Previously, from the same author.
When my employer called me into his office and granted me paternity leave on the birth of my first child, I had no idea what I was in for. Most of my male coworkers had already left the office at this point, having impregnated willing strangers in order to take twelve weeks’ paid time off in exchange for eighteen years of financial and personal responsibility.
“It’s twelve weeks’ time off,” Daniel shouted when he learned he’d successfully created a child with the head of the mechanics department. “I’m going to finally finish my heli-skiing novel!”
I simply wasn’t prepared for what all of this free time would do to me. I had planned, of course, to participate actively as a member of the household and as my wife’s partner — grease the dryer, dust the teakettle, rearrange the cat, and so on — but then, shortly after I walked in the door, I was tragically trapped under something heavy and have been unable to move from this spot in the living room. No one can move this burden from me, save the pure-hearted seventh son of a seventh son, and I do not believe that such a person exists.
It has been a difficult adjustment, to be sure. Once my wife asked me if I could help clean the floors as long as I was going to be down there anyway.
“I’m sorry, darling,” I had to tell her, “but without a job, I — like many men, including my grandfather before me, who was turned into a cinderblock wall after he retired — lack the psychic equilibrium to perform basic tasks. Also can you make me a michelada.”
My wife’s capacity and willingness to do everything necessary for the care and comfort of our child has flooded me with awe. In fact, I am so flooded with awe that I cannot move. It is all I can do to grin weakly at her, trapped as I am under a sea of my own admiration, as she struts powerfully by, dressing our son at several hundred nautical knots per hour while knitting his college application essay with her teeth.
I always thought that when the time came I would be able to be a fully present and engaged member of my family. I never dreamed I would be trapped under something so heavy.
I wonder what my son’s name is. Perhaps it is Jonathant.
How I wish I were capable of providing my son with the same kind of loving, careful attention as my wife is. But how can I compete? Her hands are made of dish scrubbers and teddy bears. Mine have been duct taped to these bottles of Hennessey and Old Crow, and I am too drunk to remember the difference between the wall and the floor. My wife has a diaper genie built into the back of her right calf. I have been forced by an evil wizard to watch the entire series run of Sons of Anarchy, through no fault of my own. Were I to lift my eyes from the Shakespearean machinations of a Californian biker and drug-smuggling family that loves as fiercely as they drug-smuggle for even a moment, I would surely turn to stone, and what good would I be to my child, or possibly children, then?
My wife is now more vacuum than human woman. Her attachments are many and efficient, but none of them can save me. I have asked her to bring me my novel, but I do not think that she can hear me, trapped as I am under this thing that has trapped me, preventing me from bathing or holding my son, which I would love so very much to do, instead of finishing this shandy.
Tags: childcare, dads, humor, personal essays
This was 100% necessary. Mallory, has anyone ever told you you write like Cormac McCarthy?
Has anyone told Cormac McCarthy that he writes like Mallory?
I know he’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but there’s no call to go mocking an old man to his face. Just let him have his Road without inviting the comparison to A Day In the Life of Troubled Male Antihero.
“There’s no call to go mocking an old [white] man to his face.”
do… you even go here?
SHE DOESN’T EVEN GO HERE!
Wait, how is it mockery to tell someone that he writes like Mallory? That might even be the highest praise of all (?)
Sorry, I don’t think I wrote it very well. It was meant to suggest (humorously) that the only way one could put McCarthy on Mallory’s level is sarcastically, because Mallory is so obviously superior.
Mallory is surely the the regnant mafiosa of the international feminine.
This is a thousand times funnier now that I’ve read his horrible piece.
My own anxiety of influence derives not from an unconscious agon with a preceding work, but from knowing the necessity of originality while acknowledging that consummate originality is impossible.
Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh.
Consummate originality? That’s unpossible!
Consummate Vs! Consummate!
I have this knee-jerk response to the phrase “anxiety of influence” because Harold Bloom makes me want to stab a Harold Bloom.
A natural reaction to Harold Bloom, honestly.
WORST WORST WORST
oh well done
well done. I suspect you noticed this: http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2014/10/22/wi…?
May this article fly forever on the backs of golden eagles.
love.
This is the perfect response to that jerkbag’s article. Thank you.
not sure if sating my curiosity is worth reading whatever horrible article you mean
It’s the first in the Link Roundup today, and worth reading just to see how strikingly similar the two pieces are.
Mallory’s has more detail on the son’s name.
I didn’t bother to read the original, and I don’t feel like added context could have caused me to laugh any harder at Mallory’s parody. Give yourself the gift of not clicking!
no, no it is not. save yourself and the strain from eyerolling.
White House Petition to actually permanently trap William Giraldi under something very heavy like a space station that has fallen out of orbit and is covered in alien viruses.
But then he might be doing something useful, like being an incubator for alien viruses.
“grease the dryer, dust the teakettle, rearrange the cat” Water the dog, iron the toilet. Oh man, so many things to do around the house.
Mash the dishes service the dinner
Don’t forget to temper the radiator and fold the curtains.
This makes me think of this book about housekeeping that my friend has that has all these very mysterious tasks in it, like ironing sheets and specific seasonal house-cleaning events. I used to find it intimidating and stressful, but now it’s just kind of amazing.
related: we were playing What’s App on NYE and someone guessed “set the couch” for “make the bed”
*basks in the beauty of this* The ad when I read this was for ten style and grooming tips which would help every man, which is kind of perfect.
But seriously, when/why did they get the reputation for being the stronger gender? His wife could probably do everything she’s doing *while* trapped under something heavy.
Women let them have that reputation to protect their tiny egos so we could get on with things, with fewer tantrums. It backfired, unfortunately, but here we are.
Any organism that’s dumb enough to evolve with its genitals on the outside of its body doesn’t deserve to be in charge of anything.
But seriously, men are only the stronger gender when it suits them. Men study science and math because women are too squirrel-brained to handle it, but men paint and write poetry because women are too pragmatic to accomplish True Art.
“Any organism that’s dumb enough to evolve with its genitals on the outside of its body doesn’t deserve to be in charge of anything.”
This is so glorious. Do you mind if I cross-stitch this and attribute it to you?
How flattering! Please do, although I’m sure I’m by no means the first person to have the thought.
That second part is basically what my dad believes, though he doesn’t see the contradiction. I’m low-contact with him as a public service so there won’t be carnage.
