Actually, the "Average American Woman" is a Size 14, But That's Not the Point, My American Harem Ladies

I just about flipped when I found this:

Fatima Mernissi and the Size 6 Harem

It was during my unsuccessful attempt to buy a cotton skirt in an American department store that I was told my hips were too large to fit into a size 6. That distressing experience made me realize how the image of beauty in the West can hurt and humiliate a woman as much as the veil does when enforced by the state police in extremist nations such as Iran, Afghanistan, or Saudi Arabia. Yes, that day I stumbled onto one of the keys to the enigma of passive beauty in Western harem fantasies. The elegant saleslady in the American store looked at me without moving from her desk and said that she had no skirt my size. "In this whole big store, there is no skirt for me?" I said. "You are joking." I felt very suspicious and thought that she just might be too tired to help me. I could understand that. But then the saleswoman added a condescending judgment, which sounded to me like Imam fatwa. It left no room for discussion:

"You are too big!" she said.

"I am too big compared to what?" I asked, looking at her intently, because I realized that I was facing a critical cultural gap here.

"Compared to a size 6," came the saleslady's reply.

[...]

"And who says that everyone must be a size 6?" I joked to the saleslady that day, deliberately neglecting to mention size 4, which is the size of my 12-year-old niece.

At that point, the saleslady suddenly gave me and anxious look. "The norm is everywhere, my dear," she said. "It's all over, in the magazines, on television, in the ads. You can't escape it. There is Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, Gianna Versace, Giorgio Armani, Mario Valentino, Salvatore Ferragamo, Christian Dior, Yves Saint-Laurent, Christian Lacroix, and Jean-Paul Gaultier. Big department stores go by the norm." She paused and then concluded, "If they sold size 14 or 16, which is probably what you need, they would go bankrupt." [Kameron note: Like Old Navy and Eddie Bauer??]

[...]

Yes, I thought as I wandered off, I have finally found the answer to my harem enigma. Unlike the Muslim man, who uses space to establish male domination by excluding women from the public arena, the Western man manipulates time and light. He declares that in order to be beautiful, a woman must look fourteen years old. If she dares to look fifty, or worse, sixty, she is beyond the pale. By putting the spotlight on the female child and framing her as the ideal of beauty, he condemns the mature woman to invisibility. In fact, the modern Western man enforces Immanuel Kant's nineteenth-century theories: To be beautiful, women have to appear childish and brainless. When a woman looks mature and self-assertive, or allows her hips to expand, she is condemned as ugly. Thus, the walls of the European harem separate youthful beauty from ugly maturity.

These Western attitudes, I thought, are even more dangerous and cunning than the Muslim ones because the weapon used against women is time. Time is less visible, more fluid than space. The Western man uses images and spotlights to freeze female beauty within an idealized childhood, and forces women to perceive aging—that normal unfolding of years—as a shameful devaluation. "Here I am, transformed into a dinosaur," I caught myself saying aloud as I went up and down the rows of skirt in the store, hoping to prove the saleslady wrong—to no avail. This Western time-defined veil is even crazier than the space-defined one enforced by the Ayatollahs.

[...]

Women enter power games with so much of their energy deflected to their physical appearance that one hesitates to say that the playing field is level. "A cultural fixation on female thinness is not an obsession about female beauty," explains Wolf. It is "an obsession about female obedience. Dieting is the most potent political sedative in women's history; a quietly mad population is a tractable one."

Research, she contends, "confirmed what most women know too well—that concern with weight leads to a 'virtual collapse of self-esteem and sense of effectiveness' and that . . . 'prolonged and periodic caloric restriction' resulted in a distinctive personality whose traits are passivity, anxiety, and emotionality."

Similarly, Bourdieu, who focuses more on how this myth hammers its inscriptions onto the flesh itself, recognizes that constantly reminding women of their physical appearances destabilizes them emotionally because it reduces them to exhibited objects. "By confining women to the status of symbolical objects to be seen and perceives by the other, masculine domination . . . puts women in a state of constant physical insecurity. . . . They have to strive ceaselessly to be engaging, attractive, and available." Being frozen into the passive position of an object whose very existence depends on the eyes of its beholder turns the educated modern Western women into a harem slave.

Read the whole thing here .

There's also a fantastic book called The Body Project that looks at the history of women's obsession with their bodies. Essentially, she argues, we've merely gone from using external devices to control women's shapes (corsets, elaborate skirting and hooping), to using external devices (the 1920s saw the corset going out of fashion, and dieting or "reducing" really coming into its own): you can chalk up plastic surgery here, too. Many women who get breast implants don't "have" to wear a bra anymore. Their breasts are now hard and high enough that they don't jiggle much at all. Same goes for obsessions over flat abs - we used to wear corsets for tummy control and the illusion of a bust. Not having corsets doesn't neccessarily make women any more liberated in regards to their bodies. Sure, you've got less restricted movement, but if you're starving yourself to look thinner, you've hardly got more energy to move around.

And, perhaps more importantly, as Fatima says, "To deprive me of food is definitely to deprive me of my thinking capabilities."
Fascinating stuff.

Good vs. Evil (the same old story)

What Christian Fundamentalists tell us is Evil about Muslim Fundamentalists:

- They hate liberated women and all that symbolizes them. They hate it when women compete with men in the workplace, when they decide when or whether they will bear children, when they show the independence of getting abortions. They hate changes in laws that previously gave men more power over women.

- They hate the wide range of sexual orientations and lifestyles that have always characterized human societies. They hate homosexuality.

-They hate individual freedoms that allow people to stray from the rigid sort of truth they want to constrain all people. They hate individual rights that let others slough off their simple certainties.

What Christian Fundamentalists hate:

-They hate liberated women who don't follow orders, who get abortions when they want them, who threaten or laugh at some men's arrogant pretensions to rule them.

-They hate the wide range of sexual orientations that have always characterized human societies. They would force the country to conform to a fantasy image of two married heterosexual parents where the husband works and the wife stays home with the children even when that describes fewer than 25 percent of current American families.

-They hate individual freedoms that let people stray from the one simple set of truths they want imposed on all in our country. Robertson has been on record for a long time saying that democracy isn't a fit form of government unless it is run by his kind of fundamentalist Christians.

I would laugh, and laugh, if only more people actually saw the irony.

more here
(thanks to Jenn for all the morning links. I'm feeling lazy today)

Sexing & Stuff

ActivistGradGirl has a great series of posts up about sex, gender, and sexuality here, here and here. Some really great thoughts on the gender binary we get banged on the head with. I think my biggest surprise regarding aguments for gay marriage was that nobody played these two big cards:

1) If you're going to say marriage is only between a man and a woman, you're going to have to define man and woman. And you're going to have to be really strict about it. So that women who are "visibly" women but who have XY chromosomes shouldn't be allowed to marry men who have XY chromosomes, and what about those who've had their sex surgically altered, whether in infancy (hemaphrodites, the most famous famous/visible here in America being Jamie Lee Curtis), or in adulthood? Man/Woman biology isn't an exact science.

2) Not allowing same-sex marriage is sexist. Period. If I was born a man, I would be able to marry a woman, but because I'm a woman, I can only marry a man.

THIS IS A HUGE ONE.

Hello! Obvious sexism here, people!

Anyway, she's got some good thoughts on what makes up sex and sexuality (throw out the illusion of the gender binary! Blah!). Check it out.

Bowing Out

More writing work today. See you all tomorrow.

"The mind I love must still have wild places, a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, the chance of a snake or two (real snakes), a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of - and paths threaded with those little flowers planted by the mind."
- Katherine Mansfield



"Nothing interferes with my concentration. You could put on an orgy in my office and I wouldn't look up. Well, maybe once."
-Isaac Asimov

Buddy-buddy Boys

There's a professor who's done a study about the origins and use of the word "dude": the interesting part?

Kiesling says in the fall edition of American Speech that the word derives its power from something he calls cool solidarity -- an effortless kinship that's not too intimate.

Cool solidarity is especially important to young men who are under social pressure to be close with other young men, but not enough to be suspected as gay.

And:

Anecdotally, men were the predominant users of the word, but women sometimes call each other dudes.

Less frequently, men will call women dudes and vice versa. But that comes with some rules, according to self-reporting from students in a 2002 language and gender class included in the paper.

"Men report that they use dude with women with whom they are close friends, but not with women with whom they are intimate," according to the study.

Huh. Not sure if I'd go with the universal "all guys" thing there.

Why I Fight

So, yesterday I was doing my daily lunchtime walk at the Wildlife Preserve across the street from where I work. This is a low-crime suburb area (I have a long train commute out of Chicago), so I don't carry much trepidation with me. But yesterday I passed a questionable character - you know, you just get that "uh-oh, psycho" feeling and put your guard up a bit as you pass.

Nothing new. It's called being a woman.

