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What We Read When We Don’t Read the Internet PRESENTS! HARD WORK and HARD WORK and RIPOFFS

Posted on Tuesday, June 1, 2010 by Garland Grey

[Yes, it is that time again. Theme Post Party Time, that is! This week, we address Tiger Beatdown’s REALLY STUNNING TOTAL LACK of lit coverage with an extended series of posts on the Ladies and Lit Thing. Today, a visit from Garland Grey! Oh, yes, there will be some yelling.]

In a world where every franchise is just one or two bad movies away from being the thing you HATE MOST IN THE WORLD (Right, GEORGE LUCAS???) it was an idea that was long overdue: take an author’s work in the public domain, insert an element of popular culture (NINJAS! CHUCK NORRIS! YO’ MAMMA JOKES!) that people love, and hang your new prose on the author’s prefabricated style and structure. For instance, under this artistic model I could take clips of The Godfather and splice in footage of cakes falling over and me crying and call it The Godfather and Birthday Parties I have Successfully Ruined. I have done next to no work, I have a wonderful narrative structure to work with, and I can make money! Yay!

This trend started with Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and for a while there, it was the funniest thing any of us had ever heard of. Then Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters – every time we heard it, it got funnier.

Then I started thinking to myself:

Self,

Isn’t it ironic (no, ironic is never the word) or maybe just shitty (THAT’S the one) that Jane Austen fought against a rigid male social structure to write books that are clever and well-written and about FEMALE CHARACTERS, just to have her work co-opted by not only every two-bit writer who wants a bestseller (I’m calling my first novel The Jane Austen Annual Bake Sale Massacre) but also, in this specific instance, by a DUDE. A dude named Seth Grahame-Smith, a dude who is well-meaning enough to be certain, but a dude nonetheless, a dude who successfully rips her book off and then has the stones to go on NPR’s Fresh Air and tell Terry that writing his own book was harder than re-writing Austen.

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What We Read When We Don’t Read the Internet PRESENTS! Au Revoir, Pretty Horses; Or, Why I Don’t Read Man Books Any More

Posted on Monday, May 31, 2010 by The Rejectionist

[Ladies, gentlemen: Tiger Beatdown is a classy publication, of sophisticated cultural leanings. Sort of! We do spend a lot of time talking about the Miley Cyrus! And the Taylor Swift, and the Judd Apatow movies, and who is the best feminist on NBC’s Thursday night prime-time programming (there are so many choices). However, here is one thing that we rarely talk about: Literature. Which is sort of a strange omission, given that the one thing we know about You, the Reader, for certain is that you… well, that you read. That one is a given! Therefore, this week, we bring you What We Read When We Don’t Read the Internet, a Tiger Beatdown THEME POST PARTY (again! And also, WOO) dedicated to the Ladies and Lit Thing. Leading us off: The Rejectionist!]

When I was younger I did that thing that some of us ladies do, the thing of working very hard to be The Girl Who Was Cool Enough to Hang Out With the Boys. Being that girl was an exhausting job, fraught with peril; it involved drinking a whole bunch, not talking much, constantly making sure the boys knew how much more down I was than other girls, and carrying around at all times one of the following three novels: All the Pretty Horses ,On the Road, or Junky (even at the highest pinnacle of my internalized misogyny, I never made it through Henry Miller). It was an unforgivable sign of weakness to read books about (let alone by) women, who sat around in kitchens popping out babies, harping on their menfolk, and doing the dishes. Women were boring! They were gross! Passive! Or just plain mean! They didn’t think much! They couldn’t possibly do exciting things, like drive cars across the country or drive spaceships to the moon, kiss girls, duke it out with their fathers in a sudden eruption of years’ worth of Repressed Sentiment, pursue villains craftily, or survive the streets of turn-of-the-century London as cunning and wily orphans. A professed affinity for Manfiction was a central tenet of this precarious Cool Girl identity; a Cool Girl was always ready to support the literary analysis presented by the dudes, even after consuming a fifth of bourbon at three in the morning.

