The Iconoclast
Monday, 14 January 2008
Pink men

Erica Jong shows her true colours (h/t David Thompson):

I am so tired of pink men bombing brown children and rationalising it as fighting terrorism… I am so tired of pink men spouting nonsense on TV. I am so tired of pink men arguing, blathering, bloviating, predicting the future - usually wrongly - and telling women to shut up. I am so sick of hearing that another pink man has dropped his children out a window, off a bridge or killed his pregnant wife or killed his unpregnant wife because he was infatuated with another pregnant woman. I am so sick of pink men making war and talking about peace… Don’t tell me about women who kill. I know there are some - but fewer. So let’s just remember our mothers - who bore us, protected us against our fathers and grandfathers and all the pink or brown men who wanted to rape us or kill us or starve us because we were girls.

Here's hoping this post finds you as it leaves me - in the pink.

In the words of The Specials and others (click here to hear):

Enjoy yourself
It's later than you think
Enjoy yourself
While you're still in the pink
The years go by
As quickly as a wink
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself
It's later than you think

Posted on 01/14/2008 5:22 PM by Mary Jackson
Comments
15 Jan 2008
Send an emailESmerelda Weatherwax

I read Fear of Flying in or around 1973/4 when I was a student.  A friend who had recently discovered both the book and the activity it described lent it about (the book, her other activities are none of your business) pour encourager les autres.

It left me totally bemused.

Of course the heroine was feeling terribly guilty. She was committing adultery, unfaithful to her husband who seemed a blameless sort of chap (I am working from memory here – if someone with more recent knowledge of the book reminds me of incidents after which any sensible woman would end her marriage which I missed I will stand corrected) and if you are doing wrong you should expect your conscience to be pricked. (Mary, NO!!)  She did return to her husband at the end, a Chinese dentist if I recall, after pages of drivel and angst and a fantasy of the “zipperless f**k” during which the man’s clothes floated off without the need to struggle with his flys and some very silly, pre 501, musings on European men and the button fly.

I didn’t realise that she was still around.