chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog - Tumblr blog

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

To all my followers

Hello everyone.

I don't know if you're actually interested in this because I hardly get any feedback in the form of likes or reblogs from most of the people following me. You might mainly be MCR/MSI fans waiting for another shit storm to happen and want to be the first to know, I guess.

Well, whatever the reason may be you're following, I found out for a while that my posts don't show up in the search. I've started this additional blog because I had the same problem with my first blog and for a while it seemed to work. Now, I've just realized that the posts on my first blog show up again in the search and therefore I chose to keep on posting there again.

So, if you're still interested to follow, go to http://openupandsayaah.tumblr.com/.

Thanks for your time and carry on.

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

If you want to get through to more people, you should probably tone down the bias a bit. Fans who don't know this happened probably won't be encouraged to read much of it if they feel like they're being attacked. I know you've had extreme bias against your side of the story, but fans would be more likely to believe you if your tone was more objective. Use your disbelief of his hypocrisy to your advantage so you'll be easier to relate to as a fan (even if you're not a fan). Instead of name calling, just allow the story to speak for itself :) ....It would be a pain to change this whole thing, so you just might want to write another less bitter version under a different name. I understand the bitterness thing though, I'm extremely offended by men who think it's okay to use words like "bitch" and "whore" against women.

P.S: [About the ugly feminist part] I don't think there's ever been an ugly woman on Earth, because no matter how ugly a girl may /think/ her outward appearance is, women are made beautiful. Everything about what makes women different from men has beauty, and men know it. I think part of why some men try to make women feel like they're nothing is because they think it's a way to bring them down, making them more within reach. Most men are pretty desperate for some form of attention from a woman, especially one that "clicks" with them.

I hope some of that made sense, because I'm kind of caffeine-fueled right now, lol. Good luck with everything! :) And forgive my bad grammar and broad generalizations xD;

_____________________________________________________________________

Thanks for your input. It's really appreciated and it all made sense ;-). Sorry, for posting this months after your submission. However, I think the bias is very hard to avoid since I am personally involved. Not only because I had that confrontation with Gerard Way on Twitter but also because I am a woman and every time misogynist remarks are made and misogyny in general is being popularized and trivialized - especially by people as Gerard Way with a lot of influence on girls and women - it's hard to stay unbiased and keep a neutral tone.

The thing is, those fans who are really involved in the fandom and do not belong to those who only listen to the music, but otherwise don't really care about the band and their countless diverse messages that are always conveniently adjusted to the current album and band image, cannot be argued with in a civilized manner. Frankly, if I think about it, they aren't even my target audience because I know I won't change their mind and from what I could gather from their comments and tweets, they don't even understand. They read the posts, but they don't process the information in them. Or they don't even read them; they don't even have a clue about what the subject matter is and they don't even care to find out, but still need to give their opinion. Or they read on some fan forum that I have insulted Gerard's child and they don't even care about checking if this is actually true. A fan claims it and this means for them that it has to be true. How can you reason with people like that? They just read blah, blah, blah, Gerard blah, blah, blah, c-word blah, blah, blah, Lindsey blah, blah, blah, Bandit and make of it whatever suits their agenda to have a reason to troll me in the name of the MCRmy.

Perhaps, some of them will outgrow this phase and life experience will teach them what harm they've been doing (to themselves) by supporting misogyny just because the man who's spouting off those sexist remarks is so hot and dreamy and thus can do no wrong. Perhaps, they won't and internal misogyny will always be a part of their life as it is with those women who post outraged comments on the internet about how people dare to make sexist remarks about certain women and then call those people cunts or twats; totally oblivious to their own hypocrisy and that they're a big part of the problem.

After all, the blog is about feminism and people who are interested in feminism or even consider themselves feminists should know that supporting My Chemical Romance by spending their time and money on them is not the right choice if they want to fight misogyny. That's what this blog is for; to inform those people. If a fan of MCR might come across this tumblr and realizes how two-faced their idols are and that they're not the feminists they're claiming to be, it would be a nice side effect, but I'm not holding my breath.

Again, thank you very much for your input!!!

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

Something I would like to say about feminism

There are a lot of reasons people don’t want to identify with feminism.  Some are good reasons and some are bad reasons.  (The shameful history feminism has of ignoring the concerns of women who happen to not be straight white middle/upper class cis-gendered women is a good reason, for example; the fact that Rush Limbaugh thinks feminists ruin the fabric of American society is a bad reason, as another example.)

I just want to say one thing about people who are considering feminism, evaluating their opinions of feminism, etc: it exists outside fandom.

