Thursday, October 1, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Hate the Game, Not the Player
Although I began Deborah Siegel's Sisterhood, Interrupted: From Radical Women to Grrls Gone Wild much earlier in the summer, I just began to get really into it yesterday (when prose is more academic jargony than funny, it takes me a while to get into it). The particular passage I'm interested in and blogging about kind of requires a backstory if you're not familiar with second-wave going ons:
[Backstory, abridged-- The 1968 Miss America pageant was protested by feminists who felt that the power of held male-defined standards of beauty were detrimental to women's liberation. They threw bras, girdles, fashion magazines, Playboys, high heels and makeup into "freedom trashcans" in protest of these unfair standards. Hench the image of bra-burning feminist emerged, although the cans were never actually set ablaze because of fire codes. Select feminists crowned a sheep in all its metaphoric glory, and from there feminists were divided as to whether the sheep crowning was helpful or harmful to women.]
In the harmful to women camp, Carol Hanisch argued that "such woman-hating tactics were not feminst, political, or a promotion of sisterhood:"
Crowning a live sheep Miss America sort of said that beautiful women aresheep, she wrote, with disdain. She further argued that by failing to make it clear that women are forced by men and a system of male supremacy to play the Miss America role--andnot by beautiful women themselves--the protest came off as an attack against beautiful women in general and the contestants in particular.
While my feelings on beauty pageants are mixed at best, their relevance in terms in feminism really aren't that relevant. Yes, they are essentially the epitome of pseudo-political feminine vapidity for the male gaze. But isn't feminism all about giving women the power of choice? Though it pains me on a personal level to watch their implicitness in patrirachy and socialized patterns of behavior, it's a discredit to women to say they aren't acting with their own agency.
I suppose my feelings are contradictory on the matter--while I would love nothing more than to see the end of pseudo-political vapidity, it is not my decision to make, and should be up to individual women themselves. What is inherently feminist (and nonfeminist, for that matter) to me is going to be different with other women (and men!), and I suppose I shouldn't judge them based on their pageantry decisions.
...but I still kind of do.
[Backstory, abridged-- The 1968 Miss America pageant was protested by feminists who felt that the power of held male-defined standards of beauty were detrimental to women's liberation. They threw bras, girdles, fashion magazines, Playboys, high heels and makeup into "freedom trashcans" in protest of these unfair standards. Hench the image of bra-burning feminist emerged, although the cans were never actually set ablaze because of fire codes. Select feminists crowned a sheep in all its metaphoric glory, and from there feminists were divided as to whether the sheep crowning was helpful or harmful to women.]
In the harmful to women camp, Carol Hanisch argued that "such woman-hating tactics were not feminst, political, or a promotion of sisterhood:"
Crowning a live sheep Miss America sort of said that beautiful women aresheep, she wrote, with disdain. She further argued that by failing to make it clear that women are forced by men and a system of male supremacy to play the Miss America role--andnot by beautiful women themselves--the protest came off as an attack against beautiful women in general and the contestants in particular.
While my feelings on beauty pageants are mixed at best, their relevance in terms in feminism really aren't that relevant. Yes, they are essentially the epitome of pseudo-political feminine vapidity for the male gaze. But isn't feminism all about giving women the power of choice? Though it pains me on a personal level to watch their implicitness in patrirachy and socialized patterns of behavior, it's a discredit to women to say they aren't acting with their own agency.
I suppose my feelings are contradictory on the matter--while I would love nothing more than to see the end of pseudo-political vapidity, it is not my decision to make, and should be up to individual women themselves. What is inherently feminist (and nonfeminist, for that matter) to me is going to be different with other women (and men!), and I suppose I shouldn't judge them based on their pageantry decisions.
...but I still kind of do.
Monday, July 27, 2009
I Can Has Healthcare?
For the first time in months, I was beside myself and nearly in tears (as I almost never cry, this is significant). I have trocantaric bursitis (an inflammation of the connective tissue that holds my muscles in place) in my right hip, an (believe it or not!) athletic injury from last summer's every day hour-long runs. I got a steroid shot last summer, which made it go away, so when it flared up again this summer I made another appointment. Problem is, I'm insured through Allegheny--and Allegheny doesn't insure over the summer (which, incidentally, is the only time I've ever needed it).
