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Comrade Anklebiter in an another thread wrote:
I only ever took one cultural anthropology course and I was stoned through most of it and the professor was gorgeous, but still: from what I recall, hunter-gatherer bands were, well, communist. I remember, in particular, with being impressed with something called "prestige avoidance," but the details are kind of hazy because, well, I spent the whole class high staring at the teacher's ass.
And it turns out she's union strong!
"'Our effort began with a simple but clear demand: Boston University should value teaching,' Laurie LaPorte, a lecturer in Anthropology at the College of Arts & Sciences, said in a statement. 'Corporatization in higher education is a growing concern here in Boston and across the country. With the support of our campus community, we’ve secured an agreement that begins to return the focus to what matters most – what happens in the classroom.'"
Woah. Went over to Facebook and the activist from Lawrence invited me to an event he is hosting...a follow up event on education...featuring...Ms. Berard!
In other news, one of my comrades from Worcester, Anarchist Nick, put out an EP on bandcamp. I haven't listened to it yet, but I will link it all the same:
I changed my FB profile picture to something distinctly more The-Big-Lebowski-ish and Ms. Berard "liked" it. She then changed her photo to something more sexy-ish and I "liked" it. I wonder if this is how cyberromances begin...
And if it is, I also wonder what La Principessa would do if she found out that I was dating yet another 39-year-old 8th-grade teacher who is estranged from her husband (who cries a lot?--at least, she cried when I saw her speak)?
David M Mallon wrote:
Speaking of talented celebrity crushes...
I had seen this news a couple of days ago and just now, when looking for it again, the first couple of articles referred to her not as St. Vincent or as Annie Clark, but as "Cara Delevingne's girlfriend" whom I had never heard of. I guess that's one more talented celebrity crush that will never go anywhere.
So...all last week was one pro-Hillary feminist after another making a fool of herself. Democracy Now! ran a couple of segments that would present a journalist from an obviously pro-Bernie publication against a pro-Hillary hack (Ellen Chelser of the Roosevelt Institute one day, Bertha Lewis of the Black Institute and NY Working Families Party the next) and the latter just pulling out every hackneyed Hillary talking point (and doing a bad job at it) and making me ill. And that was before Ms. Steinem's anti-feminist faux pas on Bill Maher's show and then the pronouncement of Madeleine "Special place in hell for scumbag imperialist war pig f+@@s who think a half million dead Iraqi babies are 'worth it'" Albright. Anyway, looks like Bernie took my fair state, so, it's time for another episode of...
Activist Friends (Acquaintances) of Comrade Anklebiter's In the News
Met Ms. Ropp at the Second Occupy New Hampshire General Assembly in Concord. Her husband, who claims he used to be a "yogic monk," works for the Quakers over at the American Friends Service Committee. Always was kind of sweet on her and was surprised when she denounced Mr. Comrade as a troll and told him to "f~%& off" after he asked some rather innocuous (I thought) questions about Bernie's history of working with the Democrats in Vermont to block third-party runs on a Facebook page. She later apologized for the "f%!$ off" but doubled down on the "troll." She was friendly, though, at the protest outside the GOP debates.
Ms. Castillo runs every immigrant rights rally I've ever been to in New Hampshire. Last I heard about her, she and Mr. Comrade got into an argument on Facebook about the recent elections in Venezuela. Apparently, she had heard some bad things about Maduro from her maid. I trust you can imagine, dear reader, what Mr. Comrade made of that.
I tell Mr. Comrade he shouldn't spend so much time on Facebook, but his job at the steel plant has a lot of down time and he's got a smartphone, so...
I don't know the rest of them broads, not even the Hillary supporter quoting Chairman Mao.
Finished The City last night. Books have no come complete circle, with Cija back with her mother in the town from which it all started, with Zerd (who didn't appear in this book at all) coming back to reclaim his lost bride.
Anyway, book's all kindsa messed up. For example, when she finally comes face to face with her High Priest father, who wants to kill her because he's supposed to be celibate and not have children, it turns out that there's a loophole in the High Priest's code of celibacy.
Turns out he's allowed to have an alligator paramour.
Like I said, these books be all kindsa messed up.
Alas, La Principessa would do very nasty (nasty as in bad, not nasty as in good) things to me if I were polyamorous.
Freehold DM wrote:
Well, you'd better start doing your job, Freehold. She called me up last night, stoned, looking for phone sex.
Important Tip for Young Comrade Lovers
When your girlfriend sends you a bosom shot in her new steampunk dress she bought at ComiCon twenty minutes before a meeting, do NOT, repeat, do NOT wait until after the meeting to respond.
She'd probably still be ripshiznit, but, fortunately for me, another crisis has presented itself and my "inconsiderate smug asshol"ishness is no longer the topic of contention.
Off to Brooklyn, huzzah!, with copies of Jane Gaskell's The Dragon and Irish Fairy and Folk Tales by Yeats, which I scored off Comrade Curtin, for the bus ride. Huzzah, huzzah!