Feminism is way way bigger than fandom.  It existed before, it will exist after, it covers issues utterly unrelated to fandom.  I myself believe in feminism not just as a label but as a life philosophy, as simple common sense, so I include it in my fandom experience because feminism is me.

But feminism exists when I’m not participating in fandom too.  Feminism is important not just to win fandom arguments or such; if you pick up the flag within fandom, then you should be living it outside of fandom too.  And if you’re going to evaluate feminism and your stance on it, remember that to get a full picture, you need to look outside of fandom to get the whole story.

C’est ça.

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

Men have called me a man-hater, a feminazi, frigid, a bitch… but in my mind it always translates to, “you don’t need me to validate your existence, and that scares me.”

Heartless Bitches International 

Always Reblog.

(via thenewwomensmovement)

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

Yep. And please don't use the typical 'You don't get it, it's art' or 'this is only satire' excuse because it's not!

This band uses the N word in more than one song. Aside from that, they’ve got a song called “F*ggot” and one called “Bitches” and another called “Five Year Old Panty Shot” which makes light of pedophiles getting off on child pornography. It’s pretty much the most racist, misogynist, homophobic, rape-culture-y band there is. And of course they’re heavily associated with My Chemical Romance - with the guitarist who was tweeting the N word and then telling people who objected to the language that they were “imbeciles,” telling women to “go sit on a coat hanger,” and the lead singer crowing that he’s “not afraid to call a 15 year old a c*nt,” bragging about how he was going to “smash the face” of a woman who asked him to stop degrading women, telling others to “die slow” when they called him on his hate speech. He also used to do this “I want all the ladies in the audience to f*ck themselves for me right now” thing in his live show.

Therefore, this link calls ALL of them out. There’s a few racists hanging around in the comments there, too, and racist apologists etc. Sorry about that.

But anyway, that link brings you to a clip of the lead singer of Mindless Self Indulgence basically saying that it’s okay for him to say the N word, “because a black person said it first,” and also that he “hates white people” so that makes it okay for him to use the word.

Here is your Complete Guide To Hipster Racism.

3. “Ummm, I’m a Writer and I’m Trying to Write in Here!” This is Lesley Arfincrowing about the majestic power of the n-word, and white kids whining that it’s “unfair” that black people “get” to use “it”. You know, because words are powerful and words are Arfin’s craft and would you take the color red away from thebest painter on Twitter??? And besides, don’t you just find Arfin to be so RAW and DELICIOUSLY NAUGHTY? It’s all tied up with the deliberately obtuse people who conflate “freedom of speech” with “immunity from criticism.” You “can” say the n-word. Go ahead andsay it if you want, Skrillex. And I will go ahead and give you the world’s most sidewaysiest eyeball forever. Because it hurts people. Why do you want to hurt people?

4. “God, Don’t White People Suck?” Okay, I get what you’re trying to do here—having some fun at the expense of the oppressors while setting yourself up as one of the “cool” white people—but mainly what you end up doing is implying that black people don’t likeinformative radioorTED talks. Stuff White People Like: having the best brains! Isn’t it great that we can make fun of ourselves while still reminding you that we’re better than you?

And the thing is, when these things get called out, there really is no defense. But they try:

“No, don’t you see? I’m just showing how I’m so down with [minority group] that it’s totally cool for me to make jokes at their expense. Because we are just that kind of tight bros now.” No. You cannot unlock some secret double-not-racist achievement by just being regular racist. Otherwise Bill O’Reilly would be president of the NAACP.

“But it’s a JOOOOOKE.” Here’s the thing about jokes. They only work when they’re aiming up. I wrote this in another piece recently, but I’m just going to plagiarize myself: People in positions of power simply cannotmake jokes at the expense of the powerless. That’s why, at a company party, you never have a roast where the CEO is roasting the janitor (“Isn’t it funny how Steve can barely feed his family? This guy knows what I’m talking about!” [points to other janitor]). Because that would be GROSS, and both janitors would have to work late to clean up everyone’s barf. Open-mic comedians, I know you think you’re part of some fresh vanguard in alternative comedy who just discovered that a lot of black ladies don’t like it when you touch their hair, but pleeeeeeease just stick to stuff about how your stupid girlfriend is a bitch. (Just kidding. Please never speak again.)

Separately, I’d like to just quote this whole thing because it also discusses the hipster trend of appropriating Native cultures, but for now let’s just leave it at this. Because this needs to stop.

