Monthly Archives: January 2024

That’s some 1950s shit right there

The road to women’s rage is lined with mediocre white men.

The women of my grandmother’s generation were meant to graduate from high school, immediately find a husband and produce as many kids as possible (Irish Catholic). She spent all day tending to the needs of her offspring all day only to tend to the needs of her husband after work.

Then their daughters were allowed to go to college with the exception they would find a husband, quit their jobs and rear children.

Men’s lives didn’t change.

Today, my generation is meant to go to college, grind at a job to earn $0.80 on a man’s dollar, get married, crank out kids and return immediately return to work where we need to be an equal earner to our spouses. We’re doing all of that while pumping breastmilk, not sleeping, trying to be promoted, raising wildly successful and enriched children, expected to live a Pinterest lifestyle, doing all the thinking and planning for the family, taking care of elderly parents and watching every calorie and staving off all signs of aging?

And still men’s lives haven’t changed? What. The. Actual. Fuck.

The guys I went to college with — my peers — have turned into their fathers. They idolized mediocre white men (in some cases, wealthy or worse, only generationally wealthy) and have grown up to fill their manchild-sized shoes.

Today, we’re forced to choose between two decrepit mediocre white men to lead the United States. Two men that came of age before JFK was assassinated, Niel Armstrong landed on the moon and Elvis Presley became famous. They grew up watching mothers abide by gender roles and dote on their husbands every whim.

I finished Kristin Hannah’s The Four Winds last week. It’s a historical fiction novel set in the Great Depression and told through the flipping lenses of a mother and daughter. It’s the story of the societal oppression of women; men abandoning their families; and ultimately rich white men getting richer on the backs of people strategically kept in poverty.

I finished this book at the same time my employer declared war on women. Or more palatable to him, the end of remote work. Semantics. A 61yo man on a modern-day throne decided to fuck all the women in one fell swoop.

It was — as my colleague put it so eloquently — as if a tornado was put in a blender with a grenade and the CEO hurdled it at us.

Mediocre white men can fuck right off.

A modern-day flower child

I came of auditory age in the wrong decade.

Musically, I’ve never fit in. Not in the eras of Def Leppard, Poison or INXS. Not with Paula Abdul, or Madonna. I never swooned over the New Kids on the Block or mourned Kurt Cobain. As I entered adulthood, The Notorious B.I.G., Missy Elliott, Gin Blossoms and Hootie and the Blowfish had me gutting through FM radio stations. Then in my 30’s, that Call Me Maybe person and Colbie Caillat made we want to just give up. Today, WAP* and the Chainsmokers — well, I’ve clearly aged out.

My heart first started beating in Southern California in the late ’70s. The music of that era resonates with me. The lyrics, the sound. Mmm. <chef’s kiss>

I am most in my skin next to a body of water in the heat of a summer evening in the company of CCR, The Allman Brothers, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Tom Petty, Johnny Cash, The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Janis Joplin.

A flower child is “a young person, especially a hippie, rejecting conventional society and advocating love, peace, and simple, idealistic values.” While only young in idealism, the rest pretty much sums it up. I’m a flower child.

*While I am a prude (apparently), I stand beside Meghan Thee Stallion in solidarity protect her parity and freedom of expression. Though, I’ll do it with ear plugs.