I'm about to step back a little from my last post. But this is something I've been thinking about for a while.
I watched Stand By Me with my roommate last weekend. Forget what you heard about Now and Then, or The Sandlot. Stand By Me is what those movies tried to be, but couldn't quite get right. It's funny, and goofy, and incredibly poignant at parts. This was the second time I saw it, and I appreciated it even more than I had before. And this time it really struck something in me. Because God, this is a movie about friendship at its purest level. Because, under all the complexities and hardships of growing up, their bond is simple. It's about loyalty, and sticking up for your friends, and being there, always being there. Even for only in that moment. It's about sharing ridiculous shit with your friends, and busting balls, and taking a punch so they don't have to. And the best part of this movie is that, for all of it's sentimentality and nostalgia, it doesn't feel maudlin. I'm not rolling my eyes whenever I see the funny facade fall, and deeper emotion come through. And I think part of that is because it's about boys.
There's a vast difference between the ways girls at age 12 interact with each other and boys at age 12 interact with each other. Ask any girl why she hated seventh grade and she'll probably tell you its because the pretty girls tormented her, or her "friends" ditched her or spread rumors about her. Ask any guy why he hated seventh grade, and he'll probably tell you its because he wasn't athletic, or girls didn't dig him, or some tough guy beat him up a few times. But I doubt he'll cite his friends turning on him. Because for whatever reason, boys don't operate that way. Boys are about loyalty, and fuck the rest because usually your friends are for real. Girls are about security, so fuck the rest because if being popular means leaving your friends then that's what it's gonna have to be. This isn't always true, obviously. I'm just saying that its so much more common in girls to not have stable friendships.
So while watching Stand By Me, I started thinking about that. And when River Phoenix starts crying, and saying that he wishes he could go somewhere where no one knows him, and Wil Wheaton comforts him, it didn't feel contrived. I saw something really genuine and true in that moment, and in that friendship.
And I just got kind of bummed that I never got to be a 12 year old boy. That sounds crazy, but those four guys just looked like they were seriously enjoying life with their best friends. And whatever else they had worrying them, there was no question of loyalty or love. And they didn't have to talk about it, or reaffirm it. They just knew.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Feminazi Diatribe
Should I be ashamed to be a feminist? To believe in female empowerment without promoting inequality of the sexes? To want equal footing in the workforce and political world without having to confront gender stereotypes? To ask for fun, frisky, spontaneous and interesting sex without having to worry about being violated by a friend or a stranger? To wish to be able to go to a party in a dress and drink and have fun with friends and kiss boys without having to hear "you asked for it" when I didn't want to go that far? To understand that men are not inherently evil, not always trying to step all over my rights as a woman, without forgiving or justifying assault and rape? To assert that no means no, without forgetting that yes also definitely means yes? To embrace my sexuality and to do what I want sexually without being named a slut by both men AND women? To appreciate a whistle or a beep without feeling uncomfortable or dirty? To welcome my femininity without feeling like it should be used as a tool to attract men and intimidate other women? To feel comfortable as a woman in the workplace or at school without feeling like I have to compensate and try to be one of the boys?
I don't know that I see anything too unreasonable on that list. And that's what feminism means to me. I understand my responsibilities as a human being. I don't blame my mistakes on the other gender, and I don't excuse my shortcomings based on my own sex. I am a woman and I usually like being one. It should always be that simple.
I don't know that I see anything too unreasonable on that list. And that's what feminism means to me. I understand my responsibilities as a human being. I don't blame my mistakes on the other gender, and I don't excuse my shortcomings based on my own sex. I am a woman and I usually like being one. It should always be that simple.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Strange Life
She said she thought her life would be a good one
Filled with sweet-faced babies and love
Without too much sadness
I think God’s looking out for me.
But then she got sick
Laid down for two years in plaster.
Missed out on being young.
When she got older she was the prettiest
Men didn’t want to stay away from her
And women didn’t like her very much.
She said, I think I’ll travel
See the world and collect its shards
Ride camels and never worry.
The sick was always underneath
And sometimes it came out
Only to stay for a little while
Only a minor setback
Her body knew what to expect
Usually.
Life wasn’t sweet-faced babies
But there was love.
