Mary Daly died this week in a nursing home in Gardner.
If this is the first you've heard of Mary Daly, that's because they don't teach squat to the youth of today. And because the New York Times is run by stone-cold bitches.
Does it strike anyone else as odd that the last century's boldest, toughest, most ferociously crucified, most unapologetically singular feminist philosopher didn't get an obit in the Times yesterday? They can't really claim ignorance, seeing as how they still own the Boston Globe, which saw fit to inform us in an obit that, despite being a tad on the bland side, at least had the requisite heft for a Public Figure.
If you'd like to get an idea of what Mary Daly is to contemporary feminist thought and theology, I recommend you go to the Museum of Comparative Zoology at Harvard and pay a respectful visit to the prize of the fossil room, the sea-going Jabberwock, Kronosaurus queenslandicus. Take along a copy of the February 26, 1996 issue of the New Yorker, in which Daly recounts her epic battles with Boston College, God and the all-pervasive patriarcho-industrial complex. "Sin Big," she urges us. Look at those teeth.
One wonders just what a lady has to do to get obitularimazised in the New York Times these days. Run a strip joint for her ass of a husband, maybe. Yep. That'd do it.
**UPDATE!** Oh, look here! Somebody dredged up a teensy little AP item!
**UPDATE UPDATE!** Haw. The AP item linked above just tripled in size while I was linking to it. Somebody's playing catch-up.