Sex and the City 2: A Defense

I was reading a post on Feministe.com about Sex and the City 2 and I got upset.
The original article can be found here: http://www.feministe.us/blog/archives/2010/06/01/defending-sex-and-the-city-sort-of-not-really/
If you choose to read it, peruse the comments as well. They're bound to ignite some sort of fiery reaction in your blood, no matter your views on sexism, racism, ageism, and so on.
I take issue with a lot of the criticism of the show and of the sexism that the post suggests the show propagates. Yes, Sex and the City was popular when our economy was booming and when excess was the norm; the idea of keeping up with Jones's really meant overspending and under-saving. Of course, that's all come crashing down. But has it really? And if so, does that make Sex and the City irrelevant?
While the middle class and other socioeconomic underprivileged persons are arguably unable to spend, and of course revenue is down, has the recession trickled up to reach those wealthy who everyone was actually trying to emulate?
For some, yes. But for others, arguably most, no. We're not re-aligning our mindsets toward redistribution of wealth or reallocation of government resources for some better purposes. We're just biding our time until we're  better employed and we can start spending all over again. Spending with the hopes of upward social mobility.
While the writer and the commenters (when not veering off to discuss the state of Muslim women in the world) believe that the women of Sex and the City care only for their clothes, shoes, men and money, I'm arguing that they too face very real-world problems, even in their carefully scripted, fairytale Manhattan lives. Emphasis on scripted, fairytale lives.
Carrie has long been a renter, and at some point (I'd like to say season 4) is forced to make the decision to either buy or relocate. She has no money, no savings; there's not a hint of financial responsibility surrounding her character because the audience is well aware that Carrie is happy to spend her paychecks on fashion. She spends time considering what to do and it's revealed that she's spent the better part of $40,000 on shoes. That's enough for a down payment. In the end, of course, it all comes to a resolution and the shoes are safe.
While a small incident in the show's 6-year run, the money crises that Carrie suffers from shows that while perhaps Sex and City is merely a fairytale, it is also grounded in some sort of reality. While not all of us can afford to walk around in Louboutins (oh, and I wish that we could), we all face issues regarding our own use of money at some point.
Another issue, which I'm finding to be more and more common in my own life, is the issue of lending money to friends. There's a row over that at some point as well, with rich Charlotte hesitant to lend money to one of the girls. Of course, I once sided with whichever of the women asked for the money, but now I understand much better to never mix friendship and money.
These examples show that while Sex and the City may very well be at its core a frivolous look at unrealistic women with expensive tastes, it's also a show that understands that no woman, not even the best-dressed or most educated can escape certain problems. There are also bouts with sexually transmitted infections, cancer, raising children, etc.
It's a show. I don't want to spend my time watching my own life problems played up on the screen. I want to suspend reality and pretend that I too have the weight of the world upon my shoulders when I must choose which of my designer outfits to wear to the newest club opening. That's the world viewers want to see.
The sprinkling of reality was just to taste.
Also, the article quotes another article which talks about the refreshing moment when Charlotte and Miranda discuss that their motherhood and how sometimes you do need a break from the children. It anachronistically refers to 1971 as first-wave feminism, but it would have actually been more like second-wave at that time. I enjoyed watching the women struggle as mothers. Miranda struggled a lot in the series after the birth of her child. She was unprepared to be a mother and encountered a steep learning curve. She has to fight to keep her friendships, she has to fight to learn how to raise her son. She turns to Magda, her cleaning lady, for help. Charlotte struggles with conception, turning finally to adoption. She is happiest with her non-traditional family and is forced to give up her perfectionist ideals in order to embrace motherhood.
And then there's the religion problem. I've been avoiding it. I don't want to talk about it. But I'm going to address it from my own point of view. I'm prefacing this like that because I believe that everyone gets tangled in their opinions and then everyone gets called a racist and we've got problems stemming from our own inability to define anything or to thoroughly understand the topics at hand.
Before this segment begins, we're going to have to discuss the lens from which the audience is viewing the movie. Mostly white, American, probably Christian (I'm basing this off of what I know my blog readership to be. I am in no way negating the experiences of any other person, however, I can only draw on the experiences of a white, middle-class, raised-Catholic person, because that it what I am.) And that's where the problems are.
As white, middle-class viewers, we come to the movie with certain preconceived notions. We need to be aware of our own limitations before we can thoroughly critique the limitations of any certain work.
I see where the writer wanted to talk about Muslim women. I see how he wanted to draw parallels between the girls from New York and the secret women's book club in Abu Dhabi. I see how he wanted to show the similar spirits of both sets of women. I see this. But he failed miserably.
The Muslim women in the movie are poorly placed. They get very little screen time and are shown as caricatures of a collision between two cultures: Muslim women who desperately seek to become Americanized. I have a hard time believing that this is the case. Our own American lens, however, makes it seem as though "they" (any othered subset) would want to welcome our own Western culture.
One woman has decorated her outfit with color around the sleeves. Another eats french fries under her veil. At one point, the Muslim book club sheds their outer garb to reveal the spring collection of Louis Vuitton.
This attempt at subversive independence is poorly placed in the film. The author opens a door where there never should have been one, or if some opening, a window, intending to merely peek inside at the issue of religion, but instead fails to walk through this now gaping hole that is the issue of religion and culture, leaving the audience unfulfilled and angry. This wasn't supposed to be a racist movie. But it was.
The Middle East is probably the worst setting the author could have chosen, and I'd be interested to see why he chose it. Now? Of all times?
To quote the New York Times article linked at the bottom, "The gravest of these sins in my unscientific survey are behavioral: the women act like ugly Americans and debase every aspect of Muslim culture they come in contact with. Also: they’re women. And middle aged. Girlish. Have had bad work done. Or maybe not enough."
The characters, specifically Miranda, are aware of the disrespect that they (mostly Samantha) are showing to the predominantly Muslim culture that is surrounding them. They talk about it. The author attempts to parallel the wearing of the veils with the silencing of women while simultaneously showing Carrie as having tape over her mouth in a book review. The hastily reached conclusion? He's afraid of her because she's a women, not because her book may not have been the most insightful. His attempt to silence her comes from the fact that he's a man.
The NYTimes shows the bind that women find themselves in. To age gracefully? Not allowed. To embrace plastic surgery? Not allowed. To age? Not allowed. To be immature? Not allowed. To be women? Not allowed.
Hello first wave feminism.
Aren't we past that?
But we aren't and that plays into why I'm still going to defend this movie. I'm not defending racism. I'm defending a film. I do agree that there were things that could have (should have) been done very differently.

I'm sure the author meant for his commentary on Islam as well as the rights of women to be taken much as his comments on gay marriage went over, which was well. But his carefully crafted gay marriage scene was a celebration of all the sparkle of the gay community. It showed Big's heterosexual fear and attempts to push this from merely a wedding to a "gay wedding," which is actually was. There were swans. There was an all-male choir. Why is no one up in arms about that? Why is no one called John Preston homophobic? Because he shares their views and slight discomfort, but outward acceptance and appreciation of the community.

The United States, whether we like it or not, is a Christian nation. We can't wrap our minds around other cultures, let alone other religions. We're afraid of things we don't understand. We want to crusade against anything "other," anything different. We can't fathom why certain things are the way they are and we get upset about the rights of other women in other places. But we still have a lot to work for as women in the United States.
We're not free. Critics of Sex and the City come down on it for not having enough diversity, not having this, that, etc. Creation and maintenance of  the family is the focus of many women in our culture. Little girls grow up dreaming about their wedding day. Carrie makes it to that point in the first movie but eventually marries in a small ceremony at City Hall.  Sex and the City has the balls to show Carrie and her husband addressing the fact that they have no children and don't plan to. The movie doesn't cop out with Carrie getting pregnant. She's setting her own terms for her marriage and her life.
The idea of housework and child-rearing not being considered work is something that women deal with on a daily basis. The "third shift" is the housework, something that many women who work full time still  have to do once they get home because of antiquated notions about feminine roles. Miranda quits her job as a lawyer in the film but hates being a full-time stay at home mom. Being a full-time mother just isn't her thing and she regrets leaving her job. She finds another job where she is appreciated yet still able to make it to her son's school events. She is defined by her career. Charlotte, however, is a full-time mother and she is fulfilled and exhilarated by her job (most of the time). She derives meaning from her work in the maintenance of the family, but part of her conclusion in the film was that she, too, needs time to herself away from the children.
There's oppression right around the corner. Muslim women nothing. American women nothing. No single piece, no single article, no single film, book, or scrap of media is going to speak for all women of any culture, religion, race, etc. Oppression comes in all forms, religious and otherwise.
You cannot encapsulate the struggles of women or any culture into a two hour movie about girl power and friendship. The author tried and failed miserably. I'm forgiving Sex and the City its grave mistake of being set in Abu Dhabi. That was a dumb plot device that never should have been constructed. It set off a chain of hatred that someone should have seen coming.
I loved the movie. It wasn't about materialism (there were no grand shopping sprees, no ridiculous spending); it was about love and marriage and life and choices. And in the end, female friendship wins and everyone is allowed to be in the sort of relationship of their choosing. That, my friends, is exactly what I paid to see.

