Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts

6.13.2008

Movie Review: Sex and the City

In follow up to my last post, I paid my $8 (it was a matinée!) and I saw the Sex and the City movie. At first, I was entertained and mildly annoyed. But then the more I thought about it, and talked to other people who saw it, the more I was annoyed and less entertained.


The movie was everything I hated about the series, but even more so. Watching the movie, I found it hard to believe that these characters were supposed to be around 40-50 years old. They were acting like completely self-centered 20-somethings (and I'm a 20-something). It was all "my wedding" and "my marriage" and "I have to find MYself" and "you hurt MY feelings." Me me me. The only one of the four that I liked was Charlotte, and she was always my least favorite. But, she was the only one that I felt acted her age. She understood what it meant to have a healthy relationship - surprise surprise, you are willing to put the other person's needs before your own.

I read an article on Jezebel (not the best site, but sometimes interesting) that summed it up pretty well: "These women are assholes." Is it really empowering to have such disregard for the feelings of your partner - the person you love? Regardless of gender, the ways these women acted during most of the movie (and the TV series) made me kind of appalled to be associated with them in any way, even gender.

The crappy thing is, this movie was so lauded for beings successful despite having no male leads. So, in that sense, it was a success for women. And as a woman (and just a person in general), it makes me really sad that a movie about women that are so self-consumed with labels, appearances and what's-in-it-for-me is one of the most successful movies starring women for a female audience.



Maybe I'll go watch Steel Magnolias as an antidote.

(...to the full post)

5.30.2008

Sex and the City

Hey guess what, Sex and the City: The Movie opens in the US today. In case you were living under a rock, you may not have noticed.

I'll admit, I'm a fan of the show. I own all the DVDs. And even so, I find myself pausing on the show when I am flipping through the channels and find it on syndication. I'm all for entertaining television, and SatC is definitely entertaining. But it's also just television (or, as of today, just a movie). We all remember that, correct?

Maybe not. "Are you a Carrie, a Charlotte, a Samantha, or a Miranda?" Have you ever taken the SatC tour around New York? Do you really like the taste of a Cosmopolitan?

I think SatC is good pop culture, with witty writing and plotlines that keep interest. But I worry when it seems like some viewers have blurred the line between fantasy and reality. Honestly .... why would anyone want to be one of four stereotypes? Or even want to emulate the lives portrayed in any way?


As an owner of the DVDs and both television channels that show SatC in syndication, I've seen every episode multiple times. And quite honestly, the most I see it, the more it bothers me. One review I saw of the movie on the morning news today called the show & movie an homage to independent, single women. But homage means to show respect, and does this show really do that? Personally, I find the show to be full of stereotypes (the slut, the romantic, the cynic, the sensitive man, the emotionally unavailable man, the flamboyant gay male best friend, etc). The women are all obsessed with labels and appearances, blow petty things out of proportion and spend 99.9 percent of their time infatuated with, complaining about or being led on by men. How does any of this show respect to independent, single women?

It is just a television show, but it's a show many considering "groundbreaking" in it's portrayal of female characters, and successful, independent, sexually liberated ones at that. But what is so groundbreaking about label- and men-obsessed women? Is this really the best we can do? Can we call a spade a spade, and realize SatC does as much for women as movies like Indiana Jones do for men - over-gendered entertainment and nothing more?

But alas, it IS just entertainment, and for entertainment's sake, I will buy a ticket in the near future to see the movie. But you'll never hear me proclaim that "I'm a Miranda." We share hair color and sarcasm, that's about it.

(...to the full post)

5.16.2008

Baby Mama Drama

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. What’s that sound? Tina Fey’s biological clock?

The movie Baby Mama introduced us to Kate Holbrook, the Vice President of Development for a mock-Whole Foods. She claims that while other women were having babies, she was getting promotions.

Until she turned 37 and felt like “every baby was staring at her” and thus she wanted a baby. Interesting reasoning. Except she has a t-shaped uterus and according to her doctor, a one in a million chance of having a baby. Enter Sigourney Weaver’s surrogate mother agency, and Amy Poehler’s uterus. Hilarity ensues, each woman grows in some way, and a new name for the 2008 top 10 list of baby names is created.