(Even more huzzah-worthy, La Principessa shyly informed me that, at thirty-eight years old, she has now purchased her SECOND outfit of skimpy, see-through, bedtime wear. Will we be watching the second season of Game of Thrones this weekend? I know not, but, HUZZAH!!!!)
It was the demise of Khal Drogo, that did it, actually. La Principessa really, um, gets into it when we do the KD/Dany scenes, so, you know, I started to identify with the barbaric, rapacious, horselord. I think I'm going to start putting bells in my hair.
"Indeed the same dark question often rose into her mind, with reference to the whole race of womanhood. Was existence worth accepting, even to the happiest among them? As concerned her own individual existence, she had long ago decided in the negative, and dismissed the point as settled. A tendency to speculation, though it may keep woman quiet, as it does man, yet makes her sad. She discerns, it may be, such a hopeless task before her. As a first step, the whole system of society is to be torn down, and built up anew. Then, the very nature of the opposite sex, or its long hereditary habit, which has become like nature, is to be essentially modified, before woman can be allowed to assume what seems a fair and suitable position. Finally, all other difficulties being obviated, woman cannot take advantage of these preliminary reforms, until she herself shall have undergone a still mightier change;..."
Spoilered for being less Women's-Liberation-Through-Socialist-Revolution!-ish but still pretty awesome
"...in which, perhaps, the ethereal essence, wherein she has her truest life, will be found to have evaporated. A woman never overcomes these problems by any exercise of thought. They are not to be solved, or only in one way. If her heart chance to come uppermost, they vanish. Thus, Hester Prynne, whose heart had lost its regular and healthy throb, wandered without a clew in the dark labyrinth of mind; now turned aside by an insurmountable precipice; now starting back from a deep chasm. There was wild and ghastly scenery all around her, and a home and comfort nowhere. At times, a fearful doubt strove to possess her soul, whether it were not better to send Pearl at once to heaven, and go herself to such futurity as Eternal Justice should provide."
Had an interesting conversation with the Nigerian Princess awhile ago that I have forgotten to write up until now:
I have no idea how it came up, but we were talking about catcalling, or street harassment if you prefer, and she said she was quite ambivalent about it. On the one hand, she said, when guys whistle at her or whatever, she gives them her "biznitchface." But, she added, as soon as they were gone she would smile because "You know, I must be looking good."
I told her that she had to stop sending mixed signals like that. "What do you mean?" she protested, "I don't send mixed signals, I glare at them."
"Yeah," I said, "but then you come back here and tell me and [Mr. Comrade] about it and then we go on the internet and tell everybody what you said. Stop perpetuating your own oppression, [Nigerian Princess]!"
Meanwhile, apparently, Mr. Comrade has been catcalled three times by black and/or brown girls since he has moved to Lowell.
Freehold DM wrote:
La Principessa is a communist activist of eight-years standing. Bigger, blacker, and if successful, beardier may all win you points in her favor, but she likes her men red.
Nothing to do with socialism, but some bedtime reading on La Principessa's part led to my discovery of
who was driven to suicide by state persecution for giving sex advice to turn of the last century Americans based upon her experiences making love with an angel.
Well, it's a little early to categorize La Principessa as a "mate," but:
At a comrade's house the night before Thanksgiving. Heavy flirtation occurred over a weekend full of Black Friday protests in front of the Wal-Mart and Ferguson solidarity rallies. Two weeks later, me and Mr. Comrade made a video at a victory rally for striking UE machinists, I catcalled La Principessa and put it on her Facebook page.
She's been mine ever since.
Went out to lunch with La Principessa, La Principessa's Single Mother Comrade and La Principessa's Single Mother Comrade's 7-Year-Old ADHD-Diagnosed Son and the latter, for no apparent reason whatsoever, called La Principessa "Big Bra."
Out of the mouths of babes, etc.
He also referred to me as "Big Belly" (shut up, brat!) and, much more worrisome, "Daddy."
Objectification of women is a terrible, terrible thing, as is societal pressure put upon them to make them conform to some Cosmo-approved standard of beauty.
La Principessa was telling me that she's been putting on weight and that it's all been going to her breasts and buttocks. In fact, she had to stop wearing her 32 DD brassieres and buy 32 DDD brassieres.
I told her it was okay.
Also, I've noticed that more women have been flirting with me ever since I met La Principessa. I'm sure there's a scientific explanation.
For example, beautiful mixed-race South African fashion designer who came to the Let the Fire Burn screening and with whom the Nigerian Princess instantly bonded over being hawt African chicks and having sexy accents.
Turns out her name is Antoinette. Dare I call her the Coloured Princess?
More Fun with Love and Stuff
So, essentially, La Principessa has been depressed since she lost her election. She was okay for the five days I was down there, but as soon as I left, she just kept running into crisis after crisis, and fell apart at each of them. But I thought she was making progress, because, you know, at least she wasn't being mean to me. Woo hoo!
That changed last night, though.
