Lips, Unzipped is a space for self-expression and open dialogue. It is a space where one can unlock inner thoughts and ideas and delve into the deeper world of conversation and innovation. Unzip your lips and hear the magic revealed through the art of communication.
There seems to be a major split amongst people when it comes to candy corn. Perhaps it’s a simple binary of love or hate. But honestly, I don’t think anyone would really even contemplate it if it weren’t for that comedian a few years ago who possessed a boiling hatred for the colorful vegetable-shaped sugar pieces. I can understand his point of view, in fact sometimes I don’t really like candy corn. But, I cannot begin to deny my love for the candy pumpkin.
WTF. You think. How could you not really like candy corn but have a deep lusting desire for candy pumpkins? And I tell you, it’s all about size.
Candy corns are tiny and sometimes a little too hard. But those orange detailed pumpkins with the little green stems have an extra girth to them that give them a softness and melt-in-your mouth flavor that those little corns can’t offer. They honestly do not taste the same. The texture and the flavor differ just enough to make a major difference. Would I not drunkly eat candy corn at a party? I’m not saying that. But I wouldn’t purposely buy them like I would a whole bag of pumpkins like I did earlier today, only later to be made fun of by my partner. But I didn’t care, I got those delectable goodies all to myself.
Other great Fall Treats:
Carmel Corn
Carmel Apples
Anything with Carmel
Apple Strudel
Apple Cider
Are holidays just excuses? Christmas an excuse for capitalist consumption, thanksgiving an excuse for over-stuffed consumption, Halloween an excuse for sluty costume consumption. And, of course, all major and minor holidays, an excuse for alcohol consumption? It’s not hard to understand the societal meanings behind these united-statesized holiday celebrations. Or even argue about the slutaculiar outfits available for women’s purchase, but more over, the question I ponder is how to change it? I believe holidays are important—and not because it gives me a reason to get drunk—I can get drunk for any reason—but because holidays gives a sense of unity, togetherness, community. Why give up on Halloween? Why not have fun with it and dress up as someone that’s helped alter our planet for the better? Below are some suggestions for feminist-inspired Halloween costumes.
Frida Kahlo
What you need:
Unibrow, giant flowers in long black hair, long colorful dress or skirt with flowing blouse, shawl, paint brush.
Hilary Clinton
What you need:
suit jacket with skirt, headband with blonde shoulder-length hair, pearls, flag pin.
Rosie the Riveter
What you need:
Head scarf: red with white polka dots, blue jumpsuit or jean overalls with blue button up shirt—short or long will work, boots.
Salt N Pepa
What you need (3 person costume):
Really tight pants or leggings, boots or platforms, really short shirts with really big over-shirt or over-sized jacket, and hat. All three outfits need to be in contrasting complimentary colors, so if you’re salt—you wear red tights with black shirt, if you’re Pepa, you should be in black tights with red shirt etc.
Mother Theresa
What you need:
White robe with white habit with blue trimming. Could easily make out of a sheet by adding the blue trim (or even marker/paint) to the habit.
Jane Fonda
What you need:
Shiny leotard, thick hose with leg warmers, white tennis shoes, curly big brownish/blonde hair about shoulder-length.
Yoko Ono
What you need:
Big round glasses, long black straight hair, big white hat, white flowy dress or white mini dress depending on your weather/style/opinion.
Cyborg Feminist
What you need:
Dress up like a half woman, half robot—silver shiny clothes and makeup.
Many of the buildings around Chicago are multi-layered with vulvas--this one reveals womanly protection with vulvas guarding the windows, though there are other vuvla-like images ( ex. uteruses) engraved elsewhere in the stones.
This is a bank on Broadway street, close to Thorndale.
