i went to school with a boy called george sunday. i used to think this meant he was really spiritual. like if we both died and went to heaven, god would be all like, “well, i’m sorry. your last name is only ‘williams’ and george here, his last name is ‘sunday’ so. well. you know how it is.” and then i’d be sent straight to hell. all because my last name was unholy. but he didn’t really act especially good or anything. he just had a day of the week for a last name.
also, i think his mind started to go as he got older cause he talked (to himself, i can only guess) under his breath. but he didn’t make sense. he said things like, “there’s going to be crying in Israel!” and i would look at him and wonder if i could tolerate that long enough to marry him and get his last name. i would imagine myself with him on long drives in the country on the day of his last name and as i looked out the window at the passing beauty of the fields and meadows, he would mumble under his breath. “don’t attack the telephone. it only rings once.” i could deal. he may be crazy, but he has a holy last name! and oh jackpot of heavenly transference, he’s crazier than me. where, in all of creation, could there be a sweeter union than ours?
george had a sister named sandra that we called sandy. sandy sunday is not a name i would choose for myself. but that’s neither here nor there. she can’t help it if her parents hated her. sandy was a friend in the sense that i didn’t hate her guts and she didn’t try to kill me using an eyeliner pencil. which, you laugh, but i swear to god it happened once. i used to cozy up to her in the hopes that her crazy brother might find me wildly attractive and give me his last name on sheer principal alone. but sandy was a bit too clingy (she obviously wanted to sleep with me) and so this made the whole project entirely too much work.
i decided eventually that george was not my ticket into heaven and i would either have to start being a good girl or deal with the consequences of hell.
and really, i don’t think hell will be that bad a place. i can deal.
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A Woman's Manifesto
Because a woman’s work is never done.
and is underpaid, or unpaid, or boring, or repetitious,
and we’re the first to get fired,
and what we look like is more important than what we do.
And if we get raped its our fault
and if we get beaten we must have provoked it
and if we raise our voices we’re nagging bitches
and if we enjoy sex we’re nymphos
and if we don’t we’re frigid
and if we love women it’s because we can’t get a real man
and if we ask our doctor too many questions we’re neurotic or pushy
and if we expect childcare we’re selfish
and if we stand up for our rights we’re aggressive and un-feminine
and if we don’t we’re typical weak females
and if we want to get married we’re out to trap a man
and if we don’t we’re unnatural
and because we still can’t get an adequate, safe contraceptive, but men can walk on the moon
and if we can’t cope or don’t want a pregnancy we’re made to feel guilty about abortion
and for lots and lots of other reasons
we are part of the women’s liberation movement.- Joyce Stevens, International Woman’s Day, 1975.
Man Vs. Heart Attack
I am somewhat worried about the dude on Man v Food. He isn’t looking so good these days and putting that food away like that can’t be good for him.
