I follow with this tumblr. I post with other ones.
Lots of people ask for recommendations for non-bro fronted bands, and so I’m going to just leave my bandcamp page here cuz it’s mostly that and I am trying to go back and write a review/blurb about the most special ones to me on there. Pass it along please to anyone you see posting that clip of my talk aking for bands I would point at! Thanks!!!
stay pissed,
Jennai
I only follow with this blog. I am misandryxvx… If I am following you back it is because you likely saw that video where I rant about bro-core. Same person. :)
I’m a misandrist. I call men out when they say sexist things. I call men out when they do sexist things. I get really pissed off at rape culture and call men out when they say offensive things. I write long ranty post about sexism in the media. I call my sexist professors out for completely…
A THOUSAND TIMES YES!! LET’S BE BEST FRIENDS FOREVER AND EVER!
Yesterday, I witnessed a discussion on my dashboard that centered, once again, around Tyler the Creator (of Odd Future) and indie rock artist Sara Quin (of Tegan and Sara.) This discussion was actually an extension of a conflict that had occurred between the two earlier in the year, when Quin wrote a post discussing Tyler’s copious use of the word “faggot” and misogynistic terms in his music.
Although the post is considerably old and the conflict itself even more so, I found that my initial reactions to the post (anger and defensiveness) had increased even more fold when witnessing the discussion. Granted, it was a short discussion, easily contained, and not hostile in the slightest, yet I could feel the same exasperation and annoyance I usually feel when in discussion of rap and hip-hop with white feminists. As a black, queer womanist who could understand where Quin was coming from, I was not at all sympathetic to or appreciate of the ways in which Quin decided to discuss Tyler, his music, and the genre of rap.
To be honest, Quin wasn’t really doing anything new or innovative; white feminists have been crucial in lambasting rap and hip-hop first (or only) when discussing misogyny in homophobia in music. Not only is this usually done in a way that is ignorant of white privilege or racial undertones, but it done in a way that insinuates that misogyny/homophobia is specifically found in rap/hip, and that it cannot be found in other genres of music such as rock, pop, and country (which we know is not true.) My reaction wasn’t specifically aimed at Quin, although I did not hesitate to call her out, but rather Quin’s ability to take comfort in calling out Tyler, because she had (presumably) seen feminist discussions of rap/hip-hop before, and felt justified in making her post without thinking about the varying levels of privilege that were at stake.
My anger aside, I did understand where she was coming from. Although she did neglect to recognize black, queer women who were fans of Tyler the Creator (like me), and who were also able to recognize and call out the misogynistic, homophobic qualities to his music, I could—as a queer woman—understand her anger and concern for the rise in his music. My aversion to Quin’s post did not make me an automatic defender for Tyler; in fact, I had written several posts about the concerning parts of his music, how uncomfortable they made me, and did recognize that his popularity stemmed on society’s acceptance of rape culture and homophobia.
This is the dilemma that black (female) feminists are often put into whenever certain aspects of black culture are brought forward in the feminist community: race or gender? In the case of Tyler vs. Quin, I was either expected to defend black men (so generally, defend my race) or side with Quin’s so-called feminist approach to Tyler (my gender.) Instead, I did neither. Both sides were equally guilty, but it was Quin that I kept coming back to.
An excerpt from Quin’s post:
Maybe it’s because in this case I don’t think race or class actually has anything to do with his hateful message but has EVERYTHING to do with why everyone refuses to admonish him for that message.
Quin’s rejection of race and class in discussion of Tyler, the Creator (and by extension, hip-hop and rap) is the basic of white feminists’ discussion of these two genres. In order for Quin and other white feminists to properly discuss rap in the way that it is most appealing and beneficial for them (pointing out its homophobia/misogyny without discussing other genres), they must suspend the white privilege—and sometimes class privilege—they carry. In order for Quin to properly discuss Tyler the Creator, she had to remove race from the equation—but that is not easily done or advisable, and made her entire point/post futile.
