Once again, Nine Deuce nails it.
I think men might be surprised at the “improvement” we’d likely see in women’s libidos in the absence of slut shaming, accusations of frigidity, the virgin/whore complex, and emotional blackmail, an “improvement” that wouldn’t require dangerous medication that disrupts the way our bodies operate. You see — and I know this will sound crazy — my libido seems to be connected to the behavior of my partner. If he respects my humanity, if he allows me to make decisions regarding sex freely and without passive-aggressive bullshit, if I feel like sex is a means to express affection rather than a bargaining chip, if I feel an intellectual and emotional connection with him, my libido miraculously increases. If he were to act like an entitled asshole and pressure me for sex, if he were to display piggish attitudes about women’s sexuality, if he were treat my sexual needs or desires as if they were of secondary concern, or if I just were to happen to not be that into him (not that I’d hang out with anyone these hypotheticals apply to), I imagine that I’d suddenly transform into Morrissey. Bizarre, I know. Should I be taking a pill?
Who knows how hosey women would be if it weren’t for the aggressive and hostile sexual objectification of women and the concomitant slut-shaming so rampant in our society? If women’s sexuality were to go unrestricted and were even encouraged the way men’s is, if women were allowed to develop their own sexual preferences without being forced to conform their desires to men’s, things might be a lot different and we might not be looking for pills to artificially increase women’s libidos, because women’s libidos wouldn’t be suppressed by a society that sublimates their sexuality. I’m just saying, dude.
This journal's dead. I'm making big plans for a multifaceted, Bay area-based new one with far less self-loathing, or anything self-related, for that matter. I will become only the vessel by which my blog's content is delivered. Giant leaps.
This was sitting on the interns' table when I got here this morning.
Notice the bottom headline: "Be a Natural Beauty: 125 Tricks for Glowing Skin, Shiny Hair & Unnoticeable Makeup"
Wait... doesn't being a natural beauty mean that "glowing skin" and "shiny hair" should come naturally? Wearing any makeup at all really deflates the argument for any resulting beauty being "natural."
If it takes that much work just to look natural, then looking anything beyond natural is basically a... oh, should I say it? A Full-Time Job? The Third Shift?!
SHIT!
- Music:Justice vs Simian WE ARE YOUR FRIENDS
I'm taking Twisty's words to heart here. Her statement calls to the front a serious change that needs to take place in my writing in order for it to truly reflect the positive changes in my style of thinking this past summer. Conclusion? Past tones benefit few but myself and my overstuffed brain. Stay tuned for more.
When stating an opinion in the comments section of a radical feminist blog, it’s stupid to begin with the personal pronoun I.
For example: say it is your opinion that a certain spinster aunt’s broad definition is narrow. Now, from the examples below, choose the statement that is more muscular and persuasive (this will be difficult, I realize, given the incomprehensible absurdity of the premise):
A) “Her broad definition is narrow.”
B) “I personally find her broad definition to be rather narrow.”
If you chose B, you flunk!
If you chose A, congratulations! You have realized that the audience for your self-expression is less interested in you personally than you might have imagined. A lot less interested. The truth is, you are boring. You exude ennui from every pore. Any sane reader would rather have root canal than subject herself to your moldy old first-person secretions. But, by expunging boring old you from the subject of your statement, you might stand half a chance of actually engaging in discourse that people give half a crap about.
- Music:Mogwai
So many straight men have no experience of being wanted. So many straight men have no experience of sensing a gaze of outright longing. Even many men who are wise in the world and in relationships, who know that their wives or girlfriends love them, do not know what it is to be admired and longed for for their bodies and their looks. They may know what it is to be relied upon, they may know what it is to bring another to ecstasy with their tongue or their touch, but they don’t know what it is to be found not only aesthetically pleasing to the eye but worthy of longing.
EXACTLY! A prime example of one more way patriarchy, or this aspect of its current incarnation, hurts men. I myself have recently realized this phenomenon's effect on me: that the absence of societal space to view men's bodies as desirable objects (excepting the gay community) has denied me the enjoyment of said visual stimulation, and them the satisfaction of feeling physically desirable. I have to let myself desire men's bodies. I started consciously doing this when I stopped watching porn, because it was the next logical step for my development: (a) stop conditioning myself to get off on being desired; (b) start actively desiring others. It never really occurred to me to do so before I thought a lot about it, because women's desire for men's bodies basically doesn't exist in this culture. It's just not talked about. Women aren't supposed to have sexual appetites, even visual ones, like men are. But that doesn't mean we can't.
Looooove love love this, and even better that it is written by a man. Here is a male feminist for you.
...It’s not as if it’s women’s job to start stroking yet another aspect of the male ego. The answer lies in creating a new vocabulary for desire, in empowering women as well as men to gaze, and in expanding our own sense of what is good and beautiful, aesthetically and erotically pleasing. That’s hard stuff, but it’s worth the effort. I know what it is to believe myself repulsive, and what it was to hear that not only was I wanted, but that I was desirable for how I appeared as well as how I acted. That was precious indeed, and far too few men have known it.
Update: Hugo Schwyzer's whole blog is a gold mine of pro-man, pro-woman humanism.
The concept of beauty in this culture, and masculine beauty in particular, no longer has much to do with actual physical features.
Feminine "beauty" can apparently be bought. Take an average-looking girl and bestow upon her a spray tan, fake boobs, hair extensions, a makeover, fake nails, some high-end clothing and flattering lighting and voila! Drop-dead fucking gorgeous, right? Except anyone can do that, one might muse, so how does that make a person special?
Recently I caught myself looking at an ad on Facebook which featured some new boy band. And the four dudes in the picture, in a lineup under dramatic lighting in designer hoodies with straightened hair and plugs in their ears and way-too-serious expressions on their faces looked EXACTLY LIKE every other picture of any new pop-punky-emo-rock band out there.
My sister subscribes to Alternative Press magazine. I flipped through an issue while I was bored a couple of weeks ago. Basically every page of that magazine is an promotion for a different version of the same band. Everyone has the same idea of what "cool" is.
Young people don't seem to see people as they are; instead, they seek out a set of visual cues which they fetishize to the point of hilarity. Tattoos and gauges and sweeping bangs and American Apparel hoodies, when donned by your average Joe, transform him in the eyes of his female peers into the Hella Hottie. Of course, I was guilty of this sort of idiocy at some point in my teenage years, which is why I'm bashing it now.
But why won't people come up with something funny or clever to advertise their music? Seeing a douchebag lineup does not incite any true music lover's curiosity about said douchebags' ability to write music. Which statement supports the theory that 95 percent of these idiots' fan base is teenage girls longing to be swept off their feet by the caricature of romance and sensitivity that the American Apparel devotees represent. The other 5 percent of the fan base consists of members of other douchey emo-punk bands.
Seriously, someone get some fucking style around here. If you're going to expend the effort to make your appearance more interesting, at least do something original that maybe reflects your personality a little bit.
So lately, to me at least, it has made great sense to belong more to the "interesting" end of the beauty spectrum, away from the whole sex appeal thing. To look interesting is a visual manifestation of an interesting personality (well, at least it's more likely to be), which is beautiful enough in my book.
And skintight clothes are uncomfortable. Even though I like how I look in clothes that show off my body, I feel uncomfortable going out in them because all I get is unwanted attention from assholes. I've finally internalized enough feminist theory to realize that I don't want them looking at me. I've been wearing this huge black cardigan over my little dresses when I go out here and am much more comfortable for it. How wonderful that this change has finally arrived.
Feminine "beauty" can apparently be bought. Take an average-looking girl and bestow upon her a spray tan, fake boobs, hair extensions, a makeover, fake nails, some high-end clothing and flattering lighting and voila! Drop-dead fucking gorgeous, right? Except anyone can do that, one might muse, so how does that make a person special?
Recently I caught myself looking at an ad on Facebook which featured some new boy band. And the four dudes in the picture, in a lineup under dramatic lighting in designer hoodies with straightened hair and plugs in their ears and way-too-serious expressions on their faces looked EXACTLY LIKE every other picture of any new pop-punky-emo-rock band out there.
My sister subscribes to Alternative Press magazine. I flipped through an issue while I was bored a couple of weeks ago. Basically every page of that magazine is an promotion for a different version of the same band. Everyone has the same idea of what "cool" is.
Young people don't seem to see people as they are; instead, they seek out a set of visual cues which they fetishize to the point of hilarity. Tattoos and gauges and sweeping bangs and American Apparel hoodies, when donned by your average Joe, transform him in the eyes of his female peers into the Hella Hottie. Of course, I was guilty of this sort of idiocy at some point in my teenage years, which is why I'm bashing it now.
But why won't people come up with something funny or clever to advertise their music? Seeing a douchebag lineup does not incite any true music lover's curiosity about said douchebags' ability to write music. Which statement supports the theory that 95 percent of these idiots' fan base is teenage girls longing to be swept off their feet by the caricature of romance and sensitivity that the American Apparel devotees represent. The other 5 percent of the fan base consists of members of other douchey emo-punk bands.
Seriously, someone get some fucking style around here. If you're going to expend the effort to make your appearance more interesting, at least do something original that maybe reflects your personality a little bit.
So lately, to me at least, it has made great sense to belong more to the "interesting" end of the beauty spectrum, away from the whole sex appeal thing. To look interesting is a visual manifestation of an interesting personality (well, at least it's more likely to be), which is beautiful enough in my book.
And skintight clothes are uncomfortable. Even though I like how I look in clothes that show off my body, I feel uncomfortable going out in them because all I get is unwanted attention from assholes. I've finally internalized enough feminist theory to realize that I don't want them looking at me. I've been wearing this huge black cardigan over my little dresses when I go out here and am much more comfortable for it. How wonderful that this change has finally arrived.
