Unnatural Forces

When folks should shut up

2011-11-16T11:18:00.000-05:00

I just read Thers' post here, and it was spot-on, and I started writing a comment, but then it got too long. So now my comment is here.

I had the great privilege to spend this past weekend with OWS just before it was raided. And I don't usually wax poetic about touchy-feely stuff, nor can I join a drumming circle.

But what amazes me is how people (academics, bloggers, pundits, people who have never been to an Occupy encampment) erase one of the most important messages of OWS: that every single individual is valuable, and deserves to be treated humanely. They talk about the Movement and miss that at that camp, everyone tried in their way to take the best care they could of each other. That is a tragic thing to lose.

There were problems. There were outsiders who just wanted a piece of the thing, and like any movement, people bring their shit with them. But people also tried to talk and listen and be kind and good to each other. They did this because you cannot change the world without it - large-scale justice cannot be achieved without justice amongst each other, between friends, fellow activists, tent-neighbors, lifemates. And this is hard and it takes patience and empathy and time and all your fucking energy sometimes. You can't do it from your office chair. It's messy and you have to get down in the dirt. So while there was a Movement, yes, to miss the movement in the park itself, between the people, is to miss something important.

It made people feel powerful, some said for the first time in their lives. Scary stuff, to the 1%. Revolutionary, even.

So the bloggers and academics and pundits mouthing off about this in terms of what is best for policy and affecting legislation and blah blah blah are really just being lazy. They want the Occupy movement to do things they can write about from their office chairs and desks and pontificate about, so they don't have to get up.

Photos from Occupy DC / Stop the Machine, Oct. 6, 2011

2011-10-06T15:27:00.001-04:00

Dick Gregory spoke, and of course it was awesome:

I gave this woman a hug before leaving. Everyone was just taking her picture. I thought she should get some love back.

We are the 99%

2011-10-01T09:45:00.000-04:00

Go. Read. Add yours.

I think I'm in love!

2011-09-24T19:22:00.003-04:00

Swoon.

Hands off, ladies, he's mine.

Update: The original post was taken down. Dunno why. This is what google cache is for. YOU'RE WELCOME, LADIES.

Update Update: So apparently, this guy thinks he can sue if you copy and paste his little okcupid screed on a your site and then mock it. See shenanigans here. And all I can say is: dude, BRING IT. SUE. It would give me funny shit to blog about for MONTHS.

Message: “Date and mate?”
Profile:
My Self-Summary
I’d love to date you, really, I would. But first, I just gotta get somethin off my chest:

Honestly, im kinda done writing any of you girls. I’m also not paying for your night out, ur free ride, ur meet and greet, cuz its $$$ in a fire baby…poof! If anyone should pay, its probably you. Oh gasp, did a guy just really come out and say that? oh man, he must be cheap and an asshole…no ladies, thats called “entitlementtttttttttt……… . . !!!”. Chivalry is nice, Im all for it, when I actually know you. Not dropping 5+bucks a date on a totally random stranger(you) that is either completely psycho, or is about to have a mental breakdown cuz your x boyfriend just dumped you for a younger, thinner, and far nicer less entitled girl that he has been hooking up with for the past two months!

-breathe-

ok! Things Im also sick of reading about: grammar nazi’s, if ur a grammar nazi, ur not cool enough to hang with me. for real, Im most likely 1000% the writer you will ever be, have impeccable grammar when i want to and more than likely have 10x the education you could ever imagine…so there. I treat this like a text message, not a love letter.

Oh and corporate girls, blah, ur not nearly as business savvy as you think, buy a power suit, and keep climbing that ladder…im the guy on top of it greasing the pole and pushing u down. zzzzoooooom! have a nice ride.

Also, girls, since im on a role tonight, I cant stand the god damn red sox and fairweather surburbanite fans that came out of the trees in 2003/2004 left in 2005 then suddenly arrived again in 2007, cuz it was quasi cool again for 2 months, man get real. seriously take off the pink cap, wear a bruins shirt if u must, and put down the vodka cran, more than likely you’ve already had far too many.

Furthermore, you are far less attractive than you think you are and what guys in new england give you credit for. cold weather, desperation and alcohol makes us see things that arent there, k? If you want to know what a beautiful woman looks like move to Italy, Spain, Southern France or Eastern Europe and take lots of notes.

lets see what else, no a girl hasnt screwed me over, and no im not bitter, and yes you do look fat in that skirt, hmmmm thats about it for now.

So if you
1.are sane
2. take ur pills if ur not sane
3. arent prissy, think ur entitled, or just loooveee the red soxxx
OMG! like for real LOL oh jacoby he’s soooo cute. (vomit)
4. you are actually classy, genuine, ridiculously good looking, or at the very least oddly attractive, sincere, compassionate, funny, and just happen to have a great rack and an ass that they rap about, feel free to write me!!! Id love to hear from you!

Im actually really nice and sweet. I know i sound like a dick, guilty as charged, but im also very nice, this rare combination makes me a bit of an ass. and i know u like ass. Im looking forward to the love/hate mail! Which, btw Ive only received one hate mail, but she’ll do on a slow night so I favorited her, and she flipped, but i think there is a chance, def a combo pack with that one, psycho and hurt, i best hide my light switch. chop.

check that, just got another hater, told me to “die in a ditch”…sorry baby, im getting cremated, graveyards are such a waste of good real estate. she must be the type i just wrote about…i kinda feel bad though, she has some sort of snookie complex…unlike most fakers, I was actually born there! proof: most babies kicked in the womb before they were born. I fist pumped.

Listen, im just trying to speak the truth…Most likely we are not meant to be, a long term entity, and that is the key, or we’d be… at fucking e.harmony!!!…..So lets skip the date and lets fuckin mate! nothing wrong with some Tiger style….at least for a little awhile…tie me up! and tickle my toes, in your bed i do propose…so let us hang!and let us bang!….my greatest asset is my 12” wang!
What I’m doing with my life
1.probably you. maybe ur best friend too.
2. eh, throw ur twin sister in, might as well.
3. saving kittens out of trees.
4.Working out, I have the body of a Greek God, no really i do.
5. Writing random rants that make me laugh
6. Telling it how it is on this site
7. knitting, i love to knit.
8. Mourning GIZMO, RIP fluffyface, 15 more weeks of mourning.
9. BEING THE MAN
10. Manning the be
11. kinky sex (wanna be next?)
12. running my pay per site. cam-boy-sausagefest.com

p.s. when we are DO-ING IT, u bad, nasty thang you…please refer to me at all times as Captain Kink. Ay! Ay! Captain Kink! and yes you will have to dress the part with me…think captain america, but with a kickass K
I’m really good at
SEX WITH MY EX hahahah jk…and writing! (this gun’s for hire, just do urself a favor and never hand me a style guide) hmmm what else…. im really good at pissing off corporate girls and red sox fans, turning you on, killing shit (hahaha jk), jumping jacks, cursive, eating, atari, candyland, the color blue, love making, making love, tiger style.

oh and kissing. Ever heard of an Australian kiss? no? really? ok, well its like a french kiss, but down under.
The first things people usually notice about me
my ghetto booty. (u better thank my momma!)

Damn, Im good looking.

12 inch penis. just kidding its only 11.75 inch. but im a growing boy so give me some time. Plus, I hear its like ears…the older you get the bigger it grows. Or is that the hotter you are the bigger it grows. i dunno give me a test drive we’ll see what happens.

I’m really not an asshole or a dick, cuz im sweet, so I guess that makes me a sweet dick or a sweet ass. literally, figuratively, u decide.

Im kinkier than a Rihanna sex tape.

that im hung like a horse…… SEAHORSE!

no jk….im really hung like a bull…………GERBIL!

ha that was just a joke…im actually hung like a light switch.

im far nicer and a bit more serious/less nutty than my profile projects, and no i dont care if you dont think its going to get me any girls, because more than likely ur the type of girl i just ranted about and therefore I would never give the time of day to! but really, im very sweet.

And i didnt give an accurate age…. im not over 30, but i dont give out any details to ppl i dont know (thats you creeper!).

I prob dont have time to write you, if u get one dont feel lucky I was probably just bored. however, i do try to respond to everyone, and im usually kinda nice.

oh im not “over 6ft” sorry gals, not everyone can be perfect prince charming, p.s. prince charming was a jerk, yup watch the first 45min, poor cinderalla. im not perfect, and i know ur not, double neg = positive, so lets date baby! any geeks out there? confirm that for me, the lassssttt thing i want is to look like an idiot on this. on a serious note, whats the deal with u girls and height..guys dont give a damn…the only height requirement y’all should have is the height inside my pants.

Speaking of math, anyone take the GRE/GMAT? what a joke. shim sham industry at its finest. More money in the fire. Worse than money in the fire girls, its time in the fire. So…
1. First, I have to pay for you and
2. Second, I have to pay for you so u can waste 3hrs of my life.

So if u just didnt get that analogy here it is….GMAT is to women as gun is to head. bingo! u get a perfect score, u high achiever you.

Hmmm, the going rate for this badboy is 50/hr. you do the math!!! ok, i will do it for you because i know 20% of you are thinking…’I dont gettt itttt’. If I go on 2 dates a week (shocking he must be a player, no…its dating ladies get over it!) thats 6 hrs of my time at 50 and 150.00 of my soft earned cash buying tasteless beers for 5 each! What are we at 450/week? 1800/mo? you want to impress a guy? take him out, cuz baby, there are a zillion of u on this site, and only 1 of me. its called pick of the litter. For the 2% out there that ‘stilll dont get ittt’, im so so sorry, but we just arent meant to be.

this girl asked me one day, ‘hey xyz have you ever paid for sex?’
Me: “no, but i sure have paid for a lot of dinners!” Zinnnggg!

Im really good at faking it in bed…goes something like “oh, oh yeah, oh yeah thats the spot, keep going, oh jeezus oh god oH OH OHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHH…deeper…harder!harder! harder harder!!!!!!! wait, too hard, way too hard, ok stop, ok no really….. ohhhhhhhhh….. AHHH!!!! AH BLAHHHAHAAHAHAHA AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!….awwwwwwwe. ok, sleepy time.”

Turnover……

“ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.”

but dont worry, im no one minute man, TIGER STYLE baby… its a guarantee….. u’ll be going to work in a wheelchair.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
all of them! actually, i dont read…unless there is big glossy pics…then i skim through.

anything with keanu. boy so fine.

“I saw a gay porno once. I didnt know it until half way in. the girls never came! THE GIRLS NEVER CAME! oh my god! I am freaking out!!!!”
The six things I could never do without
online dating rants
pizza, beer, nutella
europe
my 85 camaro thats right bitchezzzz we ride in style!
people with a pulse
art/design/writing
not conforming
THE HOFF
Tiger Style!!!!!
Hot Bitchezzzzz
BEING THE MAN!
my wee-man, he is my He-Man
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Sex. Any guy that writes anything different is a liar. and i know u dont want anything to do with a liar. sex with you, sex with your friend, sex with you and your friend, it is the one true love, the one constant, the one desire that makes us deal with your constant dribble and monthly if not weekly hormonal hallucinations.

But dont worry, this cat isnt judgmental at all….. tall, short, black, white, fat, thin, i dont giv a… as long as u got a pretty face and can put it in the right place thats all the matters to me. besides, big girls need love too.

oh and i always practice safe sex…so i usually double bag it, one bag over ur head and another over mine… just in case urs falls off! (ohhh no he didnnttttt! ‘snap snap snap’… oh yes i did! ‘snap’)……jk girls, im wayyyy more kinky than that!

Oh and I have a ton of SEX too…. with myself that is. lend me a hand? but seriously, i dont have any std’s….that i know of. there was that one week romp in amsterdam high as a kite, found myself in a small room with this girl, she had a collar around her neck and just refused to take it off, religious reasons i think….said her name was Apple or Addam or sumthin, Maddam Addam? like i gave ah…when i woke i hadnt a clue what the fuck happened or where the fuck i was…and she just looked at me smiling…. reaaaal stalker like. Thanks Absinthe! or was it ecstasy that time?……..hmmmmmmmm.

but dont worry baby momma, Im not into one night stands. 2 nights minimum. Or night/morning that counts as long as u make me breakfast.

Speaking of morning, yeah its a must….. I mean, I wake up with a totem pole the size of a redwood ya know? gotta help my little fella out…my one eyed snake, man he needs to go back in his cave…. my italian stallion giddy down big boy! giddy down! my piece, my rod, my little unit, my junk(dont touch my junk!)…ahhhh my light switch. be gentle ok, its early…and hurry up on that breakfast!

P.S. me sleeping with you on the 1st date doesnt make u the village bike, me paying for ur dinner on the 1st date then sleeping with does this. So please dont make me make u like Madam Addam that sexy bitch she was….and throw me a dime, its fair, since I am the dessert.

but dont worry, i always have a safe word if it gets too intense…its usually sumthin like ‘doitagain’ or ‘metwa bin du wah tiki likki duwahhh’ but u gotta say it correctly or it just gets more intense.

tiger style…bite nibble claw MEEEooowwwww!
On a typical Friday night I am
running my pay per site. cam-boy-sausagefest.com

thinking of u…. thinking of me. ( i just got sick in my mouth)

i dont know i dont care doing everything doing nuthing….ppl that live for the wknd blah….such a waste of a week.

oh my golden rule on this site: the hotter the girl the more issues and baggage you have. (however, nuts are usually crazy in the bag, bonus! But, i dont want to wake up with my seahorse gone astray)….. the only other option if ur a smoking hot smokeshow is that ur just a dude with a fake profile creeping on my pics. creeper!!! (but hey big boy, kinda handsome arent I, wink, wink ;)

A girl last week asked me if id have a threesome with her and another guy, WTF?! are u on drugs?! Well, since its baseball season i will put it the nicest way i can….sorry baby, I dont bat for the yankees. I play for the home team. No switch hitter in Best Guy. I bat for Boston.

I tried writing a nice guy profile, I really did, but I got sea sick while reading it. But, to prove Im not just any jerk from the streets of southie I have included a couple poems from my previous profile. I had to kink them up a bit, cuz I cant have my good name on the crap I originally wrote. Enjoy!

‘An Ode To The Woman’

You are man and you are woo
you are WooMan and I heart you.

Like a jungle flower in the early dawn
a summer breeze on virgin lawn.

you are temptress and you are muse…
and still my love, tis thee I choose.

But, fear not my temptress muse!
your inner vixen will abuse!

Tie me tightly to your soul!
(or to the nearest bedpost pole.)

whip me gently with perfumed socks!
and caress my mother earth-toned locks!

Dearest wooman,
I need you.

Take me, take me….
home with you.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
ur not that good looking…

My penis is a genuine genius, like a magic wand, a disco stick, a kinky casanova, a cute culprit of casual encounter, a kickass kock, a chicken for sum finga lickin, a matador in heat, a wooly mamouth without its coat, a jolly giant, a mushroom cloud, a rockin rock hard rod, a hotdog for your bun (hold the ketchup hun), a weapon of mass destruction, seduction, and sexual corruption….well, its quite nice id say.

Im like Clooney, the older Best Guy gets the better looking he becomes.

I didnt tell the full truth on my profile, honestly i held a lot back…think of it this way, you being you, enjoy wearing makeup, is that the full truth??? im all for it, helps my eyes out, but when we wake up next to each other in the sack, (which we will), baby i dont want that heart attack.

I am incredibly good in the bag, but Im not a whore. Unless of course you buy me dinner and drinks then I will go home with you because by that point you’ve earned it and Im kinda drunk, uve gotten 20% better looking, cuz im 3 sheets to the wind, and alas, I want to get laid just as much as you, I just admit it instead of playing some bs mind game. And I may or may not talk to you afterward, depends on what else you want to buy me.

oh and when a guy buys u dinner dont fake pay pocket book pickup, its as cliche as cliche, ok? just be a good girl, and pay for tip or at least offer it, that’s all we ask.

This is what it comes down to, girls like dicks, literally, figuratively whatever, but she wants the dick to be a nice guy, but he is a dick, and he cant be, oh he can fake it alright, but he is just a dick, so you just get hurt…the other side of the glass is lotsa girls wont date a really nice guy, cuz he’s not dick enough or hot enough, rich enough, or whatever enough, but he cant be a dick, because he is a nice guy, he can fake being a dick, but at the end of the day and at the beginning, he is “just” a nice guy and you leave him in the dirt. Oh, u feel bad about it alright, but ur less nice, more judgmental, and a bit more fake than ud like believe. hey no worries ladies, ignorance is bliss, as long as ur happy right?

conclusion: basically you dont know what you want and probably not worth our time, unless of course its on ur dime. so giddy up cowgirl and SHOW ME THE MONEYYYY!!!!!! I’ll even fake take out my wallet when the check arrives. no really, i will.
I’m looking for

Girls who like guys
Ages 20-39
Near me
Who are single
For new friends

You should message me if
you wanna get your kink on

If you think u might like me…. like, like-like me.

when u put “curvy” on ur profile, u mean to say u look like kimmy k., not Happy the Beached Whale. but i love Happy, he is so friendly and happy… but whatever i dont really care, just let me know if i should bring the Harpoon….(beer that is).

You’re not a dude creeping on my pics…creeper!!!!

You want to date a guy that is a bit of an ass but has a pulse a ton of character and is kinda decent looking borderline wicked hot and actually quite charming and sweet…instead of choosing to date some dude, with no wit, and really not that good looking, but omg he is so nice…i feel bad, i just dont want to hurt him, oh i have an idea, he took me out for a great date and dropped a ton of money on me, so instead of womanning up and telling him thanks but no thanks on the phone and not some weak ass text message, i think i will just let him hang and not say anything. be a doll, get some balls, and cut the cord the right way, k? I love nice people, y’all should treat them better.

uve realized that im a gentleman in the streets and an animal in the sheets! TIGER STYLEEE!!!!! bite, nibble, growl, claw, pull, slap, push, cuddle, lick, thats TIGER STYLE baby! yes, i have better pics to see if im hot or not, but just trust my profile for now, deal? but, who the heck cares what i look like with the lights off, TIGERRR STYLE BABY!!!! meowwwwwwww.

oh an NO i will not facebook friend you without meeting you, even then probably not. you want the keys to my kingdom? buy me dinner, bang me silly, put a 20 in my pocket and call a cab. is that too much to ask?

One girl wrote thinking I am charlie sheen, r u serious????Im not charlie sheen im 10x charlie sheen, wayyyy more messed up…haha, he ranted coked up out of his mind, i rant sober as a saint.

So feel free to ask me out. And be sure to hit the ATM pregame, you’re gunna need it. If you are like eff this cheap asshole. 1, im not an asshole a dick or a dbag, im an ass or a sweet dick, and i know u like sweet dick, so, seriously save the drama for some rich loser that will suck the life out of you, but hey at least u got a fancy dinner, borrring zzzzz…..Besides, chivalry died with the woman’s rights movement, which of course im all for: equal pay for equal play. thanks for reading, and please note that if u can take anything from this profile, know that this is how it feels to have to read yours (minus the humor, wit, and anything of substance), so be a doll and keep it short n sweet.

And finally ladies i leave u with this music video:
(copy paste into google and u will see its not a virus)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQlIhraqL7o&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Looking forward to sleeping with you!

love,

BEST GUY
——
If u made it this far, then cheers to you. 50% fact and 50% fiction, Best Guy is 100% awesome. Complimented with good looks, wit, humor and charm, well, he’s quite the catch id say. thanks in advance. you’re welcome.

And Best Guy would love to buy u a drink sometime…that is, as long as u get round two, three, four and five, but don’t worry momma, i wont go past 5 drinks…having my limp bizket stiffer than steel is my #1 sex appeal. And depending how hot you are, I will def cover the tip, 5% no less.

P.S. I JUST HAD SEXXXXX!!!!!

P.S.S. (with myself)

P.S.S.S.(copyright 2011 OMG!)

Alright, I have had it.

2011-09-15T13:35:00.000-04:00

Who wants to be my roommate and find somewhere in DC/NoVa to live? Qualifications: you must not hate my cats, you must not be batshit, and you must not be any of my current roommates, who currently are complaining about how I post the bills, but who are also refusing to move the utilities into their names.

Also, they are all like 23 and one of them starts her group emails with, "Hey girls!" No.

Like finding water in the desert

2011-09-14T23:05:00.000-04:00

Faulty equation

2011-09-14T21:23:00.002-04:00

Graduating law school with $200,000 in debt + Taking a barely-scraping-by and frankly insulting salary from said law school as a fellow to continue doing international human rights litigation = Not being able to afford therapy for the near-crippling anxiety and PTSD that comes with being raped and assaulted, even WITH the university health care.

It's the gays' fault. Or maybe it was the Muslims. Nah, it was probably the undocumented workers. I totally blame them.

Intentions

2011-07-19T18:23:00.000-04:00

I keep meaning to get back to this blog, or at least write a post explaining why I don't get back to this blog, but I am currently studying for the bar.

The cats are, as in all things, super helpful.

Fighting on the side of the angels. Again.

2011-06-08T07:58:00.000-04:00

Fingers crossed, kids.

Found something I'd written about my rapist quite by accident tonight.

2011-04-13T00:43:00.000-04:00

Seems like a good thing to let go.