So I'm sitting in the waiting room, baby blue Allegheny sweats and all (in preparation for the pants-pulling-down), when the doctor asked if I had insurance.
"I'm not insured over the summer."
"Oh. It's over a hundred dollars. When do you go back to school?"
"August."
"Can it wait?"
"I'd like to not be in pain."
Don't get me wrong, the doctor was sweet and very well-meaning. She suggested I try an anti-inflammatory, then proceeded to give me an asston of free samples.
I appreciated the sentiment, and maybe it will work. Regardless of whether it works or not, what upset me so much was that I could not get a simple shot to alleviate a dull-to-sharp pain I feel nearly everyday.
It is now Friday, August seventh. I got the shot for 85 dollars four days ago and have continued to be in moderate to severe pain ever since. I have $6.23 in my bank account, I can't get coverage under my mother to go to St. Vincent's hospital even though she works there, and I'm forced to pay for my painkillers with my credit card because I cannot afford my existence.
Imagine I have a good transition here.
Jesus was a socialist. That's what I find so puzzling about religious conservatives opposed to public healthcare. They're all up in arms (to be fair, there are other political parties and individuals that are opposed to public healthcare, but religious conservatives in particular really piss me off). I suppose it isn't so puzzling that they're hypocritical, but when it's an issue that directly affects me I guess I care that much more. The city of Sodom didn't epicfail because of homosexuality; they fell because they had so many people living in poverty and the tiny percentage that was wealthy lived excessively and did nothing to help the poor (thanks, Nikki).
Health care industries make billions. I have to see an orthopedic surgeon, possibly get an MRI or a CAT scan, and I don't know how I'm going to afford it. I waited to get the shot in the first place because I don't shit money, and that probably made the problem worse.
I would really like the ability to walk without a gimp or roll on my side without incredible discomfort.
Fuck you, American healthcare system.
So I'm sitting in the waiting room, baby blue Allegheny sweats and all (in preparation for the pants-pulling-down), when the doctor asked if I had insurance.
"I'm not insured over the summer."
"Oh. It's over a hundred dollars. When do you go back to school?"
"August."
"Can it wait?"
"I'd like to not be in pain."
Don't get me wrong, the doctor was sweet and very well-meaning. She suggested I try an anti-inflammatory, then proceeded to give me an asston of free samples.
I appreciated the sentiment, and maybe it will work. Regardless of whether it works or not, what upset me so much was that I could not get a simple shot to alleviate a dull-to-sharp pain I feel nearly everyday.
It is now Friday, August seventh. I got the shot for 85 dollars four days ago and have continued to be in moderate to severe pain ever since. I have $6.23 in my bank account, I can't get coverage under my mother to go to St. Vincent's hospital even though she works there, and I'm forced to pay for my painkillers with my credit card because I cannot afford my existence.
Imagine I have a good transition here.
Jesus was a socialist. That's what I find so puzzling about religious conservatives opposed to public healthcare. They're all up in arms (to be fair, there are other political parties and individuals that are opposed to public healthcare, but religious conservatives in particular really piss me off). I suppose it isn't so puzzling that they're hypocritical, but when it's an issue that directly affects me I guess I care that much more. The city of Sodom didn't epicfail because of homosexuality; they fell because they had so many people living in poverty and the tiny percentage that was wealthy lived excessively and did nothing to help the poor (thanks, Nikki).
Health care industries make billions. I have to see an orthopedic surgeon, possibly get an MRI or a CAT scan, and I don't know how I'm going to afford it. I waited to get the shot in the first place because I don't shit money, and that probably made the problem worse.
I would really like the ability to walk without a gimp or roll on my side without incredible discomfort.