Since it is a fairly new movie, I won’t give away any spoilers, I’ll just ask, why is it called a “biological” clock? The name implies that it is every woman’s biology is to be a mother, but what about the women with t-shaped uteruses? Or some other physical issue resulting in the inability to get pregnant? If they feel the urge to be a mother, is it biological despite their incorrect biology? Or is it sociological? My sociological clock is telling me it’s baby time?



A funny thing happened last year. I got married. But even funnier, the act of wearing an ivory-and-champagne-gold dress and repeating after my priest meant it was OK for people to ask that dreaded question. “So when are you going to have kids?” What? When am I going to become the baby-making machine that my uterus expects of me? It would have been wrong to do so before the ivory dress, but somehow this ceremonial act makes it OK? I haven’t grown up at all. I’m not any more financially ready (in fact, less so … even semi-DIY weddings cost money).

I was not the only person I know who got married last year. My oldest brother married one of my best friends (2007 was a banner year for my mother) and a friend from high school also got married. I saw both this past weekend. The sister-in-law has baby fever. The friend said she wants to like herself more before she has kids. Where’s the biology in that? They both have uteruses (I assume). They are both around the same age. They have both been married roughly the same amount of time. But perhaps their sociological clocks are timed differently.

We all know people who couldn’t get pregnant fast enough (when they wanted to … I’m sure we also know many who did when they didn’t want to) and those who couldn’t get their tubes tied or something sniped fast enough. Have their biological clock malfunctioned? I have a female friend who practically shutters at the sound of a child’s voice. Is there something wrong with her biology? Or will she magically be like Kate Holbrook, and after becoming the VP of something, suddenly find every baby staring at her? As if it is so easy to just suddenly have that special, mystical, maternal instinct? Does that really happen?

(...to the full post)

5.08.2008

The Slap Heard ‘Round the Country

I don’t think I’m gangsta enough to survive in Polk County, Florida. This suburb may sound vaguely familiar to some of you. This is where Victoria “Tori” Lindsey got beat down a few weeks ago. You might remember, six girls took turns hitting her while two guys stood at the door as lookouts. Oh and did I mention that they taped it and wanted to post this ass-beating on youtube?

Back in my day (be quiet, I know my day ended like yesterday), it would go down like this. A girl would talk shit about another girl or group of girl one of three ways: in a note, on the phone, or on aim. This of course always got back to the other girl, and the result would either be girl B talking about girl A, girl B confronting girl A and in very rare cases, girl B physically fighting girl A. What would not happen is a gang of girls attacking one other girl… and then taping it … and the trying to put that trash on the internet for everyone to watch.

The attack was described as “animalistic”. To be clear, the fight was like none I’ve ever seen. The girls took turns attacking Lindsey in an attempt to make it fair. As ride-or-die as they were to beat Lindsey’ s ass they were very careful not to knock into the china cabinet. The beat Lindsey for 30 minutes – thirty minutes! That’s a long time to be doing anything. I didn’t know that teenagers even had attention spans that long.

I will say, they were committed to getting their message across. If I’ve learned anything from this it’s that you can’t call girls “sluts” on myspace or you just might get your ass beat. Worse than Ike beat Tina, ok that was wrong, but they did beat her down pretty bad.

And then they weren’t even worried about being charged. They joked about missing cheerleading practice and not going to the beach. I mean, really? You knock a girl unconscious (twice) and continue to beat her, you don’t let her leave until you’re done beating her, you catch the whole thing on film and don’t expect anything to happen? Cheerleaders are tough like that?

According to CNN, the ladies (should I even call them that) will be charged as adults and face life time sentences. Yeah, that means you’re missing cheerleading practice. And prom. And graduation. Oh and guess what, the rest of your life. And for what, because some chick called you a slut. Wow. And Lindsey is left with blurry vision and she can’t hear out of one of her ears.

I don’t really understand why anyone is so surprised that girls would resort to violence. It’s not new and it’s not uncommon. Don’t believe me? Do a search on youtube. Yeah, it’s a craze of sorts. Now the reasons why one would want to tape and post a fight, well aside from gaining some street cred, I don’t really know. I don’t know that men find fighting sexy. I don’t think you’ll be getting additional acceptances to college because you can stomp another chick into the ground. And it won’t get your ass into heaven. So who do we blame for this (hey it is the American way)? Is this their parents’ fault? Should these girls have been spanked when they were younger? Maybe they didn’t get enough attention. Or maybe they were just really bored.