But this time, as I passed him, I flipped through defense moves. Got my elbow strike to the face ready, focused attention on my gut, where - if you do it right - you should actually feel the force of your strike. Elbow to the face, turn, right cross, clamp your hands around the back of the head, knee strike to the face, front kick to the groin, and if he's willing to fuck with you after that, he's a serious pyscho, so you should probably run. If he tries to tackle you, jab out his eyes. I also know a couple of ground moves, should things progress to that point.

But, no. I wasn't attacked; the liklihood of that happening around here is pretty nil. But I realized I had my confidence back.

I haven't been jogging in two months, because it's dark by the time I get home now, and though crime rates around where I live are average, I've grown up with that Woman's Fear.

You know it: those raped, mutilated, murdered female joggers. The stories we all get bombarded with so we stay at home, or don't go out alone, the ones that tell us we better get ourselves an escort.

It's always female joggers.

The entire reason I started fighting was because I was really sick of being afraid. Somebody like me, who does a lot of traveling and spends a lot of time on her own, can't afford to sit around her flat all night being afraid. Granted, in South Africa, a lot of this fear was warranted, and I don't know that I'd push my luck there again even with some more self-confidence, but Uptown Chicago is another matter entirely.

So I went jogging last night, my usual route to the lakefront, under the suprisingly well-lit tunnel that goes under Lakeshore Drive, and onto the not-so-greatly-lit jogging path at Lakeshore Park.

There weren't a lot of women there at 6:30 at night.

There was some trepidation at the lack of light along the pathway, but I'd made sure not to wear my headphones, so I could hear pretty well, and I was still my usual vigilant self.

And, of course, I went jogging and came home and did just fine.

I could have been jogging like this for two months, of course, but you know... it sucks to be a woman. It really fucking sucks, to grow up with these stories, to know that yes, it's statistically unlikely that anything will happen to me (more women are attacked by people they know than strangers), but damn, I've been fed so much fear, had it so ground into me. Sure, I'd wander good areas of cities by myself, and backpack major cities by myself, but jogging at the park in the dark? Oh, how cliche that episode of America's Most Wanted would be!

I needed to feel like I knew what to do if something happened. I didn't want to feel like prey. Even if I'm full of crap, and not a super ninja or anything like that, I needed to feel that I had the strength and at least a little of the knowledge about what to do if something happened, however unlikely it might be.

I don't think you really realize how much you internalize all the social bullshit that actually controls you. When I was 19, I finally started framing questions about my doubts for doing what I wanted to do this way: "If I was a guy, would I do it?" If the answer was yes, I did it.

Because you know what it felt like to me, going jogging at Lakeshore Park in the dark, alone?

It felt like freedom.

More On Why Power is All About The Women

Here's a great compilation from the Mahablog of all the bits and pieces we've been throwing around the last couple weeks (divorce and teenage birth rates in red vs. blue states, the education of women, etc) and some sly commentary to boot.

And, Enjoy

OK, I'm back to working on some writing projects. Unless something really pisses me off again, I'll see you all tomorrow.

"We Americans, we're a simple people... but piss us off, and we'll bomb your cities."
- Robin Williams, "Good Morning Vietnam"

"We've got a generation now who were born with semi-equality. They don't know how it was before, so they think, this isn't too bad. We're working. We have our attache cases and our three-piece suits. I get very disgusted with the younger generation of women. We had a torch to pass, and they are just sitting there. They don't realize it can be taken away. Things are going to have to get worse before they join in fighting the battle." - Erma Bombeck

"War is not its own end, except in some catastrophic slide into absolute damnation. It's peace that's wanted. Some better peace than the one you started with."
- Lois McMaster Bujold, "The Vor Game", 1990

"I do not wish women to have power over men; but over themselves." - Mary Wollstonecraft

"Things can be really different."
- Joanna Russ

In the Old Town Tonight.

And... here's the fire in the Chicago Loop that was blocking traffic last night as I tried to get home from kickboxing. I'd never seen so many firetrucks and so many diverted taxi cabs in one place before.

This is the second highrise fire they've had in the year I've been here (that one also diverted me on the way home, this time by blocking the pedestrian tunnel between the red and blue train lines, as the building on fire was just above that section of tunnel). In both cases, neither building was outfitted with sprinklers. In the first case, this and some locked stairways resulted in needless deaths.

What is this, 1900?

Contraception Museum

Contraception Museum opens (via boingboing).

In Ohio, of all places.

They've also got a flash presentation of "Obstetric Literature and the Changing Character of Childbirth." If the coils don't make you cringe...

And I snickered when I read the intro to their collection: "Birthing is a normal, yet extraordinary event that has been with us from time immemorial."

I love that they felt they needed to remind readers that birth is "normal" and that women have been doing said birthing "from time immemorial."

We've overmedicalized birth so much that I think people forget this.

Real Men Doing Real Science

I don't care if people write conservative SF, but when they start trying to make a "movement" out of a masturbatory molehill, and start writing up frickin "manifestos" I get really frickin' irked.

You need a manifesto in order to write fiction? Shit, why didn't anyone ever tell me sooner! I better start writing my pet interests into a manifesto, so I can never alter those interests again as I increase my breadth and range of interests as I get older and wiser. Only emotionless heroines! Only bisexuality! Only stories about war! No men allowed!

Now there's a great way to castrate my writing.

It's like watching somebody jumping up and down in a crowded room going, "Look at me! Look at me! I'm hot! I'm hot!" for about 15 mintues before the bullshit factor sets in, and you realize they're actually screaming without any clothes on.

I feel the old sniff of elitism: REAL SCIENCE vs. THOSE CRAZY SWORD & SOCIOLOGY BUG-TECH FREAKSHOWS.

We must get back to Real Science! Real Men Doing Real Science!

REAL MEN (science) vs. FEM FICTION (not "real" science)

Don't think there's not an undercurrent of that there, too. A lot of SF is already terribly conservative. We don't need to put more constraints on tech and social mores to make it more so. Really.

I'm hoping these guys will peter out soon enough.

The discussion's here.

Oh, Canada

This is an old joke, actually. The first Euro trip I did was with a bunch of kids from our high school theatre, and we teamed up with a group of rowdy Canadians for much of the trip, meaning we shared transport and rooms with them.

And let me tell you, everything you suspect about Canadians getting treated better than Americans overseas (expecially in France) is true. The Brits and Canadians, in fact, like to put patches of their country's flags on their backpacks, just to make *sure* they aren't mistaken for Americans.

Try finding an American flag on a backpack.

So the big joke among us theatre kids at our toga party in Rome was that next time, we'd slap a Canadian flag patch on our backpacks and go, "Eh?" a lot.

I need to try it during next year's trip to Glasgow.

More on the Fighting Life

Had a good MA class tonight. 2 min kicking techniques, 1 minute jump roping, repeat for 45 minutes. Great fun, actually. I had a good partner.

Also, always inspiring, Ray is now 6 months pregnant, and still jumping, kicking, punching and just basically kicking ass.

It's totally cool.

I've been hard on myself, as I didn't go to class Thanksgiving week due to a little holiday hysteria and traveling to visit my folks, and last week, I suffered from insomnia on Monday and zonked into bed Wednesday instead of going to class, meaning I only got in the Monday and Saturday and not the Wednesday.

For some reason, I always expect that if I miss a week of class, I'm going to revert to incompetent weakness.

In fact, I end up coming to class and surprising myself.

My arms continue to get buffer-looking. I think I'm starting to condense again. I cut my calorie count during the week again because, I mean really, I have a frickin' desk job.

Weekends, however, are another matter. I'm not a frickin' prude, afterall.

Some Gleeful War Nostalgia

More proof that war-obsessed children will become war-obsessed adults. If not, perhaps, in the way that you'd think.

I stumbled across the site Yo Joe, which is an awesome database of GI Joe figures from 1982-2004, complete with pics and accessories.

I was a gleeful 80s child, who combined My Little Pony play with GI Joes. Because, c'mon, GI is the perfect action figure to pair with My Little Pony. And they even had female GI Joes.

Turns out, there were a few more female GI Joes than I knew about. Which pisses me off, cause I only knew about 3, and could only ever find two of them:

Scarlett came out with the original `82 batch, which I think is cool - I mean, c'mon, a decent female fighter with an OK name in the first batch! My cousin had a Scarlett, so I usually got to play her (in addition to the plethora of male characters). `83 gave us Cover Girl (never heard of her), which I actually find to be one of the funnier female code names. She was packaged with a tank. Gotta love that. She was followed by Baroness (Cobra intelligence) in `84, who I'd totally fogotten. She was followed by the kick-ass Lady Jaye . I was crazy about getting a Lady Jaye, but every Christmas I searched through the stacks at the toy stores, I never found her. Zarana - who I'd never even heard of until I trolled through the site - came out in `86. And finally, my favorite female GI Joe of all time, Jinx, came out in `87. I think I liked her the most because she was the most easily available at the toy stores. If you were willing to spend twenty minutes going through the huge stacks of GI Joes at Toys R Us, you could usually find her. I know, because I was really depressed when I lost her the first time, and elated when I managed to - miraculously, it seemed - find another one to replace her.

