She is touring the facility…

Cake’s “Short Skirt/Long Jacket” is a wildly underappreciated feminist anthem. The lyrics celebrate the desirability of a strong, self empowered woman. The singer expresses a common male desire, a woman who’s got her shit together. A woman who has her life in order, a plan of action, and the will to conquer anything she sets her mind to. The song’s unnamed female protagonist is taking control of her own identity by dropping a diminutive version of her name in favor of a mature standard. She is determined, in charge, competent and confident. The song subtly fetishizes the idea of the dominate woman and one could argue that this detracts from any feminist message of the song, but in a world of constant submissive imagery, it’s a welcomed change of theme.

“We will meet accidently when she asks to borrow my pen”. The subservient male dreams that one day he will meet this powerful woman and will somehow be able to fulfil a need of hers. That’s the hardest thing for the male ego to swallow about the dominate woman. She does not need you, so you must find a way for her to want you. It wouldn’t be a stretch to presume that the male preference for a submissive woman stems from the primal human need to domesticate animals they need. Powerful women are hunters, they are not easy animals to tame. There’s not much you can offer her that she could not obtain herself. What does she need you for? Not safety. Not shelter. Not food. She doesn’t need your love to feel fulfilled because she loves herself. No, all you can offer her is the comfort of partnership. Take a few items off her checklist if you want to find your way into the dominate woman’s heart. She doesn’t need a knight to save her from the dragon, she is the dragon.

This song says a strong, dominate woman is sexy, desirable, preferable. It’s a song about a guy desiring a woman that I am ok with my daughter loving. It is a power song for every interview I walk into. I wonder if Billboard will ever have room for the women in short skirts and long jackets. Other than Beyoncé.