What’s a manfiction book, exactly? It is indeed, almost but not entirely exclusively, a book by a man; but it is a particular kind of book by a particular kind of man, a Real Man, a virile, manly man, who gallops around on horses in between penning great works.

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SEXIST BEATDOWN: The Persecuted Tan of Megan Fox Edition

Posted on Friday, May 28, 2010 by Sady

Hey, you guys, Megan Fox! Oh, my goodness, I love Megan Fox. I don’t even know WHY; she just seems like such a jerk all the time. But a fun jerk! Like, you could buy her a drink and be jerks together. She’d say super-awful things all the time, and they’d all be entertaining and ill-advised and obscurely like 80% correct, but still terrible, and you’d love her for it. She’d be like, “so, basically, chicks hate me because of my sweet-ass rack. And yet, that very sweet-ass rack pays my rent! So I don’t care, really!” And you’d be like, “oh, Megan Fox! You are so irrepressible! Do go on!” And then some chicks in the back would be, a little too loudly and eagerly, like, “it’s not the rack! It’s what the rack says about patriarchal beauty standards! Also, the fact that you would dare question our motives in regard to the rack! We hate you more for thinking we hate the rack than we did before now, when we were hating mostly the political implications of the rack, so shut up and don’t ever imply that we have less than pure and noble reasons for hating, er, intellectually critiquing your rack!” And you’d sort of silently be like, “hmmmmmmm.” But you wouldn’t say anything, because you wrote for a feminist blog! And the chicks would come for you next! You would fail to stand up for your friend Megan Fox, and it would be very sad. And then she’d say something awful about her boss!

Oh, did you hear about the thing with her boss? This is real, actually. It is not just my Megan Fox fan fiction (WHICH I DON’T WRITE) (AND DON’T HAVE AN ENTIRE DRAWERFUL OF AT HOME) (THERE IS NOT A SERIES IN WHICH WE ARE BUDDY COPS, BY THE WAY). Megan Fox was saying terrible shit about her boss, who is Michael Bay, and also disgusting, for years. This terrible shit: It seemed pretty accurate. Like, for example, she pointed out that the Transformers movies were not good, and also that he was a fucking pain to work with because he was gross, and you wouldn’t think either of these things would be too terribly controversial. BUT THEY WERE. Because while she was saying all of this terrible stuff, people were like, “Why is that chick with the rack mouthing off so much? She seems like such a bitch.” And then she finally said something about him making her tan too much, and being verbally abusive, and he fired her, and people are now, like just now, noting that it was actually pretty risky for a B-list starlet to point out the abuse and exploitation that she went through while working for one of the more powerful directors out there. And that she still should have maybe done it anyway. Uh, whoops?

Anyway, you all know why I love Megan Fox now, apparently. But let us discuss the subject! Even further! With Amanda Hess of The Sexist!

ILLUSTRATION: Also, apparently, this happened. It is Heidi Montag auditioning for the much-coveted role of No Longer Megan Fox Girlfriend Lady in “Transformers 3.” And DON’T SAY YOU WEREN’T WARNED.

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On Heavy Girls and Sexy Time

Posted on Thursday, May 27, 2010 by Silvana

There’s a new study, which apparently hasn’t been published yet because I can not find it ANYWHERE, examining rates of sexual activity among teenage girls in various weight categories. MSNBC published an article and interview with the study’s lead author, Margaret Villers, that leaves me absolutely enraged. Here are the facts:

The study found that 6 percent of normal weight teens had sex before age 13, as compared with 11 percent of overweight teens and 15 percent of obese teens. And 39 percent of normal weight teens reported having sex with more than three partners as compared with 45 percent of overweight teens and 47 percent of obese teens.

What’s more, they are not only more likely to engage in earlier sexual activity and with more partners, “overweight” and “obese” girls are less likely to use birth control:

[O]bese and overweight girls were also less likely to use condoms and other birth control. The study found that girls with weight issues were almost 20 percent less likely use condoms than thinner girls, and more than 30 percent less likely to use other methods of contraception.