Here's another little piece that I enjoyed:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/23/magazine/23lives-t.html?scp=3&sq=sex%20and%20the%20city%20extra&st=cse

or another:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/06/movies/06dargis.html?hp

Lake Shore Drive, as always

Lake Shore drive at four thirty in the morning is dark, starting the slow progression toward daylight. As I drove, the fog rolled in and there was me, seeing very little ahead of me, and the fog, closing in around me, and the lights, leading the way home.
There was no sleep last night and I chased the moment and left, easing toward the center of the city and then home again. I parked, the fog lifting as I drew away from the lake. I walked home, down a tired, quiet block, the sky lightening above me and the moon still bright. I love the way the wrought iron gates of my building look in that grayish pre-dawn light. The black is somehow made more black by the gray light, and the green of the new summer foliage is greener and darker and more beautiful. The cobwebs hang between the iron bars and flutter slightly in the wind.
As the day progressed, the fog burned away and the sun came out, heating the earth. It's sunny out now; I'm sure people are at the beach loving the sunlight. I'm at home, tired.
Perhaps tomorrow will be my day to get things done?

I'll miss this place.

Memorial Day Weekend: Rest

Oh the beach! What a lovely beautiful expansive stretch of land.
Laying on a towel in the sun, eyes closed, listening to music or the waves or the kids: that is bliss.
Blue sky, blue water, pale beach, my brilliantly white skin glistening (so much sunscreen!), the sounds, the books. I smeared the ink in the textbook with my oily fingers, then proceeded to also smear an article in Esquire, then proceeded to cover myself in sand.
I'm one hundred percent alright with that.
I'm one hundred percent more relaxed. The gorgeous man laying behind us helped a bit.
I'm hoping to get a little bit of color this summer. I'm against tanning, but I'm not against a healthy glow. I love the way freckles dot my nose. I'm using SPF 55 anti-aging sunblock for my face and a little less to my body. (By a little less, I mean a lot...I'm building a base here.)
Happiness. Bliss.
I could spend days near the ocean, near big lakes, near rushing rivers, and be perfectly happy.

Then I came home and made chicken salad.
My god, I think I make pretty good chicken salad considering I sort of just make it up as I go. (I think I pretty much know what goes in it....chicken, celery, grapes, (light) mayo, spices, lemon juice, etc.) But it's chilling in the freezer right now (faster), and then I'm going to eat it. Madeline has never had chicken salad. I'm shocked.

We're going to go out to celebrate the surprise birthday party of one of my friends tonight, so that should be interesting.

I'm against commercials that play on your worst fears, like that On-Star commercial about not being able to call for help. Lame. Fear tactics are a bad way to sell a product. Maybe.
We'll know more as I continue marketing, but that's just a thought.

Blog Block Post #1

I've been having blog block lately. I have thoughts and then lose them.

We saw Sex and the City 2 tonight. I'm a longtime fan of the series and while not wildly excited to see the movie, I was interested. And so we saw it. It's adorable; the two and a half hours pass quickly. I found myself enjoying the storyline and although I have qualms about the racial undertones of the movie, I was willing to forgive them in order to suspend my disbelief and live in Carrie's fairytale world for awhile.
I didn't like the constant referring to the women's ordeals; I thought it wasn't addressed properly or thoroughly enough. I can see where the writer may have tried to bring it up, touch on it, without being racist, but I feel as though his intentions went awry somewhere along the line.
The movie was lovely. SatC always puts me in thought bubbles or sets of strange emotions, but tonight, it settled me. I love Charlotte's wardrobe; the look is timeless and beautiful.


I keep sitting down and waiting for thoughts to spill out like they have in the past, and it's just not happening.

I spent the past couple of days helping Maddie move out of her house. We drove down to Champaign so that she could store some of her things and then we looked at apartments. She found one that she liked while we were there, so that was lucky.
I've got about a month left in Chicago. And then after that, July shall be spent in odd transit, being held between two places and really living in neither. August will come quickly enough and then the future. Hopefully Mike's passport stuff can happen ASAP and then we can go to South Africa; if not, I shall be going it alone. I desperately need to do something. I need to find myself all over again. I need to regain my inner strength and develop some desperately needed self-confidence. After that, I shall return and begin building the life I'd very much like to lead.
blah blah blah, I'm just typing.

The Hawks won the hockey game tonight.

Hopefully I'll make it to the beach tomorrow and do some much needed relaxation and fiction reading.

Lost (not pertaining to any sort of mystical island, however)

I often wonder if Virginia Woolf and I would have gotten along splendidly.
Then I thank G/god that I never knew her.

I am remarkable at existing, I've discovered. In the times when I have very little to hope for (besides everything the future brings), the times that I find myself alone, I also find myself content, to a certain extent. And whenever I feel overwhelmed by the solitude, I think of that semester spent in Denver, the semester when I was very nearly alone (you're never quite alone, but you know what I mean). I was satisfied. I took long bike rides. I happen to enjoy long bike rides. My leg muscles enjoyed them as well.
And then I think about calling some of my friends. Friends exhaust me. I hate the upkeep, I really do. And thus, I'm terrified that I will spend the rest of my life alone.
I'm a horrible decision maker, if you haven't noticed.

I think once I get to Denver, it might be time to trade the mountain bike in for a road bike or one that is a combination of the two. Oh just get a better mountain bike and then actually go riding down mountains with it. People here judge the mountain bike when they see it.

I didn't get down to fight my parking ticket today, so I'm going to do it before I babysit tomorrow. \

I found out that they're officially official today.

Commentary on the population of my marketing class: tons of kids with curly hair, for some reason.
The professor is nearly seventy five years old but I have a feeling I'm going to like him even though the class looks as though it's going to be an endless exercise in patience and utter boredom. I stayed after class on Monday to talk to him about the economy because I'm the only sort-of-super-senior in the class and he was interested about my job prospects. So that's a good start.
He drones on and on, but I feel as though he's got a lot to say. So I'm listening.
Bad start, however: new edition of the book. $150. Great. The library doesn't have it, so I shelled out the money for it. But on the bright side, I'll either make probably half of it back selling it at the end of the semester or I'll be able to keep it to use it for grad school.
I need to find a math tutor in Denver for August on the off chance I take the GMAT before I depart for S. Africa. I'd like to start the application process and then hopefully start school during the fall semester of 2011. But who knows? I don't know where I want to go, but I'm assuming I'd like to stay in Denver. The University of Colorado at Denver program is looking better and better everyday. Cheap, as far as grad school goes.