I think these female figures also pleased me because, well... they actually wore sensible clothes.

It makes me wonder: did they not stock the female characters because they really weren't popular, or did they not stock them because of the women-and-war-are-evil crap and they got some upset parent letters about it?

I'd be curious to know...

Your Axis of Evil (TM) Roundup

Your Axis of Evil (TM) Roundup.

If you care.

Via The Talking Dog.

Why I Keep Rewriting

via Moorish Girl:

Apparently, there were some significant edits to the screenplay of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

And, oh, thank goodness for those revisions:

It starts with an "OLD WOMAN" visiting a publishing house with a manuscript in hand. It's fifty years from now, so who knows? Maybe people won't need to write agents or editors queries by then. I still found the scene supremely silly. Her book is called "ETERNAL SUNSHINE...". The old woman is Mary, who continues working for Lacuna, even though in the movie version it appears she's done with them for good.

Also in the original script, Clementine is "zaftig," obsessed with Stephen Dixon, and goes into Lacuna to get her memories of Joel barrish erased 15 times over 50 years, because they keep re-meeting over and over.

I will make a note, however: why is it that when screenwriters think "zaftig" they hire Kate Winslet?

I guess because the alternative is "thin" which means "starving." And, let's be honest: Kate's been rapidly shrinking the last couple years, trying to get back into acting after the birth of her children.

Please, please: I'm so tired of looking at hungry women in movies. Don't force Kate to be hungry, too. I adore her just the way she is.

Call for Subs

There's a call for subs for anyone interested in writing pieces about experience, acceptence, and all things in-between from fat women for a new book called Phat Girls in Search of a Pretty World. So far as I know, there's no cut-off BMI for what exactly constitutes a "fat" girl. If you're a woman who identifies as a fat girl (I realize that I will, no matter my weight. I think it's become ingrained in me) and have some good stories about acceptance/experience, give it a shot. I'm sure I'll be sending something Jill's way.

On Romance

I don't know when I first saw the movie Romancing the Stone, but as it came out in `84 and I was born in `80, I was probably pretty young, as it ended up in our VHS collection at some point, after being rented at least a couple of times.

To sum up, Kathleen Turner plays frumpy-but-successful romance author Joan Wilder. Her sister is kidnapped in Columbia, and frumpy-writer goes off to deliver a treasure map to her sister's captors, and gets caught up in a proper romance adventure in Columbia, complete with smugglers, buried treasure, guerilla fighters, and shotgun-wielding male love interest.

It's the sort of movie that makes you want to be a writer.

I've seen it a bazillion times. I got it on DVD when I first went off to college and had a computer with DVD player. I wanted to be that kind of writer. I wanted to have those kinds of adventures.

When I tried to explain to everyone how I got out to Ft. Hare in Alice, South Africa for one of my research trips out of Durban, I said, "I flew into East London, which has, like, an airport with one gate. Then I took a taxi to the informal taxi ranks, and I got into this bus like... Well, you know that scene in Romancing the Stone when Kathleen Turner gets into the wrong bus to Cartagena? It was sort of like that. Only they're jerry-rigged, dilapidated vans that seat about 16 people all squashed together with their luggage and children, and all the drivers are really crazy. Then I switched at the ranks in King William's Town, which is like a dusty hole in the ground, and then I went out to Alice in another packed mini-bus. But it was more arid than Columbia. And there were more cows."

Last night, I printed out the 795 manuscript pages of book one (AGAIN). This morning, I boxed them up to tote in to work to do more line edits. I was running late.

I pulled on my black pea coat and scarf, turned off the lights around by desk with its sticky-notes and quotes and pictures and piles of manuscripts and pages scattered all over, pulled on my backpack, frowned at my hair in the mirror, and tucked my boxed manuscipt under my arm. I trudged out into a drizzly Chicago day, and as I locked the outside door, I got this huge grin on my face.

Because I remembered that opening in Romancing the Stone, when the frantic author is running late, and she pulls on her coat, tucks her huge boxed manuscript under her arm, frowns at her frumpiness in the mirror, and heads out into New York to meet her editor.

Now, if only I was going to meet an editor...

And I realized how far I'd come from that backwater, dead-end life I was fixing for myself just after highschool.

I've been doing a lot of thinking recently about fantasy fiction, and the benefits of movies and stories that inspire us to be better people. I was watching The Princess Bride for the thousandth time last night, and realized that though fantasy certainly can be escapist (which is generally considered "bad," and the female heroines still need work) what it really does is give us hope.

It tells us that the good guys can win, that being honorable is always the right thing, that true lover conquers all, and people are basically good.

I love classic fantasy stories, though I've gotten tired of all of the gender assumptions, which is why I write what I write - I'm writing high fantasy with more fluid gender dynamics - because fantasy fiction does give me hope. I want to believe that people can be better, that I can be better, that there are people who will take a bullet for each other, who'll fight for something they believe in, who will take their lives and make something of it.

In the end, Joan Wilder's adventures in Columbia give her greater confidence in herself and her sexuality (she goes from frumpy to sexy merely by letting down her hair and putting on make-up, which always makes me laugh, but I'll let it go - this is fantasy, after all). We get this in the last scene she's got, walking down the street shrugging off the harrassment of street vendors, smiling and looking fabulous after just having sold yet another book.

I think fantasy can certainly be a bad thing: Vandermeer addresses this when discussing America's increasing fantastic delusions (or, warped imagination) - but stories and fantasy give us something else, too, which is why books and media are so heavily censored:

Stories can show us other ways to live. It won't be just like the movies: you'll be scared, and hysterical, weak or strong, and you'll still be in the same skin no matter where you are. I want to write those kinds of stories. I want to tell everybody, especially women: there's another way to live, if you wish it.

Are there limits? Sure.

But not as many as you'd think.

Somedays, it all seems impossible.

And then there's days like today, when I wake up and go: "Holy shit, look what I did."

Those are the best days.

More Thoughts on Dating

Ah. The "He's Just Not Into You" craze.

Once again, Amanda's already been on this, and here's the Salon article that takes the "He's just not that into you" book to task, but I wanted to throw in my 2 cents about the dating bullshit.

Now, I've already discussed why I haven't dated since Alaska - and continue to choose not to - but I want to explore this one again, because, really, here this book goes again arguing against female agency, like every time we go out with a guy, we *really* want him to call back.

Not so. Not so at all.

But then, when asked, one of the co-authors of HJNTIY did say that if they'd written a book geared toward convincing pouty-mouthed men "She's just not that into you," they would have sold about 8 copies.

Why are women buying this book? Why did people know women would buy this book?

I've been the one to finally answer the third frantic e-mail from a guy I'd been on two dates with, and felt obligated to tell him, gently, that I just really wasn't all that into him, and could you just stop e-mailing me? I managed another two dates with a guy who was horribly, horribly boring, and at the end of the second date, we both said, "Yea, I'll call/e-mail you," and neither of us did (and oh, let me tell you, the relief when he didn't call/e-mail was truly great). Then I survived another 3 or 4 dates (one of which was a 3-day, chaste roadtrip in which when didn't touch each other like, once - needless to say, this was the last date) with yet another boring, sexually uninteresting guy (though, as said, I got a cool roadtrip to Skagway out of it). At the end of the third "date" we both said, "See you around," and offered only polite "hellos" when we ran into each other in the dorm hall. And finally, I had a brief affair with a guy I was very obviously pursuing as a college boyfriend, who turned me down because... well, he had a girlfriend, and she was the marrying sort. And I'm not. I didn't really angst about it too much. I sure as hell wasn't going to marry him.

See. I have this belief that women aren't stupid. Ha ha.

Cause you know, I've also been on "friendly" "dates" (or pseudo-talk lunch/dinner "dates" that I really, really, wanted to be "dates") with guys who were obviously not sexually interested in me in any way and just wanted me around as the token "smart girl friend" (read: token fat girl, token brunette, etc. Basically, not socially fem enough to show off to your friends, but great to talk to about smart person things) I know exactly who these guys are. Jockish, too-pretty, vain, usually major sports fans. I'm not the sort of woman they can introduce to their friends. I won't wear makeup or dress fem, and I'll talk about foreign policy and women's rights instead of smiling, faking interest in baseball, and looking for other SOs to talk to about dieting.

It just wouldn't go over well.

I remember going out with an old friend from gradeschool who I'd run into at the local movie theatre. I'd been hot on this guy since I was 10 years old. He was even more attractive now that we were college-age: 6'1, blond, blue-eyed, played sports, the whole jock-ish shebang, only now with more brains (yay!), as he switched majors from computer engineering to English, and when I met him, I found that he was now wearing glasses, too (oohhhh so sexy).

And you know, I'm not a stupid woman.