Ya’ll spend too much time worrying about gangstas and thugs and we really need to be worrying about these cheerleaders. I know I am.

(...to the full post)

4.13.2008

Housekeeping, 4.13.08



Ubergratz to tokenstr8dude for his post; please welcome him to BTB!

Sincerely,
ts

(...to the full post)

1.21.2008

Do We Need A Fourth Wave?

The history of feminism in the West is a familiar one. And yet, despite many complaints about the current lack of organized direction in feminism, there is little or no discussion about where feminism should proceed next, no vision of what a ‘Fourth Wave’ should look like. Perhaps this is because of feminism’s diverse reach: since it is now an ideology, a social movement, and an academic discipline, it may be more and more difficult to come up with a new, unified direction. Indeed, when feminists were a small minority, organized in tight-knit groups, and rallying against a proudly patriarchal society, finding a common approach must have been considerably easier than in the current conditions of institutional and organizational dispersion. My contention, however, is that feminism has failed to engender “a Fourth Wave” for ideological reasons: feminists have not yet come to grips with the legacy of the Third Wave, which questioned many of its taken-for-granted assumptions shook the ideology to its core. Indeed, if we take seriously the contributions of the Third Wave, then the very need for more ‘waves’ and definitive directions is placed seriously into doubt.

The main contribution of the Third Wave was to question feminists’ claims about representation. Second Wave feminists claimed to speak for all women, to represent the interests of all women. And yet, ‘woman’ is a diverse and unstable category – do the claims of the white, middle-class, heterosexual feminists living in the West (who dominated the Second Wave) necessarily apply to all women? Certainly not. For example, a classic feminist claim for much of the 20th Century has been that the patriarchal family is the primary locus of women’s oppression: the authority exercised by male “heads,” and the domestic labor that only women are expected to do, have fatally undermined women’s autonomy and have placed them in a subordinate position. Black feminists challenged this claim: in the face of a racist society, in which Black women could not expect to exercise autonomy or authority, the “household” was actually a place where they had considerable freedom. Black women were usually the main breadwinners, and for them, families served as a source of strength against structural racist oppression, a locus where they could exercise authority. Thus, the White feminist critique of the family/household does not apply unproblematically to Black women. Furthermore, Second Wave feminists have focused almost exclusively on altering and reforming Western state structures – they have portrayed (necessary) policy changes, such as free state-sponsored child-care and equal pay as essential ‘women’s’ demands. And yet, how can this resonate with Third World women? Their needs may well include other issues, such as reduction of infant mortality, access to clean water and access to education. Moreover, the fact that they live in a different kind of cultural context may require a more flexible feminism, with some fundamentally different core assumptions.

Overall, the Third Wave resisted the homogenizing and universalizing tendencies of feminism and criticized the notion that men and women are always already constituted as subjects. After the 1980s and 1990s, claims to speak for ‘all women’ are no longer so easily accepted and more care is taken to specifically address the needs of women of color, lesbian women, disabled women, Third World women, transgender women and working-class women. It is no longer possible to portray the demands of Western, middle-class, White and heterosexual women, as the essential expression of women’s needs and interests. And this is where the confusion comes in. If feminism needs to be so radically diverse, if it needs to adjust itself and question its core assumptions every time that a different subject position is invoked, then how can it maintain internal unity? How can it claim to be a unified perspective? Indeed, this intellectual dispersion of feminism has disturbed many of the ideology-discipline’s practitioners, with feminists such as MacKinnon, calling for a return to an “unmodified” feminism, united in its approach and centralized in its direction.

What kind of form would such a united and centralized feminism take? How would it be possible to avoid the racist, ethnocentric, heteronormative and classist biases of Second Wave feminism, whilst maintaining a central direction? Few scholars and activists have provided effective answers to these questions, although there has been much clamoring about them. One possible alternative for a “new direction” in feminism is Mohanty’s argument that feminism must “begin from and be anchored in the place of the most marginalized communities of women – poor women of all colors in affluent and neo-colonial nations; women of the Third World/South” (Mohanty 2003). She believes that this kind of anchor would provide the most inclusive paradigm for thinking about social justice and would focus feminists towards areas where they are most needed.