I could barely tell the difference between this and the original, which in some ways might be the greatest praise of all (?)
DYING
this is so funny it’s definitely not feminist, much more humorist I would say
flawless
By provoking this, William Giraldi has unintentionally and undeservedly justified his existence. The free grace of Mallory Ortberg.
Justification by grace through parody, our most sacred and fundamental doctrine.
Someone link me the original article? I’m low on my RDA of rage (she typed, lying in bed with The Baby Who Wouldn’t Nap Alone).
It’s linked to in THIS VERY PIECE, my lad!
Oh jeez your witty link title was TOO CLEVER for someone with three brain cells after 18 months of chronic sleep deprivation. :/
One brain cell. I now have a single brain cell left after trying to read that retch-inducing horror of an “article.” /hisses
I’m pretty sure reading that article is contraindicated for mothers of infants and toddlers, as it is likely to lead to rage-induced stroke and/or murder.
That’s exactly why I haven’t read it yet, though I’m grateful to Mallory for providing us with the gist of it here, in its acceptable form.
It’s a big responsibility to drink a case of liquor every other day while not writing. Women have no idea.
JONATHANT
jonathant
“jonathant”
jOnAtHaNt
Some Toastie needs to conceive, gestate and bear a baby now and name him or her Jonathant.
Or get an ant farm, and name them all Jonathant
Jonathant.
Sorry, I’m already set on Brosemary.
Jonathant, brother of Stimothy, whom their father loves so much he became a feminist.
Timmoffee.
Dabid.
Alessander.
I johnathant even
Guesses as to what he is trapped under:
His own ego
A pile of Cormac McCarthy novels
The “tremendous ennui and the earthquakes of personhood” that happen when you’re white, male, and upper class
A pile of his own unnecessarily nasty reviews of other novelists’ (oh gee, female ones, how weird and coincidental) work?
omg omg omg every quote from him in that piece is so incredibly cringe-worthy that now I feel like I need a long hot misandrist shower.
boiling the male tears as we speak
“Let’s keep in mind, over the top is the only way to conquer a mountain, and I was confronted with an Everest of awfulness.” Giraldi said he felt compelled to call out Ohlin. “Silence is not the answer. If you’re fearful of the epithets ‘elitist’ or ‘snob,’ then you’re just going to be another feckless component of capitulation.”
The worst sin a writer can commit is to inspire me to tell him to be more like Hemingway. “Feckless component of capitulation” why are you doing this to me you miserable bastard.
His own genius (which is also why his novel remains unfinished — HE IS TOO BRILLIANT TO BEGIN)
His iPad as he writes emails like this (“Just a sec, honey, there’s a woman being funny on the Internet without my approval!”)
His smug incorrect conviction that his is a self-consciously progressive household
A pile of printed-out Reddit threads
A keg of hoppy beer
Honestly, I hope the answer is “dirty diapers that his wife has been piling on him since day 1”
He’s living in the male Yellow Wallpaper!
I imagine the male Yellow Wallpaper as faux wood paneling. You?
Once upon a time, with chemical assistance, I had a “Yellow Wallpaper” incident involving faux wood paneling. *shudder*
This essay made me so angry and raised so many questions that I went to this dude’s website, only to find his previous essay about sleeplessness after the birth of his son, which contains this paragraph, which is somehow, astonishingly, EVEN WORSE:
“But so far my life as a new father has much in common with my old life. My best friend, a Boston story writer, married an Irish Catholic woman from Connecticut with two siblings, an older and younger brother, neither of whom she adored, and so now the diaper work and up-all-night obligations get split down the middle. Furthermore, his bride aspires to be a novelist of all things. His hair has gone grayer, and all those short stories canistered in his cranium stay in his cranium. I, on the other hand, married an Asian woman born in Taiwan who has an identical twin and three other siblings—two of them younger, adored brothers she tended to daily—and although she’s an artist with an aptitude that astonishes me—Katie crafted the mobiles above Ethan’s crib; they rotate and revolve with a perfection that would have impressed Johannes Kepler himself—all she ever wanted to be was a mother. The difference between brides is greater than that between Schopenhauer and Saint Francis, and so my life as a new father has much in common with my old life. But still: I am in the room when Ethan wakes at night. He wants me awake, too. We are a triumvirate, after all. I have made this. I get no stay-asleep pass.
…whuh…w…whuh….”all she ever wanted to be…” “but still: I am in the room…” B–wh…w—!?!?!
OH MY GOD
OH MY GODDDD
Where is the lighter fluid please
This guy needs to get his ass divorced.
“My best friend … married an Irish Catholic woman from Connecticut … I, on the other hand, married an Asian woman born in Taiwan.”
Oh god.
IRISH CATHOLIC WOMAN FROM CONNECTICUT : ASIAN WOMAN BORN IN TAIWAN ::
A. WHIPPOORWILL : SCRIMSHAW
B. AMMONIUM CHLORIDE : CLIPBOARD
C. SCHOPENHAUER : SAINT FRANCIS
D. AN INCONSEQUENTIAL MEMORY OF YOUR FATHER : VINTAGE ADDAMS FAMILY PINBALL MACHINE
E. VASCO DA GAMA : MADELINE KAHN
this has been the most hilarious SAT flashback of my life to date
ANSWER: ALL OF THE ABOVE
(I love your comment mightily and fully)
Bless you.
The “Schopenhauer and St. Francis” line sort of says it all, right? He could have said apples and oranges, or night and day, or if he was trying to avoid cliches, any number of pairs that a reader could easily parse. But this guy is way too smart to casually denigrate women by way of comparisons that any ordinary philistine can understand. “They’re so different, it’s like Wittgenstein and Hegel! Have I mentioned recently that I’ve read their works? Oh, I have, you say? I’ll have to pick a different metaphor.”
I am pretty sure they both believed in something like ‘original sin’ — for Franky that would be Christian dogma, for Schoppenweiner that would be existence/personhood.
I have only passing familiarity with either of them– and I’m sure that if Giraldi saw me saying that, he’d smirk and disregard my criticism on the basis that I’m therefore practically illiterate– but a cursory google does not bring up any famous controversies between the two. In fact it tells me that Schopenhauer drew some inspiration from Francis’s ascetic practices. And they both loved animals. And they’re both learned European dudes. In other words, he’s literally just plugging fancy-sounding names into a sentence construction that suggests difference, and hoping that we’ll think he’s smart and knows something we don’t.