It was blaringly obvious that he was just catching up with an old "friend." I knew this. This didn't stop lots of daydreaming, but I curbed my urge to call him after the second lunch "date" because I knew that if he wanted to spend more time with me, he would. And I knew he didn't. I'm not delusional.

There's another guy I'm twitter-pated about who would, yes, probably date me if I was about 50lbs thinner and didn't have a graduate degree. Am I lustful? Of course. Do I really expect to ever date this guy? No. And if he really wanted to date me, would I really want to date him? No. Cause why the fuck would I want to date somebody who was nice to me for a month and then started telling me what to eat and how to dress?

I don't think women are stupid. I think you can tell if you're in a mutually-crazy relationship. I think it's usually pretty obvious; and I think it's even more obvious if you're *not* crazy-wild about somebody, or they're *not* crazy-wild about you.

So, that's one guy I wasn't really into, two mutual "gosh, we're really not into each other"s, two "I'm nuts about this guy and it's obvious he could give a crap about me"s and one "you're not the marrying type" polite turn-down. And this doesn't count all the guys I've turned down for first dates outright because I found them boring or passionless.

Hardly does this a hysterical-woman-standing-by-the-phone make.

I was in the locker room at my MA school and overheard a couple of the Amazons engaging in this conversation:

Boxing Woman: Yea, I think I'm going to be taking that job in South Carolina. It's a great opportunity, and they're paying me a shitload of money.

Jujitsu Woman: What about that guy you're dating, what's his name?

Boxing Woman: Oh, I broke up with him.

Jujitsu Woman: What? But I thought things were going OK.

Boxing Woman: He just said something really stupid, and I thought, if he's going to say something that stupid at this point in the relationship, it's just not worth it.

Jujitsu Woman: It must have been really stupid.

Boxing Woman (sounding bored): Yea. It was really stupid. And he kept calling me all weekend and leaving messages. Called at 7, called at 10, called at 2, called me again Sunday...

Jujitsu Woman: (laughter)

Have I mentioned how much I love my MA school?

Please don't feed on this bullshit. There are lots of women who don't hang around by the phone. Women get job promotions, take boxing classes, and move to South Carolina and etc. None of which involve an SO. I promise. And if you find an SO who's compatible with these things, you'll probably know it. Have some faith in yourself.

Please stop buying these books. It makes us all look frickin' hysterical.

Women & War

Thank you, Amanda, for finding this news article about the 2,000 year old skeleton of a female warrior in Iran:

DNA tests on the 2,000-year-old bones of a sword-wielding Iranian warrior have revealed the broad-framed skeleton belonged to woman, an archaeologist working in the northwestern city of Tabriz said on Saturday.

and, ha ha --

Hambastegi said other ancient tombs believed to belong to women warriors have been unearthed close to the Caspian Sea.

Yea. There has. So let's teach it in school. Let's remind men and women that everybody's capable of being what they want to be, uterus or not.

Fucktards.

I felt ripped off when I started doing my graduate work and realized that, in fact, women had always gone to war, had always participated in war, in fact, war couldn't function without women - and it pissed me off that public schools still feed us the hunter-gatherer men always go out and hunt and women stay home sitting on their asses with a couple kids at their breasts patriarchal "ideal" of the 50s. The great "but women are biologically only suited to..." but "men just can't help beating crap out of stuff because it's biologically..."

Oh, stuff it.

Don't tell me I'm weak. Don't tell me I can't, because "women have never done that," "women don't," and "women shouldn't."

Such bullshit.

Goddammit, this really pisses me off all over again. I'm going to go have a glass of wine. See you tomorrow.

Fucktards.

Hello Hello

A big welcome to all of those visitors streaming in from the LJ feminist & misc. friend forums, and a big thanks to Ann for sending them my way... My hit count tripled yesterday.

Great to have you here.

Drug `Em Up

It should surprise no one that I come from a family of tall, strong, crazy, hysterical, intelligent, passionate, big-hipped women.

Mostly, we've just been told we're crazy and hysterical. The rest, we had to figure out on our own.

I had a great-grandmother who was a smoking, drinking, philandering type who'd give money to bums who showed up on her doorstep. My other great-grandmother was Grande Dame and ruled by virtue of her mean wit and insatiable appetite. I've got a grandmother who survived occupied France during World War II and hopped over to America with a GI, expecting a Place of Plenty, and finding a heapload of disappoint that she used to channel all of her energy into raising five children on a shoe-string budget and throwing plates at her husband with things got particularly bad. I've got another grandmother who told her drinking, controlling husband to fuck off for several reasons - among them the fact that he wouldn't let her go back to school to become a teacher. She was named Woman of the Year in Vancouver a couple years ago, has swum the Columbia River, was part of a rowing team, and has worked for some ridiculous amount of non-profit agencies benefiting children. My mother's the one I heard about most of my feminist books from - even if they were only in sight while gathering dust on the bookshelf in the dining room. She got herself an MBA and a VP of HR position at a $40M company before she was 40.

There are more, many more ass-kicking women in my family. Mostly, of course, they've been told they're crazy. Mostly, unfortunately, by the men in their lives.

My dad and my sister loved to tease me in my teens, because I look so much like my mom. "Mom's crazy," they said, "you're going to be just like her."

It wasn't until I was 19 or so that I realized that, you know, really, being like my mom really wouldn't be all that bad.

But women trying to raise children and have high-powered jobs and live up to their full potential are generally just regarded as nuts. There's a reason for this, of course: as a woman, not only are you expected to raise perfect children and have a clean house and get everybody to soccer practice, but you're supposed to have a successful, money-gathering, fulfilling career, too. And if you don't find doing all of this totally fulfilling and happy all the time, there must be something wrong with you.

Better drug you up.

Women in particular have been drugged up to "cure" melancholy forever, particularly with the advent of the scientifically "diagnosed" case of hysteria.

Luckily, doctor types don't generally diagnose women with hysteria anymore. Instead, we're just really depressed.

According the latest numbers, 49% of women take at least one perscription drug. Unfortunately, there isn't a breakdown as to how many of these are anti-depressents. Since we live in a capitalist society, drugged-up men are rapidly coming up just behind women, at 39%. Again, no breakdown as to how many are anti-depressents and how many are heart medication/cholesterol medication, though I'd make a broad, educated guess that says most of the men's drugs are heart medication or viagra, and most of the women's are anti-depressents.

Cause if you ain't happy, there must be something wrong with you.

Now, I'm cool with people diagnosed with severe depression and particularly those diagnosed with being bipolar being on medication, if they so choose. Depression sucks.

But I view depression more often as a symptom, not a disease. Just like I think gastric bypass surgery is a stupid "cure" for obesity when in fact, many people put on weight for many different reasons, and gaining weight is often a symptom of something else, I think that depression should be met with alterations in your lifestyle before you drug it up.

I come from a family of crazy women, and it's crazy women like those in my family who are the first ones prescribed anti-depressents. Even my younger sister has gotten up onto this bandwagon. Cause if you're depressed, it's not your life that's screwed up, it's you.

It's the message smart women have been getting forever: there's not something wrong with the system. There's something wrong with you.

When half the female population has to be drugged up in order for the system to function, I don't call that a good system.

I've learned to deal with depression by examining what's going on in my life: what I'm eating, how much I'm exercising, first of all. Then how much I'm moving towards the goals I have: how much I'm writing, how well I'm spending my reading time, my social time. Do I feel like I'm spinning my wheels? Do I feel like I'm not living the right kind of life, that I'm not living up to my potential?

90% of the time, making alterations in one or more of those areas and taking control of my life instead of playing the victim ["Oh, I *have* to stay at this job I hate/have to stay with this person I hate/have to put up with this stuff I hate"]will get me back on track.

The other 10% of the time, I take a tylenol PM and go to bed.

Sleeping lets my brain mull over what it is I'm chewing on, and I can get up the next day and go, "OK, here's what I'm feeling, here's what I'm thinking, here's what I'd like to do."

And then you do it.

I have a deep fear that when women go to their doctors and say, "I'm depressed. I love my husband and I love my children, but I just feel really unfilled in my life," the doctors respond by writing up a perscription for a happy pill, no questions asked.

Nobody says, "What would you really like to be doing? Do you feel guilty sometimes that you'd rather be doing that than doing your husband's laundry? Can he do it himself while you take a class in International Politics at the community college? Can your kids make their own lunch in the morning so you can teach yourself Arabic before work?"

I worry that we turn to drugs too quickly. I worry that complacency is stifling our potential.

On Merit. And Sex. Of Course.

So, it bugged Amanda and Echidne, too, which I find quite funny, because when I hopped over to Kos's place and read his justification for the lack of PC diversity among his guestbloggers, something in me went, "Huh?" too. Amanda explored the issue further, I think, in this post about the democratic party's seeming reluctance to forward a progressive agenda for women.

Kos's comment actually read a lot like the backlash against affirmative action. I would love it if we lived in a world where merit alone really decided whose voices we hear, but as Amanda and Echidne pointed out, we don't live there. Bringing in a voice that comes at issues from a new and different perspective (non-white, non-male, non-Christian) is a merit in itself.

