thing Thom Yorke is (unintentionally) doing to turn my frown upside down –
** Pretentious addendum: Even at simply good and not great, “The King of Limbs” is still better than 98% of the bullshit foisted upon the public by the music industry.
I missed the Slam Dunk Contest on Saturday night but couldn’t avoid the global hysteria over Blake Griffin’s winning dunk. Hearing that someone dunked a basketball after jumping over a car was something I couldn’t even fathom, and then I saw it.
I don’t mean to be so contrary, but seriously? This is what millions are so hyped up about? Have the dunks gotten so lame that this is what counts is show-stopping these days? I thought Griffin jumped OVER the car, not the bloody hood. You can find guys at the playground who can pull this off. Wake me up when someone jumps over the roof of a car with air to spare. That’s when it’ll be time to be impressed. Until then, the only Slam Dunk Contest winner worthy of shock and awe is Michael Jordan’s leap from the foul line in 1988.
I meant to post things on Monday and Tuesday but found myself completely immersed in Words With Friends. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it’s taken over my life, but I will admit to a not-so-subtle attempt at dropping a serious word on someone during a videoconference this morning and, since my head was bowed in fierce concentration, accused of taking a nap. I am shamed. Anyway, my inability to break free from my phone prevented me sharing my latest shallow observation.
Yet more proof that baseball players are the most poorly conditioned, half ass athletes in the sporting world has emerged, with Yankees’ ace CC Sabathia revealing that he lost 25 pounds by cutting Cap’n Crunch out of his diet. Apparently, a nutritionist has helped him go from 315 to 290, the weight listed on his baseball card.
When asked what motivated him to stop being such an unrepentant fat-fat, CC said, ”Just me getting older, I want to try to pitch as long as I can, hopefully another 8-10 years. This is just the first step in trying to do that.”
Please. The only thing this is a first step in is opting out of his contract to commit additional counts of felony rape on the Yankees’ bank account. If CC didn’t have knee surgery heading into a season where he had the power to exercise his opt-out clause, he’d have no problem weighing 370 pounds.
What baffles me is why he ever thought eating Cap’n Crunch was okay. As a cereal junkie, I’ve been lured by the Cap’n's siren song, but those jagged kernels tear up the inside of my mouth and I can’t bear the pain. But even if I wasn’t such a wuss, Cap’n Crunch is a disaster of a cereal, with 12 grams of sugar and 109 calories in every serving. That won’t kill you in moderation, but CC – A PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE – was eating a whole box at a time.
It took a nutritionist to tell him this was a bad idea? Are you fucking kidding? The nutritionist also banned him from drinking so much Gatorade.
Again, WHY? Gatorade is for athletes who, you know, exert energy and sweat for sustained periods. It’s not for baseball players whose output on any given night is barely enough to burn off a Snickers.
I get that there’s this whole notion that you can be a baseball player and treat your body like rubbish. And I get that the Yankees’ championship foundations were built in large part by a fat man with chicken legs and his 714 home runs, but that doesn’t make any of this acceptable. The New York Yankees have a payroll north of $200M. With that level of investment, you’d think more care would be taken in making sure the people you’re relying on for championship runs weren’t so fat that their uniforms looked like a pair of Rush Limbaugh’s pajamas.
Egypt’s new military leadership dissolved the parliament, suspended the constitution, and set civil government elections for six months down the line. The country’s armed forces have been in charge of the country since President Hosni Mubarak stepped down last Friday, so they haven’t had time to make real adjustments to the president’s website.
But if they really wanted to send a message, they’d replace that lame animated gif of their flag waving in the breeze with my brilliant piece of decorative awesome.