On the other hand, some have criticized the very need for “a definitive new paradigm” in feminism as not being exactly congruent with the lessons of Third Wave feminism. As Judith Butler points out in Undoing Gender, attempts to create a reified feminism with a firm direction may in fact be succumbing to oppressive, phallocentric tendencies. Third Wave feminism taught us about the difficulty of making blanket statements and about the value of democracy within a movement. Would it be possible for the feminist movement to actually be strengthened by a commitment to diversity within it, by an emphasis on dialogue and difference, rather than a programmatic adherence to a particular direction? Why does feminism even need to be centralized and united? This is the key question for feminists and the answer to it is likely to have a major impact on the future of the movement.

***For More Information***
There are many books that provide excellent overviews of the history of feminism. I would particularly recommend Bonnie Smith’s Global Feminisms Since 1945. For critiques of racism and ethnocentrism, definitely check out anything by bell hooks or Angela Davis, as well as Levine and Campbell’s Ethnocentrism: theories of conflict, ethnic attitudes and group behaviour. For works about the future ‘direction’ of feminism, have a look at Mohanty’s article “Under Western Eyes” from Signs (issue 28, Volume 2), Judith Butler’s Undoing Gender, as well as Catherine MacKinnon’s Feminism Unmodified.

(...to the full post)

9.25.2007

Masturbation in the Movies

We have long discussed the imbalance between male and female nudity in American film. Similarly (yet in an opposite vein), we have discussed the way women’s sexualities are rendered invisible, or at least outside their own control and purpose, in society and in film. And gender variant folk are relatively lucky to appear in film in any state of clothing. For sake of focus, however, I shall play mostly within a binary gender system for this entry.*

So, I’m not kidding when I express some excitement at the increasingly common vibrator jokes in comedy.

Sure, they’re poking fun—but this comedy only works because female pleasure is becoming valued, "female self pleasure" is consequently exiting the closet, and a male-proclaimed "natural" view of what sex should be is actually yielding (albeit slowly and through obliquely subversive means) to a more sex-positive "what works" approach. (Hell, in this Cultural Revolution, even straight men are being freed to enjoy a sex toys.) It’s also moving ever-so-slowly beyond the proprietary ownership of an American Pie style, pseudo-lesbian, beautiful young woman…to a place where even the old lady in Smokin’ Aces can have a dildo hanging out by the bathtub. Granted, we’ve a long way to go yet, in all the -isms, when this quick laugh occurs in context of literary absurdity. And female masturbation, much like lesbianism, is often co-opted personally and commercially for male pleasure. (But this is also yet one more power tool in the female arsenal, should she choose to own and use it.)

One can hardly imagine Gidget taking time away from her breast-building exercises to jerk off. We’re making headway. (yes, headway. Did you see what I did there?)

And it’s not just niche movies like Shortbus or Secretary that are looking at sex, and especially at women’s experiences of their own sexuality, differently. We also have suspense films like In the Cut, where girl-next-door Meg Ryan (of all the actors!) sheds her cute innocence to play a real person, one who lies on her belly and masturbates while thinking dirty thoughts. Mrowr.

Now, in addition to increasing the acceptability of cultural references to women's sexual pleasure, we really need to work on getting governmental and health care systems to value female sexual pleasure as highly as they do male sexual pleasure (see: the old debates on insurance and viagra). For that matter, we need to get comparable general care for women's bodies. My half-assed insurance won't even cover something as basic as an annual gynecological exam. (Yes, if it was ever in doubt, this genderqueer was born with a vagina.) Condoms aside, pharmaceutical companies don't bother to develop testes-based contraception when they can so easily continue placing much of this burden on the ones with the uteri. What about the massive expense that menstruation causes for roughly half the population? My Spanish friend wisely suggests the government pay for this is a general public health/sanitation service. (And again, what about the transgender patients?!)

But, we're out of space. On one last film tangent, I’m in my midtwenties, and I think it only just hit me that Johnny from Dirty Dancing ought to be a ‘mo, and Penny his hag. Maybe I just identified really strongly with idealistic, uncoordinated, determined, socially inept, loyal, sheltered, utterly without artifice Baby--therefore never questioned his interest in "big girls don't cry" Baby. More intriguingly, how did I never really question why the scenes where Penny and Baby dance together (with or without Johnny) were so erotic for me? I mean, at the end of the day, whatever, maybe Johnny’s cousin is the gay one.


