Another conspiracy (Oscar) theory

Who doesn’t love a good conspiracy? Well, here is mine for the Oscars…perhaps it’s less conspiracy and more obviousness, but I believe the Academy final realized who their audience actually is… why?

1) The elaborate poise pad Whoopie Goldberg commercial, wtf was that?

2) The “best actress” switched places with “best actor”

(and the best actress was fucking Sandra Bullock.)

3) A woman finally won best director.

Okay. So it’s obvious that it’s a very feminine viewer watching the awards, but let’s just break this down a bit into some mainstream conspiracy shit.

Kathryn Bigelow who won best director (for the Hurtlocker) was ex-wife to another director up for the Oscar—James Cameron (for Avatar) this immediately established a tension and drama within the academy scene that went beyond the actual quality of the movies.

And let’s face it, Bigelow won best director for a film about WAR. Granted, I haven’t seen it because it’s been on a “long wait” in my Netflix que, but I doubt it has any type of running theme of taking care of our earth, or connecting to our planet because we are "all one", or any of that type of lovey dovey, peaceful hippie shit that Avatar did. And here is my conspiracy—Avatar didn’t win because it didn’t send the “right” message out to our general public. It basically said to stop fighting and starting peacing and what U.S. citizen really believes in that?

Granted it is amazing and about fucking time that a woman got any cred, but we need to be a careful about how and why the victories come about. Advertising. Women are watching the Oscars; women want other women to win—duh. Most people watching the awards are looking for sentimentality, not underlying social messages which will come later when the people decide go see the movie that won. I don’t want to say that the only reason she won was because it would make better tv…but I sort of felt that the Lifetime network had taken over and we were witnessing a terrible scene about ex-husband and wife rivals (which I suppose we were). I didn’t like that because I felt they were pushing me to root for people based on them as people, not based on them as directors. I felt it was more about how many tears they could churn out because that sells shits. and that’s how they make money. and it’s all about the money and the power isn’t it?

Speaking of previews and sentimentality—Sandra Bullock! Can I just go puke up my soul in the toilet right now? OKAY. It’s true. I haven’t seen The Blindside and I don’t have it on my Netflix on a long wait, WHY? Because it looks horrendous. It looks like a middle class white woman being uppity, pretentious, and meddling. It looks like a white woman trying to get involved in shit that she has no clue or social conception about but who also thinks it’s her priority as a white woman to interfere because she can and because she’s white and that’s what she’s supposed to do. But that’s just what I’m picking up from the Hallmark-cardesque previews.

And finally. I do not think it is time, nor do I think it will ever be time to make elaborate commercials about vaginal leakage. But thank you Poise for completely fucking with my mind. 1 in 3 woman have leakage? Isn’t that just obviousness? I mean it’s a hole. Surely it’s going to be a bit drippy, but do I need to think about it? NO! NO! NO! Please. We don’t talk about it Whoopie because it’s fucking weird. I don’t think it’s gross because again, ½ the population have holes and there is a thing called gravity, I just don’t need the Statue of Liberty or a Fairy Princess telling me to wear a liner

But check it out for yourself if you’d like: click here

Finally, I would just like to say that I would feel better about an honest award ceremony based less on who is buying advertisements and who the mainstream audience is (white women) then one that centers on conforming to what they think the people watching would like to see, that is just pure bullshit and it makes it less believable that everyone who won, won so according to talent. I'd like to believe the talent is true, but it was the year of Miss Congeniality and that certainly makes me want to throw in the towel.

The possiblity of more assholes on earth....not on my watch

Perhaps I am too old for the abortion debate...at twenty-five I am set in my ways and I am not backing down. You can sit there and yammer on and on but I will not budge on this one.

Because we live in a very neoliberalistic society where CHOICE is our number one priority, down to the choice of privatizing almost all government run programs how can we alter one of the most vital? Surely if we can chose between 37 different types of ranch dressing or 53 types of marinana sauce we can let the one about aborting a fetus stay intake?

And why the fuck should you care? If you're not the one having the abortion is it really YOUR problem? It actually becomes more of a problem if the woman gives birth because that is another potential asshole you have to deal with. Do we really need more assholes roaming the earth? According to a statistic-- there are 1.3 million abortions performed in the United States per year (The Boundaries of Her Body 293). Imagine how much more fucked up the world would be if even more people were attempting to live on it...

The earth has already reached beyond capacity when it comes to human existence.

