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

More Technical Difficulties

It looks like both of us are having connectivity issues. While I don’t have the cell phone/land line debacle to deal with, my internet connection has been mysteriously revoked. While I’d love to figure out the problem, my ISP customer service line has an estimated waiting time of two hours, and we are about to embark on a day trip to Indy for Ethan’s pre-kindergarten shopping spree. The little one needs him some shoes and school clothes.

Honestly, I’d rather take the day trip than screw with this connection business right now. My curious and lovable mother is taking us down there for a needed end-of-summer mini-vacation. Free lunch included.

Ryan, Feministe guest blogger and member of The Liberal Avenger, has volunteered to do some posting for us while we get things figured out. Give him some love and keep your fingers crossed for Jill and me.

Poise Pro-Choice Messenger Bag

For now the feminist ad network is on hold, scratched in favor of a person-to-person deal promoting an item I love, the pro-choice messenger bag. Bonus: when you buy one, Cinnamon donates $15 of your payment to your favorite pro-choice non-profit.

Cinnamon Cooper, creator of Poise.cc is a handbag designer with a grand vision. Her foray into handbag creation began as a way for her to support the plethora of non-profit organizations her heart was devoted to, even though her wallet was slim. After donating several bags to silent auctions and raffles she decided to create a website where she could sell her bags which would permit her to raise money for more of those organizations as well as keep her fabric supply stocked. In 2003 she heard about the March for Women’s Lives which would take place in April 2004 and knew she had to find a way to help. The “No More Hangers: We Won’t Go Back: Keep Abortion Safe and Legal” symbol haunted her for days until she found a way to transfer it to a bag which was then donated to her local NOW chapter. The compliments were plentiful and requests for the Pro-Choice Messenger Bag began pouring in.

By April 2004, she’d made enough bags to be able to sponsor a young woman to take a bus from Chicago to Washington D.C., as well as make donations to several other reproductive health organizations. While being surrounded by more than 1 million women was fulfilling, she knew the fight wasn’t over so she kept selling the bags and kept permitting the buyer to decide which reproductive rights organization would receive $15. It’s remained her most popular item and she’s given money to more than 13 organizations, many more than once. Not only does she love wearing her politics on her ass, she loves the conversations people strike up with her.

“I’m proud to be able to support Lauren and Feministe. Not only has this site provided me with hours of
procrastination material it’s created a community of forward-thinking, respectful men and women who make me
think on a daily basis.”

Cinnamon has sent me a few things in the past from the Chicago Craft Mafia, of which she is a member. This group rocks. And this completely unpaid endorsement goes out to Mark Smithivas for his Lemongrass Mint soap and making Ethan and I smell like the garden.

Thursday Round-Up

Educe Me: You Don’t Know Me
On anonymity and teaching blogs.

Aldahlia: Teens, Purity, and Money
On teen pregnancy, punishment for lack of “purity,” and the reality of becoming pregnant when you yourself are a child.

Culture Kitchen: Lawrence Lessig : from molested choirboy to American hero
An interesting story on the god of the Creative Commons copyright, and his life as an activist against the Catholic Church’s child abuse scandals.

Quodlibets: Is ChickLit Feminist Lit?
I don’t know, but I have a few guilty pleasures.

Half-Changed World: The Privilege of Choice
How economic status adds choices to the life of an individual.

No Taming This Shrew: The Quest to be a Funny Liberal
Liberal humor isn’t always lame, but we do like the puns.

Archaeopteryx: Einstein vs. Darwin?
Dissection of a religiously-motivated attack on the Sanctity of Science.

DED Space: If you want to insult a man, the best way to do it is to call him a woman, and in the meantime insult every female creature on the planet.

Echidne of the Snakes: Saturday Sermon
Jesus never said that those wealthy in earthly and material goods would inherit the earth, but fuck it.

Blog Alice: Swimming With Sharks in South Africa
And there are even pictures.

SMRT-TV: The Apprentice and Sexism
This one was written by a former Feministe guest blogger named Erin. You can find her at the fshk blog.

To Be Determined: On Danica Patrick
Chuck writes more on the stink raised by Bobby Gordon against Danica Patrick.

The Alley Notebooks: I am just a marketing campaign for my vagina. Which is malformed, and that’s why I’m a scholar.
We need an award for best titles. This would be my nomination. And the content is good, too.

