“You can teach a man what consent looks like but you can’t force him to care about it.”
Oct 06 2026
A huge insight late in life
“We all wield different portfolios of knowledge. We have different values, different priorities, and different understandings of all that unfolds around us.” Neil DeGrasse Tyson
Yes. There. That first one. My life-long error.
I have assumed that we have different values and different priorities, and I’ve been prepared to argue for my values and priorities.
But I’ve always assumed we share the same portfolio of knowledge. That is, I’ve always assumed that the other knows what I know.
But they don’t.* And that we each start with a different set of facts—that explains our disagreement.
(Not, perhaps, our different values or priorities.)
(Or, more likely, the different set of facts also explains the different sets of values and priorities.)
Because if they knew what I know, they surely wouldn’t hold those views. (Or values or priorities.)
That explains, for example, why some people voted for Trump and still support him. And, and, and, and, ad infinitum.
To repeat, I’ve always assumed, incorrectly, that the other knows what I know.
(Why? Because I’ve been conditioned to believe I know less. I’m a woman. It follows that I know less. ‘You don’t know anything!’ ‘And if you do, what you know isn’t important!**)
Knowing this now, I know that all along, I should have been making sure that, first, the person I was speaking with (or the person about whom I hold opinions) had the same set of facts as I did. Then, I could proceed to argue with them about our conflicting views (or form my opinion about them).
But … no. That would’ve been impossible.
Because even when I have assumed, correctly, that the other didn’t know what I know, I wasn’t ‘permitted’ to educate the other, as a prerequisite for ‘solving’ the disagreement.
(Again, because I’m a woman.) (‘You can’t tell me … anything!’) (‘And how dare you try!)
So establishing that common starting point would have been, in itself, a source of … challenge.
Sigh.
___
* If only because with no kids or spouse and a job of only 20 hours/week, I read 3-4 books a week. But also because my job requires that I be widely-read (so I spend a lot of time reading the academic and popular literature in many different disciplines).
** How I managed to maintain that view for as long as I did—in the face of straight As and an excellent GRE score—is nothing short of evidence for the power of sexism over all. And it didn’t help that I’ve had low-paying jobs for most of my life except for a few years as a sessional instructor at a university, and while there, no collegial recognition, let alone praise, for any of my books. All of which, again, sexism.)
Oct 06 2026
The Husbands, Chandler Baker – quotes and comments
HIGHLY RECOMMENDED
It took me until p79 to see where this was going—the title should’ve clued me in sooner, but—without spoilers, let me just say that compared to her husband, the husbands’ behavior at the dinner party (p91) is so … stark. And therefore so telling.
The boxed online chats are so insightful. Perfectly obvious, but still.
And I’m so fucking glad I didn’t get married or have in any way a relationship with a man.
Which begs the question, to all those women, why? Why in godsname do you stay??? And why did you get pregnant (again)?
The scene culminating in the lazy traveler … perfect.
“How often do you go to the grocery store, Gary? When is the 100-Day Celebration at your kids schools, Gary? How many class parties did you volunteer to organize this year, Gary? When was the last time you waited at home for the handyman to show up or swept the crumbs from underneath the kitchen table or put away your wife’s laundry, Gary?
“Because the crazy thing is that Gary thinks the two of them have the same job and that he’s just better at it. In reality, Nora does do the same job, but manages it in two-thirds the time while maintaining an entire other career as a wife and a mom …” p203
Lots of these throughout. All excellent. All necessary.
“Can you ride in the cart, Liv?” she asks.
“No, I want to help push, Mommy.”
“Please?”
“No, ma’am. I’m going to push.” p204
Seriously? If my mother told me to do something (told me, note; not asked me), I did it. END OF STORY. No wonder she’s exhausted. She’s handed the reins to a four-year-old.
“Before they even reach the produce section, Liv needs a snack because hungry is apparently how God made her today (this, according to Liv), and so they set off to find something suitable, finally agreeing to open a carton of Goldfish.” p204
Ohmyfuckinggod. The kid’s hungry? She wants a snack now? “No. Wait until we get home.” END OF STORY. The kid won’t die.
And Goldfish is what they agreed on? I ate what my mother put in front of me. END OF STORY.
Yes, her husband is an asshole, but she’s brought a lot of this on herself.