*But while we’re on this tangent, check out 20 centímetros for an interesting foreign take on the transgender musical genre, nudity and sex both included.

(...to the full post)

7.20.2007

Excuse Me, Sorry, You Left This Behind On the Front Porch. I Believe It Is A Rusty Swiss Army Knife, No?

In the heat of summer you get lightheaded, you get sweaty, and you get sapped of all your energy. Under certain circumstances, primarily in the sexual arena, these are the exact sensations you want to have. But when all you’re doing in this hot weather is sitting around bored as fuck and you catch yourself in the shame of watching Tyra Banks tell you about eating disorders, those same feelings quickly turn to frustration. And when I realize I’m sitting on my swamp ass considering submitting myself to a live taping of the Tyra Show in exchange for an hour in an air conditioned studio, I strip off all my clothes, jump in the shower, beat off in a mind-altering frenzy, and then crash face first into bed. And maybe beat off a couple more times. On Tyra’s Oprah-channeling fat ass.

Waking up an hour later, I peer through the sleep haze and cough up a hairball. The damn cats have shed all over the place. The animals have it right. During those hot summer months, they have the ability to shed off their burdensome layers and leave it all behind on someone else’s shit. See, recent personal events have proved to be much like this nagging heat (Oh, the drama of human existence.) and all I want is for people to have the wherewithal to shed their own suffocating burdens to escape unnecessary frustrations. To most of us, “shed” is a place to keep an ever-growing pile of shit we don’t want to deal with, such as issues, belt sanders, and children.

So, let’s take a look at some shedding or “shed-ing” around the amazing planet we call Earth before it all goes up in a puff of smoke.

The courts burned a 16-year-old UK girl recently over wearing a ring at school. Wearing jewelry is a direct violation of the school dress code. The girl, Lydia Playfoot (footplay, whatever, this is what you get when you’re British.) claimed that the ring was a “religious artifact” and for the school to deny the right to wear it was a discriminatory act. Unfortunately for her, they decided that her trinket wasn’t an integral part of her faith and as a result she is no longer allowed to wear it. Her chastity ring is no more. Right? Chastity ring. The girl went to court to fight for a chastity ring. Well, guess the floozy is going to be uncontrollably flinging her legs up in the air in a classroom near you, shedding her virginity into the wind one emission at a time. The fairy tale never told.

Stateside, another delusional woman has struck as well. DeeDee (and that is what you get when you’re American) has claimed that the funeral home that processed her husband’s body cheated her out of his ashes and she lives in constant fear that the ashes are not her late husband’s remains. When someone passes, aren’t they supposed to rest in peace? Isn’t that the point? Fine, maybe that could be a justifiable complaint. However, the widow goes on to sue for the value of her husband’s prosthetic leg. Now we are reaching some uncharted territory. Who, in their right mind, with the need to discover the true carbon of her dearly beloved would also just throw in the value of a $7000 leg just for good measure in her lawsuit? Surely, your intentions are a tad off. I mean, this is a joke right? You’re totally pulling my leg, Dee. Stop it. Just let go. (I know. Too, too easy.)

On a lighter note, Egypt is officially banning female circumcision. Someone has managed to do the right thing. Shedding an old tradition mired in crazyland that sheds lives (clitoris, ability to bear children, and normal sex life included). Thank fucking Christ.

In the end, perhaps people in the hottest places of all have evolved past the need to cling to nonsensical crap and move the fuck on. Think on that, motherfuckers. Forget it. It’s not worth it. Move it along.

(...to the full post)

5.29.2007

f/m in the s/m

This weekend I signed a waiver promising that I would not engage in electrical play above the waist. Then I walked downstairs into a women-only space at a club normally packed with gay males. I went in drag. (Of course, in a binary-gendered society I’m always in drag) I had no idea what to expect; I was to attend an S&M party in the middle of International Mr. Leather.