Let's all just be honest here. The future is not "our children" the future is us. The future is how we treat the people who already exist, not how we treat a ball of jumbled up cells inside a woman's womb. A woman should have the choice, it is her body, not yours.

Again, I am old. I am set in my old-timer ways.

I will not budge and neither should Roe.

A little stream mixed with a little dream

windows to see into the screen, into the alley, into your belly. windows to open, windows to close, windows buy time until your brain explodes. garlic breath isn’t it fresh, fresh from the garden of tongue and mouth death. are you depressed. degraded. over-stimulated by the mutated tomatoes staring at you in the center of winter, laughing sinisterly as you chop in delight, those big juicy red tomatoes snicker and slime through your teeth, mushing toxins down your glub. windows to the earth where there is dirt, where fruit grows like old men’s toes. and garlic still leaves your breath smelling of death and rot and rain. Tomorrow.

Am I done with this style, have I over stylized this style am I dead to this way, should I try something not me, something unknown and ghoulish or just keep trucking through hoping that I’m doing the right thing?

Who really knows what the right thing is anyway right? We all have our own minds. Each of us have comprehended the earth in our own way, yet we are all connected in a very threadlike manner to one another, whether we like it or not, whether we agree on anything else, we have to agree on the fact that we are all here trying to deal with one another. Our ideas may be complete opposites or somewhere in the grays. It could be that there are parts of our own selves that we don’t even like, so how could we ever like anyone else completely, totally, purely? Is purity something humans are even capable of? I mean how can one ever be innocent? I don’t mean in any catholized “we’re all sinners” sort of way, but in a way that right out of the womb we’re left jarred, forced into a world of someone else’s making. And the entire time we’re left here trying to figure shit out. Because we never figure it all out. Which at times seems wonderful, an endless array of learning, yet at other times it seems overwhelming and heavy, like the weights of time and ignorance are being set on one’s chest. But, I like to think everyone feels that way, but then again that’s me generalizing humanity, which I obviously shouldn’t do since each and everyone of us have different experiences. Just as a quick example, think of driving down the road with another person—you see everything out of the right window, she sees everyone out of the left. In those moments of flash by experiences you could see a fight or a bird or a giant frog which could spark a memory or an idea that the driver would never have even thought of—it’s just so weird and obvious I guess, but the more I think about it the more it sort of creeps me out. What brought you to reading this? What brought me to writing it?

Does it make a difference at all? Is it supposed to? And if so should I be a doing a better job at whatever it is I am supposed to be communicating right here for you to read? How is it that we are so separated from one another? Surely we are all connected in a greater more mystical way—so why can’t we be kind to one another?

Why can’t you move over when I am walking down the same sidewalk? Really, why? That is my singular most greatest mystery about life—when I can figure it out I believe I will understand the meaning of life.

I used to think that when I understood the meaning of life—that whenever that moment came to be and I “got it” I would suddenly implode or get hit by a bus or something because there would be no more reason to live. But then I realized that that could never happen, because the meaning of life is a continual search for meaning.

Be a Man, if you Can...

Michael Kimmel is a masculinities (pro-feminist) scholar and author of Manhood in America, along with many other books, essays, articles etc. Yesterday he spoke at DePaul. He over-viewed ideas in his newest book, Guyland. The gist is this: there is a new stage of development into adulthood that occurs between ages 20 to 30. This stage is more predominant in men (hence the title Guyland). Women are more focused and knowledgeable on what they want out of life and where they see their future whereas men seem to drift into maturity without really any sense as to how they got there.

He says that this new stage of development stems from several factors. 1) Helicopter parenting—where the parents hover over their children, over-protect them, force them into over-achieving, perfectionism etc. which leads to rebellion and a later search for one’s own identity/transformation in the college age years—when there are few adults supervising any initiations into manhood.

2) We live longer these days and thus are taking our time moving into maturity—which he seems to think maturity is somehow equated with old-school ideas of marriage, children, career, but I won’t go there right now.

He says that there is a pressure cooker to prove ones masculinity. He says that to prove you are a man (this is from a sociological scholarly perspective) you must follow these rules.

1) No sissy stuff (don’t be at all feminine)
2) Be a Big Wheel (have lots of money, status etc)
3) Be a Sturdy Oak (always reliable, emotionless etc)
4) Give them Hell (aggressive, assertive etc.)

I just want to pause for a moment to ponder.