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Internet Friends

this may be a weird concept, but I miss having internet friends. I had the most rewarding and genuine friendships when I was a teenager with people I primarily interacted with online. People who shared the same passion for a music group or people who frequented the same forums and chatrooms as me. I feel like with Facebook’s conquest of the internet, and my own distaste of what the internet was becoming, I lost contact with those people and a good portion of my “social” life. The lines between internet friends and IRL friends became messy and suddenly the person I could be online (free from all social anxiety) was disrupted by the intrusion of people from my real life. I couldn’t quite express myself how I felt because suddenly people in the physical world could judge me on the things that I didn’t necessarily feel comfortable sharing with them. I think in this new world of constant and invasive communication I feel more cut off from my tribe than ever. What was once a relatively quiet place that I could escape to and be with the slim group I consider like minded, intellectual peers is now flooded with the whole damn world. I don’t know where to find my internet friends. Those that stayed on the net are still out there I’m sure, communicating on reddit and the likes but I feel almost intimidated now to jump back in and say “hey, I’m one of you.” I wonder how many felt like me, disconnected, and fell away from the net’verse. I had tribe once. We all met at a common space called myspace. We gathered to tell each other stories on livejournal. Some of us hosted webrings and brought the tribes together. They’re all out there together, going to cons and feeling relieved to be around the people who know them better than anyone back home. One day I’ll find them again, but I missed out when I said I had to leave. I couldn’t stay, I couldn’t keep up. There was too much changing, too many of these alien “millennials”. And now they’re saying I’m one of them? I don’t know, maybe I am. I just left the twenties and now when I look to those who are the twenty year olds now and I worry. I don’t think they’re bad, I think they are the children of the generation that has lost touched with what it was once like to be an animal. They are the generation that have not known war in the way that generations before have. Many of them do not have grandparents that remember the great depression. They haven’t had to learn basic survival skills. They were handed a plateful of empty promises. The even younger ones are coming from parents even less prepared for this world than them. They are all growing up in a time of rapid social change and unimaginable technology. Honestly, you can draw a line in the millennial generation if you want a real sampling of the demographic. That line is 9/11. Before the events of that day, I do not remember the world being such a dangerous place. I didn’t know there were so many villains to lookout for. I was 10 years old going into chatrooms and it was a kind and friendly place. Now they’re just shouting matches. Now you have to worry about everything you put out there, everything can be used against you. And I remember a life where you weren’t bombarded by advertising in such an unavoidable fashion. I dunno, I feel like I look at kids younger than me and feel protective of them. They’re all doing the best they can, failed by a world that could never have expected things to be the way they are now, despite all the warnings the writers and scientists tried to give us.
Does every generation go through these growing pains? Do we all look to the new youth and worry that they won’t have it as good as you did? I want to live a life where I can feel safe letting my kids wander for hours on a hot summer day and not worry about them. Is that something I’ll have to just come to terms with myself and undo the fear programing that has infiltrated our culture. I say now that if I give them with the skills and knowledge they need that they’ll be able to take care of themselves, but what if I don’t prepare them for everything. I want to be a part of the generation that makes up for the failed parenting techniques that have brought us the world as it is today. I want to be part of the movement that will be society self correcting and adapting for the new world, one that is interconnected and every line is blurred. There cannot be enemies if there are no borders and my friends, that time has come. We’ve run out of space, run out of places to steal, run out of excuses to conquer and divide. We’ve fought too many wars to end all wars. I want to teach my kids ancient knowledge and primitive truths. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense that the way we think we have to live is the problem. The more we cling to the idea that money is real and necessary, the harder it is going to be to continue a free and just world. People who do not have something will always fight for something others have. Putting a “value” to that object will never change that. There was theft in barter cultures. There was still war in among people who did not believe in the ownership of land.
Maybe this is material for a whole other post, but why can’t people just do what they like and other people do what they like and we let that be currency. The people who want to farm grow the food, people who just want to make the food make it, and those who want to build can build for the people who people who make and grow the food and those who only want to eat can clean the dishes when everyone’s done. Why do we have to live in lots of different houses, only to leave them empty much of the time so we can go to other people’s houses? Why can’t I live in a big house or farm with some of my immediate family, another couple or two of child bearing age and maybe a few other friends who are happy to be a part of the family unit as “uncle” “sister” “cousin”? Because it’s weird? I don’t know about you but that seems damn efficient. I have a friend who isn’t interested in being a parent herself but loves kids and loves being a special part of a child’s life, and I know another couple with a young child. Wouldn’t this be a dream, which ever of the five adults wants to can be the one to get the kids up and ready for school in the morning, while the others can sleep in or get ready for work in peace, or take care of the animals. Then some adults can go to work, others can do the chores of house keeping or farming, and another is there to be in charge of the children’s needs for the day. What a crazy hippy idea that is! No, fuck you. It’s tribalism and it’s how we naturally want to live as humans. The fact we don’t live like this in America is why we’re fucked as a culture. We just keep growing more and more isolationist with each new generation. We are force-fed consumerism, lied to that capitalist democracy is our only salvation. I’m tired of trying to live like a Victorian rich bitch. Shit, what was I talking about again?
you know what, nm.
Also, I’m not formatting this. You guys are getting my thoughts, raw and uncut. Enjoy.

december the fourteenth

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I have gotten really bad at keeping up. I promise I’ve been writing every day, and it was time to keep some of it private. I spent last year asking questions. This year I’ve been getting the answers but it took half the year for

me to realize I needed to be quiet if I wanted to hear them.

This year has been hard on everyone for many different  reasons. I think there was no escaping that it was a year of difficulty. The near constant slew of tragedy and loss was almost too much to bare. By the end I’ve stopped being shocked. It wouldn’t be twenty sixteen without one more bomb. I think we’re all ready to close the book on this year and start over.

But it won’t be a number on the calendar that makes the difference. It isn’t about where we are in our path around the sun. It’s what you choose to happen in your life that makes it a new year. Otherwise you’re just repeating the same history over and over.

I’m grateful for the amazing things that have happened in my life this year. I took on a lot of responsibility and I took on positions of leadership. Whether or not I was ready for those things is a matter for the historians because it’s in the past. I can’t sit and fret about the things I wish I would have done better. The only option now is it be certain I do them the next time the opportunity arises. I took a first step toward something I’ve been wanting to accomplish at work for a long time but never started because I feared I wasn’t good enough. I got a dog, something I’ve been fearing because I didn’t want to be proven irresponsible. I wrote anddirected a show that was performed in highly competitive realm, something that terrified me and I had never really meant to do in the first place. From all these things I have learned a lot about the person I am, the person I’ve been, and the person I’m becoming.