I can’t believe I just wasted 20 minutes researching that when I already knew he was full of shit.
Thank you for sharing the results of your research!
If you want opposition to Schopenhauer, there’s really only one choice:
HEGEL, installed from above, by the powers that be, as the certified Great Philosopher, was a flat-headed, insipid, nauseating, illiterate charlatan who reached the pinnacle of audacity in scribbling together and dishing up the craziest mystifying nonsense.
(Emphasis technically mine, implicitly Schopenhauer’s.)
A monk versus a philanderer, was the distinction I thought he was going for.
oh, you! <3
actual >:o face right now
“Furthermore, his bride aspires to be a novelist of all things.”
Of. All. Things.
hullo comment twin
hello hello!
Also why am I not surprised that he continually refers to these women as “brides”?
Never trust the kind of man who refers to women in marriages as ‘brides’ either a) significantly before a wedding date arrives or b) more than one week after a wedding.
It implies that being a woman is in its own right an interstitial state. And yes – if one is a bride, one is a bride for exactly 24h per wedding day!
a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things a novelist of all things
I will not be able to sleep tonight
His best friend’s wife! Do you think they’ve had any dinner parties together since that was published? How did those go?
I would like to think that she smashed him over the head with the book that she wrote and he didn’t.
“William. Delighted.”
JESUS CHRIST ON A CRACKER
yes, nothing is sadder than greying hair and unwritten short stories and wasted male genius, all because your friend married a NOVELIST OF ALL THINGS who made him split the housework down the middle.
(I had to take a little break at “I, on the other hand, married an Asian woman born in Taiwan” and take several Cleansing Breaths and then proceed at my own risk)
Hope you took a few more Cleansing Breaths at “although she’s an artist with an aptitude that astonishes me” and then fired up the chainsaw.
“an Asian woman born in Taiwan” what is he saying? Asian women born in the U.S. aren’t so chill about doing all the work/child rearing while their men work on their CRAFT?
Yes. I think that’s his exact implication.
UGH.
WE’VE LET THE FEMINISM CORRUPT US, NICOLE
*resolves to find this man’s body weight so she has a deadlift goal for 2015*
Hieu, I am already a fan of yours, as you know, but if you deadlift William Giraldi (and then, I dunno, reenact a certain scene from THE DARK KNIGHT RISES) you will forever be my personal hero.
Hieu please do this and report back. I’d say try an overhead lift, but he’s a jerk all on his own.
And sometimes at the bottom of a comment thread, there’s a gem (but mostly only on the Toast, admittedly). Thank you 🙂
What about Asian women born in Connecticut? Is it only Connecticut Catholics who hate their brothers and take it out on their future husbands who suck as wives (sorry, brides)?
Imagine if she were Asian *and* Catholic *and* a novelist.
two out of three here, but I don’t think I’m his type
She’s an artist, but “all she ever wanted to be was a mother.”
Nope, I think she wanted to be an artist too, since you don’t just accidentally be an artist. “Artist” is a pretty intentional thing.
No, but when women Art, they’re just doing innate woman stuff, like drawing pictures of flowers. When men Art (or Write, which is like Art, but with vastly more importance), they’re digging deep within their souls to express fundamental truths.
Ah, but she isn’t a novelist, the dear sweet thing. She *aspires* to be a novelist, since it’s nice to let women cherish these little dreams and fancies they have.
I don’t know which line to vomit over. Ever time I think I’ve found the perfect one, it gets worse.
I think I’m going to pick “and although she’s an artist with an aptitude that astonishes me”
“…as illustrated by this additional story about how great she is at childcare…”
YEP that was the line that did it for me
“I am dumbfounded everyday to find that my Asian bride is good at things which I have not previously been advised she would be good at. I was under the impression that all she ever wanted to be was my conceptual understanding of a mother, and so would only have been good at that thing. If I didn’t know better, and believe me, I do, I would start to wonder if she was a person, doing things and thinking things that I haven’t officially acknowledged as possible. Such things boggle the mind. I believe I need another drink.” – W. G.
“I would start to wonder if she was a person…” Hahahahahaha. Don’t be ridiculous. Brides aren’t people.
*Instantly transforms into a fierce harpy and flies out the window in rage.*
(Man, I’ve gotta stop fantasizing about doing that.)
Never stop. NEVER. *Talons out*
KREEEEEEEEEEEEEE
HISSSSSSS
Furthermore, his bride aspires to be a novelist of all things.
Silly girl. She’s going to hurt her lady-brain.
good god almighty
O_O good god.
. . . that is so terrible I am literally speechless.
If I hadn’t read the article before scrolling down to comments I would 100% believe that this was part of what Mallory wrote. Usually it takes a snide commentator to make somebody look this bad but no, he did it himself.
I am rubbing my hands together imagining the monstrosity of misguided purple prose that he is probably typing up right now in response to this piece.
He is imbibing gallons of Heineken and weeping over his vintage typewriter while his efficient Taiwanese wife sews new patches onto his tweed coats, quietly planning to poison him if he doesn’t go back to work soon. For the fool forgot that inside every meek Asian stereotype there lurks a dragon lady.
Of course he married an Asian woman.
Bro needs to take a long walk off a short pier.
oh no oh no this thread seems to have triggered “Asian Pretty Ladies” sidebar ads. One more thing we can blame this dude for.
Nick is trying to squash those (if they are the weird Asian Dating ones). If you can right click, copy the link, and email it to Nick it will be helpful. I did it once at Nick’s request after they showed up on my browser.
The thing that really pisses me off about this guy is that when you struggle through his horrible prose, your only reward for it is a face full of tired retrograde bullshit. It’s like running a marathon and your medal is made out of bees.
Accurate AND hilarious.
“It’s like running a marathon and your medal is made out of bees.”
An accurate description of every major software project ever.
I would love to quote that last line on tumblr (with a link and your username, if you don’t mind). Please?
Sure!
I was trying to come up with a way to summarize my feelings about hacking through that nightmare jungle of a paragraph, but this really nailed it. Bravo.
That last line made me literally LOL. Brilliant.
FIRE THIS MAN INTO THE SUN.
