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Hey Girls and Evolved Boys!

Are you trying to wrap your head around the Cornell 7 story? Or even surprised at some of the insane (almost always male) reactions to it? So surprised and disgusted that you can’t even formulate a response?

Auntie Beth is here to help.

What to say to the “not all men” crowd and/or rapist apologists:

Asinine comment
She knew what she was getting into by going to the frat house.
Response (dealer’s choice)
• There were a whole bunch of guys there too. Did they also sign up to be raped?
• Rapes happen in homes, hotels, dressing rooms, even behind dumpsters. Women can’t go anywhere then.
• She went to see a friend. With friends like that, no one needs enemies.

Dipshit remark
Come on. She wanted it.
Response
Do you have a vagina? I do. Let me tell you: No vagina wants seven hours of sex.

Idiot on social media
She told police everything was consensual.
Response
Maybe she did want to do ketamine and have sex with her friend. Maybe she even wanted a threesome. BUT consent stops when consciousness does. She probably was not aware of everything that transpired until she saw the screenshot of the group chat much later. Also, rape is fucking traumatic, you douchebag. Processing it takes time and different forms.

(Frankly, I don’t care if she walked into that house stark naked, high as a kite, and started dancing on a pole. That doesn’t mean she’s suddenly the house fuck toy.)

Helpful reminders here: 
1. This is what consent means.
2. If given the choice, would the victim market herself as “free pussy” to the fraternity?
3. 57 dudes saw that message.
4. All those dudes took one of two paths: They either went to get some, or they ignored it. No one took a third path — that of a normal human who finds rape disgusting — and either protected her on his own or called the cops.
5. One sent her screenshots later. Yay?
6. If a dude passed out in a sorority house, he would not find himself in a similar situation. It would be more like this.

Buffoon’s statement
It’s two years later. Why didn’t she come forward then? She must be lying.
Response
She fucking did. She went to campus police. (And if you read the statement, it’s clear she doesn’t remember everything that happened. 10 drinks in three hours plus ketamine plus pot will do that.) Cornell conducted a whole Title IX investigation (albeit starting three months after the incident). They found SOMETHING, or Chi Phi would not have been banned from campus. Ithaca police, fools that they are, relied on info from Cornell police, who withheld the group chat information. That’s one of the reasons they are reopening the case.

What an ass says
Calm down. At least the case is being reopened.
Response
Yeah, because of the outrage. It’s the Safety Valve Theory. But then everything will go back to the way it was, is and always will be. (Fuck the Patriarchy!)

What the rape defender says
These young men have a promising future. Their lives shouldn’t be destroyed by this! Innocent until proven guilty.
Response
If they are smart enough to have a promising future, they are smart enough not to jeopardize it by raping someone. And what about her future? Sure, innocent until proven guilty, but let’s not kid ourselves that the guilty are ever truly punished either.

Rules for women: 
Don’t go there.
Don’t wear that.
Don’t go alone.
Don’t drink.
Don’t make eye contact.
Don’t be polite.
Don’t be rude.
Don’t accept a ride.
Don’t stay out late.
Don’t go out too early.

Rules for men:
-0-

What if we only taught men one thing: Don’t rape.

Then women wouldn’t choose the bear.

And all the evolved men out there, you have a responsibility too. Hold other men accountable. Change the culture. If you aren’t part of the solution, you are part of the problem.

Don’t be one of the seven.
Don’t be one of the 50.
Don’t even be that one who sent a text LATER.

Be the one who stops it RIGHT THEN.

Better yet: Don’t ever let it start.

You know Auntie Beth talked to her own sons immediately to make sure she had talked to them enough when they were growing up that they would know what to do.

Every woman has been catcalled, groped, harassed, stalked, assaulted, or raped — sometimes all of the above. Ask any woman if you don’t believe Auntie Beth. (Ask Auntie Beth why she knows … )

“Not all men” but always a man. How are we supposed to know which men are safe? Remember: Jane Doe went to the Chi Phi house to see her friend. Who apparently raped her.