We used to sit on my porch and drink tea. I drank Darjeeling, with milk and sugar. He would always have green tea with enough sugar in it to make me cringe, more sugar than you could believe would really dissolve in that mug of hot water – surely there was a sugar saturation peak? We would sit on the porch and make up ridiculous schemes of becoming rich and famous by being ridiculous – by fooling people, by just ACTING rich and famous, by scamming the world into giving us money. We would challenge each other, try to outdo each other, work off as each other to try to be as outrageous, improbable, and hilarious as possible. We would laugh and laugh, imagining pulling a fast one on the world, rolling in dough, and thus granting us freedom, allowing us to be magic, together, forever. Like we could ever escape.

My mental illness, it made me grip tighter, become controlling, start disciplining myself. He never did this – he let it all rout him, and I envied him. The drugs were quieting and calming, no matter how violent he got.

I cannot remember how to loosen my muscles, relax my grip, the nerves on constant firing, telling my muscles to hold on even tighter.

The first time I kissed him, I trembled in fear. What I was feeling could destroy me, and I knew then. He draped his body over mine, light as a sheet, and he was so clean, so pure, his kisses tasted of water.

Hope and Change

2011-03-31T13:50:00.003-04:00

Ok, let me see if I have this right:

1. The President has sent the CIA to arm the rebels in Libya. Which means CIA agents are also training the rebels on how to use these arms. But the CIA agents are still civilians, wearing no uniform, on the battlefield, taking part in a war which is someone else's internal armed conflict that has no bearing on our own national security. Ergo, our CIA agents are now illegal belligerants/unlawful combatants/NOT COOL.

2. Arming the rebels violates the arms embargo the UN Council imposed.

3. We have a stellar history of the CIA arming folks. Worked out for us last time!

4. We have kinda determined that the rebels in Libya have been/are terrorists, maybe? We have just given material support to terrorists? Our government essentially just violated its own laws. We are well beyond Humanitarian Law Project here.

5. We didn't wait for/depend on the UN Security Council resolution to go do this CIA secret stuff, so we also violated international laws on the legal right to use force.

6. Once we arm the rebels, they're not civilians anymore, so we aren't actually charged with protecting them under the Security Council resolution. Thus . . . we have just made our own mandate obsolete?

7. Funny how this CIA plan didn't come up in Obama's speech the other night, although I guess it's not an authentic use of American force unless our president is fucking shady about it.

8. Domestically, this was an illegal act - the War Powers Resolution and the Constition, not ambiguous on these points.

9. I appreciate how this started out originally as a no-fly zone but in like less than 24 hours we started shooting at things on the ground, because the tanks got in the way of our planes, I guess?

10. When something genocidal breaks out in Cote d'Ivoire, everyone's gonna look AWESOME.

Fuck. Us.

2011-02-04T13:03:00.000-05:00

The petition for rehearing en banc for Kiobel in the Second Circuit just got denied.

Shorter Chief Justice Jacobs, on denying the rehearing:

Corporations are too awesome to be held civilly liable for their actions. Because they're important in society! And they're awesome. I love corporations so much, I pretty much conflate them with nations, and talk about comity. I mean, come on people, we know who's REALLY important. Seriously, corporations are awesome. I am now going to incorrectly use the word "imperialism." Now I am going to slip in here that I am pro-death penalty, in a sentence that is entirely out of place. Corporations! The end.

No, really, it is that bad.

I just . . . fuck.

Penguin!

2011-01-16T11:01:00.000-05:00

Hello, lovely Readers!

So, I haven't felt like blogging in a while. I just . . . don't. I can't even get myself to blog about why I don't want to blog. And maybe eventually I will, but for the moment, yeah, no.

Instead, have a penguin!

This little guy comes from Cape Town. If you have not hung out around penguins, I can tell you: penguins, in person, are far cuter and much stinkier than you could ever imagine.

I could have watched them just, you know, penguining around, for like weeks.

That's all I got. Everyone be good, now!

My phone grows artificial intelligence, and now I need some recommendations

2011-01-08T11:05:00.000-05:00

As I emailed a friend the other day:

Here's my totally true but not all that exciting story:

So, last night, I was watching the X-Files on Netflix - I started from the beginning as a distraction during finals last semester, and now I am like 3 episodes or whatever into season 2. And the specific episode I was watching last night was about these people who, because they had ingested this organic compound which heightened their fear responses, were extremely susceptible to all sorts of technology suggesting they go murder people. These TVs and phones and ATMs and everything else with an electronic screen were sending these tailored messages to people to "Kill 'Em All," and as a result all these people in one town were getting dead. At the hands of these random, non-violent people, who just lost their shit as a result of this compound and their fucking watch talking to them.

Anyway, as I am watching this episode, Amouch is being especially cute, having curled up in my lap and smooshing his face into my thigh. So I take a picture. And then my phone FREAKS OUT; it starts pressing ITS OWN BUTTONS (it's a touchpad phone) and pulling up applications and it called some woman I used to date and it tried to add contacts to my "favorites" list and it generally LOST ITS MIND. Or maybe it GAINED ONE, which is WORSE. And it locked me out and wouldn't let me do anything while it was doing whatever it was doing. All on its own. So I took the battery out, and restarted it, and now it won't let me access it at all - it's like a dead piece of metal, because the touchscreen won't work.

And that's my story, about how my phone decided to go berserk as I was watching a show about personal electronic devices going berserk. The end.

Here's my question, folks: does anyone love their phone? And have recommendations? I need to get a phone off-contract, because I may be moving abroad at some point, so while I fucking covet the Motorola Droid 2 Global, and wouldn't even mind an iPhone as they're easy to take abroad, they're prohibitively expensive without a carrier contract. Also, I need a tri-band or quad-band GSM phone to take abroad. Anyone have a love affair with their little electonic device? Is having an Android OS a must, do you think? Do you just love that you ahve a real QWERTY keyboard? Let me know!

A new year, a new grind to put my nose to

2011-01-02T16:16:00.000-05:00

My friends, the break is over. Yup, it is that short for me. I have been working for the past two days. Also, I have done a lot of laundry and spent some time eating chocolate and working on a drawing so it hasn't been all a slog, but still: the semester. It begins tomorrow. And it is my last semester of law school! To which I say "Hallelujah!" but also "Booo :( " because I did not hate law school and there are, like, two classes I reeeeaaaaaaallllly still wish I could take. Such as it is. Also, I should maybe get on that Finding A Job thing.

But anyway, for my final semester, I have done a grand job of scheduling myself almost out of oblivion, but with such good things, I could not help myself. I have my classes, of course - the reading for my corporations class has already been SUPER lefty and critical of what corporations have become, so woooo, I am pleased. Also, I have a law and anthropology class the reading for which spans from Plato's Republic to newspaper articles about French laws banning women from wearing the hijab. YAY, I know (uh, not yay about banning the hijab! about the reading!).

I have an internship with an international human rights body for 20 hours a week. I'll be dividing my time there between working on human rights issues in Haiti post-earthquake (and as of right now, I am going to Haiti in April to report on the human rights situation of people still in the camps) and working on LGBTQI rights in the English-speaking Caribbean (like, this). I am a research assistant for my wonderful professor still, and we have much to do, but we're also going to take a look at how to move towards a customary international norm prohibiting long-term solitary confinement. As this is one of the things I wanted for Christmas, I am thrilled. Also, I am still editor-in-chief of my law journal. And I signed up for another half-marathon in March. SO. I'm going to be deliciously, ridiculously busy.

I'll post here when the muse calls, although so much will be calling for my time, she may have to shout to get heard. Still, that muse: just when I think she has gone away for good, she comes back with a vengeance to bellow into my ear. She is a cheeky one, and I have learned not to make any promises of less or more posting. Because I really haven't the faintest idea.

Happy new years all, and away we go toward all the good things that wait ahead. All my good things will probably have a soundtrack by Junip playing in the background, at least for the next month. You know how you find that perfect album accompaniment to your life sometimes? Yeah, I love that.

New Year

2010-12-31T11:15:00.000-05:00

New Year's messages are always trite and overwrought. There is nothing special about this one specific day in this one specific calendar. I understand the human need to both mark the passage of time and to create at least the illusion of a the chance to start over, have the slate wiped clean, and begin again.

Maybe it's not an illusion. Maybe some people manage it, at least in some ways. I never have.

Lately, I have been having fantasies about a savior. About someone swooping in and saving me, like a superhero, although not a superhero; but movie-like, a someone who would come charging into my life and fix everything, save me from myself, make it all right, and give me a happy ending, at least until the credits rolled, just so the final scene would make your heart yearn desperately. The someone would love me unconditionally, so hard it could make you cry, and they would hold me up when I felt I couldn't stand AND remember to pay all my bills on time so I wouldn't have to juggle the dates in my head, and probably clean the kitty litter, too. These fantasies always tell me that I am exhuasted, or I have lost confidence in myself to tackle everything, or I am depressed. Right now, it's probably the last the two.

But I can say: I have every faith and hope in the new year. I do. It is child-like, maybe, but I don't care. Tonight, I am going to pass the moment into the next year alone. I am going to regather, call all of myself home. I am going to begin to grow strong again. And then I am going to walk into whatever is next, my own champion. I will save myself. You'll see.

It is going to be a beautiful year.

I will see you there.

Ungrateful.

2010-12-28T10:47:00.001-05:00

Apparently, I was not grateful enough to Sady Doyle. There I was, once some little podunk blog (aside: I am still a little podunk blog. I rather like this, but no matter), and she came down from on high to recognize me, and give me readers, and make me something. Let's be real: I was nothing without Sady Doyle's grace. I should know my place.

But yet, I have been so ungrateful: I have disagreed with Sady Doyle on something. And made a joke about a silly argument she made (look: it was a silly argument).   And called the logical reasoning behind said silly argument "UTTER SHIT."

Also, I was upset because I cannot have or hear any discussion about criminal justice without taking race and poverty into account. And I am extremely wary of the state criminal justice machine, because: we know which bodies it mostly polices. We know that it is an oppressive system.   Relying on, or championing, the criminal justice system, is not going to be the answer to oppression. The problem, as far as I saw it, was rape culture, and I was worried that people were looking to a system that is not made for victims, and is looked at by many people in this society with distrust, as the answer to that rape culture. And the criminal justice system: it just isn't the answer.

So when people, not any one person, not any single instance, but many people, were talking about the criminal justice system in a way that was not nuanced, that was not seeing how merely prosecuting rape for political reasons would make us ALL lose, that was advocating against the very important need to keep the state from running over the accused, that was conflating challenging charges with challenging victims, well . . . like I said, I cannot understand any conversation about criminal justice without thinking about race and poverty. It made me nervous. So I wrote a post with Silvana.

I should point out that Sady and Silvana and I were all on the same side. I had already written a post about rape culture and how the media was perpetuating it and how fucked up that was. I just didn't like where the conversations by some people, specifically around the criminal justice system, were going.   That was my real and primary and continuing concern.

But I have been kindly reminded by Sady that I am terribly ungracious. I should not disagree. What I am doing, apparently, "isn't feminism." Also, I probably don't like that a lot of money went to RAINN for rape victims. I am a terrible person. Clearly. Because who would deny rape survivors money? Me, obviously. Who didn't even have the good sense to shut up when I saw something I thought was wrong.

In truth, I must tell you a fairy tale. It is in fact a true fairy tale! Settle in, now. So, once upon a time, there was a Gayle who was having a really hard time surviving her rape. She was isolating herself and wasn't telling anyone anything about it. Her therapist was getting increasingly worried about her isolation and suggested at the very least, she just start writing about it. At least get it out. At least don't keep it in.

So she did! She started a blog. And she told NO ONE ABOUT IT. Which was the plan! She liked the idea of getting it out into the universe, there, real, tangible, for anyone to find, but no one SHE knew, no one it would matter to, what she was writing, no audience she had to keep in mind and thus censor herself for. No expectations. She was just releasing all these demons into the ether.

Well, see, that's not true: she told one person her secret. A single person. Who had a blog. And who recently had been writing about very personal things. And Gayle thought in reading this blog with these personal things, well, this author, she can do this, she can write about these hard things, and it doesn't destroy her. So maybe I can do this too. Gayle wrote this person to thank her, in a personal email, with her real name, just to say thanks for helping her realize that putting whatever is plaguing you into words can be ok.

And then this person paraphrased and quoted from Gayle's personal email, and put a link to Gayle's blog on HER blog, which was widely read, and then Gayle had a panic attack. Because: her blog wasn't supposed to have readers. And her email wasn't supposed to have been public. And her very personal shit was now VERY, VERY visible. She felt overexposed and out of control, because she was not asked, or consulted, or told this was coming.

But, it had already happened, and she thought, well, this person with the widely read blog, she must have meant well. I mean, right? Gayle thought maybe she was trying to be kind with her offerings of readers, and so Gayle was gracious, and said thank you, and figured the damage was already done, and tried to take it as best as possible.

It would be the end of the fairy tale, but some days, as Gayle, I can tell you: I wish I didn't have readers. Sometimes, I wish I didn't have followers, and I contemplate turning the comments off all the time, or going and starting some secret Tumblr something so I can ACTUALLY be more properly anonymous or sparsely read. So, it's a little hard for me to be chided for not being grateful enough, when I was never actually grateful in the first place. I felt, instead, at the time, used.

But no: I should be appreciative! I now owe allegiance! For the "demonstrated substantial personal generosity and kindness" of deigning to link to my sad, podunk blog once, in a post that was actually about how what Sady Doyle does MATTERS, and I was merely evidence of that. But not clearing it with me beforehand. Or warning me. Why would I be having any control issues about anything at that moment of dealing with a rape? Because I was nothing without Sady Doyle.

Maybe Sady is feeling hurt by our post. But I cannot imagine so hurt that Silvana and I, with our concerns about how the criminal justice system was being invoked, were the "lowest blow" in this entire #mooreandme thing - we are not lower than the rape defenders, the rape apologists, the assholes who threatened death and bodily harm. I'm sorry, but no. And Sady will have to excuse me if I am still not feeling the shine of her beneficence. I am just a lady, with a blog, trying to continue to get shit off my chest so it doesn't eat me up. And if obeisance is what Sady needs, and everything else is "isn't feminism," then I'll take Sady's idea of what "isn't feminism" from here on out.

Update: Silvana responds here.

I no longer like Christmas.

2010-12-26T01:55:00.001-05:00

Christmas is now over, officially by an hour, at least where I am, and I am trying to tell myself that means there will be no more occasional stabs of sadness so deep it has become physically painful, so all consuming it feels as if my lungs could fill with it and my heart drown.

Christmas reminds me of my rapist (and this post has now become even LESS fun than you probably anticipated, sorry). All holidays do, but Christmas reminds me most of what I lost. I have spent the last two days turning around in my head how I could possibly erase the fact and the memory of what he has done in order to reach out to him, contact him, somehow conjure again that love and awe and completeness I felt with him. Hoping if I could just fill my head with new memories and experiences of him, immerse myself in feelings for him, I could paper over what has happened. With enough bandages over it, goes my thinking, maybe the deep wound will just go away.

Desire constitutes the self; if I am being honest, I must admit he has created and shaped more of me than anyone else ever has. I can't escape that. And I can't escape the undeniable, simple fact that I miss him.

I shouldn't miss him. But there was a decade worth of being in love, so there is an awful lot to miss. And when it is not the rape that is at the forefront of my brain, when that has settled down quietly to sleep in the corner of my mind (it will be back, yes, I know), when I am lonely, and I wish there was someone I could love, someone in the universe I loved like that again, well . . . here we are.

I saw him every Christmas, when I went back to my parents' house. It was a tradition for a while, too, to go to midnight mass with friends in the church where I first met him, when he walked up to me, out of the blue, some kid I didn't recognize and was sure I'd never seen before, to take my hands in his and look me right in the eye to tell me I was beautiful. On Christmas Eve he'd sneak in the backdoor late, late, after both our families were asleep, and we'd talk, and kiss, or make love in front of the fireplace, on blankets just in front of the hearth, our skin covered in sweat and lit orange by flames. His kisses always tasted like spring rain, and his skin would smell of the damp soil just after the shower ended. It sounds so embarrassingly poetic, and perhaps I should be ashamed at such tawdry romanticism, but to describe it in any other way would be a lie, and I am barely finding words to capture something so ethereal as it is. It was perhaps why we never inhabited any other reality well. Whatever love we had, it thrived best at night, fit perfectly in dreams. Once harsh daylight came, there was nothing but struggle.

Although, he raped me late at night, now that I think of it. But I suppose that was how we would reclaim me - he was angry, he was afraid to lose me, I was, he said, the only thing he had ever really loved. I do not think he was untruthful. His fear, even when he was hurting me, was palpable.

But Christmas is over. So I am hoping the urges to reach him, to try to erase the pain and make it all go away, to try to bring him back into my life and make the rape never have happened, will lessen. Tomorrow it will be better. The day after that will be even easier. Someday soon I will have an entire day when he never even enters my head at all. And that will be a very good day.

It never gets old!

2010-12-22T23:08:00.000-05:00

"I blow her up . . . BALLOOOOOONS!"

.

Eclipse/Solstice!

2010-12-21T11:59:00.000-05:00

Guys, it was PRETTY.

Because there can never be too many jokes trading on the lawyers = assholes equation

2010-12-20T12:21:00.000-05:00

Seriously, this is my new favorite funny thing. It keeps making me laugh.

And, I mean, she got me. Lawyers, we ARE so obnoxious. You know me! SUCH A DOUCHEBAG LAWYER I AM.

Pro tip: If you are going to use a legal term (that is not just law school stuff! It also exists in the real world! In the wilds of the courtroom!), it helps if you have gone to law school, so you don't use it wrong. A rebuttable presumption cannot be used in criminal law, because that would be unconstitutional. Just sayin'.

WE HAVE SOME POINTS, by Silvana and Gayle

2010-12-17T22:50:00.000-05:00

Silvana and I, as feminists, current and future lawyers, respectively, and rape victims, have some points. Not everyone has gone there with these, but too many people have.

1. Challenging extradition does not make someone guilty. Fighting charges does not make someone guilty. It implies absolutely nothing. Julian Assange fighting his extradition TELLS US NOTHING ABOUT HIS GUILT OR INNOCENCE. This is how the criminal justice system works. You fight extralegal and illegal actions by states. You hold states to the rule of law.

2. Stop conflating challenging state prosecutorial actions and the state criminal justice machine with challenging rape survivors stories. These are not even close to the same. To challenge charges or state legal action is not undermining victims' assertions. This thinking would undermine EVERYONE'S DEFENSE. It would mean no person could raise a defense without being accused of questioning the victim. As the people who often end up at the defense table are disproportionately people of color and the poor in this country, having been disproportionately targeted by the criminal justice system, this is REALLY PROBLEMATIC.

3. Our chat conversation said it best:

silvana: i dont even know what to make of sady's last post

"It is very, very low. Because Michael Moore’s actions indicate that rape survivors just don’t mean as much to Michael Moore as Julian Assange getting bail. They just don’t. He has assigned a demonstrable, monetary value to these two causes, and as far as we know, Assange is worth $20,000 and providing necessary aid to sexual assault survivors is worth $0."

i find this to be shit

me: i find this to be UTTER SHIT

there are no zero sum games like that in life

silvana: moore doesn't have any obligation to give any money to anyone

silvana: As far as the world knows, going out for french food is worth $100 to silvana, and helping rape survivors is worth $0

FUCKING SERIOUSLY

FUCK YOU

i am so mad

me: i just went out for dinner and paid for pizza. I VALUE PIZZA MORE THAN RAPE PREVENTION.

AHAHAHA

i love our examples

written at the same time

silvana: hahahahhaha

me: OUR FOOD: MORE IMPORTANT THAN RAPE SURVIVORS

silvana: and starving children

and people who have been the victims of landmines

me: and rape epidemics in the congo!

or liberia!

silvana: and women held as sexual slaves in thailand

me: sady doyle gave $50 for rape survivors. why does sady doyle hate starving african babies?

4. It is possible both that Julian Assange did what he is alleged to have done, and also that the prosecution and potential extradition is politically motivated. If other alleged rapists are not being threatened with extradition to Sweden based on rape charges, and Assange is, that makes this a political prosecution because of his status as a political figure. That is problematic. It is relevant how other people are treated, because it's an issue of justice. We can protest, and question, the politically motivated treatment of Assange as a target for extradition without suggesting that the accusers are liars. Nuance, people. Come on.

I don't know why this is so fucking hard.

2010-12-15T17:45:00.001-05:00

Here are some really obvious truths:

1. Making a decision to charge someone for a crime can be politically motivated. Do governments ever fucking take rape seriously enough, unless they are alleged to have been committed by a man governments the world over hate for exposing their lies and secrets? No.

2. Is rape a REALLY TERRIBLE CRIME THAT SHOULD BE TAKEN VERY SERIOUSLY and Julian Assange should be charged and tried and then if found guilty punished to the fullest extent of the law? Yes.

3. Is it possible for Julian Assange to have done both a very good thing with Wikileaks and a very terrible thing because he has raped some women? Yes.

Why are these so hard to reconcile? Look, they can all exist at the same time! There they are! Right there! And the universe has not come to an end. LOOKIT THAT.

Seriously? I LOVE WIKILEAKS. I do! A lot. I think it is a necessary and important check right now on corrupt governments, and I am especially including my own here, since the media has fallen down on the job. I think whistleblowing and secret-revealing are required when those in power try to keep the people they ostensibly serve in the dark.