She married him because he was steady
And she loved him and he let her be.
They argued furiously about minute details of daily life
But never debated anything of meaning.
And there was family, even after Mother died,
Better family than she could have ever dreamed of.
And she was nicer than she had been before.
And she still met new people and tried new things
And shopped, and ate, and traveled.
But slowly that came to an end too.
For a while she could ignore it
Pretend the fluid in her lungs didn’t cut her breath
Pretend the constant aching was no big deal
Separate her visits to the chemo room
From her real life
But then it got too hard.
She never lost her hair:
Bed-ridden with sores,
And an inability to breathe without the help of an oxygen tank
And without much hope at all
As she wrote her will
She took pride in the fact that
At least
She never lost her hair.
And then she was five years old again
And who were these strange people
Standing over her bed, talking to her?
She was tired. And wanted Mommy.
And called for Daddy, even though
She knew he wouldn’t come.
And the nice woman with her eyes
Told her it was okay to let go.
And so she did.
Filled with sweet-faced babies and love
Without too much sadness
I think God’s looking out for me.
But then she got sick
Laid down for two years in plaster.
Missed out on being young.
When she got older she was the prettiest
Men didn’t want to stay away from her
And women didn’t like her very much.
She said, I think I’ll travel
See the world and collect its shards
Ride camels and never worry.
The sick was always underneath
And sometimes it came out
Only to stay for a little while
Only a minor setback
Her body knew what to expect
Usually.
Life wasn’t sweet-faced babies
But there was love.
She married him because he was steady
And she loved him and he let her be.
They argued furiously about minute details of daily life
But never debated anything of meaning.
And there was family, even after Mother died,
Better family than she could have ever dreamed of.
And she was nicer than she had been before.
And she still met new people and tried new things
And shopped, and ate, and traveled.
But slowly that came to an end too.
For a while she could ignore it
Pretend the fluid in her lungs didn’t cut her breath
Pretend the constant aching was no big deal
Separate her visits to the chemo room
From her real life
But then it got too hard.
She never lost her hair:
Bed-ridden with sores,
And an inability to breathe without the help of an oxygen tank
And without much hope at all
As she wrote her will
She took pride in the fact that
At least
She never lost her hair.
And then she was five years old again
And who were these strange people
Standing over her bed, talking to her?
She was tired. And wanted Mommy.
And called for Daddy, even though
She knew he wouldn’t come.
And the nice woman with her eyes
Told her it was okay to let go.
And so she did.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
"The Heartland" isn't aptly named, is it?
I went to Urbana-Champaign, Illinois this weekend to visit my best friend at school. I had a great time; I could have a great time with Lucy watching paint dry though. But anyway, I took AmTrack, and on the way home, hungover and tired, I watched the corn fields out the window and wondered about the Midwest.
I might as well not live in the Midwest. I live in Chicago, a place with an urban and unique culture, a far cry from anything John Mellencamp would want to sing about. It's not like I live in the mean city streets or anything; the areas I've lived in have been relatively tame. Still, it's vibrant. Full of some kind of life. I can feel the city thrumming whenever I come home. But watching those cornfields--they're barren, more barren to me than the Siberian tundra or the Saharan desert. How can someone live in the Midwest, in that never-ending corn, and not begin to feel desperate? There's nothing there to hold onto. Nothing extraordinary. Those cornfields are the fears of monotony of life reflected in nature; the utter flatness, the utter deadness. No pulse. Just corn.
It's not about the small town life. The tiny towns all look the same--but that doesn't matter. Small towns are everywhere. That's not what's depressing. If you've got a small town in Colorado, or a small town in West Virginia, or Tennessee, or Arizona, California, Nevada, Maine: there's landscape there. There's something out there beyond the 5,000 people population to let you know you're still alive, that the world is actually alive. Mountains, ocean-fronts, rivers-- substantial, amazing, overwhelming, gratifying nature. Something that makes you glad you have eyes.
Flatness. Boredom beyond small town life. Those fucking cornfields that go on forever are what classic rock bemoans, what inspires dark literature, what drives our image of America. It's the setting of unsatisfied restlessness.
"The Heartland." How ironic. Making that trip with nothing to look at but a golden brown stretch for miles upon miles made me want to rip my heart out to make sure it was still beating.