It is impossible to discuss the homophobia/misogyny in rap without discussing race. Discussions of rap are often discussions of the black community because the ideals of rap are also found in the black community, namely machismo and power. The hyper-machismo attitude of rap and hip-hop is what’s responsible for the homophobia and misogyny, and that same attitude is what is presented to black men in the community. To bring it home: homophobia/misogyny is part of the machismo attitude presented to black men, which is a reaction to the race relations of black men in America.
This is what white feminists fail to understand, what I’d like to discuss in this post.
This is probably the most important thing I’ve written so far?
This was an EXCELLENT piece. A must read.
“Eight percent of college men have either attempted or successfully raped. Thirty percent say they would rape if they could get away with it. When the wording was changed to “force a woman to have sex,” the number jumped to 58%. Worse still, 83.5% argue that “some women look like they are just asking to be raped.”—
Margo Maine, Ph.D. (Body Wars)
There was a time that, as a person of the male persuasion, seeing this quote made me really mad. It made me mad that women would assume that I was a rapist; it made me mad that rape was becoming ‘my problem’; it made me mad because, frankly, I didn’t think it was true. I think that this is a really common male attitude when confronted with rape statistics- or, at least, it has been in my purely anecdotal experience.
But now, I know there is no excuse for that. Men need to take responsibility and look at these numbers for what they really are, and what they really, truly represent. Men, don’t be mad at the woman who is justifiably wary that more than half of the men she knows could be her potential rapist. Don’t be mad at that there’s someone trying to rain on your fun, privileged parade where rape is something that only happens on Law & Order. Don’t be mad that you can’t accept that rape is way more common than you think. Most of all, don’t be mad at the woman who was raped and is seeking justice and help for her assault just because you thinks she looks like she was ‘asking for it.’
Be mad at the man who waits in the park to prey on the women who have a right to feel safe in their own communities. Be mad at the man who takes advantage of his drunk girlfriend. Be mad at the man who pushes the issue when his wife isn’t in the mood. Be mad at the man who catcalls, who makes unwelcome advances, who cops a feel.
Don’t be angry at the woman who doesn’t entirely trust you. Be angry at the men who have made her feel that way. Don’t be a part of a problem.
Be a part of the solution.
(via bmsmith623)
This is the best commentary I’ve seen on this post. It’s been around since Sept 2010 and has about 5000 notes, and yet, this is the only commentary I’ve seen that entire time that is basically amazing.
(via blackenedbutterfly)
Yes. This commentary.
(via stfufauxminists)
this commentary is amazing.
(via ancientbruises)
Commentary.
If anyone would like any resources to help cut the cruelty out of their lives or are just curious, here are some things you should really check out.
Gary Yourofsky’s Speech on Veganism
Animal Liberation By Peter Singer
Instead of answering this one directly I thought I would just give some perspective.
The Niagara Vegan Baking Militia unofficially started around 2008-2009. There were already bake sales going on but they were always one-off and there was no community feel to it and no focus. It got a silly name…
^^^ this.
I can say to you that doing farmer’s markets this summer it was like vegan skool. I had half a dozen people at least email me and transition over to vegan after talking with me weekly over cookies. By the end of the summer my table looked like an info shop because of all the materials that ended up on it. I donated to several bake sales, g20 defense nights, prisoner support nights and other community events. It DOES bring the community closer. Even just having people know where to find you and talk. Additionally it gave me opportunities to speak about veganism and feminism on the radio, in the paper, and to people who had never heard of it (honestly.)
Branching from that I was able to generate funds and support from MTD, organize the vegan scavenger hunt, and I am about a month away from launching my vegan podcast. It started with making vegan desserts for my family. The only part that was different was that I went out into the street and I found people… But even more importantly, they were able to find me. Anyone who needed support, donations, table space, a question answered, or anything, they knew I would be there, vegan feminist as ever, waiting for them. Every week, twice a week.