And here's the thing: in my job, in my life, if I want to go after corporations or their CEOs for gross human rights abuses, the way things are going, I won't be able to do this without whistleblowers, leaks, something to nail these fucking companies to the wall. I am going to have to depend on those people with a conscious and access from the inside to help bring justice. So, yes, I am very invested in Wikileaks, in the idea of it, the need for it, the fact that maybe I can get my hands on some documents, enough to get reparations for the people who have been killed, tortured, maimed, and yes raped, all to turn a corporate profit.

But those people who are going around calling the rape charges hooey, or smearing the women who have filed charges, are making things worse. You're making it worse for me, who was raped, and for all the women who have been raped, and all the women who will be raped. You're reminding all of us how we should never file charges, that the law is not for us to defend ourselves or to grant us any kind of justice, that we are expendable in this progressive movement. Lots of other people have been writing far better things than I have on this, but you know what this reminds me of? An article from make/shift called, "Why Misogynists Make Great Informants: How Gender Violence on the Left Enables State Violence in Radical Movements." I really, really recommend a read. Because: if Julian Assange is a rapist, then he can't be a progressive. He can't be in my movement. Because, I mean, OBVIOUSLY, but also: he is no good at questioning authority if he uses his male privilege and hurts women. He not only is not on my side, he's NOT EVEN ON THE SIDE OF THE POWERLESS. He is way too invested in the hierarchies of power, the very hierarchies of power he supposedly wants to bring down. He's unable to do what he claims he wants to do, because he's using that very senseless, violent power against others.

Audre Lord said, "The master's tools will never dismantle the master's house." And if I am working to dismantle the house, Julian Assange, if he is found guilty and has committed the crimes of which he is accused, is not going to be able to help do that; because he finds shelter in that house, too.

I don't really care about people helping Assange post bail. This is how the system works, and I also think he has every right to challenge the extradition - this is how the law works. And I don't want MY country to be able to make backroom deals with other countries to illegally extradite someone they don't like or has become inconvenient. I don't trust my country to not be shady. And seeing as I don't want the American government to be able to lawlessly have someone extradited back here, I don't want to see anyone else lawlessly extradited anywhere. I want everyone to follow the rule of law, the end. And challenging extradition and posting bail are all part of that.

My problem is with the people who have been sliming, shaming, and calling Assange's accusers liars, the people who are saying to never believe rape victims, the people who are using this as an excuse to belittle women, rape, and consent. That is inexcusable. That is unacceptable. And I want those people to shut the hell up.

Because that speaking-truth-to-power thing they're supposedly defending? They've already failed.

Five things I want for Christmas.

2010-12-15T11:24:00.001-05:00

I believe, traditionally, people talk about the three things they want for Christmas, but I'm a Jew and thus not actually getting anything for Christmas anyway, so I thought I'd dream big. Or perhaps I am a greedy Jew!?!? Ahahaha, THAT.

Gayle didn't actually buy herself anything frivolous this year; she lusted, that she did, but she ended up buying instead an awful lot of expensive winter running gear after spending a chunk of money signing up for the D.C. half marathon in March, but since she has been running in windchill 10 degree weather, she has been sending a hell of a lot of thanks to whomever has invented this expensive winter running gear because it is incredibly effective and indeed worth every penny when the freezing wind is blowing full force at her and she is FINE, SO. Also, she apparently has purchased a great deal of real estate in the Third Person. I don't know.

So seeing as I didn't buy myself anything this year that I don't actually need, here's the list of things I really, really want for Christmas. Get on this, Jesus.

I want the entire world to rise up together and condemn solitary confinement and call it what it is: torture. At the very least, it is cruel, inhuman, and degrading treatment. I want every government to recognize that it is an affront to dignity of humankind, a blight upon our collective morality and conscience, and I want it never, ever used again.
I want whistleblowers to get human rights defender status. Because that is what they are. Whistleblowers are sometimes the only thing protecting us from the excesses of power and secrecy, and they are heroes, every one. I want people (especially the U.S. media) to stop worshipping at the feet of power and get some goddamn problems with authority.
I want Congress to stop being the most EMBARRASSING! ELECTED! BODY! EVER! And I would like it to stop being utterly corrupted by money, money that Justice Kennedy called "speech." Conflating money with speech is as threatening to a democracy as you can imagine. And as a corollary, I would like the Courts to find their backbone and do their job, which is being the only effective check that we have on the insane and murderous excesses of the executive branch. BUCK UP, YOUR HONORS. We need you.
I want white Southerners to stop invoking their treason-in-defense-of-owning-black-people as their proud heritage. The Confederacy formed to defend slavery. Don't pretend otherwise, you assholes.
I want to nail making skillet cornbread. It is surprisingly hard to find a good recipe.

Pictures from Chez Unnatural Forces; or, Gayle has not died yet

2010-12-11T13:44:00.002-05:00

Hey, Readers!

I am in the middle of finals period, so I am being a crappy blogmistress, SORRY. I wrote a 41 page paper on state discipline of female sexual bodies, narratives of androcentric sexuality, and vibrators which I finished on Thursday night, and I tell you, I think I short-circuited a lobe. And I still have a final left to study for, and some long-ass cases to write up, and my brain, I try to think and it just goes OW.

So here's what's been going on, OTHER THAN my sitting so long in front of a computer/with a gazillion books/with a gazillion cases that my ass has been hurting for 5 days straight (true story!).

One is, I cannot tell if I am getting a cold, or your nose just runs continually when you make a practice of going out and running six miles when it is one degree above freezing. However, I have my sick hat on - which happens to also be my snake hat, which I bought off a bunch of extremely stoned elderly gentlemen in the Atlas mountains of Morocco who were sitting around and knitting and giggling away. Anyway, it makes perfect sense that one of these gentlemen knitted this hat while stoned, because look at it:

Yes, it is indeed a green-and-white-striped hat with a long snake coming from the top, with uneven, different-sized black button eyes. It is extremely thick and warm, however, and so I am wearing it in the hopes that staying toasty combined with the fact that I am drinking enough tea to make an elephant have to pee every fifteen minutes will ward off any cold I could get.

Also, every night I have been rereading Alice in Wonderland, which is wonderfully funny and clever and a nice break for my brain. BUT SO OFTEN, reading and owning cats are incompatible. Because the second you open the book, a cat will crawl into it, and then THAT

is the end

of THAT.

And finally, everything is still right with the world, because it is still officially bed time when Amouch plays with my feet. Every night before I got to bed, he HAS to play with my feet under the blankets. It is a THING. And a thing that we do not do in summer, because he is a vicious attacker of feet. He would kill them dead every time, if he could, but then they are back the next night, and thank god for that, because there can be no time for bed unless the feet have been attacked, it is the rule around here.

See? My ass may hurt, BUT EVERYTHING WILL BE OK.

My last final is Friday. See you after that!

Wikileaks! But now catchy and stuck in your head!

2010-12-09T10:15:00.000-05:00

I am busy writing a paper and studying for finals!

2010-12-08T13:30:00.000-05:00

I leave you in the very capable hands of Grande Dame Helen Mirren. I love her.

Movie Thoughts

2010-12-07T08:54:00.002-05:00

The movie Black Swan was disturbing, but I have decided it is most disturbing for being an allegory/cautionary tale for what it's like Being a Lady. Because basically, you have to be technically perfect, unassailably flawless, but you have to make that look completely effortless and totally sexy and wholly natural like you HAVEN'T been suffering and in pain and working your ass off and toiling and sweating and bleeding and denying yourself food and comfortable footwear for years and years and years to nail this performance, and you need to nail it before people judging you whom you are supposed to make want to fuck you if they are dudes and hate you if they are other ladies, and in the back of your mind you're fully aware that no matter your efforts and dedication someday you will get too old and be considered un-fuckable and thus valueless and tossed aside, but, you know, DON'T LOOK AT THE SEAMS OF THIS CONSTRUCTION, I just whipped this perfection out of my back pocket, this is TOTALLY ORGANIC AND LIKE SPIRITUAL, NO PAIN HERE, LOOK HOW SEXY AND EASY MY PERFECTION IS . . .

. . . and then it's not really surprising if the ladies go a little mad.

Fucking technology, how does it work?

2010-12-04T18:00:00.000-05:00

Gentle Readers,

If you have sent me an email to the email account listed with this blog in the past three weeks, I haven't gotten it. I mean, I've gotten it JUST NOW, but I hadn't gotten it when you sent it. Also, I am having trouble sending email and replying to you from the gmx account. No, I do not know why, somewhere in the webbernets there was a cave-in in the tunnels, or some of the internet gnomes went on strike, I don't know how this shit works. I bet carrier pigeons were more reliable.

Also, there are some Christian groups that REALLY love me and enjoy sending me Jesus spam. The fuck?

Love and Jew-y kisses,
Gayle

p.s.

2010-12-03T23:08:00.000-05:00

I have unprotected my Twitter account. Fuck it. I can't ever make myself perfectly safe and secure - I can build all the walls I want, but there will always be holes I can never plug. So I am going to stop putting my energy into wall-building.

Also, have some bookstore porn I took last week! I bought Toni Morrison's A Mercy here. I am very excited.

On being quiet

2010-12-03T19:49:00.002-05:00

Well, today was my final* meeting for clinic. There were a GREAT! NUMBER! OF THINGS! that sucked about clinic, but to be fair, at some point I just got fed up and threw up my hands instead of continuing to try. Whether I would have made anything better, or done any good, for me or the case, is unknown; it was a decision I made, balancing what I would get out of it versus what I would need to put into it, and how other things that I am more committed to would be affected. Is the entire thing a shame, the clinic and my actions? Yeah, totally, and I take responsibility for my actions (or, uh, lack thereof - I think my only affirmative action was being cranky a lot). At the same time, I don't think I necessarily did that balancing test incorrectly. So, you know.

ANYWAY, what was interesting about my final reflection meeting with my supervisor was this: she tried to call me out on being too quiet. She wondered if maybe I had just decided to not try during meetings. I was surprised when she brought this up, and confused for a second, because I make a point of being very present in everything I do no matter how much I am annoyed, and I said, "Wait, no, I wasn't being quiet. I was listening."

It has never ceased to amaze me how strongly teachers correlate learning with actions they can see. This is why participation grades irk me - I mean, yeah, you want everyone to add to the discussion, and different points of view, whatever, I get it, but sometimes, it furthers MY learning a lot more if I don't try to come up with anything to say. Sometimes my learning is best facilitated by staying quiet and listening and then processing it all in my head. The classes that I had the most to learn from, throughout my life, are the ones I have been the most silent in. And the ones that have offered the least knowledge are the ones in which I will raise my hand the most.

This makes perfect sense to me. I don't know why it isn't obvious to all teachers. If I have a lot of shit to say, it's either because I am an opinionated ass who feels the need to get her two cents in all the time (HATE. THESE. FUCKERS), or I already know a great deal about the topic, or both, but I am never just the former. If I know a great deal about the topic, then I will feel like what I have to say is worthwhile and beneficial to everyone, and I'll share it. I am not one of those people so enamored with her own voice.

Yes, I know I am mouthy, and I am very opinionated and very strong-willed, and I fight. But I actually don't speak unless I have something thoughtful to say. I don't get into discussions unless I know what I am talking about. I know some people don't have a filter between their brains and their mouths, but I have a filter and it is DENSE. I say, "I don't know" if I don't. I don't feel the need to chime in. I don't feel compelled to tell people the inner workings of my thought process, unless I think it is useful and productive. I think my quiet ends up being surprising to people who assume that I am mouthy all the time, but I'm just not. If I think I just need to listen, I shut the fuck up, and I listen. And I process. And I think. And then if I feel I have something to say, I will say it. But if I am on unfamiliar ground, I am not going to get busy telling everyone my impressions on the landscape - I'm going to watch how everyone else navigates the terrain so I can decide how best to navigate it, too.

I really am quite the watcher. I like learning from watching people model things. If it were up to me, I would watch ten different people solve the same problem ten different ways, decide which pieces of which performances I liked, and then cobble them together to make my own way of solving the problem. And that's how to best teach kids, actually: you model, so they know one way to do it, and what the end product is supposed to look like, and then you give them a new problem for them to puzzle out themselves. They'll find their own ways of solving it, and then you have the students share with each other all the cool, different methods they all used to solve it, and everyone learns a lot, the end. Whereas in law school, they like to throw you into the sea with the sharks after giving you the direction to go find a pearl, but they have not told you: 1. what a pearl is; 2. what it looks like; 3. that it grows in oysters; 4. what an oyster is; 5. that oysters are found on the ocean floor; and 6. also, you might need some scuba gear to get down there. So there is a lot of thrashing and swimming around in circles and you get bit in the legs several times and you . . . I want to say, "hit your head against the wall repeatedly until your forehead just throbs," but I have been using this sea metaphor, and I have backed myself into a corner with that, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

SO YES. Basically, I think it's sad how much listening is NOT emphasized. I mean, I was on a litigation team with a lot of different lawyers who had a lot of different experiences and did things a lot of different ways. OF COURSE I LISTENED. I learned far more that way. And the interesting foil here is one of the other law students on our team (NOT MY PARTNER, she is the best person on earth) felt the need to speak ALL THE TIME. No filter in her head, no sirree, she'd just talk over people and through people she felt so compelled to mouth shit. But I never thought she had that much of value to add. And I never heard her say anything that was wise. Much that was foolish, and without any common sense, but nothing very thoughtful or helpful. My supervisor did make a point of noting how thoughtful I am. Which, well, YEAH, because I spend way more time observing and processing than just verbally shitting on everything, so of course I am.

So, yeah, I was a little surprised this afternoon at being called out for just listening. I can understand what my supervisor meant, and what she was going for, and why she would have thought what she did; like I said, I do think it's an easy mistake to make with me. I am quite the force, and when I go silent, I imagine people assume something is wrong, or I have turned off. But my silence goes hand-in-hand with the thing I was praised for today: I am very thoughtful. Thinking takes a still tongue. I am generally not foolish or quick to speak or frivolous with my words. I listen. I think it is so desperately important, listening. I wish there was way more listening in the world. And I wish people valued it and nurtured it, instead of assuming that in our ever-louder and increasingly shouty, insistent public universe, that silence and listening are failures of some kind, rather than the virtues they are.

*HAHAHAHA, just kidding, second-to-last, I still have one more. Clinic: the hell that never ends.

OH MY GOD PEOPLE

2010-12-02T20:58:00.002-05:00

1. My roommate on the phone, verbatim:

Hey, so [name] is dating this Middle Eastern guy. Is there anyway you can run a police check on him? . . . Oh, really? You can't? That's a shame. . . . I don't know, we're all really worried. . . . Because, like, you know, he's some random Middle Eastern guy. . . . and she has money . . . Well, he's Egyptian. No, wait, that's not right, he's not Egyptian, he's Muslim. Yeah, he's Muslim.

2. My friend E. gets an email from online dating:

hello How are you??? YOu know what? Most people like to watch the Olympics, because they only happen once every 4 years, but I'd rather talk to you cause the chance of meeting someone so special only happens once in a lifetime. :)

3. WHAT. Courtesy of these people.

4. I give up on humanity.

I write letters.

2010-11-30T20:37:00.000-05:00

Dear Mr. Assange,

If I can ever be of service to Wikileaks in any way, legal or otherwise, I'm there. I would lawyer my ass off for Wikileaks if I could. Just saying. Offer is always open.

Thank you so very much,
Gayle

p.s. For the rest of you - this and this are required reading.

Damn book.

2010-11-29T23:26:00.000-05:00

I have been rather quiet of late, Readers! I know. I was doing Thanksgivingy stuff, and then baking cookies with Silvana and getting totally drunk by like 5:30 p.m. and then eating Thai food BUT NOT REMEMBERING IT LATER stuff, and then I was doing note editing stuff (did I finally send that fucker into Harvard Law Review? Maybe. And then I'll send it into other journals who may actually publish it), and then I was doing unending clinic stuff, and then I was supposed to be working on my vibrator paper (yes, I write about vibrators in law school) but THEN Wikileaks did their document dump and it was all over. And I just got back from going out drinking and getting kinda tipsy with all my fellow clinic participants and WHINGING LIKE WHOA.

So I've been busy! And I haven't been writing blog posts.

But the busy isn't really the problem. The problem is this: I DESPERATELY NEED to finish the book I am reading right now, and I cannot get on with my life until I do. This often happens with really good books - you know those books. Those books that you will stay up all night and read, because you will not be able to sleep without knowing the end anyway? Those books that have simply frozen your entire life and anything that you love or care about has just got to wait until you get to that last page?
This is not those books. No, Gayle has an awful illness, you guys, and it is this: she cannot stop reading really shitty books.

I CAN'T. I just can't do it. I know it is stupid, and I know I could just put the damn book down or throw it in the recycle bin or put it out on the stoop and hopefully someone will take it, but I just compulsively CAN'T. The TWO BOOKS that I have managed to start and never finish are The DaVinci Code, which caused me to curse at it in the first sentence ("'Symbology'? Are you fucking kidding me?") and Possession, which I know many Readers here love, but I read the first three pages and thought, "JESUS this book is pretentious" and was able to put it down.

Short of those two instances, I feel like I am in the thrall of some evil spell once I begin a shitty book, and I have to see the book through to the end before the magic is broken. It is super annoying. But, it is a compulsion, what can I do? So I am spending all my spare time reading this book so I can just get it over with already.

And if you wanted to know, the shitty book is Italo Calvino's If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, which is a terrible shame, because I love Calvino's beautiful writing and light narrative tone. But the book is overly precious and entirely too contrived, and it also features a Nice Guy(tm), a lot of possessive dudes, assault on a woman like no big thing, and stalking as romance, so. Hopefully I can just speed through this, and it will all be over soon. PLUS, I have Toni Morrison's A Mercy and the biography of I.F. Stone waiting for me, so I will be delivered into the light in, uhhh, checking . . . . exactly 50 pages. Off I go!

Thanks giving

2010-11-24T00:18:00.000-05:00

The fucking holidays, they are upon us. And! Are you feeling festive? I am trying to feel festive!

I do not go home for the holidays, because home is where my mother is, and spending time with my mother is not the path down which sanity lies. The past two years in law school I spent Thanksgiving with someone to whom I can no longer speak. This year, some very kind, wonderful friends of mine are hosting a big dinner, and it is a potluck, and I am making zucchini latkes, and collard greens, and I know there are a lot of other dishes planned but I am completely fixated on the fact that we are having gluten-free pumpkin cream cheese whoopie pies, I am not shitting you. No, I don't know, either.

I wasn't sure I was going to go to this dinner. I'd been feeling kinda lonely lately, and its been a hard semester, and I was tempted to be all Fuck It and instead spend the entire holiday holed up in my house with my loneliness.

That would have been a terrible call.

I mean, hey: sometimes alone time is wonderful time. And I have been pretty solitary of late, but I've been working through a lot of shit, and it's been really productive. Like, hey, my rapist decided to text me! But I was ok with that! (Holidays make everyone a little crazy and desperate. Hence the text from him, I am thinking.) So, you know, I've been making good, productive use of my time to myself. I'm feeling pretty fucking grounded.

Yet I knew that if I spent the holiday by myself, and gave into the voice that was urging me to lock myself away from everyone, I would have been listening to the (very convincing and seductive) voice of depression. No, to that. And so I am going to dinner, and I am very, very excited (truly I am: once I had committed to dinner and depression had officially lost that battle, I did indeed get into the holiday spirit)(again: pumpkin cream cheese whoopie pies). But here's why I am also super excited: the person for whom I have been most grateful over the past few months is coming to dinner with me.

Hey, remember when I talked about how much I hate clinic? I hate clinic. Clinic has been the suck. It has been the bane of my existence since September. And I didn't realize how oppressive it had become until my last big clinic assignment was turned in on Monday, and all of a sudden, my whole life felt AWESOME. Like great burdens the size of several elephants had lifted from my shoulders, etc. and so forth, you get it. The fun twist to this is I got two new clinic assignments today, because AHAHAHAHA.

BUT WHATEVER. You know the one thing that did not suck about clinic? My partner. My partner, whom we are going to refer to as A., is the best. She is a wonderful, funny, smart lady who is so easy to work with it is astounding. We were always on the same page, always there to validate each other, help each other when we needed it, decompress with each other after something particularly appalling had occurred. Also, A. possesses the world's most endearing quality: the more stressful and nutty and difficult things get, the more she laughs. She just laughs. Things go horribly wrong, and she cracks up. You need a partner like this. For like everything, you guys, seriously, except maaaybe changing a lightbulb, and even then, it's nice. You never know what could go wrong, and it's always good to have someone on hand to laugh in case of emergencies.

A. has truly been my greatest source of sanity for the past several months. Like last Friday, we were in the clinic building working the entire damn day, from 9.30 in the morning until I think 8. At some point our supervisor needed to complete something, so we wandered off to amuse ourselves for 20 minutes. We went into the supply room, and found a box of rubber bands. And let me tell you, it was ALL OVER. We shot rubber bands all over the place. We had a contest to see who could shoot them the farthest. We acted like 12 year olds, and I laughed so hard I had tears.

People who know how to play are the most precious people of all.

So this Thanksgiving, the person for whom I am most thankful is going to be sitting next to me at Thanksgiving dinner. And I actually have to be thankful to the clinic for this, too - I am friends with my clinic partner now. And if the price for her friendship was all the bullshit I had to put up with in clinic, it was all so very worth it.