- Mood:
tired - Music:Mogwai
From good reads:
( Only if you have nothing better to do than read my raves about some no-good sinewy deejay. )
"To force a female to do things in male fashion is not equal opportunity, it is distorted idealism."
— Gregory Hartley
"The greatest feminists have also been the greatest lovers... You cannot divide creative juices from human juices. And as long as juicy women are equated with bad women, we will err on the side of being bad."
— Erica Jong
"...And as in the dark all Cats are grey, the Pleasure of corporal Enjoyment with an old Woman is at least equal, and frequently superior, every Knack being by Practice capable of Improvement. "
- Benjamin Franklin (Awesome.)
"Confound you handsome young fellows! You think of having it all your own way in the world. You don't understand women. They don't admire you half so much as you admire yourselves."
— George Eliot (Middlemarch) (I want to replace "young fellows" with Bros here.)
"All my life I've thought I needed someone to complete me, now I know I need to belong to myself."
— Sue Monk Kidd (The Mermaid Chair) (I fucking love this woman.)
"When a woman starts to disentangle herself from patriarchy, ultimately she is abandoned to her own self."
— Sue Monk Kidd (The Dance of the Dissident Daughter: A Woman's Journey from Christian Tradition to the Sacred Feminine) (REMEMBER THIS?? This book changed my life.)
( Only if you have nothing better to do than read my raves about some no-good sinewy deejay. )
- Location:bed
- Mood:
calm
What really gives a city its character? What are the small details that make each one unique from any other cluster of people living way too close to one another?
In Buenos Aires, they tie string around pizza boxes so you can carry them around. The little convenience stores always had Spanish playing cards right on the shelf. The design on the Marlboro cigarette boxes there is a little more retro—think Miami 1986 in red.
Iowa has this crazy bright sunlight that makes everything appear wholesome. Des Moines' sidewalks are empty about 80 percent of the time. A popular hairstyle among women there is this hideous bleached-blond, teased-out, sprayed-hard bob-looking thing Rox and I call the Iowa Bob. Businesses in downtown Des Moines are mostly new.
In Los Angeles you can't tell whether or not anything is still open because it's all run down and barred off.
Seattle is full of half-finished apartment buildings with a really clean, stuccoed, reddish-brown exterior. The mountains visible above any of the buildings downtown are absolutely surreal.
I wrote a whole entry of this kind of thing while in Argentina, here.
Berkeley has particularly endearing quirks. In line at the grocery store the magazines on the rack included Ms. (MS.!!) and Psychology Today as well as Buddhism Digest. No tabloids in sight.
Green living defaults: Bumper stickers, stop signs vandalized to say STOP DRIVING, biofuel oases, organic everything, very few fast food chains, vegetarian fare at almost every restaurant. In fact there seem to be almost no chain restaurants or grocery stores in the city.
Clean air. Just, really crisp fresh air. It's perfect.
Indian, Pakistani, and Afghani culture abound in my area of the city. I could buy a sari about a hundred feet from my house, from the shop on the corner featuring pictures of blue-eyed, pale-skinned Indian models (And I thought this country's beauty expectations were unattainable...)
A very political, serious atmosphere. Deep philosophical conversations at the café. The other day I was reading on the patio and these two old ladies were talking about how great the 60's were, and how wonderful it was to be a student in Berkeley at that time. "I miss the sixties," said the one on the right.
And perhaps best of all is the explosion of stereotypes. People are totally different than they appear to be. Appearances here say very little about character. This seems to be a place to get rid of any type of assumptions or judgment. People are generally friendly. They respond really well to a cheerful disposition. I dig that.
In Buenos Aires, they tie string around pizza boxes so you can carry them around. The little convenience stores always had Spanish playing cards right on the shelf. The design on the Marlboro cigarette boxes there is a little more retro—think Miami 1986 in red.
Iowa has this crazy bright sunlight that makes everything appear wholesome. Des Moines' sidewalks are empty about 80 percent of the time. A popular hairstyle among women there is this hideous bleached-blond, teased-out, sprayed-hard bob-looking thing Rox and I call the Iowa Bob. Businesses in downtown Des Moines are mostly new.
In Los Angeles you can't tell whether or not anything is still open because it's all run down and barred off.
Seattle is full of half-finished apartment buildings with a really clean, stuccoed, reddish-brown exterior. The mountains visible above any of the buildings downtown are absolutely surreal.
I wrote a whole entry of this kind of thing while in Argentina, here.
Berkeley has particularly endearing quirks. In line at the grocery store the magazines on the rack included Ms. (MS.!!) and Psychology Today as well as Buddhism Digest. No tabloids in sight.
Green living defaults: Bumper stickers, stop signs vandalized to say STOP DRIVING, biofuel oases, organic everything, very few fast food chains, vegetarian fare at almost every restaurant. In fact there seem to be almost no chain restaurants or grocery stores in the city.
Clean air. Just, really crisp fresh air. It's perfect.
Indian, Pakistani, and Afghani culture abound in my area of the city. I could buy a sari about a hundred feet from my house, from the shop on the corner featuring pictures of blue-eyed, pale-skinned Indian models (And I thought this country's beauty expectations were unattainable...)
A very political, serious atmosphere. Deep philosophical conversations at the café. The other day I was reading on the patio and these two old ladies were talking about how great the 60's were, and how wonderful it was to be a student in Berkeley at that time. "I miss the sixties," said the one on the right.
And perhaps best of all is the explosion of stereotypes. People are totally different than they appear to be. Appearances here say very little about character. This seems to be a place to get rid of any type of assumptions or judgment. People are generally friendly. They respond really well to a cheerful disposition. I dig that.
I had a conversation both interesting and frustrating with a couple of bar employees tonight.
Basically, the situation was that (a) We talked about many things, and I ended up explaining one of my theories about why women fake orgasms, and (b) attributed it to my feminism that I could even explain that; then, they (c) proceeded to tell me I totally wasn't a feminist because (and this is the gist of their explanation) I am too intelligent and cool to be a feminist.
Stereotypes overpowering an actual flesh-and-blood example. And I repeatedly suggested that maybe their idea of what a feminist was, their very narrow idea, was playing into their reaction that I couldn't possibly be a feminist, that instead I was just smart. I told them I'd studied feminism, I was definitely a feminist, that my points of view they so appreciated were feminist, and they absolutely refused to sympathize with the word "feminism." They insisted that they knew better than I did that I wasn't a feminist. That's how bad it is in this culture.
It wasn't even me arguing with them. We were friends. They were okay guys. The respected the opinions I expressed to them. They just couldn't stomach that they liked a feminist. Hahahahaaaaaaaa FML
Basically, the situation was that (a) We talked about many things, and I ended up explaining one of my theories about why women fake orgasms, and (b) attributed it to my feminism that I could even explain that; then, they (c) proceeded to tell me I totally wasn't a feminist because (and this is the gist of their explanation) I am too intelligent and cool to be a feminist.
Stereotypes overpowering an actual flesh-and-blood example. And I repeatedly suggested that maybe their idea of what a feminist was, their very narrow idea, was playing into their reaction that I couldn't possibly be a feminist, that instead I was just smart. I told them I'd studied feminism, I was definitely a feminist, that my points of view they so appreciated were feminist, and they absolutely refused to sympathize with the word "feminism." They insisted that they knew better than I did that I wasn't a feminist. That's how bad it is in this culture.
It wasn't even me arguing with them. We were friends. They were okay guys. The respected the opinions I expressed to them. They just couldn't stomach that they liked a feminist. Hahahahaaaaaaaa FML
I've been noticing something repeating lately and it's getting on my nuuurrrrrves. Every time I go to the Web site for a show I want to see, or a DJ I want to see, I am bombarded with (in the promotional video or pictures or both) a bunch of chicks getting down on each other/with the camera at the previous show, or creepy footage of girls dancing where the frame only gets the neck to the stomach. As advertising for the upcoming show.
Dude. Do you know how to get women to come to your show? DON'T USE YOUR PAST SPERM BUCKETS IN YER ADS! That simple. Seriously that shit turns me off to the max. I am not paying MONEY to go to a show where everyone with a penis expects me to be shaking my tits for them instead of having a good time. And it makes me so sad that little teenage girls are going to grow up seeing this shit and thinking that's what they're supposed to do to make people like them. Like that's normal behavior for girls, kissing each other and making stupid porn faces at the camera.
Yeah, right. Make losers want to bone you and then leave you on the doorstep maybe, but no one is actually going to like YOU. Like you. It makes me so sad. And I get pissed looking at those ads because REALLY AM I THE ONLY NON-DUDE THAT VISITS BAND WEB PAGES?! I feel like they don't want me there because I don't fit in to either side of the equation. Why should they even have to resort to using tits and ass and fake girl-on-girl action to get people to come to shows? Shouldn't the music be enough, or does the prospect of drooling at (and probably fantasizing about raping) some poor naive 18-year-old girl realllllllly get men to pay money to go to those shows?
Man, I don't know which is worse, being the poor idiot shaking her tits for a camera or being the horny dumbass who will never know what real sex is filming the poor idiot.
I guess the function of the ads could also be the band trying to hype itself up as dudes-who-get-all-the-chicks-and-are-tot
Or maybe it's to reassure Totes Manly Dudes that they aren't going to a show with a bunch of other dudes and no women, because a show with no girls is a sausage fest and SO GAY! I can see it now: the only function of women at a DJ show is the make the dudes feel comfortable and give them something to dick out over with each other (titties). So few men actually want to TALK to women. It pains me.
So many thoughts.
Also, I got to Berkeley last night, and it's gorgeous! I have yet to really hike around downtown and see what's what, but from my drive today, I think I won't have a problem falling in love with this place. Tomorrow I go downtown, and Friday over the bridge for a look at San Francisco!
And my housemates deserve their own entry, that's how ridiculous they are. Coming to a livejournal near you as soon as I observe some more of their shenanigans.