What I observed and experienced in the basement spoke to gender within the broad and trans-friendly spectrum of "women." Of the master/slave pairs (yes, collars included), those with a femme/butch distinction invariably positioned the femme in the dominant master role. Is such a dom displaying a necessary ultra-femininity to counterbalance the culturally taboo claiming of power and sexual control by a woman? (But then, would mimicry of male/female dominance through a butch/femme dom/sub pair be considered more justified or at least more “normal”? Or would this instead reinforce the shocking dangers of a woman taking on “a man’s role”? Does putting the femme on top soften the cultural blow?) Perhaps the femme/butch dom/sub pair is a deliberate reversal of power relations normalized in the wider culture. Or, does the dominant femme embrace and reclaim the age-old fear that a woman’s power is in her sexuality? (And that her sexuality is tied irrevocably to her womanhood…)


And how many of those possible explanations factor into how hot I found those pairs? How did my own gender performance affect my relation to the women I voyeuristically observed giving and receiving commands, spanks, floggings, kisses, slaps, and more?


I find it very telling that this party was limited to women. There’s a strong sense that straight men cannot be trusted to enter a space of vulnerability and power like an S&M party. Of course, one has to question whether someone who comes to a place of group sex and public S&M isn’t automatically queered (gender attraction aside). The mere thought of someone accustomed to exercising male privilege would prevent (through intimidation or disgust) many queer women from attending. It doesn’t seem to matter that such a man might be well-behaved and play by the rules; his very presence changes the atmosphere. The gay men whose territory we had, after all, invaded, seemed a bit confused at being barred from the basement but they continued to dance merrily above. While I’m less concerned about their ability to deter women from attending, I hardly think they suffered from exclusion. This was the one event of International Mr. Leather catering exclusively to women. That specialization in itself is sexy and creates a sacred space, paradoxically freeing women from their gender by its very invocation: hence the wide range of costume and personality along (what I’ve reluctantly labeled) a butch/femme spectrum. It’s less about “my womanhood grants me entry” and more “as I am attracted to women, how wonderful that no men will be in the way.”


A friend of mine believes strongly in the power of S&M to release and heal embodied trauma, benefits accessible to all and entirely independent from the sexual thrill some people experience. Violations of the body, in particular, are carried with us almost like muscle memory. But as long as we live in a body- and sex-negative society, it’s likely that people suffering these particular wounds will continue relying upon either the talking cure or therapy in a bottle, nevermind the relative efficacy of these approaches. There is little room for exploring alternate therapies.


It’s a wonder someone was able to advertise and throw a party like this, then, and no surprise at all that every participant signed a consent form and legal waiver.


But S&M is increasingly present in mainstream culture, filtering its way in through films like Secretary and popular comedy. [Make sure you check out the SNL opener after Nancy Pelosi became Speaker of the House] And as more talk happens, we’ll find a growing, subversive channel for power, sexuality and gender expression.

(...to the full post)

5.25.2007

Lions, Tigers, and Bears. Oh My! The Shiz is Giving Me A Semi.

We are off to see the Wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz! I personally would rather visit Oz the prison and watch some inmate shank a dude with a filed toothbrush but, hey, being twisted away to a land with flying monkeys to hang out with some animated inanimate objects and a man in a lion suit is probably just as good. It satisfies the furry in me...

Nope, still a close second. I blame the little dog. The urge to punt the yapper hurts so good like a 14-year-old boy’s deathgrip on his initial discovery of masturbation.

Before we continue on our journey down the yellow brick road, I am going to say outright that I bear no resemblance to Dorothy or Judy Garland. Wearing women’s clothes…that is for another day. Let’s bring our focus to the compadres on this little journey of self-discovery.

Oh, Scarecrow, you lost little honeybee, looking for a brain. It’s funny because no one can blame you for missing a brain. You just don’t have one. Like many people, who don’t believe in global warming or AIDS, you are on a similar sinking boat. News for you: perhaps the fact that polar ice caps are melting and that people take copious amounts of drugs to counter their flailing T-cell count is too unfamiliar for you to make any kind of rational connection. Let’s try smaller things. Peanuts and potatoes (the things you eat, how’s that for close to home?) are slowly but surely trucking along towards extinction due to climate shifts and, you got it, global warming, Who knew? In the years to come the prices of your favorite peanut butter and French fries could sky rocket like the gasoline for your giant fuel-inefficient sports utility vehicle. That will directly affect your “civilized” life. How you like dem apples? So wave your bio-diversity flag proudly and do the world a favor – learn a little.