Strange life

This is a mid-post edit to say that I've started writing like Hemingway in that I like to link sentences together with "and" and then just ramble. So sorry. Please think of it as an homage to a great writer (debatable) and don't think I'm someone who's taken very little time to write lately.
However:
I walked again today, choosing a route that would take me down the main streets that head north to south to the immediate west of the lake. It's strange to know that you're so close to one of the largest bodies of water in the world and yet you can't see it, can't feel it, don't really know it's there. If it weren't for all of the apartment building advertising lakeside living, you'd never know you were int he vicinity of a lake.
The city was hot today. It smelled like trash and water and people and hot concrete and exhaust and laundry and cooking food and everything I love.
I walked and there was chaos erupting around me and I went through it and away.
Elderly people ran across the sidewalk out of shadows to flag down a bus that didn't stop, driving past them up the road.
An old man holding a big cigarette of some sort walked past me at an intersection, obviously annoyed by my presence in his walking lane. He wore the white Reeboks so popular in his generation and those headphones that aren't attached to anything, but instead must be a radio of some sort. He smoked, he walked, he passed me and then I passed him, wading through the crowd of smoke and then I was gone and he was behind.
I walked and I walked and the sun shone down on me and the city moved around me and I moved in it. (This is where the above mid-post edit came into being.)
I've been alone lately and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I think I like it, but I'm not motivated, so I think I'm still just absorbing the alone time. I'm like that. Sometimes the decompression takes me a lot longer than I think it will. Sometimes I just need to do nothing (this includes not cleaning) to right myself in the world. Today I made some chicken salad with cranberries and apples and then did some dishes. I looked into applying at a temp agency in Chicago and then promptly got scared. Not quite the productive day I was hoping to have, but one I can live with.
I'm going to ask Madeline tonight how the process works to hopefully alleviate some of my fear. It's the fear. I just need to get over it. I need to get a nice business outfit, go on a few interviews, and find an office job doing ANYTHING. And then I'll feel comfortable and be more confident with my work ability.
Dairy Queen was a great job but it was also wildly detrimental to my professional development. I never had to interview, Todd hired me on the spot right after I turned in my application. The "interview" he gave me was basically asking me where I went to school and when I could start. I will never forget how terrified I was my first day on the job but I also got really comfortable really quick. My assimilation into the job was complete. Five years later, I still sort of worked there and now I"m finding myself without a lot of interview experience.
I often return to the interview I had my sophomore year of college at a place called Kim's Cupcakes in downtown Chicago. I didn't get the job. I often wonder what I did wrong, and I'm sure it was many things. But if I couldn't even get that job (selling over-priced cupcakes to rich people), how am I ever going to be able to get a legitimate professional position?
People always ask me what kind of job I want. I have no idea. I don't know job titles. I don't know positions that I qualify for. I don't know this or that or anything. And then I get scared. And the fear prevents me from taking a deep breath and realizing I'm just as qualified as anybody for anything. (not really, but you know what I mean, hopefully)
Tomorrow, I'm gathering up all of my gumption and marching down to the City of Chicago offices and demanding that they release me from the bonds of my ticket. I've been negligent and they've been assholes, and while that won't be my principal argument, it will weigh heavily on my mind as I shove my registration in their faces and make them read the plain English stamped on the back. "30 day grace period" will echo through the room and the heavy sound of justice being handed down will ring throughout the room, shocking everyone there. I'll walk out triumphantly, wearing a smile of patience and the city employees will remain behind, shaking their heads apologetically, as though my inconvenience was of their creation.
In reality, it won't be like that.
It will involve me practicing deep breathing techniques. It will involve me trying not to yell. It will involve dissolution of the ticket, though, no matter how hard I have to work for it.

While I was home, the neighbor drove by while I was vacuuming Simon and asked me what I was doing [with my life]. As has become my custom, I lifted my shoulders in the universal, "I have no clue" gesture and responded that I was taking some time off. "Not going to law school?" he asked. I keep forgetting that I spent a good portion of my life with the intentions of being a lawyer. (And by good portion I mean like a decade and a half...I'm flashing back to my third grade Halloween costume right now...Mom's graduation robes and a gavel) "I have too much of a soul for that," I said. He laughed and then agreed with me.
Wealthy is as wealthy does, and I might be too nice for all of that.
But part of me wants to take the LSAT and see how I do, just for kicks. Maybe I will. It'll be practice for the GMAT.

Also, Mike and I have decided South Africa. And for Mom, who will be wildly worried the entire time we're there, I read an ad about Verizon now having service over there. So we can hook up our cell phones. Yes!! (not about the cell phones)
Yes!
Yes!
I'm going to South Africa!

After the heat of the day had passed, I grabbed my iPod and left the apartment. I walked down past the campus, past the entrance to Lake Shore Drive and then onto the lake path. I walked and I walked and I walked and then I turned and went back up Broadway. I passed the bank that used to belong to the family of a Senate candidate. I passed the pub that only has three things on its menu. I passed all the windows, all the people and I realized I was in love. 

The city is beautiful. 

Sunburned, of course. Spray sunscreen is not a great idea in the Windy City.

It's hot here tonight. Cat and I are settled in the living room, fans on and windows hoping, hoping for the air to cool down soon. Too hot to think.

Watching "Hoarders" on A&E. I always say, "I might need this someday," and Maddie teases me about becoming a hoarder, however, I believe that I do understand that there is a place for everything. It's sad to hear the answers that these people have, and it's sad to see their families reacting. This man is collecting beer when he doesn't even drink. He's got a garage full of beer, a house full of matchbooks and other baseball memorabilia.

Too hot to think.

Remind me to post about fate, death and then the living again. But before I forget, I need to tell you how wonderful it was today to lay on the beach, in the sun, listening to the waves and the birds and the children. Happiness is sunshine and a warm summer day.

Going to apply at some temp agencies this week just to see if I can get some extra work (and therefore money) during the next month. I start school tomorrow. One class.

away we go....


expect a post tomorrow afternoon, my apologies for not posting anything sooner.

Mixed Emotions: Muddled Time

It was a much faster journey than I'd expected. Around one in the morning mountain standard time, driving through eastern Colorado, the rain hit. I had already debated pulling over; I was starting to get tired and uncomfortable. The lightning pushed me over the edge, though, and I pulled over to sleep.
Two hours late, I was back on the road. I pulled on our street at 3:55 Denver time.

The drive was nice; the new iPod is wonderful. Simon got incredible gas mileage, as always. My back starts to hurt about seven hours into a drive, and it doesn't stop. Whether or not I'm tired, I sometimes want to stop and stretch it but I know the only solution is to lay down. So it's a push to get to the destination quickly.

I started out happily enough but sometime after the sun went down, with the nasty clouds on the horizon, ahead of me, around me, above me, I felt my spirits sink. All of a sudden, despair washed over me. Normally I'm very good at figuring out why I'm feeling a certain way, and can pinpoint it to a certain event. But this was either not caused by any singular event or was something further-reaching.

I think it's a combination of my lack of personal accomplishments at this point in my life and the fact that I can't seem to get ahead of it all. I'm lost, wandering aimlessly, with no direction and no ties. Part of me doesn't want to move to Denver, but I've got nowhere else to go. Part of me wonders if I'll be able to get out of this slump eventually. (of course I will....but when?)

I know this is normal. I know that tons of people my age are feeling this. And since I'm one of those people who really feels emotions, I'm feeling them about ten times more than most. I've got aspirations, but I've also got the inability to feel capable. I want to immerse myself in something meaningful, so that I can start fully realizing my potential. I want to feel necessary, to feel strengthened, to feel successful, to feel driven. I'm not driven toward any given point at the moment, but I think this stems from my lack of knowledge of the careers that I am fit for. I'm going to go on that journey, I'm going to go do my business internship and see the world, and when I come back, I can begin living the life I want for myself.

Also, in a shocking twist of letting go, my first act as a better, more whole person is going to be letting go of the hatred that I feel for Emily. I've been living in a state of paranoia, distrust and anger. The theft of my laptop and the subsequent lack of apology and conclusion; the betrayal of me after the break up with Hunter, during which she set him up with his current girlfriend; other things around the house that have always bothered me like the invasion of my personal privacy and the usage of my things. She's leaving, and hopefully I'll be gone by the time she returns and then I'll be able to feel better about the entire situation.
I'm holding onto all of it and she has no idea I'm angry, which is another source of frustration. I would like her to understand how I feel without the drama that will stem from a confrontation. I wish I could explain my feelings without being afraid of her reaction. I don't know that I'll ever get to do that, and so I'm going to let it go. I'm going to accept this as a learning experience. You can't trust anyone; you should never mix money and friendship; not everyone has the same values of respect and responsibility. I'm going to take away a wealth of knowledge, of information, of personal growth.

I'm also ditching the man in my life for something new and different. He's not giving me what I deserve and I'm getting sick of it. I need someone intelligent, driven and thoughtful, but who likes to party. It's a delicate balance, and I'm not sure I'll find that. I need someone who respects me for what I am but who pushes me to do something better. It's going to be awhile, I think. I want someone settled and a bit more mature, but I'm still not quite the woman that that sort of man is going to want.  So...I guess I'll have a good couple of years before I settle down again. But I think I'm starting to mature in that sense, too. I'm starting to crave that stability. Who'd have ever thought? I'll be interested to watch this progress.