Dude. Do you know how to get women to come to your show? DON'T USE YOUR PAST SPERM BUCKETS IN YER ADS! That simple. Seriously that shit turns me off to the max. I am not paying MONEY to go to a show where everyone with a penis expects me to be shaking my tits for them instead of having a good time. And it makes me so sad that little teenage girls are going to grow up seeing this shit and thinking that's what they're supposed to do to make people like them. Like that's normal behavior for girls, kissing each other and making stupid porn faces at the camera.
Yeah, right. Make losers want to bone you and then leave you on the doorstep maybe, but no one is actually going to like YOU. Like you. It makes me so sad. And I get pissed looking at those ads because REALLY AM I THE ONLY NON-DUDE THAT VISITS BAND WEB PAGES?! I feel like they don't want me there because I don't fit in to either side of the equation. Why should they even have to resort to using tits and ass and fake girl-on-girl action to get people to come to shows? Shouldn't the music be enough, or does the prospect of drooling at (and probably fantasizing about raping) some poor naive 18-year-old girl realllllllly get men to pay money to go to those shows?
Man, I don't know which is worse, being the poor idiot shaking her tits for a camera or being the horny dumbass who will never know what real sex is filming the poor idiot.
I guess the function of the ads could also be the band trying to hype itself up as dudes-who-get-all-the-chicks-and-are-tot
Or maybe it's to reassure Totes Manly Dudes that they aren't going to a show with a bunch of other dudes and no women, because a show with no girls is a sausage fest and SO GAY! I can see it now: the only function of women at a DJ show is the make the dudes feel comfortable and give them something to dick out over with each other (titties). So few men actually want to TALK to women. It pains me.
So many thoughts.
Also, I got to Berkeley last night, and it's gorgeous! I have yet to really hike around downtown and see what's what, but from my drive today, I think I won't have a problem falling in love with this place. Tomorrow I go downtown, and Friday over the bridge for a look at San Francisco!
And my housemates deserve their own entry, that's how ridiculous they are. Coming to a livejournal near you as soon as I observe some more of their shenanigans.
- Location:8th St. 94710
- Mood: good
- Music:Cocteau Twins
So, I was thinking while on my run just now, and I decided I'm fucking sick of dissecting my past and deciding why things are the way they are based on my bringing up etcetera yadda yadda ya. I think I've exhausted that strategy for improving my quality of life.
And if I'm sick of it, I can't imagine the intense boredom anyone reading this must feel. So I think I'm going to stay in the present from now on.
Speaking of the present, I'm gonna go freshen up then head to Hollywood with an old friend to see Felix Da Housecat rip it up. Oh dancing!
And if I'm sick of it, I can't imagine the intense boredom anyone reading this must feel. So I think I'm going to stay in the present from now on.
Speaking of the present, I'm gonna go freshen up then head to Hollywood with an old friend to see Felix Da Housecat rip it up. Oh dancing!
- Music:A. Human- Pacey Singer (ocelot mix)
it might be because i'm on my fourth beer, but this album is blowing my mind. that is, everything that happens will happen today by david byrne and brian eno. holy shit. this entry may not make sense.
so being stuck in my parents' house completely at a loss for what to do has led me to read a thousand-page book in less than a week and watch way too much true blood. and think a lot about my life and my future and me, because you know i'm just that self-centered. one really has to be when there is nothing else to think about but the loneliness.
and you know, i've thought of loneliness a lot lately. i think it has a lot to do with how unhappy i was for the seven years before my twentieth birthday. i think the inability to really connect with anyone for that long obliterated my memories of before that point, to where i thought it was all my fault that i was lonely, when in reality, it was the insincerity of the people around me (and also i was bored stiff by 99% of people i attended high school with, and scared to talk to that 1%) that led me to draw back into myself. i just threw myself away instead of coming to that conclusion, though, because i knew that wasn't conducive to survival in my surroundings. i tried to repress my discomfort and become something that would fit in, abandoning my common sense. then i realized that the culture i was prescribing to had made it quite impossible to fit in, as a woman, no matter how i tried. that is, if a female tries to adapt and become useful in a pop culture-infused environment (and i can hardly think of a more pop culture-infused environment than the hollywood suburbs), she will never be satisfied because the ideal is absolutely unattainable and relies completely on others' reactions to and opinions of her for her happiness. totally unstable. totally out of her own control.
that's why i rebelled so much a few years later, because i realized that other girls later who were like me, who needed to adapt to their surroundings, who gleaned their values and happiness from the stimuli in their environments, would find themselves in exactly the same predicament, with nothing but poison around them.
i'm not saying it's any easier for men. i think that there is a whole pro-human revolution that needs to follow the pro-woman revolution (whenever that occurs). men live in a box whose parameters are yet unquestioned in the ways that women have questioned their roles, a torture i can't imagine, and to remove oneself from such a paradigm must take an incredible amount of strength. this is why i love the men i have come to know in the last couple of years, the ones who know what it is to be vulnerable.
in any case as soon as i met people like me, in iowa, i felt redeemed. the fog of my own self-doubt, by then ingrained in me, began to lift, but only very slowly and with plenty of self-examination. i loved it. i still am loving it. i have learned that a thick skin is what will keep me sane, and that without any sort of conviction i would definitely be swallowed by pop culture. i'm a pleaser, and always have been, but i trust myself now. i hope one day pop culture will encourage and nourish young minds instead of weaken and destroy and corrupt in the name of money as it does now and it did to me.
so i'm not so scared this time, alone at home, no one to talk to but myself and my books and my dogs and my parents. on the contrary this week i started getting a little depressed and woke up to the fact that yep, the people in my life are the ones keeping me content. we are social creatures, after all. i need my amazing friends to stimulate me and give me something to think about and remind me that i am not incurably different, that i'm worth something intellectually to them. of course i know i am thanks to the past couple of years, but i need to continue this journey, need to meet people from whom i can absorb some intelligence as well. some skills.
i learned so much from my friends in iowa... from roxanne's social skills and easy conversation to chelsea's carefree, shamelessly opinionated attitude, to erik's careful kindness and overwhelming goodness, and troy's unabashed creativity, i just learned so much from these people about life and happiness and how to deal. honestly, they have made me who i am.
here in simi valley i know that i am that person for the people i've met. i'm the inspiration, but they aren't to me. i need something that i'm not getting. so i'm moving to berkeley a little sooner in hopes of meeting some amazing people.
it might take a while but i've certainly got my hopes up.
i'm going to finish listening to this album and then make a mixtape. love
so being stuck in my parents' house completely at a loss for what to do has led me to read a thousand-page book in less than a week and watch way too much true blood. and think a lot about my life and my future and me, because you know i'm just that self-centered. one really has to be when there is nothing else to think about but the loneliness.
and you know, i've thought of loneliness a lot lately. i think it has a lot to do with how unhappy i was for the seven years before my twentieth birthday. i think the inability to really connect with anyone for that long obliterated my memories of before that point, to where i thought it was all my fault that i was lonely, when in reality, it was the insincerity of the people around me (and also i was bored stiff by 99% of people i attended high school with, and scared to talk to that 1%) that led me to draw back into myself. i just threw myself away instead of coming to that conclusion, though, because i knew that wasn't conducive to survival in my surroundings. i tried to repress my discomfort and become something that would fit in, abandoning my common sense. then i realized that the culture i was prescribing to had made it quite impossible to fit in, as a woman, no matter how i tried. that is, if a female tries to adapt and become useful in a pop culture-infused environment (and i can hardly think of a more pop culture-infused environment than the hollywood suburbs), she will never be satisfied because the ideal is absolutely unattainable and relies completely on others' reactions to and opinions of her for her happiness. totally unstable. totally out of her own control.
that's why i rebelled so much a few years later, because i realized that other girls later who were like me, who needed to adapt to their surroundings, who gleaned their values and happiness from the stimuli in their environments, would find themselves in exactly the same predicament, with nothing but poison around them.
i'm not saying it's any easier for men. i think that there is a whole pro-human revolution that needs to follow the pro-woman revolution (whenever that occurs). men live in a box whose parameters are yet unquestioned in the ways that women have questioned their roles, a torture i can't imagine, and to remove oneself from such a paradigm must take an incredible amount of strength. this is why i love the men i have come to know in the last couple of years, the ones who know what it is to be vulnerable.
in any case as soon as i met people like me, in iowa, i felt redeemed. the fog of my own self-doubt, by then ingrained in me, began to lift, but only very slowly and with plenty of self-examination. i loved it. i still am loving it. i have learned that a thick skin is what will keep me sane, and that without any sort of conviction i would definitely be swallowed by pop culture. i'm a pleaser, and always have been, but i trust myself now. i hope one day pop culture will encourage and nourish young minds instead of weaken and destroy and corrupt in the name of money as it does now and it did to me.
so i'm not so scared this time, alone at home, no one to talk to but myself and my books and my dogs and my parents. on the contrary this week i started getting a little depressed and woke up to the fact that yep, the people in my life are the ones keeping me content. we are social creatures, after all. i need my amazing friends to stimulate me and give me something to think about and remind me that i am not incurably different, that i'm worth something intellectually to them. of course i know i am thanks to the past couple of years, but i need to continue this journey, need to meet people from whom i can absorb some intelligence as well. some skills.
i learned so much from my friends in iowa... from roxanne's social skills and easy conversation to chelsea's carefree, shamelessly opinionated attitude, to erik's careful kindness and overwhelming goodness, and troy's unabashed creativity, i just learned so much from these people about life and happiness and how to deal. honestly, they have made me who i am.
here in simi valley i know that i am that person for the people i've met. i'm the inspiration, but they aren't to me. i need something that i'm not getting. so i'm moving to berkeley a little sooner in hopes of meeting some amazing people.
it might take a while but i've certainly got my hopes up.
i'm going to finish listening to this album and then make a mixtape. love
- Location:bed
- Music:david byrne and brian eno- one fine day
I cannot WAIT to get to workin' on mahself! Put some more ammo in the arsenal, so to speak...
