That’s Southern Women to You, Buster

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” aren’t exactly inveterate conference-goers. Whether it’s the latest meeting of the American Aviary Society or the bi-annual get-together of the Southwestern Origami Foundation, you can bet that we won’t be in attendance. Quite frankly, dear reader, these sorts of events bore us.

Every once in a great while, however, we get wind of a fantastic conference that we would have loved to attend. In fact, when hearing about them after-the-fact, we get all upset with ourselves: How could we have missed this little slice of heaven?

Such was the case in regard to 2002’s Southern Girl Convention, which we recently heard about from the Memphis branch of the Women’s Action Coalition. (It’s a little-known fact about us that we are longtime board members of the Memphis Woman’s Action Coalition, or MWAC, as we affectionately call it.)

Now, we know what you are thinking, dear reader: “Southern Girl Convention”? How retardataire! What horrid sexist named it that? The Neanderthal!

And, to be sure, we would feel much, much better if it were labeled the “Southern Womyn Convention.” Or, failing that, the “Southern Grrrl Convention.” Or, failing that, “Arthur.”

Still, from what little we found out about the 2002 omnium gatherum of the ole’ SWC, it seems as if it was quite a bash. In fact, the Memphis Women’s Coalition’s “website” mentioned that

The annual Southern Girls Convention was held July 7-9 in Louisville, KY. The schedule of workshops ranged from “Ethical Sluthood” to “Punk Parenting” to “Sexercizes.”

If you’re anything at all like us, dear reader, you want to go to all three of those workshops. A lot. A real lot. A real, real lot. We must admit, for instance, that we’re not much for ethics, but we’re darned sure that “ethical sluthood” is right up our alley. It sure beats unethical sluthood, as Courtney Love will surely attest.

And “punk parenting”? Oh, man: Nothing says hard-core authenticity to us like teething. We don’t know about you, but we feel like a regular Johnny Rotten each time we change some tyke’s diapers. Breastfeeding to the Ramones is really sweet.

Don’t, furthermore, even get us started with “sexercizes.” We only know two things about “sexercizes”: 1) We haven’t the vaguest idea what they are; 2) we very much like them.