“I packed three lunches, brushed three heads of hair, made sure everyone went potty, did the dishes, put dinner in the Crock-Pot, put laundry away, and cut toast into quarters, and he thought … I should have been nicer?” p335
Even so, TO THE MEN: Read this book. I dare you. Then I ask you, what does it say that so many women are applauding this book? It says that so many are asking, begging , their husbands to accept neither that household maintenance nor childcare is primarily the woman’s responsibility (and you are being generous for helping out). It says that we think it’ll take a lobotomy of sorts for you to get that. Prove me wrong.
And to those who whine ‘What do you want me to do? Tell me what to do!’ Oh for fuck’s sake.
Buy the food. Cook. And clean up after. Dust and vacuum and wipe and disinfect. Buy clothing as needed. Wash and dry said clothing. Schedule appointments. Pay attention to a baby, a child. Don’t pretend you can’t figure this shit out on your own. No doubt many women are sobbing with joy at chapters 29, 30, and 31.
Sep 30 2026
Harper Ford on menopause and wellness scams
Looking for humorous fiction, I’ve just read Harper Ford’s Hot (not bothered) and Live, Laugh, and Leave Me Alone.
In both cases—unfortunately, in my opinion—the levity of the covers and the prose obscure a great treatment of a serious issue, menopause and wellness scams, respectively.
Both recommended—more for the gravity than for the levity.
Sep 29 2026
“Home for Unwed Fathers” (short story from Fighting Words)
About a month after, they came to get him.
“Hello, is there a Rob Ellis here?”
He heard the polite voice at the door.
“Yeah,” his mother replied. “Rob!” she called up the stairs.
Rob came down the stairs and warily approached the two people standing at the door.
“Rob Ellis?”
He nodded.
“Would you please come with us? We have an order to escort you to the Home for Unwed Fathers.” The taller woman turned the tablet to face them both, so they could read the order if they so wished. They did not.
Instead, his mother turned to him, rage on her face. “You—”
He said nothing. Just stood there. Unsure—
“Go!” his mother shouted at him. “Get the hell out of my house!” She reached out then, grabbed him, and practically shoved him out the door. “You fucker!” She spat. She actually spat at Rob’s feet.
Rob stumbled across the threshold.
“You’re allowed to bring one suitcase if you like,” the other woman said to him.
“No! Let him go as he is!” His mother slammed the door.
Once at the Home, they put an ankle monitor on him.
“What’s this for?” he protested. “I’m not on house arrest, am I? I haven’t done anything wrong!”
The woman stared at him. Eventually, he looked away.
“It’s for your own good,” she said then. “If you try to go back home, there will most likely be worse consequences.”
Well, she was right about that. But maybe he could go stay with Tyler. No, his parents wouldn’t exactly welcome him either.
Next, they branded him. A small ‘U’ on one cheek, an ‘F’ on the other. Unwed Father. Or, as his mother would surely say, Unwed Fucker.
For nine months, he had to live in the Home. It was an older house, renovated for its current purpose. On the ground floor were the administrative offices, a kitchen, and a dining room. The upstairs was divided into four small bedrooms, each with two bunk beds; a large communal bathroom was in the middle. The basement had a small utility room, and, now, two large areas that served as school rooms during the day, recreation rooms in the evening.
The house was full: sixteen guys, their ages ranging from thirteen to just shy of eighteen. Several other Homes were scheduled to open that month, as soon as the accelerated renovations were done. The demand was quite high.
There were rules about what to do when. Everything they did had to be supervised. They couldn’t even go outside into the fenced yard alone. It was like they were kids. He was seventeen, for fuck’s sake.
He spent the mornings and the afternoons in class, with no spares: he had to keep up with his regular courses in order to pass the year and graduate, and there were a ton of extra courses, every one of them mandatory: child development—physical, intellectual, emotional, social; nutrition; first aid; parenting skills for a newborn, an infant, a toddler, a child, a teenager. They had some good laughs about that last one.
Once a week, they were all encouraged to go on the day trip. They’d pile into two mini-vans, each with ‘Unwed Home for Fathers’ emblazoned on the side, and spend the afternoon at the mall or, more likely, attending the Saturday game of some local sports league. Every one of the guys wore an over-sized hoodie and a baseball cap, but still, it was obvious. Who they were. What they had done.
He talked with some of the guys, mostly Mitch, his bunkmate.
“It’s not fair!” he’d protested early on. “I don’t even know if she’s pregnant.” Though, he supposed, she must be, if he was here. She must have identified him as the father. That’s how they knew to come and pick him up.
“Yeah, we all fucked someone,” one of the other guys said. “Big deal, everyone does it.”
