Do you even feminist, bro?

Lately, I've been having to ask myself some important questions. If it's "Shredded Wheat," why has the wheat yet to be"shredded" Shouldn't it be "Shreddable Wheat"? Or "Wheat Bales". And: can you find the mechanical nose hair trimmers anymore? Because I can't seem to find them and I suspect it's a conspiracy by Big Razor. And, lastly this one---that always comes to me in the form of a scolding Gloria Steinem: do you even feminist, bro? Because I talk a big game. But am I the real deal, or do I just want to have my patriarchal cake (one of your more dense and sour desserts) and to eat it too. Upon examination of at least certain aspects of my life (namely, my cultural consumption proclivities), I'm what feminist scholars call a real lemon cake eater. 

I'm not hopeless by any means. I can name great women authors, musicians, historians and screenwriters. I'm just not as off the hook as I like to pretend because my "go tos" remain "bro tos."  And "that's just what I happen to like" is not the full story there. I know I have consumed way more things by dudes and I know that society has repped those dudes way more than it has repped women. 

Just think about your high school English reading. 

Books being repped:

Dudes: Gatsby, Catcher in the Rye, Old Man and the Sea, Great Expectations, Scarlet Letter, A Separate Peace, Lord of the Flies, Shakespeare (24/7), Huck Finn, 1984, Of Mice and Men, Animal Farm, Fahrenheit 451, The Things They Carried

Women: To Kill a Mockingbird, Jayne Eyre, Speak 

That's SO lemon cake. 

And my personal bookshelf would have a real future as the museum exhibit: 50 Shades of Phillip Roth: A Literary Look at Late 20th Century Masculine Angst. 

 Poor Louisa May Alcott finds herself inexplicably in line to get Sylvester Stalone's autograph.

As my vocal chord surgeon said ironically: talk is cheap. But feminism, anti-racism--these things take effort and discomfort--everything the patriarchy tried to cure--for half the population. 

But -with quite a bit of pushing from women (note: at first I had not thought to give women credit for helping me make this change--a real citrus move!) as a small step, I'm committing for the near future to read 3 books by women for every one I read by a dude. I also plan on listening to more lady podcasts and finding more movies and TV written and directed by women. And though my instinct is to want it, I won't even expect praise for doing what's right, damn it all! 

Further Reading (written by me)

Proud Male Feminist Reads One Book by Woman

Lemon Lips' Hot Picks

Music: Ani Difranco, Rilo Kiley, Fiona Apple, Nellie McKay, The Double Clicks (Non-binary and female siblings), Lauren Hill, Cat Power, Aimee Mann, Sammus, Lex the Lexicon Artist 

Books:
Beloved by Toni Morrison
The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas
The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros
Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson
The Puttermesser Papers by Cynthia Ozyick
Because It's Bitter and Because It's My Heart by Joyce Carol Oates

Podcasts: The Last Archive, Nerdette, Fresh Air, The Sarah Silverman Podcast

Comedians: Sarah Silverman, Maria Bamford, Hannah Gadsby

TV: Tina Fey productions, Kim's Convenience, Shrill, Broad City

TV News: Democracy Now 

Movies: Real Women Have Curves, Juno, Bridget Jones Diary, Whip It 

Ten Things as Useful as This Internet Argument

1. Calling an ex to see how things are going lately.

2. Thinking about how I could have scored better on the SATs. Stupid analogies!

3. Planning to eat only half of that pint of Cherry Garcia in the freezer.

4. Teaching Bleak House to my neighbor's dog. 

5. Teaching Bleak House to my 10th graders.

6. Waiting for Kevin Smith to make another good movie. 

7. Any diet your Aunt Karen has tried.

8. Trying to Not find those "Slow Children" caution signs funny every time I see one.

9. Trying to open a Capri Sun. 

10. Reducing gun violence without gun control. (That's right, Larry, this sarcastic list of things as useful as arguing with you on the internet is actually a brilliant ruse to ARGUE WITH YOU ON THE INTERNET MORE. And you thought I was just being a rational person--ha, jokes on YOU. And I can't wait to see your RIDICULOUS response so we can continue arguing until this ends in a perfectly satisfying and productive way-- right after I get my six-year-old to finish all of his vegetables and I get a straight answer from my insurance company about why this necessary medical expense isn't being covered! 

A Betting Clerk is The Life For Me (video)

 

Little Spouse on the Prairie

 The advertisement read: 

GREAT OPPORTUNITIES IN IOWA!

TALL, BLONDE PEOPLE

A SURPRISING AMOUNT OF MEXICAN RESTAURANTS

A TACO PIZZA TOPPED WITH DORITOS

A ROOM AT YOUR IN-LAWS 

So we hitched up the '13 Honda Wagon, loaded her with a sufficient supply of cheddar popcorn and wafer bites, and said so long to our charmed life of foldable pizza slices and Woody Allen controversies. We were headed west. Where people with enough pluck could eek out an existence, hard yet satisfying, provided their in-laws stocked their shelves with enough deli meats and breakfast cereals. 