Fuck you, American healthcare system.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Caffeine [and Brain] Farts
I've just begun the process of paper writing: ingesting nearly dangerous amounts of caffeine and popping my mom's nerve pills like Skittles. It didn't hit me until yesterday that we only have five weeks--FIVE WEEKS--until classes start up again. So, maybe I should finish up those incompletes, consisting of a five-to-six page paper (which I previously thought was four-to-five) and two 2-3 page take home essays. Seems fairly simple, but because I had missed so much class and got so far behind in the readings, I have had NO IDEA what to write about. I've finally gotten some inspiration for the five-to-six, but I (as usual) have no idea how to organize it. I feel like I'm at a point where I just need to sit down and get it DONE, regardless if it's my best work or not. My GPA this semester is quite unfortunate, but I suppose all I can really do is be an academic superstar this upcoming semester. Good thing I'm taking two junior seminars and a lab. Good.
Anyway, what's really been eating me up lately is the whole studying abroad thing. I'm thinking I'm going to post a Facebook note since that's more accessible for everyone to comment on, because I am in some serious need of life direction. While showering in the Wise Center, I came up with a list of pros and cons which I will now divulge to you:
Pros:
1) Finding myself; I normally define myself by other people
2) Being independent; I am way too clingy
3) Being in England in general
4) Assimilating myself in a different culture FTW
5) Learning to really appreciate the people back home that I take for granted
6) Care packages
7) ADPi mail
8) Being able to apply my experience successfully to the rest of my life
9) Learning to appreciate American cuisine
10) Accents
11) Applying CHEL knowledge and attempting nonsubjectivity in regards to the preservation of standard English
12) Making family proud (only Stanko/Allessie to leave country for educational purposes)
13) Bragging rights; while this may be a less-than-fantastic reason to uproot everything I've ever known for five months, I want to prove that I am good enough and smart enough to do such a thing. Wanna PWN the haters.
14) Pictures! Who doesn't love pictures!
15) Chance to prove to myself that I am capable of just about anything.
Cons:
1) Away from comfort zone. Extreme anxiety.
2) Away from Sarah and Becky. How will they get anywhere?
3) London. Will she forget that I'm her momma?
4) Muffin (and Stormy by default). She's old, what if she thinks I abandoned her?
5) My humor is largely pop culture based (Disney, Family Guy, 90s songs). Will I still be funny in England?
6) ADPi. I kind of sorority girl failed last semester, and I want to get more involved now. I don't know how much I'd be able to do with the course load I have this semester, and I almost certainly won't be able to hold a position. Also, my Big graduates and I don't wanna miss that or my Little getting a Little and me being a Grandbig.
7) Nanimals in general. I seriously can't function without some form of pet therapy. Will Lancaster professors be cool with me taking their pomeranians into my dorm or staying in their office til ass o'clock because I can't handle being away from my own cats and dog?
8) Death. Everyone in my family is old and they all seem to have a penchant for getting into automobile accidents.
9) Women's History Month. God help me if they bring Jennifer Baumgardner or someone equally cool to speak and I'm not there. I will pitch a bitchfit.
10) All my dear ones being so far away. This is sad face in general.
11) Kraft macaroni and cheese. If they don't have it there, that's a deal breaker.
12) The weather. I'm a very weather/mood oriented person, and lack of sunlight does take a toll on my mental health. Add to that the fact that I'm on a different continent? Yikes.
13) Not having people who understand my social awkwardness or overcaffeinated, sleep-deprived antics. I think it's rare to find people who genuinely find these traits endearing, and I'm worried I won't find that. I'd feel so alone.
Alrighty...guess I should work on that paper, considering that I won't even have to make a decision if I don't get my GPA up to an acceptable Lancaster standard.
Anyway, what's really been eating me up lately is the whole studying abroad thing. I'm thinking I'm going to post a Facebook note since that's more accessible for everyone to comment on, because I am in some serious need of life direction. While showering in the Wise Center, I came up with a list of pros and cons which I will now divulge to you:
Pros:
1) Finding myself; I normally define myself by other people
2) Being independent; I am way too clingy
3) Being in England in general
4) Assimilating myself in a different culture FTW
5) Learning to really appreciate the people back home that I take for granted
6) Care packages
7) ADPi mail
8) Being able to apply my experience successfully to the rest of my life
9) Learning to appreciate American cuisine
10) Accents
11) Applying CHEL knowledge and attempting nonsubjectivity in regards to the preservation of standard English
12) Making family proud (only Stanko/Allessie to leave country for educational purposes)
13) Bragging rights; while this may be a less-than-fantastic reason to uproot everything I've ever known for five months, I want to prove that I am good enough and smart enough to do such a thing. Wanna PWN the haters.
