Every weekday, at precisely 12:20pm, the kids from a nearby junior high school flood my restaurant like a plague. They aren't bad kids at heart. Not really. Their hour out of class for lunch is their first taste of unsupervised freedom and they don't know how to handle it yet. They yell and throw things and make a mess because no one is there to tell them not to. Sure, we have our own management hierarchy in the store, but what 12 year old is impressed by a polyester tie?
I must seem absolutely ridiculous to them. Which is fair. But little boy, when I am telling you off for grabbing a girl your age and holding her against her will, I am not scolding you as an authority figure. I am yelling at you as one pissed off person to another who has done something wrong. I don't care who you are, how old you are, who your parents are, or what colour your skin is. I am not going to stand idly by and watch a girl be physically harrassed.
"It was just a joke. We're just playing." he says to me. Oh? And what part of this is funny? No, dear child, this is no joke. What this little boy is doing is teaching this girl why it is right to be afraid. She is obviously unable to get free of him, but he is a friend, right? He wouldn't really hurt her, right? All of her friends are looking at them and laughing. Yeah, maybe it is scary, but maybe she's just being sensitive. She shouldn't cause a scene. She shouldn't speak up or tell him no. Everyone is just having a good time. She should just play along. Ha ha ha.
Maybe I'm reading too much into this. Maybe I'm projecting my own feelings on two completely innocent children. What what if I'm right, though? What if that little girl was afraid and needed someone to speak up for her because she felt like she couldn't?
Does that seem like a big deal to you? Two kids 'playing' in the lobby. Would you have said anything? Or would you have let kids be kids? This aggressive behavior toward women isn't something that boys are born with, it is something they learn from watching adults. (Hey, that's us!)
Men, sure, I can't hold it against you that you are the way you are. Girls are no better. In some ways we're worse, but that is a long-winded discussion for another day. You are who you are, and I don't expect you to change because a girl on the internet told you to. Just for a second, put yourself in that girl's father's shoes. Is that how you would want your daughter to be treated? Your sister? Your mother, bless that saint? And what if you are partially to blame for it happening? Monkey see, monkey do, and these little monkeys need a proper example set for them.
In my last post, I tried to call out my fellow ladies to stand up for themselves and each other, but men, this is for you. We can't do it alone. It is one thing for me to stand up to some school bully, and I can only hope it is a start in many steps that boy needs to take to understand gender equality, but I wasn't alone in that building. What about you, gentlemen? If you don't start standing up for what is right, us girls are going to have a much harder uphill battle. I'm not asking you to put yourself at risk, like jumping between a rapist and his victim or something. That's just damned crazy, don't get yourself killed. Just call the cops. But just think about it. Every time you laugh at a joke about women, you're laughing at your mother, your aunt, your sister, your niece. These are the situations where you gentlemen could save us a lot of grief. Show those jerks giving your gender a bad name what's what. Tell them it isn't funny. Or Hell, just don't laugh. Don't encourage them.
Set the example, be the gentleman. Help us to succeed.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Adultlescence: Top Gun Reference
Today, I read this blog post. I have been debating on writing about this for a while, but I always have such a weird, backward time trying to explain my thoughts on the matter. I flip flop over insignificant details depending on my mood or the context. Some days I feel traditional, some days I'm liberal. Some days I feel like a hardcore feminazi bull dyke. Other days I can't stop fantasizing about being someone's little housewife. So you can see how it can be difficult to express my opinion. "All women should be treated like A, except in situations like B, C, or D." What I can say for certain is that yes, in my experience, every girl has felt the way the author of that post has felt. Threatened, objectified, used, powerless.
Anyone who knows me knows that I have a lot of control issues. I don't necessarily want to be in charge of everything all the time, but I need to know all of the gritty details about any plan or I am working at a high stress level. I don't need to be in command of the group, but I need to have full control on my own part. No big deal, right? Since I surround myself primarily with men, it is fairly common that I will go with the flow of whatever they want to do that day. If they want to play Rock Band all afternoon, that's no problem. I'm playing the drums and don't try to take them from me. But what about those instances where I don't have the same kind of weight as the man I'm speaking with? How many times have I, or one of my female employees had some dirty old man say something slightly sleazy and I or she would laugh uncomfortably and excuse herself from his company as quickly as possible? And what else can you do, really? Women are told very young to be agreeable, quiet, polite. Girls are told to be nice, but boys will be boys.
The problem, I think, is that right now, the feminist movement has been taking the wrong approach to making the changes they want to see happen. Women are not equal because we are better. I've always thought that was a ridiculous argument to take. Yes, childbirth (I've heard) is incredibly excruciating. A pain no man could ever really understand. Periods happen every month and there are days I think I may never be able to walk upright again, but you move on. Let's face it, girls have it pretty shitty. I know I'll never truly understand the feeling of getting kicked in the balls, but my roommate will never fathom what it's like to wake up in the morning on the first day of 'shark week' and have muscle cramps from the middle of your back down to your knees. God, just look at the difference between sexes when they have a head cold. It is a woman's role to silently persevere.
Now is the part of the blog post where I become the uppity bitch I supposedly am for thinking this in the first place and I give all the dumb little ladies a mental shake-down (sorry, boys). It is not your job to be polite when a man is making you uncomfortable. It is not right, when a guy is pressing you too hard about going on a date with him and you are uncomfortable, to give him an excuse instead of telling him straight that you don't want to. If a man is out of line, you let him know and you let him know immediately. Ladies, let's get real here for a second. Let's have a life talk. Nothing is ever going to change if you don't speak up.I'm not going to stop shaving my legs or start burning bras, that phase of the evolution of women's rights has passed. Now is the time for us to settle this matter as adults. Once and for all.
But ladies, what is it that we are asking for? If we are trying to send a message to those big, mean boys, can we first agree on what that message is? We are telling (asking) them how to behave and what is acceptable when we can't clearly decide unanimously what they can't (shouldn't) do and what is unacceptable. I can't decide which is worse for women, the Nazi man-haters who will hate on the young women who choose to explore their right to sexual freedom, or the slutty bimbos who make girls looks like objects in the eyes of all of those chauvenist pigs.