Thank you for this post Dylan! I swear it goes exactly like he said. Step one: get up, wake up. Step two: go out and start something. It only gets bigger from there.
I get it—you’re a decent guy. I can even believe it. You’ve never raped anybody. You would NEVER rape anybody. You’re upset that all these feminists are trying to accuse you of doing something, or connect you to doing something, that, as far as you’re concerned, you’ve never done and would never condone.
And they’ve told you about triggers, and PTSD, and how one in six women is a survivor, and you get it. You do. But you can’t let every time someone gets all upset get in the way of you having a good time, right? Especially when it doesn’t mean anything. Rape jokes have never made YOU go out and rape someone. They never would; they never could. You just don’t see how it matters.
I’m going to tell you how it does matter. And I tell you this because I genuinely believe you mean it when you say you don’t want to hurt anybody, and that it’s important to you to do your best to be a decent and good person, and that you don’t see the harm. And I genuinely believe you when you say you would never associate with a rapist and you think rape really is a very bad thing.
Here is why I refuse to take rape jokes sitting down…
Because 6% of college-aged men, slightly over 1 in 20, will admit to raping someone in anonymous surveys, as long as the word “rape” isn’t used in the description of the act—and that’s the conservative estimate. Other sources double that number (pdf).
A lot of people accuse feminists of thinking that all men are rapists. That’s not true. But do you know who think all men are rapists?
Rapists do.
They really do. In psychological study, the profiling, the studies, it comes out again and again.
Virtually all rapists genuinely believe that all men rape, and other men just keep it hushed up better. And more, these people who really are rapists are constantly reaffirmed in their belief about the rest of mankind being rapists like them by things like rape jokes, that dismiss and normalize the idea of rape.
If one in twenty guys (or more) is a real and true rapist, and you have any amount of social activity with other guys like yourself, then it is almost a statistical certainty that one time hanging out with friends and their friends, playing Halo with a bunch of guys online, in a WoW guild, in a pick-up game of basketball, at a bar, or elsewhere, you were talking to a rapist. Not your fault. You can’t tell a rapist apart any better than anyone else can. It’s not like they announce themselves.
But, here’s the thing. It’s very likely that in some of these interactions with these guys, at some point or another, someone told a rape joke. You, decent guy that you are, understood that they didn’t mean it, and it was just a joke. And so you laughed.
Or maybe you didn’t laugh. Maybe it just wasn’t a very funny joke. So maybe you just didn’t say anything at all.
And, decent guy who would never condone rape, who would step in and stop rape if he saw it, who understands that rape is awful and wrong and bad, when you laughed? When you were silent?
That rapist who was in the group with you, that rapist thought that you were on his side. That rapistknew that you were a rapist like him. And he felt validated, and he felt he was among his comrades.
You. The rapist’s comrade.
And if that doesn’t make you feel sick to your stomach, if that doesn’t make you want to throw up, if that doesn’t disturb you or bother you or make you feel like maybe you should at least consider not participating in that kind of humor anymore, not abiding it in your presence, not greeting it with silence…
Well, maybe you aren’t as opposed to rapists as you claim.
- by timemachineyeah
(via lipsredasroses)
My aunt likes to feed raccoons.. and she refuses to be rationalized out of it.
They are awfully cute though.
I want to live here
jfkvhlefkhelfdkvwskfjvb I LOVE RACCOONS
BEEEBEEEEESSSSS OMG
“It was the weirdest thing… Jennai was sitting there, looking at tumblr and then her chest blew open and all this confetti exploded all over the room…”
Every raccoon ever should be my best friend and hang out with me forever. Please.
Public Service Announcement for Young Women Who Don’t Consider Themselves Feminists… [By: Mindy Nettifee]
Also, for anyone who says the word with derision,
Or like it’s a secret,
Or like it’s the punchline to everyone’s favorite joke.
For anyone who has ever called a woman a feminazi, a bra-burning hippie, an ax wound, a cunt, or some chick that’s…the last one is my favorite.