As an improper post-script:
I really appreciated everyone coming out to see me graduate. It really meant a lot to me. I'm sorry that I had to leave my own celebratory dinner, but trust me, it was worth it. I love you all dearly and I"m so grateful for my family. I hope you all enjoyed your time in Chicago as much as I enjoyed having you there!

pre-commencement

I'm going to preface this by saying that my thought process was interrupted by the sounds of the street sweeper going by. Of course, he has to navigate around my car. Damn it. I literally had no idea we were engaging in street sweeping today.
Oh, third sweep, it's like rubbing salt in a wound. Do they seriously need to sweep the street three times? It rained for like six hours last night.
Well I guess I know why I'm babysitting tonight.
Fourth sweep. Can you hear it? It's like the sound of bank account grim reaper, wet dollar bills rustling beneath its wiry cloak, driving onward and away.
This is getting ridiculous. Fifth sweep. Stop! The street is fine! I'm not moving my car!

Instead of doing the cleaning I was supposed to do all week, I'm going to think back.
Four years ago, I was all ready to graduate from Mullen. We were so excited; we felt like we owned the world. Nobody had any idea what lay in store for us.
Flash forward to now. We're joyous, as you'd expect, but terrified. No one has a plan, or a job, or anything set for the future. Some are going to grad school. But everything is changing. We're all going home, or somewhere new, across the country.
I've got a tentative plan, but who doesn't?
I've learned a lot in four years, as one might have expected. I've learned a lot about people, and the human condition. I've learned a lot about love. Two serious relationships have taught me what I don't want. One of those left me with a best friend, the other, an angry ex. I've had some friends, gained some friends, lost some friends, met some great people, been entertained, angered, exhilarated. I've found myself, maybe.
I've begun my romance novel and seen it crash to the ground after 20 pages of mess. Perhaps I'll pick it up some day and begin all over again.
I've failed. I've excelled. I've learned how to fend for myself. I've learned about different cultures, different races, and why some people will never know tolerance.
I've learned some English and some other stuff. I've learned I should have tried harder, that I should have been more involved. I've learned a lot. If i could re-do college right now with all I've learned, I'd do it a lot differently.
I've moved back to Denver with the intent of staying there. I've found myself unable to stay and so I came back here. Now I'm worried I won't want to be there anymore. What if I can't get settled? What if I don't re-acclimate well? What if I never make friends? What if I never succeed? At finding a job? At life?
These are juvenile fears, but part of what I'm realizing is that everything you thought you'd be is all a lie and everything you worry about now only magnifies with time. It's not that as an adult you're capable; it's that's you have to pretend you're fine.
We've survived cancer scares, surgeries, kidneys, trouble. I've grown more seriously able to handle situations no one can ever be prepared for.
In this time, I want to travel. Mike and I have been looking at going off to volunteer now for awhile, and last night, a friend of mine offered the same thing. I'm thinking the three of us should go and live and be in a different place, long before we have significant others, jobs, lives, hopes, etc.
The only thing each of us would leave behind is a loved one; between the three of we have three pets: a yellow lab, a black cat and a gray rabbit. Something tells me you're not allowed to bring a cat to Africa, although I'm sure Cat would be over the moon with excitement.
But I want to go. I'm seriously debating it. Why not spend four months (and an ungodly sum of money I don't have) doing something crazy in another place? Two internships. Human rights and business. Two countries. Four months. Sounds wonderful. Sounds like my resume would be a little bigger at the end of that experience. Graduate schools want stuff like that. I want the experience. Why not get it in India? or Ghana? or Nepal? (I just really want to go to Nepal but they don't have either of the internships I'm interested in. Lame. But maybe I'll go anyway, just to meditate.)

See what I just did? That was successful adult thinking. Switch from something to something else. Shift from the past to the future.
We've survived tears (buckets of them) to reach the point where I can leave home without anyone crying. (This started a couple years ago, don't think it was like April when I stopped crying)
We'll survive this, too.

I'm excited to see everyone who's making the journey out to see me. I hope you guys are excited too. In all honesty, though, I'm dreading the ceremony (no rehearsal) but I'm graduating in bejeweled-knock-off-Birkenstocks, so that will be fun. (That was officially a run-on sentence. I have no desire to change it.)

I will tell you that some things haven't changed. I was at a friend's house the other night and out of nowhere, he asked me what was the matter.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I responded. "Why?"
"You stopped talking."
Pause.
"Not that it's a bad thing."
Pause.
"I mean, not like that..." and then there was the hurried explanation that of course he likes it when I talk, etc. etc.
But it made me laugh.

I'm going to go move my car. This is getting ridiculous.

smish smash

Moody, for some reason.
Spent the day alone. While I realize that it's going to be my future, I'm still sort of stressed out about it. I'm not really social but I guess I am more social than I think I am.
Tomorrow is going to be my big day of cleaning. Today was my lump around day. Tomorrow: Simon and then the house. Kitchen, bathroom, living room, and oh dear, my room.
On the plus side, Cat is much happier with me. I did some research today and I realized that he looks to me as his alpha cat. I sent Mom a good morning this is a cat picture this morning, but she wasn't really a fan.

I got an A in Social Work! We're waiting on one more grade to come rolling in before we know the final score of college. ha, looking the final push has my GPA hovering around 3.1. That I can live with.


oh, by the way, the next apartment needs a bathtub. I've suffered dearly for four years and I'd prefer not to have to do so any longer. This, perhaps?:

ENDS

At 2 minutes to 9 this morning I was printing my paper.
At 9:00, I was sliding in the door of the classroom.
At 9:35 I was up presenting, telling jokes and being alive.
At 11:24 I am exhausted and very ready for sleep.
At 11:34 I will be on my way to Maddie's house so that her, Carolyn, Anna and I (maybe Katie, unless she's at work) can go get Taco Bell.
Is sleep on the menu today?
Maybe not.


But it doesn't matter: I'M DONE WITH COLLEGE!! (mostly)

FREEDOM!!!

the final countdown (do-doo-do-doo-do-do-do-do) --the song.
Can you tell it's 2am?

less than 9 hours!

4 of my grades are already in and considering how much studying I did this semester (none), I'm pretty impressed:

Spanish  B-
(I got EXACTLY the same grade on the final as I did on the midterm: 86)

Topics in Gender Studies B-

Advanced Reporting B

Statistics  A-

and then I asked my social work teacher on Thursday how I was doing and she said A, so I'm redoing my final paper (just to suck up) so that I have a solid A

and then I'm finishing a paper tonight/tomorrow morning (there is about to be a nap) and then giving a presentation starting at 9am.....for Women's and Gender Studies and I'm totally going to get a B+ or an A- or maybe an A, but maybe not.

All in all, graduating with a 3.1 GPA.
(Not bad, considering)

To save money, I'm dropping my third minor. (boo) and taking only 1 class in the summer (marketing 201) and then living the dream.

Big, wide world, here I come!

Mom told me she was proud of me today.

Herding Cats. You can do it, but it's hard.

It's really hard to walk a cat. 

I put him on his leash, he lays down. I carry him downstairs, he jumps out of my arms and wanders around the courtyard, sniffing bushes, rubbing up on bricks, sticking his head into foliage, you know. 

If you let him get too close to cover, he'll go for it, or he'll try to jump through the bars of the gate and then you're on one side, holding the leash, and he's on the other, and that's sort of a problem too. 

He got his scratching urges out on a tree and then I needed to grab something out of my car, and he freaked out the minute I opened my door. Tried to bolt. Hates cars. 

Wow, the 18 hour ride to Denver is going to be a blast, then, huh? 

Too bad you can't just drug him and ship him. I wonder if there's such a service. 

Well, no matter what happens, it will be an adventure. 

I'm staring down my last morning of relative freedom before the real finals crunch begins. I have a Spanish final tomorrow that of course I haven't started studying for and then a presentation and take home final due Saturday. This is going to be a blast. Not. 

So the final word for wearing my dress at graduation is negative. Can't do it. There's too much poof. Under the gown, it looks as though I'm wearing some sort of underwiry bustle. Think 19th century fashion and you'll understand my problem. 

So I'm going to wear something lame, or nothing at all a la Patch Adams, and then change into my dress post-ceremony. Super diva-ish, but trust me, you wouldn't want to claim me if you saw me walking that stage looking like...well, that. 

Thoughts.

The following post is jumbled thoughts:

I'm not sure if I've let the breath out yet.
I might still be holding it.
I'm nervous.
Lots of things are brewing at the moment, most of them troubling and a few bright and sunny.
There was an email. The storm warning. No response yet, and I'm trembling for fear of what will happen, but I've hunkered down with an escape plan, you know, in case something goes terribly wrong.
Which it will, because life is like that.

I finally get why people always use the storm metaphor to describe their emotions. It's lame, and overdone, but totally applicable and legitimate. I am that storm at the moment. Laughing hysterically about something funny, being excited about life, terrified about money, stressed about my living situation.