I hope everyone has a happy, healthy, warm, and yummy Thanksgiving if you celebrate. And if you don't celebrate, I hope to release enough goodwill into the world that it will reach you, and you will feel it, wherever you are. Also, I will eat a whoopie pie for you.

Now, Readers, if you would be so kind to share: what are you thankful for?

Things I am not a giant fan of:

2010-11-22T20:55:00.000-05:00

Getting a text message (accidentally sent, and not meant for me) from the abusive former friend last Wednesday.
Getting a text message from the abusive former friend last Wednesday whose number I had blocked.
Checking online and seeing that the numbers I had blocked had been erased. MEANING: I knew that if my rapist texted or called, it would come through, because I didn't know what the number was anymore to block it.
Calling Verizon and being told that they only block numbers for 90 day periods, then reset your security controls. Asking what the fuck, and being told I would need to pay if I wanted to be able to permanently block a number. Getting pissed and saying no, because that is a shitty policy.
NOT FIVE FUCKING DAYS LATER, getting a text message from my rapist.
Giving the fuck up. Realizing there is no 100% guarantee on my safety and security, and letting it just fucking go.

Gayle explains some shit

2010-11-18T22:58:00.000-05:00

This feels like so self-explanatory I shouldn't have to write it, but here we go:

Reading my blog does not mean you know me.

Yes, you guys, it is true! Shockingly, reading in this space does not mean you understand me! You cannot guess my motivations! My feelings! You do not really have a handle on who I am! You have not seen the contours of my soul! Actually! JESUS.

There have been some folk come round these parts recently who assume they know all about me. Sometimes, these folks are a little smitten, which means they are seeing me even less clearly. There's a lot of talk at me about my patterns of behavior and my needs and my personality. There've been bucketloads of assumptions. And it's been difficult for me to deal with these people, because they see me as this person Gayle, who I am not all the time.

Like, for instance? I do not spend all day pondering over the state of my rapebrain. It is true! Sometimes I listen to Son House and do work! I almost always listen to the blues to do work! Sometimes I talk on the phone with friends! Yes! I also laugh easily and a lot, did you know this, Readers? I read fairytales in bed before I go to sleep and I go to classes and raise my hand a lot. I love going dancing. I always forget to pay my wireless bill on time, I don't know, it is a thing. I go to SHITLOADS of litigation meetings. I like drinking tea with lemon at night. My life is, and I am, a giant tapestry; but blog posts, they are only about one thread. I can only show people one strand of the picture at a time. And so maybe the longer you've been reading, maybe the better picture you have, but you've still only been seeing one tiny piece per post. It's like a fucking Chuck Close painting. I look a lot different when you put it all together and step back.

I do try to make each blog post as true as possible - I read it and re-read it to make sure my words are expressing as closely as possible what is actually going on in my head, my life. And 99% of the people I know in life as a non-internet entity think I am just like my blog, albeit less concentrated and edited and focused in person (obviously - I am not a single subject proofread creation).

But also: this blog was created to serve a purpose. It provides a space for me to heal, to ponder, to think things through, to rage about whatever. And so that's what I do here. That's what you see. There's a lot else to me: I am a lot more and less messy in person, a lot more and less interesting, a lot more and less smart. I am probably shorter than you think. I am blond. Yes, that's me in the picture - I don't think I had brushed my hair, or even washed my face, that day. But then I almost never brush my hair. I walk around my house in sparkly Care Bears pajama pants and babouches. I spend a lot of time with ladyfriends poking around on etsy and making long lists of the things we covet but will never buy because we are broke (I so want this fucking hat).

I also don't understand how anyone could think they know anyone through a blog. Who the hell do you think you are? Why would you ever be so arrogant as to think you have a handle on me, based on the little you see here? Or, maybe you are not arrogant - maybe you have awfully rosy glasses. Maybe you want to believe in me as a person because you agree with my writings and my opinions and you like this space. But let's face it: I am a far less good person than this blog conveys. I am way more awesome than the person revealed by this blog, too - I am not insulting myself. But I am saying - there is an awful lot of depth there. You could spend days, months, years by my side, trying to know me. And I could do the same with you. But I am quite sure neither of us are simple, and even after years, we will never be able to turn to each other and say, sure, "I know you." Yet somehow, reading a few blog posts convinces some they have a firm grasp on what kind of creature I am.

Also, I am putting my face to this blog, because I feel I also need to expressly say this: I am a human being. I have feelings. I get hurt. I cry. I bleed, if you cut me. Just because I have a blog and an internet identity doesn't mean you can be careless with me. There is a person under here, and she has kinda been through a lot lately. Have some humanity, and give her a fucking break.

This is truly not directed to most of the community here. I love my commenters. I love the people who come and make this a wonderful place. But there have been some people (who are, NOT SURPRISINGLY, dudes) who have decided they wanted more of me. More than this blog could give them. And that is where everything went (ALSO NOT SURPRISINGLY) wrong.

So! I am not attempting to scare everyone away. I have not been lying to you all along and I do not in reality sacrifice small children or go to Tea Party rallies or try to trip old people as they walk down the street. This blog, this is pretty much me. But it's still a tiny piece of me, and there is this immensely more complicated real-life lady person behind all of it. And that goes for everyone who writes a blog. And also for the commenters. So let's put away the paper dolls and two-dimensional cut-outs, shall we? We're all a lot more interesting than that.

My fucking week, as recounted by the Privilege Denying Dude

2010-11-18T13:30:00.000-05:00

Sigh.

Sometimes you just need to have a post with nothing in it but a pretty, sad song

2010-11-17T22:52:00.000-05:00

The shape and color of a relationship

2010-11-16T22:46:00.003-05:00

I walked past my abusive former friend several times last night, inexplicably while I was talking about him to a another friend. It was a weird convergence, because I almost never see him, and I almost never speak of him (unless E. is telling me AGAIN how she could never understand why we were friends, which, dude, I KNOW).

I have the same reaction every time I see him. It is never emotional at all. I do not miss him. I am not sad. If anything, I tend to smirk to myself, because I am like, oh right - it's that asshole (I often forget he exists in the universe, honestly). But I have this overwhelming physical response to seeing him, a response that has barely lessened over time: a warm gush of what feels like liquid panic flows from my gut and then travels down my legs, making my muscles feel like they cannot work and my legs cannot hold me and I am going to collapse. Then my whole body begins to shake, and I have to go sit alone, and take a deep breath, and work on calming myself until it passes. It takes a while. It takes forever.

Seeing him, that is not unnerving. My fear response, that is unnerving. As my brain has begun scrubbing away everything that is painful, I have to work hard to recall how every time I saw him last semester, I was coiled tight with anxiety that the encounter would turn horrible. By the end, in every interaction we had, I was primed for self-defense. I expected him to be mean or vicious; I expected to bleed. I know my physical reaction is a holdover from that, a coping mechanism developed to warn me, keep me safe, force me to get to away from something dangerous.

But even more unnerving is that the response hasn't gone away. Granted, I've only seen him a handful of times. But still: I am in a much healthier, safer space now. Why do I continue to react so?

I am puzzling through that, but today I started thinking about all the men in my life. Because, let's face it: I have been hurt by men. And I have been hurt by men that I had trusted, that I had loved, that I had respected and I had thought would never, ever hurt me. Now I am going through the men in my life, one by one, and I am trying to get a hold on those relationships.

And sorry to single you out, gentlemen, well no, ok, I'm not sorry, I lied, but anyway: I don't really like what I see much.

I don't see myself getting an awful lot out of many of those relationships. I am put in the role of educator, often. I am the impetus and then tool for someone else to improve some aspect of his life. I am something to lean on, something to keep someone else steady, a comfort and a reassurance. I am a habit. I am something interesting, something fun, something entertaining. But rarely do I feel a whole human being.

Basically, I am utterly aware of the gender dynamics at play, and they suck.

This isn't true for all men. For some of the men in my life, I am their friend. They are my friend. It is wonderful and sweet. We discuss a new puppy! We debate politics! We laugh at the all stupid things! We care very much for each other. We enjoy each other. It is swell. But there are so many relationships with men in my life that give me reason to pause. I am trying to determine the shape and color of them. Because there is something off about them, some imbalance, some element to them that doesn't feel quite grounded in reality, some dynamic that makes me uncomfortable, some way I don't feel whole with them. And so I am taking a step back, and reassessing the role that some of these relationships play in my life. Whatever makes that liquid dread rush through my body whenever I see that former friend, it is has also become a loud voice in my head that is counseling me to stop, and think, and take stock of the state of things. Is there a reason to be wary of any of these relationships? Are there warning signs? Could this become another abusive and scary situation? Or is it yet another relationship where I am giving far more than I am receiving (the patriarchy raised me well - I am stellar at these type of relationships)?

I genuinely wonder what these men would say if we sat down together and told the other what we thought we brought to the table. I am pretty solid on what I am bringing to the table. I am wondering what they would say. Or if they would know. Or if they would think it was an equal exchange. Or if what they thought I was getting from them matched what I thought I was receiving. I haven't a clue. I suspect that the color and shape of my relationships are renderings that exist only in my head, that the dude in question, he is maybe looking at a Maxfield Parish, while I am thinking of a Robert Frank photograph. I think perhaps we couldn't even get the tangible productions of our relationship into the same fucking gallery.

But like I said, I don't know. And I am fully aware that I have been pretty stressed lately, and I have been feeling kinda sad and lonely, and so I may be looking at my life with whatever the opposite of rose-colored glasses are. I am concurrently reminding myself that I need to take what I am seeing here with a grain of salt. But I don't think it is wrong to do a feminism check, a safety check, look for patterns of bad behavior, make sure I am safe and protected. I've never felt the need to stop and assess - I've always been a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. But I guess that has changed.

So here's me, taking stock. We'll see what comes of it.

I have adopted the word, "sevidical."

2010-11-12T21:20:00.000-05:00

And is it not a lovely word? Does it not run off the tongue?

Even BETTER, it means: speaking cruel and harsh words. To wit:

You better watch out for my sevidical tongue, motherfuckers; I know how to wield my words like weapons.

The Oxford English Dictionary is on a quest to keep thousands of words alive before people stop using them altogether. I love words, and I CANNOT! STOP PLAYING! ON THIS SITE! Go adopt your own word, and please share in comments!

Supervision: the good, the bad, and the totally incomprehensible

2010-11-11T21:58:00.002-05:00

So, for weeks now, I have been trying to figure out a post on how important it is to have a good boss/supervisor/advisor. This post, it is not cohering in my head, and this is probably because I am in the middle of an awful lot of supervising. And what's been so striking this semester is: the difference between having a really wonderful supervisor, which means also having a wonderful teacher and mentor, and having a really shitty supervisor, which is just, THE WORST. I keep trying to get a comprehensive post together on this, and it keeps not happening. So mostly, I am going to laud some folks, and whine about others, and we can all attempt to maybe draw some conclusions. Or maybe there can be more lauding and whining in comments, if you like! Whatever.

I have had some of the most stellar supervisors since I have come to law school. My first two were in South Africa, W. and A. They were the salt of the earth. These are people with whom I could discuss art, literature, poetry, movies, and politics for HOURS. We watched funny video clips together. We told stupid pet stories. We argued about the law. They were just GOOD FOLK.

When I went to Cape Town, I had only had one year of law school, and had taken all the basic, required classes - contracts, civil procedure, property, criminal law, torts. I didn't know fucking ANYTHING. I mean, law school does not teach you how to be a lawyer by any stretch, but after one year of law school, I knew absolutely fuckall. And then I went to South Africa, with all different laws and cases, and by the second week there, I was taking clients. By myself. I had a lot of support and help and people to go to, but it was a being thrown into the deep end of the pool and hoping you can swim kind of thing.

So here's what they my supervisors did that was amazing: they made me feel capable, and valuable, and necessary, and smart. They made me feel like I was important. I would sit down with A. to do some litigation strategy and she would say, "Ok, what do you think? How should we do this? We need a plan." And I wanted to look at her, eyes wide, and ask, "Why ever are you asking me? I HAVE NO IDEA. Don't listen to me." But I didn't do that - I sat there, and discussed litigation strategy with her. We figured out how to bring a case. Then we divided what needed to be done, and I went off to do my part.

We won with that litigation strategy, by the way, after I left.

Now A. had absolutely no good reason to listen to me, or ask my opinion; that is no knock on my intelligence, but like I said - I really didn't know fuckall. But she made me feel like a partner in crime - we were doing this together. She made me feel like I had things to say, important things. She made me feel capable. And she would listen, and respond, and praise my ideas when she thought they were good. She looked at my work product and told me what worked and what didn't, and then explained how to make it better in really clear, easy to follow ways. She literally cheered when I did something great. It was astounding. It was encouraging. I worked my ass off for her.

W. was the same way. We had to submit a reply affidavit to the Supreme Court of Appeals of South Africa. This is the highest court in South Africa for non-constitutional issues. And W. said to me - this is your job. Go write the affidavit. I believe I responded articulately, "Uhhhhhhh . . . ?" He smiled, and his eyes twinkled, and he said firmly, "You got this. Close your mouth. Just go do it." I asked around to the other young, newly practicing attorneys who were South African natives, and they looked at me blankly - none of them had even done a reply affidavit to the Supreme Court of Appeals before. So, armed with binders and binders of background material and a single sample, I went and wrote that fucker. And it was great.

And it was about 80 times better because W. believed I could do it. He was my unfailing cheerleader through the whole thing, while leaving me to do it solely on my own (and note - the version I finally gave him had jokes in it. I got to listen to his loud guffaws while he read the damn thing. Good supervisors - they let (nay, encourage) you to curse at and rag on your opponents in serious court documents, as long as you bold it so you can remember to take it out later). Not only did W. believe I could do it; he emailed me over a year later to tell me that when we won that case based on a legal tactic that I had staunchly advocated for, but that he had argued didn't apply. He wanted me to know that I was right. He wanted me to know not only that I could, but that I DID.

There is something about being believed in that makes all the difference. I found that in teaching - I had high expectations, I believed in my kids, and they almost never let me down. But that needing to be believed in - it's not just for kids, and it hasn't lessened as I've gotten older. It still is what inspires me to do my best work. This year, what with all the ATS cases, my professor and I have sat down a number of times to argue how to argue, argue how to word things, gone back and forth parsing language from the Supreme Court - and again, there was no good reason for him to be asking me questions, or soliciting ideas, or considering what I thought. He is, like, THE DUDE, when it comes to the ATS. But here, again, I had this incredible mentor, and teacher, this person whom I want to grow up to be, making me feel important and necessary and capable. And, while it kind of was totally befuddling that I was being asked to contribute in any way, it made me believe I could. If he believed in me, well, it rubbed off. We sat there and hammered shit out. We did it. I learned a tremendous amount, but also, it gave me the confidence of knowing that if I was pushed, if I was asked to stretch just above what I thought I could grasp, I could do that. I could get there. I was more capable than I thought.

But then, THEN, there is clinic. ARRRRRGGGGGHHHH. The supervising and teaching in clinic, it is is SO! MOTHERFUCKING! FRUSTRATING! The supervising is some special combination of not giving me any direction, then telling me I have done it all wrong, changing expectations about what was wanted several times, TRYING to frustrate all the students until they want to give up, nitpicking, being completely un-student-centered, being totally control freaky over everything, and treating us like quite the incapable underlings. It is the WORST.

Of the class itself, the clinic professor makes it very clear there is one correct way, and it is his way, and we had better learn that, or we have done it all wrong. Also! He likes to play games where we have to guess his way! That's always fun, because we always lose! There is a lot of hiding the ball, and then treating you like you are an idiot when you can't then describe the ball, give its measurements, and rate its bounciness.

Or in the trafficking case, which is also part of clinic, where my supervisor asked us to write a gigantic memo about this really expansive topic. So my partner and I attempted, it took forever, it was really hard, and it kinda just went on and on and on and doing it sucked royally. And then when we handed it to our supervisor, she said, yeah, ok, this wasn't what I wanted. I wanted maybe 10% of this, and done differently! Oh well, go write it again.

Which made me want to either stab myself or her or both of us in the eyeball.

There is also a lot of Incomprehensible English from both my clinic professor and supervisor. You have undoubtedly encountered Incomprehensible English before. It doesn't really have to be English - this applies to any language both you and your supervisor speak. You go in and speak to your supervisor - well, ok, using me, I go in and speak to my clinic supervisor (or clinic professor, you get it). My supervisor speaks to me at length. In English. We both are native speakers of English. I stand up to leave, and upon walking out, even though my supervisor and I have been speaking to each other in our native tongue, and she has used proper sentences structure and grammar, and all of her words should have made sense together, I have no idea what she has just said to me. She could have been speaking to me in Chechen. And it's not just me, a disease I alone have come down with - I have walked out of offices of supervisors completely baffled with others, and we have turned to each other and said, "I have no idea what just went on there." How does this happen, guys? How do some people speak my language, by all appearances correctly and fluently, but yet completely cryptically? And why do so many supervisors have this same affliction?

Of course, the addendum to the shitty supervisor is: you will do shitty work for your shitty supervisor. It is inevitable. This is either because your shitty supervisor cannot clearly direct you, explain hir expectations, or give you any idea what xe wants, OR because you KINDA HATE HIR now and don't want to work for hir. Everything you do for hir now is tainted and a drag, because you know how matter how hard you work, it won't matter. Xe will change what xe wants. Xe will make you feel stupid. It will all just blow.

So, that's where I am, at present. You, dear Reader, have undoubtedly been here before, as well (comments - you know you want to leave some). I have a ton of clinic work all coming up, and I am loathe to do it, and I resent it, in possibly a vaguely childish and petulant way, but after being treated like a rather dense child at the whim of some inexplicable authority figures, I begin to act one, I suppose. It's a shame, because if anything, I am a Worker, but right now, I am all, ehhhhhhh, LET'S GO READ EVERYTHING ON THE INTERNET INSTEAD. It'll all get done eventually, because it will have to, but I will not be pleasant and cheery through it. And if there are suddenly a lot of blogposts or none at all, it is either because the clinic malaise has started infecting everything else I do, or I am in Full Avoidance Mode. It really could go either way.

See?

2010-11-09T17:42:00.002-05:00

And people wonder why I don't teach anymore.

Sticks and stones

2010-11-08T21:46:00.005-05:00

Hey, so it seems I struck a chord in that last post! A couple people commented on how they, also, are feeling kinda lonely and starved for rich, smart conversation. And, you know, I am in law school, where supposedly argumentative, debatey-type people go, but seriously - no one here knows how to have a discussion. At least, not without being a douchebag.

I am being unfair to the kids in law school. A LOT OF PEOPLE don't know how to have a discussion without being a douchebag. Have you noticed this? It afflicts mostly men. We can all guess why. But today, I was thinking through why I have been so frustrated with so many interactions lately. And this post will (ATTEMPT) to really nail that down.

First, a distinction: I am not talking about arguments. Arguments fall into two categories in my head: they are either the kind where loud voices are used, both sides really want to maintain some higher moral ground, feelings end up being hurt, and everyone is miserable at the end; OR they are the kind where there is a single correct answer. The former you can only have with people with whom you are intimate; the latter are the reasons IMDB and fucking Google exist. Before people had internet on their phones (remember those days? I actually still don't have internet on my phone, but it seems everyone else does) you'd have to argue for like HOURS before you could get to a computer about whether Mandy Patinkin's character's name in The Princess Bride was "Inigo" or "Indigo" (I won that one!). And before Google, I remember as kids we'd argue, but then we'd be faced with going to the library and looking it up in an encyclopedia, so we'd both be like FUCK IT, I DON'T REALLY CARE THAT MUCH. No one won petty battles as much when I was a kid.

ANYWAY. Discussions are different. There is no right answer, and if done correctly, both people should end up in a better, more thoughtful position than when they started. Discussions are about being challenged, working out your arguments, seeing if they still stick, figuring out what you really think, getting some perspective, listening, getting new ideas, enriching your knowledge, or maybe changing your mind. Unfortunately, an awful lot of people do not like to meet you, in discussions. They don't want to step up and be present and invested and do this thing with you. They don't wish to grow or listen or learn. No, what they want to do is either poke you with a stick, or throw a rock at you. Here's what I mean:

Stick poking

I have a friend who used to bait me, for fun. He would say shit just to try to get a rise out of me. Shit he didn't even believe in, he just thought it would be "cute," or it would be "funny," to get me mad. For no fucking good reason other than his own amusement. So he would say really misogynistic things to me, things he in no way believed, to see if he could prod me into a reaction.

If you do this, you are, officially, A Jerk. There is no away around that. You saying to a person who is a member of any oppressed group really heinous shit that they have to deal with for real like ALL! THE! TIME! for fun means that 1) your privilege, you have not ever really grappled with it; and 2) you are a total asshole, and you just need to shut the fuck up.

But the most prevalent stick poking often involves my least favorite phrase EVAH: "To play devil's advocate . . . " GAAAAHHHHHHH. I hate that fucking phrase. Corollaries are phrases like, "Have you thought about . . . " or "You know, if you understood X, then . . . " or "Maybe you should think about . . . " Why do all those phrases suck? Because it means someone is not meeting you. They are not stepping up. They are not going to discuss this with you. No, they are merely going to poke you with a stick.