Goals this fall:
A. become more articulate
B. stay single
C. learn guitar
D. establish a permanent lifestyle (eating, exercise, routine, etc)
E. find a job somewhere/decide what to do with myself after this internship
F. read the classics I never got around to reading
G. listen to the music I never got around to listening to, also read about the artists I never got around to reading about
H. brush up on my French
Tah-dah!
Currently in San Diego with my parents. We went to the zoo yesterday, and today we're hitting up Sea World! I can't wait to see the big ugly walrus.
Goals this fall:
A. become more articulate
B. stay single
C. learn guitar
D. establish a permanent lifestyle (eating, exercise, routine, etc)
E. find a job somewhere/decide what to do with myself after this internship
F. read the classics I never got around to reading
G. listen to the music I never got around to listening to, also read about the artists I never got around to reading about
H. brush up on my French
Tah-dah!
Currently in San Diego with my parents. We went to the zoo yesterday, and today we're hitting up Sea World! I can't wait to see the big ugly walrus.
Uploaded my mix from the last Bootytronic, on July 10. If you feel the need to dance for 45 minutes straight, or are just curious as to the type of stuff I play, or want to subject my amateur spinning skillz to your probably unsound judgment, click away.
http://www.zshare.net/download/630341766
I've been doing a lot more than I've been thinking lately. Forgive the absence, but I have two weeks left of my 4-year stint in Ames and I am going to miss my friends. Party time.
...I did apply for like 12 internships though, mostly book publishers, mostly in New York. Woop woop.
http://www.zshare.net/download/630341766
I've been doing a lot more than I've been thinking lately. Forgive the absence, but I have two weeks left of my 4-year stint in Ames and I am going to miss my friends. Party time.
...I did apply for like 12 internships though, mostly book publishers, mostly in New York. Woop woop.
- Location:Hamilton Hall 50013
- Mood: good
You know, during the last month I've been doing a lot of thinking... or rather, a lot of doing and less thinking about that doing, and then thinking about not thinking about doing and how nice it is.
In other words, my serotonin levels have stabilized themselves in slightly larger quantities than they had before I did my little lifestyle flip-up. And I'm happier, and I'm having to adjust to the apparent changes in my thought processes that result from a dose of the good old healthy living. Like, the severe reduction of social anxiety, and the boundless energy I seem to possess. Things like that.
Anyway, this is my feminist blog, so I feel the need to post something about feminism. And I've been having some interesting new thoughts about feminism recently that do not necessarily contradict anything I've said before; rather, they take a different approach to identifying and dealing with the problems that this society of ours likes to hand out to people who aren't born on top.
In my law class this summer one of the more thought-provoking tidbits of info I learned came in the form of the Supreme Court's general attitude toward prior restraint, AKA censorship. Congress cannot legally make a law to abridge any sort of speech, so it doesn't, and that decision is upheld time after time by the Supreme Court's decisions. Hate speech is protected. The idea, but not execution of, child pornography is protected. The only kind of speech not protected is that which the Supreme Court deems obscene, basically something with zero value whatsoever, which when you take into account the "artistic value" or "political value" excuse, means that just about any speech you can think of is protected under the First Amendment.
So. The basic principle behind protecting speech is the "Marketplace of Ideas" theory, originally authored by John Milton in 1644. He implored the English government to stop censoring literature and other documents in hopes that Truth and Falsehood could grapple and Truth would come out on top by default, yadda yadda yadda. He proposed that bad ideas will burn out on their own, so there is no harm in letting people be exposed to them and learn from them rather than keeping them under wraps.
I'm not about to make some preachy argument defending anyone's speech. I see that the Marketplace of Ideas metaphor has done plenty of good, but I also think that John Milton and the Founding Fathers of this country could never have envisioned what America would become in the twenty-first century, right down to the mass-culture-flooded, technology-obsessed Supreme Arrogant Self-Appointed Leader of the ever-shrinking world that it is today. That it has led to a literal marketplace of ideas where sex in the form of exploited women always wins out as the "best" idea to sell a product or attract consumers tends to irk me. A lot. Appealing to humanity's basest instincts (and I say "humanity" meaning men and women, although the advertising industry probably has a different view on that) is not conducive to furthering the intellectual and social progress of society.
In any case, the point I was getting to really doesn't have to do with my complaining about capitalism. It has more to do with the remedy the Supreme Court offered for the people's concern with the legality of hate speech and obscenity, which was basically to give people a venue to argue back, and encourage that venue. The Supreme Court says that enriching speech rather than abridging it is the best way out of this mess. Twice as much speech is better than no speech at all.
Do you see where I'm going with this? Let those fuckers hate women, let pop culture spread its misogynistic sewage-grade filth around the country, let those people figure shit out for themselves. It's okay that anti-woman speech exists as long as pro-woman speech can coincide with it. And the best we feminists can do is make people aware of pro-woman sentiment. The best form of pro-woman speech is pro-feminist action, and what better way to act than to become an example of the truth of your words?
So, my dear friends, that is what I'm going to do: stay away from media and people that make me feel uncomfortable, call it out when I see it in daily life (but in a calm and helpful manner), and basically be my strong, beautiful feminist self without apology or hesitation. If people respect me as a strong, happy, intelligent and productive person, then I've done my job by proving to them that feminism works and disproving the stereotypes surrounding feminists. And hopefully I will serve as an example to the girls around me that freedom from endless self-criticism and submission is indeed possible, and definitely worth fighting for.
I just haven't had the heart to be negative lately, so I'm being subversive by example, and I find it much less jarring than constant vigilance.
In other words, my serotonin levels have stabilized themselves in slightly larger quantities than they had before I did my little lifestyle flip-up. And I'm happier, and I'm having to adjust to the apparent changes in my thought processes that result from a dose of the good old healthy living. Like, the severe reduction of social anxiety, and the boundless energy I seem to possess. Things like that.
Anyway, this is my feminist blog, so I feel the need to post something about feminism. And I've been having some interesting new thoughts about feminism recently that do not necessarily contradict anything I've said before; rather, they take a different approach to identifying and dealing with the problems that this society of ours likes to hand out to people who aren't born on top.
In my law class this summer one of the more thought-provoking tidbits of info I learned came in the form of the Supreme Court's general attitude toward prior restraint, AKA censorship. Congress cannot legally make a law to abridge any sort of speech, so it doesn't, and that decision is upheld time after time by the Supreme Court's decisions. Hate speech is protected. The idea, but not execution of, child pornography is protected. The only kind of speech not protected is that which the Supreme Court deems obscene, basically something with zero value whatsoever, which when you take into account the "artistic value" or "political value" excuse, means that just about any speech you can think of is protected under the First Amendment.
So. The basic principle behind protecting speech is the "Marketplace of Ideas" theory, originally authored by John Milton in 1644. He implored the English government to stop censoring literature and other documents in hopes that Truth and Falsehood could grapple and Truth would come out on top by default, yadda yadda yadda. He proposed that bad ideas will burn out on their own, so there is no harm in letting people be exposed to them and learn from them rather than keeping them under wraps.
I'm not about to make some preachy argument defending anyone's speech. I see that the Marketplace of Ideas metaphor has done plenty of good, but I also think that John Milton and the Founding Fathers of this country could never have envisioned what America would become in the twenty-first century, right down to the mass-culture-flooded, technology-obsessed Supreme Arrogant Self-Appointed Leader of the ever-shrinking world that it is today. That it has led to a literal marketplace of ideas where sex in the form of exploited women always wins out as the "best" idea to sell a product or attract consumers tends to irk me. A lot. Appealing to humanity's basest instincts (and I say "humanity" meaning men and women, although the advertising industry probably has a different view on that) is not conducive to furthering the intellectual and social progress of society.
In any case, the point I was getting to really doesn't have to do with my complaining about capitalism. It has more to do with the remedy the Supreme Court offered for the people's concern with the legality of hate speech and obscenity, which was basically to give people a venue to argue back, and encourage that venue. The Supreme Court says that enriching speech rather than abridging it is the best way out of this mess. Twice as much speech is better than no speech at all.
Do you see where I'm going with this? Let those fuckers hate women, let pop culture spread its misogynistic sewage-grade filth around the country, let those people figure shit out for themselves. It's okay that anti-woman speech exists as long as pro-woman speech can coincide with it. And the best we feminists can do is make people aware of pro-woman sentiment. The best form of pro-woman speech is pro-feminist action, and what better way to act than to become an example of the truth of your words?
So, my dear friends, that is what I'm going to do: stay away from media and people that make me feel uncomfortable, call it out when I see it in daily life (but in a calm and helpful manner), and basically be my strong, beautiful feminist self without apology or hesitation. If people respect me as a strong, happy, intelligent and productive person, then I've done my job by proving to them that feminism works and disproving the stereotypes surrounding feminists. And hopefully I will serve as an example to the girls around me that freedom from endless self-criticism and submission is indeed possible, and definitely worth fighting for.
I just haven't had the heart to be negative lately, so I'm being subversive by example, and I find it much less jarring than constant vigilance.
- Location:my bed
- Mood: happy
I have certain qualms about being healthy. Over the last couple of years I've come to realize this. Having to eat like a Chinese farmer and exercise almost daily to maintain a stable mental condition doesn't exactly scream "Secure Woman.” In fact, it’s kind of embarrassing. One of the things I'm uneasy about is telling people about my lifestyle, then telling them that I am a recovered bulimic, and a feminist. I figure people will make a connection and think, Oh, gee, she still hates her body, she just found a better way to get around it and is a total hypocrite for calling herself a feminist.