I bought a home yoga DVD. Don't judge me. I tried it last night. Basically I sort of just half paid attention to it, and I think I liked it. I'm looking quite forward to an empty apartment for the month of June. Seventeen days, baby, a few of which I will be in Colorado for. We're going to be cleaning out my car today, maybe, getting everything organized to begin the packing. The packing. I'm going to try and bring home as many dishes as possible, in order to make sure that I get everything back. I'm hoping to not have to ship anything.
I keep focusing on that. Mike and I need to buckle down and get an apartment. That will be my Denver plan.

Finals are almost over. I turned in the wrong paper for one of my classes. Literally turned in a draft. She was not pleased. I was mortified. I turned in the right paper but don't expect much of a grade boost.

Have a meeting with an internship advisor at 1pm this afternoon to see about figuring out summer. Pros and cons to the whole job/3rd minor thing....

Job:
-Pros: $
-Cons: is anyone going to hire me when I can only work for a month?

Stay for three classes:
-Pros: Self-fulfillment, three minors,
-Cons: Costs a ton.

So here's what it's looking like it might be: a split between the two of them. No money and no third minor. Take two classes, get a slight GPA boost, babysit extra hours hopefully and then move home.
The money thing is freaking me out. I'm going to get really good at navigating the loans system soon.

Mission for next week, post finals:
-clean
-pack, pack, pack!
-relax
-go to the beach
-babysit if I can
-breathe

Flashback: Fall in Wisconsin

I was digging through the tea box, rummaging for decaf tea, and I grabbed it. Apple Cinnamon. Herbal tea.

Flash.

We were at the Piggy-Wiggly in Krivitz, grocery shopping for the weekend. Eggs, milk, bacon, hot dogs, marshmallows, chocolate bars, the usual. I always need tea to wake up to, or to fall asleep to. I always spend too much time thinking about what flavor, and for some reason, I'd settled on apple cinnamon.
That weekend, the orange countertops, the stove, the cold rooms, fall creeping in on us to settle around us at night, the dogs, the fire, the lake. Drinking tea out of fragile mugs with leaves on them.

Flash.

Dark. To tonight. To the restlessness.
It's been a long time since I felt home somewhere, you know. Even longer than that.
The tea is steeping, cooling, probably too cool now.
But life is like that.

THE Dress

Two months of searching and all of a sudden, there it was: the dress. Zac Posen for Target. 2 in 1.  Convertible. The last one. My size. I look like a man in the pictures, I apologize. Now all I need to do is 2 million push ups. 

Also, two pairs of shoes. Got a huge coupon on them.

Life may be strange, but from my closet, it's beautiful. 

Except I need places to wear it. Expect to be over dressed at every event we ever have. 

Today, someone close to me tried to confront me about something that they knew nothing about. I found my gumption and told her exactly what I thought about the subject. It felt good to get my point across. It felt good to tell someone exactly what I was thinking. 

The weather is cool but the lilacs are blooming and the spring is beautiful. 

Storms ahead, however, just as many as are behind. 

Men in Bars: Lame

Don't get me wrong, I love being single. I can go out and flirt with whomever I like and I can pick up and travel wherever I please, whenever I please without having to answer to anybody.
But lately, I've been wanting that feeling, the one you get when you're having fun but it's with a particular person. I'm hoping this isn't a sign of monogamous maturity, but I've got the strange feeling that it might be.
But I guess that's all part of growing up.
I've had the sick desire to bake for someone, to make breakfast, to get that feeling in the pit of your stomach (the good kind, not like indigestion) when someone calls.
Right now, I haven't really got my eyes on anyone in particular. Well, there's one thing but it's not ever going to go anywhere so I'm not counting it.
However, I'm not in the mood for just any romantic dalliance. I sort of want a thing. A legitimate boyfriend thing, built on mutual respect and awesomeness.
Oh dear, I never thought I'd say that.

But to get to that, you have to wade through some strange stuff:

The night led us from dinner, through the pouring rain (I love rain, I love the city, I love jumping in puddles barefoot), to 7-11, then finally down to the Kerryman, right on Clark downtown. I was in the middle of a very packed, very noisy bar asking the bartender to change the tv over to the Nuggets/Jazz game (yes, mission accomplished. I can be rather persuasive when necessary), when the guy next to me asks me if I'm a basketball fan. I tell him I'm not huge on it, but I'm emotionally invested in this series.
Blah, blah, basketball small talk, interspersed with me yelling at the tv, more small talk and then he tells me he's going to do a shot but he doesn't want to do it by himself.
I laugh. Okay, free shot.
So we cheers to the Nuggets and take it. I introduce Maddie to his friend, and they spend the next hour or so fighting about hockey. (Avs/Red Wings sort of thing; he was from Detroit.)
Anyway, this guy has decided he's going to try to put the moves on me. However, I'm a clever girl and saw this coming. We dance. Oh dear. It was one of the most hilarious bar/dancing experiences I've had in my life. There were at least two accidental head butts, after which he said, "I'm glad you didn't break my nose." I responded with, "Oh I've done that before."
He kept trying to buy me drinks. I hadn't been feeling well since dinner, and I wasn't really in the mood to drink, so I accept a beer and continue dancing. He is trying to tell me that people often find his job intimidating. He's some sort of lab dude in a hospital. Big deal. Why would I find that intimidating? I tell him I'm getting my MSW and that I work with developmentally delayed kids. He tries to tell me I'm hot and then pulls out the very original, "Where did you get your eyes?" I'm not sure, I replied, I grew up in foster care. (I lie in bars. Don't judge me. Everyone else is probably lying too. Also, I was curious to see how he'd turn that into an even lamer pick up attempt.)
More shots? he says. No, I reply. Water. Ice water. I signal the bartender. He gives me water. The guy orders a beer, then tips $5.50 on a $4.50 bill and makes sure I see it.
I smile, look at Maddie and give her oh-my-god-we-need-to-get-out-of-here eyes. She nods. She knows the code.
At this point, man turns to me and says, "I'm thinking about heading out soon. Care to join?" This was after he's told me that he's the type of guy who just likes to cuddle. (Ha)
"No thank you," I say politely. He's at least two inches shorter than me.
"I'll never see you again, will I?" he asks. I roll my eyes. "Probably not," I respond. I took his number, told him I'd call, and exited into the humid spring night.
Next stop: McDonald's for some ice cream. Perfect end to a great night.

See, this is why the search for a mate is harder than it looks.
This is why you've got to have your guard up (at least turn on your Sleaze-O-Meter before you enter any establishment, no matter how respectable it may seem) and always be on the lookout. Yeah, these experiences are fun. Yes, they make great stories. But that poor guy will never know that to effectively pick up women, you should just be yourself. I guess I'll know I've found my guy when I don't want to make up an elaborate life story about myself because I know that in two hours, I won't know him.
I think for now I'm going to stick with the one man in my life who I know I can count on: Cat. Up until just a minute ago he was happily curled up next to me, but then he got annoyed because I kept trying to kiss him and now he's curled up by my feet, wagging his tail as I drag my foot across his back.



Mom: "You're going to lock him in his cage, right?" (while you guys are all here visiting)
She's not a fan of cats, and I know most of you aren't either, but I promise you he's not going to be purring and trying to cuddle you. He's a beast, part panther, with lion ancestry. He's got pride. He'll come check you all out, make sure I'm not being attacked, and then go to sleep on my bed or on his chair or on the windowsill. You have very little to be afraid of.
But he doesn't have a cage. He's a hippie, man, wandering where he pleases.

I'm going graduation dress hunting today. Nothing big, nothing expensive, just a little something. I'm in the middle of donating everything I own, and I'm quite pleased with that.

Below is my days' work, an 8 page paper about transgender stuff. I don't know if you'll like it, or even think it's good, but you have to remember I'm just aiming to get a low B on it. So it is what it is. 

I spent the afternoon making JellO shots, I'll post pictures tomorrow (if I can stand the sight of JellO). They're currently too strong for my delicate sensibilities and I'm going to top them with whipped cream before I eat them. 

It's either the thunder storm that's brewing or my gorgeous dress, but Cat is being extra snuggly. He's currently curled up on my legs, listening to traffic outside. He's nervous about thunderstorms, so I won't stay out too late tonight and I'll make sure to leave him some space in my closet to hide. We took a great (but short) nap this afternoon together. We're finally bonding as far as snuggling in our sleep. Apparently, he feels comfortable around me now. He's going to mad at me next weekend when I spend Mother's Day with him at the clinic for the AIDs study. 