Now, I'm not going to harp on Kos, because blogs are, of neccessity, very personal endeavors, and you have a right to run them the way you want to: but if you're looking to put forward voices for progressive change and you take out women - those bold, powerful women and minorities whose campaigns for equal rights shook up this country so enourmously and so quickly in the 60s and 70s, then you're missing a whole lot of shit. You're missing the whole point. You're not looking to change the world, you're just looking to change your own place in it. And when you're on top, you'll switch sides and go conservative, because you've altered the system so that you and your white male buddies are in charge, instead of rich guys like Bush and his buddies.

Shuffling around old white men within the same power heirarchy isn't getting any of us anywhere. It's got the dollar dropping, healthcare sucking wind, social security going out the window, and a backlash against women's rights that's been steadily getting worse (in some circles) since the 80s.

Because what are we really talking about, when we talk about these "huge issues" "dividing" the country? Sure, the war in Iraq is huge. The war on terrorism is huge. But creating Big Bad Enemies is supposed to unite a country, not divide it.

The issues that were put up front to handwave people away from the war are the two big issues that people in the US are now most passionate about, and clawing at each other about: abortion/reproductive rights and homosexuality.

Let's get that straight (ha), once and for all. The attacks on freedoms have to do with women. Yes, yes, terrorism is a big issue, and racism, and I don't want to forget those - but reproductive rights and attacking homosexuality and preaching Back to Bible Basics is about controlling women.

Gay men are scary because the conception of "gay men" in red-staters heads likely brings to mind anal sex (whether or not said men engage in anal sex), and the gender binary says that means one of them's gotta be passive, one of them's gotta be the woman. Which means any man can be passive. Any man can be the woman. And in a society whose fear and disgust for women is shared by many women who spent their childhoods believing they could grow up to be "real" people, this is a terrible revelation.

And there's nothing scarier to people who love to argue biological and/or Bible determinism than two women who not only can support themselves, raise children together, and provide one another emotional support, but don't need men around for sex either, cause they're quite fulfilled all on their own.

That's some scary shit.

And, scarier than that: women who can decide to have children or not. Women who decide, therefore, whether or not a man has children.

That's why people are angry about abortion. That's why the father's rights freak-outs are freaking out.

Women control fertility. Children don't come out of thin air. They're created OF a woman's body: her blood, the food she eats, the air she breathes. That's what makes a baby. A woman. Men submit a string of DNA, which triggers a chemical reaction inside of the egg, and the egg begins to divide itself. An egg is cells. Dividing cells attach to the wall of the uterus. Attaches back to the woman. And it's women's bodies that take over from there. Life depends on women. Life is women.

Get over it.

This pisses people off. It's always pissed people off.

If the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world, then the people who control women control the world.

That's why controlling women is a major part of pretty much all major religions. That's why women should be quiet in church, and obey their husbands, and not fall in love with women.

And yea, this world doesn't benefit all men. There are lots of geeky guys who don't want to be violent, and hurt people, and be mean to women, and play sports, and rule the world. There are a lot of guys who really do want to just have friends, and love people. In fact, I think most people are like that, male or female. If we let sex be more social and less romantic-kill-me-I'm-dying-you-must-marry-me-cause-I'm-lonely/pregnant/can't do my own laundry, then I think we'd be getting back to what the hell sex is really about in the first place. There's a reason women's clitorises are outside of the vagina, and a reason 70-80% of women don't have orgasims with penetrative sex alone.

Sex isn't all about procreation.

::gasp::

The biological "facts" about men and women like to ignore the clitoris, and the fact that men can get off just fine without a vagina.

Sex is about keeping people together, forming social connections, it's about showing affection. And when women are allowed to control their sexuality, when they decide that no, maybe, they'll live in a house of women and raise children, or a house with some guy friends and some girlfriends, or a house by themselves, they have the power to cut men out of the affection loop, and eventually, the children loop, if they so choose.

This is real power. And women are raised to believe their bodies are wacky, abberant, dirty, disgusting, bloody, awful, fat things.

The bodies that could rule the world.

We're told we don't have merit. We don't have voices, because if we were really all that good, obviously, someone would have noticed us. If we were quieter, prettier, if we preached violent foreign policy, men would like us, and if we parrotted their own views back at them, we'd be allowed to talk.

We would talk about what they wanted to talk about: We'd stop talking so much about those silly bloody uteruses that are so obviously so bloody fucking unimportant that the women carrying said uteruses have been the targets of rage, hatred, and Biblical control for most of recorded history.

In fact, women's issues are so completely frivolous that men don't even talk about them, except to harp about how women being able to take care of themselves and kiss each other is biologically abberant because it leaves men out, and how women should be forced to carry around a man's strand of DNA until her body creates a child with it because "killing" a man's DNA is so much more awful than forcing women into slavery for said DNA.

Yes, we've been over this before. Women bloggers aren't read because in addition to screaming at the world and talking about healthcare and politics, they talk about their uteruses, and talking about uteruses doesn't interest men.

In fact, it doesn't interest anyone at all.

That's why entire religions, social mores, and scientific theories have been built up to control them.

Women have no merit at all.

I don't know why I didn't see it sooner: being a woman, and all.

Good Morning, Chiklits

"I get incredibly close to my characters. When I'm in full-on writing mode it's the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before falling asleep at night. Sometimes when I wake up in the night I wish someone at Microsoft would invent something that allows you to write on the dark."

- David Mitchell

And... Catherynne Justifies Herself

An interview with Catherynne M. Valente, author of The Labyrinth.

Why should readers pick up your book as opposed to, say, just about anybody else's book?

Because my book is so much cheaper than LSD, and nearly twice as legal. You are required to brave up to 60% fewer dark alleys and abandoned factories to obtain my book, and the seediness of the pushers involved in your transaction has been reduced by 67%. The FDA has recently determined that Product #423789A, “my book,” causes 1/3 less side-effects than LSD, and actually has nutritional value as a fiber-rich foodstuff. No other book on the market provides such an attractive alternative to spinal-fluid altering drugs as my book.


Assume your book has been filed under "Ages 8 to 12" in the children's section, perhaps by mistake, perhaps not. How horrified do you imagine a child would be after reading your book, and why? How many years of therapy would the child take to recover from the experience?

The lovable scamp in question would very likely immediately begin spurting blood from her adorable little eyeballs, and become suddenly incapable of communicating except in Silver-Age Latin. Electro-shock therapy would only succeed in advancing her as far as Carolingian Latin, at which point the lisping cherub would be beyond hope. Only repeated doses of high-proof alcohol will return her to a normal state. Sadly, this therapy must be continued throughout the Dickensian rascal’s lifetime.

Also, it will turn her gay.

I love writers.

Questions for Straight White People

The Guardian has some questions up that are often posed to non-white, non-Christian and/or non-straight interviewees: now it's time to turn the tables -

Do you think of yourself as white or American or both?

Ummm...

Does it worry you that you got your job just because of your race?

Yes.

Where are you from?

The west coast.

No, but really?

Cow country.

Since this is where you live, don't you think you should try and integrate with other races more?

Yes.

Is your first loyalty to your God, or to your country?

Do I only get two choices?

Is it true what they say about white guys?

I don't know: I'm often the one saying it.

Given the genocide, slavery and colonialism unleashed in the name of Christianity over the last two centuries, do you feel your religion is compatible with democracy?

No.

I don't mind white people, but if they want to live here then why shouldn't they have to fit in with our traditions?

You mean non-white people have traditions?

Shouldn't the police be doing more to tackle white-on-white crime?

I'm stealing Nick's answer: The police is white-on-white crime! Also white-on-black crime.

Given the objectification of women in your culture and the rise in teenage pregnancies, don't you think it's time to ban young girls wearing make up?

No, but I think it's high time we got rid of abstinence-only education.

What do you make of the tribal conflict in Ukraine?

Yay!

Don't you feel that this politically correct belief that we have to respect white people's feelings has stifled honest discussion and debate?

Yes.

Isn't it a shame that white people cannot pick more responsible leaders?

Oh, hell yes.

Don't you ever worry about being pigeonholed as a white person?

Oh, sure.

Why aren't you doing more to check the rise in Christian fundamentalism?

That's a really, really good question.

Who are your community leaders?

There's a community?

Why should we balance our belief in human rights with our tolerance for Christians?

Christians are people too.

What do white people think about Jews?

Non-white Jews?

How would you define "white" style?

Boring?

Why do you write about white people all the time?

Ha. Gotcha. 2/3rds of all the people I write about are non-white. Ha.

Don't you find that limiting?

No.

What are you doing for your people?

I have people? Like an army, or something?

Have you seen what the Bible says about women?

Yes. Have you noticed I'm not religious?

Don't take this personally, but why are white men so aggressive?

It's a penis thing.

Now the Olympics are over, can we finally admit that white people are genetically equipped to excel in archery and rowing?