We come in all shapes, sizes and colours. We may be cis or transgendered, gay, straight, bi or asexual, but we are all women. We share each others pain and celebrate each others achievements. We're all fighting the same fight, here. We're on the same team.
I could easily get off-topic here and begin a long-winded tangent about all of the horrible things girls do to each other and how hateful we can be to one another, but that isn't the direction I want to go with this. I don't want to point fingers or dwell on the negatives. If you really want to know why girls hate each other, check out this video by Jenna Marbles. She is totally on the right page.
So this is what it has to come down to, ladies. If we want to take down the patriarch, we have to support each other. If you don't want to be promiscuous, you don't have to. If you don't want to put on make up or style your hair every day, then use those extra moments to sleep in. Enjoy it! If you want to dress up every day and wear your heels wherever you go, you rock those shoes, girl. But remember, my dear, darling girls, that is your choice to make. It is the same choice every girl makes and just because it isn't what YOU choose, she isn't wrong. We need to create a united front if we are ever going to make progress. We need to have each others backs. Honestly, if we are ever going to fight against men, we need to stop fighting over them.
Anyone who knows me knows that I have a lot of control issues. I don't necessarily want to be in charge of everything all the time, but I need to know all of the gritty details about any plan or I am working at a high stress level. I don't need to be in command of the group, but I need to have full control on my own part. No big deal, right? Since I surround myself primarily with men, it is fairly common that I will go with the flow of whatever they want to do that day. If they want to play Rock Band all afternoon, that's no problem. I'm playing the drums and don't try to take them from me. But what about those instances where I don't have the same kind of weight as the man I'm speaking with? How many times have I, or one of my female employees had some dirty old man say something slightly sleazy and I or she would laugh uncomfortably and excuse herself from his company as quickly as possible? And what else can you do, really? Women are told very young to be agreeable, quiet, polite. Girls are told to be nice, but boys will be boys.
The problem, I think, is that right now, the feminist movement has been taking the wrong approach to making the changes they want to see happen. Women are not equal because we are better. I've always thought that was a ridiculous argument to take. Yes, childbirth (I've heard) is incredibly excruciating. A pain no man could ever really understand. Periods happen every month and there are days I think I may never be able to walk upright again, but you move on. Let's face it, girls have it pretty shitty. I know I'll never truly understand the feeling of getting kicked in the balls, but my roommate will never fathom what it's like to wake up in the morning on the first day of 'shark week' and have muscle cramps from the middle of your back down to your knees. God, just look at the difference between sexes when they have a head cold. It is a woman's role to silently persevere.
Now is the part of the blog post where I become the uppity bitch I supposedly am for thinking this in the first place and I give all the dumb little ladies a mental shake-down (sorry, boys). It is not your job to be polite when a man is making you uncomfortable. It is not right, when a guy is pressing you too hard about going on a date with him and you are uncomfortable, to give him an excuse instead of telling him straight that you don't want to. If a man is out of line, you let him know and you let him know immediately. Ladies, let's get real here for a second. Let's have a life talk. Nothing is ever going to change if you don't speak up.I'm not going to stop shaving my legs or start burning bras, that phase of the evolution of women's rights has passed. Now is the time for us to settle this matter as adults. Once and for all.
But ladies, what is it that we are asking for? If we are trying to send a message to those big, mean boys, can we first agree on what that message is? We are telling (asking) them how to behave and what is acceptable when we can't clearly decide unanimously what they can't (shouldn't) do and what is unacceptable. I can't decide which is worse for women, the Nazi man-haters who will hate on the young women who choose to explore their right to sexual freedom, or the slutty bimbos who make girls looks like objects in the eyes of all of those chauvenist pigs.
We come in all shapes, sizes and colours. We may be cis or transgendered, gay, straight, bi or asexual, but we are all women. We share each others pain and celebrate each others achievements. We're all fighting the same fight, here. We're on the same team.
I could easily get off-topic here and begin a long-winded tangent about all of the horrible things girls do to each other and how hateful we can be to one another, but that isn't the direction I want to go with this. I don't want to point fingers or dwell on the negatives. If you really want to know why girls hate each other, check out this video by Jenna Marbles. She is totally on the right page.
So this is what it has to come down to, ladies. If we want to take down the patriarch, we have to support each other. If you don't want to be promiscuous, you don't have to. If you don't want to put on make up or style your hair every day, then use those extra moments to sleep in. Enjoy it! If you want to dress up every day and wear your heels wherever you go, you rock those shoes, girl. But remember, my dear, darling girls, that is your choice to make. It is the same choice every girl makes and just because it isn't what YOU choose, she isn't wrong. We need to create a united front if we are ever going to make progress. We need to have each others backs. Honestly, if we are ever going to fight against men, we need to stop fighting over them.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Adultlesence: Nerd.
Sometimes I get the odd chance to act a little recklessly. I'm not a misreable old lady every day and I love using my chances to be impulsive to their maximum extent. That's why I'm looking forward to Hal-con so much this year. I'm going to be cosplaying as Lady Deadpool which means, for those of you out there whoaren't fluent in geek speak, I'll be wearing a full face mask while I'm in costume.
Have you ever been to one of these nerd conventions? You put as many people who are genuinely passionate about the same things into a room as possible, and add caffeine. Normally, North Americans are very reserved when it comes to physical interactions, but these rules do not apply at a convention. When you're there, you should be expecting a lot of high fives, hugs, handshakes, fist bumps, and the classic awkward half-hug for pictures.You should expect to get touched. For a nerd, this is just an outlet to express their passion about their fandom. It can be overwhelming. I think that's why nerds get belittled by the rest of the world. We have no social propriety when it comes to, say, our favourite TV show (Firefly! <3). We whoop and shout and squeal like children over something most people would consider trivial. I think that they're just jealous, though. They walk with their heads held high with uptight reservation, but we skip everywhere we go and we high five strangers in the street because we like that person's X-Men t-shirt.
"I like your Jersey Shore shirt!" Said no one ever.