But mostly for young women who do not consider themselves feminists.
Babies,
Please for the love of all that is right and holy and grandmotherly in this world,
Stop saying that shit out loud.
It makes you sound like an idiot.
It’s like giving up the first twenty rungs on the sky wooden ladder to getting some respect,
The ladder is like a thousand rungs tall,
You’re going to have to fight for every rung.
You’re going to have to full torso fight for every goddamn rung.
When you say ‘I just don’t consider myself a feminist’ it’s like saying I’m not that crazy about the right to vote, or get an education, or prosecute men who perpretrate violence against me, it’s like saying,
“I’m cool with my body being property”.
Also,
Please stop following it up with, “I’ve just never been discriminated against personally”.
Because, although that’s great…that’s really great,
that you’ve ever met any obstacles to your self actualization and uh,
We’re really happy for you,
Who wants to be president anyway?
We’re just asking that you keep that to yourself,
That you feel no solidarity with the women who have no voice, no power, no safety, no light, no right, or freedom to drive a car, or walk down the street alone, no right to protect their own children.
Maybe you are not ready to acknowledge what you owe to your mothers and their mothers and their mothers,
To the women who did not raise you but loved you before you even existed,
Who raised you on their own backs,
To the bitches, and the brawlers, and the spit fires, to the snakes march hummers who con the justice out of men,
Sticky honey shine,
To the he-she’s who crossed enemy lines,
And took the fear and hatred into their own bodies and transformed it into swagger,
Into “I dare you motherfucker”,
Maybe your not ready.
I’m sorry,
Of course you’re not ready.
I am barely ready.
I am unprepared.
My sex is not a handicap to be overcome,
I’ve got sense like people got worries,
I’m not intimidated by mouthy boys, or entitled men, or roving packs of beer soaked adolescents looking for some humping ground of flesh.
It’s terrifying,
To be this soft.
To be an object.
To have had to learn first not who I was,
But how I was seen.
Am I pretty enough?
Why is he looking at me like that?
Why isn’t he looking at me?
Who will love me?
Why would anyone love me?
If I exploit myself first, I will be spared exploitation.
If I don’t claim the war is mine, I won’t be targeted.
If I don’t want it, power, it won’t hurt when I can’t have it.
But you can,
Have it.
Don’t you feel some repressed ambition stirring nauseously inside you,
The piece of Eve’s apple that won’t digest,
The slow monster when you try to smile, and be nice.
The tiger hinging on it’s hind legs.
Don’t be grateful.
Be ungrateful.
Be on your last nerve.
Get ready.
“Odd though this may seem, in most important ways you are probably already an anarchist — you just don’t realize it. Let’s start by taking a few examples from everyday life. If there’s a line to get on a crowded bus, do you wait your turn and refrain from elbowing your way past others even in the absence of police? If you answered “yes”, then you are used to acting like an anarchist! The most basic anarchist principle is self-organization: the assumption that human beings do not need to be threatened with prosecution in order to be able to come to reasonable understandings with each other, or to treat each other with dignity and respect.”— David Graeber (via gravewisdom)
(via sad-giirl)
It has taken me several attempts and more than 24 hours to begin to unpack some of the events that happened Saturday night in such a way that I may convey them to people who are not myself, were not where I was, and were not with me afterward. This is about the best that I can do.
Saturday night while out of Nuit Blanche, Cara and I decided to look for a washroom to use. The AMC security Guards told us that the nearest we could likely use was at the 24/h Burger King on Yonge. When we got there the place was lined up to the doors, easily 40-60 people in line. The washroom was a locked doorway on the main floor that stated only customers may use it. We saw an opportunity to slip into the door when a group of people came out. For those of you who have never been, the women’s bathroom is down a narrow flight of dirty stairs into the basement. From there you go down a few meters to a turn, and then down to the end where the ladies room is. A bit further and around another short turn is the men’s. It is a dim, low ceiling area with halls so narrow you can’t comfortably pass others with space once down there. The stairs could not easily accommodate 2-way traffic. There is no camera. No offices. No anything but the basement and the bathrooms.