Okay, I am going to get really tired of putting quotes around everything. Can you all, kind readers, just assume that for the rest of the piece, every time I write the words “obese” or “overweight,” I am putting scare quotes there? Because they belong there, and now is not the time when I am going to get into an extended Fat Acceptance 101 explanation. Just take it from me. The BMI categories “normal weight,” “overweight,” and “obese” are pretty much bullshit. But let’s just accept that girls who fall into the overweight and obese categories are, in fact, fatter than the other girls. Okay, fine. These girls are having more sex, earlier, and with more partners.

There is so much wrong with the analysis of this study’s results that I’m not even sure where to start.

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WHAT IS SADY UP TO? A Recap Post

Posted on Tuesday, May 25, 2010 by Sady

So, LOST ended. I know! LOST! I thought I was totally over it, you guys. I was like, “this is a show about attractive gentlemen who take their shirts off on a tropical island; also, there’s some sort of sci-fi thing going on; also, Daniel Faraday’s dead, so there’s no reason to care any more, especially not about the sci-fi thing; still, folks not wearin’ shirts! That seems fine!” Granted, they still had Daniel Dae Kim’s freaky/perfect face (dude is constructed of angles! NOTHING BUT ANGLES) and Josh Holloway’s similarly freaky/perfect torso (WHY ARE HIS SHOULDERS THAT WAY) to maintain some intrigue, but ultimately, we all gave up on LOST a long time ago, yeah? And then all was revealed, and what was revealed was the dumbest plot twist ever predicted by a LOST discussion board, and/or me, as a joke, because it was such a stupid plot twist (“IS EVERYBODY DEAD?” Uh… yes. Apparently) and in this light, my REVELATIONS about what I have been up to lately cannot help but be less disappointing than the television series LOST. As long as I tell you that you have not dreamed this entire blog, I am ahead of the game, really!

So, here are my revelations: I’ve been writing about LOST. For example, on the DoubleX!

Of the many bad decisions on display in last night’s Lost finale— that weird Sixth Sense ending, the lack of resolution for the show’s mysteries, Dominic Monaghan wandering around in skin-tight vinyl—perhaps the most telling was its opening: Five straight minutes of melancholy white people. We start with Jack, a white man; we pass it off to Ben, a white man; from Ben we go to Locke, a white man who is also occasionally a smoke monster; we visit Sawyer, a white man, before going to Kate, a white woman—hey, a woman!—sitting in a car, shortly to be joined by Desmond. For those who haven’t seen Lost, a spoiler: Desmond is a white man.

Lost didn’t always look like this. When it first aired, in 2004—trigger your inner airplane noise, we’re going on a flashback—it seemed like one of the more progressive shows on TV.

And with other ladies, on the Feministe!

Every time I thought Jack was dead — like when Locke beaned him with that rock — I got so happy. And then I learned they were going to drag it out for the entire episode. Jack gets to die AND process the fact that he’s dead AND he gets a special So You’re Dead Now party with all his friends AND he makes a cryface about it. EVEN DEATH will not stop Jack from whining!

And then, excitingly, I wrote something that was NOT ABOUT LOST AT ALL. Yes, it’s true! I wrote about why I am such a dick, and get in fights with people. On The Awl!

Oh, the shouting! Oh, the insults! Oh, the many and various accusations, most of which, in recollection, make no sense whatsoever! I said she had internalized misogyny and cared more about protecting liberal party lines than about human decency; she said I had internalized classism and behaved “like a character from the movie Mean Girls;” I made fun of her for the Mean Girls reference, which didn’t help, and at some point, long after the conversation had transcended the bounds of sense-making, she said that she wanted to talk about how terrible I was with my boyfriend, at which point I got out my phone and started yelling, “Let’s call him! Let’s call everyone I’ve ever fucked! Let’s ask them how much I hate poor people!” And I would have called them, too (“So, we dated from December of 2007 to February of 2010. During that time, to the best of your recollection, how many hobos did I set on fire for kicks? WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S FOUR IN THE MORNING. THIS IS EXACTLY WHY WE DID NOT WORK OUT”) but then I started crying, and the whole thing just went completely off the rails.

