Writing history is a radical act. I'm going to say it again. Writing history is a radical act. The process by which historians choose to deify, demonize, or emulate individuals and events is a malleable and contentious undertaking. As I'm sure you savvy readers out there know—with this retelling comes power. Sure, narratives can be retold, historical 'facts' reformulated, and legacies reclaimed. But whose voices get heard? Which versions get told? Who gets remembered and why? (For far too long 'our' Nation's history consisted overwhelmingly of the male, pale, and stale variety.)
If you're reading the Bitch blog, chances are you've decided that you aren't too terribly offended by the b-word. But what about the c-word? In contemplating the state of modern environmental issues and food politics, I'm thinking that it might be time to reclaim the big C—cow.
It's hard to make an argument for paying attention to the Miss America pageant because the pageant hasn't really made a compelling argument for its continued existence. Why hype up a competition that has so little ultimately at stake?
From the outset of the Haitian earthquake, I was a bit turned off by the coverage of white American families adopting Haitian children. It's not that I object to transracial/international adoption. It's just that major news networks seemed to devote more time to white Americans trying to adopt Haitian children than Haitians in America seeking information about the well-being of their loved ones on the island-nation. It seemed that networks deemed that they had to place white Americans front and center of this tragedy for fear that the general public couldn't emotionally connect to the plight of Haitian Americans and Haitians at large.
Moreover, in recent days, the adoption community has expressed its concerns about Americans clamoring to adopt Haitian children following the quake.
You asked for it (well, one person asked for it): a pop punk edition of BitchTapes! Punk pop, power pop, bubblegum punk - call it what you will, as long as you pogo your butt off and sing along in your brattiest sneer. Warning: pop punk is contagious.
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Have you been wondering what would be the perfect metaphor for being single in your forties? Well now, just in time for Valentine's Day, Lori Gottlieb and her godsend of a new book (Marry Him: a case for settling for Mr. Good Enough) have answered it: it's like irresponsibly drinking before driving, and then causing serious bodily harm to yourself or someone else in a horrific accident. No seriously:
One of the best things about live music is being able to hear bands that are so fresh, they don't even have a record out yet. Check out the following bands, support live music and be the edgiest kid on the damn block.