THE SUN OF AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT GALAXY, HE WOULD RUIN OURS.
People he mentions in describing the night of his son’s birth:
– His son
– Babe Ruth
– Julius Caesar
– The nurses (“seraphs”)
– The doctor
– Himself, e.g. “The hardest part for me was staying up all night.” (the hardest part. for me.)
People he does not mention:
– His wife
Of course he doesn’t. Don’t forget, they are a ‘triumvirate’, which as all wonderful classicist Toastrons will tell you, means ‘three men in it together’.
SERAPHS?!
I dislike his over-use of em-dashes. If you find your sentence has more than one parenthetical phrase offset by dashes, you really need to invest in more periods, or semicolons at the very least.
VOM.
Which reveals that he knew full well that he wouldn’t be “incurring more than 50 percent of parental duties” when he signed the paternity leave form with BU for his second child. What I’m saying is that I want BU’s HR department to read these articles and demand their money back.
Among all the horrid, horrid things in this paragraph, what I’d like to point out is that while the friend *is* a story writer, his writer wife does not get to called a writer. No, she’s a bride who merely *aspires* to be a novelist, BECAUSE GOD FORBID SOMEONE POSSESSED OF A MERE LADYBRAIN BE DESCRIBED AS A WRITER.
And “aspires to be a writer” implies less agency and potential than “is an aspiring writer.” Basically, everything here is terrible.
I love how apparently, a women’s (or sorry, “bride’s”) capability to be a mother is determined by the number of younger siblings she nurtures in her youth.
Apparently, his friend’s “bride” is an utterly incapable mother because she didn’t spend her girlhood tending to her younger brother (or, in his mind, inadequately adoring them). And his friend will never be a real writer because he’s too busy being an involved parent.
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ON A POGO STICK.
“a novelist of all things”!!!!!!
Fucking news flash: I always aspired to be a mom, too, AND a novelist (of all things!), and yet my husband (an Irish Catholic from Dublin with two older sisters, for the record, since apparently the record matters) & I managed to both publish 2 novels each so far (and several stories of his now live in journals instead of his cranium), AND have two kids, because WE ARE NEITHER ONE SELFISH ASSHOLES.
Apparently he is just as confused by “that singular anomaly, the lady novelist” as W.S. Gilbert was…130 years ago.
“I have made this.”
Oh my god.
Holy fucking shit, I didn’t think he could be any worse but he did it.
The same essay also has THIS gem: “A female acquaintance in our building, a divorcée and writer, has no interest in embracing our son or swooning over him, and I’ve become mightily disdainful of her self-obsessed and writerly ways, which no doubt hint at a handful of emotional disturbances. (I’m in the habit of telling my students that the only criterion they need to judge someone is how that person treats babies and animals. Nothing else that person does is a more accurate or telling indication of her character.)”
I… I just… I don’t even know how to begin discussing the hypocritical, misogynistic awfulness of this man’s mind.
If it’s a) or c), call me back.
This was the least you could do after linking that infuriating essay earlier!
“that loves as fiercely as they drug-smuggle”
That clause was so beautiful I involuntarily stood up and walked around for a minute just to enjoy it.
Trapped under the pellucid elephantine weight of my own notions of manliness. Hemmingwayed into drunken afternoon stupors while my boychild is indoctrinated by the matriarcho-tron with her dismantle the patriarchy pincers and her emasculating self-sufficiency.
Jaysus, such a boor.
If I hadn’t just finished reading “Delusions of Gender” before reading the original I might have had it in me to be shocked. But damn did it need to be skewered. And, Mallory – that was perfection.
Hey now, Hemingway’s far too good for this guy. At least Hemingway actually wrote novels while drinking heavily and contemplating his own masculinity.
Imagining me smiling beatifically and making Creed-arms as I dive into the warm, lambent pool that is this piece. Haterade too sweet for just one sip.
Haterade too sweet for just one sip.
Bless you for this.
so
after spending months on the Toast I finally looked up what Mallory meant by “Creed arms”
and honestly I was a little disappointed, because all this time I was picturing Creed from The Office doing some sort of wacky arm motion. I was making my way through The Office at the time and I figured I just hadn’t gotten to the episode with Creed Arms yet.
This has been an insight into my psyche.
idk, I think it’s legit to make “Creed arms” something out of this scene, especially in this instance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GZ16I-b8Ms
Last September I contracted some variant of e.coli poisoning which made its presence known by making me hallucinate that there were two tons of invisible bricks on my chest and I must say that the feeling of helplessness and awe, and this bit summarizes the experience rather nicely.
Oh my god, I had not read the original. What a complete garbage human. Ugghhh. Now I have to read Mallory’s again.
ETA: Ugggghh uggghhh I hadn’t seen link roundup yet, I was reading down that way. UGGGHHHHH!
Silver lining – as this man is incapable of attending to any household chore, we can only assume that his wife does all of the cooking. He’ll be terribly easy to poison.
I laugh-snorted so loudly I startled my child, who is sick at home with diarhea which is like the worst thing for a kid to be sick at home with bc he’s got a ton of energy but I keep having to clean up poopy butts.
I read the original article and kept almost feeling bad because alcoholism is a real disease, one that runs in my family, and I know a lot of people who’ve grappled with it. But… the author isn’t really “grappling” with anything, he’s whining about being a useless sponge at a time when his wife and children need him the most.
I mentioned the sick kid above for two reason: 1) sick kids are the worst & 2) if my husband were drinking beer instead of wiping our kid’s butt I would kick him to the curb. Or just go to the library or something by myself for a few hours so he’s forced to figure it out. I hate the whole “she’s so much better than I am at stereotypical female jobs like cooking, cleaning, and child care that it gives me the sads and I just don’t even try bc I’ll never be as good as her oh well no poo butts for me.”
She’s so much better than me at all the things I make her do!
Yeah, my husband tried that once when we were newly living together. “You’re so much better at washing dishes than I am.”
“I’m good at doing dishes because I used to do it FOR A LIVING. Also, complimenting someone on how they complete menial household chores is insulting. Also, it’s still your turn next.”
“Well, you just need to practice more, I guess! How ’bout now, for example?”
Yeah, I worked with kids, and I always used that when they complained about other genders being bad at something (‘The girls aren’t as good at Xbox games!’ ‘I guess they need extra practice time!’)
