me, a 1967 housewife and homemaker, preparing a pork roast for my three children and unappreciative businessman husband while Star Trek s02e01 “Amok Time” plays on my brand-new state-of-the-art color TV in the background, minding my own business, happening to glance up during the fight scene:
It would have been a pretty late dinner for kids. It its first run, Trek started 8:30pm, so the fight scene would have been at almost 9:30pm.
You really just gonna walk into this home and criticize my parenting? As if I don’t do enough for this family? Why did I ever marry you? You didn’t even thank me for the pork roast I worked on all evening IswearIdossomuchforyouandyounevertakethetimetoappreciateitI’msodamntiredallthetimemybackhurtsfromcookingporkroastjustletmerelaxandwatchsomefuckingstartrekyouasshole-
The male look [of horror] expresses conventional fear at that which differs from itself. The female look—a look given preeminent position in the horror film—shares the male fear of the monster’s freakishness, but also recognizes the sense in which this freakishness is similar to her own difference. For she too has been constituted as an exhibitionist-object by the desiring look of the male. There is not that much difference between an object of desire and an object of horror as far as the male look is concerned.
–Linda Williams, When the Woman Looks, from The Dread of Difference: Gender and the Horror Film (emphasis mine)
reading vague posts about some unhinged discourse occurring far from my realm of exposure is like the platonic opposite of “I saw Goody Proctor at the Devil’s Sacrament” like damn clearly i was not at the sacrament what the fuck
