Don’t Fear the Feminist

Last week I received a MySpace friend request from "Women's Studies." While I typically don't accept friend requests from people I don't know personally or from non-human profiles (like mags, groups, etc.), I do like to check out who's checking me out and asking for my virtual friendship. And as a Women's Studies major, I thought perhaps this was someone I knew or maybe a group of BC WS alumni.

So I clicked on the icon:



... and lo and behold, it was nothing as comforting as a fellow feminist, but a "feature length horror film currently in post-production ... the story of a pregnant grad student and her friends who are held captive at a women's academy that's actually a cult of feminists bent on the enslavement of men."

I was horrified (clearly the point of a horror movie, but not this film's intended inducement of horror, I'm afraid); but I still mustered enough objectivity to watch the trailer. My horror certainly grew in intensity, but now it was the result of über-cheesiness that actually takes itself way too seriously: "Rather than a typical 'hack & slash' horror movie, it's an intelligent look at groupthink, women's issues, and how blind belief in any one-sided dogma can create a terrorist." Oh, riiiight.....

Then I wondered, who is actually making this film? My suspicion that it was not written or directed by a woman proved correct. Why is the fact that this film was conceived and created by a man so predictable, you may ask? It's a phenomenon I sometimes refer to as "It's still all about men." The short summary is it's a common assumption about feminism that essentially equates it with man-hating (and in this extreme fictional case: enslavement, torture, and murder). I find this premise not so much offensive as simply insulting. I'm a feminist because I hate men? Sorry to break anyone's heart, but men shouldn't flatter themselves. To think that men (even the hatred or abuse of men) is at the center of feminism is still self-congratulatory and egocentric.

Is this film supposed to be scary because "it could really happen"?! The likelihood of this scenario is not outside possibility but definitely probability. A more likely, and perhaps scarier scenario (for most men, anyway) would be a film about women that didn't include men at all: didn't mention, show, or long for one. A really frightening film about feminism might be one in which there was no longer a need for the word or concept because the world it depicted was so much more advanced than our society that real equality were a given and not a question mark.

The ideal that feminism promotes is actually one of inclusion; if it's excluding or harming anyone, it's not feminism. A pithy statement from one of my favorite bumper stickers is: "Feminism is the radical notion that women are people." To take this sentiment further, one of bell hooks' book titles says, and I agree, Feminism Is For Everybody. Thus the goal of feminism is fairness and "free-to-be-you-and-me," regardless of who the "you" or "me" is.

Truth be told, I think "Women's Studies" (the horror film) is more accurately a form of projection, a depiction of one man's sado-masochistic fantasy. So all you gals who fancy yourself a dominatrix looking for a guy who likes to be whipped into shape by a strong woman, Lonnie Martin may be your dreamboat.

Corporate Greed--Is There a Limit?

This question keeps coming to mind in recent years, and each time I think I've seen the upper limit, I run into a blogger's post like Daizie's here. She first shows the way to a post at the Daily Kos, and since they say it just fine I'll wait til you've read it.

Really, I'll wait.

Looking at my watch...

Ah, you're done? Good. Time to rant.

I've never been a fan of this company, but hearing this story simply takes the cake, one that I will never buy at Wal*Mart again. When their employee was defenseless, they robbed her. When she was fairly awarded support for the rest of her life by the courts, her employer stole it from her, whining that she'd used a benefit that she paid for out of her small salary. Now she and her family rely on Welfare and Social Security Disability in order to pay for her round-the-clock care and still feed them all and keep a roof over their heads.

I was so shocked and angry that such a huge company has so little compassion that I went to the headquarters website and told them so. I specifically told them that since they took all that money from that poor employee, I don't see where they need my money or that of my friends, neighbors, Internet bitches or anyone else I can get to hold still long enough for me to repeat this story.

Wal*Mart's behavior was heinous and there's NO excuse that could possibly explain why it took Deborah Shank's remaining life savings from her in order to scratch its greedy itch. I told them that too.

If you wish, you can add your voice to that of others by going to the corporate website, www.walmartstores.com .

Barcadi Evening

Today’s dinner: Barcardi Gold, straight from the bottle, and Baked Tostidos, in fun “scoopable” shapes. Strapped in a furry red robe from Target, I ingraciously perch in my crumb-riddled office chair, scored off Craigslist for $20.

The cat paws at the door, pathetic little scratches, “they’re trying to kill me,” mews.

So I take off my hearing aid. It sleeps on a mountain of GRE study guides stacked at my elbow: curled, flesh-colored, tailed. It looks like a fetus.

In the middle of the night I felt JS stumble around the room, and opened my eyes to his nude, hulking frame wavering in the dark like a white dybbuk searching for its lost eyes. He leaves. In his absence, dark shapes grin: the stationary bike with its wide, handlebar mouth; the fallen towels with their bemused folds. In the far corner, a bench press stirs, little dumbbell children giggling at its teats. A square of striped light pans across the far wall, followed by bleating hip-hop and a dull engine roar. I am reminded of Georgina’s house: Georgina’s room, Georgina’s shadow, thudding and pixie-haired, Peter Pan on steroids; a distant cousin with the face of a horse and the wits of molasses. That was the only summer I knew her.

He returns, steadier now. In his hand is an envelope I confuse for a Kleenex. He seems relieved I am already awake. He sits down next to me. I adore his belly. Written on the envelope, in his spiky, sleepy hand:

“Your hearing aid is screeching.”

Only, he spells it “screaching,”

Embarrassed and guilty, I start mouthing “I’m sorry,” forgetting that he’s the one who can hear; I forget that. I forget that people hear. I mouth to them often when I am deaf.

