In defense of the sanctimonious women's studies set || First feminist blog on the internet

Roots

I’m attempting to line up guestbloggers for the next week because of family concerns and project season coming to a head. May be travelling out of state to see the place of my family roots for one last time. I hope.

Will probably continue poetry blogging because it’s my pet as of late. More later.

NPM: Sherman Alexie

Sherman Alexie is one of my favorite authors. His book “The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven” is one of the only books I’ve read that has made me cry openly in public. Heart-wrecking, wrenching sobs. Yes it was embarrassing, but totally worth it.

This poem, “Reservation Love Song,” makes one think of simple love, family, and tradition. But more.

I can meet you
in Springdale buy you beer
& take you home
in my one-eyed Ford

I can pay your rent
on HUD house get you free
food from the BIA
get your teeth fixed at IHS

I can buy you alcohol
& not drink it all
while you’re away I won’t fuck
any of your cousins

if I don’t get too drunk
I can bring old blankets
to sleep with in winter
they smell like grandmother

hands digging up roots
they have powerful magic
we can sleep good
we can sleep warm

Known in part for his social commentary, Alexie does wonderful justice to the expression of individual empowerment in the face of disempowerment. There appears to be a lack of masculine power in this courtship, and from a romantic angle, this poem seems to be the lover’s answer to the beloved’s “reservation.”

Read More…Read More…

NPM: Kim Addonizio

I love this poem like I love Edie in Desperate Housewives (and yes, I love Desperate Housewives). It’s everything a woman isn’t supposed to be: direct, demanding, and not a sexual object, but a sensual subject. Add a wee bit of bitter vulnerability, covered by pride. Damn good poem.

I doubt this is the answer Freud was expecting, but hell, at least he asked.

What Do Women Want?” by Kim Addonizio

I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.

Amen.

Under Attack

At some point this evening, this blog was attacked by a dinosaur.

Everything is now under control. Thank you for your concern.

Personality: Quick and Dirty

And now, a gratuitous exercise in self-(non)reflection.

INTJ -The Mastermind
Your Type is 40% Extroverted, 37% Observant, 68% Logical and 50% Structured

You are more introverted than extroverted. You are more intuitive than
observant, you are more thinking-based than feeling-based, and you
prefer to have a plan rather than leaving things to chance. Your type
is best described by the word “mastermind”, which belongs to the larger
group called rationals. Only 1% of the population shares your type. You
are very strong willed and self-confident. You can hardly rest until
you have things settled. You will only adopt ideas and rules if they
make sense. You are a great brainstormer and often come up with
creative solutions to difficult problems. You are open to new concepts,
and often actively seek them out.

As a romantic partner, you can be both fascinating yet demanding. You
are not apt to express your emotions, leaving your partner wondering
where they are with you. You strongly dislike repeating yourself or
listening to the disorganized process of sorting through emotional
conflicts. You see your own commitments as self-evident and don’t see
why you need to repeat something already expressed. You have the most
difficulty in admitting your vulnerabilities. You feel the most
appreciated when your partner admires the quality of your innovations
and when they listen respectfully to your ideas and advice. You need
plenty of quiet to explore your interests to the depth that gives you
satisfaction.

Your group summary: rationals (NT)
Your type summary: INTJ

The Quick and Dirty Personality Test

Part of the quiz rings particularly true. I’m horribly mid-western when it comes to expressing emotions — I might as well not have emotions apart from indignation, anger, and amusement. I absolutely despise repeating myself. Once I’ve said something, I’ve said it, and that’s exactly what I meant. I choose my words carefully in my interpersonal conversations (sometimes to a fault — halting endlessly through a thought until I’ve forgotten what I intended to say). If you didn’t get it the first time, you are not only dim, you are also wasting my time. Furthermore, I’m not a big fan of listening to people’s endless ruminations on their problems without doing a thing to change any of them.

And vulnerabilities? Shit, I don’t have them. Unless you count the Achilles heel as a vulnerability. And I don’t.

Needless to say, my commitment to being more compassionate in my personal interactions (as opposed to my activist self, a piece of me inherently compassionate) has been a trial. Unless you’re in my “in” group, you’re unlikely to see a raw, uncensored emotion in me.

One major fault in this personality quiz, having effectively stripped myself of subjectivity, is my ability to cry on the drop of a dime. Nobody cries alone, whether you’re on TV or right in front of me. Unless you’re crying because you’re frustrated with me, in which case I stop caring because I’m always right. Always. No, really.

And parenting. It’s a process.

More on the iNTj, which is a fairly accurate analysis of my approach to relationships and the world.

NPM: Gwendolyn Brooks

I’m bored with politics. Perhaps it’s papaphobia.

Today’s poet (since I’m apparently following National Poetry Month) is Gwendolyn Brooks, best known for her bluesy poem often featured in high school text books, “We Real Cool.”

I love “The Bean Eaters” because of its quiet tone and use of subtle detail.

They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair.
Dinner is a casual affair.
Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood,
Tin flatware.

Two who are Mostly Good.
Two who have lived their day,
But keep on putting on their clothes
And putting things away.