I don't like to wear my Green Lantern ring to work so much anymore. When random customers come in and comment on it, I feel awkward. I don't know what to say. Did you like the movie? I don't know! Its a weird interaction and I'd rather just avoid it than have it. I love my Green Lantern ring! I wear it everywhere I go, regardless of forced awkward small talk. It makes me feel like a super hero, which can be pretty uplifting when one is sitting in ones pajamas at 2:30 in the morning on a Sunday night.
Maybe, briefly, while I am disguised in full costume with my face hidden, I can be so stupefied by the things that I love so much. I don't have to make tedious small talk with a stranger for a prolonged period of time because I wanted to compliment their costume. Fuck that, they don't know me! I run over, say whatever I want to say to them, and run away. I don't have to be polite when they don't know who I am, just in case I ever meet them again. I can be completely bonkers and make an ass of myself like I always do, but on such a grander scale. Without pedantic rituals of etiquette, I can be 100% myself as I want to behave with minimal consequence. And what's more, its encouraged! This is part of the fun of being at a convention and I will be one of just many dancing, yelling jesters in the court.
If you're going to be in Halifax next weekend and want to check out what I mean, come visit me at Hal-Con!
Have you ever been to one of these nerd conventions? You put as many people who are genuinely passionate about the same things into a room as possible, and add caffeine. Normally, North Americans are very reserved when it comes to physical interactions, but these rules do not apply at a convention. When you're there, you should be expecting a lot of high fives, hugs, handshakes, fist bumps, and the classic awkward half-hug for pictures.You should expect to get touched. For a nerd, this is just an outlet to express their passion about their fandom. It can be overwhelming. I think that's why nerds get belittled by the rest of the world. We have no social propriety when it comes to, say, our favourite TV show (Firefly! <3). We whoop and shout and squeal like children over something most people would consider trivial. I think that they're just jealous, though. They walk with their heads held high with uptight reservation, but we skip everywhere we go and we high five strangers in the street because we like that person's X-Men t-shirt.
"I like your Jersey Shore shirt!" Said no one ever.
I don't like to wear my Green Lantern ring to work so much anymore. When random customers come in and comment on it, I feel awkward. I don't know what to say. Did you like the movie? I don't know! Its a weird interaction and I'd rather just avoid it than have it. I love my Green Lantern ring! I wear it everywhere I go, regardless of forced awkward small talk. It makes me feel like a super hero, which can be pretty uplifting when one is sitting in ones pajamas at 2:30 in the morning on a Sunday night.
Maybe, briefly, while I am disguised in full costume with my face hidden, I can be so stupefied by the things that I love so much. I don't have to make tedious small talk with a stranger for a prolonged period of time because I wanted to compliment their costume. Fuck that, they don't know me! I run over, say whatever I want to say to them, and run away. I don't have to be polite when they don't know who I am, just in case I ever meet them again. I can be completely bonkers and make an ass of myself like I always do, but on such a grander scale. Without pedantic rituals of etiquette, I can be 100% myself as I want to behave with minimal consequence. And what's more, its encouraged! This is part of the fun of being at a convention and I will be one of just many dancing, yelling jesters in the court.
If you're going to be in Halifax next weekend and want to check out what I mean, come visit me at Hal-Con!
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Adultlescence: My Father has Doomed Me
My father will always baby me. To him, I will always be that chubby, awkward little girl I used to be. When i was a teenager, this was a punishment for being born last. Mom understood that I was growing up, why couldn't he? He would dote on me like a child, bringing me home stuffed animals and small gifts "just because". He still does from time to time, but when I was in my teens, I was embarrassed. Doesn't that sound arrogant? I was embarrassed by my father's affection.
Now that I am officially a 'grown up' I really can't get enough of it. I relish it whenever I am visiting with my parents. I am 23 years old and my dad still cooks me breakfast. There is nothing as comforting as a grilled cheese at 8pm.
My daddy was my idol. Don't get me wrong, my mother is my best friend and I love her dearly, but she was the hand of authority in our home and dad lucked out. He got to be the fun parent. the relationship I have with him as never been tainted. To him, I am still a little fairy princess and when I'm home with him, I am one.
I am, in that when I am home, I can step back from my big girl life and see how far I've come. The buildings in my home town change, businesses open and close, but it is at the heart still the same Westville I grew up in. Faces gather lines, but the smiles are still the same. I haven't changed so much either and Westville really shows it to me. I lost 50 pounds and a tooth, but essentially I am still the same girl, just with a little alteration to the luggage.
The reason I am so comforted by this isn't because I'm scared or unwilling to grow up. On the contrary, it is the reason I want to. Some day I'll decide to get married, and I feel very sorry for the person stuck with me because they have some very big shoes to fill. My parents have given me very high expectations in what to look for in a partner, because I won't accept anything less than a love like that. I am not perfect (let's face it, who of us is?) but my flaws are a part of me and he loves everything about me as a fraction of a whole. Every time I royally fuck up (infrequent, but on a grand scale. Every time.) he never judges me. He picks me up, wipes away my tears, kisses my forehead and assures me that everything will be alright. To say that to him, I do no wrong would be inaccurate. I do get it wrong a lot. I make the wrong choices. I say or do the wrong thing. I do mess up, but it is all forgivable.
The person I am to be with forever must be, above all else, kind. If there is one thing my father has taught me, it is that kindness and generosity are their own reward. Nothing feels as good as helping someone in need. When I am asked to describe my dad to someone, the first thing that comes to mind is his big heart. He may be quiet or standoffish when he first meets a person, but he loves everyone he meets. It takes a lot to change his mind and even after he does, if that person is in a bind, my dad is the first one to offer a hand. When I was a kid, I just accepted it as a fact of humanity. If my daddy was this sweet, everyone is supposed to be. Turns out no. My father is the only person I have ever met with such an eager desire to be selfless, without want or expectation of reward.
I could fall flat on my face every day of my life, and he would still be proud of me, but he has this certain way about him that makes me want to give him good reason to be proud. Even though my parents are 100 miles away and probably have no idea what I am doing at any given time (thank God for Facebook) I still consider them in virtually every decision I make day to day. Would my dad be proud of me for doing this? What would he say if I did this? That isn't to say that in my line of work I am faced daily with dangerous or moral decisions. It is much more simplistic than that. Should I be selfish with my time, or should I use it to help a friend who needs a favour? Always go with helping a friend. Would it be a bad idea to have another beer. Probably.