And this is annoying, especially if you are a lady, and ladies get this A LOT, because the underlying assumption here is, "You probably have not thought about this idea/angle/belief. Let me tell it to you, and point out weaknesses in your argument for you." FUCK YOU, MOTHERFUCKER, is all I want to say at that point, because you know what? If I am arguing a point strongly, IT MIGHT BE because I know what I am talking about. IT MIGHT BE that I have thought all this shit through. IT MIGHT BE that I know way more than your sorry ass which can't even be brave enough to get personally involved in this discussion. No, you're not going to own anything in this discussion, you're not going to invest, you're not going to bring your (subjective) beliefs and experiences to the table, you just want to poke me with a stick.

See, and then when I get mad and start to yell, you're going to act like I am I am in the wrong and being UNCIVIL. And then I might have to kill you.

This is really a form of mansplaining, which is why most of my lady readers were probably in the previous paragraphs nodding their heads furiously about how much they ALSO hate that. Now, I can imagine the defenses. Like, "But I really just wanted clarification!" Yeah, ok, no you didn't; if you wanted clarification, you would have asked for that. Or, "I was just wondering about the person's take on this!" Again, you're a liar, because then you would have asked that directly. If I want to know what someone's take is on whether white should be worn after Labor Day (for the record: Who cares?), I don't begin with, "You know, have you ever really considered the rule about wearing white after Labor Day?" as if the person were to stupid to ever ponder it.

Playing devil's advocate to someone is an especially asshat move when that someone is of an oppressed group and is trying to explain to you WHAT THEIR EXPERIENCE IS LIKE. If you ever do this, I hope the gods strike you down. But also, playing devil's advocate to someone who is trying to explain a passionate, very personally held position is flat out being unkind. You are acting like this can be an academic exercise - and for you playing devil's advocate, it probably is. But if you are doing this to me, you are not acknowledging that some of these arguments are about my very life, my equal rights, my ability to be recognized as a person in the world, my bodily autonomy. These are integral to my experience as a woman, or a queer chick, or a jew, or WHATEVER, moving through the world. And it makes it really clear, when you play this game, that you are not on my side. You are not my ally. Because you are poking me with a stick. Maybe that's fun for you? But it's not for me. It's reminding me that you are just one more person who can use that stick to beat me down.

Stone throwing

This happens in blog comments a lot. It is also done by people who like to argue tone over content. Stone throwing is where someone doesn't even bother to engage substantively with an argument but tries to take down the argument, anyway.

So, ok, someone writes a blog post. They have taken time out of their busy day to put together this string of words for everyone. And someone comes by and says, "YOU HAVE USED A WORD I DON'T LIKE. Everything you have ever written in this post or since the beginning of time is invalid, the end." This is like someone coming up to your house, throwing a stone through one of the windows, and acting like the entire house has now been destroyed. They are usually ridiculously triumphant or indignant, about this. They do not consider that the person writing the post had maybe used that word thoughtfully. They don't think about how the person using that word might be one of the very people who are supposedly oppressed by the use of that word. They don't want to believe this could have been mindful or in good faith, they just enjoy the throwing of the stone. They enjoy the destruction of the house.

These people suck.

Seriously, well, ok, first, no one is perfect. We are all fighting this great big hegemonic paradigm, and we are all in different places, and frankly, there are only so many fights we can take up at any one time. So don't be a self-righteous prick, we're all doing the best we can. Also, there are no points in throwing rocks through the windows of the really big, respected houses. Stop picking especially on the ladies who are out at the forefront. They are getting it from all sides. There are no I Have Found an Oppression! tokens you can cash in for prizes.

Now, if you REALLY wanted to call out someone for their privilege, there are ALL KINDS OF WAYS you can do that without stone throwing. You could even put in your two cents about how you personally don't like that word, explain why without attributing ANYTHING to the blogger, whom you know NOTHING ABOUT, and then engage with the rest of that post. That way, you aren't attacking anyone, just to be reactionary! And you aren't ignoring that the blogger had other things to say! Douchebaggery avoided.

Stone throwing is also done by those people who say things like, "Even though I have just advocated for the use of torture against human beings, you have said the word, "fuck," and thus I have won!" I've already written about my issues with tone over content assertions. A well-known law professor had to get banned from this blog after that. I am not going there again.

And finally, I would just remind everyone: look, you need to keep in mind where you are coming from, and who you are, and where the person you are attempting to have a discussion with is coming from. Like, if you are a dude, and we are talking about lady stuff, you need to keep in mind that you have privilege, and you should probably try and check it. And then that it will come out anyway, so you need to be willing to be called on it. And you should maybe recall that you and the lady are not standing on even ground here, even if it's just the two of you over coffee. There are no patriarchy-free spaces. Just like there are no racism-free spaces, or heteronormativity-free spaces. Remember that. And if you are the person who is of the privileged group, you need to engage in a discussion in a way where you are present, you are bringing things to the table, and you are being a good ally. When I am engaging with people of color, I don't expect to get the benefit of the doubt; I recognize that I am part of the problem, and folks of color have ever right and reason to be wary of discussing race with me. Also, a person of color does not need to be teaching me anything - unless there is an opportunity for us both to grow from this discussion, a conversation that is solely for the benefit of schooling my white ass does not need to happen.

So, yeah, I am really tired of being poked with sticks here, you guys. And hit by stones. I am tired of not having a community here of people who can really, properly, have discussions. So, you know, if anyone wants to come to D.C. for a couple of days and talk books, or feminism, or politics until we are both exhuasted but in a clearer, stronger, more thoughtful place, let's do this shit. I'll cook for you, too.

Out from under the rock

2010-11-07T20:41:00.000-05:00

Hi there, folks! Do I have any Readers left? Perhaps not! It feels like ages since I've written a post. I feel very out of practice, like I don't know how to write a blog post anymore. And mostly, because I've been so busy, I haven't really had any time to think through a blog post, or even come up with a blog topic. Like, hey, there was an election! And a rally which I decided not to go to! All sorts of things happened! And: I got no reaction for you. After working like 80 hours a week for a couple weeks, I was so focused, there was just no energy left to pore over anything else.

So, like, there are things I would like to say, and there are emotions flowing beneath my skin that I would love to release, but . . . I don't quite know how to do that yet. Or write this blog post, SORRY. So this is just going to be a random collection of thoughts or feelings or things, to try to get back into the swing of this blogging thing.

I got horribly lonely this morning. It just hit me, like upside the head, out of nowhere. Didn't see it coming. I think it's the result of being in Work Mode, and then all of sudden: not. And then I am wondering where all the people are in my life. You know, the people that I have not had time to deal with and who I've pushed to the margins, because I was in Work Mode. Also, I am probably affection-starved. And while Azrou keeps pawing at me from the desk because he thinks it is full body cuddle time, which it is NOT, because I am TYPING, this is not the same as being able to curl up into someone.
The person I most want to curl up into is very far away.
I am really frustrated by my lack of peers. Like, yeah, ok, there are people around-ish my age, but not really: most folks are younger. My closest friends have always, for the most part, been older - a decade older, often. Of course, people who can challenge you (and not just challenge you in the poke-you-with-a-stick way, but the go-with-you-together way, where we both emerge into the light at the end), it isn't really about age. But there are very few people who are close with whom I can speak fluently (and intelligently and informedly)(not a word, you know what I mean) about politics, literature, feminist and race theory, art, travel, music, and also about nothing - shooting the shit is an ART, and it is only done well, that shallowness, when there is real depth underneath. I am finding myself too often cast in the role of teacher, or mentor. Here's the thing: I don't want to raise a bunch of fucking 20-somethings. I used to teach, and I loved that, but I also got a SALARY and HEALTH BENEFITS with that. I don't want to be the sage person in the room. That's boring. I am bored.
Guess what was at Whole Foods today? WINTER ROOT VEGETABLES! Yes. There are some good things about it getting chillier. Dinner was onion and lots of garlic and chili peppers and sweet potato and and celery root and parsnips and carrots and tofu and dino kale and kidney beans. Soon there will be Jerusalem artichokes. This makes me very happy.
I have been trying to learn the words to Sufjan Stevens' "I Walked" today. The whole album is really beautiful and stirring. This isn't exactly helping me to feel less lonely, though.
Feminist blogs (not this one!) have horrid comment spaces now. Have you noticed this? I won't even bother to go into them. I remember a time when comment spaces didn't suck. If the comments here ever start to suck on a similarly consistent level, I am just turning the comments off, because fuck that. The level of ownership people think they have over blogs as readers is truly stunning. Like they are entitled to the blog. Also, there is a lot of epic flouncing. In the I! AM NEVER! READING HERE! AGAIN! In one of my all-time favorite epic flounces, a lady flounced off of Feministe because she would NEVER! BE SAFE THERE! AGAIN! but then the next week had a comment with all the blog posts she had written for the Shameless Self-Promotion thread that Feministe has every Sunday, so she could get some readers. Which: yeah. I know computers can be dehumanizing, but jesus, people.
Why is running gear so expensive? I need a windproof jacket - I am getting SLAMMED by icy cold gusts running by the river in the morning. I hate being cold. I maintain that after an especially hot Delhi summer with heat waves that made highs top out at 140 F, my blood has thinned. I don't know if that's actually true. Anyway, I am shopping about right now. If anyone has any suggestions for good running gear, let me know.
Speaking of running gear, I would like to know why Azrou has felt the need to wrestle my thermal vest off the shelf and is now attacking it on the floor as I type this. The vest didn't do anything to him.
People can argue about Twitter being revolutionary or useful or inane or whatever, but I can tell you: as soon as I got busy, Twitter was the first thing I cut out. Twitter is still pretty cut out right now - instead, I started a book! Like a real one! Not a legal text! It is called The City & The City, and it makes you work, but it is super enjoyable so far. The author really likes the word "grosstopically," though - he used it twice in like 4 pages. We'll see if he whips it out again. It's kinda a cool word, in the fact that he made it up and that's nice, but other than that, it's a pretty shitty word, because all I see is "gross" in it and I get distracted from whatever it is supposed to mean. Essentially, I think the definition is, "geographically close."
I don't really have a tenth one, ten is just a nice round number to end on. I am going to go learn the word to "Vesuvius" now. I'd sing you to sleep tonight, if I could. That would definitely make me less sad right now.

Litigation: not amenable to my schedule

2010-11-01T23:40:00.003-04:00

I am responding to a 12(b)(6) motion to dismiss in the trafficking case, Readers!

I'll be back, uh, eventually!

In the meantime, have the video of the song in my head. It pretty much illustrates my feelings about life right now. Also, it is violent. And badass. So, you know.

Treat me like your mother — The Dead Weather from Banya Concept on Vimeo.

release.

2010-10-29T16:03:00.001-04:00

you’ll find nothing but sodden footprints

coming from the river.
the egrets like goddesses stand in the
stiff marsh grasses before the sun has warmed
the sky, and much could drown in such shallow water
while the shadows remain long.
unless i became something else,
my sealcoat hidden under skin.

i cannot find gracefulness on land, and i’m not sure
what luck i am.
if i step into a net
will i still have been caught, and
would you still want me, water
beading on my lips.
a flick, a glint in the light. you'd see.

then tales they tell of the restless seas
come to trawl me back.
what would remain grounded after the waves crashed
down on us, the ocean came to reclaim its kind?
i could not ask you to fight the undertow beside me. sand
is not solid enough ground.
a quick swallow of water, a tiny asphyxiation, and with lungs filled i may swim away.
but without you, i would have drowned.

the sea is never satiated. you’ll hear me in the susurrus,
calling you toward the rocks.

Help. With the bed. Again.

2010-10-28T23:59:00.003-04:00

As mentioned before, sheet changing day is a day of powerful fun for the critters here. I almost like doing laundry for this reason.

First, there is the magnetic pull of the mattress once it is stripped. The mattress is apparently WAY more fun to sleep on uncovered. I do not know why this is. Here, we have my beasties, and the stuffed beastie I sleep with (YES, I sleep with a stuffed elephant, SHUT UP), exhibiting the sweet, sleepy love of the mattress:

And then: Azrou really likes the sheets.

Pillows are also fun.

Finally, there is the begging to do it again.

YAY SHEETS.

"Nine." DAMN STRAIGHT.

2010-10-28T16:10:00.002-04:00

There are no words for how much I love this woman.

I love her so, so, so hard.

Gayle's random email of the day.

2010-10-27T20:51:00.002-04:00

I get strange emails, y'all. And I usually don't publish them! But this one was not a proposal for marriage! FOR ONCE:

from Taylor ********
to unnatural.forces@gmx.com
date Wed, Oct 27, 2010 at 9:04 AM
subject Drones Paper

Hi, I'm a high school debater, and I'm trying to make a pack of evidence against the use of drones. I saw your blog about drones and the paper you wrote for your professor. If it's cool with you, I'd LOVE if you could email me your paper and I'll make sure to cite it correctly as a law student and not as if you had official knowledge or anything that could get you denied admission to the bar. Thanks so much!

-Taylor *********

Sent from my iPhone

Here are a couple reasons why Taylor is not getting my drone paper:

Taylor, since when do fucking high schools have debates about drones under international law? I call shenanigans.
You are going to cite me? Taylor, if you are indeed real and a high school debater, you make me worried for the state of your education. You cannot use some random lady blogger's paper as authoritative. You don't know anything about me or my agenda; and I doubt you have a Westlaw account in your high school library to check my sources. Law people are full of shit ALL THE TIME, ESPECIALLY when it comes down to an issue that is so novel and highly charged at the moment. Have you heard of John Yoo? How about Jay Bybee? Now, I happen to think my paper is a slam dunk, but how would you know that to be true? You wouldn't. You would have no way to verify this.
How the fuck are you going to cite me? As "Gayle Force"? That's like citing Wikipedia. You were going to cite to Wikipedia, weren't you, Taylor? DON'T CITE TO WIKIPEDIA.
I am not going to give you my real name, either, or where I go to school, and it's inappropriate for you to expect I would, unless you really were going to cite me as "Gayle Force," which, oh dear, see above. There is no reason from your definitely uncompelling email for me to trust you with my personal information. Haven't they taught you anything about internet safety in high school, Taylor? Jesus, do they teach kids anything these days?
As a former teacher, I can tell you, learning how to do research is an important skill. DO YOUR OWN RESEARCH, TAYLOR. Emailing a strange internet lady does not count. I would bring shame upon my former profession if I emailed this paper to you, Taylor. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night. This is a learning opportunity for you, and god forbid I rob you of that.

So, Taylor is sadly out of luck today, Readers! Sadface.

A way out

2010-10-25T21:15:00.005-04:00

"I know no other way out of what is both the maze of the eternal present and the prison of the self except with a string of words."

- Lewis Lapham

I always know when I am not going to do well. It starts with the same mental traipse every time. I spent all last night fantasizing/having a nightmare about my rapist dying, getting a phone call out of the blue, some old friend from high school informing me, slightly breathless and appropriately crestfallen, as if it were far more simple news than I could ever take it. I am never sure whether I am happy or sad or confused or angry or numb at the phone call, the telling of my friends who know, the funeral. I try on a single emotion, and let the movie reel go. I test it, create new situations, like a choose-your-own-adventure book, try to determine if that is the feeling I'd wear to his funeral. Does my acting feel forced? Does the scene feel too contrived? None of the emotions ever fit, although sometimes I cry, in real life, just imagining it. So I rewind the tape, put on another emotion, and then play the movie in my head again from the beginning.

The process takes hours and hours while I lay in bed, the night receding. It was both the harbinger and the cause of why I am teetering today.

It wasn't going to take very much to throw me off this morning. I opened this month's Harper's, which I'd not yet gotten to, at the dining room table, coffee in one hand, and read Lewis Lapham's final Notebook. The Notebook has been the opening essay to the magazine for as long as I've known it. Which is a long time. I discovered David Foster Wallace in its pages as a teenager. It was the first thing I did as an adult once I knew the address of my soon-to-be apartment right after college - I got a Harper's subscription. There are two things that especially remind me I am a grown-up - re-subscribing to Harper's and getting it delivered every month, and buying a shower curtain. I have no explanation for the shower curtain.

* * *

When I am as busy and stressed and pressed as I am, I am very good at managing. And I manage by concentrating on all the little joys I accumulate during the day. Going for a run always assures I will have enough tiny ecstasies to keep me going - the shockingly white egret, looking like a deity in bird form, walking through the marshes, the cardinal that belts out song just as I run by, the big fat toads sunning on logs beside the trail. And then the other little things - a kind word by someone, some particularly fantastic tights a girl is wearing, the way the light from the setting sun hits the trees, being grateful that the train is coming just as I get to the platform or the rain holds off until just after I have slipped into the building.

It's a wonderful coping mechanism, this. The big things come, and I just roll with them. I take them in stride. And I can do this while I collect all my little bits of happiness. But it does mean the little things can throw me. Throw something giant at me, I can dodge it, but put a grain of salt in my path and I may trip.

* * *

I needed the Notebook, and Lapham, in 2003. And 2004. And 2005. When it was especially hard to be a good American citizen. When you were either with them or against them, and if you were against them, the whole country was telling you you were a traitor, a bad American, a crazy person, when you were really fucking sure you were not the one who had gone insane. I cried when we invaded Afghanistan; I marched in the protests where 100,000 people managed to show the world how to become invisible en masse and I wept again when we invaded Iraq. There were few ways to stay moored in the sea of that rabid, dogmatic, murderous patriotism. I was pushed online, where I discovered blogs; and I gripped onto my Harper's, where Lapham managed to take my rage and confusion and outraged feelings of impotency and fashion them into lethally sharp essays, spearing the idiocy and ignorance I saw all around me right through the heart. There were few voices that spoke Truth, and they weren't loud, nor did they hold much sway. But they were a lifeline.

I remember some of my favorite Notebooks. One, about privacy, came the month I stopped attending to my Facebook account, and I was so pleased to see someone put into words all my annoyances with the performative aspects of living exposed. Another I happened to read on the train right before taking a law final over which I was having the worst anxiety. It was by Lapham, and it was about what we can learn about living from the dying. I can assure you, perspective was had on that train ride, and I walked into my final, and everything after for a long time, as cool as a breeze. One of Barbara Ehrenreich's Notebooks, which boiled down to essentially, "Fuck hope," made me cheer aloud, especially as a former friend the very night before had spent ages telling me why we "need" god.

Still, it was the political ones from Lapaham every month through the first 8 years of the aughts that I drank down like water after being marooned in the desert for days. I do not remember them individually, I merely remember the simultaneous relief and righteous anger I always felt in reading them. They were, in short, a haven.

* * *

So today was off. I was struggling. Walking back from the train this evening I contemplated my coping options of which, honestly, cutting myself was on the table. I spent some time wondering in Whole Foods while getting yogurt for tomorrow how it is that I am still not done and over being raped three and a half years ago, sexually harassed and assaulted a bit over a year ago, and throttled last month. Then I took the chance to berate myself for being overly precious and pathetic.

After dinner, I decided to re-read the essay that had so moved me this morning, even though the essay was the trigger for my sadness. The essay was not to be blamed, after all; the overwhelming despair that came from losing a monthly touchstone for so long was still disproportionate, the true source of the anguish bleeding out of my brain all kinds of wounds not yet healed. Lapham's words have always been a balm, and still they were tonight. For he ends his final Notebook saying, "I know no other way out of what is both the maze of the eternal present and the prison of the self except with a string of words."

Of course. I knew before I had even put the magazine back down on the table: I can write my way out of my melancholy (that is, after all, why this blog even exists, why I keep at it, writing even when I have no idea what I am saying or where I am going, because I know, eventually, through sentences and under paragraphs I will escape from whatever demons are hounding me). I can find my way out of this sadness tonight if I could just begin to get down the words.

And so here we are.

Porn and the patriarchy

2010-10-24T21:08:00.000-04:00

I am supposed to be doing other work (as, you know, always), but my head, it is in a funky place.

I am working on the unending, starting-to-be-a-little-soulsucking porn presentation that my friend R. and I are giving in Feminist Legal Theory class this week. And, here's the thing: I am not ok with porn.

DON'T START COMPARING ME TO ANDREA DWORKIN. I have no plans to team up with Rightwingers to go on a censorship crusade. I just don't think porn can ever really be progressive, or transgressive, or feminist. As I just explained to someone on email:

Do I think anyone can create transgressive, feminist porn? No! Actually! I don't! For a couple of reasons, some very heavily rooted in theory but mostly: 1) Nothing can be transgressive without continually referencing whatever "line" it has crossed to be so. Thus, all transgressive porn actually reifies what is "normal" and polices the line between "acceptable" and not; 2) Women are made into a sex class in this culture, and all sex is about dominance and submission. We cannot conceive of sex outside these bounds. Thus, we are always playing out the same oppressive narratives. See more here and here; 3) Because we have not grown up in a vacuum, our desires are always dominated by the heteronormative, hegemonic white male gaze. My concept of "sexy" is never my own - it's been fed to me. I have no idea what I think sexy would look like if I grew up isolated in a nunnery or some shit, but I doubt it would include things like really uncomfortable 4 inch heels that mangle the feet and back, or being tied up and dominated (and I know I like the latter because I am sexualizing my very real and actualized fear of rape and assault upon my body. Would I find those things sexy without having been a victim/victimized? I wonder). I know people like to play, "But that's just my thing-ism" when it comes to sex, but no one gets a pass, and everyone's desires are fair game for deconstruction, and when it comes down to it, why are our desires always not liberatory?