In a way I suppose that's true. I am still terrified of my own fat, but I have learned that the fear is centered more on people seeing it than on merely having it (due in large part to my people-pleasing tendencies...internalized symptoms of the sex class, guys). It's a matter of showing people what type of person I am, because as they say, you decide who someone is in the first fourteen seconds or so. And I want people to know that I am a person who desperately values physical health, for my own benefit.
Without ever having to affirm it aloud, I know my body is a temple, thanks to my past. When I gain weight or quit exercise for a week there is a feeling of wrong: Someone who is doing what she knows she must to keep her body and mind healthy doesn't gain weight or stop working out without a good reason. (The reason, when it happens, is usually the onset of self-hatred–related depression.) And I have never been very forgiving of myself when it comes to food: first, for aesthetic reasons, and now more than anything for my mental health. I strive to live up to the high standards I set for myself because I know it's best for me.
I used to disrespect my body. I used to eat way more than I should have of foods that would hurt my body more than help it. Then I would further that disrespect by upchucking my dinner and doing it all over again. And again. I was quite a dedicated bulimic, and I didn't give a shit what terrible effects my behavior had on my body. I wanted instant gratification: instant weight loss, and later, instant emotional relief. I hated my body and its unwillingness to be less, so I mistreated it and deprived it until it was less. I never did feel good about how I looked, though, even after losing thirty pounds.
Fast forward to nearly seven years later, and my thoughts on my body lie in the other extreme: I respect it in the utmost. I'm adult enough now to realize the influence a hurt, malnourished body has on the mind. As a teenager I saw no connection between the two: what relation do thoughts have to actual flesh? And as I experimented with various lifestyles after rehab (low-carbing it, different degrees of exercise, drinking alcohol, smoking pot, using caffeine...the list goes on) I learned that each time I changed the way I ate or whether I exercised or what foreign substances I put into my body, my ways of thinking also invariably changed. My ways of thinking about everything changed. My whole view of the world changed.
Chemical reactions and vitamins and endorphins slow down and accelerate and affect you differently according to what you put in, and get out of, your body. And for whatever reason, my chemical reactions and brain-thingies are a little more sensitive to that kind of thing than most people’s are.
Treating my body right, and strictly so, isn't some sort of vain endeavor I undertook to become compatible with Beauty2K (as seen on TV). Rather, it's necessary for me to maintain a level of brain function that is most conducive to a fulfilling, energetic and productive lifestyle. The being more attractive (according to our cultural standards) part—and who doesn't want to look good?—is really just a fringe benefit, albeit a very comfortable one.
Right now I'm experimenting with my diet and exercise to see if I can eradicate my premenstrual mood swings without taking hormones. I stopped eating red meat and started eating more beans and legumes and vegetables. Less sugar and caffeine and dairy and more decaf green tea. I started running three miles a day. And voila! So far I've lost weight, and even better, I’ve been in a great mood for a couple weeks. I'm full quickly, I don't eat when I'm bored, I don't feel cravings for sugar—those health nuts are on to something—but best of all, I don’t ever feel guilty for eating or being full, because I know I’m doing it right. I don’t hate myself or how I look because there’s no reason to when I’m treating my body as it deserves to be treated!
For me, being able to eat as much as I want whenever I feel like it and not losing control is a sure sign that I'm on the right track as far as my diet's substance. If the subject matter were pizza, for example, I wouldn't be able to have a healthy attitude toward it still. I couldn't as a teenager, and I can't now.
I think it's a kind of blessing that the threshold for the attention I have to pay to my body in order to feel all right is so tiny. Most people go through life on mediocre diets, lucky to get any exercise at all, and never think twice that changing those simple things might cure their unhappiness, lack of energy, moodiness, etc., because they've never been forced to in order to stay functional. Our culture treats healthy food and exercise like torture—why would anyone willingly do those things for any reason other than to lose weight?—and our culture also happens to be based on making money. The diet industry can't make money if it promotes natural, healthy eating and exercise, so it demonizes them. And people believe the hype because they don't know any better.
Maybe I did have to find out the hard way (it seems I learn the most important lessons that way) what with the bulimia and the rehab and all, but I'm sure glad it happened, or I'd probably be one of the stock college girls with a fake tan and an empty stomach, trying to look like Paris Hilton and ever dissatisfied with my body, no matter how much weight I lost.
I still feel guilty for enjoying the benefit of looking good, though, because I shouldn't care about my appearance that much... but then I remember that lately my thoughts aren't on my actual shape so much as they are the signs of health: energy, mood, muscles. And I suppose the main reward isn’t physical so much as it is mental: I no longer have thoughts of disgust toward my body, or judge myself, or compare myself to other women, because I know I’m doing it for the right reasons.
In any case, I deserve it. FUCK YOU, diet industry.
In a way I suppose that's true. I am still terrified of my own fat, but I have learned that the fear is centered more on people seeing it than on merely having it (due in large part to my people-pleasing tendencies...internalized symptoms of the sex class, guys). It's a matter of showing people what type of person I am, because as they say, you decide who someone is in the first fourteen seconds or so. And I want people to know that I am a person who desperately values physical health, for my own benefit.
Without ever having to affirm it aloud, I know my body is a temple, thanks to my past. When I gain weight or quit exercise for a week there is a feeling of wrong: Someone who is doing what she knows she must to keep her body and mind healthy doesn't gain weight or stop working out without a good reason. (The reason, when it happens, is usually the onset of self-hatred–related depression.) And I have never been very forgiving of myself when it comes to food: first, for aesthetic reasons, and now more than anything for my mental health. I strive to live up to the high standards I set for myself because I know it's best for me.
I used to disrespect my body. I used to eat way more than I should have of foods that would hurt my body more than help it. Then I would further that disrespect by upchucking my dinner and doing it all over again. And again. I was quite a dedicated bulimic, and I didn't give a shit what terrible effects my behavior had on my body. I wanted instant gratification: instant weight loss, and later, instant emotional relief. I hated my body and its unwillingness to be less, so I mistreated it and deprived it until it was less. I never did feel good about how I looked, though, even after losing thirty pounds.
Fast forward to nearly seven years later, and my thoughts on my body lie in the other extreme: I respect it in the utmost. I'm adult enough now to realize the influence a hurt, malnourished body has on the mind. As a teenager I saw no connection between the two: what relation do thoughts have to actual flesh? And as I experimented with various lifestyles after rehab (low-carbing it, different degrees of exercise, drinking alcohol, smoking pot, using caffeine...the list goes on) I learned that each time I changed the way I ate or whether I exercised or what foreign substances I put into my body, my ways of thinking also invariably changed. My ways of thinking about everything changed. My whole view of the world changed.
Chemical reactions and vitamins and endorphins slow down and accelerate and affect you differently according to what you put in, and get out of, your body. And for whatever reason, my chemical reactions and brain-thingies are a little more sensitive to that kind of thing than most people’s are.
Treating my body right, and strictly so, isn't some sort of vain endeavor I undertook to become compatible with Beauty2K (as seen on TV). Rather, it's necessary for me to maintain a level of brain function that is most conducive to a fulfilling, energetic and productive lifestyle. The being more attractive (according to our cultural standards) part—and who doesn't want to look good?—is really just a fringe benefit, albeit a very comfortable one.
Right now I'm experimenting with my diet and exercise to see if I can eradicate my premenstrual mood swings without taking hormones. I stopped eating red meat and started eating more beans and legumes and vegetables. Less sugar and caffeine and dairy and more decaf green tea. I started running three miles a day. And voila! So far I've lost weight, and even better, I’ve been in a great mood for a couple weeks. I'm full quickly, I don't eat when I'm bored, I don't feel cravings for sugar—those health nuts are on to something—but best of all, I don’t ever feel guilty for eating or being full, because I know I’m doing it right. I don’t hate myself or how I look because there’s no reason to when I’m treating my body as it deserves to be treated!
For me, being able to eat as much as I want whenever I feel like it and not losing control is a sure sign that I'm on the right track as far as my diet's substance. If the subject matter were pizza, for example, I wouldn't be able to have a healthy attitude toward it still. I couldn't as a teenager, and I can't now.
I think it's a kind of blessing that the threshold for the attention I have to pay to my body in order to feel all right is so tiny. Most people go through life on mediocre diets, lucky to get any exercise at all, and never think twice that changing those simple things might cure their unhappiness, lack of energy, moodiness, etc., because they've never been forced to in order to stay functional. Our culture treats healthy food and exercise like torture—why would anyone willingly do those things for any reason other than to lose weight?—and our culture also happens to be based on making money. The diet industry can't make money if it promotes natural, healthy eating and exercise, so it demonizes them. And people believe the hype because they don't know any better.
Maybe I did have to find out the hard way (it seems I learn the most important lessons that way) what with the bulimia and the rehab and all, but I'm sure glad it happened, or I'd probably be one of the stock college girls with a fake tan and an empty stomach, trying to look like Paris Hilton and ever dissatisfied with my body, no matter how much weight I lost.
I still feel guilty for enjoying the benefit of looking good, though, because I shouldn't care about my appearance that much... but then I remember that lately my thoughts aren't on my actual shape so much as they are the signs of health: energy, mood, muscles. And I suppose the main reward isn’t physical so much as it is mental: I no longer have thoughts of disgust toward my body, or judge myself, or compare myself to other women, because I know I’m doing it for the right reasons.
In any case, I deserve it. FUCK YOU, diet industry.
- Location:Hamilton Hall 50013
Welp, I made those big changes to my life and now I'm reaping the benefits, but life still has that crazy transitory feeling where anything can happen and I'm particularly vulnerable to new ways of thinking. And I'm back to trying to anchor myself in something like I've never really had the chance to do, because I've always been with someone. So this should be a really interesting and hopefully eye-opening stage of my life. Occurring at the appropriate time --- graduating soon, moving soon, soon to be responsible for paying my own way through life --- it's time to figure out what I want.