Oh, and all you rabid fancrazies can go ahead and inbox me all the death threats you want. If you do it anonymously, I’ll A) yeah, pretty much expose what frothing, crazy, chest-beating fans these bands have and B) block your stupid ass. If you do the death threats and craziness signed in, I will go ahead and report your racist ass. Also, go ahead and reblog it with your commentary about how wrong people are to speak out against this kind of racism. Hey, you’re still getting the word out!  ^_^ And maybe someone who reads your Tumblr will get the idea.

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

“Women are expected to be nice and sweet, to make other people feel comfortable. A woman who says ‘hey, I think there’s a problem here’ is being ‘negative.’ A woman who doesn’t smile while she’s being harassed is ‘humourless.’ A woman who prefers to stay focused on tasks is a ‘cold bitch.’ Significant gendering is involved here; women have an obligation to look and act a certain way and when they don’t, they need to be hassled until they do.”

Unknown (via grrl-meat)

i want to print this out and give this to my mother.

(via theoceanandthesky)

I want to show this to everyone who has ever said any of those things to me.

(via themindislimitless)

I want to print it on all my t-shirts and wear them until this bullshit is not an issue anymore.

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

Banzai!

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

To the man in my class back then who told me that 'incredibly funny story' when he used to go home one night with a woman walking in front of him and he realized that she was looking back regularly because she apparently was alarmed about a man walking behind her. He found it so funny to scare her furthermore by adopting her walking speed; walking slower and faster from time to time.

To the first man, who I met by the Eiffel Tower my second week in Paris, when I didn’t know better.  Who took me out four times, who waved little red flags that I tried to ignore.  Like asking me outright if I was a virgin on the first date, like calling me five different pet names when I’d asked him not to throughout the second, like saying he’d heard that feminists were not real women during the third, like disappearing for a week and a half after the fourth.  Who, as it turns out, was not the bullet, but the careening fourteen-wheeler that I narrowly managed to dodge.  Who admitted that he hit the young woman that his mother was trying to force him to marry.  Who didn’t want to marry her because he believes in romantic love.  Who doesn’t see the contradiction in those two sentences.

To the guy in my medieval literature class, who lent me one of Camus’ plays and showed me around the library.  Who wants to use his French education not to escape to the West, but to go back to his third-world home country to teach at its eight-year-old university.  Who I admired until he asked me what my American boyfriend had thought about me coming to Paris, until he demanded to know why I didn’t have one (a boyfriend, that is), until he asked if it was required that I marry an American.  Who reached out and touched my earrings, without asking, the next time he saw me.  Who won’t take a hint. 

To the PhD student who tried to take me up to his apartment after a five minute conversation, when I had just wanted to get lunch, who said there’s a first time for everything.  Who told me that we were university students, living in a 21st century democracy, and that relations between men and women were different now, so what was I so scared of?  Who recoiled in shock when I told him that I had friends who’d been raped, and by other university students, at that.  Who does not have to think about rape on a daily basis.  Who insisted on paying for my lunch, because “it was a matter of honor.”  Who then physically prevented me from handing my money to the cashier, when I was trying to make it clear that this was not a date.  Who didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t want a boyfriend, five times.  Whose number I blocked the moment I stepped on the metro.  Who has called me three times since.  Who told me he wants to go into Senegalese politics.  Who, I can only hope, will listen to the women of his country better than he listened to me.

To the delivery guy on the red motorcycle idling outside of the apartments on Avenue de Porte de Vanves, the ones I walk past every day, who said bonsoir and who, because I said it in return to be polite, followed me to the metro as I walked, head twisted down, pretending that I didn’t understand the language I’ve studied for eight years.

To the two men Thursday night in le Marais, swaggering drunk toward me, ignoring the male friend standing by my side, who leered at my chest and slurred, “Bonsoir, comme tu es mignonne,” as I shoved past them, trying to sound angry, not afraid.  Who left me feeling fidgety and panicked, so when I took the night bus in the wrong direction and found myself alone with two other strange men at a bus stop at 2:30 A.M., I let the cab driver fleece me out of 25 euro just to take a taxi home.

To the group of teenage boys loitering on the corner by my apartment, who decided to sound a siren at my approach because I was wearing a knee-length dress and a bulky sweater.  Who made me regret forgoing tights because I had wanted to feel the spring air on my calves for once.  Who will never have to wear an itchy pair of pantyhose in their entire lives.  To whom I said nothing, because I still have to walk past that corner twice a day for the next three-and-a-half months, because there were five of them and one of me. 

To the three men standing on the corner of the periphery five minutes later when I was crossing the street.  To the one who motioned for his friends to turn and look at me, quick, and then left his wolf-whistle ringing in my ears, shame like sunburn covering my face.  Who didn’t care that it was broad daylight.  Who made me wish that I could swear a blue streak back in French, without my accent betraying that I am American, which is another word for “easy” here.