No one I have ever been with since I decided dating was a cool and fun thing to do has ever been able to stand up to the ridiculously high standards my father has set for me. Kindness, loyalty, humor, unwavering optimism. Sure, my lovers will embody some or most of these qualities. It is what attracts me to them in the first place. The key, I think, is the quality of love that I expect from them. I want someone who will (because I know they will) make my blood boil the way my Dad can to Mom, and forgive them for it just like she always does because love is so much stronger than hate or anger. I need someone who understands my moods the way my father can look at my mother and know what she's feeling just by her face. Sure, he may not always do exactly the right thing, but he does it with the best of intentions. I want a love like that.
Now that I am officially a 'grown up' I really can't get enough of it. I relish it whenever I am visiting with my parents. I am 23 years old and my dad still cooks me breakfast. There is nothing as comforting as a grilled cheese at 8pm.
My daddy was my idol. Don't get me wrong, my mother is my best friend and I love her dearly, but she was the hand of authority in our home and dad lucked out. He got to be the fun parent. the relationship I have with him as never been tainted. To him, I am still a little fairy princess and when I'm home with him, I am one.
I am, in that when I am home, I can step back from my big girl life and see how far I've come. The buildings in my home town change, businesses open and close, but it is at the heart still the same Westville I grew up in. Faces gather lines, but the smiles are still the same. I haven't changed so much either and Westville really shows it to me. I lost 50 pounds and a tooth, but essentially I am still the same girl, just with a little alteration to the luggage.
The reason I am so comforted by this isn't because I'm scared or unwilling to grow up. On the contrary, it is the reason I want to. Some day I'll decide to get married, and I feel very sorry for the person stuck with me because they have some very big shoes to fill. My parents have given me very high expectations in what to look for in a partner, because I won't accept anything less than a love like that. I am not perfect (let's face it, who of us is?) but my flaws are a part of me and he loves everything about me as a fraction of a whole. Every time I royally fuck up (infrequent, but on a grand scale. Every time.) he never judges me. He picks me up, wipes away my tears, kisses my forehead and assures me that everything will be alright. To say that to him, I do no wrong would be inaccurate. I do get it wrong a lot. I make the wrong choices. I say or do the wrong thing. I do mess up, but it is all forgivable.
The person I am to be with forever must be, above all else, kind. If there is one thing my father has taught me, it is that kindness and generosity are their own reward. Nothing feels as good as helping someone in need. When I am asked to describe my dad to someone, the first thing that comes to mind is his big heart. He may be quiet or standoffish when he first meets a person, but he loves everyone he meets. It takes a lot to change his mind and even after he does, if that person is in a bind, my dad is the first one to offer a hand. When I was a kid, I just accepted it as a fact of humanity. If my daddy was this sweet, everyone is supposed to be. Turns out no. My father is the only person I have ever met with such an eager desire to be selfless, without want or expectation of reward.
I could fall flat on my face every day of my life, and he would still be proud of me, but he has this certain way about him that makes me want to give him good reason to be proud. Even though my parents are 100 miles away and probably have no idea what I am doing at any given time (thank God for Facebook) I still consider them in virtually every decision I make day to day. Would my dad be proud of me for doing this? What would he say if I did this? That isn't to say that in my line of work I am faced daily with dangerous or moral decisions. It is much more simplistic than that. Should I be selfish with my time, or should I use it to help a friend who needs a favour? Always go with helping a friend. Would it be a bad idea to have another beer. Probably.
No one I have ever been with since I decided dating was a cool and fun thing to do has ever been able to stand up to the ridiculously high standards my father has set for me. Kindness, loyalty, humor, unwavering optimism. Sure, my lovers will embody some or most of these qualities. It is what attracts me to them in the first place. The key, I think, is the quality of love that I expect from them. I want someone who will (because I know they will) make my blood boil the way my Dad can to Mom, and forgive them for it just like she always does because love is so much stronger than hate or anger. I need someone who understands my moods the way my father can look at my mother and know what she's feeling just by her face. Sure, he may not always do exactly the right thing, but he does it with the best of intentions. I want a love like that.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION
Today I received my first rejection letter. I tried to submit a very self-indulgent short story about my reaction to reading about Ray Bradbury's death to Asimov's Science Fiction thinking that if anyone would understand this kind of loneliness, it would be my people. Out there, there must exist at least a handful of awkward nerds who grew up falling in love with some little old man who saw everything with a sparkling brilliance.
No one can deny that there is a piece of the author in everything they write. Everything a person writes, even a tweet or a post-it note is a piece of them that oral conversation has a way of hiding. Speaking personally, if I'm writing, I'm verbalizing my inner monologue which is something very few people have access to. I can't say for sure that is the same for every writer, but you can feel it in their work. Bradbury, at least in my mind, is such a lovely, naive, innocent man who had the fortunate luck of being alive and writing when space adventure was still unexplored. When he wrote science fiction, he was pioneering. Like the astronauts in his story, he was colonizing a whole genre. He turned something childish into a habitable style of writing for many of his successors. but what does his style say about him? He's an adventurer! he knows it, and he's so damn excited about it!
When I read his works, I sort of became him. I would spend an hour or so of my day reading about Mars or distopian societies of the future and then spent the rest of that day with my head in the clouds. The world was suddenly new to me again. But what does that mean now that he's gone? When I first heard the news that Bradbury had passed, my first reaction was to read The Halloween Tree and cry my bitter tears. How can he still be talking to me, though? If he is gone, his voice should be gone with him, right? Here he is, plain as day in my hands. his voice hasn't muffled at all.
This is why I chose to write. Or, this is why I've chosen to try to write. As of yet it hasn't been my most successful endeavor. I am the type of person that I want to, have to, be immediately good at something or I don't want to do it anymore. I am a perfectionist and an over-achiever and to not be the best is the greatest sign of my own weakness. So why continue writing? I made my attempt and failed. The automaton rejection letter could not have made it any clearer that I didn't do well enough for them. I just can't give up on it. It isn't like learning guitar or trying to knit (both of which i have failed utterly at and tossed aside), this is a passion of mine and I can't accept failure. I need to write in the same way that i need to feel validated. My opinion must matter, even if it is just to myself.