So I've been exercising a LOT, eating better, getting off birth control (youngagain.com, I downloaded this book called No More Horse Estrogen, quite enlightening stuff), meeting new people, and waking up at the crack of eleven every day instead of 3 or 4 p.m. like I did last summer. And I've been reading a ton of books, and playing my flute (getting good on the Gigues) and rediscovering some old music (The Shins will never die). Only thing I'm worried about now is staying on track, because I know this momentum will not last very long. And I have resisted insecurity thus far; in fact, I've felt at peace with my decisions and little to no tension between Troy and I, which is perfect, because it doesn't need tension. We just grew apart, you know? Became different people. I don't want to hold myself or anyone else back because my expectations changed. It was stifling and unhealthy, and I love him too much to maintain something that was deteriorating our respect for each other little by little. I'd much rather stay friends our whole lives.
I do love Ames but the whole cycle of college-- people showing up, people leaving, people coming back then leaving again, graduation parties and Halloween parties and New Years' parties over and over-- is tiring and the fact that I'm still here, the same, only different, is starting to wear on me. Roxanne too. It's weird to feel old in Ames, and I'm not even old, but I feel as though I'm overstaying my welcome I guess. It's no fun when there is so little to inspire. I know I should be writing all the time, I have so many ideas, but a salad bowl of insecurities and doubt and a so what sort of voice in my mind make it seem like too tedious a task to even try. This is the first thing I've written in probably a month.
Maybe I'm just in the absorbent stage of creativity, where a person absorbs knowledge and ideas and scenarios (not to mention the crazy stuff I've been dreaming about) and then builds it up to eventually spit it out in a more interesting form during a routine nervous breakdown.
Characters. I need characters. People need characters. I want to be a character.
I woke up this morning feeling literally beaten. My knees hurt, I have huge bruises on my calves and my quadriceps were burning. I was blackout drunk most of the night last night. Autopilot actually. I'd thought I lost my phone but this morning I found it in my wallet. I read for an hour then went to Stomping Grounds, and I'm still dizzy even after some caffeine. Still on autopilot maybe.
In any case I think I'm going to start writing soon since I'm settled into my summer routine: wake up, class, food, nap, gym, whatever till bed. Inspiration acquired from the books I've been reading and little place else.
So I've been exercising a LOT, eating better, getting off birth control (youngagain.com, I downloaded this book called No More Horse Estrogen, quite enlightening stuff), meeting new people, and waking up at the crack of eleven every day instead of 3 or 4 p.m. like I did last summer. And I've been reading a ton of books, and playing my flute (getting good on the Gigues) and rediscovering some old music (The Shins will never die). Only thing I'm worried about now is staying on track, because I know this momentum will not last very long. And I have resisted insecurity thus far; in fact, I've felt at peace with my decisions and little to no tension between Troy and I, which is perfect, because it doesn't need tension. We just grew apart, you know? Became different people. I don't want to hold myself or anyone else back because my expectations changed. It was stifling and unhealthy, and I love him too much to maintain something that was deteriorating our respect for each other little by little. I'd much rather stay friends our whole lives.
I do love Ames but the whole cycle of college-- people showing up, people leaving, people coming back then leaving again, graduation parties and Halloween parties and New Years' parties over and over-- is tiring and the fact that I'm still here, the same, only different, is starting to wear on me. Roxanne too. It's weird to feel old in Ames, and I'm not even old, but I feel as though I'm overstaying my welcome I guess. It's no fun when there is so little to inspire. I know I should be writing all the time, I have so many ideas, but a salad bowl of insecurities and doubt and a so what sort of voice in my mind make it seem like too tedious a task to even try. This is the first thing I've written in probably a month.
Maybe I'm just in the absorbent stage of creativity, where a person absorbs knowledge and ideas and scenarios (not to mention the crazy stuff I've been dreaming about) and then builds it up to eventually spit it out in a more interesting form during a routine nervous breakdown.
Characters. I need characters. People need characters. I want to be a character.
I woke up this morning feeling literally beaten. My knees hurt, I have huge bruises on my calves and my quadriceps were burning. I was blackout drunk most of the night last night. Autopilot actually. I'd thought I lost my phone but this morning I found it in my wallet. I read for an hour then went to Stomping Grounds, and I'm still dizzy even after some caffeine. Still on autopilot maybe.
In any case I think I'm going to start writing soon since I'm settled into my summer routine: wake up, class, food, nap, gym, whatever till bed. Inspiration acquired from the books I've been reading and little place else.
- Location:Stomping Grounds 50014
I haven't been well at all lately. I've been crying and angry and helpless. And I think I need a big change in my life to shake myself out of this. I need to get through this semester and graduate, for fuck's sake.
My real gripe, however, is the general presumption, which is widely held, even by some of the most feminist people I know, that women who suffer cyclical irritability with their menstrual cycles get "irrational" and/or express anger about things that don't really bother them; it's just that they're being "sensitive" because of the whole period thing. The problem is that I've seen people using that erroneous presumption as an excuse to not deal with the issue about which anger is being expressed, including women themselves, who have been told over and over that their periods do make them irrational and sensitive and thusly feel inclined to exhort partners to "just ignore" them—a request often obliged with no small amount of self-congratulation.
Let's put this shit to bed right now: Women don't lose their minds when they have period-related irritability. It doesn't lower their ability to reason; it lowers their patience and, hence, tolerance for bullshit. If an issue comes up a lot during "that time of the month," that doesn't mean she only cares about it once a month; it means she's bothered by it all the time and lacks the capacity, once a month, to shove it down and bury it beneath six gulps of willful silence. Those are the things most worth paying attention to. (By both people involved.)
Thanks Shakesville.
I've had a rather violent attack of mood-affecting PMS this past week. It's rarer and rarer, but when it comes, it sucks. I cry at everything.
So I watch endless reruns of Freaks and Geeks and old Almodóvar movies until it goes away. I just found out that F&G was written by the same guy who wrote Superbad and a multitude of similar movies lacking in substance. I have trouble believing that because F&G is such a gem. I guess it goes to show that the more you can please the idiot masses, the more money you get, and the more your conscious creative soul is sucked onto the gravy train. Hence the end of Freaks and Geeks after one season and the ongoing misogynistic idiot-apologia that is the Hilarious Movie in which Stupid Ignorant People are Framed as Heroes.
My boyfriend and I had a giant fight on Saturday night. He punched a hole through my bathroom door, the stupid fuck. The whole thing was at 6 in the morning while we were drunk (real good time to argue, I know) and he decided to get on my ass about not liking South Park. Blew up and said that I'll never survive if I hate everything.
Problem is, by "everything" he means what's on TV and the rampant misogyny in our culture that I'm always making a big deal out of because it affects me personally. Apparently he just puts up with the fact that my life mainly consists of identifying problems and fixing them in myself, while his consists of.... getting drunk and watching white-boy shows like South Park or shitty porn. He wants me to be more "lighthearted" about it. It's way better when we just don't talk about it, because I'm not willing to dumb myself down and he's not willing to read ONE SINGLE THING about why South Park isn't the coolest show in the world, or why porn might not be a feminist thing (he thinks it doesn't affect how he thinks about sex).
So after all this, I guess you could say I'm pretty excited to get the fuck out of Ames and away from people who think TV is the world.
So I watch endless reruns of Freaks and Geeks and old Almodóvar movies until it goes away. I just found out that F&G was written by the same guy who wrote Superbad and a multitude of similar movies lacking in substance. I have trouble believing that because F&G is such a gem. I guess it goes to show that the more you can please the idiot masses, the more money you get, and the more your conscious creative soul is sucked onto the gravy train. Hence the end of Freaks and Geeks after one season and the ongoing misogynistic idiot-apologia that is the Hilarious Movie in which Stupid Ignorant People are Framed as Heroes.
My boyfriend and I had a giant fight on Saturday night. He punched a hole through my bathroom door, the stupid fuck. The whole thing was at 6 in the morning while we were drunk (real good time to argue, I know) and he decided to get on my ass about not liking South Park. Blew up and said that I'll never survive if I hate everything.
Problem is, by "everything" he means what's on TV and the rampant misogyny in our culture that I'm always making a big deal out of because it affects me personally. Apparently he just puts up with the fact that my life mainly consists of identifying problems and fixing them in myself, while his consists of.... getting drunk and watching white-boy shows like South Park or shitty porn. He wants me to be more "lighthearted" about it. It's way better when we just don't talk about it, because I'm not willing to dumb myself down and he's not willing to read ONE SINGLE THING about why South Park isn't the coolest show in the world, or why porn might not be a feminist thing (he thinks it doesn't affect how he thinks about sex).
So after all this, I guess you could say I'm pretty excited to get the fuck out of Ames and away from people who think TV is the world.
- Location:KURE studio 50010
- Music:pink floyd
When you were young, were you told that you were pretty? Cute? Beautiful? How did that make you feel? Do you think being labeled "pretty girl" had an effect on the way you viewed yourself and on your intellectual and emotional development during adolescence?
Many girls—in fact, I would venture to say most girls— are told time and again throughout their young lives by parents, relatives, teachers and classmates that they are pretty. By the time a girl reaches adolescence, around age 12 or 13, it's more than likely that she has seen enough TV and movies to figure out that being pretty makes a woman more noticeable and, arguably, a better person (ugly stepsisters, anyone?). She will probably also have noticed that the prettier a woman is, the more attention she gets, and the "best" women are the prettiest and thinnest ones. That said, when she reaches the brink of womanhood, she's going to want to become as pretty as she can be. And how does she do that? She weans herself off National Geographic for Kids and starts on Cosmopolitan. She devours Seventeen with the hope that by the time she is, she'll be at her prettiest. And so it happens: the descent into the fiery pits of beauty culture that awaits unsuspecting "pretty girls" at the gates of womanhood.
