I’m going to start by putting this out there: I like relationships. I like developing the kind of closeness that results in really good sex and getting to know a person in really profound ways and having some modicum of assurance that the person will be there tomorrow and the next day and a few days after that, because I’m a person and people are social creatures and I think we feel better when we have other creatures in our life who love us, and fuck, dude, building trust and closeness is tortuously slow and shitty. in other words, I guess, I don't like being single. but whoa, I also don't like relationships that make me feel like shit. have I been in the latter because of the former? unfortunately, yes. but how much of the latter's shittiness has been grounded in my partners--in my case, straight cisgender men--thinking that, "as a feminist", I SHOULD like being single, and I should expect to be TREATED like I am single? or, more accurately, like THEY are single? a fuckton.

what does this mean? it means I have dated a disturbingly high number of men who want all of the benefits of a relationship (i.e., someone with whom they can commiserate and have sex, over a really really long  period of time, even) without any of the burdens (e.g., asking what are our boundaries, what are our expectations, whether or not we feel this relationship is casual or serious, is open or closed, or may result in something as serious as marriage or a child, and how can we meaningfully negotiate these in a way that is mutually beneficial when we disagree or fuck up). I’ve gathered from movies and television shows and magazine articles and chatter amongst friends that this isn't all that unusual.

what is unique, I guess, about my experience (and perhaps the experience of other cisgender women feminists who date cisgender men) is that most of these guys have justified this less-than-ideal bargain with lots of feminist rhetoric from feminist books about love, relationships, sex, and what i, "as a feminist", should want. and it means that guy friends who have had to deal with me being upset about these less-than-ideal bargains have said things like "why do you care so much about this guy? I thought you were a feminist." like feminists don't get to fall in love with guys, be in relationships with guys, and feel sad when this love or these relationships end. guys wielding feminist rhetoric to produce the opposite of feminist results while placing all of the blame for the fallout squarely on feminists not doing the feminism correctly? awesome.

the result is that I am so so SO suspicious of books about dating from a "feminist perspective". I have been very, probably undeservedly hostile to a book called Outdated, which "skillfully opens women’s eyes to how they have been coerced into believing the false idea that their self-worth is tied to their relationship status. [It] addresses the difficulty of negotiating loving relationships within the borderlands of race, culture, class, and sexuality—and of holding true to your convictions and maintaining a sense of independence while doing it." (from Ms. Magazine) Theoretically I should be super stoked that a book about dating--where "dating" belongs to a genre of books home to all kinds of  racist, classist, cissexist, misogynistic, hetero-normative pop-psychology and bullshit--wants to talk about everything I just said in the first half of this sentence, while proposing a new way of talking about dating that is none of these. And I am stoked about that, really. But I'm worried it's just going to result in the same shit I've seen as a result of another dating book that purported to be liberatory and feminist, too.

"The Ethical Slut" was SUPPOSED to provide a language by which partners--straight, queer, cis, trans*, kinky, relatively vanilla--could negotiate boundaries, discuss and overcome jealousy, and have more trusting relationships. it was about being physically and emotionally open to relationships with other people that were safe and sane because the partners were also physically and emotionally open WITH EACH OTHER. I’ve never been in or seen a heterosexual open relationship that did the second part with equal aplomb as the first. what I have seen, instead, is dudes treating their partners like shit and running roughshod all over their partner's boundaries, and then

1. acting gobsmacked by their partner's resistance; and then
2. feeling really shitty when their partner freaks out but not actually engaging in any kind of real boundary-setting because it's laborious and difficult; or really grossly,
3. getting defensive, like "what baby? we're in an open relationship! if you were a real feminist you wouldn't give me shit for dipping my dick in whomever I so choose on whatever terms I want, because you would understand that I'm just trying to undermine the hetero-patriarchal monogamous model that has been oppressing WOMEN for hundreds of years! you just need to read some Foucault and relax!"

and, uh, I don't really feel like I/she/we need to relax. well, I know I need to relax, but not because I just bury my frustrations about this, but because guys actually start respecting and responding to this in a useful way.