I have an A- in Statistics going into the optional final. All I need to get a legit A in the class is a 92 on the final, so I'm going to take it on Monday. Great. Finals Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Bummer of semester. How am I going to have time to celebrate my almost graduation?

 Cat hates thunderstorms; he might love my dress. 

Tonight is my friend Dale's birthday. I must go make myself presentable. Today I realize that I looked like I was channeling a cracked out Weird Al Yankovic. Or better yet, Mickey Avalon. 

Reaffirmation of Heteronormative Spaces through Transgender Lives

            Transgender narratives seem to reinforce the heteronormative social structure through the severity with which gender roles are embraced throughout the male to female or female to male transition process. Yet these narratives are also cemented through the creation and maintenance of the “queer spaces” in which many transgendered people live their lives. It is these very queer spaces that can lead to the violent reaction often seen from those not living in those spaces, possibly motivated by the fear of those spaces and the reflection of the normative structures within. Transgender narratives uphold sexual dimorphism and thus subtly reinforce class and gender stereotypes through the behavior and attitudes of the characters as well as the reactions of those around the transgendered character.

            Judith Halberstam’s In a Queer Time and Place defines “queer” as “nonnormative logics and organizations of community, sexual identity, embodiment, and activity in space and time” (Halberstam 6). Arguably, all transgendered people within the narratives examined are living in some form of queer space and time, no matter their class or educational background.  This is based on their own conceptions of community, their varied sexual identities and the ways that they perceive normalcy.

            Brandon Teena, portrayed by Hilary Swank in Boys Don’t Cry, is living in a queer space that is at the same time of his own making and also out of his control. His organization of community is made up of people that he barely knows, yet feels bonded to. He lives and interacts with them, building a community with them.

            The film Paris is Burning shows the creation and maintenance of family-style communities called houses. Every house has a position designated as “mother” and one designated “father.” Those two people help the others around them and work to help create a safe space for their “children.”

            John, Lana, and the others are unknowingly participating in Brandon’s queer space because they too are part of a non-normative family. Lana and John, because of their distinct feminine and masculine characteristics, neatly mirror the principal mother and father roles of the normative family structure. As Lana begins her relationship with Brandon, John begins to feel threatened by Brandon’s masculinity.  As a result of the fear that he feels, he reacts violently to the discovery that Brandon isn’t a biological man. During the bathroom reveal scene, Lana says, “Leave him alone,” and John replies, “Him?” This questioning of Brandon’s gender and sexuality show that John feels as though their brotherhood has been betrayed. Brandon has unintentionally let his queer space overlap with John’s normative space and John is unable to react to the intrusion any way but violently.

            Transamerica’s Bree Shupack is a male to female transsexual, but before she can begin her transition she must address the issue of her son. Toby reacts in the typically masculine way once he finds out that Bree is actually a biological male, but unlike John, does not display the violent tendencies. His anger that lacks violence can be attributed to his juvenile status, and the fact that he and Bree are not fighting to share the same position of alpha male within a group. Toby has naturally deferred to Bree regardless of her female presentation.

            Jennifer Boylan’s Jenny finds that her sons react without the anger or violence of masculinity, most likely because they are so young. They accept their father as a woman without question. “We need to come up with a better name for you than Daddy, if you’re going be to a girl” (Boylan 158). It’s obvious that the boys understand the masculine gender roles, but it’s also clear that they aren’t an absolute. “How about Maddy? You know, like half Mommy and half Daddy?” (Boylan 159). They are willing to see the transition as a blend of the past and the future and accept it without question. The boys are still young enough to bathe together and their passive acceptance of their father’s desire to be female shows that they have not yet begun to understand the pressures for male dominance that they will find as they mature.

            Jennifer Boylan’s character Jenny in her memoir She’s Not There deals with normative fear as well, but on a different level. “Now, there used to be a James Boylan on campus….Are you his wife?” asks a former student, to which Jenny replies “He’s gone now” (Boylan 18). She repeats “He’s gone now,” speaking of her male identity in a dream. Jenny’s writing of her former identity as “gone” serves as a way to alienate her male identity and cement her as female in the minds of her readers. Her narrative is structured through an almost fictional viewpoint, incorporating elements of magical realism as a way to self-edit her experiences. The self-editing can be read as a way of normalizing her transition to show it as a smooth, positive experience rather than a painful one. Richard Russo’s afterword says “Jenny’s operation seemed almost an anticlimax. For her it was a natural conclusion, a resolution, really” (Boylan 289). Even though Jenny has found acceptance, her queer space comes from her inability to write without striving to maintain her normative space.

She unintentionally upholds the upper middle class dynamics and expectations of behavior and thought through her transgender narrative, making it less about her transition and more about the reactions that she expects or doesn’t expect from her transition. “Wouldn’t it be better, after all,” she asks, “to be like the couple we saw on our honeymoon, the husband who couldn’t’ talk and the wife who couldn’t hear?” (Boylan 109). To age as an older heterosexual couple would be the ultimate reinforcement of social norms, and Jenny is about to break with that, yet still attempt to maintain the relationship that she had constructed as a male.

Boylan writes Jenny through memories that seem to conflict the ease of her transition and her expectations. “In the long run, a transsexual who hopes to build a life around high heels and sponge cake is in for something of a disappointment” (Boylan 247). But just a page previous, Jenny says “For me the party was just beginning….I wore makeup on Sundays. I wore skirts when most other mothers were wearing yesterday’s blue jeans…Other women, especially Grace, looked on all this activity with annoyance, and who could blame them, or her?” (Boylan 246). Boylan’s understanding of the viewpoints of the people around her who are reading her narrative is explicit here. She explains her reasons for censoring herself and the narrative about her experience of transitioning, yet she sensationalizes the transition and delights in being able to tell about the feminine activities she engaged in.

Boylan exaggerates the feminine characters that she feels will help her pass as a woman. Her description of going outside in a skirt is somewhat dramatic, even for a partially fictionalized narrative: “The world felt raw and intimidating; the cold wind howled on my bare legs” (Boylan 70). While the vulnerability that is symptomatic of the female identity does indeed exist, the belief that a man who most likely wore shorts and walked through dark alleys for many years would be so overwhelmed by the thought of walking in a skirt that he’d nearly “perish from fear” (Boylan 70) is fairly extreme.

“…for example, he implies repeatedly that gender variance is an anachronistic marker of same-sex desire. Altman writes, ‘I remain unsure why just ‘drag’ and its female equivalents, remains a strong part of the contemporary homosexual world, even where there is increasing space for open homosexuality and a range of acceptable ways of ‘being’ male of female’ (91)” (Halberstam 37). Both Boylan and Bree Shupack contradict this statement with their over-portrayal of feminine characteristics in order to pass as female in society. Frye’s concept of drag as applicable to a heterosexual relationship also reinforces the notions that there is only one certain way to “be” male or female in a public setting, something that the transgender characters reinforce to the extreme. Coming from the opposite side, they see only one way to present, and that is by incorporating the characteristics that they see as either feminine and masculine and embodying them entirely. In Transamerica, Bree asks that Toby not refer to her as “dude,” something that wouldn’t normally bother most women, but bothers Bree because it makes her acutely more aware of her own status as a biological male.

Jenny assumes that all women drink Diet Coke, and since she does, too, that makes her a woman. “It would be my first official reintroduction to the college community since I’d switch from regular to Diet Coke” (Boylan 9). Her assumption shows that even though she has transitioned from male to female, she still believes that the outward “sex markers” make her feminine and relies on those as a way to communicate her identity. The feminine presentation reinforces stereotypes about women rather than recreating the feminine identity.

            John unknowingly upholds the masculine stereotypes and expectations through his violent reactions to various situations in Boys Don’t Cry. After his daughter accidentally urinates on him, his reaction, rather than being one of comfort toward her, is of flight. Rather than trying to fully understand her situation, he selfishly leaves her feeling humiliated and unsure of himself in order to reassert his dominant masculinity after he feels that his normative space has been threatened. His protectiveness of his space will prove fatal to Brandon at the end of the film.