Most girls are at least reasonably attractive by cultural standards, or can be "made" into such with the use of various grooming techniques and beauty products. Most girls, then, are at risk of contracting Pretty Girl Syndrome from society. PGS is an illness characterized by its onset during the adolescence of young females. Its symptoms include:
In most cases, the disease becomes less visible after a few years, but the psyche is damaged beyond immediate repair. Some common long-term effects of the disease include:
The results of these after-effects when present over a long period of time? Social isolation. Allowing the male gaze to determine exclusively one's self-worth. Extremely competitive attitudes toward other women. Assimilation to the sometimes (or often) misogynistic attitudes of young male friends. Low self-esteem. Loneliness. Social anxiety. Attributing unhappiness and unsatisfaction to inherent personality flaws. Using material products to try to manufacture satisfaction or self-worth. Unwillingness to question the attitudes of mass culture.
Women of some degree of conventional attractiveness are more likely to be victims of Pretty Girl Syndrome. Of course, other factors do play into this, like the involvement of parents or institutions in girls' lives (as far as body image goes, I've noticed that girls who are involved with the church or school sports have a much easier time), girls' prior exposure to pro-woman media and matters of race and class.
I am a victim of PGS, so I created the disease with the hope that others can realize that they are not alone. These behaviors and thought patterns are caused by uncontested exposure to the mass media. They are not inherent in women.
The most reliable and effective cure for PGS starts with a diagnosis. Identification of the problem should lead to a thorough examination of the pillars of one's development and, eventually, the necessary redefinition of one's identity. Feminism cured, or continues to cure, my PGS by giving me the tools to analyze the culture I grew up in and to connect the messages I received from the media with the behaviors and thought patterns I developed during adolescence, and the courage to continue moving against the general current in pursuit of complete contentment.
In the case of adolescent girls and the media, ignorance is not bliss: it is death. Intellectual, emotional, spiritual death.
Many girls—in fact, I would venture to say most girls— are told time and again throughout their young lives by parents, relatives, teachers and classmates that they are pretty. By the time a girl reaches adolescence, around age 12 or 13, it's more than likely that she has seen enough TV and movies to figure out that being pretty makes a woman more noticeable and, arguably, a better person (ugly stepsisters, anyone?). She will probably also have noticed that the prettier a woman is, the more attention she gets, and the "best" women are the prettiest and thinnest ones. That said, when she reaches the brink of womanhood, she's going to want to become as pretty as she can be. And how does she do that? She weans herself off National Geographic for Kids and starts on Cosmopolitan. She devours Seventeen with the hope that by the time she is, she'll be at her prettiest. And so it happens: the descent into the fiery pits of beauty culture that awaits unsuspecting "pretty girls" at the gates of womanhood.
Most girls are at least reasonably attractive by cultural standards, or can be "made" into such with the use of various grooming techniques and beauty products. Most girls, then, are at risk of contracting Pretty Girl Syndrome from society. PGS is an illness characterized by its onset during the adolescence of young females. Its symptoms include:
(1) lack of interest toward (or abandonment of) activities that don't involve beauty, fashion, thinness or social status. Activities abandoned may include sports, poetry, artistic endeavors or Nancy Drew novels;
(2) chronic low self-esteem, feelings of disgust toward the developing female body;
(3) impulsive and ongoing purchase of beauty or diet products;
(4) regular consumption and acceptance of available mass media (i.e. TV, movies, magazines);
(5) absolute deference to male peers for one's worth as a female; and
(6) total disregard for and unwillingness to consider the advice or input of elders
In most cases, the disease becomes less visible after a few years, but the psyche is damaged beyond immediate repair. Some common long-term effects of the disease include:
(1) a warped view of the workings of the world with regard to gender roles;
(2) serious self-devaluation and/or denial of intellectual potential or ability to contribute to society;
(3) a tendency to put one's relationships with men before friendships with other women;
(4) inability to consider rewarding friendships with other women possible at all;
(4) extreme sensitivity to images of "ideal" females in magazines or on TV;
(5) ongoing bouts of depression due to poor self-worth
The results of these after-effects when present over a long period of time? Social isolation. Allowing the male gaze to determine exclusively one's self-worth. Extremely competitive attitudes toward other women. Assimilation to the sometimes (or often) misogynistic attitudes of young male friends. Low self-esteem. Loneliness. Social anxiety. Attributing unhappiness and unsatisfaction to inherent personality flaws. Using material products to try to manufacture satisfaction or self-worth. Unwillingness to question the attitudes of mass culture.
Women of some degree of conventional attractiveness are more likely to be victims of Pretty Girl Syndrome. Of course, other factors do play into this, like the involvement of parents or institutions in girls' lives (as far as body image goes, I've noticed that girls who are involved with the church or school sports have a much easier time), girls' prior exposure to pro-woman media and matters of race and class.
I am a victim of PGS, so I created the disease with the hope that others can realize that they are not alone. These behaviors and thought patterns are caused by uncontested exposure to the mass media. They are not inherent in women.
The most reliable and effective cure for PGS starts with a diagnosis. Identification of the problem should lead to a thorough examination of the pillars of one's development and, eventually, the necessary redefinition of one's identity. Feminism cured, or continues to cure, my PGS by giving me the tools to analyze the culture I grew up in and to connect the messages I received from the media with the behaviors and thought patterns I developed during adolescence, and the courage to continue moving against the general current in pursuit of complete contentment.
In the case of adolescent girls and the media, ignorance is not bliss: it is death. Intellectual, emotional, spiritual death.
- Location:Stomping Grounds 50014
- Mood:awesome
- Location:Panera 50014
We had to watch this movie for my Spanish seminar... it's my new absolute favorite. ¡Qué overdose! Fabio McNamara is a brilliant character (he's the one on the right in the opening scene. Pedro Almodóvar, the director and a character in his own movie, is on the left). Below you will find the trailer with English subtitles.
I freakin love this video.
So, what about our egos? What about us females who know empirically that we're intelligent and thoughtful and all manner of amazing desirable things but who do not get recognition or appreciation of it from men? Who have to constantly struggle to remind ourselves that despite the lack of social visibility of people like us, we are desirable people?
I'm talking about the kind of everyday exchanges we have say, out at the bar. I've come to notice that most men expect us to talk about them. They expect us to ask questions about themselves, to be interested, to talk about their plans for the future. It's very rare for me to run into someone who asks me about myself in a way that rings genuine, but let me tell you, it feels fucking great when it happens, and I remember that person. Someone who is genuinely interested in me is also more likely to get my interest in return. I was thinking today that most of my boyfriend's roommates know nothing about me, but I know a lot about all of them. Obviously by having conversations with them about themselves I was inviting them to ask me about myself, but they never bothered because it never occurred to them that I might have a valid, objective, justifiable opinion about something.
Which brings me to the "male opinion as objective opinion" clause. When people of color or other minorities or women talk about being a person of color or a minority or a woman, the privileged group takes it with a grain of salt because these people are perceived to have skewed views of the world— not the objective opinion that comes from being male (or white, etc).
I think this reluctance to take the "other" seriously has to do with the fear of giving up social power. White people don't want to hear that they're unconsciously racist because that means they're guilty. It means they will have to travel a long distance outside of their comfort zones to examine their thought processes and make some changes, and it can be painful to realize your default way of thinking is harmful to other people (and yourself).
Women don't want to hear that they've been taught not to want social power. Men don't want to find out that they're missing out on genuine relationships because they've been taught to discount women's opinions and feelings, and they don't want to give up their friendships with other guys which are based largely on hating the feminine (except when "the feminine" means a hot chick who wants to blow them). That would mean re-examining a lot of their basic assumptions about what it means to be male or female, their religions, what friendship means, the content of the media they consume. Voluntarily making oneself vulnerable is not easy or desirable for a man in society, and unless he looks very closely, the benefits of doing such a thing seem to amount to little or none. Usually coming to a realization like this causes change, and people don't like change. It's hard.
I think part of the reason I was able to re-examine my life is because I didn't have a lot of friends, not close ones anyway, and the media I consumed already made me feel like shit about myself. I was ready for a change, and discovering feminism was what I'd been looking for, my key to understanding myself and the world, for what seemed like my whole life.
I just hope one day people will be taught about media literacy in elementary school, taught about tolerance and privilege and equality early enough that they will be able to identify when something isn't right. They'll be able to identify what makes them feel bad about themselves and why. I hope it's soon. In fact, I think that's something I really want to do with my life, educate people at a young age about all this stuff. Change the fabric of society, you know.
I'm talking about the kind of everyday exchanges we have say, out at the bar. I've come to notice that most men expect us to talk about them. They expect us to ask questions about themselves, to be interested, to talk about their plans for the future. It's very rare for me to run into someone who asks me about myself in a way that rings genuine, but let me tell you, it feels fucking great when it happens, and I remember that person. Someone who is genuinely interested in me is also more likely to get my interest in return. I was thinking today that most of my boyfriend's roommates know nothing about me, but I know a lot about all of them. Obviously by having conversations with them about themselves I was inviting them to ask me about myself, but they never bothered because it never occurred to them that I might have a valid, objective, justifiable opinion about something.
Which brings me to the "male opinion as objective opinion" clause. When people of color or other minorities or women talk about being a person of color or a minority or a woman, the privileged group takes it with a grain of salt because these people are perceived to have skewed views of the world— not the objective opinion that comes from being male (or white, etc).
I think this reluctance to take the "other" seriously has to do with the fear of giving up social power. White people don't want to hear that they're unconsciously racist because that means they're guilty. It means they will have to travel a long distance outside of their comfort zones to examine their thought processes and make some changes, and it can be painful to realize your default way of thinking is harmful to other people (and yourself).