Indiana, Oh Indiana…

I don’t have a blog, or a livejournal, or anything fancy like that; I’m just a lady who gets paid to read books and write papers and teach other kids how to read and write papers. Or at least I’m training for it. So I often read the blogs of my fellow-women in education, and Ms. Lauren’s Feministe is the first on the list.
I could write about all kinds of things: I could add my two cents to the Schiavo national embarrassment, and ruminate on the meaning of law, now that our legislative body has taken it upon itself to legislate for the particular individual, rather than for the “universal,” or for the nation at large. But I won’t. Or I could echo all of the rumblings and ramblings about the sorry state of the Democratic party, still sore from a whuppin’, trying to figure out how to be a party of opposition, and how to strategize a comeback. I won’t do that either, except to humbly suggest that looking beyond the New England corridor will probably help, and I don’t mean that in a “those latte-drinkin, Volvo-drivin, sushi-eatin’ Ivory Tower yuppies just don’t understand good ol’ fashion red state ‘Mericans, with their big trucks and their guns and their churches an’ all.” I mean that I haven’t seen a lot of evidence that establishment Democrats have finished the whole dazed from defeat thing and are ready to really try to be the voice for working people, women and minorities, because the other side certainly isn’t. That’s how to be an opposition party, guys. And next week we’ll introduce universal health care coverage, re-introduce the capital gains tax, and have a talk about proportional representation.
(Oh my God! I’m a woman and I started talking about politics, in my first ever blog entry, EVER. Or are those two mutually exclusive? Help! What do I do now? Don’t blame me; I’m the new girl.)
What I really meant to write about was the Midwest. I love the Midwest. I once visited a friend in NYC, a friend who was born and raised (and put up a hell of a fight for the DNC) in Ohio. I had never seen a map of NYC; in fact, I am embarrassed to say that I didn’t even know that NYC was south of Boston. It’s true. I would simply go down one hole, get on a train, and come out another hole, where everyone looked just as strangely serene and urbane and thin as they had been before I went in the hole. I couldn’t wait to get back to Chicago, where there were some people who were ugly or poorly dressed and didn’t really care (not that I dress in such a way of course, dear friends), and would walk around with this odd look on their face, as if they had just smelled something really bad, but would meet your eyes and smile at you in the street, strike up a conversation with you in the corner store, or give you directions and advice, welcome or not.
Folks from the Midwest are warm and friendly and even-tempered; they can also be shockingly xenophobic, parochial, and hateful towards anything new and strange. Midwestern small towns can be cozy and charming and safe places where everyone knows everyone else because they all went to the same high school and work the same service jobs for years on end, trading favors between the pizza joint and the bar. They can also be stagnant dead-end towns where those who aren’t satisfied with sameness are treated as pathological and find themselves isolated and stuck.
At any rate, these are my people and to them, and to Lauren for sticking it out with them (and being one of them), I raise a can of Old Style. Now back to my thesis…
-Sina
skramer1@students.depaul.edu

Open Blogging on Race and Gangs

My name is Lenka, and I usually blog over at farkleberries. I’ve been a fan of Feministe for quite some time, and although I don’t tend to blog much on feminist issues at my place, it is an issue near and dear to my heart. I hope someday I can articulate my views on the subject as eloquently as the folks at Feministe do! 🙂 It’s a happy coincidence that today is open blogging on Feministe, because I had an unusual experience last night that I’m itching to write about: my Criminal Justice Juvenile Delinquency class had four active Chicago members of the Gangster Disciples, Vicelords and the Black Souls – all currently on parole – visit as guest speakers. Even though our instructor is a retired Chicago cop with over 30 years of street experience under his belt, I have to admit that I was a bit nervous when the guests arrived. Let me put that in context.

We’ve had a streak of violent crimes in my neighborhood this winter, such as the killing of a janitor and a young woman only weeks apart in the apartment building directly across the street from my apartment building. While none of these crimes appears to be gang-releated, I still clearly picture walking home from class that January night, as remote newsvans, camera crews and reporters stood in front of the makeshift memorial at 6151 N. Winthrop where 21-year old Melissa Dorner was raped and murdered, allegedly by a man who lived in her building. The Chicago Tribune had quoted one of Melissa’s relatives, saying she had moved to our part of town, Edgewater, because several stranger rapes had occured recently in her old neighborhood. I try not to dwell on these crimes too much, but when I walk home from the train at around 10:00pm some nights, it’s hard not to see every shadow and approaching stranger on the sidewalk as a bit more malign and threatening. Will I make it home alive tonight, or will my name be on the nightly news? When murder hits this close to home, these normally paranoid thoughts seem almost reasonable.