     Arriving on the prairie (now with carpeting!)

Life on the plains wasn't easy. You had people calling "soda" "pop" and "bags" "sacks." Thanks to that jerk Paul Bunyan, there was not a lot of shade on the hot days and you could find yourself parked in a sliver of shade on the side of the road across from someone's house desperately hoping they didn't see you completely cover yourself in the frozen custard that had missed your mouth. 

And though the stories of attacks by native Iowans are much exaggerated to reinforce East Coast Supremacy, they did happen on occasion and when they did, they were not pretty. You may, say, go to the grocery store, and while looking for some croutons, a native Iowan would sneak up and ask you whether you were making a salad and then bombard you with his salad preferences. While driving by a farm, you might have a farmer shoot you a two finger salute--a gesture so shockingly friendly, an unprepared eastern driver may veer off the road in surprise. 

Even a Native Iowan Can Find Life on the Prairie Difficult. Seen here having to read PRINT MEDIA (😮) when the power went out for half an hour! 

But worst of all were the prairie diseases. Like the recent outbreak of Firework Fever that swept over the people of Mason City. Morning, noon, night--whether you could actually see the fireworks or not or whether the town had a very expensive, high quality professional show you could appreciate instead--victims of Firework Fever could not stop firing from their seemingly inexhaustible stockpiles as if their hospital-visits-in-the-making were the last line of defense against Al Queda. This outbreak seems to have been spread by a certain 10 foot gorilla outside the Iowa Fireworks, Inc. tent. Then you had to look out for the local Male-aria, which can drive you to cut off the sleeves of your shirt, want to ride a motorcycle without a helmet and guzzle mountain dew by the barrel. In some extreme cases, this could even lead to getting a giant tattoo of Marshall "Eminem" Mathers, or "the real slim shady" flipping the bird--on your back. 

It's Going to Take More Than This Prairie Mountain to Bring Me Down! I'm from the Adirondacks! 

Entertainment was also limited on the prairie. Besides a 4,870,000 square foot mall containing 4 floors of stores, an amusement park and hotels in Minneapolis; museums, art galleries, lakes and botanical gardens, there was practically nothing to do. So people will gather around their fireplace TV screensaver and tell tales of prairie legends. Like the man who ate so many slices of taco pizza he could no longer fit in his '13 Honda Wagon. Or the woman who shopped at all of the Targets in the greater Minneapolis area before you could say you betcha I have a Red Card two times. (or the tale of Daniel Funyan, Substitute Teacher of the Great Plains, featured below). 

Shopping at the local General store...being inexplicably overrun by Monarch butterflies. 

                 Sometimes the efforts to entertain oneself on the prairie become truly desperate! 

Life on the prairie was extremely trying. We only did get a few hours in the Mall of America and I nearly died from exhaustion walking from the Lego Store to Minnesot-ah, the home of moose coasters and You Betcha! hoodies. We only tried one Mexican restaurant though we heard such good things about The Happy Donkey in Mason City. We nearly died again when we mistakenly tried to eat midwestern bagel and a small bout with local male-aria almost lead to an incident with a 2 liter of "Hillbilly Holler," a generic Mountain Dew from the local grocery store. Plus, who knew "prairie" had two "i's"--how is anyone supposed to spell that!  But we are back at last--resting easy now that saltwater taffy, New Yorker cartoons and pissed off drivers are well within reach. 

Seen shopping at Minnesot-ah! at Mall of America. 

A Classic Prairie Tall Tale 

Daniel Funyan, Substitute Teacher of the Great Plains

A long time ago there lived a man named Daniel Funyan who was known throughout the land for his miraculous substitute teaching. Whenever a teacher got sick, Daniel mosied on over to the one-room school house, and before he was done, his students were exponentially smarter, fearing God like no one feared him before- and the welts on their hands were bigger than anyone had ever seen. One day, Ms. Candy Navian suddenly caught the gopher fever that had been plaguing the Dakota Territory. This spelled trouble, as Navian's students were the meanest, mangiest and most grasshopper-lovin' students on the plains. The last sub, Mr. Finn Lander ran home screaming after the students cut the straps on his overalls, then took his government land deed, whited out his name, and wrote in Sitting Bull.

But Daniel Funyan was not one to be bested by the youngins!