ARRRRRGGHHHGHGGHGGGgggg

What is it with white people and homophobia?

You tell me.

You know what white women are like, don't you?

Gosh, I hope so. They're kinda like people, I think. With blood and guts and everything.

I understand that as a white person you come at this from a particular place, but can't you try to look at it objectively for a moment?

Is this code for "you should read the Bible more"?

When did you first realize you were straight?

??????

Why do you people have such a chip on your shoulder?

Feminists, or white people? The first because we're pissed off, the second because nobody ever tries to make us think we don't rule the world, and they don't ask us questions like this.

Don't get offended, I was only asking.

Watch Your Books.

"Where one begins by burning books
One will end up burning people."

-Heinrich Heine

Thoughts on Beauty

Something to think about -

A cool excerpt from the prize winning book Mutants: On Genetic Variety and the Human Body. I'm definately picking this one up:

"... Each image of a beautiful face or perfectly turned limb is not really about the subject that it appears to be, but rather what it is not.

"It is about the imperfections that are absent: the machine errors that arise from the vicissitudes of the womb, childhood, maturity and old age ...

"When we see someone who appears to have avoided them, however fleetingly, we pause to look with amazed delight. Beauty, Stendhal says, is only the promise of happiness. Perhaps. But it is equally the recollection of sorrow".

via Moorish Girl

China, China, China

In the movie Master and Commander, one of the boys working on becoming an officer is told by Paul Bettany, ship's doctor and amateur naturalist, that he has a knack for naturalism.

And the kid says: "You don't suppose I could be a sort of Fighting Naturalist, do you?"

China Mieville is a sort of Fighting SF Author.

"I always had a paranoia about someone pulling my earrings out and tearing my ears, so I always wore them with clasps that undo when pulled. Then about three years ago, this man ripped my earrings out during a political argument. Half of me was thinking, 'What the hell are you doing?', the other half, 'Result!'"

I mean, aside from the fiction, which is wholly weird and a fun romp, you've got an author personae like this:

"My first big crush was Purity Brown, the very cool human sidekick to Nemesis the Warlock in 2000 AD comics. She was a feisty kickass heroine dressed in apocalypse chic, leather, straps and guns."

and this:

"Being called 'the sexiest man in politics' when I ran for parliament for the Socialist Alliance was a pretty lovely cross to bear. But who's the big competition? Paddy Ashdown?"

Just read the whole column. It's great.

Did I mention that the fiction's not bad, either?

Some Thoughts on Fake Feminism

So, I sat down and watched the summer special-effects movie, The Day After Tomorrow. What can I say, I have a thing for Jake Gyllenhaal of Donnie Darko fame.

Being me, there's a little part of my brain attuned to the gender dynamics of the movies I'm watching. I watch them for their own sake, sure, and if they're popcorn thrillers, I let a lot slide, but I tuck the information away for later speculation.

In the case of tDAT, you've got a Scifi channel Battlestar Gallactica attempt at feminism, which is basically this: We've Got Female Characters in This Movie! One of them's a doctor! One's a Smart Asian who Works for NASA! And There's a Smart Girl member of the decathalon team! See how great and hardworking we are, how much we've done toward including women in our show? See! See!

And on the surface you go, oh, look, female characters.

Then you're reminded of why the female characters are there.

The female doctor stays behind to comfort a dying child. She's later "rescued" by helpful men in snow plows, showing that if you just keep up your faith in men and do your duty protecting a dying child, you, too, will be rescued by men.

The Smart Asian woman is almost a gender-neutral role, except that one of the science team members makes eyes at her, so we know that he's got "something to fight for." She has about three lines, and when The Boys go out to save some kids stranded in NY, she, of course, stays behind.

And the decathalon girl... dear god in heaven. She's a sweetheart actress and all, but she has about eight lines, and very little personality. She seems to exist merely for plot reasons: so that Jake Gyllenhaal will join the decathalon team in order to get close to her, and then brave an ice storm and some totally unneccessary and really silly looking computer generated wolves in order to get some antibiotics for her to "save" her from septic shock. Which, of course, he does (to be fair, she does get kudos for being able to speak French, and staying behind to help... um, a woman and some children from drowning in a car).

Here's what I want:

The female doctor stays behind to help a hot 30-year-old-guy dying from cancer, not a kid, and when told an ambulance isn't coming, she bundles up and goes out into the cold, finds an ambulance, hotwires it, expertly drives it around snowy obstacles, loads the guy in the back, and drives to safety. She is welcomed as a hero at the base camp, and quickly takes over the medical ward from an incompetent male doctor.

The Smart Asian actually has a personality. And instead of making eyes back at the scientist guy, she turns out to have just lost her female lover in the storm in New York, she, too, has Something To Fight For. When the guys try and leave without her, she says, "No, my lover would have wanted me to go. Besides, I've got better endurance than the rest of you, and I biked around New York for six years. I know the place better than any of you." She'll then go, and instead of one of the guys dying, she'll figure out a Smart Asian way of saving him. Also, her lover will end up being alive, and they'll have a really emotional reunion.

And Miss Female Decathalon with also actually have a personality that exists outside of Jake's conception of who he wants her to be. She'll tell Jake he's damn hot, and there won't be any of this back-and-forth with the dumb-ass loser rich kid, cause she's smart and sexy and knows what she wants, and she wants Jake. She'll save him from a bus accident or something, to prove it. Upon saving the French-speaking woman, she'll take charge of her own health, and point out her wound to everyone so they'll know right away that she's in bad shape. She'll be the one to come up with the idea that there's medicine on the ship, which she and Jake will then go and get. There can be some steamy sex action after she's been treated for septic shock. Or whatever. Then, when he's attacked by wolves for trying to save her from them, she can toss him over her shoulders and haul him back into the library.

That would a sweet-ass movie.

The Big Gay Media

I jumped over to Atrios' place and was troubled by this little post about Anderson Cooper and CNN's apparent reluctance to air the matter of his sexuality on prime-time news.

Whoa, buddy, hold on:

His sexuality is nobody's damn business.

Who I take to bed is nobody's damn business.

The forced "outing" of celebrities and media people really bugs me.

Now, I do take exception to this. People who go and vote on laws that deny me or my friends rights because of who we want to take to bed, or start to encroach on what I'm "allowed" to do in bed had better be the sorts of people who do nothing but hetero missionary style sex after dark - and don't cry every morning because they feel like there's something missing from their lives.

If they're not happy heteros, I wanna know why the fuck they're trying to force their happy hetero missionary married sex on me. If it doesn't work for them, why the fuck are they pushing it? Cause God said so? God also said slavery and incest are OK. Don't go throwing your book at me and burning everything by Michael Cunningham. Illusions of compulsorary hetero-ness need to be smashed out. If the guys who make the laws aren't even 100% grade A straight, (whatever the hell that is) they better not be making laws on who me and my buddies are allowed to be attracted to.

But here's my deal: who I'm fucking or not fucking ain't nobody's business if I'm not making laws about it.

Shows like Queer Eye are cool because they show "real" gay guys on TV who aren't dying of AIDS. Women like Ellen Degeneres are great because they're like, "Yea, I'm gay, and I do all this other stuff too. Get over it." But you know what, if Jodie Foster wants to be like, "She's my friend, fuck off, it's not your business," and Kevin Spacey is like, "I'm a reclusive bachelor, fuck off," then it's really not my business anymore than it's my business whether or not George Clooney hires high-class hookers.

Who Anderson Cooper takes to bed isn't my business. Sure, it would be great for more people to go, "Ha, yea, I'm not totally straight either. Not many people are 100% grade A straight. Get over it." because it would tear down some of the heteo-insanity myth, but at the end of the day, I can't demand that everybody talk about their fucking sexuality all the time. If you don't think that effects you, think again: cause that'll lead right on to interrogating men and women who aren't attracted to the "right" kinds of men and women, and women like me who also like little geeky guys are going to be required to talk about it all the time and justify it (as if I don't feel enough pressure to do that already).

Do we need more "public" figures to "out" themselves to help bust down the hetero myth? Oh, sure, it'd be great. But you can't force it. You can't require it. You can't ask people about it all the time. One of the reasons I mentioned my occasional attraction to women was to help bust down this myth, as it occurs to me a lot that I spend a great deal of time here talking about hot guys, and spreading my own version of the hetero myth - and I've chosen to share because this is a public space. But I can't be *required* to do that. If, like Ellen, somebody is brave enough to go ahead and share their private life in the public eye in order to help break down the absolute hetero myth, good for them.

But Anderson Cooper's a news guy. He does news. What, exactly, does his sexuality have to do with his chosen profession?

I suppose that as questions of sexuality become even more visible and more political, this is going to be an even bigger deal: who's got a same-sex partner, who's had a same-sex love affair. You can't just do a 50's "knowing wink" anymore (of course, the reason you could only do a "knowing wink" then is cause you'd get yourself thrown in jail as a communist). For some reason, if you're in a same-sex relationship, it's like you're required to scream it from the rooftops.