That being said, if anyone asked me whether porn or Vogue Magazine was more damaging for women, I would be hard-pressed to come up with an answer. For part of our presentation, R. put together this kickass slideshow of pictures, and everyone has to try and guess whether it is from a porn or a fashion shoot. Or a Michael Bay movie. It is pretty impossible to tell the difference. It all looks the same. And it's all fucking violent against women.

Anyway, we dug up some really good articles on porn, one being on porn and race, the other being on how banning porn isn't really fixing the problem.* Because, of course, the problem with porn isn't porn, the problem with porn is that people don't look at porn and think, "Wow, that is some really heinous and degrading and inhumane stuff. That's not sexy AT ALL. Turn that shit off." But SADLY, people do not do this, and so I have been looking at porn and Vogue photoshoots and and a documentary on porn that includes a porn with a rape scene that is pretty fucking triggering for two days, and now I am all disassociated and having a crap night.

Especially because: I have reached the point where I can't even look at arty black-and-white slightly grainy hipster-y pictures of sex anymore.

Let's tell a story. About a month ago, some dude came to visit me. Some of you know may know this dude from the internets! The internets are an AMAZINGLY small place, actually; perhaps you have realized this too. Anyway, this dude got a little obsessed with me because of the words I write here (I did not know this bit until after). He decided, not the first dude to have done so, that he wanted to "conquer" Gayle. You also have possibly met those dudes who like to conquer and control ladies. Especially ladies who are a force of nature. It's like they get a big manly gold star for putting those ladies in their place.

So, this dude flew across the country to satisfy his obsession. He harangued me to sleep with him from the very moment he got here. "No," to him, only meant he should keep asking. I should point out here that this dude read this blog. He knew my issues with sex. He was fully aware I'd been raped. When I finally agreed to fuck him, it was because I was exhuasted and drunk and had had one of those weeks where I was stretched so thin I had no energy to keep defending myself. However, there was no way I was doing anything I wasn't comfortable with, no matter the fact my clothes were now off. This made him mad. So he decided to throttle me during sex - literally, he put his hand on my throat and squeezed, with no warning or discussion - to punish me for demanding my consent mattered. Then he told me, after I freaked out, it was my fault. Because I kept being "difficult." For "changing my mind" about what I was ok with doing with him. For saying no. For keeping myself safe and demanding my boundaries be respected.

After the whole thing was over and he flew home, he told me by text it was STILL all my fault, but now it was because I had hurt him. When I asked how I hurt him, he said it was because I had asked a painful question about his childhood. And I had "made him answer." And this is when I realized I was dealing with a sick person. I cut all ties, and ties to anyone who may also know this person and continue to be friendly with him. And then I spent two weeks petrified that he would retaliate against me, fly back here because he had my address, hurt me in some way. Because that is some genuinely sociopathic shit right there.

But the point of this story is: why do so many of these arty black-and-white photos of sex involve a man with his hand around the throat of a woman? I cannot look at these pictures anymore. Because that isn't sexy now. I know the control and domination a little too well, that goes with that. And it's upsetting, when I think about it, that I ever found men throttling women sexy at all. Fucking patriarchy, man. It sucks.

Anyway, that's what I am grappling with at the moment. Porn: not the most fun topic to research, it turns out! Whenever I get my head back on straight, I will add to my list of saving-the-world topics the goal of making porn obsolete. We here at Unnatural Forces only take on the most achievable goals!

* These articles are:

- Gail Dines, The White Man's Burden: Gonzo Pornography and the Construction of Black Masculinity, in the Yale Journal of Law and Feminism, 18 Yale J.L. & Feminism 283 (2006).

- Carlin Meyer, Sex, Sin, and Women's Liberation: Against Porn-Suppression, in the Texas Law Review, 72 Tex. L. Rev. 1097 (1994).

Why I run.

2010-10-19T20:35:00.000-04:00

So, in case you had not noticed for some reason around here, I run.

The thing is, I have never NOT run. I have been doing team sports since I was 5. Soccer, track, field hockey, lacrosse, running down to the boathouse at 5 am for crew practice, I have always been running. When I graduated from college and ended my stint on teams and thus wasn't really compelled to go running, I felt a little lost for a month before I realized I needed to start again on my own. I missed the time outside, I missed the feeling of my legs beneath me, and, you know, I missed SLEEPING. It is pretty much a fact of my life that I cannot sleep unless I exercise. My body has no recollection of how to function without exercise; continuing to exercise means I feel better, sleep better, digest better, get sick less. My body knows how to work hard. It excels at it. No matter how long I have gone since the last time I've run, when I start again, my body is thrilled. My muscles, they know what to do. They fall into a groove. Everything in my body fits back together better, settles into itself, gets comfortable and happy again. Running is actually my resting state.

And then nothing is more comfortable for me to put on and wear than a sports bra, a t-shirt, and some running shorts. Stripping out of even jeans at the end of the day feels pleasurable when I switch to spandex, cotton, and whatever the fuck material it is that wicks.

There are periods of time where I haven't run. Like when I've been abroad - I swam my way through Morocco in a gym pool, while I spent all of India being sick, so there was no exercise then. And domestically I've gotten really depressed before, or really busy, or the sky has dropped a fuckload of snow on wherever I am, and so the running has been curtailed for a period. I always pick it up again, after I fight through the dark times in my head or the fucking snow drifts out my front door (last winter in D.C.? Jesus. We couldn't get out our back door until mid-March). And running keeps the depression and anxiety at bay.

But as someone who suffers from body dysmorphic disorder, and disassociative disorder after being raped, and struggles with self-harm, there's another reason I run. And it's because it's the only way I can make peace with my body.

There is something about thinking about my body as a machine that allows me to take care of it. If I think of it as functional, we get along just fine. Running helps me do this. It helps me relate to my body in a way that is not (culturally) loaded. I am present in my body throughout the day in a way I can't be otherwise - are my muscles tight? How's the damaged nerve line in my foot? How are my knees feeling? I have very practical interactions with my body, about what it needs, what it wants, what would make it feel best. I beat myself up less about the food I put in my mouth, because of course I need to feed a machine to keep it working. I see eating and food as a means towards an end, instead of a way to punish myself. There is no morality in eating anymore, just purpose.

I stop hating my body, because I need it to do things. And I am always so pleased with what it can do. It's hard to hate your body after a glorious long run. And when I have a terrible run, I actually know it's not my body, because running is something my body knows like breathing, so I turn to my diet, the amount of sleep I am getting; I go over the ways I may not be taking the best care of myself in my head, and look for ways I can give myself what I need. Besides, I have done sports long enough to know: sometimes you just have a bad run. And it doesn't mean anything. Those days are ok. I am already looking forward to my next run, because I know it will be better.

I learned how to run and work hard and push myself before I had any of the language of body hatred or disgust or trauma. I learned the language of strength and sore muscles and aching joints and hard breathing and going just a little bit longer and a little bit faster before I ever heard the words of the patriarchal beauty standard, performative femininity, or rape. I have the hardest time making the messages of those damaging later demons shut up when I am not running. Because I can't replace them with anything. But once I am outside, once the ground is flying past beneath me, I never remember how fat I think I am or how I loathe to look in a mirror. I am just a girl, running. I am fluent in that.

I know that I am very lucky. I am able-bodied. And I can tell you, truly, I am thankful every single time I finish a run. I check in with my body and everything is fine and I give thanks. It is a privilege I can run like I do. And it is a privilege that I can find a connection with my body like this. The half-marathon was great, but it wasn't really about the race, and it wasn't really about breaking two hours, although that was the little wish I'd had for myself in the back of my head. It was all about feeling proud of what I'd done, proud of my body, glad to be in it. It was so new and novel to feel that way, I was tripping and shiny off it for the rest of the weekend.

We all have our demons, but running helps me quiet mine. It replaces their haranguing with the language I learned to speak first with myself, of effort, purpose, function, and care. It's the truce I can call on the war against myself. Tomorrow morning is my first run again since the race, and I can't wait. It doesn't matter whether it's a good run, or a long run, or a fast run, it doesn't matter how sore I am still or how creaky I feel after the race. It'll just be me in my body being present and settled, and so I know it will be wonderful.

Cat blogging: Pink nose edition

2010-10-18T12:58:00.000-04:00

I know, the cute, it slays me, too.

Mad Men Season 4, Episode 13: I am disappinted, y'all

2010-10-18T07:10:00.000-04:00

Pretty much, there was one scene I liked in the season finale of Mad Men, and it's what I think many ladies and men who read here have been waiting for - the women to join forces. We finally saw Peggy and Joan complaining together about what it's like to be a woman and under appreciated in the workplace. We finally saw some sisterhood. So, YAY TO THAT. It was respite from the painful divisions the show has been creating between women so far.

Everything else seemed a lot of unpleasantness. Betty is a tragedy, lying down on Sally's bed because she is, in fact, like a child, being horrible to Carla, and then desperately waiting around in the house, perfecting her make-up before Don stopped by. She is pathetic, but no longer dynamic. It was sad watching her, but that was all, just sad. I am wondering where the show will go with her from here, because I take no prurient delight in kicking things that are already on the ground.

And then: Don just marrying Megan. Was anyone really surprised? Because I wasn't. After four seasons, it's like Don has gotten nowhere. He is lonely without a lady. He wants the perfect happy family, and Megan is not yet hysterical and angry and she treats a spilled milkshake like merely a spilled milkshake. He is still in love with that old fashioned idea of having this perfect wife take care of his children perfectly while being a perfect compliment to him. Which is . . . . where we started. SO WHY HAVE I BEEN WATCHING FOR FOUR SEASONS?

The thing I have loved so much about Mad Men have been the surprises. And there have been genuine surprises - Peggy's pregnancy, someone's foot getting run over by a lawnmower, SCDP forming. But Don getting sentimental and moony over shit and then being an impulsive ass is NOT actually a surprise. It's just a disappointment. Because it's predictable. He's just being his "type" - hell, Faye called it at the beginning of this season - she said Don would be married in a year. Compared to Peggy's storyline, which is wonderful and dynamic and believable, it feels like the show got stuck. They had painted Don into a corner. If Don redeemed himself, it would feel fake and corny and contrived. If he pulled a dick move, it would be boring. Well, now that Don's in a rut here with his character, maybe we can have Peggy became the protagonist, because I am not interested in watching him be Don anymore. We got Don. We have apparently seen all the way to the four corners of Don, and there ain't much there. Whatever. Moving on.

I think the hit that feminism takes in this show, where no matter the ladies' gains they just can't win against the boys' club, was a brutal blow, too. There's how Joan gets a higher title in the company but still pushes the mailcart and gets no more money. Don tells Peggy what he likes about Megan is how much she's like Peggy - which means Peggy worked really hard, but may now end up working alongside "a pretty face," no farther ahead for all her hard work (and we watch Peggy be really brilliant at her job, too, with Topaz). What Betty said to Carla was just brutal (and AWFULLY privileged and racist). Betty is jealous of her daughter over a 13 year old's attention. Don falls in love with a woman as she tends his children, giving up a partner who was competent and accomplished and ambitious but didn't adequately perform her gender role. And then of course we have the bitter scene between Joan and Peggy being frustrated (although, we can all hope that turns into something more revolutionary).

But frankly, Mad Men, I am disappointed. Don reverted back to his old, and old-fashioned, ways of thinking. There is no hope for the new. There is nothing to look forward to. I am even not interested in watching Don's being saved through a new lady and a new marriage. Ladies saving the dudes from themselves, YAWN.

Anyone else as disappointed as I? Or do you think I am totally wrong?

Really, SHUT UP.

2010-10-17T08:56:00.000-04:00

Shorter Shannon Kelley: It's ok to call someone a whore! That's not sexist! There are real problems we need to deal with in this election. Like people being "pottymouths."

And the money quote:

Even putting that aside, claiming offense in this instance cheapens what people go through when they are the victims of truly hateful language.

Right. Because being called a whore? Not hateful, totally victimless, and not that bad. Also, the "N" word and the word "whore" are totally mutual exclusive, and are never be used together.

A Gayle update update!

2010-10-16T17:28:00.001-04:00

13.1 miles, 1:59:33, and it felt great.

A Gayle update!

2010-10-14T12:22:00.000-04:00

So, Readers, EXCITING: Gayle has her first road race ever this Saturday! She is going to ROCK the half marathon.

The race is in Baltimore, so E. and I are driving up tomorrow morning and staying in a hotel. And thus, I have been trying to be super-productive, getting as much (UNENDING) work done as possible before the weekend is a wash, doing laundry, buying some fucking health insurance (seriously, I just forgot to at the beginning of the semester, which says a lot about how lucky I am in regards to my health), finding a gluten-free pasta bar we can carb-load at the night before in baltimore (found one!), scheduling massages for sunday, etc.

Thus, this week is light on the posting. And it might continue to be a little light on the posting until I get, like, four giant projects out of the way this month. I think in November there may be a little breathing room. At least, until, something else comes up. You know how this goes! The world ain't going to save itself.

Sending love!

G

Teaching While Gay

2010-10-13T21:55:00.002-04:00

When I was 20 and 21 and lived in India for a year, I wrote a thesis about the burgeoning LGBTQI movement there while enrolled in a college in Delhi. The movie Fire, a lesbian flick, had recently come out (HA! Accidental slip, I swear) and forced the issue of homosexuality, an issue that previously had been rarely discussed and decorously constructed as invisible in polite society. Theaters had been burned in protest, riots had been staged, and everyone was very touchy about the queers. Also, there was this holdover law from the British empire in the Indian Penal Code that made sodomy illegal, and this sanctioned a great deal of police brutality against and extortion from the queer and especially trans community (there was a growing movement to repeal this statute when I was there - it was only finally taken off the books in 2009).

But, like I said, I was writing this thesis, and I traveled all over India with my girlfriend and talked to folks and went to conferences and got threats against my and my girlfriend's bodily integrity taped to the handlebars of her motorcycle and generally acted the radical activist that I was (and am). Which made it all the more shocking to me that it was a professor, a lady professor, and a gay lady professor at my Delhi college who challenged my thesis as "illegitimate."

She hated my thesis. She would ask about it in class and then deride it. She would lodge protests to the principal. She took every opportunity she could to tell me all that I was researching and writing was completely invalid. Homosexuality was NOT, according to her, a legitimate academic topic. And I was confused, I was bewildered, because here was this gay lady, and she was telling me to SHUT UP and GO AWAY about agitating for equal rights. FOR HER. And I was like, uhhhhhh, what the fuck is with desperately trying to get me and you and everyone else all back in the closet? The queers, we cannot pretend we do not exist anymore. We are no longer invisible. There are discussions being had. We're out of the closet. You can't undo this, the dialogue, the movie, or yourself, so why try?

But recently, it has dawned on me how much safety there is in being in the closet, in being a secret. If you're invisible, at least they aren't attacking you.

And it's felt like being under attack of late. I have not managed to go a day reading even just the lightest smattering of news without encountering some heinous, hateful shit about me and my fellow homos.

Specifically, there's been a lot of the queer-while-teaching homophobia. God forbid I get near kids, y'all, because: right? The horrors. Garland Grey wrote a beautiful post about hatred and his experience teaching, and I kinda wanted to weigh in, because I did, after all, Teach While Gay. But I also was lucky, Teaching While Gay, because: 1) I can pass; and 2) I had some really fucking stellar kids.

The thing is, with the passing, I could have gotten away with never saying a thing. But that didn't seem to be an acceptable option, being invisible. Not even if I was being attacked. So I told (and when I was directly questioned, I wouldn't lie; I'd just look at the kid and ask, "Now why would that matter to you?"). The thing is, by the time I was telling kids and we were close enough to have those conversations, we had already established that I loved them and respected them very much. And they loved and respected me back. Basically, I got to be invisible until I was pretty sure I didn't have to be anymore. Still, it was always taking a chance. If I am being honest, I would have to tell you: I am amazed I was never fired for the (revolutionary) shit that was said in my classrooms. I am dumbfounded that I never got complaints, never was rebuked or investigated, and my kids' parents pretty much adored me. I can't really explain that. Like I said: lucky.

But, ok, I never told all the kids. I told, maybe, 90% of them. There were a couple kids that you learned you couldn't tell - the kids who told their parents everything, the kids who tattled, the kids who enjoyed making other people feel small, the really homophobic kids who came from evangelical and usually pentecostal churches (actually, although all my kids in Morocco are Muslim, a religion which (racist) people in this country tend to associate with intolerance, I think every single one of them knows now I am a queer lady. It was in the U.S. I've had to watch my mouth more). But I could take the time to learn the kids, know the kids, build mutual trust; and I wasn't a substitute teacher, I was THEIR teacher, and they were MY babies, and by the time I told, we had already decided to become family; we already belonged to each other.

And also: THERE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN GAY KIDS IN MY CLASSES. I didn't even have to indoctrinate them, guys. They were just there, needing direction and a mentor and someone to listen to them and not judge them and be there for them just like they were any other kid. And essentially what these no-more-queer-teachers advocates are saying is they want more queer teen suicides. They want queer kids to feel more ostracized and alone and freakish and like the only way out is death. It's not enough for the gay kids to just remain in the closet, invisible, anymore; no, homophobes are on the offensive. Going back in the closet for us queer folks isn't even an option. Which is why suicide might look like your lone escape.

I get the impulse of the "It Gets Better" movement, but I am super wary of it, having worked with little people. First, that still puts responsibility on the abused kids to buck up, sack up, and try to be patient while they feel like their souls are being stomped on. I'd rather see a campaign called "Make It Better," where we hold school officials and parents and other kids accountable and responsible for their abuse or enabling of it. Second, I have had some kids with mental illnesses. Fuck, I have a mental illness, and I had my first depressive episode at 14. Telling me it gets better? NOT HELPFUL, LIKE AT ALL. Depression is when you have ceased to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and no one telling you no, really, it's there just trust me, is gonna make you see it. Any policy that revolves around victims' self-help is just not enough.

But finally (ok, there are more reasons that I am wary of this campaign than these three, but I would like to not completely tangent here - more reasons are here) I think this campaign ignores the fact that there may already be gay adults in a position to help these kids. Chances are, this kid had or has a queer teacher! Like me! There is someone in this kid's life who can help! Like, today! Fuck it gets better eventually, there are people in positions to help these kids NOW. Except, they can't, if they are afraid of losing their jobs. Or have been made silent, or invisible, lest they be attacked by the community. There are gay folks amongst us, even in those small towns Dan Savage like to disparage. How can we help them be mentors? How can we help them be safe? Essentially, how can we enable them to help immediately?

I kinda feel like a bunch of youtube videos will not do it. That won't make the Carl Paladino's and the bigoted parents shut up or go away. We need more.

And hey, I don't know how to do this. I don't know the answers. I do know what is not the solution, though. Those gay teachers, they are out there, they are teaching, and they have the chance to save kids' lives. We are not helping kids OR those queer educators by making those gay adults invisible. They're already closest to the kids we need to reach. Now let's start brainstorming about how to make it safe for them, and maybe the queer kids won't have to wait for it to get better. Better should be now.

Mad Men Season 4, Episode 12: I am kinda at a loss for words

2010-10-12T20:05:00.000-04:00

So. Um. I think we only have one episode of Mad Men left? This episode brought up an awful lot of questions. There were two threads I'd like to follow a bit - one is what happens now to SCDP, and what happened with Sally and Betty.

As to what Don did - I have to imagine that Midge was a big part of why he went on the offensive against big tobacco and took out that ad. Midge is so clearly desperate as a heroin addict, living from fix to fix, and Don doesn't want his firm to be the same way. Desperation is obvious, and it endears you to no one. And in business, no one gives you whatever money they have on them out of pity. So the only option that SCDP has is to become no longer desperate. And that is exactly what Don's ad did. I was shocked all the partners were mad at him - it seemed like a masterful stroke to me. And while the other ad men mocked him, there is a market for morality - I mean, have you seen oil companies try to market like they're green? I see these ridiculous Big Oil ads every day about conserving energy and going green on the metro all the time (or, in Chevron's case, they want us to maybe think about unplugging shit more to help the world? Shut the fuck up, Chevron, and stop greenwashing. Your human rights record is fucking appalling).

But mostly, Don changed the conversation. He stopped looking desperate. He may have brought in new accounts with his ad. I don't really know what will happen to SCDP, but I am excited to see how his strategy pans out. And as Peggy has always been the one with a conscience in the agency, it's nice to see that moment between her and Don, when she points out that she is kinda fucking right about things.

So while I am excited about that storyline, I am really worried for Sally. As a (former)(sort of - I am still to many of my kids) teacher, if there is anything I hate, it's not believing kids, and not believing in kids. Sally has this interesting friendship with Glenn, in that she listens to him, but I don't think she believes him, and I don't think she believes that everything he says is right. She listens to a certain degree, but Sally is discerning - she seems to figure out the good and the bad. And her therapist seems really good. Like, I don't worry at all about Sally taking care of herself - the problem is Betty. And if Betty is terrible at anything, it is Sally - and herself. Betty is essentially going to Sally's therapist to get help, but still unable to see anything clearly about herself, her motivations, or her daughter.

Now that Betty is finally willing to move out of the house, I wonder if this will signal a change for everyone - including Don, with the house gone and whatever was left of that life sold or trashed. Whatever Don's intent in that ad, it signals that there is room and it is time for a change. With one episode left, what are your thoughts?