Not World Wrestling Entertainment, Not American Wrestling Federation, Not Windy City Wrestling, but, simply, THE WRESTLING. Focused entirely on Good Versus Evil; The Wrestling metaphorically represents United States strength—it’s star--a muscularly-defined charismatic black man known as Chad Deity (Kamal Angelo Bolden). A man who has everything The Wrestling needs except actual wrestling skills. But that doesn’t matter, because scrawny talkative Puerto Rican Macedonia Guerra aka The Mace (Desmin Borges) exists within the ring to do all the heavy lifting. According to playwright Kristoffer Diaz, in wrestling “you can’t kick a guy’s ass without the help of the guy whose ass you’re kicking”.
The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity (Victory Gardens Theater) is a humorous yet insightful look at mainstream United States stereotypes set within a wrestling federation that known nothing of subtlety or political correctness. When Macedonia meets his brother and his brother’s Indian friend, Vigneshwar Paduar, the two pair up as The Wrestling’s evil terrorists. The Puerto Rican as Mexican loyalist and Muslim sympathizer Che Chavez Castro and the Indian as Muslim extremist The Fundamentalist. The two are out to destroy the United States--symbolized through a brawny Chad Deity. Again—The Wrestling knows no boundaries—political or otherwise.
What makes this play brilliant is its representation of identity and its overarching theme of unity. The underlying social commentary that follows the three main wrestlers throughout the storyline is full of humor, yet that humor leads to serious issues of post-colonialism, racism, and socio-economic struggles. The play is able to bring these ideas to light through the metaphor within the metaphor of the wrestling ring. When the two “terrorist” (imagined through the “Mexican” and “Muslim”) fight against the U.S.A (represented at a strong black man) we see the minority with minority against minority that is so often played out in the streets. Instead of uniting over differences to take out the main power source (rich old white men) many take it out on one another.
Once people have moved up into the world of privilege i.e. upper-class, it’s hard for them to fight against racism, classism, and all the other isms—because they now “fit in”. We see this revealed through Chad Deity—money buys him ignorant happiness and submissiveness. Yet, we can’t let Macedonia off the hook either—he swallows the same system as well, thinking that one day he’ll be able to tell his own story the way he wants, that he’ll be able to alter the metaphor—not until Vigneshwar sleeper cell kick him in the face does reality set in.
The final outcome, perhaps not a revelation, but an interesting turn of events, does give the audience their ah-ha moment of clarity. It is a play to make you think, to make you grow, and to make you laugh. The story is fast-paced and full of adventurous fake-violence, shiny spandex and wit—a worthwhile play for everyone to see. It’s Not like World Wrestling Entertainment, not like American Wrestling Federation, not even like Windy City Wrestling, but, simply, just like THE WRESTLING a spectacular, mind- bending event for any evening. Open Now through November 1, 2009.
Victory Gardens Theater 2433 N. Lincoln Avenue Chicago, IL
Out of her mother’s womb Irene she was born. Her mother, a communal hippie reared Irene in an all-natural environment—organic food, the light of the moon, soy milk, free range chickens’ eggs. Irene loved the natural world, the smell of wet grass after a dewy evening, the cows mooing songs in the bright sunrises of her mornings, the waterfalls, the juicy wormy apples, The beauty of our planet surrounded Irene.
Then one day her mom, walking along the highway picking out ditch-weed was violently struck by a car. Irene witnessed the entire event and was completely mortified.
The commune did not know how to take care for Crazy Irene so they sent her to MeadowlarkMentalHealthCenter.
All Irene did day and night was cry cry cry in her little room. One morning she woke up to the strangest of sounds. She thought she herself had died and gone straight to hell. The noise just kept ringing and ringing. Bbbbrrriiinnnggg Brrrriiinnnggg it went. She looked out her little room window and saw who was making that annoying sound. It was such a small tiny contraption. Then one of the nurses picked it up and started talking into it. Irene was stunned. She though she had really truly gone mad.
When the same nurse came into check on her, she asked, “Nurse, why were you talking into that box?”
The nurse, confused for a moment looked at Crazy Irene and her hairy armpits, mangly long hair and patchouli scent and started laughing. “Oh, Irene, you crazy gal, that’s a telephone.”
“A telephone?”