14) Pictures! Who doesn't love pictures!
15) Chance to prove to myself that I am capable of just about anything.
Cons:
1) Away from comfort zone. Extreme anxiety.
2) Away from Sarah and Becky. How will they get anywhere?
3) London. Will she forget that I'm her momma?
4) Muffin (and Stormy by default). She's old, what if she thinks I abandoned her?
5) My humor is largely pop culture based (Disney, Family Guy, 90s songs). Will I still be funny in England?
6) ADPi. I kind of sorority girl failed last semester, and I want to get more involved now. I don't know how much I'd be able to do with the course load I have this semester, and I almost certainly won't be able to hold a position. Also, my Big graduates and I don't wanna miss that or my Little getting a Little and me being a Grandbig.
7) Nanimals in general. I seriously can't function without some form of pet therapy. Will Lancaster professors be cool with me taking their pomeranians into my dorm or staying in their office til ass o'clock because I can't handle being away from my own cats and dog?
8) Death. Everyone in my family is old and they all seem to have a penchant for getting into automobile accidents.
9) Women's History Month. God help me if they bring Jennifer Baumgardner or someone equally cool to speak and I'm not there. I will pitch a bitchfit.
10) All my dear ones being so far away. This is sad face in general.
11) Kraft macaroni and cheese. If they don't have it there, that's a deal breaker.
12) The weather. I'm a very weather/mood oriented person, and lack of sunlight does take a toll on my mental health. Add to that the fact that I'm on a different continent? Yikes.
13) Not having people who understand my social awkwardness or overcaffeinated, sleep-deprived antics. I think it's rare to find people who genuinely find these traits endearing, and I'm worried I won't find that. I'd feel so alone.
Alrighty...guess I should work on that paper, considering that I won't even have to make a decision if I don't get my GPA up to an acceptable Lancaster standard.
Monday, July 13, 2009
I'm This Awkward and Incomparable Thing
Since the whole 'play-the-Sims-during-work' thing didn't pan out on account of me not bringing the install disc, I decided to start YET ANOTHER women's studies book to pass away the long, uneventful hours at my job. (I say YET ANOTHER not out of women's studies sarcasm, but because I have yet to finish a book that isn't Pride and Prejudice and Zombies this summer, despite my 35-hour work week.
Although only about thirty pages into it, Sisterhood, Interrupted has held my attention and, in addition to citing Ariel Levy's Female Chauvinist Pigs and Jennifer Baumgardner in general, has given me lots to blog about. While some things are more socially and politically important, I'm going to (yet again) blog about things that are most relevant to my interests. More specifically, the "personal is political" mantra of the second wave.
Here's one of my favorite excerpts thus far:
Fighting the mechanisms of oppression in one's own life by dealing with one's personal "hang ups" became an act of political engagement. It was the kind of thing that transformed personal decisions into political statements. Politics, then, became how you lived and not just who you voted for.
You know, I am all about dealing with personal hang ups, so the fact that these hang ups can be politicized is a very exciting concept for me. I deal with hang ups in several different ways, including but not limited to therapy, feminist dialogues, dialogue in general, writing and the somewhat less-than-fantastic bottling it up and breaking down. I can see these politicized in several ways:
therapy: Insitutionalization FTW. Like, literally. Mental health screenings, awareness, prevention, social programs that foster healthy mental and emotional development--all these are examples of personal problems (or "hang ups," to quote the author) that, through social and political action, have been made public in the hopes of both preventing mental illness and providing adequate care for people suffering from it.