When we were down there a few people were around, both inside and outside the bathrooms. When I came out of my stall and didn’t see Cara I assumed that she had decided to leave the gross bathroom and head upstairs. Figuring I had just missed her I went into the hallway to see if I could see her on the stairs. When I exited the bathroom the whole hall was empty (or it appeared that way.) I looked around the corner and didn’t see her so I went to turn back. I was then met in the corridor by two men who had been standing around the second curve. They stood shoulder to shoulder so they filled the hall; they approached me. They both had their hands in their pockets, one had a scarf over the lower part of his face. They advanced towards me making eye contact the whole time, and without saying a word they suddenly took quick aggressive steps that startled me and caused me to back-up into the corner at the end of the hall. Not one to be a big fan of male aggression/posturing and at this point thoroughly terrified about the surroundings (back against the wall, basement, locked door above, empty hall, corner, 2:1) I decided to fight the situation and I told them to “fucking move” and I shoved through them and ran into the women’s washroom where I proceeded to slowly begin to lose my shit.
Cara was inside still and I made her wait for about 10 minutes with me before I felt like it was safe for either of us to leave. She checked the hall and it appeared empty again so we decided to leave with the next group of women. We did, and again, like the time before, the once empty hall now had one of these men in it, at the corner, on his phone. The other was nowhere to be seen. (If I had to guess he was probably behind us, around the second curve again.) The very fact they were able to advance me into the corner without speaking a word to me or each other made me almost certain that their whole reason for being down there was to prey on women, and that they had discussed strategy previously.
We left safely, but only after I was completely out did the adrenaline wear off enough for me to face the gravity of what might have happened had I been down there alone, or had I not turned back at the stairs to then be facing their advance. I am upset about what transpired in that basement, but at the end of the day I am fine. I did the right thing. I am comfortable with how Cara and I handled the situation.
What happened next is why I am so upset today; an even ruder awakening about the safety and security of women in this city, and exactly where on the priority sheet violence (or would-be violence) towards women is located for the Toronto Police. (Spoiler alert: It’s at the bottom.)
Just across the street at the Eaton’s center, a police officer was talking with some security guards. The officer I spoke to could 1) see the burger king. 2) could have thrown his baton and hit the burger king. 3) Was standing and happily conversing with the other men around him and seemed annoyed/unimpressed that I had approached him (in tears and visibly shaken) to report what had just happened to me not 10 minutes earlier. I explained the above scenario, and added that I strongly felt that both of those men were going to remain in the corridor until they had successfully preyed upon a woman. I stated that I felt extremely unsafe and that this was narrowly avoided on my part, and that others might not be so lucky. He got a call on his Walkie-Talkie and while running from me said “I can’t help you. Call 9-1-1”
So I called 9-1-1. I informed the dispatch woman who took it very seriously. She took descriptions, location and other details from me and told me she sent the call out.
This was serious to me however, because in real time I felt as though I was fighting the clock on an abuse that was near guaranteed to happen if someone did not go over there. So friends and I split up to find yet another police officer on foot patrols. Tyler and I found a group of 5 police chatting by a van nearish to Dundas, less than half a block from the Burger King (you could still see the doors from where we were, as Yonge was closed and the cops van was parked on the street.) Of the 5 one cop was female, and as I had no luck with the male officer earlier, I asked to speak to her and looked her in the eye and told her precisely what happened to me. I told her I was completely sure they were still there. I told her I was sure they’d assault someone in a more severe way if they weren’t stopped. I told her that if I had been even one shred less bold, that it would 100% certainly have been me. She stared at me, expressionless, without nodding, speaking, moving a facial muscle, opening her mouth, or adjusting her posture and just listened to me say everything I had to say. She then, calm as day said “Did you tell the manager of the burger king?” to which I replied “no. I fled the burger king…” We stood in silence for a moment and she said “okay, well thanks for letting us know. We are pretty short staffed tonight so we’ll check it out if we get a chance.”