“But I’ve never done [chore] before! I’m sure I’ll be terrible at it!”
“Oh hey, look, it’s a learning opportunity. Isn’t that exciting?”
I have no idea what the author was trying to prove with the original piece other than “yo, I drink a LOT. Isn’t that interesting?” I don’t need to read a vignette from the life of someone who does nothing but sit on his ass and drink. I’ve done it myself and can tell you that it’s boring. They key difference is that I wasn’t shirking major life responsibilities in order to do it.
I looked at the original again, and I’d just like to express my appreciation for Henrik Drescher, who created the second accompanying illustration. I like the way he captured how the writer is just as useless as an infant, but not as aware of his surroundings or his own activities.
He left the TV, he left his brew,
He made three paces through the room,
He saw the gleam of the vacuum,
He saw the dust pan and the broom,
He almost deigned to help her out.
Out flew the TV and floated wide;
The screen it cracked from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Husband of Shalott.
If I hit the like button hard enough, maybe it will let me give this post all the upvotes it deserves.
I was actually choking on actual rage, which I didn’t know could kill, until I came back and read Mallory’s version again. Thank you Mallory for saving my life and the life of my husband, who is innocent but may have otherwise been collateral damage.
Can we have an article following the travails of Jonathant, Stimothy, and Atalanta as they save the planet from their bemused parents? Pleeeeeeeease Mallory?
Hey hey hey now. Careful what you say about Atalanta. This is the misandrist heroine who demanded that any man who couldn’t beat her in a footrace be executed, after all.
The birth of his SECOND child. SECOND CHILD. “BEFORE THE GESTATION OF MY SECOND SON.” THERE WAS ANOTHER CHILD IN THAT HOME.
SECOND. CHILD.
HOW DID I MISS THAT.
WHAT
Given that he refers to the second child as “my son,” I think it’s safe to assume that the first one was a girl, and therefore irrelevant. Someday we shall know her as “my son-in-law’s bride.”
Nah, his bio says he has a wife and sons. You think someone this full of raw masculine power and big words would sire a girl-child?
The Other Child currently lives in the basement. The Other Child does not talk, but communicates in howling noises and cleverly placed poops. The Other Child was lost in a parallel universe. I swallowed The Other Child whole, as Cronos swallowed his children.
So, of course, he had UTTERLY NOTHING TO DO ALL YEAR
I’m not sure what I’m bothered by more- the shitty attitude of the original author, his terrible taste in beer, or the his perceived threshold of what constitutes a “drinking problem.” A *whole case* of Heineken in a single weekend? Land sakes!
And the “medieval hangovers that vanquished entire days” from that whole case of Heineken in a single weekend!
I was similarly piqued.
It could be a case of 24 cans, though. And it might depend on his tolerance and how much he usually drinks and so on. For me, even if a case is twelve and a weekend includes Friday, that would still be a lot more drinking than I usually do, and more than I’d likely be able to enjoy. Plus I feel like severely underestimating how much you’ve been drinking is a bad sign, regardless of the specific amounts involved.
…Also, I can’t believe I’m defending this guy about something.
Yeah, I was assuming it was a 24 case and just Saturday and Sunday, which I think qualifies as a Lot of alcohol. I don’t think that counts as defending him, though, no worries.
Phew!
I was counting Friday evening as well, but yes- I was thinking a two four.
*reexamines life*
I mean, I’ve probably consumed that much beer in a weekend, but like. . .with people. Not while sitting around in my house not helping my wife with the dishes.
Yeah, in my experience twelve beers is a “twelve-pack” and a case is 24.
Same. I’m pretty sure it’s a regional thing, though, so I think we can blame any confusion on his unclear writing.
Oh my God you guys OH MY GOD this is that douchewangle defending his over-the-top nasty review of a woman’s book:
“There’s a rabid misconception out there that I attacked an author. I did not. I attacked a book. There’s a huge difference,” said Giraldi, who lives in Cambridge. “It was an attack on laziness, on the ubiquity of indolence that is currently polluting our literary culture.” Wait, there’s more. “Some people want to say the review was over the top,” said Giraldi. “Let’s keep in mind, over the top is the only way to conquer a mountain, and I was confronted with an Everest of awfulness.”
http://www.bostonglobe.com/lifestyle/names/2012/0…
THE UBIQUITY OF INDOLENCE AN EVEREST OF AWFULNESS YOU DON’T SAY
Boston Toasties, I say we find his BU office and fill it with empty Heineken cans. WHO’S WITH ME
I VOLUNTEER!
Seriously though I’m so ashamed that he lives here in the same place as we do. Let’s make a pact to spit in his eye if we ever see him on the street.
even before I read the excerpt from his essay on sleep I would have been in but now I AM SO IN. I want to fill his office with all manner of unspeakable things but of course nothing would be as awful as the man himself, so.
I’m in.
I’ll bring my fire brand, my pitchfork, and my hag cackle.
You have my sword, etc.
AND MY AXE!
And my bow!
*skateboards away on an orc shield*
“But since Ohlin’s novel lies stiffened in a morgue of mentation — since it relishes the Harlequin mauling of women and men — the inside on promiscuous display here is the inside of her characters’ precious hearts.”
Oh my god this review that he wrote. Did a Thesaurus Rex maul his manuscript?
SLOW CLAP
“If you’re fearful of the epithets ‘elitist’ or ‘snob,’ then you’re just going to be another feckless component of capitulation”
i mean
obviously
Make it full cans, and I would drive to Boston for this.
I’m about ten states away if you think you can wait.
No way am I giving that dude free beer.
They can be full when we start. We can all get drunk on awful beer and awful people.
I was maliciously hoping that he would find them in a bout of ennui and earthquakes and finally send his liver over the edge.
Is that bad?
“It was an attack on laziness” said the guy who didn’t do jack shit to help out around the house for 12 weeks.
12 weeks during which he was still getting paid, let us not forget.
Totally will come to Boston for this.
Oh my god, did alliteration kill his puppy or something?
I lost it at “rearrange the cat” and never found it again. JESUS.
I was scrolling down here to make the EXACT SAME COMMENT.
I just keep seeing, in my mind’s eye, a solemnly confused man shakily moving his hands over a purring cat in bafflement. Picks it up. Puts it down. Turns it over. “No, no, that’s not right…”
“Ah, well, good enough.”
