What Kurt Metzger will never understand about reporting rape

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Pretty much my exact response to Metzger’s garbage dump

Sigh. Another day, another rape controversy, right? This week, comedian and Inside Amy Schumer writer Kurt Metzger found himself in hot water with all of us hyper-reactionary Social Justice Warriors when he went on a social media tirade, claiming that internet “lynch mobs” and vigilante justice are now taking the place of going to the police in the wake of sexual assault.

All of this started after several women came forward to the Upright Citizens Brigade (UCB) and claimed they had been sexually assaulted by fellow improv comedian Aaron Glaser. The UCB ran an internal investigation, and found the claims credible. Thus, they decided to ban Glaser for life. You know, similar to how women might approach an employer about sexual harassment at the office. Anyway, once word started getting around about Glaser, a few other comedy clubs also banned the comic. Glaser denied the accusations in now-deleted Facebook posts and called the bans and subsequent public outcry a “witch hunt.”

In comes Metzger, the bold “truthteller” that he is. He posted several Facebook and Twitter updates, railing on “rape trial by social media.” According to Kurt, there is only one “correct” way to deal with rape — by going immediately to the police. If you don’t go to the police, you apparently forfeit your right to speak about your rape, or to do anything to make your workplace or your community more comfortable and safe for women. I’m not going to give his rhetoric a place here on my blog, because it was intentionally inflammatory and hateful, and obviously meant to draw more ears to his podcast. If you’re interested in reading his incoherent rantings that started the controversy, you can here, here, herehere, and here.

But it was this post that really bothered me:  Continue reading

Adventures in Decorating Part I

As some of you might know, I am making over my room. Not only am I replacing the majority of my furniture, but I’m also changing the function of the room. What once was a very traditional grad student bedroom (bed, bureaus, a giant desk and bookshelves), will soon morph into more of a studio apartment. The new design will fit my needs better: somewhere I can both work unhampered and entertain.

Nance (my mother), has naturally been helping me with this project. I say “naturally” because, not only is interior design my mother’s highest passion, but also because I have an incomparable penchant for coming up with amazing project ideas and abandoning them at the first sign of having to do work. Nance helps keep me on track. Well, she tries to anyway.

I imagine it’s difficult for her, what with how I present problems at every possible juncture. To start, I’m straight up lazy and get easily overwhelmed by the task at hand.  I’m also incredibly indecisive and never know what I want. I bark incoherent requests at my mother, such as “I want Brooklyn loft-style with a mix of industrial and whimsical. I also want a hint of English country and plenty of Moroccan (Mixing patterns! Deep colors!). It should definitely have an international feel but be really rooted in New York. AND it should all feel really cohesive. Kthnx!” Yes, seriously. I am THAT annoying and difficult to work with. My poor mother, whom I’m quite sure spends hours each day scouring websites for beautiful, well-priced items for me, is met with super helpful responses like “yeah, I like that but I’m not sure. Maybe.” If the poor woman hadn’t birthed me herself, I’m positive she would have dropped me as a “client” after Day 1.

Although she has been extraordinarily patient with me in every way, my mother has certainly been vocal in her disapproval of what I bring to the table (read: nothing). Nance is not impressed. Thankfully, I’m not impressed with myself either and I’m able to both laugh at myself and apologize profusely for my pathetic behavior. Even more thankfully, my mother found a way around my indecisiveness AND laziness: pillows.

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That’s right. Pillows.

Let me explain.

In order to save space and have the room I truly want, I decided to nix the idea of a murphy bed in favor of a convertible sofa. My parents have one that is crazy comfortable which I am in love with, and my mother (again, saint that she is) graciously offered to donate it to my cause. Once I was finally able to get over my insecurity about what people will think about me sleeping on a couch, I happily agreed to take it. When I asked my decorator what she envisioned for the extra space, she said “you could do lots with it – a cafe table and chairs, a reading nook, or a lounge with a low-lying table and floor pillows.

I kid you not, as soon as she mentioned “floor pillows,” my head perked up like Oreo’s does when he hears a box of Wheat Thins being opened in the next room (Oreo was my 14th birthday present – a super appropriately named black and white shih tzu. He is a sassy old gay man with a fondness for wheat, pillows and licking chair legs. More on him later). Since my youth, I have been obsessed with floor lounge areas filled with pillows.

I feel it’s important to mention that I’ve attempted this before. I had a makeshift floor lounge in my room as a preteen. I vividly remember spending hours there, calling this bizarre entertainment hotline where you could play trivia games by pressing buttons and get your horoscope. I imagined my girlfriends all coming over — oh, how we’d yuk it up over prank calls and truth or dare! Maybe we’d even bust out my Ouiji board and light incense like we were in the goddamn Craft! Sadly, in reality none of my friends thought my floor lounge was as cool as I did. It could have been the pink flower latticework ruining the whole “cool” vibe. Or it could have been the fact that NOBODY WANTED TO COME OVER AND CALL A LAME ASS TRIVIA HOTLINE WITH NERDY McDWEEBERSON.

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I want to go to there!

Anyway, long story short: I FUCKING LOVE PILLOW FORTS. Like, all I want in this life is ALL. OF. THE. PILLOWS. ALL. OVER. THE. FUCKING. FLOOR. And a tent of richly colored, sheer fabric. And candles. And (lord-willing, now that I’m slightly cooler) my friends sitting around a hand-carved table with me, drinking tea and laughing. Even I will work for that.

Clever Nance, you got me again.