To the two men at sunset on the bridge by Saint Michel, in the middle of tourist central, who made skeeting noises at me, like a pair of sputtering mosquitoes, to get my attention.  Who laughed when I flipped them off, and who kept hissing at me anyway.  Who forced me to keep checking over my shoulder, all the way to the metro, to make sure that I wasn’t being followed.

But also to the French friend who blamed my problems with French men on my university in the northern suburbs, a Parisian synonym for emeutes, gang violence, and immigration.  Who insisted that if he brought me to his upper-crust private (white) university—where the French elite reproduces itself into perpetuity—I would meet nicer French guys.  Who forced me to defend the men who’d harassed me against his barely-veiled, racist critique.

And also to the American friend at home who nearly rolled his eyes as he half-listened to my stories, who said, “Oh god, it’s hard being so attractive, isn’t it?” as if I was being vain.  Who laughs and does not understand why I always duck out of the frame of photographs, who knows nothing of what my body means to me. 

And that’s just two months in Paris. 

To all the Italian men who made me wish I had dyed my hair black before studying in Florence, who kept me from going out dancing because I got sick of feeling them creeping up behind me, sneaking their hands around my waist (and lower) when I’d already said NO three times.

To the six-foot-something Georgetown student who prided himself on protecting the girls from being groped on the dance floor.  Who chose to write about the rape of the Sabine woman for that week’s assignment.  Who described the way her breast slipped free of her tunic when she fell, as if he was writing a porno, not a rape scene, who had the woman fall in love with her Roman rapist the next morning, after he spun her a tale of the coming glory of his country. Who said “in a fit of passion, she thrust herself upon his member” and was not joking.  Who ended the story with the titular character saying to her children that she had been raped, but only at first.

To the seventh-grade boy who told my younger sister that he could rape her, if he wanted to.

To the gang of twenty-five year-olds in the Jeep who hollered at her as they drove past, leering at her thirteen-year-old body dressed in sweat pants and a tank top.  Who made my sister, fearless on the soccer field and in the classroom and in the karate studio, run home crying. Who were the reason she became afraid to walk the dog by herself in our “safe, suburban” neighborhood.

To my father, who said, “What white male privilege?”  Who was not being ironic.

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

WHAT. THE. FUCK??? Seriously America, I'm starting to shit my pants thinking about this Hitler in the making becoming your next President.

undefined

“We know the candidate Barack Obama what he was like, the anti-war goverment nigg—the uh—…” Wow.

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

Whoa! I'm so glad that I've never used tampons with an applicator. The fear of getting toxic shock syndrome is shitty enough, but having to check your tampons for mold is unbelievable. It's a hygiene product like plaster and gauze bandage. Imagine you would find mold on those things as well. I'm disgusted.

A woman recently went to use a Kotex brand tampon and fortunately was a little clumsy getting it out of the packaging and discovered patches of mold growing all over the product that was seconds away from being inserted inside her. She wrote to the manufacturer and was horrified to discover that this is fairly common and received nothing more than a cookie cutter apology and some coupons to buy more of their products.

I urge anyone who uses this brand or other brands of tampons to pay closer attention when using or to perhaps consider switching to a different type of reusable product such as a Diva Cup or washable cloth liners. This is absolutely repulsive and although I no longer have periods, I felt I should inform my followers about this for their own health and safety. 

Source

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

If abortion and birth control become illegal

What will happen:

sex

What won’t happen:

safe sex

What will happen:

abortion

What won’t happen:

safe abortions

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

Awesome kitties!

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

At this point, you cannot tell me that this is real? How can this happen and doesn't this fucking idiot know that a dead fetus or baby can poison the mother and thus has to be removed as quickly as possible?

However, he was pushing for that law to also apply to women who are carrying a stillborn fetus or one that is likely to die before it reaches term, making it illegal for women to have the dead fetus removed until their bodies do so naturally.

As if that insensitivity wasn’t enough, he then referenced the livestock on the farm where he once worked and how they had to sometimes deliver stillborn animals:

Life gives us many experiences…I’ve had the experience of delivering calves, dead and alive. Delivering pigs, dead or alive. It breaks our hearts to see those animals not make it.

In other words, if a cow or pig can give birth to a dead baby, then a woman should too.

So I’ve had to add the tag “war on women” to “misogyny” and “sexism.” WTF is going on here? This is terrifying.

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

[chronicleofverbaldiarrhea-blog]

Lol