Hooray kids!...

...it's time for another episode of "Adventures in English Class". Last time, Our Hero was blasting away at gun control wackos with both barrels. Today, it's a little dose of "Sex and the Workplace". Our story begins with, (well, really IN) another story, by one Barbara Ehrenreich. It seems Babs had a little problem on the job--some guy made a pass at her. Well, let me tell you, she was PLENTY mad! So mad that she went home and wrote an essay called "What I've Learned from Men". She complained about macho men and mousy women, and I forget exactly what it was she learned from men, but, as usual, Our Hero had a different take on the situation. The passage in question was “I, a full grown feminist, conversant with such matters as rape crisis counseling and sexual harassment at the workplace, had behaved like a ninny-or as I now understand it, like a lady.”

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Don’t get me started. What is that high-pitched whine I hear? Could it be another poor, oppressed feminist, blaming men for her lack of backbone? Yes, I believe that’s exactly what it is. Instead of slapping the creep’s face and walking out, she blithely carries on the conversation as if nothing is going on, then goes home and writes an article about what bastards men are, wherein her thinly veiled anger, blaming men for certain shortcomings in women, flies it’s true colors.
For instance, is it the fault of men that some women are self-deprecating about their accomplishments? Can we, the male of the species, be blamed for the “small acts of deference” some women perform on their jobs, like smiling unnecessarily? Could it be possible that some of these jobs require a little smiling and friendliness no matter which position the toilet seat is in when that employee takes a break? Or even possibly they actually like their job and like people and, God(dess) forbid, like to smile? Moses, smell the roses!
Then she castigates macho movie stars for just being guys while at the same time encouraging women to be more like them. Besides, there were some very tender moments between Mel Gibson and his family in “Mad Max.”
I’ll tell you this: I’d rather have Clint Eastwood covering my ass in a foxhole than Gloria Steinem. Any day.