I might as well not live in the Midwest. I live in Chicago, a place with an urban and unique culture, a far cry from anything John Mellencamp would want to sing about. It's not like I live in the mean city streets or anything; the areas I've lived in have been relatively tame. Still, it's vibrant. Full of some kind of life. I can feel the city thrumming whenever I come home. But watching those cornfields--they're barren, more barren to me than the Siberian tundra or the Saharan desert. How can someone live in the Midwest, in that never-ending corn, and not begin to feel desperate? There's nothing there to hold onto. Nothing extraordinary. Those cornfields are the fears of monotony of life reflected in nature; the utter flatness, the utter deadness. No pulse. Just corn.
It's not about the small town life. The tiny towns all look the same--but that doesn't matter. Small towns are everywhere. That's not what's depressing. If you've got a small town in Colorado, or a small town in West Virginia, or Tennessee, or Arizona, California, Nevada, Maine: there's landscape there. There's something out there beyond the 5,000 people population to let you know you're still alive, that the world is actually alive. Mountains, ocean-fronts, rivers-- substantial, amazing, overwhelming, gratifying nature. Something that makes you glad you have eyes.
Flatness. Boredom beyond small town life. Those fucking cornfields that go on forever are what classic rock bemoans, what inspires dark literature, what drives our image of America. It's the setting of unsatisfied restlessness.
"The Heartland." How ironic. Making that trip with nothing to look at but a golden brown stretch for miles upon miles made me want to rip my heart out to make sure it was still beating.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Are you restless like me?
Here's what I want to do:
Play a game
Talk about movies
Go to Senegal
Learn Spanish
Knit a sweater
Drive for forty minutes to the South Side of Chicago to eat Harold's Chicken.
Kick someone in the head (probably myself)
Agree wholeheartedly with someone and revel in it.
Hear a perfect song.
But listen.
What I want, most of all,
Is for you to
Tell me something. Something no one else knows.
Ever feel like you've already heard every single conversation in the world?
People performing their lives instead of living them.
They say there are only seven stories in all of art, in all of literature, in all of us.
Play a game
Talk about movies
Go to Senegal
Learn Spanish
Knit a sweater
Drive for forty minutes to the South Side of Chicago to eat Harold's Chicken.
Kick someone in the head (probably myself)
Agree wholeheartedly with someone and revel in it.
Hear a perfect song.
But listen.
What I want, most of all,
Is for you to
Tell me something. Something no one else knows.
Ever feel like you've already heard every single conversation in the world?
People performing their lives instead of living them.
They say there are only seven stories in all of art, in all of literature, in all of us.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The hetero community approves of your fag wedding
This is a little bit after the fact.
But I want to talk about it anyway.
Going to American University pretty much guarantees participation in some sort of social activism at one point in your college career--for example, I went to the National Equality March in October, which was sweet. Then this last Wednesday, we'd heard talk of Fred Phelps and the WBC coming to the D.C. Marriage Bureau to protest gay marriage because of course, "God Hates Fags." Naturally since we're all fucking bleeding heart liberals, we decide to go and COUNTER PROTEST. I'm actually just really curious to see Fred Phelps in the flesh because to be honest, I kind of just want to sit down with the guy and ask him a shit load of questions and find out what he's all about. But anyway, we get there a little before the time they're scheduled to come. And there are camera crews, and all sorts of other college students with clever signs, and some black dude yelling about indecency. And it's all very exciting.
And we're all just waiting for Phelps and Co. to show up. This is the part where I completely shift my story by telling you that they never do. Apparently they had already been there spewing their gospel earlier that morning, and were now moving on to somewhere else. Which was a bummer. So instead of counter protesting Fred Phelps, we end up hanging out for a while and cheering on every gay couple who comes out of the D.C. Marriage Bureau, their relationship finally recognized and acknowledged by the United States, land of equal opportunities.
But I wondered how they felt when they left and saw a bunch of people they didn't even know cheering for them. I don't think it could have felt that great. They didn't invite us to their wedding. I don't think they wanted camera crews or publicity or stupid college kids with Lady Gaga signs. I don't think they were craving local approval. The union was supposed to be between them, like it should have always been but never was.
How can I say this without sounding obscure or bitchy?
