Goodnight Vienna

The Gates of Vienna is one of those American conservative blogs that have sprung up in the years since 9/11. In case you do not get the reference in the title, a helpful subhead explains: At the siege of Vienna in 1683 Islam seemed poised to overrun Christian Europe. We are in a new phase of a very old war.

This blog is fighting in the Culture Wars. These wars are fought on two fronts: against the Muslim hordes and against the Liberals. The first enemy is responsible for Terrorism, the second for Secularism, Relativism and all the other evils that have made the West decadent and weak.

One of the team on The Gates of Vienna is Dymphna, a Catholic and a mother, as her personal blog shows. She has posted recently a message she received from her son at college, under the title Making The Modern Case for Monasticism, which Alicublog has also noticed.

Dear Guys —

I know it’s late, but I thought you might “like” to hear about this. I had a fairly frightening experience with a young liberal co-ed tonight.

“Max” and I had water guns and were using them to squirt people at various points during the party [held at our dorm suite]...

This intoxicated young woman suddenly attacked me, trying to take the gun...

When I wouldn’t let her take it, she grabbed my glasses instead. Afraid she might break them; I grabbed her arm — without hurting her — and took my glasses back. At which point the girl said:

“I could call the police.”

I was mystified. “About what?”

“You attacked me!”

I looked at her, up and down. “There aren’t any marks on you.”

She drew her own fingernails down her skin. “Not yet. There could be.”

At that point I decided —

1) she was drunk, and
2) not worth talking to.

But I think this is an example of a perspective endemic on college campuses: the police aren’t there to protect you; they’re there to help enforce petty vendettas on men. Rather than stand on their own two feet, women are relying on men to help them out against other men.

If that’s not sexist and establishing women as an inferior, weaker, species, I don’t know what is.

Love,

Yer still intact and un-arrested boy

Still intact, indeed. The truth will hit him sometime soon or maybe much, much later. It is not something he will want to write his mother about. Perhaps he will wake in the middle of the night, perhaps it will come to him at Vespers, perhaps while he is playing some healthy masculine contact sport with his friends. Then he will understand what she meant:

I looked at her, up and down. “There aren’t any marks on you.”

She drew her own fingernails down her skin. “Not yet. There could be.”

She wanted him. He may have been a bespectacled Catholic boy who squirts girls with a water gun at parties and writes to his mother about it, but that young liberal co-ed was making her intentions quite clear, if only had known at the time.

Mother had warned him about young liberal co-eds and Mother was always right. This was his opportunity to find out if everything Mother had hinted at was true. He could have had SEX. First time sex with a young, drunk, liberal co-ed, not wedding-night fumblings with a nice girl approved by Mother. Not dutiful coupling for the purpose of procreation but wild, exciting sex, with biting and scratching. Dirty, dirty sex. There she was, a girl who must be Experienced, a girl who would have taught him; a girl who probably had books by Anais Nin on her night-stand and a pair of handcuffs in the drawer. And he missed his chance. If only he had known. If only he had recognised the signs.

If only.