In a society where Britney Spears is dry-humping anything that moves and male singers display women in their music videos in the same way they display cars, we've really gotta have a dialogue about sex.

But you can't force it. And you especially can't force it on somebody just cause they're gay. Screaming heteros aren't forced to explain and justify their sexuality and how it affects their ability to be news anchors.

Nobody else should be forced to either.

Sex is personal. And sexuality is wide and varied and fun.

I don't think a news guy's sexuality is anybody's business: CNN's or mine.

And... We're Out

Writing today. I'm sure I'll find something hysterical to rant about tomorrow. Like this.

See you then.

In the mean time, here's some calming breathing space:

Just Take Away Everything That Doesn't Look Like A Statue

That's the joke, right? How to be a sculptor? Take a slab of marble and cut away everything that doesn't look like David...

When I open up a book or story project after a pause of more than a couple hours, I usually reread what I did before, which means I rewrite as I go, which means that chapter one of any book I work on is the most heavily rewritten of any part of the book, ever. Even when I trash 500 pages and start over. And it's the same kind of process: I'm cutting away and rearranging things that don't give me the story and mood I've got in my head - if you're really lucky, you might get 80% of what you were looking for when you started. That happened for me, once.

The rest of the time, I'm lucky if all the characters in the story end up with the same names they had in my original vision.

Cut it all out, tear it all down, build it up again, clearing up the image in your head as you go.

"It's not that."

"Definately not that."

"Oh, that's just shit."

And you start over again.

I love what I do.

P.S. It's so sweet being back from the break and hefting around my 30lb free weights again - my arms are once again looking Mighty... Oh, and I finished another Amber book. Almost done with The Origins of War. I'm way behind on my nonfiction (though I did recently finish, and recommend, War Is A Force That Gives Us Meaning, which I'll discuss later).

A Woman A Day...

I love this crap:

"He defied the 25th century with a woman who was NOT HIS WIFE—and a WIFE who was NOT A WOMAN."

It's probably why I write what I do...It's like a screaming, pissed-off sort of response. With better fight scenes.

And, in response to my Hysterical Holiday Breakdown Rant, Jenn sent me this. For, you know, perspective.

Over the River and Through the... Whatever

Will be sporadic today, as my boss dumped a big pile of crap on my desk yesterday afternoon and told me to turn it into something that makes sense (during the busy days, I sometimes suspect that this is really what my job title should say: Bringer of Coherence to Crap). We're gonna get slammed soon. It ain't gonna be pretty.

Had a good MA class last night, a nice ride home, some reading in bed, & etc. Working on finishing up some war books that I need to return and/or renew this weekend. Will be churning through some line edits tonight and finishing a pesky chapter of Jihad (I really need to change that title), all willing.

But, for now: work. Ha.

Fun For Your Sidebar

Our Nuclear Neighbors

Some cocktail party tidbits stolen from The Cat's Blog

COUNTRIES WITH NUCLEAR WEAPONS:

USA, RUSSIA, CHINA, FRANCE, and UK
The same countries with VETO POWER at the U.N. Security Council

ISRAEL, INDIA, and PAKISTAN have NUCLEAR WEAPONS too. But "we are not supposed to know."

Israel is considered an undeclared nuclear weapon state, and is believed to have 100-200 nuclear weapons. It could deploy these weapons on 255 aircraft (50 F-4E and 205 F-16), 100 missiles and three submarines.

For more, go here.

I find this fascinating. When will Israel, India, and Pakistan get seats on the UN Security Council?

Hahahaa

Yea. That was supposed to be a rhetorical question.

Tidbit

"A free society is one where it is safe to be unpopular."
-- Adlai Stevenson

via Soapbox Blog

Live Your Life Anyway

Fascinating peice comparing the behavior of abusers in domestic relationships and the actions of the Bush administration toward most Americans:

Any battered woman in America, any oppressed person around the globe who has defied her oppressor will tell you this: There is nothing wrong with you. You are in good company. You are safe. You are not alone. You are strong. You must change only one thing: stop responding to the abuser. Don’t let him dictate the terms or frame the debate (he’ll win, not because he’s right, but because force works). Sure, we can build a better grassroots campaign, cultivate and raise up better leaders, reform the election system to make it failproof, stick to our message, learn from the strategy of the other side. But we absolutely must dispense with the notion that we are weak, godless, cowardly, disorganized, crazy, too liberal, naive, amoral, “loose”, irrelevant, outmoded, stupid and soon to be extinct. We have the mandate of the world to back us, and the legacy of oppressed people throughout history.

Even if you do everything right, they’ll hit you anyway. Look at the poor souls who voted for this nonsense. They are working for six dollars an hour if they are working at all, their children are dying overseas and suffering from lack of health care and a depleted environment and a shoddy education. And they don’t even know they are being hit.

I think he goes a little heavy-handed here, but it's something to think about - particularly the part about not making concessions: about living your life anyway, even if you're getting beaten over the head for it. That's what strength and bravery is all about.

Some people call that arrogance and stupidity: until 56 million other people get up and stand next to you.

I am a good woman until somebody tries to lay a hand on me, until someone tries to push me away from the life I want to live so that I fit better into their conception of the way "things are supposed to be." That's when the gloves need to come off.

I'm not letting myself get pushed into the "way you're supposed to be" box ever again. That's the stuff miserable lives are made of.

Some Happy Thoughts

Here are some textbooks disclaimers for evolutionists and other miscreants (via Jed)

And all I have to say about the latest National Organization of Witches stir is: Buy yourself a T-shirt.

Also, there's a very funny and terribly touching "How the Grinch Stole Marriage" ditty up over at Ex-gay watch, just in time for the holidays. Please read it.

More later.

I'm Back. Now, With Better Music

My favorite line from Thanksgiving:

"Careful what you say to her. She'll be blogging about it on Sunday."

My best response to the yearly "are you dating anyone?" question:

"No, I really like my life. I don't want to bring in anyone else who'll ruin it." (this statement illicited much laughter from the widowed and divorced)

Favorite ironic moment:

Talking about my aunt's gastic bypass surgery, my dad's interest in getting gastric bypass surgery, and how much it sucks to be fat while surrounded by three tables worth of food for 20 people.

We could have fed a small village in Peru.

My favorite response to said moaning about weight:

"We're the women built for populating the West."

I also packed up a bunch of CDs and story materials that'd been lodging at my parents' place for the last six years. So now I've got better music at work and more work to work on.

Here we go again.

Headin' Down the Highway...

A jet plane, actually...

I'm outta here at noon today, heading out to the West Coast for holiday debauchery (I wish). Currently listening to Snow Patrol's "Run" on repeat.

Packed up my plane books: The Origins of War, Zelazny's The Hand of Oberon, Chris Hedges's War is a Force that Gives Us Meaning, and Mary Renault's The Persian Boy, which I've been savoring slowly, over many months, like a fine wine.

Ready to fly. I'm a nomad by nature, and I've gotten ancy this year - money troubles have prevented me from doing much traveling. I think it'll be a good break before all hell breaks loose. I've got a shitstorm of stuff to take on once I get back.

Will be working on Jihad and Over Burning Cities on the plane. I'm like 80 pages short of where I should be - when having trouble, revert to old-fashioned yellow notepads. They can work wonders.

Will be blogging and checking e-mail sporadically - apparently, my parents' computer crashed, so I'll be trying to wrest e-mail privileges from my gamer-brother and his hip customized machine. If you've ever tried to part a gamer boy from his machine... yea, definately sporadic access.

Fuck Unity

Why didn't we protest like this?

Oh. Yea. Cause we're united.

Also, there's a movie coming out that addresses the genocide in Rwanda in `94 - and the movie doesn't look half bad. Check out the trailer. There's a great book about the genocide here.

And, from the director of Hero, and starring Ziyi Zhang (who is just so incredibly cool) comes - "A feast of blood, passion, and silk brocade," called House of Flying Daggers. You better bet I'll be in line for this one.

Oh, the Humanity

It's writers like these who make the rest of us look bad.

You know what the best part about being a bleeding-heart liberal is? As long as these nutty people don't hurt anybody or try and pass legislation on my bedroom activities, I really don't mind sharing the world with them. They're wacky and insane, sure, but I don't feel that they'll physically harm me. If nothing else, I find them wildly entertaining.

The problem, I think, comes when they don't believe in sharing the world with the likes of hippies like me. That's when the shit starts to fly, and you get dems in black hoodies slashing people's tires...

Try and put your hand on me, and I'll lay you out. That's the line.

A History of Sports Brawls

I'm not sure what came over me, perhaps it's living in Chicago, and knowing how insane sports fans are here, or perhaps it's my interest in the history of organized forms of violence, but I went ahead and checked out the video of the basketball brawl down in Indy.

The Evil Kameron part of me was like: "Dude, that's so cool."