When he entered the room, there was chaos. One boy was sitting on another boy's head and farting to the tune of "Oh, Susanna." Two girls were flinging the bible across the room like a frisbee. The class prairie dog was eating a crying girl's Swedish meatballs. But when students noticed Daniel, standing 10 feet tall and another 10 feet wide, with ears like pumpkins and a ruler several meters long ready for inflicting punishment, they hushed up. "Get in your seats," his voiced boomed, causing the apple on the teacher's desk to explode all over the students. And all of the students and even the prairie dog did as were asked

By the end of the day, the students could read and write in not only English, but Greek, Latin, Portuguese and Swahili. They could name all 50 territories and knew several dozen derogatory terms for Native Americans. Before leaving, the children insisted that they wanted even more book learnin' and to go out and till the mother flippin' heck out of the land till their hands cramped shut and had to be sawed off. Their trousers were soaked from fearing God so much.

The next day, knowing Ms. Navian was still sick, Daniel headed in to school. But when he got there, there was a man setting up some kind of new-fangled contraption in front of the class.

"What is that?" He shouted, causing several students to fall out of their seats.

"This here. This is a Smartboard," the man said. "It's a new device that will teach students when teachers are out. Runs on steam."

"What? Steam can't teach students; I challenge this "Smartboard" to a teach-off."

All of the pioneers came to watch the great face-off between Daniel Funyan and the magical board. On one side the SmartBoard was teaching bible stories using audio, clip art and text. On the other Daniel was dressed up like Abraham and, in a dramatic rendition of the bible story, was threatening to kill Isaac (the boy who previously had been threatened with another boy's farts) with his infamous ruler. The students eyes darted back and forth between the two spectacles, but in the end, the kids watched and learned from Daniel. Everyone cheered for Daniel Funyan, the greatest education temp in all of the territory.

However, the next day, the Smartboard technician showed students Minesweeper, and the day of the Great Plains Substitute was done. Daniel disappeared after that, but every now and then someone would spot him trying to rapidly increase the pressure inside the Steam Smartboard.

The End

Summer is Gross (A Poem)

Summer--not just every 
Hollywood teen protagonist's dream girl.
It is also the most loathsome
season for those of us who loath sun.
Because our lack of melanin
makes us feel solar exposure
will bring us that much closer to
done with and over.
Or because
we find humidity
the height of
stupidity.
Or because we
rightly perceive
the sun’s intensity as
cosmic hostility.
The sun quite clearly
picking on me,
like my high school
bully, whose name was
no joke 
Cook.

At least Cook only pushed me in
lockers and called me names.
The sun poisoned me.
In eighth grade, as if
I didn't already burn enough 
with the embarrassment
of early adolescence,
on a camping trip, the sun
wantonly
attacked me with its
ultra violent rays
until I was sick for days.

Some are confused.
Likely sun-boozed.
They revel in the rays.
Bask in the burn.
Get nude in Nantucket.
They are not embarrassed to say things
like, “I’m going to New Jersey.”
They ‘lay out’ on blankets
to be cooked like so many
Fourth of July Franks.
Wearing their tan
like some sort of crown
as if soaking up what
beams on down
makes you
a hero and not a
hash brown.

Don’t these wieners know
that a hot day is
best countenanced
inside a frigid, air-conditioned apartment,
shades drawn, watching
a National Geographic special
on Antarctica.
Or better yet the feeling of summer
perceived as a distant memory
on a crisp, October stroll.
The sun back to its rightful place.

Nowhere near us.

But maybe these Apollogists
are just keen to the
sticky truth that the hot
mess outside of us is not the problem.
That it is really a lack of
wherewithal
why we’re with fall.
That perhaps the raw
power of sunbeams
when absorbed through
a substantial
slathering of
SPF 5000
could make us heartier.
More robust.
More likely to
tell the waiter, “No, I did not
ask for a Diet Coke. I’d like
you to bring me a regular Coke
as soon as that's convenient.”

Nah.
They
simply cannot accept
the objective,
indisputable truth that
summer is gross. 

Potential Titles for My Pandemic Memoir

1. Cover Me, I'm Going In: How we Faced the Breathtaking Changes to the Fabric of Our Lives. 

2. The Day the Purell Stopped: An Unsanatized Account of Life During the Pandemic.

3. An Uberable Feast

4. Eat, Pray, Shove: Finding Tranquility and Toilet Paper during the Pandemic. 

5. Another Bullshit Night on Suck Sofa.

6. If a Teacher Talks on Zoom, Does He Make a Sound? Teaching during the pandemic.

7. Fear and Loathing in My Living Room, Bathroom, Kitchen and Bedroom.  

8. A Really Long Ass Time to Kill, or How I watched Hamilton 10 times in 5 weeks. 

9. A Tale of Two Guineas: How Mabel and Douglas Lifted Our Chins and Each Other's During the Pandemic

10. Close Encounters of the Worst Kind: How it Became Apparent that Alien Invasion is Preferable to Sharing the Planet with the Horrible Life Forms Residing in Our Own Neighborhoods.

© Daniel Sennis 2021. All rights reserved.

This Spring Day (A Poem)

Super Strider Poem Video

Here is me reading my poem "Super Strider" from my book O Conman My Conman: Sick Rhymes for Sick Times.