Sisterhood, Schmisterhood.

I tried to write an entry this weekend, really I did. But each time I began, I became overwhelmed: could I write an entry about vodka-stealing and copulating in a copse and all the tiny events that populate my days when such a furor grips the blogosphere? I will admit, I found the situation leading to said furor so distasteful that truly, I wanted nothing to do with blogs for a few days. But then I set my jaw and called a steely glint into my eye and reminded myself that if I don’t blog, The Terrorists Win. Or something.
Anyway, never let it be said that I let any event—however revolting—stem the tide of triviality that is Flotsam.

So I will soldier on, with apologies for not posting sooner. Though, as you will see, you haven’t missed much.

• Friday someone was directed to my website by executing the following search:

“getting sex from strangers in the woods”

I find the specificity of this search alarming. It is not merely sex the searcher is after, nor sex in the woods, nor sex with strangers, but all three elements combined. Apparently sex with an acquaintance in the woods would be unsatisfying, and sex with strangers in an unwooded area lacks a certain…je ne sais quois. Je really ne sais quois.
I have no advice for this person, except to bring a blanket. Because chances of convincing a stranger to put out are reduced dramatically if said stranger must recline upon brambles and a partially decomposed raccoon to do so.

• Saturday I was dining with family at a favorite Russian restaurant. As is our custom, we ordered a bottle of the house-made cherry vodka for the table. There is usually about a third left over, which I take home with me.
At the end of the evening, we were halfway out the door when…
“Excuse me! Excuse me! You take wodka? From table?”
The proprietress is bustling over. Yes I say, removing the bottle from my handbag, I did take wodka. From table. Our wodka.
“No no no no no, you cannot! Is Minnesota law.”
Well. Is new Minnesota law, apparently. Or at least never-before-enforced Minnesota law. I surrendered the bottle as other patrons looked on disapprovingly, and then scuttled out the door, liquor-less.

• Sunday I tried to think of a recipe to submit to Floor Cake Fest 2006. I had, you see, received a charming email from Emily requesting a submission—the delightful woman is under the impression that I am a “domestic goddess,” an impression allegedly culled from this entry. Obviously she was able to see beyond the charred and blackened exterior to the true, domestic goddess-y center of my soul. (Erin, will you kindly stop laughing).
Anyway, “Gin” is not really a recipe, per se, so I am still figuring out what my submission will be. I urge you all to submit something as well.

That’s it. That’s the sum total of my weekend: naturalistic perverts, angry Russians, and recipes.

Now let us turn our gaze from my navel to more important matters: Jul wrote an excellent post in response to a repellent article by Linda Hirshman.
Here is the article. Go read it, and come back.

I must say, Hirshman’s obvious disdain for women makes it rather difficult to take anything she says about feminism seriously, especially once she gets to her creepy Machiavellian solution to domestic inequality (marry weak-willed old man or useless intellectual—hey! I was crafty enough to snag the Nearly, who is a poet. My first step towards world domination is complete!) I am also struck by Hirshman’s ability to pick and choose which bits of the status quo she challenges. She is quite certain that it is wrong for women to stay home with their children (at least if they are privileged, educated women—she doesn’t seem to care about the others, as they have no potential to squander, presumably) and feels there needs to be a sea-change in the distribution of domestic tasks. But she does not feel the need to challenge the structure of economic power, at least regarding which jobs are valued. She has no quarrel with the idea that jobs in politics and finance are the only jobs that wield true influence (and are thus an acceptable use of women’s capacity—although it is not clear what she thinks that capacity is, as she seems to view women as spineless, easily bewildered, and mired in a Quixote-esque idealism). She doesn’t seem to regard work in the arts, education, sciences, or the non-profit sector as far above needlepoint in terms of usefulness. And for all her assertion that the reasoning behind her arguments is about more than money, that it is about women using their minds in ways that are challenging and engage with the world—how much more engaging is the work of an executive as compared to that of a molecular biologist? Or an essayist or teacher, for that matter?
Really, though, I will be honest—what bothers me most is the implication that I am too brainwashed or dull-witted to understand the implications of my own choices.
Ms. Hirshman is this close to being added to the list of women—along with Camille Paglia and Christina Hoff-Sommers—whom I would like to see bundled into a burlap sack and thrown down a well.