Change is inevitable. Even in death, our spirit transcends and our bodies decay. Embracing and accepting change is the only way we may have any control over it. Control may be the wrong word. Influence would be a better choice. There is no control, only influence. Somethings are more susceptible to influence but, ultimately, if a thing is meant to happen, it’s going to happen. And all we can do is learn for next time.

This past year certainly has had a feeling of being pulled back. I firmly believe that in the next year, we are all capable of accomplishing incredible things. We have access and resources to do what was once impossible. Now we must actively choose to do those things. It’s as simply as making the choice to get off the couch and go for a walk. Choosing to take a risk and trusting that the people who truly matter will support you and love you no matter what. I can choose what I let have control over my emotional state. I can choose to have faith. I encourage you, if you want change, to choose to participate in the local community. I challenge you to choose to not agonize and focus on the failures of others. That word “choose” is what I repeat to myself when I hear Anxiety or Fear try to take control. When I can’t trust what’s happening in my head I remember that I steer the ship and I can choose to move my body and make it do whatever I damn well please. I can choose to get up and walk away, I can choose how much time I really want to spend staring at glowing screens. I can choose to be subject to my surroundings and my environment or I can choose to get up and do something about it. And that is what aiming is.

 

 

 

july the fifteenth

Yesterday I wrote a poem “Too Drunk to be on a Bicycle’. It’s going to win me that there Nobel.

I don’t care for competition dance. It’s like being forced to watch a recital for people I don’t know. It’s dance for the sake of “Look what I can do”. It doesn’t move me, but it does surprise me and I guess that’s why I always end up watching clips from youtube.

I guess I feel the same about reality tv.

I forget I have an audience. I forget people are reading this. Hi reader! I hope your day went well. I’m writing to find my voice, but it seems you’ve found it as well. Thank you, and remember, like myself, this is a work in progress.

I’m ready for the home that exists in my mind. The one where we live somewhere with seasons and we can survive happily in all of them. The home with the studio for all the art projects I don’t have time for now. The home office that will bestow upon me magical powers of organization, focus, and will power. The home gym where my husband and I will regirously maintain our firm young bodies with dedication past child rearing and well into retirement. The home that will be so easy to care for that the two to three children that will run through it will never be scolded for muddy footprints. A home with space for two dogs, a cat, a pot bellied pig and a few chickens and goats in the yard. The home that is centrally located, rural but not far from metropolitan delights. A home that is our and we’ll never have to worry about the hassles of renting ever again. Oh and the mortgage that will one day prompt laugh when we think of what we’ve paid in rent. Where the fireflies light up the night but mosquitos are only a problem on vacation. Oh the home that will never break, never mold, never fall down in the middle of the night or be hit by a tree. THe home that is in my mind is where I’m longing to be.

 

july the fourteenth

I forgot what I sat down to write. I had some grand thing in mind. Something witty and timely, but then I got caught up reading articles about people crashing their car and finding a dead body while playing Pokémon GO.

I am so enamored by the village of Yellow Springs. Every time I come here I never want to leave. It’s hard to imagine anywhere quite like it. It’s what Norman Rockwell would have painted after he went through a phase of LSD experimentation. I think I reach a point where I lose perception of the fact that at some point, I have to go home.

That’s what I like about travel. I get to leave my reality and enter another. I let go of the world back home and become as fully present as one can in the world I have entered. I get to become someone unconcerned with the politics and social niceties of home. I’m more than happy to forget about the bills to be paid or the job I work to pay those bills. Easy to forget the ever forward march of time and mounting responsibilities that come from living long enough to be an adult.