feminist dialogue: A wise woman [Joreen] once said that "only with other Bitches can a Bitch be truly free." While this may not work for every person, it has given me an amazing emotional outlet that not even therapy or hospitalization could provide. This blog is an example of that--while I may be dialoguing with myself for the most part, just knowing that even if just one person reads and agrees (or even disagrees, but for valid and intelligent reasons which they respectfully discuss with me), I am not alone. And that is the best feeling in the world.
dialogue in general: I suppose this is pretty self-explanatory. Is srsly gud to not shut yourself off from the world. I'd argue that it's probably healthier to have real life conversations with people, but I suppose the interweb can be useful as well, especially in long distance cases.
writing: Pretty much what I'm doing now. Plus I journal, which is not for everyone, but seeing where I've come from, where I am now, and how far I have to go is refreshing, frustrating and mind-numbing all at the same time. English major that I am, I also enjoy making marginal notes about how things I'd worried about turned out or just how damn overdramatic I can be. And of course, writing is as political as you make it.
[less-than-fantastic] bottling up and breaking down: Well, you've gotta start somewhere, and what better place than rock bottom? The answer is anyplace. Rock bottom is one of the ultimate buzzkills, but sometimes that's just what it takes. It definitely makes you stronger and more resilient, and if you're lucky enough you get a snarky, smart-ass sense of humor that I think (hopefully) most people enjoy. You can politicize this experience by fast and furious blogging, inserting swear words into English papers for that extra rebellious snark, or even the more or less obvious "mental illness [wo]manning." [I borrowed this term from an African American English class--a "race [wo]man" is someone who uplifts her/his ethnic group by being an upstanding citizen on several levels. My reappropriation of this term would describe someone who past or present tense experienced mental illness but does not fit the loony bin stereotype who can't get a grip on real life.]
So I guess the short of it is, I feel feminist theory has transformed my less-than-ideal childhood experiences in the way that I have politicized it through my writing in the hopes that I am not alone, and that maybe I will one day reach out and change the life of someone in a similar situation. I guess that's all a gal can ask for.
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
Although only about thirty pages into it, Sisterhood, Interrupted has held my attention and, in addition to citing Ariel Levy's Female Chauvinist Pigs and Jennifer Baumgardner in general, has given me lots to blog about. While some things are more socially and politically important, I'm going to (yet again) blog about things that are most relevant to my interests. More specifically, the "personal is political" mantra of the second wave.
Here's one of my favorite excerpts thus far:
Fighting the mechanisms of oppression in one's own life by dealing with one's personal "hang ups" became an act of political engagement. It was the kind of thing that transformed personal decisions into political statements. Politics, then, became how you lived and not just who you voted for.
You know, I am all about dealing with personal hang ups, so the fact that these hang ups can be politicized is a very exciting concept for me. I deal with hang ups in several different ways, including but not limited to therapy, feminist dialogues, dialogue in general, writing and the somewhat less-than-fantastic bottling it up and breaking down. I can see these politicized in several ways:
therapy: Insitutionalization FTW. Like, literally. Mental health screenings, awareness, prevention, social programs that foster healthy mental and emotional development--all these are examples of personal problems (or "hang ups," to quote the author) that, through social and political action, have been made public in the hopes of both preventing mental illness and providing adequate care for people suffering from it.
feminist dialogue: A wise woman [Joreen] once said that "only with other Bitches can a Bitch be truly free." While this may not work for every person, it has given me an amazing emotional outlet that not even therapy or hospitalization could provide. This blog is an example of that--while I may be dialoguing with myself for the most part, just knowing that even if just one person reads and agrees (or even disagrees, but for valid and intelligent reasons which they respectfully discuss with me), I am not alone. And that is the best feeling in the world.
dialogue in general: I suppose this is pretty self-explanatory. Is srsly gud to not shut yourself off from the world. I'd argue that it's probably healthier to have real life conversations with people, but I suppose the interweb can be useful as well, especially in long distance cases.
writing: Pretty much what I'm doing now. Plus I journal, which is not for everyone, but seeing where I've come from, where I am now, and how far I have to go is refreshing, frustrating and mind-numbing all at the same time. English major that I am, I also enjoy making marginal notes about how things I'd worried about turned out or just how damn overdramatic I can be. And of course, writing is as political as you make it.