Oh, Cowardly man in a lion suit, you are so maligned in this cruel, cruel world. People like to assume that you are so brave and noble when all you want to do is curl up like a pussycat and purr the afternoon away. That is why you readily jump in on some coital activity all suited up - just as you are. You are so steeped in preconceived notions. A story comes to mind. This anonymous person painted a sign at Wesleyan University to say “Picture yourself a Lesbyan.“ My first thought was to laugh. And I did. Then I thought: “That was a cowardly and wholly unoriginal move.” If you are going to do it, make it count. I also thought, Wesleyan, you are also trapped in a long standing notion that girls’ schools harbor lesbians like a kindhearted coastguard with a ship full of Cuban refugees. Townies threatened by and in fear of contamination make constant passive remarks to make your inhabitants feel little and unwelcome. (Guys, you can’t catch it, no matter how much you try. Although the more you resist, the more it might be a sign that you caught the homo fever. Ba-bum-BUM!) However, true to form, like Frankenstein, monsters usually end up squashing your townie heads. So back the fuck off. (I do have to admit that liberal arts students are frightening. They make me vomit a little in my mouth.)

And Tin man, you wayward cloud looking for a heart. You are the saddest of them all. Your story brings me back to this – a man who pulled on the heartstrings of underage girls like a schizophrenic harpist by pretending to be a dying cancer patient. He didn’t think he was doing any harm. To an underage child. Exposing herself on the internet. To what she thought was a terminal cancer patient. Where, on this journey through his magical wonderland that I guess you can call his brain, was his heart? Where did those redeeming qualities go? Are they scrunched up under his bed next to the impressive pile of cum rags? And how did this love/sex connection come about for these girls? Is it true that girls are just more receptive to pity? And how does transference from feeling sorry for someone lead to love and lust? Is it a [gender programmed, overly generalized, evil, evil] chick thing? Where does the heart roam in a world based in illusion?

Amidst all the hubbub, the lies and the deceit that populate this disintegrating world, we journey on with hope on our minds and our companions in tow, no matter how flawed everything is. The real hope is that we don’t get to the end only to discover some fucktard projecting holograms of big green faces on the haze spewing forth from a shoddy smoke machine.

Fingers crossed!

(...to the full post)

5.10.2007

Female envy

We're all aware of the competition that women are capable of feeling between each other. Her ass is cuter. How does she keep her hair so flat? So what if she doesn't need to wear makeup. I like wearing it. Why does she giggle like that? Could she flirt a little more? And the famous…what does he see in her anyway? And here's the best part…EVERY woman has done it and will continue to do it. Some actions are rooted in more superficial issues than others, but still true for all. We need to stop trying to act like we don’t do these kinds of things because denial usually just makes the problem worse.

Sure, some of us are much better at keeping our inner she-bitch hidden and sometimes we can overcome it for periods of time. Some of the effective ways to avoid such loss of our selves to the whims of the societally-imposed she-bitch are by not reading popular magazines, not watching popular TV shows, not hanging out in popular places, and not being around popular[ly defined] people. At least then you know you are hanging out with real people; people that, even when you have those urges to give the evil eye or spill your drink on her new pants (even if they were 2 bucks from the thrift store they still look cuter on her than they would on you), you know that it is an unfounded urge produced by society's subliminal evil forces and not of your own doing.

Now multiply that by 13. Awesome. That's how I feel walking through the streets here in Mexico. It's something I've accepted and now have a much easier time dealing with. It's that... women here have a hard time liking me for who I am. I'm different. I'm exotic (i.e. over 5'3'', blonde, light eyes, and wear flip flops regularly). They don't know who I am. Men notice me because of this, and only this, and it causes a lot of women to not want to be mi mejor amiga. The intimidation that I unwillingly represent not only causes nervousness but often, blatant glares. We're talking in restaurants, in bars, at work, at baby showers, in the supermarket, the taco stand on the corner, and especially walking down the street. And then they notice: I speak Spanish? Phew, forget it. Not only am I a gringa, but I can employ their language, too, and communicate with other people. I am officially the enemy.

If I am honest with myself, I can admit that I only have one real Mexican female friend. I definitely have other good acquaintances who know I'm not Satan's gringa messenger. Maybe we just haven't moved past the role of just conocidas, but it's still disheartening to be fully aware that my lack of a real female Mexican social circle is due to basically…the color of my skin and hair.