As I stood up and walked outside for a cigarette, at this point visibly sobbing, she called out, “I look forward to reading about this on wherever it is you blog.”

Yayyyy, The Awl. Yayyyyyyy, DoubleX. Yayyyyy, no more LOST. Yay for fighting! Yay for revelations! YAY, for everyone. Except for you, because you have to click on all these links to see what I’ve been up to! CLICK ON THEM ANYWAY. Click on them right now!

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SEXIST BEATDOWN: For Thee, Fair Maiden, I Would Punch A Thousand Faces Edition

Posted on Friday, May 21, 2010 by Sady

Chivalry! Expert historians assert that this venerable concept has been with us for many a year, dating as far back as the 1995 Richard Gere picture First Knight. But what does it mean to be chivalrous? Does it mean, for example, carrying things that I personally find too heavy for my frail and womanly arms? (Sure!) Does it mean opening doors for me at any opportunity? (Please do!) Does it mean shielding me from traffic with your manly frame as we walk down the street, that passing cars might not behold a glimpse of my dainty ankle and fall into lustful temptation? (Sometimes! My ankles are pretty hot.) Does it mean… PUNCHING A DUDE RIGHT STRAIGHT IN THE FACE?????

Well, yes, apparently that too. For the men must fight to defend our honor, you see! And yet, we somehow end up not benefiting from that, like, at all! Watch now, as Amanda Hess of The Sexist explains it all for you, as did the fair maiden Clarissa in days of old:

By placing a male intermediary between a misogynist and the intended recipient of his misogyny (a woman), the misogynist can walk away from a chivalry-induced fist-fight patting himself on the back for how much he “respects women.” Meanwhile, some blame for said fist-fight can be conveniently transferred onto the woman for failing to take the punch herself. In order to avoid both the fist-fight and the self-blame, the woman has one line of defense—don’t do whatever you think caused the misogynist to get so angry. Don’t wear a short skirt. Don’t protest when he takes your photo in a strip club. Don’t get angry when he sexually harasses you.

So, basically, chivalry sucks, then. DAMN YOU, Richard Gere! Why did you lie to me?!

And yet, perhaps it is more complex than that, my friends. Perhaps the issues of chivalry, lady-infantilizing, dudely honor and The Patriarchy’s Perpetuation Of Violence Even Among Its Ruling Class can be hashed out, between Amanda Hess and myself, EVEN FURTHER! Join us now, for this mighty joust in the honor of Sexist Beatdown.

marktrailPICTURED: Chivalry on behalf of forest creatures. Look, I never said it wasn’t complicated, all right?

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Kick-Ass: The Golden State Review

Posted on Thursday, May 20, 2010 by Garland Grey

Greetings from Sunny Los Angeles!

I’ve been far too busy committing deadly sins to write anything these last few weeks. But I got another e-mail from Tiger Beatdown, and I’m like THESE GUYS AGAIN and apparently we do this thing year round now. Who knew?

So I took time off from my vacation and jetted on down to a tiny theater on Vermont Avenue to see something I could write about. The name of the movie I saw is Kick-Ass. It is about real people determined to become superheroes. The main character, Dave Lizewski/Kick-Ass, is a scrawny loser who converts a wet suit into an ersatz superhero costume. Kick-Ass is played by Aaron Johnson, who is cute as a button. He comes off as genuinely friendly and sweet and someone you’d like to go halfsies with on a novelty oversized banana split – the kind where if you finish it by yourself, you get a t-shirt. You feel like he’d let you have a cherry or two instead of eating them all as fast as he could THIS IS NOT A GAME GIVE ME A GODDAMN CHERRY.

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The Tudors: This Really Is Your Father’s Patriarchy

Posted on Tuesday, May 18, 2010 by C.L. Minou

I like teasing out cause, effect, and consequences: this is why I watch all versions of “Law & Order” except for “Law & Order: Special Dead and Beatup Ladies Unit.” I like history, which is why my paperback copies of Shelby Foote’s The Civil War all have creases in the spine from being reread so often. And I like sexy people who aren’t wearing a lot of clothing, which is why I continue to watch “Lost” even as it builds up to a conclusion that is going to be the network TV version of being poked in the eye by an annoying seven-year old who chants “Nyaa-nyaaa-nyah.”