And remembering . . .
Remembering, with twinklings and twinges,
As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that
is full of beads and receipts and dolls and cloths,
tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.

There’s something desperately somber about this picture, an elderly couple going about the day-to-day monotony surrounded by trinkets of better times past. I’ve always been excited about growing old (strange, enit?) gathering stories and gems of wisdom throughout my life. But this poem reminds that it isn’t always pleasant and, oftentimes, lonely.

Sunday Reads

Tongue Untied: Big Red Monkey Bootie and Pornography
Author Ian Kernan quotes from an article spoofing monkey porn, scientific research, and the ever looming gender question.

Culture Kitchen: Does the Bible Make Me Look Fat in this Dress?
A look at the body politic, tied to Terri Schiavo and the Christian religion.

Whirled View: Anger Management
Cheryl Rofer discusses American nationalism and its convergence with religion.

Chaos Theory: The things people post on the street
Pictures of strange street signs from all over the world.

Aldahlia: Indian Men
What makes a man beautiful, and why aren’t Asian men represented as beautiful through an American lens? This man in particular can approach me any day.

Kevin Drum: Sex and Gender
Drum finally gets kudos from me for his approach on this post, even if he does pigeonhole “feminist rhetoric” and “academic feminism.”

Pen-Elayne: Wrapping up Estrogen Month
As the title implies, Elayne Riggs wraps up her Estrogen Month series with a handy chart for easy browsing. Many good women were highlighted over the month of March that were promptly added to my bloglines account. Thanks to Elayne for putting together such a long and detailed series.

What Do I Know?: Cost Containing the Culture of Life
The Culture of Life according to Jeb Bush. It ain’t pretty.

Body and Soul: Moral Objections
The Conscientious Objector Policy Act in comparison to another form of conscientious objection: a soldier’s right to refuse to perform military service that conflicts with their beliefs.

Rad Geek: Fathers for Lies: selective quotation and distortion of Catharine MacKinnon’s position
Charles defends MacKinnon again, and has a telling conversation via email with Walter Schneider of Fathers For Life.
Also, Sex and the Single Superheroine: When moviemakers ignore that audiences are complex and don’t always respond to the archetypes, they will be disappointed when the money doesn’t come rolling in. Unfortunately, this isn’t always the case, and Hollywood continues to bankroll bankrupt flicks.

Crooked Timber: Making Men Into Fathers
A guest blogger writing a series on the economics of the family discusses how some European countries attempt to normalize more invovled fathers through TV ad campiagns. On many levels, they seem to be successful.

Pinko Feminist Hellcat: The Wage Gap Story — It’s All In The Angle
The recent discovery that college-educated, working African-American and Asian-American women make more than college-educated, working Caucasian women overlooks one major aspect of the whole. College-educated white men still make more than $25K a year than all women.

National Poetry Month

If I observed National Poetry Month properly, this blog would turn into all poems all the time. One of my favorite series is John Berryman’s Dream Songs, poems arranged around ordinary events, often spoken to and through an alter-ego named Mr. Bones.

Although Berryman was considered part of the confessional movement, he scorned the idea of being a confessional poet. Considering the number of parallels between his poetry and his life, it’s fairly obvious that Berryman was to some extent reflecting on his own existence, as many authors tend to do. Whether or not he was a “confessional” poet is to be debated, though it seems that Henry, at the same time a narrator and referred to by the narrator, is another one of Berryman’s reflective voices.

Dream Song 4 occurs at a dinner party in which Henry (Berryman) and Mr. Bones muse about the attractiveness of a guest who is unfortunately married to a slob. Bonus points for working in spumoni.

Filling her compact & delicious body
with chicken páprika, she glanced at me
twice.
Fainting with interest, I hungered back
and only the fact of her husband & four other people
kept me from springing on her

or falling at her little feet and crying
‘You are the hottest one for years of night
Henry’s dazed eyes
have enjoyed, Brilliance.’ I advanced upon
(despairing) my spumoni. Sir Bones: is stuffed,
de world, wif feeding girls.

Black hair, complexion Latin, jewelled eyes
downcast . . . The slob beside her feasts . . . What wonders is
she sitting on, over there?
The restaurant buzzes. She might as well be on Mars.
Where did it all go wrong? There ought to be a law against Henry.
Mr. Bones: there is.

[Dream Songs 1 and 29]

In retrospect, one of the saddest things about these poems (that also works with the humor to make them so endearing) is Henry/Berryman’s self-despair. Berryman committed suicide in 1972 by jumping off a bridge in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Grab the Febreeze, Honey

I know Mac has written about this before, but now it’s my turn.

I got hungry last night and poured myself a big bowl of Kashi cereal. I ate it in front of a movie, not thinking too much about my mild lactose intolerance or the cereal that will henceforce be known as “colon blow.” But you can be sure I’m regretting that bowl of cereal this morning. Ethan and Pablo are wondering about it, too.

Pablo has only two jobs in this household: 1) wake me up at 6am every morning with a shrill meow and tail or whiskers dangled just above my face, and 2) take the blame for our farts. He does both quite well.