Women don't want to hear that they've been taught not to want social power. Men don't want to find out that they're missing out on genuine relationships because they've been taught to discount women's opinions and feelings, and they don't want to give up their friendships with other guys which are based largely on hating the feminine (except when "the feminine" means a hot chick who wants to blow them). That would mean re-examining a lot of their basic assumptions about what it means to be male or female, their religions, what friendship means, the content of the media they consume. Voluntarily making oneself vulnerable is not easy or desirable for a man in society, and unless he looks very closely, the benefits of doing such a thing seem to amount to little or none. Usually coming to a realization like this causes change, and people don't like change. It's hard.
I think part of the reason I was able to re-examine my life is because I didn't have a lot of friends, not close ones anyway, and the media I consumed already made me feel like shit about myself. I was ready for a change, and discovering feminism was what I'd been looking for, my key to understanding myself and the world, for what seemed like my whole life.
I just hope one day people will be taught about media literacy in elementary school, taught about tolerance and privilege and equality early enough that they will be able to identify when something isn't right. They'll be able to identify what makes them feel bad about themselves and why. I hope it's soon. In fact, I think that's something I really want to do with my life, educate people at a young age about all this stuff. Change the fabric of society, you know.
I've been thinking a lot lately about white privilege and male privilege: two things that are invisible to everyone who's not carrying the consequences of others' privilege around on their back. Peggy McIntosh, associate director for the Wellesley College Center for Research on Women, made a brilliant list of factors (.doc file) proving her own white privilege in society. I read them sometime last year then again just now, and I really want to make something like that regarding male privilege-- but since I'm not a man, I'm not sure how legitimate my observations would come off.
I think this quote in particular could also be accurately applied to male privilege:
In any case, I've become more and more hostile toward the libertarian political ideology since I started actually listening to what able-bodied white men, usually Christians, have to say about race, class and gender. It's becoming more and more apparent to me (in listening to people like Bill Maher and Rush Limbaugh speak, and they're not even libertarians) that white men have no right to make judgments about the actions of people who didn't grow up as able-bodied white men in America. They simply do not know what they're talking about, and they've made a whole political ideology out of not hearing what anyone else has to say. Privilege used in this way is dangerous.
My best friend Roxy and I have named male privilege a few times in our conversations without knowing exactly how to pinpoint what we were talking about. We called it their "sense of entitlement." I think we were lamenting the fact that a certain man seemed to think that just letting a woman be in his presence entitled him to a certain amount of power over her. He's giving her the gift of his company and in turn he expects her full, undivided attention and intense interest in whatever he may have to say, be it stupid or not. We talked about how we felt the need to constantly entertain, laugh and be generally pleasant in the presence of men, even men whom we didn't really like. The sense of entitlement is infuriating, especially when I realize that Roxy and I are smarter, funnier and more creative than most of the men who expected us, as women, to be completely vapid and really only act as ego-boosters. Good women, you know.
That was at least a year ago. Nowadays we're quick to throw out a loud "NEXT!" when a boring guy decides to grace us with his presence. The looks on some of their faces are really, really gratifying. For example, about a month ago I was sitting in the bar with a group of my good friends when a guy comes up to me and tells me I'm cute. He tells me he's just moved here from Tallahassee, Florida and he wants to meet some people. He's dressed to the T as a douchebag: white polo, baby blue baseball cap over his eyes, diamond stud in one earlobe. He changed his opinion on his own clothing at least twice during our conversation to try to stay on my good side. He kept telling me I was "cute."
I was incredibly rude to him after the first minute or so, when he introduced me and Roxy to his friend, an overweight guy with a crew cut sporting a shirt reading something like, "Chad's BBQ: Huge Racks!" You know the type. I told him flat-out that I was not going to fuck him and that he was wasting his time. I said, "Dude, we have nothing in common" about four times. I insulted what he was wearing. He gave me some great surprised/offended looks but continued hitting on me. I even heard him tell his lame friend that "these girls are horrible" after I turned my back on them (Roxy stood by looking as bored as she possibly could). So then, uncannily, the fire alarm in the building goes off and as we're putting on our coats to leave, he leans in real close and whispers, "I'm gonna call you sometime."
This guy assumes that I was PLAYING HARD TO GET by being insanely rude to him. Know why? Because in his mind, no woman would willingly give up the offered company of a man. Or maybe it's just because he's a narcissist. But that type of experience kills me. I know I was being an asshole (one of my main drunk sources of entertainment) but damn it, why did he shrug off what I was saying as a joke? A straight face and a lot of rude words aren't enough to merit being taken seriously? I'm still thinking about it.
Hello, GOP.
I think this quote in particular could also be accurately applied to male privilege:
I was given cultural permission not to hear voices of people of other races or a tepid cultural tolerance for hearing or acting on such voices. I was also raised not to suffer seriously from anything that darker-skinned people might say about my group, “protected,” though perhaps I should more accurately say prohibited, through the habits of my economic class and social group, from living in racially mixed groups or being reflective about interactions between people of differing races.
In proportion as my racial group was being made confident, comfortable, and oblivious, other groups were likely being made unconfident, uncomfortable, and alienated. Whiteness protected me from many kinds of hostility, distress, and violence, which I was being subtly trained to visit in turn upon people of color.
In any case, I've become more and more hostile toward the libertarian political ideology since I started actually listening to what able-bodied white men, usually Christians, have to say about race, class and gender. It's becoming more and more apparent to me (in listening to people like Bill Maher and Rush Limbaugh speak, and they're not even libertarians) that white men have no right to make judgments about the actions of people who didn't grow up as able-bodied white men in America. They simply do not know what they're talking about, and they've made a whole political ideology out of not hearing what anyone else has to say. Privilege used in this way is dangerous.
My best friend Roxy and I have named male privilege a few times in our conversations without knowing exactly how to pinpoint what we were talking about. We called it their "sense of entitlement." I think we were lamenting the fact that a certain man seemed to think that just letting a woman be in his presence entitled him to a certain amount of power over her. He's giving her the gift of his company and in turn he expects her full, undivided attention and intense interest in whatever he may have to say, be it stupid or not. We talked about how we felt the need to constantly entertain, laugh and be generally pleasant in the presence of men, even men whom we didn't really like. The sense of entitlement is infuriating, especially when I realize that Roxy and I are smarter, funnier and more creative than most of the men who expected us, as women, to be completely vapid and really only act as ego-boosters. Good women, you know.
That was at least a year ago. Nowadays we're quick to throw out a loud "NEXT!" when a boring guy decides to grace us with his presence. The looks on some of their faces are really, really gratifying. For example, about a month ago I was sitting in the bar with a group of my good friends when a guy comes up to me and tells me I'm cute. He tells me he's just moved here from Tallahassee, Florida and he wants to meet some people. He's dressed to the T as a douchebag: white polo, baby blue baseball cap over his eyes, diamond stud in one earlobe. He changed his opinion on his own clothing at least twice during our conversation to try to stay on my good side. He kept telling me I was "cute."
I was incredibly rude to him after the first minute or so, when he introduced me and Roxy to his friend, an overweight guy with a crew cut sporting a shirt reading something like, "Chad's BBQ: Huge Racks!" You know the type. I told him flat-out that I was not going to fuck him and that he was wasting his time. I said, "Dude, we have nothing in common" about four times. I insulted what he was wearing. He gave me some great surprised/offended looks but continued hitting on me. I even heard him tell his lame friend that "these girls are horrible" after I turned my back on them (Roxy stood by looking as bored as she possibly could). So then, uncannily, the fire alarm in the building goes off and as we're putting on our coats to leave, he leans in real close and whispers, "I'm gonna call you sometime."
This guy assumes that I was PLAYING HARD TO GET by being insanely rude to him. Know why? Because in his mind, no woman would willingly give up the offered company of a man. Or maybe it's just because he's a narcissist. But that type of experience kills me. I know I was being an asshole (one of my main drunk sources of entertainment) but damn it, why did he shrug off what I was saying as a joke? A straight face and a lot of rude words aren't enough to merit being taken seriously? I'm still thinking about it.
Moreover, though “privilege” may confer power, it does not confer moral strength. Those who do not depend on conferred dominance have traits and qualities that may never develop in those who do. Just as Women’s Studies courses indicate that women survive their political circumstances to lead lives that hold the human race together, so “underprivileged” people of color who are the world’s majority have survived their oppression and lived survivors’ lives from which the white global minority can and must learn. In some groups, those dominated have actually become strong through not having all of these unearned advantages, and this gives them a great deal to teach the others. Members of so-called privileged groups can seem foolish, ridiculous, infantile, or dangerous by contrast.
Hello, GOP.
- Location:Stomping Grounds 50014
He's a Men's Rights Activist.
He views women as nothing more than sex objects.
He sees no capacity for mutual understanding between the sexes.
He's so caught up in his disgusting porn-saturated world that he can't see outside of his small, small box.
Now, I'm not saying he's a terrible person through and through, but it completely bewilders me how someone can have such liberal views yet still hate women so much. Every time he mentioned sex or women in his documentary I felt like throwing up. I can't imagine what his television show must be like. His stand-up comedy is some of the most horrible MRA shit I've ever heard. Your logic is flawed, Bill Maher, because believe it or not, some men and women are able to get along without "drowning their sorrows in football and pornography." Fuck you.
If you have any further concerns, read this blog post.
Caused by watching his recent documentary "Religulous."
He views women as nothing more than sex objects.
He sees no capacity for mutual understanding between the sexes.
He's so caught up in his disgusting porn-saturated world that he can't see outside of his small, small box.
Now, I'm not saying he's a terrible person through and through, but it completely bewilders me how someone can have such liberal views yet still hate women so much. Every time he mentioned sex or women in his documentary I felt like throwing up. I can't imagine what his television show must be like. His stand-up comedy is some of the most horrible MRA shit I've ever heard. Your logic is flawed, Bill Maher, because believe it or not, some men and women are able to get along without "drowning their sorrows in football and pornography." Fuck you.
If you have any further concerns, read this blog post.
Caused by watching his recent documentary "Religulous."
Profile
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
mostdefinitely- jenna
- Website
Syndicate
