Wise men speak because they have something to say; Fools because they have to say something.

She says:

One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.

Henry and Jennifer discuss the relative merits of de Beauvoir's The Second Sex and Friedan's The Feminine Mystique.

He says:

Man is not the enemy here, but the fellow victim.

She says:

Man is defined as a human being and a woman as a female - whenever she behaves as a human being she is said to imitate the male.

He says:

It is ridiculous to tell girls to be quiet when they enter a new field, or an old one, so the men will not notice they are there. A girl should not expect special privileges, because of her sex, but neither should she "adjust" to prejudice and discrimination.

Comments

Roddy said…

The tone of the conversation means nothing to me.
These deep and meaningful conversations must take place after my departure, as I don't have any recollection of the vocalisation of these thoughts whilst I am present.

12 June 2011 at 20:11

Barcelona m'enamora said…

Beautiful photo of a child and his mum...simply charming.

Pilar

12 June 2011 at 21:53

Rhapsody Phoenix said…

He said/she said....
Interesting conversation, points well taken and argued.

Take care....
stay blessed, Rhapsody

12 June 2011 at 23:25

Carola said…

I have to say that, because this is great work: this titel, incredible discussion and this lovely photo.

13 June 2011 at 07:17

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, it went over your head.

Pilar, it was a nice day for it, despite the wind and cold!

Rhapsody, we're all feminists in our house.

Carola, thank you!

13 June 2011 at 18:29

Roddy said…

Ok Kris, I'm not that short.

13 June 2011 at 20:30

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

This will hurt me...

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