Sister Experiment

It began as a simple invite on Facebook, which I typically ignore, and has developed into a frustrated attempt at clarifying my point. The three sentence explanation of the event was enough to warrant frustration, but the mob mentality of those who joined elicited outright disgust. Woman across the internets rebelled against the man by exposing their flesh in what has been dubbed the Boobquake experiment. This event arose in response to the declaration by an Iranian cleric that recent quakes and threats of more in their region are due to women's immodesty (click here for original article). Feminists jumped to the frontlines to combat these apparent fear tactics to keep women in-line. Some participants are regarding it as harmless fun, others are avidly opposed to any comment which seems to teeter toward being against the movement, deeming it blasphemous to feminism and free society. I am of course referring to the responses I received against my critical analysis of the event. I assure you I maintain similar values regarding female pride and freedom from male oppression in all its forms, but my dispute is specifically aimed at the method of the movement as posted on facebook (must have account to view).

Kick-Ass Review (R)

If you are between the ages of 13 and 18, a self-proclaimed geek, not homosexual, not male, not white are shocked by your pedophile tendencies and would cry with glee at the sight of a rocket pack, you will probably enjoy this movie. Everyone else belonging to a minority, for fear of being either offended or made to feel too young or too old, you'd be better off watching How to Train Your Dragon.
There is only one other movie I considered prematurely walking out on lest my soul bleed from the holes under my fingernails I had to create just to stop the raping of my senses. Kick-Ass didn't quite measure up to that sort of torture, but I had the urge many times (which I could name). Perhaps my tastes have become too accustomed to real films, or perhaps I'm just not a teenager anymore, but I refused to conform to the rest of the audience's low standards of what makes an entertaining film. I was awkwardly frustrated when the room jolted from their seats to applaud the screen and one person yelled in sarcasm "That was a terrible movie!" to which everyone shared a group-bonding laugh about. Obviously Kick-Ass was a flick, designed to appeal to the flood of hormones of a teen, a guilty pleasure of fulfilled sexual fantasies, stardom, and rebellion, meshed with an open appreciation for one race of geek. It doesn't help that it would be accepted as freshness when the only activities in my town for underage night owls looking for some danger is spying on the hippies in the park.

Potty Humor: Gender Stereotyping in Bathroom Propriety

Women have you ever used the men's bathroom when the women's was taken or flooded? You never know how many refuse to lift the lid in a men's restroom though and miss the hole, since it supplies their only chance to leave it down or up without fear of spousal abuse later, so you wipe the seat and just hover while you pee. Somehow men's restrooms tend to feel filthier and less inviting. Public restrooms in deserted areas are easier to get away with sneaking in and out of because no one would notice your breech of societal rules. But what about busy places like grocery stores for instance? Is it forgivable to rebel against segregated bathrooms when really one size fits all? Often the only differentiation between the two rooms is about four inches of white paint depicting a skirt. Some do have urinals, yes and I find it amusing that so many women in our country have never seen one. A urinal for a woman is a taboo. We have all wondered about them, but never dispute that we are essentially forbidden by gender rules to explore them. I mean explore in the most basic of actions, using sight to observe detail and construct an understanding in one's mind. My question is, what purpose does it serve to have separate bathrooms? In most small businesses and in our homes there is one bathroom for everyone. If there is a constant flow of squatters (heh heh..) like at airports than I can somewhat understand the need to respect different cultural gender proprieties. More importantly how is it that some are so insistant that only that gender uses their designated restroom. So what about queers and transgenders, drag queens, transvestites, bisexuals, where do the rest of us fit in that black and white equation.

Good times...

You know those times with friends when the conditions are right, when everyone is energized and full of laughter. Yeah, why are those so rare?

Curse of a Caregiving Personality

A week has come and gone. I drove my little sister Michelle back to our parent's, back to her reality. My boyfriend joined us so we could visit his family. After arriving, I pried my littlest sister downstairs to greet me. She had something for me: a gold pen with my name engraved on the cap and the words "an attractive and considerate person" on the box. It surprised me somehow to know that she does think of me, and that I am a positive influence in her life no matter how far away I am. The tears caught in my throat, which she gathered as I was explaining how meaningful it was to receive something tangible back from her. I couldn't remember the last time we exposed our tears to one another. She covered her eyes and turned away shyly. Emotionality is a contagion in a family of sensitive women.
She interjected my emotional appraisal of the pen, "You'll still have me for the summer won't you?"
Pondering the sudden topic change, I nodded reassuringly. "Of course." I would take you back with me now but that is unfair to Jim and I need a few weeks to catch my breath. "Do you think you hold out until then?" I needed to know how desperate she was.
"Yeah. I can wait." Her voice seemed relaxed enough, verifying her words.
"Well if not, just call me." I hugged her again.
"I love you."
My heart drove into my brain. I wanted to pick her up and wisk her away right then. Required all my strength, faith in her resiliency and ability to survive to shove that protective urge down into a knot of weight in my chest where it would stir until I could release it safely.
Wait, just a little longer baby. "I love you too."

Beam Me Up

I never admitted that all developing adolescents, including my sisters, experience stages of sexual development. Not quite the same as realizing that your grandparents still have sex, because you don't have to clean up your vomit afterward, but equally disconcerting. Just one more thing to the list of denial.
I came home from work to find the office door closed and my little sister missing. I thought maybe she was hiding her emotional attack. As a courtesy, I knocked to provide time to compose herself, and walked in. But her look of modesty paired with a silly grin gave her away. A glance to a blank screen of the computer she was facing implied she was watching something she didn't want me to know about. Ho ho! Little miss modest does have naughty thoughts. I smiled suggestively, asked if she was okay, then walked out.
I came back an hour later and repeated the same ritual: knock, observe nothing on screen, you okay. But my curiosity had me lingering in the doorway longer than before.