I have no idea what's appropriate anymore; so here, let me tell you all about my period

2010-10-08T00:00:00.003-04:00

You guys. Is it too much information if I complain about my period on my blog? How about to other people? What about dude people? What about dude people I don't even really know that well?

And if it makes them uncomfortable, should I care?

As I am getting older, I am increasingly unable to tell what is appropriate for conversation anymore. I blame some of this on being a middle school teacher. As a middle school teacher, your job, in being a good role model for your kids as well as a good sex-ed teacher, is to be very matter-of-factual about everything. I mean, ok, whenever I would begin any conversation about sex at the start of the year, I would say to my class, "Alright folks, everyone say, 'Penis.'" And they would say it and laugh uproariously. And then I would say, yeah, ok, say it again. Say it again. Say it again. And I'd have them keep saying "penis" until it had become not funny anymore. And then I would say, "GREAT! Now everyone say vagina!" And we'd repeat this. And then when everyone was done with the giggles, we could begin.

I can also tell you, as a teacher, there is NO STORY, no matter how embarrassing, shameful, gross, or unflattering you will NOT TELL to make a teaching point. I have told my students pretty much fucking EVERYTHING if they had important questions and I thought it would help the discussion. For instance: "Yeah, ok, once I had a condom break on me, and I didn't handle it well and freaked out. That was not helpful! This could happen to you! But these are what your options are after you have stopped freaking out." As a teacher, everything becomes just . . . part of being a human being. You stop remembering sexual things are supposed to be loaded. Because there are a bunch of little people in front of you and they really need to know about their own bodies and sexual health and the emotional stuff too, all of it, not just how to get a condom on a banana (which we also practiced). I wanted them to be safe. I wanted them to trust themselves, and to listen, and to understand and prize consent. Talking about sex was about their very mental and physical integrity, it was about life or death, and as such I treated it with solemnity and seriousness.

And also: you get a bunch of kids really blase about body stuff, and hilarity will ensue. One afternoon when I was teaching seventh grade we had some free time, and one of my boys puts his hand up and says, "Miss, ok, can I ask? Periods. You just bleed every month? Like, what the hell." And so, you know, I explained, complete with a diagram on the board, and the ladies weighed in on the shittiness of cramps and started rooting through their bags and pulling out pads and tampons, showing the boys what they were like. And the boys, for whatever reason, freaked. Here is a pad, in a wrapper, and these giant badass teenage boys were screeching and lunging from their chairs shrieking, "OH MY GOD DON'T TOUCH ME WITH A PAD." And the girls, of course, laughed at them, and were all, "YOU IDIOTS, calm down. What is WRONG with you? It's just plastic, JESUS."

Eventually the boys attempted to regain some shreds of their dignity and with deep trepidation handle these terrifying, foreign objects of plastic and cotton (Me: "Guys, don't you live with women?" One of my boys: "Yeah, but I stay FAAAAAAR away from that stuff."). If there was anything my kids were always good at, though, it was getting their shit together and handling things with grace. Or SOMETHING like grace, because by the end of the period, half my boys had pads open and stuck to their bodies in various places. AS YOU DO.

So, you know, that can kinda fuck with your ideas about what is appropriate for polite conversation, I feel.

I think living in India made me get over a lot, because when you and your roommates are wary of tummy bugs, and often get tummy bugs, there are a lot of conversations over the breakfast table about poo. And finally, well, when it comes down to it: I just don't give a shit about polite conversation. I've no interest in being polite. Bleeding makes men uncomfortable? Let me call them a waaaambulance! No one wants to be reminded of my sexuality? Get the fuck over yourselves! Bodies and their functions make people squidgy? HOW??? And what is really the difference between me complaining of cramps and me complaining of a headache? I can't think of an answer to that.

It's not just me complaining about cramps. Sometimes I will just tell folks about my sex life. I talk loudly about sex with other people, both academically and about the sex I am personally having, A LOT. E. and I once had a conversation about genital warts, a conversation that could not at all be characterized as quiet or private, at a bar, and it never occurred to us that maybe laughing hysterically about HPV (ok: probably not funny when you have it) was perhaps not helping anyone enjoy their drinks. I will also occasionally announce to folks I have to poo. I just . . . you know? Like, why not? Every reason I can think of for why not is stupid. Or indefensible. Our discomfort with our bodies and other people's bodies and the shit we do as biological, living creatures is just not something I want to indulge.

So, you know what, folks? I have horrid cramps right now. And my cramps can get ten times worse when I use a tampon, so I am in that place right now where every time I stand up, I feel like I am losing an organ between my legs (Ladies: YOU ALSO HATE THIS FEELING, I KNOW).* I have an auto-immune disease that makes my period especially bad, so I'll probably have to take a narcotic to dull the cramp pain enough to sleep tonight. And I have the busiest day ever tomorrow. BOOO, to being a lady.

If anyone else would like to complain about anything, here's your chance. I respect and appreciate you and your body, so anything you want to talk about it doing is totally fine by me. We always hear from New-Agey-type people that your body is your temple and blah blah blah, but sometimes your body does gross things and it hurts and it's a pain in the ass. So feel free to whinge! And with that, I have to end this post, because I really have to pee.

*Note: I know that there are some lady-identified folks and cisgender lady folks who do not get their periods - I realized the language I'd used was incorrect after I wrote the post. I do not wish to make you feel excluded. I realize it should read "Some ladies;" I didn't correct it in the original and am merely doing so down here because I didn't want to erase my complicity in cis-privileged narratives. I apologize.

A blow to the angels

2010-10-05T22:55:00.001-04:00

I wish I didn't have to write this post.

In the past few weeks, the ability to hold corporations accountable for gross human rights violations has been severely restricted. Corporate impunity is winning. And for those of us fighting for human rights, well, we are weighing our options, looking at the battlefield, and trying to plan our next attack. But right now, we're in retreat.

In 1789, yes, the year (history!), a one sentence statute that is now referred to as the Alien Tort Claims Act or the Alien Tort Statute, the ATS, became law. The ATS was passed originally because a French diplomat in Philadelphia was pushed and fell into the mud and he wanted to be able to sue the dude who shoved him for damage to his outfit, or his dignity, or whatever (insert a French joke here, I know)(make it a nice one, I am fond of the French). The United States, a fledgling nation, was embarassed that it could not address the needs of diplomats sent here from other countries, and in the Judiciary Act of 1789, the First Congress passed the ATS, 28 U.S.C. § 1350, to prove that we, too, could sit at the big kid's table:

"The district courts shall have original jurisdiction of any civil action by an alien for a tort only, committed in violation of the law of nations or a treaty of the United States."

It's a teeny thing, that law, right? I mean, what is it really saying? Not much. That a non-U.S. citizen can sue, well, ANYONE (the statute doesn't limits the defendants) for a violation of the law of nations, which is a fancy schmancy way of saying international law. And the alien can sue for a tort, meaning they can claim monetary damages for a harm done. The end. That's it. The ATS has no peer in any statute of any other country - the U.S. alone has such a chimerical law. And I say chimerical, because for two hundred years, it was a squatter in the U.S. Code. The statute sat around idly, taking up space, until it was revived as a tool to address violations of international human rights law in 1980, in Filartiga v. Pena-Irala.

Filartiga was a watershed moment for international human rights lawyering in the United States. A father and his daughter, Paraguayan nationals who had moved to the United States, sued the former Inspector General of Police, who was also in the United States at the time, for the torture and execution of their son and brother, Joelito Filartiga, while all involved were still living in Paraguay. The Second Circuit said, essentially, look: torture is a violation of the law of nations. All nations abhor it - and torturers are the enemies of all humankind. There is a violation of the law of nations here, and these folks are aliens. Done. And at trial, where the Filartiga family could finally confront Pena-Irala, justice was done - they were awarded $10 million dollars by the jury under the ATS.

After this, a tidal wave of cases brought under the ATS began to be filed in U.S. courts for all manner of gross human rights violations that occurred around the globe (I'll let Dolly Filartiga tell you more). The Supreme Court itself tackled the ATS in Sosa v. Alvarez-Machain; it endorsed the Filartiga line of cases, holding that the ATS conveys jurisdiction on the courts to take the case, but the subject matter of the tort, the violation, had to come from customary international law. The violation under international law must be one that is endorsed by the civilized world and defined with the specificity of those crimes that were considered violations of international law at the time the ATS was passed (meaning: slavery, safe conduct, and protection of ambassadors).

Now, international law doesn't happen overnight. There is no moment when an international law is passed. A court must look to treaties, the widespread practice of nations out of a sense of legal obligation, the writings of jurists, the resolutions of intergovernmental bodies (like the UN) - all of these pieces of evidence have to be accumulated, and then the norm appears. The Supreme Court made it clear that international law evolves - after all, torture was not a violation of international law a the time the ATS was passed. I mean, hey - remember the French Revolution? But now, the world recognizes under international law those most horrid of crimes: torture, obviously, but also genocide, extrajudicial killing, war crimes, apartheid, nonconsensual human experimentation, mass rape as a weapon during armed conflict. At first, ATS cases were filed against individuals who had violated international human rights norms, but lawyers began bringing cases against corporations who had made murder or genocide of innocent people a part of their business plan, all to turn a profit. There was (and is - some of these are still ongoing) Unocal, Rio Tinto, Pfizer, Coca-Cola, Dutch Shell, Adhikari, Khulumani. Many more are in various stages of litigation or appeal.

The ATS is a last ditch effort for most of these plaintiffs who have suffered abuses by corporations. No other country holds corporations civilly liable for, specifically, a violation of the laws of nations, or will hold a corporation liable for what occurs outside its national borders (however, ALL nations hold corporations liable for their torts, even if those human rights claims are brought under other claims and other names). The plaintiffs usually cannot bring suit in their own countries because the corporation is working with the government, or it means they will put themselves in danger, or the court system is corrupt or ineffective (some of these cases come from Burma, Nigeria, Sudan, or Somalia). Corporations are almost impossible to hold criminally liable, because, I mean: you need intent to be found guilty of a criminal act. How can a legal fiction have an intent? And then how can you throw it in jail? And so the ATS is the last chance for those who have been among the most oppressed and abused on the planet to seek justice and reparation. That one sentence statute was all that was standing in the way of corporate impunity.

And it looks like it may not even be able to do that anymore.

The first blow was the Kiobel decision out of the Second Circuit, holding that corporations can NEVER be held liable for their human rights violations. This decision means a couple of super scary things: 1. If you want to commit human rights violations, just incorporate! Total immunity! Now go off and commit genocide! 2. Corporations now have greater immunity than nations against lawsuits; 3. We can try to go after the individuals who ordered the human rights violation, like CEO's, but that's extremely hard evidence to get a hold of with the specificity of detail required to keep the court from dismissing it, and anyway: the corporation that makes violating human rights norms a business plan gets to keep the profits of its illegal actions; 4. In the current world we live in, where corporations have more and more rights and are taking on more and more activities that used to be reserved for states, this is a scary proposition. I mean, FUCK, after Citizens United, corporations have free speech rights in this country, but they cannot be held liable for KILLING OFF AN ENTIRE VILLAGE OF INDIGENOUS PEOPLE so they can build a pipeline and make more money.

THIS IS THE WORLD WE LIVE IN.

The second blow was the Supreme Court refusing to hear the Talisman case, which ALSO came out of the Second Circuit and, strangely, was argued the same day as Kiobel but came out totally differently (Second Circuit, WHAT). Talisman held that in order for a corporation to be held liable, plaitiffs have to prove the corporation had the intent to commit the human rights violations. Now, wait a minute, you might be saying. Isn't that why we don't hold corporations criminally liable? Because we can't prove they had the intent to commit the crime? And you would be savvy if you thought that, and you would be SMARTER THAN THE SECOND CIRCUIT. Again, how the hell to you prove a fiction had the purpose to commit a crime? You can't. And so Talisman was appealed, because essentially, if that's the standard plaintiffs have to meet to file a civil claim against a corporation, you might as well not bother. It's impossible. Many of us hoped that Talisman would be accepted by the Supreme Court so we could hear once and for all corporations could be held liable (we think we had the justices for this), and maybe get a better standard of liability, one that is not impossible to meet.*

If you are wondering where I come in, I am no impartial observer. I am currently part of a team litigating a human trafficking with an ATS claim in it. I worked on the briefs for the cert. petition asking the Supreme Court to take Talisman this summer. I am currently working on the briefs petitioning for a rehearing of Kiobel in the Second Circuit; if Kiobel stands, not only does that mean NO corporate ATS cases can be brought in the Second Circuit anymore, but the belief that corporations should never be held liable will spread like a virus to the other circuits, and then corporate impunity will be complete.** I don't want to be a lawyer in that world, because I've always wanted to litigate international human rights, and corporations are the biggest offenders; but I just also don't want to be a person in that world. I don't want to imagine a future with complete corporate impunity.

That's where we stand. The Second Circuit rarely rehears cases, but Kiobel, having split the circuit, might (MIGHT) have a chance for an en banc hearing - and that's where the fight will move if it's accepted (although we can't fix the shitty precedent in Talisman). And if it's not, well . . . we can try to keep corporate impunity from spreading. Right now, only the Eleventh Circuit has ruled decisively that corporations can be held (although, of course, that could change). Rio Tinto was just heard en banc in the Ninth Circuit, and the question about corporate liability was raised at oral argument - we'll see how that one comes down. Or we can look for other places to move the fight. We're going to have to move the fight. There's already discussion about how to do this. But no one's quite sure which way to go next.

The angels are down, guys. We are. But we're still going to fight. We're just regrouping right now. And fuck, we have justice on our side; you'd always hope that would be enough. Maybe someday it will be.

* Folks thought it extremely likely SCOTUS would take Talisman, but here's the wrinkle no one expected - Sotomayor recused herself from deciding on cert. No one is sure why - perhaps because the case came out of the Second Circuit, where she used to be on the bench? Anyway, if the liberals weren't sure they could win that one with only 8 justices on the bench, they may have voted against taking Talisman, as it could have split the court, or created some very bad precedent.

** There has been a concerted push recently by corporations to get these cases thrown out, and it seems like they're starting to see the money they're throwing at "experts" to argue for them is paying off - a district court in California has now also held that corporations can never be held liable for violations of human rights norms.

Mad Men Season 4, Episode 11: I write letters

2010-10-04T10:32:00.000-04:00

Dear Faye,

You are awesome. Go find someone better than Don Draper. His storyline of desperately needing women to babysit him, save him, and/or fix him is getting really old. Pull a Joan.

Sincerely,
Gayle

Let's hear it for the girls! Part II

2010-10-03T00:32:00.001-04:00

(Part I is here)

You know what never ceases to amaze me? The fact that dudes who act an asshole think women don't speak to each other.

Let Gayle tell you a little story about high school, and about one of those awesome lady friends that I went to high school with. When we were, I don't know, I think sophomores, we were both friends with this dude who was a senior. One night he came over to my house to hang out, and we ended up making out. So I called my lady friend, and I said, "Lady, you won't BELIEVE what I just did!" And she said, "Really? Because you won't believe who I made out with this afternoon!" And I squealed, "Oh my god, I made out with someone, too! Who'd you hook up with???" And she said, "This Dude!" And I was silent for a bit. And then I said, "THAT'S FUNNY. Because that's who I JUST MADE OUT WITH." And there was another moment of silence. And into that void she asked, "WAIT. Does that mean we are both now connected to each other on the hook-up chain FROM BOTH DIRECTIONS? YAY!" And then we dissolved into peals of laughter.

And after we were done giggling and determining that yes, indeed, we were now connected from both directions (ok, I have no idea what this means now, you guys, don't ask), we were like, uhhhhhh, WHAT. Because we were best friends. There was no way on this big green earth we would not talk to each other about smooching this dude. How did he think he'd get away with it?

The next time I saw this dude, I invited him over to my house. And he walked in to see my friend standing there, waiting for him, too. She said, "So." And that was as far as she got before he turned around and practically ran out the door.

Seriously, dudes, what the fuck? Does the old hypothetical question, "If a lady speaks and there isn't a dude around to hear her, does she make a sound?" baffle you? A wonderful lady and I became good friends last year, only to realize that two years before, my boyfriend at that time had cheated on me with her. We both immediately cut him off completely (the gmail, IT NEVER FORGETS). Lately, it's happened AGAIN, with some guy trying to manipulate two of us, and losing both of us. Dudes, HOW DO YOU THINK YOU'LL GET AWAY WITH THIS SHIT?

It reminds me of how little kids think of teachers - teachers cease to exist once the kids go home and school is over. Children cannot conceptualize their teachers as people, with lives and agency and existences beyond the one devoted to the little people. And I think maybe the dudes are similarly egocentric - they cannot imagine the ladies doing anything except revolving around them. The ladies cease to exist when they are not in the picture. And perhaps this is why EVERY DAMN MOVIE PRACTICALLY fails the Bechdel test. Ladies talking to each other? About their lives? And incidentally, the dudes in their lives, who, oh wait, they don't revolve around? WHAT? I know.

I am aware there are those women who think other women are at fault if the dude they are with cheats. This is the patriarchy speaking, having set up a system where women are seen as competition for other women, since the only way to achieve value is by having landed a man and his affections. But this has never been true of my friends, the women I choose to love and surround myself with. All of us, especially as we've gotten older and wiser, have gotten REALLY CLEAR on who our enemies are - and it's not other women. A friend maintains that feminism is one of those things one gets more radical about as one gets older, and I think he's right.

When I was teaching middle school, the girls would fight. And I would get all the girls in my classes together for "girl talks" (or whatever I would call it, the girls would laugh because I'd always insist on changing the name of every meeting to something like "lady liaison" or "chick chat" or "femme fest" because WHY NOT) and we would have really honest conversations. And listen to one another. And I'd say, "Ok, I want you to identify the biggest problems in your lives." And they'd speak, and I'd be like, hey, gosh, I see patterns, now who are those problems coming from? Who makes it hardest for you? And let me tell you after that revelation, god help the boy who said anything that hinted of sexual harassment to one of the girls, because then he had to face a collective female wrath. It was AWESOME.

So, gentleman, I know you think you're the bees' knees and nearly literally the sun in the sky, but we don't revolve around you. And we speak. To each other. And we care deeply for each other. And we know who the enemy is. Next time you try to lie and deceive and manipulate some women, maybe you should think twice. We will actually find out! And then, there is the collective female wrath thing. And let me tell you, it is indeed AWESOME.

Mad Men Season 4, Episode 10: We all know a Don Draper

2010-10-02T16:09:00.000-04:00

Ok, I think next week (INSH'ALLAH) I will be back to actually getting these things posted on Monday.

There was a lot that went on in the last episode of Mad Men, but one thing particularly struck me, and it was personal, and it was this: Oh god, I think I know a LOT of people like Don Draper.

And by that I mean, self-sabotagers.

So, here's Don. He is FINALLY having a seemingly adult relationship! It is nice! And instead of hiding everything, he tells this lady things! And allows himself to be vulnerable with her! And treats her with respect! It's been a pleasure to watch, because mostly it is uncomfortable watching rampant misogyny and assrocket behavior all the time from the main character who is really hard not to cheer for.

So, all is going well, and then there is that final scene where he is eye-balling his lovely temporary secretary, and we think: well, here we go again.

I have met a shocking number of adults who seem to be making smart, healthy choices until they need to fuck everything up. And I think that has to do with both comfort with themselves and their ability to be vulnerable. Ever had a really intense interaction with someone where xe really opened up, but then afterwards had to take a step back and put up some walls because xe felt too exposed and freaked out? I wonder if Don will do the same thing - he's never stayed with women he's been honest and open with. It's hard for him to be vulnerable. And though he can do it for short periods, he usually steps back and then self-sabotages to get a comfortable distance between himself and anyone who really knows him. I wondered, when he told his secret to Faye, if that would be the beginning of the end of their relationship. We'll see, but for too many people I know, they would immediately be looking for ways out of such exposure to another person. And his secretary may be the perfect way to sabotage a wonderfully grown-up relationship.

Other thoughts:

- I missed Peggy, the end.
- Did Joan really go through with the abortion? We never saw it. I wasn't sure.
- WHOA with Lane's dad beating him. I also was really uncomfortable watching Lane with his black, much younger girlfriend - uhhhh, creepy, and it seemed like his way of saying "fuck you" to his former life.
- SCDP is facing disaster. There is a sense of impending doom for the agency. What explosive things do you think the writers will throw at us, with 3 episodes left?
- Pete's not wrong, necessarily, about things, but I really want someone to punch him in the face. He's such an egocentric DICK about everything all the time, although for all his whinging, he's still incredibly loyal to Don.
- I've been holding my breath, waiting for Roger to have another heart attack. Now he's gobbling heart pills. Seems I can't exhale anytime soon.

I get the last word.

2010-10-02T15:30:00.003-04:00

To answer the question, yes - the city wants you gone
and that's the only thing connecting us, but the connection is so strong
So how dare you assume that I'll sleep when you're dead
This is well outside the boundaries of acceptable behavior
I will not give you the go ahead and you will not be remembered fondly
I'm throwing down the gauntlet, fuck you this isn't your decision
and for all the holy fuck I give, your little spectacle is ended
But don't think for just one second you've honored your obligations to me
I'm serious look in my eyes, I don't find this funny
or whatever you imagine poetry and justice feels like when you combine them
I am not going to allow this on my watch buddy, nobody's impressed
with your imagined sacrifice device or insurmountable regret
You are not uniquely pained and if you go we won't be sorry
and who the hell are you to put me through the banality of watching this*
Cause many better men have gone for clearly better reasons and I
starkly must remind you that you have not even been trying
And that's the only thing remarkable about you, stop me if I'm lying . . .