            Brandon, as the only female to male transgendered narrative studied, does not constantly sustain and uphold the masculine qualities so expected of him, but his reluctance to do so leads to his death. In displaying qualities such as sensitivity, Brandon exposes himself as not being truly sexed male, although he is identifying as and living as one. His queer space, and the outright performance of his masculinity, is threatening to John and the others. Halberstam writes, “Sometimes the feminine character will be a man and the narrative will compel him to either become a male hero or self-destruct” (Halberstam 85). While Brandon Teena is not the feminine character, the female body still exists, creating an inescapable link between his existing identity and the one that he’s presenting, which can be read as a castrated male in order to explain his feelings as a male without having the biological characteristics, including a penis.

John’s masculinity is characterized in Masculinities as one who will “live fast/die young.” This type of masculinity is characterized as having run-ins with the law (which can be viewed in the scene where Brandon is driving and is pulled over for speeding, something John has encouraged, yet gets angry at him for doing), sparse employment history, use of drugs and alcohol, and the benefits of male dominance. John benefits from his dominance over Lana because he is able to control her actions, even as she resists. Her typically feminine submissiveness allows him to assert his dominance over her.

            The lower class status that Brandon, John and Lana fall into forces them to use their gender roles to define themselves and express their power because they do not have any other means of asserting their power. Whereas Jenny Boylan can rely on her academic career, which involves publishing, speaking and teaching, none of the characters in Boys Don’t Cry are able to strive toward anything outside of their immediate financial survival. None of them have steady jobs and seem to live in a space that involves substance abuse and a generally transient lifestyle, furthering their isolation from the middle and upper classes and cementing their need to use physical strength as a source of gender role identification.

            Jenny Boylan is able to rely on her class status as a buffer from the violent reactions to her transition, although in doing so, she maintains the lifestyle that she led before her change. Lucky to have kept her wife, Boylan maintains the heteronormative life she led before her transition, albeit she now does so as a woman. Boylan’s queer space shares space with her class status and is affected because of it.

            The character of Bree Shupack in the film Transamerica, while more stably employed than Brandon Teena’s character, walks the middle line between lower class and middle class. She washes dishes at a Mexican restaurant and also does telephone sales in order to make ends meet and to pay for her surgeries. She shares the ability to pay for physical changes and to have sexual reassignment surgery with Jenny Boylan, something that Brandon Teena is either uninterested in and/or unable to do.

            The transgender narratives show the characters as living in or coming into contact with “queer spaces” in their lives. These queer spaces, while at the same time removed from the normative structures, also mirror the same structures that they are not. Family structures are maintained and reinforced in the queer spaces, just as femininity and masculinity are taken to the extreme by the transgender characters attempting to create a sense of normalcy in their lives. The transgender characters all uphold sexual dimorphism because of their attempts to completely transition from one biological sex to the other through outward appearance and presentation. Rather than removing themselves from the normative spaces by entering their queer spaces, transgender narratives show that the queer spaces in fact mirror the normative spaces in structure.

           

Writing papers

It's hard to work when the rough draft of your paper is being held down by a furry paperweight. 

Agenda

A million different things today:

I'm mulling over summer plans. I know, summer semester starts in like three weeks, why don't I have it together?
As of right now, I'm enrolled in two classes (I only need one to graduate) and am looking to add a third.
This will allow me to get my third minor.
Problem: the third class that I need (any 200-level Sociology class) isn't offered during the first summer session, which would mean that I'd have to stay in Chicago all through July into August, which is definitely not an option.
Possible solutions: drop the third minor and get a job. But then there's the problem of employment. Many people are going to be reluctant to hire someone for two months. And I would feel accomplished if I could say that I have three minors. (Even though it's at added cost. The plus side to this is a GPA boost.)
Or, as I am planning on doing, adding my third class as an internship. The only problem is going to be the problem of finding one, getting it count for credit, etc. There's the chance (although it diminishes as I realize that it's probably going to be a non-profit internship, if I get one) that I could get paid for it, thus solving the money problem.
However, I am focused right now on finishing college rather than on money, only because we're right there, we're so close, let's not stop now. Loans, baby, loans.

Also, I am going to San Francisco in July. My friend Anna got a week at her aunt and uncle's time share as her graduation present and so all of us are packing up and heading out for a week before our real lives begin. I'm thrilled. I think it's going to be one of the best adventures yet, and with free lodging? Even better.

I took my last Statistics test today. I have an A or a B+ going into it, and if I do well on it, I don't have to take the final because my grade will just stick. Part of me wants to take the final anyway just to see how I'd do. So I might, because I really want that A.
And other than that, it's looking like my final push of academic attempts might pay off in the end.
But maybe not. I'm two weeks late turning in a ten page paper for my Social Work class, but I think that it's just about the most ridiculous thing ever, so whatever.
I'm meeting with a professor today to talk about a paper that's due tomorrow and then it's back home to get things done. Perhaps I'll stay in the library all day and just churn out work.

After I re-write two articles for Advanced Reporting to get my B, then write that ten page social work paper, then write a six page gender theory paper, I'm done, done, done.
Spanish listening final tomorrow, so I'm going to need to review vocabulary and tenses tonight. I'm really good at listening, so I never stress about the listening parts, but if I can do well on it, it'll boost my final grade.

Gender theory/english final on Tuesday. Meeting with an internship lady on Tuesday.
Spanish final Friday.
Women's studies presentation/final Saturday.

Done.  Then begins the packing process for the long drive.
If you're flying Southwest, you should bring an extra suitcase and let me pack stuff in it. Mostly books and trinkets, and maybe winter clothes. I'm going to make Mike take back my George Foreman and waffle maker if he can. If not, just books and winter things. That way, I'll have less to ship when it's all said and done.

Kitten Cat

I love him. 

In case you can't tell, I caved and got a new camera. And I'm very happy that I did.

Nostalgia, stress, and the final push toward commencement

Today was the last official Monday of my undergraduate career.

I'm getting nostalgic, not really for school but for Chicago and the life that I've been able to lead here. 

I've learned so much, not only about myself, but about the human condition and humanity in itself. 

I've also learned a lot about people. 

I've been very grateful for my education lately, especially because I'm studying the Chicago Public Schools. I find that a lot of kids aren't given all of the opportunities that I had (educationally) and don't have the support networks (family) that I have now. In hindsight, I wish that I'd worked harder in college. In all honesty, I never thought I'd go to graduate school, and now that's what I want to do. Once I get to grad school, I'll be more able to commit to my work because I know what it will mean for me.  

I've been overwhelmed by the feelings of failure. I feel as though I didn't do well enough. I feel as though my resume isn't enough; I feel as though my work experience isn't enough; I don't feel prepared. I know that it comes with time, and I'm trying to convince myself that I've done something pretty great by moving out of state and getting a degree. (By the way, my GPA isn't terrible. I have a 3.0. It's a B average. Considering the amount of work I put in - the bare minimum - I've done well.) 

I'm just working on feeling proud of myself and working on feeling confident as I work on building my resume in the next year or two before I head back to school. 

And I just need to focus, focus, focus and be determined. And I want to realize that I'm capable of doing the things that I need to do. 

But I'm not going to lie, I'm really scared. 

Right now, my future is empty. And it's terrifying. 

I should look at it as an opportunity. A freedom. I could move anywhere. 

I'm going to give Denver a year, and if I'm not comfortable there, I'm going to pick up and maybe move somewhere else. 

But maybe not. I really love the urban environment. I love the frenzy, I love the anonymity (I'm really shy, actually), I love the smells and the tastes and the sights. 

We shall see. 

I've learned a lot about living with people, too. Yesterday, Maddie and I spent five hours cleaning the house. When she got home, instead of saying thank you, my roommate said, "The house is clean." It was a major letdown. I worked so hard and have been so frustrated lately by the conditions under which we live. I'm not a maid. We've never been good at maintaining a clean system and I know that. 

But lately, it's been worse than ever.  For example, I left out a tray of brownies, covered, only to come home and find them half gone. I had made those with the intention of giving some away to friends, but wasn't able to. 

For me, it's an issue of respect. Maintaining any relationship takes a lot of work, and trust on both sides. I no longer have that here. I feel disrespected on a daily basis, whether it's food or my possessions. I don't feel as though any of my stuff is safe. 

It's hurtful. It's been hurtful. 

I've been trying to imagine what she might be thinking, hoping that it will help end my anger, which is only growing day after day. But I can't. Sure, I might be a little cluttered, but I wish I knew the root of the problem. 

I'll keep thinking about it. 

I love Cat. I love playing with him. I love watching him. He's so curious, so snuggly, so independent. While Maddie was cleaning the shelves and organizing the DVDs last night, he'd climb into the spaces and lay down, wagging his tail. 