So it’s  little bit surprising, even given that I didn’t have Showtime until recently, that I never got around to the you-like-it-despite-yourself trashiness of “The Tudors.” Intrigue! Wars! Conniving ecclesiasticals!  Surprisingly modern French! Lovers who have clearly been reading Ye Aulde Joie of Sexe! (In an age of missionaries, that seems to be about the least common position the show’s May dance of lovers use.)

Now, “The Tudors” is revisionist history in both the good and bad ways you can do revisionism. You might know one of the bad ways, it’s playing in theaters now:

I mean, this is a Tea Partier Robin Hood. Forget rebelling against the hyper-rich and redistributing wealth to the needy! Russell Crowe is fighting for freedom from high taxes! He’s a libertarian Robin Hood! A Randian Robin Hood! A… backlash Robin Hood.

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Welcome to the Institute for Beyonce-related Cultural Studies

Posted on Saturday, May 15, 2010 by Silvana

On my 25th birthday, I went to a strip club.

We were drunk, but not excessively so. I was with a group of my best friends, and we had all just finished law school, and we were exuberant and relieved. It was my idea. I had been talking with one of my female friends about doing it forever, and she was about to move away, and I thought, hey, let’s just all go? Guys and ladies? I have never been a real party animal. I thought that doing something sort of off-the-hook for my 25th birthday would be kind of cool. Because most of my birthday parties have involved my drinking two beers and eating cake and perhaps convincing people that we should play the best board game of all time, Taboo. Internet ferocity aside, people, I am kind of a dork. I am a social homebody. I like to be at my home, or other people’s homes, on the couch, talking. This is my favorite activity.

But not that night.

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That Time of the Month: Tiger Beatdown Pledge Drive Time, That Is!

Posted on Friday, May 14, 2010 by Sady

Oh, my goodness! Are you aware that it has been one entire month since our last Tiger Beatdown Pledge Drive? It’s true! And here is what happened, in this month of ours:

  • We finally got over Freddie’s [BONERS].
  • We played you some of our records.
  • We unloosed the demon spirit of Geddy Lee upon the comment section.
  • We got Garland! And B. Michael! And Silvana!
  • We came down with a case of the Weezer Fever.
  • Which sounds disgusting.
  • We compared your junk to the lily-white hands of Kyle McLachlan.
  • I was apparently part of a conference? On Rethinking Virginity!
  • We learned How the Caged Miley Sings.
  • We fixed your relationship with Beyonce.
  • We got Annaham! And Chloe Angyal!
  • And we got ads! And made the template slightly less disgusting!
  • And my mom came to visit!

And, best of all, almost no-one died. Except for actress Helen Wagner, best known for her role as Nancy Hughes on As the World Turns! (It’s true, my mom told me.) (Also, TOO SOON.)

So, here’s the thing: None of this would have been possible, had you not donated last time. Which sounds very NPR, but is totally true! So, I am going to put the donate button here, where you can see it. And then I am going to go on at length about why donations matter.





I’ve said this before, but I feel compelled to say it again: As far as paying feminist media outlets go, there are… not that many of them, actually. Print outlets, in particular, are rare as hell. How many feminist magazines can you name? How many feminist presses? Okay, now: How many great feminist writers can you name? Because I’m guessing it’s a substantially higher number. Most of the feminist work you read, I’m guessing, is online, where ad rates are notoriously way lower than they are in print (I’ve checked around: Some widely read and commented on and linked-to blogs generate a few thousand dollars per year from ad sales) and where nobody has to buy a copy of your blog to see what you have to say. And I’m furthermore guessing that a ton of what you read was written on a volunteer basis, or for necessarily low pay, for that very reason. That volunteer work matters, and is necessary. But it also edges feminist voices out of the market — makes them dependent on other jobs, prohibits them from dedicating time to it, puts way too many people who are talented and vital and necessary to feminist thought into positions where, sure, this feminism stuff is your hobby. But something else has to be what you really do.

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