Over time, my writing voice changes. Everyone's does. It is a fact of writing in the same way that your writing voice exists at all. It can cause a problem with bigger projects because your 'style' shall we say, changes from the beginning to the end which can produce an undesired effect on the story itself. But small things are important. Blog posts are important. Think of it as a breadcrumb trail of personal awareness that leads a writer back to who they once were.
So I failed. I knew in the back of my head as soon as I had finished the short story that I would, but I tried anyway. I don't think it was optimism that did it to me. In fact it may have even been a bit of self-loathing mixed with pessimism and masochism. I had to see myself fail at least once at it. What could possibly motivate me more to move forward? I talk and I talk and I talk about this story or that and about how harrrd it is to write and how harrrd it is to pretend to be a writer, but really i'm just a girl with a big imagination who works a shitty retail job. My failure is my own motivation. FOR ONCE.
No one can deny that there is a piece of the author in everything they write. Everything a person writes, even a tweet or a post-it note is a piece of them that oral conversation has a way of hiding. Speaking personally, if I'm writing, I'm verbalizing my inner monologue which is something very few people have access to. I can't say for sure that is the same for every writer, but you can feel it in their work. Bradbury, at least in my mind, is such a lovely, naive, innocent man who had the fortunate luck of being alive and writing when space adventure was still unexplored. When he wrote science fiction, he was pioneering. Like the astronauts in his story, he was colonizing a whole genre. He turned something childish into a habitable style of writing for many of his successors. but what does his style say about him? He's an adventurer! he knows it, and he's so damn excited about it!
When I read his works, I sort of became him. I would spend an hour or so of my day reading about Mars or distopian societies of the future and then spent the rest of that day with my head in the clouds. The world was suddenly new to me again. But what does that mean now that he's gone? When I first heard the news that Bradbury had passed, my first reaction was to read The Halloween Tree and cry my bitter tears. How can he still be talking to me, though? If he is gone, his voice should be gone with him, right? Here he is, plain as day in my hands. his voice hasn't muffled at all.
This is why I chose to write. Or, this is why I've chosen to try to write. As of yet it hasn't been my most successful endeavor. I am the type of person that I want to, have to, be immediately good at something or I don't want to do it anymore. I am a perfectionist and an over-achiever and to not be the best is the greatest sign of my own weakness. So why continue writing? I made my attempt and failed. The automaton rejection letter could not have made it any clearer that I didn't do well enough for them. I just can't give up on it. It isn't like learning guitar or trying to knit (both of which i have failed utterly at and tossed aside), this is a passion of mine and I can't accept failure. I need to write in the same way that i need to feel validated. My opinion must matter, even if it is just to myself.
Over time, my writing voice changes. Everyone's does. It is a fact of writing in the same way that your writing voice exists at all. It can cause a problem with bigger projects because your 'style' shall we say, changes from the beginning to the end which can produce an undesired effect on the story itself. But small things are important. Blog posts are important. Think of it as a breadcrumb trail of personal awareness that leads a writer back to who they once were.
So I failed. I knew in the back of my head as soon as I had finished the short story that I would, but I tried anyway. I don't think it was optimism that did it to me. In fact it may have even been a bit of self-loathing mixed with pessimism and masochism. I had to see myself fail at least once at it. What could possibly motivate me more to move forward? I talk and I talk and I talk about this story or that and about how harrrd it is to write and how harrrd it is to pretend to be a writer, but really i'm just a girl with a big imagination who works a shitty retail job. My failure is my own motivation. FOR ONCE.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Watership Down vs. We're Alive
When I was young, I used to watch this cute little show about bunnies. Happy little bunnies hopping around in the meadows, stealing vegetables from the farms. It was such a cute, simple idea that I was hooked. I don't think I ever missed an episode. I had no idea it was a novel while the show was running. It wasn't until I was browsing through a second-hand shop in the city that I stumbled upon it. Now, I am of the opinion that every book deserves a good home, so Watership Down joined the ranks of unread novels littering bookshelves, tables and ledges around my home. It sat on my shelf half-forgotten for almost two years.
Since graduating high school, the term 'summer vacation' has meant little to nothing to me. Work took priority since moving out of my parents' house. That is to say bills took priority. This is my first year with a salary instead of a wage job. I'll be damned if I'm not taking a proper vacation! I packed up my duffel bag with books and clothes and I hauled ass out of the city for the week.
I felt bad for ignoring all of the unread books spread across my house while I continued to accumulate more. At this rate, I'll never be able to read my own collection because it is growing faster than I can keep up with. When I packed up the books I planned on taking on vacation with me, I decided I would not take anything that has been in my collection for less than a year. I was going to plow through my long-forgottens. This included Watership Down.
Cut to me at my parent's house. The clock reads 4:30AM and there's Ms. May wide awake with a book in her hands. Once I started reading Watership Down, I couldn't put it down. It was actually kind of sad. If I had left it on the dining room table (which is the pinnacle of socialization in my parents' house) I would pick it up as soon as I sat down. Someone's trying to have a conversation with Ms. May? Nope, sorry. I found a book. Everything else in my life became secondary to finding out what happened to the bunnies, even though I already knew the story by heart.
Have you ever had an idea that was just beyond your reach? You stretch out your consciousness to grasp it, but your mind just barely grazes it. That's how I felt about this novel. There was something to it that I wasn't quite getting. After I finished reading, I started to look up book discussions and reviews. I had to know what it was I am missing. I couldn't agree with a single review I read. The general opinion seems to be that this is a novel of leadership and humanity's involvement in nature. Sure, I can see that, but that's not the idea that was keeping me from starting a new novel. I had to solve this mystery!
I sat on the porch with my headphones on and my notebook in my lap. I doodled bunnies in the margin of the blank page and listened to "We're Alive" but the solution wasn't coming to me. Maybe if I distracted myself with zombies, the answer would come more naturally than trying to force ideas.
