Over a leisurely brunch, replete with food, coffee, and The New York Times yesterday in Williamsburg, I happened across the book review for Hanna Rosin's new book The End of Men (a review situated alongside the review of Naomi Wolf cultural history on "vagina." Now, anyone who has studies gender or sexuality or sex over the past 30 years or so realizes that book of these books—soon to be bestsellers, for sure—are waterdown theory and criticism for the lay-reader. Rosin's book I find to be downright ridiculous—in the same vein that I find those "white panic" media pieces about how white people are the new minority in the US ridiculous.
Perhaps it's the fact that women still make 70 cents to men's dollar. Perhaps it's the fact that I can't walk down my non-gentrified street without being verbally harassed by some guy (nota bene: I have never been verbally or physically harassed by Asian or white guys—someone explain?). Or perhaps it's the fact that idiotic, plagarizing men get steller book contracts and women writers continue to live in the gutter.
...or perhaps it's this:
But why ramble on and on when Melissa Harris-Perry can do so in my stead?