“Yes. Irene, it’s to talk to people with.”
“But can’t I talk to you right here?”
“It’s to talk to people who aren’t right here, Irene.”
Irene’s eyes grew huge and she became incredibly excited. “Oh! Do you think I could call my mother? She’s not here anymore and I would love to talk to her.”
The nurse sighed, “No Irene, I don’t mean “not here” as in dead, I mean not here as in not in the same building, like someone in New York to someone in Los Angeles.”
“FFFUUUCCCKKK” Irene said. “I get it” and she started sobbing all over again.
The nurse finally noticing her distress took Irene into the commons area. There she sat her in front of an even larger box full of colorful images and conversations.
Irene was immediately Bewitched. In this box that she soon found out was called a television, she discovered Glee, she made Friends, she learned The Facts of Life.
Irene turned on. Irene plugged in. To a cyborganicfem.
Irene was mesmerized with television and couldn’t get enough. She met Steve Colbert, Jon Stewert, Conan O’Brien. She learned about the mating rituals of every animal in existence, she learned how to cook and build houses. She gained an understanding of social rituals in areas like Melrose Place, 90201 and the Hills, found out that it is Always Sunny in Philadelphia as well as what housewives do when they’re desperate in Wisteria Lane, L.A., Atlanta and New Jersey. Some nights she got Lost, some nights she found her Heros, other nights she found solace in the dedication and strength of Ugly Betty, Maude, Mary Tyler Moore, The Golden Girls and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Eventually Irene was socialized enough to leave MeadowlarkMentalHealthCenter.
Before she left, the nurse noticing Irene’s enthusiasm in the outside world sat Irene down in a desk chair, she then turned on another box Irene imagined was a different type of television.
Two minutes later, Irene was in cyber space, floating along in the world of google and yahoo.
She found an apartment on craiglist, including a roommate and furniture. She got a job off of idealist.org and was set in a matter of moments.
She left with her one suitcase, $50 and a piece of chocolate cake.
Within 30 seconds of starting her new job Irene had a facebook page.
Irene could not live without her internet.
Within days she had 500 facebook friends.
She started blogging. She started twittering. She even got a myspace page.
Irene got tired of her hands not typing fast enough. She read online about a new invention coming to the market—they were looking for test subjects.
She wanted to be the first to have the operation.
Irene cut off her hands and got metal ones sewed back on.
These metal hands could without even using a keyboard write exactly what Irene was thinking every second of the day. Her twitter group expanded. Her ideas flooded the wires. Everyone wanted to meet
Cyborg Irene. The official first volunteer woman/machine.
Irene plugged on. Irene turned in. To a cyborganic fem.
Cyborg Irene was a techno-fiend.
Cyborg Irene was a natural Machine.
Cyborg Irene was an eco-fetish blogger
Cyborg Irene was a treadmill jogger.
Eventually Irene could not shut off her hands; they exposed her inner secrets desires and fears. One of her twitter followers, jealous and angry of Irene’s sudden fame, used this knowledge to dislodge Irene from the online world. He hacked in and hacked her off. Her arms became useless… or so she thought.
Upon being hacked off of twitter her new metal arms mutated and turned into hands of crushing steel, she gained super-human strength and could shoot fire out of her left pointer finger. Irene used her powers to change the world. She dismantled patriarchy with a flip of her wrist. Everyone loved her and she became a goddess symbol amongst her kind.
Irene plugged on. Irene turned in. To a Cyborganicfem.
They keep you OUT and they let you STAY in... look at all those VULVAS working hard, uniting and creating strength within their interlocking unity. Keep fighting the patriarchy vuvlas, we're here supporting you...
I have my Master of Arts degree in Women and Gender Studies as well as a Master's in Writing and Publishing from DePaul.
I'm currently living in Boulder, CO working for a non-profit called Fertile Action and writing about visual arts (and more) for the Boulder Weekly.
Why blog?
I think too much, hence I decided I need a space to get it all out; and there is no better space than a virtual one.