Yes. I agree there seems to be a new developmental stage. And I agree that there seems to be a crisis with masculinity; men are perhaps a little resentful that women are gaining confidence and are invading into what used to be all-male territory (law school, medical school, golf etc). And I even like the idea that Kimmel is studying the center—what we can call the default—or what’s know as the highest level of privilege—white middle class men—and he is studying the center so as to de-center it, to move us beyond this norm into something less problematic. But, can we move into this issue a little deeper.

Why do men feel the need to prove they are masculine and why are these rules still the norm for that proof? If our developmental stages are shifting why can’t there be a shift in what we consider being “a man” and being “a woman”? The biggest problems seem to exist within the ideas of proving oneself within those four rules—why can’t we change those rules?

Kimmel suggests three important ways to keep men from having a masculine crisis during the “guyland” phase of their lives:
1) Have a charismatic adult friend that gets you
2) Have close same sex friend one where you can share your deepest feelings, thoughts, ideas emotions with who can validate your masculinity
3) Have an opposite-sex close friend—so as to personalize women

Kimmel talked about a UCLA survey that has been given for 30 years. For the first couple of years there was a question that stated “If you knew you would never get caught would you rape a woman.” About 19-20% of the men answered yes. The question later changed to read, “If you knew you would never get caught would you force a woman to have sex with you.” In those 30 years 50-60% of men said yes. How fucked up is that? There is definitely a problem with masculinity in this country. And no wonder women are scared.

There was another statistic that men who are married are happier than single men, and that single women are happier than married women. Hmm. He also said that in his point of view, though there needs to be more studies done, egalitarian marriages produce the happiest people. I don’t know how they measure happiness, but it’s easy for me to believe that people living on equal terms with one another feel less pressured, less anger towards the other, and are quicker to enjoy one anothers intelligence, thoughts and ideas. Which is not only how people should behave in relationships but what they should attempt to do within themselves--find balance--a balance between that which is masculine and feminine so as to be a more complete person.

It makes the most sense, but men in particular, feel the need to hold on to something that is barely there anymore—a power that is based more on a fear of losing it than on doing anything good with it, a power that won’t make them happy because how can you be happy when you’re hurting yourself and others along the way?

Would being equal be so hard? Kimmel claims that every day we’re becoming more and more gender equal—becoming more equal—doesn’t that just sound funny? Can one really be “more equal”—it reminds me of Animal Farm—“we are all equal, just some are more equal than others.” And I guess, right now, that’s true. But it doesn’t have to be.

What is in a Word?

“For those of us who write, it is necessary to scrutinize not only the truth of what we speak, but the truth of that language by which we speak it. For others, it is to share and spread also those words that are meaningful to us. But, primarily for us all, it is necessary to teach by living and speaking those truths which we believe and know beyond understanding. Because in this way alone we can survive, by taking part in a process of life that is creative and continuing that is growth,” (Audre Lorde Sister Outsider 43).

Tomorrow the arts organization a group of peers and I are starting, the Feminist Creative Alliance, will be having its first event, “What’s in a Word: a Feminist Response to Language & Power.” The theme for the evening is one very dear to my heart: communication. Not just how we deliver thoughts to one another but the underlying meanings of words, and the ideas between the words. It’s really interesting to think about how our knowledge base connects so tightly to the capitalists in control of our country.

It’s interesting to debate whether we can ever move beyond the power structure because our language, our way of communicating and knowing is so intrinsically tied to preventing that from every occurring. Can we ever get to the words we really need for change? Is the word “change” really what we’re aiming for? Or perhaps we’re searching for transformation, alteration, overthrow, underthrow, a slight make-over or a drastic revolutionization.

What are the truths in our language? If we think of the alphabet as symbols restructured over and over to communicate and share ideas is there ever any solid foundation to meaning? Though we like to imagine our society being based within some type of structure, that structure has the potential for serious modifications. CAT could suddenly be the word that describes what we know today as DOG, DOG could become TREE etc. etc.

Because the symbols make up words, and the words make up meaning all it really takes is a relearning, a redesigning of the meanings behind the symbols. “It is necessary to teach by living and speaking those truths which we believe and know beyond understanding,” if we do not have the words, how do we carry on truth for a better, more accepting, and open world? Do we create our own? Do we communicate in ways beyond words? What does that look like?

Perhaps we will move closer to some of these answers tomorrow. If you’re in the neighborhood please come check it out.