Eureka! We're Alive wasn't a distraction at all, it was the solution! I've heard that Watership Down is a political allegory, but I am inclined to disagree. It is a struggle between tyranny and freedom, nature and reason, fear and duty. Am I blind?! They aren't political at all, it is entirely human nature! Let me try to explain with a comparison to "We're Alive".
The most important quality these two pieces of media have in common are the settlements. The rabbits in 'Watership Down' are forced to leave one warren that is in danger to find a new home with nothing to rely on but the feeling of one. This is almost directly parallel to the ending chapter of season 2 in 'We're Alive'. The likeness of the residence of the Tower and the warren of 'Watership Down' is striking.
The Maulers (a group of escaped convicts that have taken up residence in a strip mall, for those who are not zombie-savvy) play the same sort of role in the podcast that the rabbits in Cowslip's warren does in the novel. Death to these characters means absolutely nothing. Both groups are willing to sacrifice the lives of their own to ensure the survivors are able to live comfortably without threat of what lies beyond their safe zone.
When I was a kid, Efrafa scared the Hell out of me. These rabbits had zero control over their own lives. Everything they did was directly controlled by the warren and their leader. (Communism..?) This is how the survivors in the Colony lived. Is it possible to actually live happily like this? Again, these are the sacrifices the survivors had to make to ensure their futures. It makes me wonder how much would I be willing to give up to continue living. Would I become a pawn in a larger plan of someone else? Would I follow their direction without question? Would I run or would I stay? Would I fight? Would you?
These warrens and shelters are their home now and those with you are as good as family. Family above all else. Over and over again, especially in the podcast, the cast will run headlong into danger for the sake of one of their own. The family is an extension of the self. What would you risk to save your mother? Your cousin? Often times I feel that I can handle any amount of garbage and mistreatment, but I simply can't abide someone trying to mess with my employees. They are my family now too. I would do anything for them, but would I be able to risk my life for one of them? I really don't know.
The overarching theme I've found is the constant fear they all live in. It has become a natural part of life without being overbearing. How does this relate to you? Everywhere you turn, there is danger but we live with it. We protect ourselves. Look both ways before crossing the street. Don't approach strange dogs. Unplug your toaster. For all that we have done since our ancestors painted in caves, we all still live in fear.
I think the scariest part of both is how the obvious enemies are not the biggest threat the cast has to face. No enemy puts up the kind of fight or causes as much damage as their own kind. (Efrafa, the Maulers.) This is true in day-to-day life as well. If you need proof, open your local newspaper. How many articles are about shark attacks or bears mauling hikers, and how many are about anthrax in letters, or kids getting shot over drugs? Humanity is its own worst enemy.
I highly recommend anyone reading this to check out "We're Alive" at http://www.zombiepodcast.com. It is well worth your time.
Since graduating high school, the term 'summer vacation' has meant little to nothing to me. Work took priority since moving out of my parents' house. That is to say bills took priority. This is my first year with a salary instead of a wage job. I'll be damned if I'm not taking a proper vacation! I packed up my duffel bag with books and clothes and I hauled ass out of the city for the week.
I felt bad for ignoring all of the unread books spread across my house while I continued to accumulate more. At this rate, I'll never be able to read my own collection because it is growing faster than I can keep up with. When I packed up the books I planned on taking on vacation with me, I decided I would not take anything that has been in my collection for less than a year. I was going to plow through my long-forgottens. This included Watership Down.
Cut to me at my parent's house. The clock reads 4:30AM and there's Ms. May wide awake with a book in her hands. Once I started reading Watership Down, I couldn't put it down. It was actually kind of sad. If I had left it on the dining room table (which is the pinnacle of socialization in my parents' house) I would pick it up as soon as I sat down. Someone's trying to have a conversation with Ms. May? Nope, sorry. I found a book. Everything else in my life became secondary to finding out what happened to the bunnies, even though I already knew the story by heart.
Have you ever had an idea that was just beyond your reach? You stretch out your consciousness to grasp it, but your mind just barely grazes it. That's how I felt about this novel. There was something to it that I wasn't quite getting. After I finished reading, I started to look up book discussions and reviews. I had to know what it was I am missing. I couldn't agree with a single review I read. The general opinion seems to be that this is a novel of leadership and humanity's involvement in nature. Sure, I can see that, but that's not the idea that was keeping me from starting a new novel. I had to solve this mystery!
I sat on the porch with my headphones on and my notebook in my lap. I doodled bunnies in the margin of the blank page and listened to "We're Alive" but the solution wasn't coming to me. Maybe if I distracted myself with zombies, the answer would come more naturally than trying to force ideas.
Eureka! We're Alive wasn't a distraction at all, it was the solution! I've heard that Watership Down is a political allegory, but I am inclined to disagree. It is a struggle between tyranny and freedom, nature and reason, fear and duty. Am I blind?! They aren't political at all, it is entirely human nature! Let me try to explain with a comparison to "We're Alive".
The most important quality these two pieces of media have in common are the settlements. The rabbits in 'Watership Down' are forced to leave one warren that is in danger to find a new home with nothing to rely on but the feeling of one. This is almost directly parallel to the ending chapter of season 2 in 'We're Alive'. The likeness of the residence of the Tower and the warren of 'Watership Down' is striking.
The Maulers (a group of escaped convicts that have taken up residence in a strip mall, for those who are not zombie-savvy) play the same sort of role in the podcast that the rabbits in Cowslip's warren does in the novel. Death to these characters means absolutely nothing. Both groups are willing to sacrifice the lives of their own to ensure the survivors are able to live comfortably without threat of what lies beyond their safe zone.
When I was a kid, Efrafa scared the Hell out of me. These rabbits had zero control over their own lives. Everything they did was directly controlled by the warren and their leader. (Communism..?) This is how the survivors in the Colony lived. Is it possible to actually live happily like this? Again, these are the sacrifices the survivors had to make to ensure their futures. It makes me wonder how much would I be willing to give up to continue living. Would I become a pawn in a larger plan of someone else? Would I follow their direction without question? Would I run or would I stay? Would I fight? Would you?