I’m bored by details. I like vacation the way my husband and I vacation. We arrive, we make it up as we go, and then we begrudgingly return home. The question “What do you want to do for dinner tonight” when asked at home is like a rock on my chest. I don’t care, just make sure I’m fed by 7pm. On vacation, that same question is an invitation to adventure. “What do you want to eat” means “What do you want to experience?” I don’t buy clothes at home, but on vacation that 50$ top also counts as a souvenir. Unless there is an excursion booked, we wake up and go to sleep when our bodies have said “enough!” On vacation, the red light runners and the too slow people in front of me at the grocery line are not my problem. The property taxes are not my problem. The weather is not my problem. What those people in the store might have thought about me is not my problem. Why should I worry about any of it, this is not my town, not my home, not my problem. Clothes strewn on the bed are not my problem. Dishes at the end of the meal are not my problem. The water bill is not my problem.

The only thing I have to remember is to write it all down.

 

july the eleventh

Why do I write? More specifically why do I blog? I guess because I have something to say. I’ve given myself permission for my blog to be a place to take risks and to just put it out there. If I’ve got a huge draft folder of pieces I spent hours on but then due to over thinking, will probably never publish. But’s that’s fine because I’ve found that I have a tendency to find what I was actually trying to say later. Typically in something unrelated or in a round about way.

I published an essay yesterday that I almost immediately regretted. I nearly retracted it, worried of the repercussions of my underdeveloped voice. It’s important to know the audience but I’ll hamstring myself if I spend all my time trying to cater to them. Little fun fact about me, satire and sarcasm are basically my entire wheel house. I think the best way to make a point is to say the complete opposite of what I meant and hope the reader is so shocked that they understand that no rational human thinks like this and the use of hyperbole is meant to break stagnant thought patterns. Done well, this is an excellent way of making a bold statement. Done carelessly or without clear voice and it’s easy to sound like the side you wish to protest.

But to know if you’re making the right point, I suppose I’m going to have to let someone else read it. Call me irresponsible, but I’m going to think of myself as brave. I know full well one day I will look back on my early writings and cringe at the amateur and trigger happy use of inflammatory language. But in the mean time I’m going to just keep doing it, reread my word, listen to critique and carve out a voice worth listening to from it.

 

july the tenth

Today a young woman identified herself as “sis gendered”,  another addressed the group by asking “Where my queers at?” If you were to ask me, what’s your gender identity, I’d chuckle and reply “Married”. I don’t know what category you’d put me in. I suppose I’m straight but simply because I’ve only ever been interested in having sex with men. It’s not like I never made it a rule to not sleep with women I just never really felt like bothering with it. Although I do find myself preoccupied by breasts. Maybe it’s envy, since I don’t have them, or maybe I’ve been brainwashed by male oriented television programming. I sometimes wish I were a man for the convenience, the freedom, and the privilege but I wouldn’t trade in my vagina for the world. And I just like feeling pretty too much to ever consider myself a cross-dresser but there is something to be said for the practicality, comfort, and ease of a man’s trousers.

I just don’t want to have to explain to my children all the labels and the PC ways of interacting with people of alternative lifestyles. I don’t want them to come to me at ten years old confused because they don’t know what gender they identify with yet, because I want them to not care about gender. I want them to know their sexuality does not define them as a person. If my child confesses to me that they’re gay or bi, or whatever new sexuality we will have come up with, I’m going to look them in the eye and tell them I don’t care who they want to have sex with, as long as it’s consensual and that they use protection. If my daughter doesn’t want to wear pretty dresses, or my son does, I’m not going to stress them to conform. I’d rather spend that energy on making sure they are respectful, well adjusted, and have their priorities in order.

I know right now it’s important that we recognize that there’s such diversity in the world, that for every deep dark fantasy you might harbor, there’s at least ten internet chat rooms that will cater to that. But we need to stop making “celeb turns out to be gay” a headline because unless you’re the one fucking them, it’s none of our business. Maybe one day gender and sexuality will as inconsequential as…. well fuck now that I think about it even country vs rock and roll is contentious. So maybe it’s not so simple. Still, maybe one day we can breed out the boundaries by not teaching them to our children.

Because it’s all the same love. hashtag no lives matter yall.