Wednesday, December 31, 2008

I Can't Believe He's Not Married!

Dennis Prager is an assferret. An assferret in two parts, no less, the second of which I must confess I have not gone near. I don't think I have to, do you?

When A Woman Isn't in the Mood: Part 1 is Prager's loving paean to marital rape and the complete inability of anyone with dangling genitalia to act like a decent human being. I imagine his thinking goes something like this: Ah, the good old days, when men grunted and their possessions promptly opened their legs for them. Such halcyon days, those, when society rightly knew that women have no sex drive of their own, and are concerned only with pleasing their masters, who in turn are concerned with big, complicated Man Things, like working and not fucking every vaguely attractive woman who passes by.

Twice divorced, Prager asserts that women are property who don't ever want to have sex and that our delicate sensibilities would be irreparably offended if we ever could imagine just a fraction of what it's like to be horny all the time. Since our owners work so hard for us to have a pretty house to keep - and because their money is why we married them - we should just give up the cooch whenever it's demanded of us. How else will our husbands know we love them? They're just dumb rutting animals, after all, who should be entrusted with knowing what's best for us.

God, this shit is offensive on every level. And I say that as a housewife, a SAHM, and a woman who's almost never denied her husband sex.

I don't "give him my body" (to vomitously paraphrase) because he needs it and I want him to be happy. I have sex because he makes it worth my while. Because I know myself, and if he's asking? It's been too damn long, and I will be "in the mood" any minute. I have sex because I like sex, and really, when presented with the option of having good sex, I can't imagine rolling over and watching TV instead.

I have sex when I'm not "in the mood" because my husband returns the favor. Because - ZOMG! - he's not just some rutting beast with no self-control or thought to my pleasure. He knows I love him because I do these crazy things like telling him. Like keeping house, though it bores me. Like bearing his children. Like letting him get away with rolling over on me in bed even though we bought a king to prevent exactly that situation. Like marrying him.

I don't recommend that everyone give it up when they're not into it. For a lot of people, that just doesn't work. In fact, I don't advise people about their relationships very often, because their success depends entirely upon the dynamic between two individuals. What works between me and my husband probably won't work for anyone else, simply because we aren't anyone else.

But today, I feel compelled to advise Prager: When someone who, on the face of it, is living the advice you've given, and calls you a sexist assferret? You have bigger problems than how often your penis is in someone's vagina.

Friday, December 26, 2008

Deus incarnatus est!

Merry Christmas! I hope everyone had a lovely day full of friends, family, and food. I had a wonderful time watching Bacon tear through all of Santa's careful wrappings and opening my very own Chicken Purse.

The Midnight Mass this year was wonderful. The cathedral was exquisitely decorated, and Archbishop Chaput had the standing-room-only crowd go and sit in the sanctuary, to be part of the community that we celebrate at every Mass, and of course at Christmas.

He also gave a sermon about the three things Christmas is about. He said it's about us: Jesus came to save us, because God loves us. It's about peace: the peace we find in God, in Christ, the peace that we hope the whole world will have.

And Christmas is about the body: God became flesh. God was incarnate.

Deus incarnatus est.

God did not become fleshly to hate the flesh. God did not take on a human form in order to force that form to do what it was not intended to do. God, who created us in all our varied forms, did not come among us to count His calories or restrict His food groups or talk about how fat He was and how horrible that made Him.

Deus incarnatus est.

God became flesh to be one of us. God took on a human form because He loved us so very, very passionately that He determined to save us from hell and all the power of sin.

Does a God who loves so fervently, so ardently, that He suffered and died as one of us, love us only if we're perfect? Does He love us only if we're pretty? Only if we're thin? Can we say we respect the body because we're pro-life even as we denigrate our own flesh by denying it should exist?

Of course not. Deus incarnatus est. God is in the body. God is in the flesh. God is with us - Emmanuel. Sent for all of us, not only for the thin, not only for the pretty, not only for those who are "worthy" - because not one of us is worthy of Him.

Be yourselves incarnate. Be of the flesh, because God loves us, because God loves our flesh. Respect your body as much as you respect any other's. Celebrate your own incarnation as you celebrate His, as I celebrate mine on the same day.

Deus incarnatus est!

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

It's A Tasty Birthday!

I just realized that Sunday was the first anniversary of my blogging! Who'd'a thunk I'd make it a whole year, babbling to strangers on teh intarwebz?

So for me, some Bacon Cake...

And a Bacon Present!

Tasty Tome Two-fer

The Shack
William P. Young

0 out of 5 Bacon Strips

So, I finished it. It was awful. Along with the problems outlined in my previous post, we can add racism (God is a magical Negro!), New Ageism (which is fine by itself, but is antithetical to Christian Truth), and just basic ridiculousness, as embodied by Jesus' constant! use! of! exclamation! points! eleventy!!!!!one!!!!!!

The climax of the book involves a bunch of people standing on a hill, reading each others' auras. I guess God just wants to buy the world a Coke.

Bittersweet Betrayal
Suzanne Ashley

3.5 out of 5 Bacon Strips

Ah, the thrilling world of cutting-edge computer technology - in 1989. So unwieldy! So non-internet-y! So full of orange cursors!

Tannis Robbins - and no, for the record, I could not get over that stupid name - is a rising star in computer R&D. Unfortunately, she's also indebted to her unscrupulous boss for her education and several personal loans to fund the upkeep of her comatose identical twin sister, Meredith. Her boss, Conway, gives her a choice: corporate espionage and all her debts cleared, or industry blackballing. She picks the espionage, not surprisingly.

Tannis gets a job at rival Wizac, run by "The Wizard", Zachary Spencer. He's handsome, kind, wonderful, rich, smart, blah blah blah, and Tannis immediately has the hotpants for him. But oh noez! She must has betrayal! What will happen?!

Bittersweet Betrayal was a satisfying romance, and it fulfilled all the necessary genre elements. Ashley's writing is crisp and competent, and her characterizations - at least of Tannis and Zachary - had a fair amount of depth, which is surprising in a category romance. (This is a Silhouette Special Edition.) Reading about cutting-edge computer technology from 20 years ago added a special layer of humour to the novel that was surely missing when it was written, but is perfectly evocative of the story's setting.

My only quibble with the book is the fact that Zachary's main selling point for Tannis is that he keeps doling out money to his gambling-addict brother, despite said brother's complete lack of anything even remotely resembling self-control or a desire to change. For some reason, Tannis thinks this is a duty to family, and equates it to her taking care of her comatose twin - comatose because of a tropical disease she caught setting up computer networks in the third world. Somehow, I just don't think those two are the same, do you?

And a special Bacon Bit review:

The Perfect Wife
Judy Duarte

0 out of 5 Bacon Strips

I read the first 7 pages of this book. There were at least ten different ridiculous assertions about and/or references to weight and happiness. In seven pages. The main character used to be fat (and therefore ugly). She eats her feelings (which is how you get fat). Her mother is fat (and therefore unhealthy. Obesity! Crisis! Heart! Disease! Teh! Diabeetus!). Her husband just left her - for a fatty. She's eating motherfucking DONUTS to ease her pain.

Did I mention this all happens IN SEVEN PAGES?!

I won't even pass this one on in a trade or give it to a thrift store, which is what I usually do with old books I won't keep. I love books. I revere books. I believe the written word can be sacred.

I'm throwing this one in the trash. It's not worth even the words it takes to malign it.

I'll have a new review up next week: I sorted all my books out, and found a full box I hadn't yet read, plus I traded some for two bags of mysteries! Tasty Tome Tuesday is on!