These warrens and shelters are their home now and those with you are as good as family. Family above all else. Over and over again, especially in the podcast, the cast will run headlong into danger for the sake of one of their own. The family is an extension of the self. What would you risk to save your mother? Your cousin? Often times I feel that I can handle any amount of garbage and mistreatment, but I simply can't abide someone trying to mess with my employees. They are my family now too. I would do anything for them, but would I be able to risk my life for one of them? I really don't know.
The overarching theme I've found is the constant fear they all live in. It has become a natural part of life without being overbearing. How does this relate to you? Everywhere you turn, there is danger but we live with it. We protect ourselves. Look both ways before crossing the street. Don't approach strange dogs. Unplug your toaster. For all that we have done since our ancestors painted in caves, we all still live in fear.
I think the scariest part of both is how the obvious enemies are not the biggest threat the cast has to face. No enemy puts up the kind of fight or causes as much damage as their own kind. (Efrafa, the Maulers.) This is true in day-to-day life as well. If you need proof, open your local newspaper. How many articles are about shark attacks or bears mauling hikers, and how many are about anthrax in letters, or kids getting shot over drugs? Humanity is its own worst enemy.
I highly recommend anyone reading this to check out "We're Alive" at http://www.zombiepodcast.com. It is well worth your time.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
One of the girls who works for me asked me today how long I've had my hair short. She asked me if I had just decided the day I cut off all of my locks to become a lesbian. I know she'd meant it as a joke, but it kind of struck me as odd, I guess. First of all, I never 'decided' to be a lesbian, it was never a choice. I'm not going to get into that, though. That isn't what I wanted this post to be about, I just had to point that out. If you're interested in finding out about homosexuality, ask your local queers. Or Lady Gaga. We were born this way.
When I discovered that I liked girls, I was still quite young. One of my very first crushes that I remember clearly was the yellow Power Ranger, Trini. It was very confusing to try to grasp sexuality at such a young age, before I really knew what sexuality was. All I knew about it at the time was that Barbie and Ken were supposed to go together like Mommy and Daddy go together. Barbie was not supposed to make smoochie faces at Teresa, that's weird and gross and wrong.
I thought something was wrong with me. Maybe I was broken? Maybe I was supposed to have been born a boy. For a long time i thought this was the only logical explanation. This may have had a part in why I felt so easy around boys instead of girls. this is what I was supposed to be doing, if my gender wasn't broken, so I might as well do it anyway. Digging in the dirt was just much more enjoyable than playing dolls.
That isn't to say that I didn't still do girly things from time to time. I felt obligated. I was trapped in the wrong body but nobody knew it, so I had to be a lady and I was stuck. It wasn't exactly something I could bring up to my parents one night over dinner. "Mommy, how come I'm a girl?" I couldn't put my finger on why it was wrong, it was just an instinct that this topic was untouchable. It was as wrong to talk about as how it felt. It was not meant to exist and was an abomination to even speak the name of.
So I guess I had to learn to live with it. I played dolls with my cousins and house with the girls in my neighborhood. I had crushes and experienced puppy love and grew out of childhood as a rough and tumble tomboy with both knees skinned and crying that I tore my new tights.
It wasn't until I was in my early to mid teens that the idea of bisexuality was explained to me. Woah, hold the phone here. I can like girls AND boys? And that's an okay thing? Holy smokes, ladies and gentlemen, alert the media! This was life altering news and I had no idea what to do with it. I'm not broken after all, it was just not something that occurred all that frequently in my small, one-horse town. At least not yet.
During my highschool years, I really tried to open up to this other side to my sexuality. Like I said before, I figured if i was stuck in a girl's body, I would have to get used to doing the things that girls do. This included dating boys. I wasn't that I found boys... unattractive. I liked them plenty. Hell, I still do. There is something safe and comfortable about being with a guy that makes sense. But no man has ever made my heart thunder in my chest the way a woman can. Yoga pants are just unbelievable.
What was I talking about? Oh right! high school sweethearts.
My first sincere lady love was a lovely girl named Meagan. She was everything I idolized, everything I wanted to be at the time. She was rambunctious, she was opinionated, she was BOLD! Nothing would stand between this girl and what she thought was right, while I was so soft spoken and shy. I was an easy target for bullies and apparently so was she, but she took my hand so fiercely, damn the world if they didn't like it. I couldn't be so brave. I was terrified. What would my parents say? What would my friends think? Would they still love and accept me if I was different? Up until I started seeing this girl, there was not a whisper of gay culture in my high school. People would gawk at us holding hands and whisper when we passed. I could not handle this shit.
In the end, I chickened out. I told her that I was not ready to be open about this kind of thing just yet and I wasn't ready to call her my girlfriend. She was upset and rightfully so, so we went our separate ways. It was by far the hardest breakup I've ever had to face.
It was a very long time before I would be able to let another girl in. I've never officially dated a woman since, but i still consider myself a bisexual. Well, no. That's not really true either. I don't care much for that term, it seems so linear. I'm queer. I'm queer in many ways aside from my orientation, so it just seems fitting for me. I don't think I need to be actively with a girl to consider myself a bisexual, but I've heard a lot of flack from other self-proclaimed bis that this is a big deal and anyone else is a poser.
What the hell does it matter to them who I'm with or who I think is attractive? Regardless.
It has been a long journey of self-discovery to accept myself this far. I feel confident in myself and the person I want to be. I don't consider myself to be transgendered. I am a woman and I've recently come to terms with that. I still have some difficulties, though. I am still more comfortable being a 'bro' than a 'Ms.' and I still identify more with a man than a woman. It comes from self-confidence really. I don't know if I'm explaining myself very clearly. Sometimes I think I make such rash decisions to be alternative and masculine because I still don't feel like I make a very good girl. I'd never pass for a stereotypical hot chick, so why bother trying? why put on makeup every day and do my hair and pick out the perfect outfit when I still can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear? So I completely rebel against it or ignore it completely because if I don't try, I can't fail. I'm a boy because I'm good at it, I'm a girl because I was born this way.
Not that I'm not happy with my body. Don't get me wrong. If I were another person, I'd totally tap this. Its the me inside and the me outside that don't sync up and make me such a sloppy mess. I'm a recovering fat girl hiding her insecurities behind the facade of an inflated ego. It sounds complicated. I love me and I hate me at the same time.