One time I went to an internet cafe and the person I'm dating nudged me to look up. The guy working there was oblivious to his open mouth and googley eyes as I walked in. Now… I know how to work it – but this kind of reaction? I can't take credit for it. But the kicker was what the girl sitting next to him, who we then figured out was his girlfriend, said: "Hey…hey…I'm right here! No ya know what? Go ahead. Just look. It's not like you see one of those every day". Wait for it…wait for it…annnnd….she sends a glare right at me!!! Awesome. Another amiga to add to the list.

It's a weird dynamic I got goin' on here. The truth is, I absolutely love living here. I love the people, the culture, the food, the music, the relaxed lifestyle, the passion in the people. But even after a year of living here, I still get really irritated by the reaction I receive, both from men and women, when I'm walking in the street. Like I've mentioned in other posts, it's not a major city and that has a lot to do with the specific experience I'm having, but I don't like that I feel more comfortable walking down the street holding my partner's hand because at least then the men can't whistle and the women know I'm no longer competition. Trust me, the novelty of being "different and exciting" wears off a lot faster than you think. And even faster if your Irish roots scream stereotypical "gringa".

(...to the full post)

4.12.2007

Gender journal: Mexico

I'm a woman. I'm a young woman. I'm a gringa. And I'm a proud gringa. I'm a gringa that stands out a LOT. I'm a post-grad. I'm a really confused post-grad. I'm both a friend and I'm a partner in a romantic relationship. I'm a friend and a partner that is asked to do a lot. I'm a friend and a partner that sometimes just wants to be the young, recently-graduated gringa doin' her thing. But I also live in a place where: domestic violence is not addressed, men are NOT nurses, there are numerous translations for the word f*g, abortion is illegal, 98% of the people are Catholic, I have yet to see two women holding hands in more than a "hey buddy" kind of way, and sex-ed is non-existent. But for some reason, I’m in a place where that brings me more excitement, hope, culture, energy, spice, and knowledge into my life than any other experience I've ever had.

At first it was the looks, the comments, the invitations, the smiles. And sometimes, even the cat calls. It was the sexiness that women exude by simply turning the corner. The odor of confidence that the men left behind them with each step. It was wearing things I had never worn. Doing things I had never done. Saying things that even as they tumbled off my own lips, made my eyes widen with surprise. In the end, it was the cambio, la transformación, the newness that had never existed before.

Then there was the guilt. The questioning and wondering. I was insecure about the quality of the security this place provided me. As a hot senorita walkin' the street, what about the obnoxious cat calls? The lingering-too-long stares? Shouldn't they piss me off? Shouldn't I shout back, make them realize how disrespectful, chauvinistic, and ignorant their gestures were? Why wasn't I upset?

With all the sureness in my voice, I will tell you that the first time I lived in Mexico (two years ago) my life was changed. With the same sureness I will say that I still don't understand the full extent of my transformation, though I sense that I will continue to figure it out far into the future. But at this point, what I do know is that my understanding of being a woman changes every day I wake up here.

I think one of the biggest revelations I’ve had is that Mexican women just really love themselves so much more than most of the women I have met before. And they love themselves in such a different way; it shows in everything they do. Naturally, our oh-so-supportive culture has made its way here from the States through the help of Paris Hilton, step class, Subway, and Slim Fast but the root of it all – the Mexican woman – is still present in everyday life: tight shirts despite the chub at the waist line, lots of makeup simply because it feels prettier, high heels to climb La Quemada, an archaeological site with steps measuring 2 feet high. It's everywhere. And for once, I felt the urge to flaunt it. To use it. To appreciate it. Granted, we've still got those who take two and a half hours to put on their fake eyelashes and another hour to get their lip liner perfect but they are less noteworthy to me in the grand scheme of things. I am surrounded by women who know how bad-ass they are and aren't afraid to show it.

Then there are the men. These damn Mexican men. One minute you can't handle the pride flowing out their ears, their pick-up lines dripping with sleaze and unoriginality, and the next…you're giggling at how romantic it can be. It's sickening. You just want them as friends, then you want them in bed, you just want them to want you, you just want to want them…doesn't matter. Hell maybe you thought you didn't even LIKE men! So many of them have so many of the words that hit you right there. They know how much they should touch you, say things to you, how often to look you in the eye. They're not afraid to hug you in public and at the same time they give you a sense of security you never knew you didn't have.

Who knows. Honestly, every day there's a new tidbit I see that brings a thousand questions to my mind. Hopefully you can tell me what you think it all means.

(...to the full post)