[less-than-fantastic] bottling up and breaking down: Well, you've gotta start somewhere, and what better place than rock bottom? The answer is anyplace. Rock bottom is one of the ultimate buzzkills, but sometimes that's just what it takes. It definitely makes you stronger and more resilient, and if you're lucky enough you get a snarky, smart-ass sense of humor that I think (hopefully) most people enjoy. You can politicize this experience by fast and furious blogging, inserting swear words into English papers for that extra rebellious snark, or even the more or less obvious "mental illness [wo]manning." [I borrowed this term from an African American English class--a "race [wo]man" is someone who uplifts her/his ethnic group by being an upstanding citizen on several levels. My reappropriation of this term would describe someone who past or present tense experienced mental illness but does not fit the loony bin stereotype who can't get a grip on real life.]
So I guess the short of it is, I feel feminist theory has transformed my less-than-ideal childhood experiences in the way that I have politicized it through my writing in the hopes that I am not alone, and that maybe I will one day reach out and change the life of someone in a similar situation. I guess that's all a gal can ask for.
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Don't Try Suicide
I guess I should preface this by saying that I'm not suicidal. That being said, I started writing a suicide note last night.
Re: not suicidal.
I began writing it on the premise that if I die, I want everyone to know what they mean to me. As I am infinitely more articulate on paper than in real life, I felt that writing out my feelings and thoughts would be far more effective than actually discussing what people mean to me to their faces. And I guess that's a cop out in a way, because I don't like communicating my feelings to people in person--writing is a way of keeping a safe emotional distance, lest my feelings be rejected or unreciprocated.
While I'm not going to post any specifics of my note (which is conveniently located in my journal, so that I can look back on it in a few years, or so someone else can read it and get an upcloseandpersonal glance into my thoughts, because I'm narcissitic), I will state that it's very much written from the heart--in verbose, flowery-but-snarky, emotionally-charged prose. And honestly, I don't think I've been prouder (dictionary.com FTW) of anything I've written before because I specifically didn't write it to show it to anyone but myself. At least not yet (re: narcissism). I mean yes, I'm blogging about how I wrote it, but the fact that I spent two highly overcaffeinated hours word vomiting my inner most thoughts with an appropriately red gel pen by myself, with my own thoughts, is very romantic (thanks, Katrina).
I realize that suicide note writing may not be for everyone, and that I may be slightly psychologically disturbed to think this is a fantastic idea, but I'd highly suggest writing one--even if you'd prefer to write it under the premise of a will rather than suicide note [cop-out].
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
Re: not suicidal.
I began writing it on the premise that if I die, I want everyone to know what they mean to me. As I am infinitely more articulate on paper than in real life, I felt that writing out my feelings and thoughts would be far more effective than actually discussing what people mean to me to their faces. And I guess that's a cop out in a way, because I don't like communicating my feelings to people in person--writing is a way of keeping a safe emotional distance, lest my feelings be rejected or unreciprocated.
While I'm not going to post any specifics of my note (which is conveniently located in my journal, so that I can look back on it in a few years, or so someone else can read it and get an upcloseandpersonal glance into my thoughts, because I'm narcissitic), I will state that it's very much written from the heart--in verbose, flowery-but-snarky, emotionally-charged prose. And honestly, I don't think I've been prouder (dictionary.com FTW) of anything I've written before because I specifically didn't write it to show it to anyone but myself. At least not yet (re: narcissism). I mean yes, I'm blogging about how I wrote it, but the fact that I spent two highly overcaffeinated hours word vomiting my inner most thoughts with an appropriately red gel pen by myself, with my own thoughts, is very romantic (thanks, Katrina).
I realize that suicide note writing may not be for everyone, and that I may be slightly psychologically disturbed to think this is a fantastic idea, but I'd highly suggest writing one--even if you'd prefer to write it under the premise of a will rather than suicide note [cop-out].
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
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