I mean, then, that I don't feel like I need another book that guys can mine for choice quotes to justify their propensity for acting completely selfishly, and determining for women how women get to feel about it. I don't really feel like being told that my being disappointed in the way a partner behaves, or having expectations of my partner's behavior at all, is just evidence of my own internalized ~*~fear of being single~*~. unless there is a whole chapter devoted to the way men read Foucault or  the ethical slut or even books like outdated as means by which they can better poke holes in their partner's boundaries, then I suspect that will happen, and I’m not enthused. unless there is a chapter about how men have used arguably liberatory mechanisms like sexual liberation, divorce, and polyamory as an excuse to run through women like tissue and denigrate "from a feminist perspective" women who don't feel like being inanimate objects that are "run through", then I don't think these will be prevented, and I’m not enthused.

so this is why I’m suspicious of dating books, and not the readers: just like almost everything else about feminism and gender inequity, these books so often provide more advice about what women should do to contest the patriarchy, and none about how the beneficiaries of the patriarchy should respond. guys who read dating advice are not getting any meaningful information regarding how they may better treat women with whom they have relationships, so instead they incorporate it into their understanding of dating by gleaning from it new ways they can continue to behave the same as before, with the dating book's language to back it up. dating books from a feminist perspective thus seem particularly insidious, because they provide feminist means by which some pretty non-feminist guys can confuse women, minimize their viewpoints, and do whatever the hell THEY want. I find dating books from a feminist perspective that don't take men to task for this totally incomplete.

I want a feminist dating book, if it's going to talk about how heterosexual dating advice sucks and puts women in heterosexual relationships that suck, to also talk about how the other half of heterosexual relationships--men--need to respect the complex feelings that women have within these relationships. I something from a feminist perspective that spells out that I can want to be in relationships and  have my needs heard and not feel, or be made to feel, that I have to turn in my feminist card because I am codependent or a stick in the mud or a sucker for the hetero-patriarchal monogamous model that's been oppressin' my ass and lots of other people's asses for hundreds of years. I want something from a feminist perspective that can be read by men and women, and can make me feel like I now have a place from which I can meaningfully relate MY OWN feminist perspective--where I can be open about wanting to experience really great happiness with really great people, and be happy that I’m happy, even if that happiness is "because of" someone else. as it stands I am reminded very regularly that to be a proud outspoken feminist and member of the world I must be silent and alone, and I hate it. I hope that this new book sheds some light on how things can be different.

It’s hard to find folks who will admit they are racist.  It is, similarly, damned difficult to find someone who admits they participate in gentrification.

Indeed, in my experience, a lot of white people who move or want to move to a gentrifying area will claim they are doing so because they appreciate the diversity of the area—even if they and the milieu of other white folks moving there are helping to decrease that same diversity.  Others will be somewhat straightforward and say they want to live in a hip side of town.  Still others will say they want to live there because it’s cheaper, and they’re poor, and dangit, they deserve cheap rent, too.

This last one irks me in a very particular way.  First of all, almost no one I’ve ever heard say that they need to live in a gentrifying neighborhood because the rent is cheap and they’re poor is, in fact, poor.  They’re not on welfare, addicted to drugs, mentally unstable, high school dropouts, non-native English speakers, undocumented immigrants, sad/tragic/out-of-control poor.  If they were any of these, they wouldn’t be longing to move to a cheap side of town—they’d live there already.  Sure, they might be broke.  They’re in college, or out of college but working shitty jobs, or working good jobs but pissing away all of their money on microbrews and takeout—but they’re not poor.  They’re just young and/or irresponsible.  I’m not saying they’re worse than me for this—when I started writing this, I had eight dollars in my checking account after having spent four on a cup of coffee and some crumble cake.  I’m broke and young and irresponsible, too.  I get by because I live with friends way outside of town, in a very un-hip area, where it’s cheap.  Not fake cheap. For real cheap.