I am SO glad I didn’t read the original article – this right here is more, MUCH more than enough for the rest of the day.
Ah, but then I went and read it! It was worse than I could have even imagined!!! There was a comment above somewhere about turning into a harpy and flying out in a rage, that is the perfect reaction.
Okay, first: I’m speaking here as the dad of a 13-month old. I, like Gerardi, am occasionally overwhelmed by both the scope and scale of the tasks involved in parenting and my wife’s apparent expertise and efficiency at virtually every sphere of human activity. But–and I’m tooting my own horn, here–I’ve figured out a clever way to avoid being a couch-sitting, lager-swilling clown: I ask what she needs help with and then I DO THOSE THINGS.
Second, with respect to the Boston Globe article linked by deitybox above, let’s paraphrase. “I wasn’t attacking an author. I was merely attacking her lazy, mind-polluting excuse for a book!” It’s a good thing writers don’t often identify personally with their work, because otherwise putting that into print IN ADDITION TO his sneering, self-absorbed jackass review (which I remembered!) would be exactly the kind of move we’ve now come to expect from Doctor Gerardi.
hi robert
just a quibble
its still a prob when you have to ask the female in the relationship what needs to be done. its onerous stuff, but its not rocket science.
not trying to be sarcastic even if it sounds it. i’ve been there, and been caught up short, letting my partner be the expert and me the help. when you do that, you’re still delegating
As the once-and-always controlling wife-partner, let me just say: yep. Though it was GREAT when the first baby was little, that I could count on him being at my beck & call (we didn’t have routines yet, not so easy to predict what I’m want at any given moment), eventually I began to question the dear man’s intelligence.
Then one day I asked him to take the kid’s laundry out of the dryer, and he came and stood in front of me with the clothes bundled into a basket and asked, “Did you want me to fold these?” And I became suddenly enraged. Why did I have to actually TELL HIM to do that? Wasn’t it obvious? Did I look like I wanted to get up and fold them myself? What kind of question was that?
I had to learn that there’s more than one right way to load the dishwasher / diaper a kid / etc., and he had to learn that at any given moment there are 800 things that need to be done around the house and he should just do them instead of waiting to be told or asking for directions. Our house has been a ton more peaceful since.
I get that it’s not a one-sided problem, but recognizing early that the pattern of asking for instructions (and worse, expecting thanks for following them, so in case you’re doing that, don’t) instead of taking initiative can lead down a bad road is the best advice I can give now, with the perspective of years of co-parenting behind me.
(Another reply looks like it may not have been approved?)
Our deal is that since it’s never going to work out to exactly 50/50 over the short term, the only way this thing works out fairly over the long term is if (a) we try to split on-duty time evenly (heh heh, “duty”), (b) we’re both willing to ask for help with the kid when we’re on duty, and (c) when we’re off duty, we prioritize those household tasks (like folding laundry) that really require both hands.
In practice it seems to be working out, since neither of us has clubbed the other with a Melissa and Doug puzzle. The major hitch is when the layered coping strategies fail and the anxiety takes over, and the specter of those 800 things that all need to be done pushes me toward paralysis. In those (fairly rare) instances, I need someone to remind me how to ignore the 798 or 799 least pressing tasks.
But thanks for the heads-up. There are ways I know I’m successful at this and ways I’m sure I’m not–both parenting and feminism, let alone the ways they interact–and it’s just… nice to be a new Toast commenter, I guess.
it sounds like you are trying your best and also communicating with each other. with sleep deprivation (and honestly always) not sure there is more you can do
I get that. Sounds like you’re on a good path & all. Just from my own experience, if the dear man had said at some point “just so you know, I perceive you as the person effortlessly juggling everything in her brain, even if keeping up with the physical tasks is impossible, and I recognize that your skill at this is amazing and essential, but also that it can be a burden, and I am happy to be the one who holds (doctor appointments / day care schedules / grocery lists / birthday cards for our moms / whatever) in MY brain, so you know that you never have to even wonder if I’ve done them as delegated. And if your assigning me things to keep in my brain instead of yours is a burden, let me help: I am in charge of the diaper supply. He will never run out of diapers, ever, and I will also research potty training so I know when it’s time to make that transition.” I would have been a far less stressed out mom.
And probably I could have told HIM that at some point, before I hit breaking point, but a) that would have been one more thing my brain had to figure out and b) my brain was too full of the diaper supply / immunization schedule / birthday parties / developmental milestones / whatever to begin to realize that I was on the path to brain-supply-overload, so I didn’t realize it would have been a massive boon.
So my second piece of very strong advice: tell her that you admire her amazing brain, and give her amazing brain a break. It’ll empower you and relieve her.
-Mel, who doesn’t actually know her sons’ doctors’ names anymore. Though she’s got the dentist & ortho totally under control.
You don’t come across as sarcastic at all, and I don’t mean to imply that my wife and I live in a perpetual state of her delegating to me. Most of the time, I’m perfectly capable of taking a mature adult’s look at the situation and pitching in where it’s needed.
But on the occasions when I’m overwhelmed with anxiety because there’s just so much to do for the kid, I feel like saying “please tell me what you need right now so I can focus on a limited set of tasks” is a lesser evil than Giraldi’s “well, looks like you’ve got this covered, so imma go drink for a while”.
Um. It sorta sounds like you want praise for not being as bad as William Giraldi.
Leaving that aside.
I guess what I want to know is, can your wife count on you to step up and take the lead in the same way, with equal or greater frequency, if she’s feeling overwhelmed? Because in a pretty direct way, what you’ve described so far is exactly why I haven’t had children. The thought that when push comes to shove, I’ll have to take care of a child + an ostensible adult who nevertheless sometimes can’t function without direction from me… I realize of course that everybody’s only human and has their moments of weakness, but to wit, I know I would definitely, definitely have mine, if I were responsible for a baby human, and the thought that in crisis, I’d always have to be the failsafe, rather than knowing my partner could and would step up at least as much as I did… that’s the literal stuff of nightmares to me.
Once when we were kids–pre-cell phone days–my little sister had a medical emergency while my mom was out running errands. Instead of taking my sister to the ER, my father drove around town for an hour trying to find my mother, so she could tell him what to do. True story.
In reverse order:
“…can your wife count on you to step up and take the lead in the same way, with equal or greater frequency, if she’s feeling overwhelmed?”
