"Herstory" is not a word; RIP feminist rhetorical criticism

Sonja K. Foss's latest edition of Rhetorical Criticism: Exploration and Practice is void of any chapter on feminist criticism, and I am delighted! I'm no fan of Ludacris, "Girls Gone Wild" or Howard Stern, but I'm sick of feminists who have no sense of humor. I'm sick of feminists who resent terms of endearment. I'm sick of feminists who can't read "man" as "mankind."

I'm particularly sick of poser feminists. If you're too young to identify this Playboy bunny as Gloria Steinem, or if you learned everything you know about the ERA from "Women's Studies," shut up already. Find a crusade that still needs you. This one's over.

I played with the original 1959 Barbie instead of toy trucks but grew up to be an ASE certified diesel mechanic. I donned lacy white gloves and my pink Sunday dress to watch Disney princess movies at the Embassy Theater but grew up to wear leathers and race motorcycles at Willow Springs. I loved rearranging my doll house but grew up to build my own two-story garage. During high school I was a pom-pon girl and a drummer; I carhopped in short A&W culottes and pumped gas in long Texaco overalls. I can clean, cook, and sew, but I can also weld, wire, and plumb. I carry a purse and a firearm.

In the 1960s Little League was only for boys, so my girlfriends and I had to start our own baseball team at Franke Park. In the 1970s the military had no maternity uniforms, so I was medically discharged when I got pregnant. In the 1980s I trained male layout artists who hadn't my graphics degree or experience but made 25 percent higher wages because they "had families to support." Then in the 1990s I returned to military duty while my daughter played varsity softball and served as cheer captain. Today my three grandchildren stay home with my son while his wife brings home the bacon--a situation they planned while both were working her way through medical school.

We, like Sonja Foss, recognize this as a post-feminist era, and have moved on. Join us!

It's not news unless it's "about" the reporter



Didn't the word "report" once imply a detached account? I think the trend toward news narcissism began with national/world weather stories featuring cold, wet or windblown media personalities rather than actual residents dealing with disasters. I'm still boycotting WANE more than five years after seeing reporter Terra Brantley pose, Captain Morgan style, on the ruins of some poor family's home during Hurricane Katrina. (Her insensitivity aside, I was appalled that any local news agency exported useless media teams to a community in such dire need of food, water, transportation and shelter for its residents.) I'm even more disgusted by "stories" about media personalities trying to do real work. I don't want to see a GMA anchor in the back seat of an F-16; I want to know about the pilot, his training, his mission, his family. I don't want to see Today Show hosts "become Internet sensations" by mashing OK Go! or imitating YouTube dances (and I wish someone would explain to their producers that "going viral" can't be orchestrated). Last night, I wanted to know what was happening to Egyptians in Cairo, and the News Sentinel wanted to tell me about a former employee who got punched in the face in Tahrir Square. So I turned on the television, where Indiana's News Center was presenting the first of a two-part story on anchor Melissa Long's karate hobby. Thank God for Twitter and Facebook news feeds!