We're participating in an FIV (cat AIDs) study on May 9th at 2pm. Someone remind me. 26th at the Lurie Spay/Neuter clinic. Cat is going to hate it. He knows when we go there (that's where he had his cancer surgery and before that, was neutered when he was a street cat) and he won't be happy. But I'll buy him some cute new toy mice to play with. 

A moment of gratitude.

Watching the film "Precious."
My heart is breaking for every teen mother.
Grateful for everything, even my little annoyances.
They're not quite the same.
Think of twelve things you're glad you have:
-cat  (for company)
-a warm bed
-education
-food (fresh fruit, especially)
-health (mostly)
-simon (every day)
-clean water
-fruit (my brother, not the food)
-my mom
-good friends
-clean clothes (usually)
-my own space, and thoughts, and dreams, and hopes

The End

"It's not you," she begins, hesitantly. Silence. She doesn't finish. Instead, she grabs the latte, still steaming, takes a sip and then, wincing as the liquid burns her mouth, stands gracefully, turns slowly, calculatedly, and exits.
He sits, left behind, left alone. He sits and sighs. And then he grabs her uneaten danish and, taking a bite, turns the page of the newspaper sitting in front of him and begins to read.
There will be another. He swallows the bite of danish.
She's watching him through the window, hoping he won't look up. Hoping he might. But he doesn't. More bites, more page-turning. A sip of black coffee, no longer steaming, cooling as the minutes pass.
She realizes she might look like it really was her and so this time her turn is definite and abrupt. She turns into a man passing by, whose arm catches her now-cooled latte and upends it.
And thus it really is her and she really is soaking wet, covered in the cup of coffee she only bought to buy another few minutes of futile frustration at the end of a benign courtship.
His lips curl up, but barely.

Fictive Evening.

I took the book and ripped it. Shredded that shit to, well, shreds. Torn scraps of paper littered the ground at my feet. I looked down at them. I stared at them. They didn’t move. A gust of wind flew through the window, swirling the bits of paper around, and around. Blow me, I think. It’s a thought directed at no one in particular.            

            But all thoughts are directed somewhere, aren’t they?

            Where, I think. Nowhere.

            The little letters remained intact, even as I shredded, shedding onto my fingers, coloring them. It’s not a color, though. Black ink, white fingers.  My stained white fingers, black now. Black but still white.

            I close the window. I’d prefer that the scraps stay put. I’m not into throwing away perfectly good literature. When I’m done with them, done staring, I’ll sweep them into a jar where they’ll join other novels, great literature that I’ve read and then kept. For posterity.

            No wind, no motion, stagnant, just the way I’d like to keep it. The jars fill the space at the top of my cabinets. Sometimes I leave the novels in wine bottles. I like the way the type looks in the dark green glass. Perfect.

            The bottles cast gentle shadows on the walls behind them. Shadows are oddly comforting. They are transient beings, not really being, but they are, just because something else is, was, will be. They are dependant on the light.

            Am I dependent on the light?

            Ouch. The sharp sting of soft paper tears my flesh, a tiny slice near my thumb. I recoil. Damn paper, I think. Goddamn the writer who made those words. You don’t make words, I chide myself. You use them 

            Use them. Make them your own. Throw them away.

            Or don’t. But you probably should. You can’t keep words; they were never yours to begin with. 

Apologetic, I Promise

As much as I'd like to preach productivity and responsibility to your readers, alas, I cannot.
We are coasting in to the last week of regular classes and then after that, the week of finals and then I feel as though my life can begin again.

Exhaustion is the tip of the emotional iceberg at the moment. Other than that, it's as though someone threw every emotion that it is possible to feel into a blender. That was a horrible metaphor.
Everything and nothing, all at once.

So I will be back soon enough, stealing time to write things. Hopefully during night class tonight I will be able to get some stuff done.

A Pedestrian Glimpse of Chicago

The train pulls into the station slowly as passengers stand and progress toward the doors. We wait patiently, or not so much, either standing stoically or tapping their feet in time to unheard music. The very second the doors slid open, they burst from the train, turning right toward the stairs. The stairs are where everything becomes streamlined, a steady progression of down, down, down, down, but a careful one. Metal bars that were once painted white but now show spots of rust provide access to the street. Turn, turn, turnstile, the people slowly beg. They don't stop moving, not for a single second as they wait their turn to exit.
And then we disperse, a silent collection of lonely individuals on our way to better things.
I walk past the chain link fence that holds the trash and equipment, past the dark alley, past the crumbling building bearing barely used storefronts. I see a nearly homeless looking man with a cane, wearing baggy cottons and a hat limp out to meet a dark Escalade, parked glittering under a street light. The rims on the tires gleam, winking at me. They shake hands, a quick exchange, and then the car pulls away and the man limps toward his companion.
I smile to myself, staring at the school bus ahead of me unloading a soccer team home from a late away game, staring into the tree-lined, dimly lit night and think, I'm going to miss this place.



I arrived home and found a long-awaited piece of mail: Simon's registration tags. I am no longer on the run. However, I have waited longer than two weeks to contest this ticket, so that shall be first on tomorrow's agenda. Oh dear me, let's please fast forward until May 7th. That is when I shall be done (for the most part) with my undergraduate career.

Graduation party will be held at Maddie's house in their backyard area at 11am the morning following my graduation. We will be doing a Costco run to get the necessities and such, so don't expect anything too lovely or wild. But it should be quite communal and pleasant.

Details of nothing

Much apologies for the delay: this has indeed been the week of all things crazy.

However, today I am going to take some deep breaths, go for a bike ride and do some laundry. Perhaps I shall even read a book for fun.
I slept late, probably an indicator that I should not stay out until three in the morning.
It was a weird night. I drank a bottle of wine and felt only anxious, tense, out of place. It wasn't pleasant drunk, or really even any drunk at all, just a disconnected reality growing in front of me. I talked and talked, and there was talking and maybe some laughter, but I wanted to go home.
And so finally I did.
Checking the mail at 3 am is something you do when you're expecting a special envelope from the state of Colorado, but alas, I have never been so disappointed to see the Economist in my life. There it was. That and the RCN (cable) bill.
I was happy to curl up with Cat and sleep.
Lately, he's been a better snuggler. He now has a spot right by my shoulder that he curls up in and then I wrap my arm around him and he buries his head in my hand. It's adorable, to say the least. Currently, he's stomping around my bed trying to get comfortable. Yesterday, he sighed the cutest cat sigh ever.  He loves to walk all over my computer keyboard, probably just to annoy me. Perhaps today I'll take him for another walk and let him get some exercise.

Alas, school is winding to a close. The graduation party is going to be a wildly informal affair: we're going to do it at like 11am on the Saturday after graduation (so it will be the day after, May 15) at Maddie's apartment. There's a picnic table area in the back of the apartment next door and we're just going to do some chair arranging, etc. and get dip and trays.

But yes. Last night I had Ethiopian food for the first time. I disliked the bread, but I really enjoyed what I ordered, which I'm assuming is standard fare the world over, beef with peppers and onions. You are served the food in a large, round metal dish. The bottom of the dish is covered in a spongy, flat bread. On top of the bread is piles of food. And so you rip a piece of bread (there are also separate servings of the bread) and then use it as if it was a utensil to eat the food.
Delicious, but I found that I'd prefer to eat the food without the bread. It was a bit sour for my taste.

Surviving the week, but pulling in with a lost cell phone charger, I've found that perhaps I'm going to attempt to stay away from all things mechanical this week.
Bike rather than car, etc.

I fixed my bike all by myself! (It has no front brakes, btw. No one told me that last summer....good thing I checked before I started riding.) I took off the back tire and had to deal with the chain and replacing a tire, etc. all of which are things I've never done before! Feeling incredibly proud of myself at the moment, don't judge me.
It's something, right?

Cat and keys and everything else.

Oh my. It has been a wild week indeed.

After the fiasco that was the plane ticketing, I got a last minute babysitting gig. Thinking, yeah, I'll be fiscally responsible; I won't go play trivia; this is going to be alright....

And so I went.

And then my keys got flushed down the toilet by a 2 year old.

And now I'm out more money than I made.

On the upside, I bought Cat a little harness and leash. We went for a walk today. I don't know that it was necessarily a walk; it involved a lot of him rolling around in dirt and wandering around smelling things. But I think he was happy about being able to be outside. Taking him inside was like taking a toddler home from the park. There was sad cat meowing and a hesitancy to climb the stairs. But at least he got to go out.

Exhaustion. More of this later.