Back to “gang night at Loyola.” Perhaps these events made me a bit hypersensitive, but it took several minutes to get used to the idea that four people with serious criminal histories (including rape, armed robbery, and murder) were sitting about ten feet away from me. I listened intently, not brave enough to ask the panel any questions of my own, a bit too conscious of my body language and facial expressions. As a thirty-something European-American woman enrolled in a private university, I knew I’d be perceived in my status as a privileged, naive outsider. Nothing that could be done about that, really. Three of the gangmembers were men in their late thirties and forties, and the one woman was by her own admission, “twenty-one going on forty.” All looked much older than their years because of hard living and prolonged substance abuse, and at some point during the evening each one said they felt “blessed” to be alive at this point. None had expected to live past their twenties, and all felt their years in “the life” were wasted time.

21-year old”Sheryl,” coincidentally the same age as Melissa Dorner was when she died, had been involved in prostitution, pimping and heavy drug use since the age of 11. She recalled the time she was discovered in rival gang territory a few blocks away from her home., when some women from a rival gang spotted her distinctive arm tattoo depicting a six-pointed star with Gangster Disciples markings. “Sheryl” tried to save herself by claiming the marking meant that she was Jewish. She was lucky that day. Instead of killing her, the rival gang only sliced the tattooed skin off her arm with razor blades.

The biggest surprise? All had talked about and thanked a woman named Adelle, the gang counselor/liaison who arranged their visit and returned them home that night before their 9:00pm curfew. Adelle is an older African-American woman who normally sits in the back of the classroom, frequently expressing her thoughts in what I sometimes perceived to be a hostile, confrontational and anti-establishment manner. After last night, I really saw her differently. Not only is she a fellow non-traditional student, but a strong woman with incredible street cred, a survivor of a lifetime in some of Chicago’s toughest neighborhoods, who understands, connects with, and helps turn around some of the world’s most difficult and misspent lives. She’s a hero in my book.

(P.S.) Thanks, Lauren, for giving us the chance to guest-blog!

Friday Random Ten – The Well Rested Edition

Briefly popping in from my break to release the second edition of the Friday Random Ten hosted at Feministe.

1. Aimee Mann – You Could Make a Killing
2. Burro Banton – Boom Wah Dis
3. Mirah – Telephone Wires
4. Nina Simone – The Thrill Is Gone
5. The BeAtles – When I’m 64
6. Pixies – Allison
7. The Vibrators – Baby Baby
8. Sufjan Stevens – For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti
9. Atmosphere, Slug and Dynospectrum – Anything is Everything
10. Johnny Cash – Danny Boy

Calling this a “Well Rested” edition is something of a misnomer. For example, as I write this I’m thinking, Yes! I get to sleep in until 7:30 tomorrow morning.

Napping, knitting, studying, ahoy.

Posted in Uncategorized

SOTU Drinking Game

I personally think “taking a break from blogging” is code for “I’ve got a shitload of Shakespeare to read this week”. However, I relish the opportunity to share my wit and wisdom as a guest-blogger here at Feministe while my favorite metriculant bones-up on the Bard.

I’m sure others in the blogosphere (hate that word, too) have come up with their own drinking criteria for tonight’s festivities. Here are mine:

  • ownership society – one shot of Thunderbird
  • personal accounts – one Side Car, all the way down in one big gulp
  • freedom – White Russian
  • liberty – half a glass of Soju, with a hot green tea chaser
  • immigration reform – two Leg Spreaders
  • Iraq, Iran, or North Korea – three Fuzzy Navels

If there are other libations I should consider consuming during tonight’s State of the Union address, please leave your suggestions in comments below.

The Trouble With Howard Stern

[This post brought to you by Rad Geek. Opinions expressed herein are not necessarily those of feministe or Ms. Lauren. etc. etc. etc.]

O.K., I’ll cop to it. I was just about ready to cheer on Howard Stern’s "jihad" against the Bush administration; I was almost ready to accept the story that he was canned from Clear Channel as retribution for his anti-Bush stance (rather than, say, because of Clear Channel’s financial worries about escalating FCC enforcement and the $495,000 they recently paid out in fines), and to welcome him to the fold as a funny guy with a lot of fans and media connections that could help our cause in November. I was, in short, perilously close to forgetting what a halfwit misogynist twerp Howard Stern really is.

Then I heard that he’s bankrolling a remake of Porky’s, the 1982 backlash blockbuster that spawned a generation of astonishingly mean-spirited sex farces centered on teenage boys leering at, manipulating, and humiliating young women. And it’s all coming back to me now.

Sorry Howard, you’re on your own this time.