Gentrifying areas are fake cheap.  But, by virtue of having been touched by real live people of color, white folks think of these areas as gritty, urban, and for real cheap.  That’s just  conflating race with class—i.e., believing neighborhoods where people of color live are ipso facto where poor people live, because they think people of color are all “ghetto”.  But anyway, even if the white folks just aching to live in a gentrifying area were doing so because they’re poor, they’re horribly misguided.  Living in a cheap side of town explicitly precludes living in gentrifying areas, because gentrifying areas by their very nature aren’t cheap.  They may not be as expensive as the city center or the strip, but they’re not freaking frugal.  “Bad” sides of town don’t become “good” for hip, choosy, self-conscious white people until well after the rents have gone up and the locals have been driven out and the tax base has finally found some footing.  And those few white gutter punks who do live there when it actually is cheap are frequently taking advantage of the decades of institutionalized racism that keep it cheap—cheap, and the attendant violent, underdeveloped, and “unlivable.”  The point is, the average hipster with a brand-new MacBook, or hippie with a perpetually overflowing bong, or person/couple with a Subaru, a dog, and a baby in a sling aren’t moving there when it’s cheap, so “because it’s cheap” is a lie.

So what it comes down to is white people being entitled. Just that.  Entitled.  There are hundreds, if not thousands, of houses and apartments in other, truly cheap sides of town that don’t even make a blip on hipsters’ radar. And those gentrifying areas, just a few years ago, were way off that radar, too.  Why? Because those sides of town aren’t safe, and white people believe they, more than people of color, have a right to be safe.  And because of white supremacy, because we live in a racist society, we know we can find housing in a safe side of town, regardless of our race, and sometimes even regardless of our class.  We can be reasonably confident that with enough friends to split the rent, we can find a house with electricity, plumbing, warm water, and few-to-no gunshots wizzing by outside, because renters in safer neighborhoods trust white people more than people of color, even when white people have worse rental records or criminal histories. Check out this and this for more info.

So what is my point? Don’t move to gentrifying areas? Maybe. Sure. Heck, I’d even suggest not supporting businesses in gentrifying areas.  Because there are ways of revitalizing neighborhoods and making them safer without making them whiter.  This can mean getting involved with “Main Street” committees and demanding accountability from developers in regards to providing resources for current residents of underdeveloped areas—like building community centers and job offices so people can afford to stay in the neighborhood, moving in NAACPs and churches and moving out liquor stores and pawn shops, reaching out to locals so they can start businesses like music stores or hair salons or restaurants before white folks scoop them up for their gourmet salt shops (I’m not even kidding; these exist).  It means supporting these ventures after they start. Or before they start!  Go to a high school ball game, donate money to their PTA, have a school supply or art supply or musical instrument drive. Get involved! Be rad! And don’t be a jerkburger.

ETA: fo rreally good ideas, check out Causea Justa :: Just Cause!

suicideblonde:
Milla Jovovich on the cover of Seventeen in 1988 at age 12

ipomoea:
God, I can’t believe a) I started reading Seventeen 20 years ago, b) that she’s only five years older than me, and c) that they’d put a non-Disney-affiliated tween on the cover.  She’s just always seemed ageless and terribly cool to me.

filigrees:
i remember when they’d put actual models on the covers of these magazines. now that’s unheard of. i subscribed to Seventeen and YM starting in middle school, because of those totally awesome magazine drives. a girl at my school who was two years ahead of me (8th grade when i was in 6th) was on the cover with scott wolfe! from party of five! i remember thinking even back then how there’s no way those “most embarrassing stories” were ever true, because they all involved a crush or “the hottest guy in school” every. single. time. but god, i loved those magazines.


My first glimpse at Seventeen was when I was nine. I didn’t relate to it at all—the models looked older than I would ever be, and the full-page article explaining that it’s preferable to shave your legs before tanning (because shaving afterward might remove the tan) absolutely horrified me. What the heck happens if you shave after tanning? I thought. Does your skin come off in curly little ribbons?!