Girls still scare the piss out of me. Maybe its a nerd thing, but I have absolutely no ability to talk to women and if I find them attractive, forget about it. I'll be hiding in the corner over there, thank you very much. Dudes are simple, they don't play games and largely the guys I keep company with understand that I'd rather be treated like one of them without taping my breasts down and making my personal opinions an awkward conversation topic.
I 100% support all transgendered people. I think what they do is incredibly brave and not at all something I could handle. They are the victims of unreal hate crimes and to be able to face every day with their chins up is such a sign of strength. I couldn't do it. I admire them.
This post, I think, has rambled on enough. I don't know why it bothered me so much that this one girl commented on my haircut.
Oh God. What if she was flirting with me?
...Fuck.
When I discovered that I liked girls, I was still quite young. One of my very first crushes that I remember clearly was the yellow Power Ranger, Trini. It was very confusing to try to grasp sexuality at such a young age, before I really knew what sexuality was. All I knew about it at the time was that Barbie and Ken were supposed to go together like Mommy and Daddy go together. Barbie was not supposed to make smoochie faces at Teresa, that's weird and gross and wrong.
I thought something was wrong with me. Maybe I was broken? Maybe I was supposed to have been born a boy. For a long time i thought this was the only logical explanation. This may have had a part in why I felt so easy around boys instead of girls. this is what I was supposed to be doing, if my gender wasn't broken, so I might as well do it anyway. Digging in the dirt was just much more enjoyable than playing dolls.
That isn't to say that I didn't still do girly things from time to time. I felt obligated. I was trapped in the wrong body but nobody knew it, so I had to be a lady and I was stuck. It wasn't exactly something I could bring up to my parents one night over dinner. "Mommy, how come I'm a girl?" I couldn't put my finger on why it was wrong, it was just an instinct that this topic was untouchable. It was as wrong to talk about as how it felt. It was not meant to exist and was an abomination to even speak the name of.
So I guess I had to learn to live with it. I played dolls with my cousins and house with the girls in my neighborhood. I had crushes and experienced puppy love and grew out of childhood as a rough and tumble tomboy with both knees skinned and crying that I tore my new tights.
It wasn't until I was in my early to mid teens that the idea of bisexuality was explained to me. Woah, hold the phone here. I can like girls AND boys? And that's an okay thing? Holy smokes, ladies and gentlemen, alert the media! This was life altering news and I had no idea what to do with it. I'm not broken after all, it was just not something that occurred all that frequently in my small, one-horse town. At least not yet.
During my highschool years, I really tried to open up to this other side to my sexuality. Like I said before, I figured if i was stuck in a girl's body, I would have to get used to doing the things that girls do. This included dating boys. I wasn't that I found boys... unattractive. I liked them plenty. Hell, I still do. There is something safe and comfortable about being with a guy that makes sense. But no man has ever made my heart thunder in my chest the way a woman can. Yoga pants are just unbelievable.
What was I talking about? Oh right! high school sweethearts.
My first sincere lady love was a lovely girl named Meagan. She was everything I idolized, everything I wanted to be at the time. She was rambunctious, she was opinionated, she was BOLD! Nothing would stand between this girl and what she thought was right, while I was so soft spoken and shy. I was an easy target for bullies and apparently so was she, but she took my hand so fiercely, damn the world if they didn't like it. I couldn't be so brave. I was terrified. What would my parents say? What would my friends think? Would they still love and accept me if I was different? Up until I started seeing this girl, there was not a whisper of gay culture in my high school. People would gawk at us holding hands and whisper when we passed. I could not handle this shit.
In the end, I chickened out. I told her that I was not ready to be open about this kind of thing just yet and I wasn't ready to call her my girlfriend. She was upset and rightfully so, so we went our separate ways. It was by far the hardest breakup I've ever had to face.
It was a very long time before I would be able to let another girl in. I've never officially dated a woman since, but i still consider myself a bisexual. Well, no. That's not really true either. I don't care much for that term, it seems so linear. I'm queer. I'm queer in many ways aside from my orientation, so it just seems fitting for me. I don't think I need to be actively with a girl to consider myself a bisexual, but I've heard a lot of flack from other self-proclaimed bis that this is a big deal and anyone else is a poser.
What the hell does it matter to them who I'm with or who I think is attractive? Regardless.
It has been a long journey of self-discovery to accept myself this far. I feel confident in myself and the person I want to be. I don't consider myself to be transgendered. I am a woman and I've recently come to terms with that. I still have some difficulties, though. I am still more comfortable being a 'bro' than a 'Ms.' and I still identify more with a man than a woman. It comes from self-confidence really. I don't know if I'm explaining myself very clearly. Sometimes I think I make such rash decisions to be alternative and masculine because I still don't feel like I make a very good girl. I'd never pass for a stereotypical hot chick, so why bother trying? why put on makeup every day and do my hair and pick out the perfect outfit when I still can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear? So I completely rebel against it or ignore it completely because if I don't try, I can't fail. I'm a boy because I'm good at it, I'm a girl because I was born this way.
Not that I'm not happy with my body. Don't get me wrong. If I were another person, I'd totally tap this. Its the me inside and the me outside that don't sync up and make me such a sloppy mess. I'm a recovering fat girl hiding her insecurities behind the facade of an inflated ego. It sounds complicated. I love me and I hate me at the same time.
Girls still scare the piss out of me. Maybe its a nerd thing, but I have absolutely no ability to talk to women and if I find them attractive, forget about it. I'll be hiding in the corner over there, thank you very much. Dudes are simple, they don't play games and largely the guys I keep company with understand that I'd rather be treated like one of them without taping my breasts down and making my personal opinions an awkward conversation topic.
I 100% support all transgendered people. I think what they do is incredibly brave and not at all something I could handle. They are the victims of unreal hate crimes and to be able to face every day with their chins up is such a sign of strength. I couldn't do it. I admire them.
This post, I think, has rambled on enough. I don't know why it bothered me so much that this one girl commented on my haircut.
Oh God. What if she was flirting with me?
...Fuck.
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