Parting thought:
Women’s bodies are their own. Men: You want to get off? Rosy is always free.

Best wishes and warmest regards,
Auntie Beth

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Dear Music Fans,

I’ve been on a roll lately — getting out of the house and saying yes to live music. I have thoughts about performances and venues, because of course I do.

And you’re here, because I guess you want to read them.

Acts: The Breeders with Team Dresch
Venue: Pioneer Courthouse Square
Highlight: “Cannonball” by The Breeders

I’m an OG fan of The Pixies. Kim Deal was the key ingredient for their early success. Black Francis needs her, even though his ego thinks he doesn’t. When she started The Breeders, I knew there was room in my heart for both bands.

But like The Pixies, The Breeders can be hit or miss. For every “Cannonball,” there’s a “Hag.” (For every “Wave of Mutilation,” there’s a “Hey.”)

As for the venue, I was concerned about an outdoor space in downtown Portland at the end of summer. I was worried for nothing. It was the perfect temp and size. There were places to stand and places to sit (on steps, until some jackass spilled his entire beer). The acoustics were top-notch. Ravens flew overhead. The stars were out.

The people watching was spectacular. Young and old turned out. I did not realize this, but The Breeders fan base skews lesbian — a fact Team Dresch, also out and proud, noted repeatedly.

They were great, by the way. Never heard of them, but they are from Washington and have been around a while apparently.

The Breeders put on a fun show and had plenty of energy. Kim sounded fantastic, and we all got out of there at 9:30 p.m. on a school night.

Team Dresch: B+
The Breeders: A-

Acts: Squeeze with Adam Ant and Haircut 100
Venue: Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall
Highlight: “Goodbye Girl” by Squeeze

I know what you are going to say: “You said you’d never see Adam Ant again.”

I know.

But he was sandwiched between a band I had seen before and loved (Squeeze) and one I hadn’t and wanted to (Haircut 100).

I figured I could go get a drink if it was that bad.

It wasn’t so bad that I had to escape to the lobby, but it wasn’t great. Adam was more ambulatory than the last time, but his voice was … um … not where one might want it to be for paying customers. And he’s still wearing the same stupid outfit he’s been wearing for seven years — down to Aunt Maude’s best Sunday church hat.

Please stop.

On the other end of the spectrum, Haircut 100 had plenty of energy and put on a great show. Squeeze did too. Difford and Tilbrook have still got it. They sounded the same, and played all the hits.

They also played “Trixies,” a concept album they wrote in 1974 when concept albums were de rigueur.

They played this album right in the middle of their set.

You know how a mattress sags in the middle in a cheap motel?

Yeah.

Everyone just sat down — which is frankly what I thought the middle-aged audience would be doing the whole time anyway. I mean, Arlene is a bougie old gal. We all had plush assigned seats.

After the shock wore off, boredom set in. I might have taken a nap. My concert-mate Jason got antsy and warm (Arlene had a hot flash) and roamed off.

Finally, they pulled up the Trixies sign and kicked back off with “Hourglass.” Everyone got back up and started dancing again as if the last 40 minutes had never happened.

Jason and I never want to hear about loose women at Trixies again.

Haircut 100: B+
Adam Ant: D
Squeeze: A- (without Trixies); C (with Trixies factored in)

Acts: Rob Zombie with Orgy, The Hu and Marilyn Manson
Venue: Cascades Amphitheater
Highlight: “This is Mongol” by The Hu

Sometimes you have to say “Yes” to adventures. Jason and I were last-minute tagalongs on Gerard and Jesse’s date to see this lineup. Marilyn Manson is a trash person, but I was interested in the rest.

As it turns out, the singer for Orgy might be trash too — so much so that sources say they got kicked off the tour before the prior show.