I pulled my liberal self together and banished the thought. Check out this history of US sports brawls at SI.

As somebody with a background in the history of warfare, I'm fascinated by violence in sports when instigated by what are "supposed" to be "passive participants" (though every sports geek will tell you otherwise). I'm wondering, with the red/blue divide in the country reaching an all-time freak-out level, will we see more fan brawls at sports outings and more sportsmen blowing each other away?

I mean, afterall, we're all just taking a cue from Our Fearless Leader.

I want data.

The Obligatory Hysterical Holiday Breakdown Rant

"What a wonderful life I've had! I only wish I'd realized it sooner." - Colette

Because I'm not superwoman.

Skipped kickboxing last night.

Bad sign.

Wandered aimlessly downtown, renewed my worry and angst about being too big, about not losing enough weight, about not being smaller. Felt like I was spiraling into some sort of...

Oh, yes: holiday depression.

I don't often give thanks during the holidays: the holidays are my time to reflect on all of the things that I'm doing wrong, and all of the ways that I could be a better person.

And I felt completely aimless. What the fuck am I doing with my life? I should go back and get a Ph.D. I'm wasting all this brain power at a mediocre job that pays me well to use my MA skills to print shit out for my boss all day, to copy and collate and call contractors. I need to apply for another job. I need to write more shorts. I need to write better books. These fucking books aren't going to pay off for ten years. Why am I still doing this? Why is it my primary work, my primary project, when I won't see returns for a decade? And what about the boxing? Am I going to take this shit seriously, or not? What the hell am I doing, skipping a whole week of classes? Why don't I have any friends here? What the hell am I hiding from? Am I some kind of freak? Am I broken?

I fly home for the holidays on Wednesday, so Monday was really my only chance for a class this week, and I lost myself to apathy and stirred around downtown guiltily with $29 in my account and an Old Navy Card. And there's that, too: I'm going home for the holidays, which is always stressful as hell, because the whole time, we go out to eat and complain about how fat we are. That's just the family dialogue. That's just what it's always been. I've got an aunt who just had gastric bypass surgery. I've got a cousin who's up for trial for committing a felony. I've got a sister whose life is full-up with a child and a restraining order. I've got a bevy of relatives who measure my worth by the width of my ass. I'll never be thin enough, I'm not using my smarts enough, the writing is nothing so much as perverse masochistic scribbling of doom, and old friends back home who expressed interest in seeing me over the holiday have gone totally silent (how many have leapt over to this blog, I wonder?). I need a Ph.D. I need to be in better shape. I need to make better use of my time. I need to live up to my potential. I need a holiday.

And in the midst of my anger, my self-loathing, my freak-out about wasting my precious time, my youth, steaming toward 25 without seeing any kind of investment panning out in the near future - I realized that I could just stop.

That is, I could stop trying to be better.

It was really an option. To just stop. To go home and have a food binge, stop going to martial arts classes, stop trying to sell stories, stop looking at volunteer opportunities and French classes and angsting about not doing enough and just... stop.

And it was that realization that shook me, because it's just that attitude that I've been violently rebelling against since highschool. It was why I jumped off the bridge at Molton Falls. It was why I moved to Alaska. Why I moved to South Africa. It's why I'm here, carving out a life on my own terms.

Yes, I could stop. And I know exactly who I would be if I stopped. I'd churn back into the binge-eating, drinking too much, smoking too much, and attach myself to some abusive loser who could confirm all of my worst fears about myself. I could go back to living in a shitty apartment in the ass-end of nowhere, and get my phone cut off, my electricity cut off, get evicted and crapped on and start thinking up really great ways to *really* make everything stop.

But, see, I've been there. Done that. I'm very lucky in that I hit what I saw as rock-bottom at 18, six months after abandoning high school and running the hell out of my house. I was eager for life to start - and I made the big mistake of relying on somebody else to help me get it started. The lucky thing about hitting bottom so young is that you really have nowhere to go but up. And you've got a really great shitstorm to compare everything else in your life to.

"Am I doing better than I was then? Yea? Great. I'm on the right track."

But every morning I get up, I could choose to stop. And I know that person, and I don't want to be her. I know exactly where I'll be.

Maybe that's what's really hitting me full-on right now. There's this person I always wanted to be, this image of myself I had in my head. I wanted to be a writer, to travel, to have degrees, to know things, to meet people, to have friends in all sorts of odd places. I wanted to have stories, I wanted to speak in a loud voice. I wanted to be strong. Independent. Smart.

And I'm looking out now at what I've done, what I have, where I live, what I think... and I'm seeing in my life the sort of person I want to be. I'm seeing that and still living in mortal fear of the person who's still at the core of me, the one who allowed herself to stay in a shitty relationship, the one who used weight to punish herself, the one who didn't believe she was a real person because it didn't seem that anyone ever saw her.

I chugged home on the train and came home to find another reject from Sci Fiction. As per the usual, it's the rejections that tend to finally release the day's pent-up shit (likely because I only retrieve them at the end of the day). I sank to the floor in my hallway and burst into tears. Not just those slow leaking tears, but those full-body, Greek mourning wailing sobs that echo through the whole house. It's like taking all of this pain you've been holding inside of yourself and giving it a voice, making it tangible and real. I sobbed and sobbed, clutching the rejection letter, half disrobed of my work clothes, and let myself be sad.

It's a funny thing, with this sort of pent-up pain. If you give it voice, if you surrender to it, it sometimes eases up. It bleeds out of you.

I retreated to bed, cried some more, skipped dinner, took a couple Tylenol PM, and surrendered to darkness.

And this morning, I woke up.

And I started again. Because I start again every damn morning.

What's the difference, I always wonder, between the person I was and the person I want to be, the adult scribbling pages and typing up tidbits on blogs and backpacking around Europe?

There's only this difference, every morning: you get up and you start over. You let yourself have a hysterical little freak-out, and then it's over. You don't feel bad about it. You don't carry it around with you. You don't let it make you feel weak or crazy.

You just let everything bleed out of you - all that hate and anger and fear - and you start over. And the next time it builds up, you find another way to channel it.

Go to law school. Move to Tuscany. Spend six months living in some backwater in New Zealand. Go help AIDS orphans in Africa. Volunteer your time at a homeless shelter.

Only remember that you'll be the same person in all of those places, doing all of those things, and that's OK, cause now you'll also be the sort of person who does those things.

The fear and despair never really go away. Sometimes I think I'm the most cowardly person I know.

But living it up is about being afraid and holding the course anyway.

Every damn day.

...with a day off now and again for holiday hysterics.

Old and New Beauties

My buddy Greg Beatty has a poem up at Strange Horizons about sleeping beauties - check it out.

Gamer Girls

Cory Doctorow's got a new short up at Salon.com - about gamer girls and kicking ass. Highly recommended read:

Anda didn't really start to play the game until she got herself a girl-shaped avatar. She was 12, and up until then, she'd played a boy-elf, because her parents had sternly warned her that if you played a girl you were an instant perv-magnet. None of the girls at Ada Lovelace Comprehensive would have been caught dead playing a girl character. In fact, the only girls she'd ever seen in-game were being played by boys. You could tell, cos they were shaped like a boy's idea of what a girl looked like: hooge buzwabs and long legs all barely contained in tiny, pointless leather bikini-armour. Bintware, she called it.

But when Anda was 12, she met Liza the Organiza, whose avatar was female, but had sensible tits and sensible armour and a bloody great sword that she was clearly very good with.

Watch him go with this one - sugarfree zones around the schools, book and meal tokens, school weigh-ins, unionizing gamers... I love this guy.

Not Pissed Off Enough to Rant, Today

So, I'm not pissed off enough to rant today.

Saw a mediocre production of Equus last night (It's such a great script that it's difficult to imagine a truly *bad* production of this show) that didn't really piss me off. Got a bunch of crap on book one finished, and today I've just got one last Roh chapter to lengthen, and then I'll have fit in all the new plot elements I wanted to add to clean up the pacing. Today I'll be working on Jihad, which is so behind it's not even amusing. I really want to have another finished book in hand next year that I can start peddling. I need to pick up the pace.

Expressed interest in some volunteer positions at Planned Parenthood yesterday, and also applied to the local city college (automatic admission) where I'll signing up for a French class on Tues/Thurs, all willing. Gotta keep busy...

So - unless I find something amusing to share, I'll see you all tomorrow.

Snapshots From my Worklife, 5

Got an e-mail circular from the lead A/E guy here at the Workplace of Silliness - looks like we're going to get 2 proposals we've currently got out that are closing up right now. One of our clients also just gave a glowing review of our A/E guy working in Iraq, so we've got kudos with them.

More document formatting, less writing for me. Ha.

Along with said e-mail, we were forwarded a snipped and scanned PDF of this lovely trite piece of crap about how evil it is to "foster a negative attitude."

Us? Negative? Hell, I'm the least cynical person here... Like all Americans, we deal really well with conflict resolution.