Pen still in hand, he writes:
“I just wanted to know if that’s okay.”

Georgina married in the early 90’s and I imagined him to be what I, at the time, imagined all husbands to be: balding and skinny; thick glasses and collared shirts; newspapers and crossed legs; CNN and Law & Order. I imagined him to be much like the Dad from Calvin and Hobbes:



Who also kind of looks like the Web guy at my work, and Tom Hanks.

Go See Juno

If you haven't seen Juno yet, you should. You should stop whatever it is you are doing right now and go see Juno. I'm serious. Any moment lived without having seen Juno is just an empty shallow lie of what your life could be. Go see Juno.

I have mentioned before my all-encompassing love for this movie. If I could hug Juno, I would. I would bake Juno cookies sprinkled with unicorn tears. I would travel all over the country in a van and dance in fountains with Juno while The Magic Numbers plays in the background.

Am I being hyperbolic? Hell no, my friends. Hell no.

Often when I watch a movie I will gender-swap the lead roles when I replay the scenes in my head. And then I would recast myself as the newly-improved leading lady and imagine whatever current boy I am fixated on as my romantic interest. It just helps me get through films and life in general.

Men's parts are usually (always) more interesting. The guys have the best lines. Remember Vera Farmiga in The Departed? Her character might as have been named "Vaginal Plot Point". Meanwhile, Mark Wahlberg is rocking all these awesome one-liners, and it's not fair! I want to shoot Matt Damon and make jokes about Alec Baldwin's mom! What about my dreams?

The reason I love Juno so fervently is because I wanted to be Juno. No mental gender-swapping neccessary. Ellen Page's Juno was just awesome personified. She could have taken any of those Apatow boys to school. Who else would scream "THUNDERCATS ARE GOOOO!!!" when their water breaks? Juno rules.

I love this movie. I wanted to stand up in the theatre and shout "They got it! They finally got it!". I wanted to grab strangers on the street and tell them all about this near-religious cinema experience. I want the whole world to see this movie. I want it to make truckloads of money. I want Diablo Cody to win an Oscar. I just want this movie to prove that women can sell movies. I am making it my personal mission to spread the word about Juno, and you can help! Tell your mom. Tell your mom to tell her friends. Then, tell your friends and your friends' moms and tell your friends' moms to tell their friends. With your help, the world can become wrapped in a warm Juno embrace. One nation, under Juno.

Seriously, go see Juno.

gone

She was only 42 and she's gone.

We met more than 10 years ago and have been like sisters since.

Seven years ago, we were having dinner and her laughter raised my heart. I remember the conversation turning to her recent engagement to her long-time boyfriend and her doubts about him. She sadly told me, "I don't see marriage in my future." I told her it was, that she just hadn't met him yet. The conversation moved on and we spent the rest of the evening in fits of laughter and sillyness as only women can do.

She broke up with him a week later, and told me that he wasn't the man for her. She wasn't ready to spend her life with someone she wasn't certain about.

She put her energy into her work, and relished in spending time with her family and friends. She always made time for her friends. We were her family too.

Six years ago, she was my rock as I was dealt a blow about my health, and helped me realize that "everyone has something" and that this would only make me stronger.

She was there for her mom as she fought cancer and won. She never waivered, just remained the strength that her mom needed, only leaning on us when she felt she needed us.

Five years ago she introduced me to her new love -- and a doctor at that! Seeing the adoring look in his eyes, I knew he was the one. He treated her like a china doll and doted on her every move.

Three years ago she got engaged to this man of her dreams. Two completely different cultures melding into one, ready to spend the rest of their lives together.

A few months after she announced her engagement, I did too. We we the happiest women around, two friends who had found their lifemates.

Two years ago she was convinced something was wrong with her because she "just wasn't feeling right." Doctor visit after doctor visit, trips to non-conventional doctors and nothing. They all made her feel like a hypochondriac. Her future father-in-law (also a doctor) pulled some strings and got her in with a specialist. It was identified: leukemia.

When we asked what we could do to help, she asked for our prayers and mentioned she needed healthy blood. Both my future husband and I were matches to her blood type; we immediately made appointments at Sloan Kettering to donate for her. She was floored that we would travel 2 hours to do this; her husband even called us to thank us. For us it was a no-brainer -- a friend needed help and it was the least we could do.

She and her love postponed their wedding 2 times so that she could get her treatment.

After 9 months, she was in remission.

Last year she got married. One month later I did too. We were at each others' weddings and experiencing the happiest days of our lives.

Earlier this year the leukemia raised its ugly head again. The doctors told her that her only option was a bone marrow donor. Her brother and parents were tested but they weren't a strong enough match. Miraculously, someone somewhere had donated their child's umbilical cord and the fresh, pure blood was a perfect match. She was on cloud 9.

In July my husband and I had dinner with my friend and her husband and laughed. We spoke little about the difficult time she was going to be enduring in just a few days but she was looking forward to the transfusion since it could possibly allow her to live. She wasn't fooling herself; she knew it would be very hard but she wanted and needed to do it.

That was the last time we saw her alive. She was laughing and loving life.

Over the next few weeks we spoke through email and on the phone then her strength dwindled and we heard from her husband and family.

On October 19 I received a call from her husband that she died.

On October 21, our first anniversary, we spent the day at her wake.

It broke my heart to see how devastated and cheated her husband was. But it gave me strength to hear him say that he was so lucky to have known and loved her.

Taking my cue from his words, I now realize that though she's gone, I am the lucky one. I'm the one who was fortunate to have had her in my life. It was her energy, her positive look on life and her friendship and love that makes me a better person. She will always be a part of my life and I cannot thank her enough for that.

It's only been 2 months since she's gone and already I miss her so much.