It seemed that all of the guys had pretty much the same home situation and so were actually content to be there in the Home. And as for when they got out? Don’t know, don’t care.
Rob would have said the same thing, had someone asked, but hearing it from so many others, it started to sound … inauthentic. He didn’t know what was going to happen when he got out of there, but truth be told, he did care.
About eight months in, one of the women came down to the classroom and asked him to come upstairs to one of the offices. It was the same woman who’d put the ankle monitor on him.
“Have a seat, Rob.”
He sat.
“So … Kaley has survived childbirth.”
He was caught by surprise. He hadn’t expected that to be what he’d been called to the office for. Honestly, he hadn’t even thought much about Kaley, her being pregnant, going through childbirth. And the word ‘survived’—had there been a chance she wouldn’t survive?
“You don’t know it’s mine! I wasn’t the only one bangin’ her.”
Again, the woman stared at him. Again, eventually, he looked away.
“We do know. A paternity test was done. Back when.” And since every male’s DNA was on file …
So now what, he wondered.
“Now we wait for her to confirm her decision. Whether to keep the baby or give it up.”
Well, if she decided to give it up, what the fuck had he spent almost nine months in stupid parenting classes for? Actually, even if she decided to keep the baby, what the fuck had he spent almost nine months in stupid parenting classes for? It was her body. Her baby. She should be the one in parenting classes.
The next day, he was asked again to come to the office.
Again, “Have a seat, Rob.”
Again, he sat.
“Kaley has decided to give up her baby.”
Yes! He was off the hook!
But then he was, again, caught by surprise: another woman entered the office, holding a newborn.
“As you know,” the first woman continued, “when a woman gives up her newborn, it automatically goes to the father.”
The other woman held out the baby to him. “Her name is Cindy.”
“But—” He did not reach to take the baby. “No— It’s not my fault!”
The first woman spoke, while the second one took a seat, carefully holding the baby. “Are you saying that Kaley, a fifteen-year-old girl, somehow overpowered you, restrained you, brought you to erection, and then to ejaculation into her vagina?”
“No, I—” Did they have to be so blunt?
“Even if that were the case,” she continued, “perhaps because she put something in your drink, you willingly put yourself in that position, no?”
“No! I mean— I used a condom!” He actually couldn’t remember if he had or not. Probably not. They weren’t cheap.
“Yes, well, sometimes condoms break. There’s a chance with any contraception that it won’t work. That’s the risk you take when you engage in sexual intercourse.”
“But— I don’t want it.” He didn’t even look at the baby.
“Well, you should have thought of that before. Before you ejaculated into Kaley’s vagina.”
“I didn’t— We were just fooling around, having fun!”
Yet again, the woman stared at him. “You didn’t know how babies are made?”
“No— Yes— I’m not stupid!”
She kept staring at him.
No one spoke.
“Okay,” he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “If she can give it away, so can I.” He glared at them.
“No,” the first woman said, “one of you has to take responsibility for it. Ideally, both of you take responsibility, but that’s not an option here, apparently. Kaley got first choice, since it’s been her body the baby has been using, but since she said no, well, it’s … yours.”
“Why didn’t she ask me first? I’d’ve said no. Then she could’ve had an abortion! I would’ve told her to have an abortion!”
“Rob,” the second one spoke up, gently, “you know that’s impossible. Abortion’s been illegal for years now.”
“Well, I won’t take care of it,” he insisted. “I’ll just … leave it somewhere.”
“That’s your choice, of course, but as you should know by now, the baby will likely die without your care. And then you’ll be charged with infanticide. For which the penalty is assisted suicide.”
Since Rob hadn’t planned for any of this, they arranged transfer to a ‘Tier 2’ Home, one that had the appropriate facilities and resources for babies.
“I figure I’ll get a job,” Rob said to Mitch, thinking out loud as he packed his stuff. Because no way was he going to live in another Home and— Actually, he didn’t know what that future would look like. “I’ll get an apartment, hire a babysitter for during the day, then—”
“You won’t get a job,” Mitch scoffed. “No one will hire you with those,” he nodded to his cheeks.
“Why not? If I work hard—”
“If you do it again, they’ll be the ones have to pay for this,” he gestured at their situation. The house. The program.
Rob looked puzzled.
“It’s the law.”
Oh. Rob sat down heavily.
“Even if you could get a job,” Mitch continued, “you probably wouldn’t make more than what you’d have to pay the babysitter. So you’d still be out rent, food, diapers …”
Rob exploded back onto his feet and started pacing the small room. “So how the fuck am I supposed to do all the stuff I gotta do?! For the baby?”