Lawn seats at the amphitheater were reasonable, but we nearly needed to take out personal loans for the rest. Want a beer? That’s $25. A Rob Zombie tank top? $50. A burger, fries and soft drink? Also $50.

I would have paid more to see The Hu, though. They are REMARKABLE. I don’t even have the words to describe their sound or energy. They use a horse head electric fiddle played upright, for God’s sake!

Next was Manson. The music is good, not gonna lie. I hate that I like it. But I wasn’t there for him … and his dead swan.

In addition to pissing off birds everywhere, he angered the crowd by screaming “Portland” after every song. The amphitheater is in Ridgefield, Washington.

I also wasn’t there for his nightmare-inducing bassist.

Liza Minnelli Manson and whatever that is

I killed time by discussing the Clancy case via text with Dominic and also convincing him to start listening to The Hu immediately.

Rob was next, but there was a significant set change. There also was a significant temperature drop. Though I had been mocked by someone I will not name for bringing a jacket, I was glad to have it.

Rob started off strong with “F.T.W. 84” and “Tarantula.” The set was indeed elaborate. He was very funny, but said something alarming: Rob said there were 17,000 people in attendance.

Um.

That meant 17,000 people leaving at the same time if we all stayed to the end.

Spoiler: We did not hear “Dragula” live.

We skedaddled during “Feel So Numb.” To be honest, he sounded out of breath. He is 61 after all.

At least we weren’t from running to the car to beat the rush. And we made it back to actual Portland in no time.

Orgy: 0
The Hu: A+
Marilyn Manson: B (for sound); F (for the person delivering it)
Rob Zombie: B (partial credit)

What’s next? What’s left of the Sex Pistols in Denver. I’m sure I’ll have opinions (because of course I do.)

Love and kisses,
Beth

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Captain’s Log, Day 3 (490 miles logged)

Get ready, people: This place has everything: saloons, Costner merch, a building decorated with corn, taxidermy (yay!), a massive jackalope sculpture, and an out-of-place T-Rex.

The first night in the RV went well. We had pride in a job well done, as we had never hooked up an RV before. It wasn’t hard at all. I was worried for nothing.

The RV is spacious. It should be at 30 feet long.

Everyone has a space of his/her own.

I’m on the converted dining room table. (The photo didn’t turn out.)

Leo, as you see, is everywhere.

He’s a bed-hopping whore. Leo, not Dominic. (I don’t think Dominic is, anyway.)

You may wonder why Eddie and I aren’t sharing.

Well, it’s because we are divorced. I know that may come as a surprise as I’ve never mentioned it publicly. It’s private.

It’s also obviously amicable, as we are on this road trip together (mutual choice). I mean, we were together for nearly 30 years. We are part of each other’s lives. We are coparenting. And we still like each other!

Anyway, we started in Onawa, Iowa, and made our way through South Dakota. So many things to see along the way.

Starting with this fine specimen at a rest stop.
80 mph speed limit!
Corn Palace!
Is it a gym? A theater? No, it’s a gift shop.
Want more info? Here you go.
We also stopped at 1880 Town.
This is the main attraction, apparently.
I don’t really care about the movie or Kevin Costner.

But I DO care about a cool Wild West town.

And that I have a son in jail.
That’s what happens when you raise criminals.
I also care about my new side hustle.

The saloon was a big draw. That’s where the refreshments were. No beer, though, which seems like a missed opportunity.

There also was live music.

“Live”

As soon as Gideon saw the performer, he said, “Yeah, he was born here.”

Unadvertised attraction: unfettered goat action

Our next stop was Wall Drug. There had been 423 billboards advertising it, including one with a command.

We did as we were told.

Narrator: They could have missed it and been fine.

I enjoyed the massive jackalope, but the rest was just shopping.
And bad animatronics.
And taxidermied bison.
And this. Just why?

We decided to eat at the Badlands Saloon and Grille. Sadly, our server, Mateo, had no sense of urgency regarding our food and hydration needs.