It was never a battle they should have had to fight. It never should have been something to win. Marriage is a right, love is a human fucking right, and they shouldn't have been denied it in the first place. And so acceptance and indifference are two different things. Once people stop caring that gay couples want to get married, we'll have finally taken a step forward. Right now though, I can't stop feeling like cheering for gay couples as they exit the Bureau is patronizing, condescending, and presumptuous.
Do you know what I mean? Because if I get married, I don't want fifty odd strangers telling me that they think its "okay" for me to be with the person I love. I won't give a shit what people I don't know think about my relationship. And I certainly won't fucking ask for their approval.
But I want to talk about it anyway.
Going to American University pretty much guarantees participation in some sort of social activism at one point in your college career--for example, I went to the National Equality March in October, which was sweet. Then this last Wednesday, we'd heard talk of Fred Phelps and the WBC coming to the D.C. Marriage Bureau to protest gay marriage because of course, "God Hates Fags." Naturally since we're all fucking bleeding heart liberals, we decide to go and COUNTER PROTEST. I'm actually just really curious to see Fred Phelps in the flesh because to be honest, I kind of just want to sit down with the guy and ask him a shit load of questions and find out what he's all about. But anyway, we get there a little before the time they're scheduled to come. And there are camera crews, and all sorts of other college students with clever signs, and some black dude yelling about indecency. And it's all very exciting.
And we're all just waiting for Phelps and Co. to show up. This is the part where I completely shift my story by telling you that they never do. Apparently they had already been there spewing their gospel earlier that morning, and were now moving on to somewhere else. Which was a bummer. So instead of counter protesting Fred Phelps, we end up hanging out for a while and cheering on every gay couple who comes out of the D.C. Marriage Bureau, their relationship finally recognized and acknowledged by the United States, land of equal opportunities.
But I wondered how they felt when they left and saw a bunch of people they didn't even know cheering for them. I don't think it could have felt that great. They didn't invite us to their wedding. I don't think they wanted camera crews or publicity or stupid college kids with Lady Gaga signs. I don't think they were craving local approval. The union was supposed to be between them, like it should have always been but never was.
How can I say this without sounding obscure or bitchy?
It was never a battle they should have had to fight. It never should have been something to win. Marriage is a right, love is a human fucking right, and they shouldn't have been denied it in the first place. And so acceptance and indifference are two different things. Once people stop caring that gay couples want to get married, we'll have finally taken a step forward. Right now though, I can't stop feeling like cheering for gay couples as they exit the Bureau is patronizing, condescending, and presumptuous.
Do you know what I mean? Because if I get married, I don't want fifty odd strangers telling me that they think its "okay" for me to be with the person I love. I won't give a shit what people I don't know think about my relationship. And I certainly won't fucking ask for their approval.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Some Thoughts
I'm excited to be alone. I want to be by myself. I don't want to answer my phone and I don't want to text and I don't want to make plans or talk to anyone. I want to sit at the piano for hours and play Moonlight Sonata. I want to listen to acoustic songs for days and learn the vocal harmonies. I want to watch three hundred movies. I want to read books upon books and I want to sketch and write and think. I think I have some thinking to do. I'd like to set aside some time for pensive turnovers. If I think hard enough about everything in my life, then maybe I'll come to a clear conclusion about what I want from it, or maybe I'll just whisper myself into desperation.
A solid break. An existential pondering? Just a stand-still--that's what I really need. A break from living my life so I can think about it a little.
Then I'll come back and change things like complacency and boredom and routine. And maybe I'll think so much that I can stop for a little while, stop overanalyzing, stop overreacting, and stop panicking a little bit. I want to stop thinking with too little time to think with all the time in the world.
I just want to be rid of poisonous ennui. I'm just too tired to know if I'm happy where I am.
A solid break. An existential pondering? Just a stand-still--that's what I really need. A break from living my life so I can think about it a little.
Then I'll come back and change things like complacency and boredom and routine. And maybe I'll think so much that I can stop for a little while, stop overanalyzing, stop overreacting, and stop panicking a little bit. I want to stop thinking with too little time to think with all the time in the world.
I just want to be rid of poisonous ennui. I'm just too tired to know if I'm happy where I am.
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