By the time I was 12, Seventeen made more sense. Not only was I two-thirds through one of the worst puberties on record, but recent shake-ups in the publishing industry meant I could connect with the content more. Seventeen had acquired much of the recently-folded Sassy’s staff, and in effort to bring in their readership, completely altered their approach to teen girls.

Now the beauty tips were thoroughly anti-tanning, the articles ranged from tips on coming out to dealing with welfare, and the music section was life-altering. Seriously, I discovered bikini kill and Sleater-Kinney not through indie radio or a girlfriend’s older sister’s issue of RockrGrl—I learned about them in the pages of Seventeen. Those opening riffs on “Dig Me Out” that floored me so much I had to lay down? That was some Seventeen intern’s wonderful fault.

Granted, Seventeen always existed primarily to peddle fashion and cosmetics and insecurity. By the time I was 14 I could see through the grunge-inspired fashion spreads to the misogyny underneath, and I canceled my subscription. But the music I listened to and the zines that I read, the cultural phenomenons that shifted me into feminism and still guide me today, may never have come under my radar if not for this shallow, sexist, weird-ass institution.

Solidarity fists to you, Seventeen.

xposted to hypermeta

Was the man who flew a plane into the IRS building a terrorist a crazy person?  Must one be part of a terror organization to be a terrorist?  If so, why differentiate between a terrorist and a terror organization?

Is a person who bombs an abortion clinic a terrorist?  A person who bombs a school?  A church?  A court? A jail?

Is terror the same as a hate crime?  If a hate crime is perpetrated against minorities to instill fear in minority groups, is terror an act of terror if it breeds fear in the majority?  Can terror be perpetrated against minorities?

When the news reports on crimes and instills fear in its viewers, is it an act of terror?  Is all crime terror?  Is all terror a crime?

If rape a tool of war  because it is perpetrated against women to demoralize men, is rape a tool of war if it is perpetrated against women to demoralize women?  If hate crime and terror instill fear in people, and rape influences women to alter their behaviors to avoid being raped, is rape a hate crime?  Is rape terror?

What is terror?

The other day I pulled a dead kale plant from its pot and dusted off the roots. A few pieces of earth still clung to the roots, and my friend said it was, for him, impossible to tell where the plant ended and the root began. I nodded, but did not say I understood exactly what he meant.

To me it was obvious what was earth and what was root--from the color, the texture, the appearance, the fact I could tap on the root and make the earth fall off. They smelled different, looked different, felt different. I knew, however, he meant something more complex. Was it that the plant was so dependent on the earth for nourishment that we couldn't consider the plant without acknowledging the presence and purpose of the earth? But that makes the plant dependent only on the earth--the earth can still exist without the plant, and be separable from the plant. We can tell the difference between the two because the relationship is not mutual.

Is it that the earth has no real purpose if the plant was not growing from it? But what is the purpose of purpose if another conscious life cannot see it and acknowledge it and give it worth? Animals, so far as we know, are not capable of doing that, but humans are. We, too, are dependent on plants, both for vegetation and as for a means of getting oxygen. The plants, likewise, are dependent on us, for the carbon dioxide that they convert to oxygen. Is the purpose of the earth to sustain life, both vegetative and conscious, so the latter can exist off of and give value to the former? So, perhaps the plant is dependent on the earth, and humans dependent on the plant and the earth, and the dependency so intricate we cannot tell the one from the other. But again, James was referring to the plant and the earth, and while we need both the plant and the earth, the plant and the earth themselves still do not have mutual dependency, once we remove ourselves from the equation, because the earth can exist without the plant.