What’s in a Word: Feminist Response to Language & Power

Thursday March 4^th, 2010

6:30 p.m.

DePaul Library

2350 N. Kenmore Ave.

Rosati Room 300

Chicago, IL

For more info www.feministcreativealliance.org

The continuous threats on my life as a woman

Growing up in a small Kansas town our school’s student population rarely altered; but in the sixth grade a brother/sister duo joined our grade school. They were both in my grade, I don’t know if it was because they were twins, or one of them skipped, one of them failed or if they were only step siblings, but in any case. The girl, Rainy, was in one of the other 6^th grade classrooms; she was able to mesh into the thick of things seamlessly—she even started her own group called the Pink Ladies—based off of Grease—which all the more popular and decidedly jealous girls made fun of for being so immature and nerdy. The boy on the other hand, did not make friends easily. The boy was in my class and he came to it everyday wearing a blue hanes t-shirt, his hair greased back with too much gel. He never really talked to anyone directly just sort of under his breath and he would say things about his Rottweiler’s and his bb guns back at his house. None of the girls thought he was cute, which is quite the rarity for a new guy in town to not even be given the label of potentially cute but too mysterious to determine. He was just creepy, we all thought that since they had moved from California and that he always wore blue that he was or wanted to be from the Crypt’s gang. We all started wearing red to see if it would agitate him.

There were only about two days of school left. I am walking to my mom’s work from the school. The boy happens to be right next to me as we leave. He starts pestering me. I shoot back some witty mean remark that only sixth grade girls know how. He rebuttals. He looks me in the eyes and he tells me he’s going to kill me. He tells me he’s going to come back to the school with his dad’s real gun and shoot me. I know he is not joking.

Skip ahead thirteen years and that story is just a distant memory. Except it’s not. I’m standing on the platform of the Chicago redline waiting for the train at Belmont. I head toward the heat lamp. I am listening to my i-pod. I am holding a giant bag full of all my books from my grad classes. A black man, assumedly homeless, comes up to me and asks me a question. I can’t hear him because my i-pod is on. I take the earphones out and turn the i-pod off. I apologize and ask him to repeat himself. He asks if I have any money, any change. I check my pockets. I say sorry, all I have is this lip gloss; he asks me to look harder, I repeat myself and pull out the lip gloss to prove it. He asks if he can have it. I think it’s so weird that I give it to him. Whatever. 30 seconds later the train comes. We both end up on the same car. He comes and sits by me. He hands me the lip gloss back. “Why do you think I’d want your lip gloss.”

“I have no idea.”

He stares.

“Listen dude. I don’t have a job. Why would you think I have anything to give to you?”

“Just wait until you get off the train.” He stares harder.

“Are you threatening me?”

“If that’s how you want to take it, then yes. Call the police, do whatever you want.” He stares. Whether he is serious or not I am not going to take any chances.

“This conversation is over.” I head to the other end of the train, hoping it would stop quickly so I can get to another car. But he comes up behind me. I do not know what I am thinking, a mixture of fear and fight enter my head.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

I keep silent and wait. He moves on to his next target, a group of people drinking Heineken.

I move to the next car still unsure. Is he alone? Is he working with a group of people that could attack me when I get off the train? Should I report it and how by pressing that silly button by the handicap section? And what would they do, slap him on the wrist and then he’ll really come after me.

So I sit there and I cry, but not just because of him. I sit there and get pissed, but not just because of him.

I cry and get pissed and I think of how there is the great possibility that once I get off the train I could die. That “Carry the Weight” may be the last song I ever hear. That Magic Hat may be the last beer I ever drink. French fries may be the last dinner I ever have.

I start to think that it is a great possibility that when I get off the train I may have to physically protect myself and I am praying to Tony Horton that all those P90X workouts were not just for glamor. That my taebo will be of use. That we workout not just to look good, but to be in a physical state of protection.

As I sit, I am getting angrier. My education allows me to immediately start analyzing the situation… I start thinking about race relations and money issues. Racism and Capitalism. I start thinking from his side of things. What he thinks of me. And what he would say if he knew anything about me. And how that isn’t really the point.

I am brought back to misogyny.

And I’m truly enraged by how men in the lowest of positions find it in their best interest to threaten and manipulate women. That is their power. And their power is nothing but fear.

And it feels never ending.

Just when I was starting to look at that sixth grade incident as a distant memory.

Even in Chinatown Chicago

There are remnants of vulvacentrism...