I am not terribly embarrassed to admit that I am, and always have been, a bumper sticker nerd.
Ever since my first car, a brown squeaky 1974 Ford Maverick, I’ve always decked my rear ends with bumper stickers in one form or another. Granted, I’ve never gone off the deep end like some people who plaster their car in a suffocating mishmash of public pronouncements and musings. I’ve always restricted my bumper sticker display to one, tops. I suppose the most nerdy display of bumper stickerism I’ve ever driven around with was during my days of intense Chess immersion. I dared to wear a bumper sticker which read “Chess Nut.” I blush now. Oh well.
I was reminded of one bumper sticker I used to have while I made my blogospheric rounds this morning. I once had a bumper sticker (recently, actually) like this:
No Gods, No Masters. Yep. That was me at the height of my anarchist revolutionary stage. Trumping for Ralph Nader in 2000. Screw you all! I drove around with that for a long while and though I’ve lost much of that hard-edged rebelliousness, the sentiment remains, albeit in a slightly more subdued and tactful manner. No longer filled with the urge to slap people in the face with my passion, I choose to write about it on this blog instead.
This morning I read something by Roissian Celebrity Commenter, “greatbooksformen,” that manic stream off ill-spelled consciousness, the typo-ridden mainstay over on Citizen Renegade, in response to the post “Marriage Up, Dystopia Down.” GBFM’s jargon includes a nonsensical stream of strangely sequenced LOLZ’s and run-on thoughts, but if you’re patient and painstaking in applying your tools of comprehension, you may decipher a pattern, a series of cogent thoughts. Even a semblance of logic. This dude has some great insight.
His comment read:
Hey roissy1!!!!! sorry iposeted his in the wrong comments section just a bit ago. this is the rigt one lzozlz
another idea for a ms paint cartoon!!!!
have a women in a bussiness suit
all tiered and haggard
tired and haggard in a business suit with a sore anuth
with lotsa cocka cum all over her
and fiat dollzrz stcking out of her pockets zlozlzolzlz and an mba and ivy league degrees lzozlzlz and student loan debt certiicate slzozlzlz
and losta cats behind her
and then have her looking at
a owmen cradling a baby and with three small chicldren
and a husband just coming home
and a white picket fence lzozlzlz
and have the women in the business suit saying, “boy am i glad i’m not just someone’s property.”
And I was reminded of a conversation I had last weekend with a female acquaintance (not a feminist). She is a normal, single working modern woman steeped in the modernist culture that dictates one must work hard, invest, own, think long-term…that responsible, sensible post-revolutionary American matrix. We were having lunch and somehow got on the subject of feminism and the emerging role of modern woman in society. Despite the fact this acquaintance is not some shrill woman’s-libber, she nevertheless takes pride and derives solace from the supposedly vibrant and cultural contribution of Today’s Woman. She typifies the great mass of women who, while stopping short of expressing a desire to usurp manhood, still revel in independent-minded consumerism and the putative display of economic and personal “strength.” In the course of the conversation, she repeatedly alluded to women today having “choices.” That seems a common thread that runs through the self-congratulatory parade of modern female squeals of delight in this post-modern whateverthefuckyouwannacallit.
There are only two choice available in this steadfast world.
You either contribute to prop up the hungry matrix, this socially self-devouring assembly line of hypnotic materialism while simultaneously deluding yourself that by “owning” debt you actually really do own Shit. Or you drop out. Which literally entails relinquishing all superficial desires to help erect this artificial system, this house of cards while the blustery winds of economic turmoil begin to blow.
There is no such thing as choice and women who have glowingly embarked on a modern path of illusory self-reliance have a big surprise waiting. Man, having traveled this path much longer, are less dazzled by its hollow radiance. Thus, we generally do not awe ourselves (although the current generations of men do seem to battle delusions of cultural grandeur in excessive amounts for my tastes) that this rat race is anything more than a massive and collective charade of emotional masturbation. Women, seemingly new to the game, are flattered and swell with shameless senses of accomplishment.
Boastful and catty by nature, women indeed look down their noses at the traditional housekeeping wife who has devoted her life to raising children and supporting her husband/bread-winner, and proclaim their unprecedented liberty from matrimonial serfdom and the shackles of “ownership.” And in so doing, happily grab the jewel-laden reigns of debt and other societal obligations. They boast of not being property…yet joyously delight in filling that role, unannounced, by virtue of choosing indebtedness to…property.
I wonder when and how the moment will strike womankind, en masse, and they realize that in acquiring the apparent accoutrements of economic might and reproductive freedom, they have not acquired shit. They have traded in submission to a man for submission to The Man because she diligently cut out the insignificant and archaic middle-man. What becomes of them the moment this awful reality falls from the sky on their Chicken Little heads?
When will they understand glorious “freedom” is a zero sum game and that to attain it is to also inherit distasteful burdens men have happily shouldered (and shielded women from) for most of pre-modern society?
Something will hit the fan.