Or is not--or not only--that we need the plant and the earth, but that we are the plant and the earth, and the earth a plant, and the plant, earth? The earth is organic matter--plants that "die" and are folded back into the earth, the nutrients recycled to sustain another plant. And while we can tell the difference between the organic matter of the earth and of the plant, and perhaps even see the exchange of atoms that nourishes the latter and lets is grow into flowers and fruits that feed us as well as the earth, we cannot see how the life force between the two are exchanged. It is so infinitesimally small, perhaps invisible, and thus something that is not "exchanged" but reinforced. If it is not something that is exchanged, it is something that is always there. If it has permanency, it is infinite. If it is infinite, it exists outside of time, and space, because its fundamental sameness in the past, the present, and future, moves so far beyond the confines of matter as to blur the very edges of matter. So we cannot tell the difference between the roots of the "dead" kale plant and the earth that still clings to it.

"Lately I just stare at the thick cloud cover in disbelief."

So goes my friend's Facebook userinfo re: living in Portland. He's from Santa Cruz. I'm from Orange County. We've both been here an awful lot longer than we intended.

I wonder if the length of Oregon winters is the reason so many of us transplants frequently find ourselves living here for years and years despite never having intended to and perhaps always wanting to leave. Even those of us from pretty perpetually warm climates like Southern California are used to some sort of indicative season change - sure, people will argue there's only one season in California, and it's summer, or maybe spring - but there are subtle but marked enough changes that differentiate fall from winter from spring from summer. Here, in Portland, fall and winter and spring melt into one long gray gloom, not rainy so much as interminably drizzly, the sun coming out occasionally but fitted with such frigid temperature as to keep so many indoors and unaware or unwanting of the rare feeling of sunlit goodness on their skin.

But, uh, enough of that. For newcomers to the pacific northwest, the passage of time seems immeasurable. With three whole seasons being essentially the same, and our bodies used to four, alternating periods of warm and less warm and cold and less cold and warm and so on, the body's ability to measure years by alternating temperatures or absorption of sunshine falters. A year here has two seasons, so two years feels like 12 months. Two-twelve months is so much: a newborn baby entering their wall-gnawing terrible twos, a master's degree earned, a second language learned. But here we don't have to do all that - here people operate on a slower schedule - and here time idly flies by, lumbering along like a tortoise while we little hares sleep and
sleep and
sleep.

1. What caused your heterosexuality?
2. How and when did you first decide you were a heterosexual?
3. Is it possible your heterosexuality is just a phase you may grow out of?
4. Does your heterosexuality stem from a neurotic fear of others of your own sex?
5. Heterosexuals usually have histories of failed gay relationships. Do you think you may have turned to heterosexuality out of fear of rejection?
6. If you've never slept with a person of the same sex, how do you know you wouldn't prefer that?
7. Isn't it possible that all you need is a good gay lover?
8. To whom have you disclosed your heterosexuality?
9. Why do you insist on making a public spectacle of your heterosexuality?
10. If you nurture children, would you want them to be heterosexual, knowing the problems they will face?
11. Why do heterosexuals feel compelled to seduce others into heterosexual behavior?
12. Why are heterosexuals so promiscuous?
13. Heterosexuals are noted for assigning themselves and each other to narrow, restrictive, stereotyped sex roles. Why do you cling to such unhealthy role-playing?
14. Why do heterosexuals place so much emphasis on sex?
15. Despite all the support that marriage receives from society, the divorce rate is spiraling. Why are there so few stable relationships amongst heterosexuals?
16. The great majority of child molesters are heterosexual. Do you really consider it safe to expose children to heterosexual teachers?
17. Considering the menace of over-population, how could the human race survive if everyone was heterosexual?
18. How can you enjoy a fully satisfying sexual experience or deep emotional rapport with a person of the opposite sex when the obvious physical, biological, and temperamental differences between you are so vast? How can a man understand what pleases a woman sexually or vice-versa?
19. Considering how often heterosexuality is equated with sin in the Bible why do you choose to be heterosexual?
20. There seem to be very few happy heterosexuals. Techniques have been developed with which you might be able to change if you really want to change. Have you considered trying aversion therapy?
21. Why do you make a point of attributing heterosexuality to famous people? Is it to justify your own heterosexuality?