Well, not exactly, because “overwhelmed” looks very different for her, and when she’s under stress it’s easy to perceive “taking the lead” as an accusation that she’s incapable. But more generally, I sometimes rely on her to help let go of the long list so I can focus on just one or two immediate things; she never has trouble focusing on one or two immediate things, but sometimes she relies on me to take care of the long list so she can *afford* that focus.
But yes, sometimes I’m the one being supported and sometimes I’m the one providing the support. I’m very aware that it’s the gender-typical thing for Mom to be in charge of N kids AND clownishly incapable Dad when a crisis hits, but that’s not a model I would find acceptable if I found myself acting it out. (And if I missed it, my wife and family and friends are the kind of people who would call me out.)
“Um. It sorta sounds like you want praise for not being as bad as William Giraldi.”
My first comment was intended along the lines of “wow, what a colostomy bag this guy is”. In case I wasn’t clear, it’s my opinion that “not as bad as William Giraldi” (or, at least, not as bad as his online presence over the last couple of years has made him look) is a hurdle that literally every self-aware person ought to be able to get over, and accordingly not something that’s worthy of praise.
My very soul screamed that this guy couldn’t be for real. So I was looking for more info, and found the Boston Globe review of his book. His description of a character: “Hunter. Scholar. Negro. Priest. Prophet. Man of jazz and all items sacrosanct.” heisnotrealthiscannotbehappeningheisnotrealthiscannotbehappeningeiSNnoRealthiscNnotbehaPpeNging
It’s like the bio line on the world’s most confusing Tumblr. How the hell did the dude get a book deal?
WAT
NO. WHAT. NO.
Well, after googling him I see he is a repeat offender and is probably wanking furiously about all this attention right at this moment.
This is one of the many ways I know the world is not a meritocracy!
My coworker and I looked at his website to see who the fuck, and the blurbs were such a repulsive symphony of “you have inherited the mantle of all the manly males we can namedrop, and by the way only men have ever written books of note” that we resolved to take to drink ourselves.
There was even a blurb on there calling one of his books a romance for real men. No, really. It was sickening.
“It’s not easy to juggle a pregnant wife and a troubled child, but somehow I managed to squeeze in 8 hours of TV a day.”
I keep trying to rearrange the cat, but it never stays the way I put it! Ah well, off to grease the dryer again.
You are the antidote to the overwhelming amount of self-absorbed maleness that exists in writing. You are a pitch-perfect satirist, and excellent comedian, and your fiction has been note-perfect. You may – and I don’t think I’m exaggerating here, Mallory – be one of the western worlds best writers working today.
I say that knowing that devotees of the rambling white men will take umbrage, and that knowledge fills me with glee.
I dunno why, but your comment made me think this:
White Men gather, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until their deaths. I shall liberate all their wives, take all their lands, free all their children. I shall wear all crowns and win all glory. I shall live and they shall die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of #NotAllMen. I pledge my life and honor to the Misandrist’s Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.” ―The Misandrist’s Watch Oath, as administered by Lord Commander Mallory of House Toast
OMG YES. And instead of becoming a Ranger you become a Spinster, pledged to subvert heteronormative expectations at every opportunity and to protect your sworn kinswomyn from unwanted marriage proposals (à la that Western Art History post).
The Misandrist’s Watch: where every day is Femslash Friday.
I second all of this.
http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2014/10/22/wi…
More about this guy 🙂
“a confluence of imagos”
“medieval minded crooner of darkling forces”
“the widespread swamps of middling prose”
*burns everything down*
I read Mallory’s first, then he-who-should-be-forever-alone’s. This was a bit like re-watching a beloved childhood television show and quickly coming to grips with untold levels of unspeakable horror which your young mind initially missed.
Fun fact: in Star Trek, every alien embryo implanted into an unknowing and unconsenting host is sacred, but adult human clones can be murdered without second thought.
Edit: this was supposed to be in reply to ladyface, above.
“she’s an artist with an aptitude that astonishes me”
WHAT
she is your wife you married her so presumably at some point you got to know her you patronizing douche
so why does her aptitude astonish you why
is it her tiny asian woman born in taiwan brain
is it because “all she every wanted to be was a mother” and she can Be Only One Thing
you are clearly not astonished with your own pompousness
nor are you astonished by the fact that people continue to pay you money to churn out this sort of garbage
why are you astonished why why you ass why
Best thing I’ve read on the internet in months. Kudos!
We have clearly found a new candidate for The Toast’s Least Favorite Man. It’s a competitive spot, too.
I’ve been mostly away from here for the past month, and I’m so glad that today’s the day I reopened the Toast tab. I needed this!
Well he beats out Dumpster Professor, for sure.
I’m not sure that I can agree with you on that point. This vile, oxygen thief has only sullied the world with terrible prose. Professor Dumpster has done that AND produced an awful, quirktastic film with his equally insufferable dumpster girlfriend.
I admit my prejudice; I also reside in TX and know without a doubt that living in a small metal box during summers of month long stretches of 100 degree plus weather is fucking impossible.
The Female Satirist lampooned the work of a small, independent, left leaning magazine that pays all its contributors and has a predominantly female staff, and the internet respected her for it.
Hi Zeke! It was a bad essay, poorly written by an unself-aware person. I would have lampooned it no matter how small the publication. Had it been written on the underside of a postage stamp by a team of trained ants, I would have lampooned it.
But, if we’re going to whip it out, I lampooned it on an EVEN SMALLER, independent magazine that pays all its contributors and has an exclusively female staff.
And the Internet FUCKING ADORES ME for it.
THANK YOU. YOU ARE AWESOME.
Left leaning…female staff…FEMALE satirist…OK? You’re doing it wrong, Mallory. I just wanted to have my say.
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.
Whatever the Baffler paid for that piece was too much. I loved the illustration though. I’ll print out Mallory’s parody and keep them together.
The Female Satirist lampooned the work of a man, as published in an independent magazine slightly larger than the one she herself manages.
She then took to the sea. The sea respected her for it.
Put this whole page — article and comments — in a museum. A big one.
“Rearrange the cat” almost killed me, but I managed to keep going. However, this was the line that got me – “like many men, including my grandfather before me, who was turned into a cinderblock wall after he retired”
Really, though. This whole post is magic.