The delicious Mac and Cheese Burger nearly made up for Mateo.

Thanks to our extended stay in the restaurant, we arrived later than we wanted to the Rushmore View RV Park. We had to set up camp in the dark in the rain. (View? What view?)

Coming soon: Our gang pays a visit to George and his gang.

*This was on a T-shirt at the Corn Palace. Seriously.

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Dear God,

My mother said she prayed to you that I would have a child just like me. I recognized that as a threat by an aggravated woman.

You delivered.

But I think you went too far.

I had common sense, at least.

Dominic does not have common sense.

Here’s why I know this to be true:

1. The exchange below. Context: I set up a new Google Voice number for students in my class to use. I asked the family to test it.

2. The fact that he came into my bedroom at 9:30 Thursday night holding a package of turkey bacon without the packaging. That’s right: 10 or so strips of bacon in his bare hands.

Him: I opened the refrigerator, and this fell out onto the floor.

Me, stunned: Well, don’t bring it naked and dripping INTO MY BEDROOM!

I wish I had taken a photo. I was too revolted at him turkey touching everything to think about that.

He does make up for it by making me laugh with things like this:

And remember our Rock City visit? This is how he ruined an artsy shot I was trying to take:

Yes, that’s his shoe. 🙄

This kid.

So thanks, I guess, for giving me Dominic in all his glory.

Sincerely,
Beth

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Dear Gideon,

You and I are two of a kind. I always forget just how much until we take a car trip together.

You made a playlist for the trip. Of course you did.

In addition to the expected trap crap you and Dominic like, you pulled out The Monkees, The Beatles and Tears for Fears.

Also NEIL DIAMOND.

“Sweet Caroline.” Sweet Jesus!

I couldn’t believe it.

We bah bah bahhhhed loudly down I-75. It was great.

Our bladders got full at the same time.

We chose the same flamin’ hot snacks.

We reached for the Clorox wipes at the same time.

When we got to where we were going, we both had to unpack right away.

We ordered basically the same meal at the barbecue place.

Then we both died at Wal-Mart when I was trying to drive the electric cart.

Sexy, I know.

I’m sorry for nearly mowing you down all those times. I’ve never used one of these things before.

At least you always knew where I was thanks to the beeping. (Like a bell on a cat collar.)

Anyway, I’m glad to be spending quality time with you again.

Love,
Mama

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Dear Judging Community:

My son (15) has few responsibilities around the place he shares with me, his father and brother (13):

  1. Keep up with schoolwork.
  2. Take out the trash and recycling.
  3. Keep his room clean.

In return, we don’t harass him, and we give him an allowance.

As he is a 15-year-old boy, you can imagine he is not holding up his end of the bargain.

It’s No. 3 that’s really bothering me at the moment.

Y’all, look:

Those are clean clothes that have been on the floor for more than two weeks.

Well, they aren’t clean anymore, of course.

I know they WERE clean because I dried and folded them.

Lest you thing I regularly do his laundry, let me explain: He put his clothes in the wash, then “forgot” about them. I needed to do laundry, so I finished them up.

I see now I should have just put them in the trash.

We’ve had numerous arguments about this.

He says it’s his room, and he will clean it up when he’s ready.

I say it’s slovenly behavior, and he never should have let it get like this. But as he did, he should clean it up. Now.

So Community, AITA for expecting him to keep his room clean?

Before you answer, one more thing I need to tell you.

He asked for a few of my Oreos, then ate the entire package without a word to me. I found the empty package in the trash.

So. AITA?

Thanks for weighing in,
Beth

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Dear Karen, Georgia and furred colleagues, including Steven,

I’ll get right to it:

I was accepted to a leadership conference hosted by my sorority. I haven’t been involved in the organization since I left college many (many) years ago, but it’s been a tough year, and so I applied.

The organizers sent out a list of roommate assignments.

I’m a grown woman; I didn’t want a roommate.