*snerk*

Several years ago, for just a few months, I was hot shit.

I was 19 years old and had just moved up from Orange County, CA to start college at Olympia, WA. The previous year I had been in an intense, ecstacy-fueled, love-of-my-life relationship that ended due to an equally intense, seratonin-depleted period of depression, and the new environment allowed me to get away from all of my triggers and put my chemistry back in order. Within a month I was feeling happy and inspired, and I showed it by growing dreadlocks, dying them pink, and shaking them out at parties and poetry slams all over town.

I was charming and cute and I got a lot of attention. Male attention. There was a very interesting, albeit awkward, span of weeks where every Friday night some guy would stumble over to my dorm completely hammered and confessing his love for me. Sometimes I'd go out with them (which is to say, let them buy me food), sometimes I'd smooch on them, but mostly I just smiled wanly and told them they were very nice, but I wasn't interested in a relationship.

And then the Pacific Northwest winter started dragging on too long and I got interested in a relationship. And just as suddenly I stopped getting male attention. And I never got it back.

See, I got a boyfriend, and no one asked me out anymore. I figured the guys had run out, or news went around that I wasn't available, or something like that. I've never been the type of person that needs lots of male attention to feel good about herself, so I was easily able to reason--when I bothered to reason, which wasn't often, mmkay--that the sudden drop in dates was because of something practical and not really about me.

Then I had to move to back California and no one asked me out there, either. Again, I figured it was everyone else. I knew my dreadlocks and I wouldn't be as acceptable in 90210 as they were back in riot grrl headquarters, and anyway I was so pissed off and bitter about being in California again that Cali boys and their hair--of any type---weren't particularly acceptable to me, either.

But then I moved to Portland and I STILL didn't get any attention. This time, my self-esteem took a hit. I had cut off my dreadlocks (I decided they were too culturally approriative after a zine reading on racism at In Other Words feminist bookstore) and sold most of my clothes (I needed the money) and generally was just feeling shy and boring and ugly and out-of-place in uber-hip *~*Portland.*~* I had no issue with Portland boys, and had no reputation as being single or not-single, so the only thing left to blame on my invisibleness was ...myself. And did I ever: Maybe I was past my prime. Maybe my dreadlocks had had magical powers. Maybe being away from parents for the first time had given all of the Olympia boys mommy issues and they picked me to be their replacement. Whatever it was, the shy/boring/ugliness just doubled up on itself, and the first guy that looked my way wound up being the guy I dated for three and half years, even though I was incredibly miserable for about two of them.

Fast-forward a few years and a couple of little teeny relationships and non-relationships later, and I'm single again. Super single. No desire to date anyone, smooch on anyone, or anything with anyone any time soon.

And out come the boys.

You know what it is? It's not pink dreadlocks or being 19 or having a uterus and thus the ability to clean the spit off man-boys' chins. It's the fact that being in relationships makes me kind of a shitty person. I get meaner. Surlier. I bottle up the good Sarah for my boyfriend, and think anyone in the outside world who wants my kindness and patience is being an entitled douchenozzle.

And the flip-side? Being single makes me nicer. I don't have someone at home to listen to me crab on the world and then say I'm awesome. And, more to the point, I don't have someone at home who never empties the dishwasher or helps me plan meals or puts away their clothes, someone who's supposed to be there for me but often makes me feel completely crazy and like thinking the world is for crabbing.

A study was released recently that said married men are happier than single men, and single women are happier than married women, because married men still gain a maid and daycare provider and sex partner upon marriage, while women take on all that while juggling the various responsibilities they had prior to the wedding. It's true, even when there are no wedding bands. I've lived it. It sucked.

So, sorry dudes. I'm kind of in a perfect storm of being my awesome self, and I hope to tap into it for a while, long past those critical months of March through May. My awesome self...it's just for me.