As you may know by now, I'm proud to say I'm a contributor to the new Book of Jezebel, which is out now and has been getting some great reviews. Not from everyone, however. This particular review deems the book EXTREMELY ANGRY, pegging feminists' anger, for some reason, to a deficiency of fatherhood in America.

I was going to write a heartfelt essay about my own father here, about how I love him and am grateful to him for all the opportunities and affection he has given me throughout my life. He both spoiled me yet taught me the value of hard work. He pushed me and joked around with me. He never made me feel like I would ever be inferior to or need to rely upon a man in my life. We practiced football defense moves in the kitchen and he taught me how to bat left-handed (even though I'm a rightie) to give me an advantage in my baseball career. He married my mom, who is basically the HBIC. We don't always see eye-to-eye on everything but at least he listens when I argue with him. I don't know if he'd call himself a feminist but I'd say he's pretty close to one even if he doesn't know it or agree with me.

But I'm too angry, as an angry feminist, to write this all up in longform. So instead here are a bunch of photos illustrating what a terrible time I've had with my father all these years. Thanks a lot, Dad.