And that was it. She broke eye contact and we were done talking. That was the response. Two police officers within a stones throw of the actual incident. A full fresh-within-minutes description. My still shaken teary face and that wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to warrant even a response. Not enough compelling evidence to cause any of those officers to take even one fucking step close to that burger king than they were already. 5 officers in the group and they couldn’t spare 2, for 5 minutes to even investigate my claim? The second police officer didn’t even tell me to call 9-1-1! She basically “case closed” my story. They took no statement. No descriptions. No incident report. Showed no sympathy. What they did do was resume talking amongst themselves, and standing clustered in their group. That was how important this was to them. That was how important every other woman in that restaurant, that hallway, that area was that night.
Why do we have these beat cops all over on the busiest night of the year if not to police the area? What are they there to prevent if not assault in dirty hallways beneath restaurants by predators who sit in the shadows waiting for some poor drunk woman who needs to pee to not look back over her shoulder? Who precisely do they serve and protect when I came to them, face-to-face, while on duty, and begged for assistance not only for myself but for every other woman present on Yonge street that night?
I did everything exactly by the police vigilance handbook. I was firm, alert, in a group, had my phone, had running shoes on, a baggy sweatshirt and boys jeans. I was sober. I looked my attackers in the face. I memorized their clothing. I took in my surroundings and memorized them too. I fought back. I fled. I found an officer. I told them everything… Only to be met with contempt.
Is this not everything they have ever told me to do? Have I not satisfied EVERY criteria, (fair or unfair) that the police have said I need to do to unvictim myself; to protect myself? And what if that failed? What if when I pushed through they had grabbed me… What then? Would it have satisfactorily not have been my fault? Or should I only pee in designated main-floor areas now?
After all this what more could or should any woman do to be taken seriously by the police of this city? What else needed to happen? What is the magic sequence of events that would allows me to compel an officer of the law to investigate my incident? Why can they choose not to take my crime seriously when I am a citizen of this city?
I will not be so naive as to pretend I didn’t already know why women don’t report their assaults. I will not pretend to be satisfied with the Toronto Police in ANY of my previous encounters with them. I will say this: The attack itself was stressful, it was terrifying but that was not the part of my evening that was the most unsettling… The most unsettling part of my night was when a fellow woman, a badged police officer, sworn to protect me looked me in the face and told me “no.”
(Source: jenniferbundock.com)
Since I unlinked my blog from my Facebook, I figure why not post pictures here too! Yay photos.
For those of you who don’t know it, I take social documentary photos which is a fancy way of saying “I take pictures of my friends but I have a degree in photo so it makes it sound more important than other people who take pictures of their friends.” In reality, these are people I love and hang out with and that’s about it. The fancy term makes me feel less bad about the thousands of dollars I spent going to a place basically to meet a lot of these people, and learning how to shoot them using film. I guess I learned some other stuff too. I’m sure that matters to someone.
always reblog
and THIS IS WHAT’S WRONG with that fucking “1 OF DA BOIS; I’M NOT LYK THE OTHER GURLS!!!!!!” mentality i can’t stand.
ONE THOUSAND TIMES YES! (And also so often the “maleness” as oppose to femaleness these women claim to embody is also misogynistic… So not only are they denying their inclusion in the actual *real* tapestry of complex female character and personalities–they are hating on being female in order to emulate precisely the type of males our community has been trying to get through to.) THIS REGULARLY MAKES MY HEAD EXPLODE.
(via sad-giirl)
View high resolution
fixed.
Don’t reblog this is you are a WOMAN who is sick and tired of being called A GIRL. More fixing required but it is off to a good start.
Women can be chauvinists just as easily as men can and this is proof.
(via sad-giirl)