“Ah,” Mitch sighed, “an age-old problem. With an age-old solution.” There was a crooked grin on his face.
“What, I get married? I suppose that would work …”
Mitch scoffed again. “Good luck with that.”
“Why? I’m good lookin’,” Rob glanced at the mirror, as if for reassurance on that point.
“You’re damaged goods is what you are,” Mitch replied. “Who’s gonna want someone who’s got a kid to look after?
“And even if you didn’t,” Mitch continued, “even if Kaley had kept the kid, who’s gonna take a chance that you won’t be a Fucker again?
“Who’s gonna want someone who’s pocketing only part of their wages?”
“What?” Rob stopped pacing.
“If Kaley had kept the kid, they would’ve taken your wages to support her and the kid, your kid, for six years, then just the kid, your kid, for another twelve. Don’t you know anything?”
Rob sat down again. Slowly. Thinking this through.
Mitch waited, the crooked grin back on his face.
Rob saw no way out. “Okay, genius, so what—”
“Didn’t you pay attention to your Women’s History course?”
Ah. But Rob just snorted. Then protested, “I ain’t a woman.”
Sep 29 2026
“Some men don’t like me” Dina Honour
Sep 29 2026
“Violence against women and children is legal. We just pretend otherwise.” Zawn Villines
https://zawn.substack.com/p/violence-against-women-and-children
“That’s because in patriarchy, nothing trumps a man’s right not to be inconvenienced. His right to act as he wishes will always come before the right of women and children to continue living.”
Sep 24 2026
“Women don’t leave for ‘no reason.’ Men just think women shouldn’t be allowed to leave.” by Zawn Villines
https://zawn.substack.com/p/the-myth-of-the-wife-who-leaves-without-a7c
Such an excellent piece. Read it several times. Slowly.
Sep 23 2026
They Never Learn, Layne Fargo – quotes and comments
Great read! Some quotes and comments …
“He tosses the cap onto the floor.” p2
As soon as he takes a bottle from the garage fridge and tosses the cap onto the floor, I hated him. Is he going to pick up the cap later? Clean up after himself? Don’t think so. But he thinks he’s entitled to the service of others. Bravo Fargo for capturing all that in just that one not-so-small action.
[He captions his selfie with something like] “Rise n grind. Make 2day yr bitch.” p2
That stops me. I honestly have to think that one through. ‘Make 2day yr bitch’ ?? Eventually I realize he means ‘Take control of your day’ but he equates a day, or most likely anything to be controlled, with bitch, i.e., female, because they are things to be controlled. Wow. Has exerting control over women become so normalized it’s replaced ‘Have a nice day’ and ‘Have a good one’? How has controlling women become so normalized? Ah. porn. And the manosphere.
It occurs to me now that the entitled little prick who dismissed me the other day so easily is probably a porn addict. I thought he’d just assumed that all locals and/or all women and/or all old people are village idiots. But now I’m thinking it goes deeper. He’s raised himself, by watching porn, on contempt for women. They are simply so not worth his attention. At least not an unfuckable such as myself. I predict a lot of sexual assault in his future. No wonder young women aren’t dating anymore. Good for them.
“… slumping down in his seat with his legs sprawled across the aisle like he didn’t give a damn how much space he took up.” p4
That’s no surprise. None whatsoever.
And then when someone is killing him, he has the utter cluelessness, which makes him even more dangerous, to ask ‘Why?’
I am going to so love this book.
“‘Afternoon, ladies! … What are you up to?’ ..” p59
As if they’re children. Up to some mischief. Go fuck yourself.
It occurs to me that there should be three separate crimes:
1. rape – for penis forced inside a hole, be it a vagina, a rectum, or a mouth
2. forced impregnation – for when rape results in pregnancy
3. sexual assault – for any sexual non-consensual touch
And the stuff about her research and his research … p60, p85
“Kinnear and Stright always talk about Gorman football victories with a sense of ownership, like they took to the field and sacked the quarterback themselves.” p93
Yeah, I’ve always thought that.
“[K]illing a man is so much more satisfying than fucking a man could ever be.”
T-shirts, anyone? Fridge magnets? Bumper stickers?
And then all the excuses … Fargo has them all p151-155. (Except for ‘You’re crazy!’)
“You think flirting is an invitation for him to assault her?” p198
No. Simply being female is. Apparently.
Books by Peg Tittle
Writing as Jass Richards
Writing as Chris Wind