That is until I Googled my assigned roommate. (I’m a journalist. I research.)

She was a Chi Omega.

At Florida State University.

In 1978.

That’s right, y’all.

My roommate was nearly a victim of Ted Bundy.

He killed the sister next door to her, and the one in the room across the hall.

The police took her door because his fingerprints were on the doorknob. He was interrupted from going in because Nita Neary came home.

My roommate was the one who found Lisa Levy — still alive until she got into the ambulance.

She ended up being deposed three times by that monster who served as his own lawyer.

(You know what Lincoln said: He who represents himself has a fool for a client.)

The focus of the conference was resilience. And Diane McCain is the epitome of resilience. Her Bundy experience led to her becoming a crusader for victim’s rights.

She’s also battled some serious health issues.

In sum, Diane is a badass.

Of course, I offered to help her write a book about her life, or write it for her.

Stay sexy, and say yes to roommates.

Love,
Beth

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Dear Ca Phe Viet (that’s clever, btw),

In America, businesses typically have one focus. The Container Store sells containers. Publix sells groceries. Popeye’s sells (fight-inducing) chicken.

Not you.

I visited your Manchester establishment because you had a half-star rating higher than the other Vietnamese restaurant within walking distance.

Little did I know I would get so much bang for my buck.

I had no idea I’d be able to shop for Asian specialties from the comfort of my chair while slurping up savory Phở Gà. How handy!

See, when I walked up, I thought these three awnings represented three distinct shops.

But no. I could eat lunch, do my grocery shopping AND buy a mobile phone/change my service.

You know what I was surprised I couldn’t get? A glass of water. You know, like regular water with ice in it.

When I asked for water, the server blinked a few times like she was trying to process the word. Then she brought me a mug of hot water.

But I guess you’re great at multitasking: selling calling plans, restocking sriracha, putting the kettle on.

So thanks for forcing me to try new things, such as hot water as a beverage with hot soup. Like you, I’ve branched out.

Kính thư,
Beth

* Thanks, Rick Ross.

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Dear Aggressive Fellow in Office Depot:

I’m not sure I adequately displayed my shock at your approach in the printer ink aisle.

I thought maybe you thought I worked there.

But then when you got very close and asked me if I had a husband or boyfriend, I knew I was wrong.

It was flattering, for sure. Especially as I had my hair piled on top of my head, didn’t have makeup on, and was wearing a Fishbone shirt and raggedy shorts.

But when I said, “Yes,” you were skeptical.

“Are you sure?”

I held up my left hand.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“But I like you. Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me?”

“I’m sure. Thanks anyway.”

Then you dropped this line:

“I’m Guatemalan.”

OH! Well in THAT case!

But seriously, “a new man” was not on my shopping list.

And I don’t think the lady you were with would have appreciated your activity 10 feet away.

But you did give me a great story to tell, so thanks.

And you do have moxie.

Impressed,
Beth

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Dear Karma,

Sometimes I don’t think you really are a bitch. But then there will be an experience that renews my faith in you.

I had one of those experiences this week.

Or rather, the troublesome 14 year old in my life did.

We shipped Dominic off to stay with cruise friends Patrick, Petra, Ryder and Mia so that Ryder and Dominic could be counselors at a summer camp together.

I didn’t hear from Dominic all week, so I checked in.

So I asked the head camp lady if he could come back in two weeks. She said she would love to have him, but didn’t have anything for him to do. No room on the schedule for him.

I’ve raised a resilient, motivated, intelligent child, right?

Not so fast.

He still has trouble following directions. When to get off the bus, for example.

Also, look at what he did to himself in a bike accident:

How? He was rooting around in his backpack while driving the bike instead of paying attention. The speed bump won.

Anyway, thank you, Karma, for avenging me. For all those times he drove/drives me crazy, thank you for sending a plague of toddlers.

You’re the best.

Back to believing,
Beth

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