She was going on about every detail of her problems at work (she filed a grievance when her principal told her she had to teach a different grade next year even though she's the most senior eighth grade teacher in the department; he responded by writing her up on three different discipline charges, one which included eating a yogurt during the graduation practice ["professional misconduct"] and another was telling one of the other administrators that her principal was a sadist in the teacher's lounge ["insubordination"]). She kept jumping around, stream-of-consciousness-wise, and it was confusing to follow, so I asked a few questions and she got exasperated. So I stopped asking questions and just listened. She went on for another couple of minutes, then started talking to her dog, then trailed off. "Are you still there?" she asked and, apparently, didn't hear me when I said "Yes." She then got mad and started accusing me of not listening to her.
Well, there's only so much of this a goblin--even one in love--can take, you know? I've come to terms with the fact that depressives are, by nature, self-absorbed narcissists, and she only remembers to ask about how my life is going once or twice a week, while I have to listen to the minutiae of every step in the United Federation of Teachers grievance procedures, and then she accuses me of not listening?
So, I flared up a bit. She flared up even more. "Oh, well, maybe I'll talk to you when you're less pissy." "Oh, I'm the one who's pissy?" Etc., etc., etc. until I hung up on her.
Which started the dreaded barrage of La Principessa texts.
Now, I know I'm supposed to not engage and reassure and not return tit for tat, but, you know me, and the urge to bait is strong and sometimes I have to give in or else I'll go crazy. For your delectation, the texts:
LP: Just so you know, if i wanted to talk to myself, I could do it without calling you.
DJdD: What, you want to fight?
LP: No, but could you maybe make the tiniest effort to interact with me? Maybe signal me you're listening at all?
DJdD: Like when I asked what 310 was? Or who Laurie was? Or after you jumped from this morning to laurie as a witness to angela's letter and i asked a question and you got exasperated?
LP: More like when you forgot I'm spending my days around people who all think I'm a horrible psycho.
DJdD: I don't know what that means
LP: Whatever, I got to group [therapy] and was locked out and no one would come to the door so I left. Just leave me alone.
DJdD: You started this. You leave me alone.
[I think she composed the next one underground before she saw my response]
LP: Hope is completely pointless, as is trust. The world is ugly and I really don't see the point anymore. Just let me have some peace. I'm never going to get better and it will eventually just drive you insane. And make you cold. That's what I do.
LP: Fine. No problem at all.
DJdD: What are you talking about? Oh, that's right you want me to leave you alone, that's why you keep texting me.
LP: Wow. See, you're already a heartless bastard. That didn't take long.
DJdD: Yup, you really want to be left alone.
LP: Yeah, I f&%+ing do. But I'm glad you're enjoying ridiculing me.
DJdD: I'm a heartless bastard, remember?
LP: F!@+ YOU.
DJdD: You did this.
LP: Blocking you on my phone. F~!% you. I hope everyone I know does [sic] in a massive fire, including you.
DJdD: Well, i know how important getting the last word is to you. Block away.
I conferred a bit with Mr. Comrade and the Nigerian Princess, who were over for the second half of it, trying to get me to come out and do fun stuff with them. I told them I wouldn't be good company and was just going to sit in the dark and seethe until she came around. Mr. Comrade smoked me up and then I felt better and then they left and then I watched American Hustle, which wasn't very good, I thought, but some aspects of Jennifer Lawrence's character kept reminding me of La Principessa, and then I went to bed.
Woke up this morning to find that she had sent me an e-mail at midnight saying she was sorry and that blocking me was her sick way of protecting me from her and that she was never going to get better and I deserved someone better than her. So I wrote back asking if that meant she didn't want me to die in a massive fire after all and then she called me and then I made her laugh by telling her that the reason there was an ASPCA vehicle in her usual parking spot was that her Lab had ratted her out because she wasn't getting taken to the park often enough, further extrapolated a tale about an Underground Railroad of neglected dogs throughout Brooklyn and, run, baby, run, they're coming for you!
"Ha ha ha! Oh, baby, I love you...."
I know it's probably stereotypically narcissistically male, but I think she needs to have sex with me more often. Thankfully, today's the last day of school and she's got two months off.
Got another vacation coming up which will consist of a trip to Brooklyn, so I better finish A Game of Thrones before I get down there. Hence, I'm putting aside Brackett for a while and focusing exclusively on Hardy.
There's a really nice grassy hill outside of work that I've started frequenting. Get to work an hour or two early, smoke a bowl, sit on the hill, wait for La Principessa to call and then read a book. Yesterday, since La Principessa never called, I read chapters XXVIII-XXX and they made me cry over and over. My love and Tess are very different people and have very different problems, but it was kinda like Hardy had peered through a telescope into the future and was writing a description of La Principessa. I bet she would've made a great milkmaid.
Anyway, I was totally rooting for Angel Claire, then I finished "Part the Fourth" and peeked a couple of pages ahead and I am no longer and now I say f~*@ that douchebag! but my opinion might change as I keep reading.