OH MY GOD
https://twitter.com/MrsTomSauter/status/552557952…
whoops already noted, sorry!
take this other horrible thing he wrote instead:
“The place was flush with seated fogeys waiting for Dylan, but Katie and I were standing and jamming to Jack’s bravura guitar art. A woman behind us pecked me on the shoulder with a fingernail and asked if I might please sit down, she and her friends couldn’t see. And this was what I said to her: “This is a rock & roll show, lady. Stand the fuck up or go the fuck home.” In solidarity my bride-to-be glared at the olden gal. We jammed on, and when Dylan took the stage, we left.
I lambasted this antique woman for Jack White, because he loathed a seated audience, because he would have been proud to see me do it. And on the stroll home that night I recognized this behavior—for the first time—as more than a little bit wacky. But isn’t that what every dutiful obsession requires? A little sickness surging in its veins?”
Fuck this dude! Way to be a shitty human being!!!
(I’ve been the “antique woman”, and goddamn it is annoying when someone thinks his experience of a show is so important that he doesn’t care about ruining yours.)
So he’s ageist and potentially ableist as well. This would be my surprised face. (Sips martini.)
Only one fingernail? What admirable restraint.
$20 to the first intrepid soul who discovers what midcentury middle-school sex ed textbook Giraldi lifted “earthquakes of personhood” from — or wrote himself; let’s give the guy some credit.
Micheladas are delicious, though.
(Everything about this was brilliant. I do not have the heart to think about this man, so I’m gonna drink some beer.)
Amazing!
That was pretty funny.
Oh hey, laughing still hurts. Awesome.
It almost makes me sad that this is under the dad’s tags, because I don’t feel like our dads – supplier of endless windshield fluid, lover of puns, wearer of crop tops – deserve to be lumped in with this dud.
It is the only possible near wrinkle in this entire chunk of cyberwebspaceness
His behavior would only be true Dadliness if he crafted intricate mobiles and windchimes out of the empty beer cans/bottles, and were continually inventing gadgets that he was sure would make housework easier.
It makes sense to me, because he’s very similar to my dad. Which is not a good thing at all.
Very little to add that hasn’t been said beautifully (the pile on of comments here today kept me in a warm glow during the second day of the first real week back at work) Just…
I am not entirely convinced that William Giraldi is real, and not some kind of meta-perfect performance art piece critiquing 20th century western heterosexual cis male privilege.
Or a suit full of bees.
“in exchange for eighteen years of financial and personal responsibility”
Eighteen is very optimistic. Millenials are called that because that’s how long they live at home. I love all of mine — I quit jobs to stay home with some of them while my wife went back to work — buy ya f*ing basta.
Thank you, Mallory!
Once upon a time, with chemical assistance, I had a "Yellow Wallpaper" incident involving faux wood paneling. *shudder*
There is a possibility — just a possibility, mind you — that he has been reported to Boston University’s Human Resources office for violating the eligibility requirements (50% or more of childcare responsibilities) to receive paid parental work reduction leave. I don’t know who could have done that.
Whoever this person is, she wields the Online Device of Righteousness and we wish to erect an anonymous statue to her.
Love, a person whose eyes turn into little X-es when she thinks about how many people who *are* shouldering >50% of the care for a child can’t get decent parental leave in her country. Also how many people are already struggling against gendered parenting norms. Also how this dickhead is trying to ruin it for everyone because of his laziness, pride and greed.
Who could have done that? She’s a BAMF goddess. So say we all.
Not enough likes in the world for this
You’re my hero.
I was wondering if that comment was going to fly under the radar. On the surface, it's insulting Giraldi, but the implication "of course he married one of them, you know how they are" seems like it's taking a dig at Asian women at large.
yes, I was thinking about this, and you expressed what I was trying to expand upon. Thank you.
These sorts of sentiments are really, really common. You see it alllll the time in media. Oh, that white dude has a mail-order Asian bride, CHARACTER ESTABLISHING MOMENT. Oh, that white dude has a tiny young Asian girlfriend, you know what kind of dude he is and what kind of woman she is…
When someone says, 'Oh, well of course that white dude is flawed because he dates/marries PoC…' I don't know whether the rest of that sentence is, '… and that's bad because the way he talks about and treats the woman he married is implicitly racist and she deserves better than that,' or 'If he were a good man, he'd marry someone equally matched to him, like a white woman.'
I'm 100% for taking a dig at spoiled white men of Giraldi's ilk, but not at the expense of insulting women, particularly in this context Asian women. I've had to take this shit myself and it wears you down.
The fact that Giraldi zeroed in on Asian women says shitloads about him and white Western perceptions of Asian women and very little about real, actual Asian women as a whole. Comments like 'oh, of course he married one of THEM' like the above that don't help, and just degrade the personhood of Asian women further.
two out of three here, but I don't think I'm his type
RIGHT??
it's so predictable, it's the classic race doesn't matter! (insert horribly exotifying comment)! but also, race doesn't maaaatteeeer! rubbishness, but he's unaware that his 'now you see it, now you don't!' trick is actually part of a bigger racist shitshow and always will be.
I must be an idiot, lol, because I cannot find any link in the article… ? Where is it??
Magnificent. The problem of the writing the perfect satire is always that you need both the perfect satirist and the perfectly deserving subject. Or should I say, the problem WAS, because now we have it.
Oh man. Imagine the apocalyptic shit storm that would ensue if a woman wrote an article about spending her maternity leave drunk off her ass or hungover while someone else looked after the baby.
I can imagine, though I don’t want to. She’d be lambasted on HLN as a neglectful and unfit mother and would lose custody of her child. She’d be the next villified and ostracized Casey Anthony.
Oh man. Imagine the apocalyptic shit storm that would ensue if a woman wrote an article about spending her maternity leave drunk off her ass or hungover while someone else looked after the baby.
This is the best satire ever, thank you!
Sweet Jesus I was waiting for this article, and here it is, and I am not disappoint! =D
Sweet Jesus I was waiting for this article, and here it is, and I am not disappoint! =D
He is imbibing gallons of Heineken and weeping over his vintage typewriter while his efficient Taiwanese wife sews new patches onto his tweed coats, quietly planning to poison him if he doesn't go back to work soon. For the fool forgot that inside every meek Asian stereotype there lurks a dragon lady.