* Update: The post was taken down. Here's the cached version - without an update at the bottom that was later added and that stated that "threatening" is beyond the pale. The day that it becomes a threat for songs to remind us of people, we're all off to jail, my friends [Update again! Cached version with that update].

I said this was "the last word." WALK ON, dude.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall

2010-09-30T22:38:00.003-04:00

Hello, Readers! Let's talk about boundaries! Or specifically: the hardest part about boundaries, are, hey, I am already destroyed, MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE HAD SOME BOUNDARIES THERE.

Basically, I am crap at figuring out when I need boundaries. Maybe you are like this, too. I will let people that are toxic and abusive get way too far before any self-preservation instinct kicks in.

I think it goes something like this - or, specifically, this is how it went with my last emotionally abusive partner. So, someone is abusive - they do something hurtful, or manipulative, or just generally pull some Bad Person shit on you. And it happens and you . . . don't really know what to do. Because, like, there is no manual for this thing; there is no equation where if X happens, that means Y. And most of us are loathe to imagine anyone we care about is a Bad Person. EVEN if they just did some serious Bad Person acts. So, the abuser apologizes, and maybe you stick up for yourself, and maybe you fight back, and then when everything smooths over, you feel proud. You fought back! You stuck up for yourseslf! Good for you!

The thing is, you take each event as a separate incident. So again, the abusive person pulls some Bad Person shit on you. And maybe you stand up for yourself again! And maybe you win! Yay! You are proud! But you are not seeing the pattern. You are just taking each episode as it comes, because, I mean, look, life is busy, and shit keeps coming up, and holy shit you are almost out of cat food. Who has time for long-term reflection? Besides, the person you care about/are very close friends with/are in love with, they can't possibly be a Bad Person. You are, in fact, invested in them NOT being a Bad Person.

And of course, if you're most ladies, I mean: you swallow down abuse almost EVERY. DAMN. DAY. You do not get angry. You do not react. When someone brushes against you on the subway, you shut down and try to pretend it isn't happening. When you get catcalled on the street, you just refuse to acknowledge it and walk faster. We ladies have been trained to be passive, not react, not get angry, try to excuse, try to understand the other person's feelings, question ourselves. Really, how can we expect ourselves to react any other way? It's really not that surprising we don't love a wall. We are so ill-equipped to build them.

So, you know. There is an abusive incident. And then another. And then another. And maybe you stuck up for yourself each time! Yay for you! But the thing about sticking up for yourself is: it is exhausting. And no one wants to keep fighting. And so you, as the non-Bad Person, start trying to avoid the fights. You start holding you tongue. Curtailing your behavior. You try to avoid instigating abusive episodes. And maybe you're successful for a while, but ultimately you're not. Because, even though you don't want to believe it, you are dealing with a Bad Person. And you can't fix them. Not by whittling away yourself.

And what happens is that eventually, after the abuser does something terrible to you for the umpteenth time, you will go to fight back and suddenly realize you have so neutered yourself, silenced yourself, cut yourself down to try to avoid all the fights, you're nearly silent, you don't know how to yell anymore, and there is not enough of you to fight back. And this is when you realize there is something very wrong here. Then maybe, you are like, uhhhh, hey. How did I get here?

The hardest part for me is seeing the pattern. It's taking a step back and seeing the repeated behaviors, the continuing abuse, the way the abusive cycle works, so that even though there are good moments, those are only to make up for the terrible ones, to keep me around until the next terrible ones. It's that perspective I have the hardest time with. I mean, once I'm out of a fucked up relationship, I can look back and be like, oh WOW, LOOK HOW FUCKED UP THAT WAS. But when you're in it, in the middle of it, just getting through the daily difficulties of it, it's hard to see anything at all.

My therapist used to ask me all the time, "Does this fit into a pattern? Think back." And I am trying to do this now. I am trying to stop after a Bad Person act, and think, wait: is this a clue? Is this bad act another piece of a puzzle that will eventually create the picture of a Bad Person? I recently cut someone out of my life completely, because after three days, I was like, uh, WAIT. And granted, by the time I realized there was a pattern, a great deal of damage had already been done. But still! Three days! I started looking for patterns! I saw them by the end of those three days! I was able to minimize the harm, and start fighting back. Small victories, people; I will take them.

So, boundaries. I wish there were angels that swooped down to alert us with blinking neon signs and possibly megaphones and those giant inflatable boxing gloves to punch some sense into us when we need to create some. But walls are hard to build - we don't have the skills to build them, especially if we are ladies, or we come from families where we have already been worn down from abuse, or we are too tired, or feel too small, or are too wrapped up in someone to see them as a Bad Person who maybe needs to be behind a boundary wall like no smaller than the Great Wall of China. Robert Frost is really anti-wall in his poem, and he disbelieves his neighbor's statement that "Good walls make good neighbors." Yeah, maybe they don't. But I am not so worried about my neighbors. It's when it comes to the people with whom we've been most intimate that walls make us safer, they make us saner, and let me tell you, after you have escaped and erected your boundaries and now can finally start to heal, something there is that REALLY LOVES a good wall.

Gayle has a fucking conniption, or: GOD THE U.S. SUCKS

2010-09-28T20:29:00.001-04:00

Ok, so for International Human Rights Lawyering class, Gayle's class is up to the section where we learn about reporting mechanisms to international human rights bodies, wherein every so many years, countries have to prepare a report as to the status of human rights within their borders. I am currently reading the report the U.S. turned in to the U.N. High Commissioner for Human Rights for 2010. It is possibly the most infuriating yet also the most hilarious thing I have read lately.

Do you think you have seen the United States at its most hysterically hypocritical already? My friends, prepare yourselves. My comments are in brackets and bold.

I.1 A more perfect union, a more perfect world

1. The story of the United States of America is one guided by universal values shared the world over [enslavement of people of color and the genocide of indigenous peoples?]—that all are created equal and endowed with inalienable rights [unless they are currently Muslim]. In the United States, these values have grounded our institutions and motivated the determination of our citizens to come ever closer to realizing these ideals [yeah, the Tea Crackers with their "anchor babies" and their racism . . . oh, wait, considering the universal values I mentioned up there . . . ]. Our Founders, who proclaimed their ambition “to form a more perfect Union,” bequeathed to us not a static condition but a perpetual aspiration and mission [Justice Scalia would like to make a rude hand gesture at you].

2. We present our first Universal Periodic Review (UPR) report in the context of our commitment to help to build a world in which universal rights give strength and direction to the nations, partnerships, and institutions [Guantanamo!] that can usher us toward a more perfect world [have these people never seen the movie Serenity?], a world characterized by, as President Obama has said, “a just peace based on the inherent rights and dignity of every individual.” [First, that is a terrible run-on sentence.][But right afterwards, Obama said, "But I get to kill whomever I want with no due process or judicial review! BWAHAHAHA"].

3. The U.S. has long been a cornerstone of the global economy and the global order [Yeah, and look at how well THAT turned out]. However, the most enduring contribution of the United States has been as a political experiment [We did some cool shit over 200 years ago, WE'RE DONE NOW]. The principles that all are created equal and endowed with inalienable rights were translated into promises [huh?] and, with [far too much] time, encoded into law [unless you're gay]. These simple but powerful principles have been the foundation upon which we have built the institutions [Guantanamo!] of a modern state that is accountable to its citizens [Except when it's not!] and whose laws are both legitimated by and limited by an enduring commitment to respect the rights of individuals. It is our political system that enables our economy and undergirds our global influence [Are they aware James Inhofe is a senator?]. As President Obama wrote in the preface to the recently published National Security Strategy, “democracy does not merely represent our better angels, it stands in opposition to aggression and injustice, and our support for universal rights is both fundamental to American leadership and a source of our strength in the world.” ["Now watch me detain people indefinitely! And prosecute a child soldier in violation of international law! BWAHAHAHA"] Part of that strength derives from our democracy’s capacity to adopt improvements based upon the firm foundation of our principled commitments [Ha!]. Our democracy is what allows us to acknowledge the realities of the world we live in, to recognize the opportunities to progress toward the fulfillment of an ideal, and to look to the future with pride and hope. [You guys, I do not even know what this sentence means]

4. The ideas that informed and inform the American experiment can be found all over the world, and the people who have built it [What do we think "it" refers to here? "Ideas" is the subject of the sentence. Who wrote this shit?] over centuries have come [sometimes forcibly] from every continent. The American experiment is a human experiment [literally, we do this]; the values on which it is based, including a commitment to human rights, are clearly engrained in our own national conscience, but they are also universal. [I think they employed middle schoolers to write this]

5. Echoing Eleanor Roosevelt [reference WIN], whose leadership was crucial to the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), Secretary of State Hillary Clinton has reaffirmed that “[h]uman rights are universal, but their experience is local. This is why we are committed to holding everyone to the same standard, including [EXCEPT] ourselves.” From the UDHR to the ensuing Covenants and beyond, the United States has played a central role in the internationalization of human rights law and institutions [Guantanamo!]. We associate ourselves with the many countries on all continents that are sincerely committed to advancing human rights [Saudi Arabia? Pakistan?], and we hope this UPR process will help us to strengthen our own system of human rights protections and encourage others to strengthen their commitments to human rights. [I BET IT WILL]

Shhhh.

2010-09-28T18:47:00.000-04:00

For all intents and purposes, I have shuttered my twitter account. I kept an account alive just so I could follow politics and news and feminist and legal stuff.

There's too much noise in my life; I am awfully busy, and it is feeling overwhelming. So I've quieted this little bit. If you were worried (and I don't presume!), Unnatural Forces is safe. Posting should resume here in a fashion (we are not yet done with Kiobel!) shortly . . . and should continue until we find out if the Supreme Court has taken the case I am working on, which, well, that could be any day now. I'll keep you updated.

Also! Twitter had become a little unsafe for me, a little painful. So please, don't take it personally if I unfollowed you or some such - it's not you. Unless you it was you, but then you'd already know that. But as I was recently asked about making boundaries, I feel like this is a fine example of Gayle making a boundary. Perhaps over time Twitter could have resumed being a fun place for me, but I cannot put that time or emotional forbearance in now. I have larger battles to which I need to devote everything I've got.

Everyone pray to whatever gods or non-gods or non-pray or whatever I DON'T CARE JUST SOMETHING that we can stop corporate impunity for gross human rights abuses. We've got a one sentence statute, blood, and justice on our side. Let's hope that will be enough.

Mad Men Season 4, Episode 9: Being a woman, it is hard.

2010-09-26T18:46:00.000-04:00

Hey! I am finally getting a Mad Men post up! And soon I will try to explain exactly where I went and what I am doing and the prospects of bringing human rights cases against corporations, BUT.

That last scene in Mad Men, with Peggy, Faye, and Joan all not speaking in the elevator? Woo.

I have to wonder if they weren't all wishing they could throw a temper tantrum like Sally Draper.

Here are three women who feel constrained by their roles all the time. Joan has had to only be a glorified secretary her whole life, when she is clearly more capable than everyone around her. After she plays by the rules and gets married like she's supposed to, she sees her husband shipped off to Vietnam. Peggy plays the Oppression Olympics, being able to see her own oppression without being able to understand her white privilege, but we've seen in previous episodes how frustrated she feels that she doesn't like what she's supposed to like. And then Abe, her closet smoocher, comes around and says things which devalue how hard she has had to work to make it in an industry which looks down on her, and patronizingly tells her she shouldn't want the job she's worked to succeed in.

And I really sympathize with Faye. Women, especially then, were defined by their ability to be mothers and nurturers; Don just assumes Faye will be good with Sally and deal with her properly. But Faye doesn't like kids, she is awkward with them, and she has made a choice to be successful and follow her career rather than become a wife and mother. That leaves her feeling like a freak, like she has failed. As someone who is 99% of the time happily wedded to her cause (namely: saving the world), there is still that 1% of the time when I feel like a freak, like I too have somehow failed at life. It's hard to leave the narratives of what you are supposed to be behind, and this is so true for Faye in the 60's, when she sees no other narratives, has no idea what her storyline could be because she is offered no others than the one she is sure she doesn't want.

It was funny (only because now we have hindsight) when Abe (who essentially is kinda a silly git) laughed about a civil rights march for women. But it's easy to laugh at - look at those three women in the elevator, silent, staring ahead. They have all had to fight so hard for what they have achieved, but have never been allowed to throw Sally's tantrum; they've had to suffer silently and alone. And they are still suffering silently and alone. If they turned to each other and spoke, think how much they could connect on, how much they could encourage each other, find commonalities, realize it's not just each of them but all of them that sexism is hurting.

And eventually, women will turn to each other, and tell their stories, and find common threads. Consciousness raising will begin, and the Second Wave will crash over even SCDP. But until then, it's just Peggy, Joan, and Faye, a little shocked at having seen Sally Draper fight for what she wants, but maybe wishing they could scream and run away and hit back, too.

I'll be back eventually, folks.

2010-09-21T19:19:00.000-04:00

Gayle is trying to fix this.

Yeeeeaaaah, I know. There's no Mad Men post yet.

2010-09-20T20:34:00.000-04:00

It's coming. I have so much work to do tonight and the next couple of days that I actually almost burst into tears on my way home this evening.

And I'll write a post on THAT sometime. Whenever I have time. Which might be, like, December.

Sigh. At least I'm trying to save the world, you know? Back to work.

Love,
Gayle

Look.

2010-09-18T23:35:00.002-04:00

She's home.

I've spoken briefly about my drawings here before, but never the muse who graces my banner here at Unnatural Forces.

She was a birthday gift for someone whom I loved dearly; Readers, I cannot tell you how much love and care and hope were poured into her creation. That someone was actually the former friend who became abusive, and whom I've written about here before. This drawing was for the man who, after I told him I was raped, became meaner and more careless with me, over and over, than I could have ever, ever believed was even possible. And I let it go on for so long, because I couldn't even believe it then, when it was happening.

I see this man around law school now, and when I do, a fear grips my belly and pours down my legs such that I think I may collapse. There is so much hurt and destroyed trust and betrayal and pain wrapped up in him for me; and I remember the rape, and my desperate attempts to survive it, and the points where I nearly gave up, because that is all inextricably intertwined with our friendship's descent into abuse. And when I get afraid after seeing him I get so angry at myself, because I am supposed to be strong, I am supposed to be powerful, but with him, there is no armor, no shield; everything that is most soft and vulnerable on me turns fragile and rice-paper-thin when it comes to him.

I was getting ready for bed just now when my roommate came upstairs and asked, "Have you seen your package?" No, I hadn't, but when she said it was huge, I went downstairs with her, intrigued. I saw his handwriting on the address label and knew exactly what was in the box.

She was carefully wrapped - he'd obviously handed her over to the shipping people to manage. I do in fact thank him for this. I had wondered what he'd do with her now. I didn't really care, not really, although it made me sad to think that he might just throw her into the garbage. I thought about writing him a note, something like, you know, if you're going to destroy her, please don't, just hand her back, but I didn't, because I also didn't want to imply that he had to return her. She was a gift. I gave her, and everything I wove into her, fully.

And now she's been returned. I don't really know how to feel about this. I am not feeling much. But I do know one emotion, and that is relief. I am glad she is home. It feels good to have her back. I may never sort all of my feelings out about this ex-friend, but with my muse, there is nothing but love.

It's nice to have that love returned. Maybe someday I will either be able to reclaim all the pieces of me that I'd tied to him, pull back all the parts of me that I'd handed him, or completely let them go, sever their connections, and let those spaces in me eventually regrow. So while returning a gift I made him may say something profound about him, or about our relationship, or the end of a great love affair, mostly, I am just feeling like a little piece of me has been put right back into place.

I don't think I'll sleep much tonight. But I think the bad dreams will stay away. Isn't that part of what muses are for, after all?

Gayle's crap roommates

2010-09-16T23:00:00.001-04:00

So, I desperately need to be working right now, but Readers, I ask you: is this pan "washed"? Does it strike you as "clean"?

Because this is what I encounter every time I go to cook now. I have the worst luck with roommates, I tell you WHAT.

My last batch of roommates moved out at the beginning of the summer, having all completed their master's programs. Of the three, two were lovely, and one was completely off her nutter. She was constantly trying to pay less rent in the house. First she argued that her bedroom was the "least safe" because she was on the second floor facing the backyard. That argument failed when the roommate who lived on that floor with her pointed out that if she was so unsafe, maybe she shouldn't go away for long periods of time and leave her windows unlocked and open, thereby making the rest of us unsafe (and how did we know she left her window open like that? We had a torrential downpour one day and the water coming in killed our wireless router, which was sitting right under her open window).

Then she tried to stop paying me for utilities. I threatened to sue her.

Next came the reasoning that because she was almost never in the house and stayed with her boyfriend so much, she shouldn't have to pay as much for the common spaces. She had a mathematical equation all worked up based on the square footage of common space we had and how often she used it and how much she should have to pay for it based on usage. I pointed out this was COMPLETELY daft, because it's not like when nobody is sitting in the living room, no one has to pay for it. If we all paid based on usage, we'd never pay the full monthly rent. So unless and until we can all be all over the house in all the common rooms all the time, her reasoning failed.

At some point, she started getting strange and paranoid and making threats and telling us if we made her uncomfortable IN HER! OWN! HOME! she was going to call the police on us and get us arrested. On the charge of what I do not know, although I like to imagine, because it's funny. Like, if rolling eyes were a crime, I know several people who would never get out from behind bars. But ANYWAY, at this point, I started saving all her correspondences with us, in case we needed a lawyer. Because she started getting aggressively weird. Like just standing and waiting in the hallway for over an hour to tell her floormate that the floormate was the most selfish, egocentric person on earth, and she better not go into her (the evil roommate's) room and "touch her things." This coming from a lady who never, ever once, in two years, cleaned the bathroom they shared. And then we got an email that if we went into her room and took her things, "she'd know," and she'd have us arrested.

Fun times, right?!?! I know. Then very suddenly in the middle of finals last semester, my landlord died (I was really upset about this - he was a really, really good man) (Example: he was kinder and gentler and more loving with my cats than any other human being on earth. Me included, I think. I miss him still). But because of this, appraisers had to be brought in to determine the value the house for the will and the executor of the estate. They showed up with my property manager while I was home studying, and my property manager came into my room and said, "Sooooo, do you know you're being videotaped?"

"Ummmm, what?" I asked him. "You're being videotaped," he said. "I don't understand what you are telling me," I responded.

He had walked into the roommate's room with the appraisers (the door had been shut, as she had been away), and there was a note on the wall that said, "SMILE! You're on camera!" And then there was a video camera attached to the top of her computer, taping. Which we didn't know about, because, you know, WE NEVER WENT INTO HER ROOM.

When those roommates left, I was praising the lord and shouting Hallelujah. Ahahahahaha.

Now I have these new roommates. They really are . . . not so bright, these roommates. The one who is a nurse, however, has proven herself a genuinely kindhearted human being, and thus I enjoy talking with her immensely, so it's not all terrible. That said, the roommate on my floor once told me about how it was true that an area of D.C. was not yet gentrified because she went there and there were "these crazy black people hanging around one of those crazy chicken places." And the roommate who left the bad chicken in the microwave - hey, remember that story? - is STILL an asshole, and when I got REALLY MAD AT HER last week for leaving the front door wide open ALL NIGHT so anyone could just walk into our home off of the busy street we live on (AGAIN)(!), she responded with an email that said, "Well I don't want to have to hear you having sex."

PLUS she cannot clean a pan.

Seriously, I do not care if I cannot afford to feed myself, I am living on my own after this year.

An update on the sex post! Or, Gayle has no fucking idea what she's talking about

2010-09-14T22:10:00.000-04:00

Hey, Readers, remember this post? Yeeeeeaaaaaaah.

Ok, so, I mentioned in that post that there was a possibility I would take a lover. And I did! And he is great! Also, he reads here, so: hey, dude. THANKS. Because he is a stellar partner; really, I could not ask for better. Yet somehow, after having sex, I haven't magically gotten over all my issues like I supposed I might! The past didn't just fall away and everything was smooth sailing from getting laid on out! Surprise!

Seriously, I don't know what I was thinking. It worries me that I am the primary decision maker in my life, given that I am so clearly full of shit.

Sex is great; but holy shit, it's hard. I have weird anxiety and panic attacks if I think about having sex. I get upset contemplating the sex I will have, or the sex I did have. Usually at some point after I have sex, I have to take a couple deep breaths and calm myself down, because some weird fear will grip me in the belly and I have to ease myself out of its hold. I am more easily triggered of late, and reading about abuse or rape has been harder.

And, you know, this is ok. I am working through it, I keep breathing, and I talk myself through declenching after I have seized up with panic. I wasn't really prepared for how hard this would be; I went right back to sex after I was raped, after all. But of course then, I had already begun forgetting the incident, and the boy who had caused it; every memory I ever had of him or us together was already being erased from my brain. I put that night into a nice, neat box and shoved it into the back of my head, hoping it would remain there forever. Now that that box has been burst open, well, sex is a lot more difficult to negotiate.

So, you know, there have been panic attacks. There have been nightmares. There have been flashbacks. These will undoubtedly get better. And I may not feel this, but I know this, because if there is one thing people do, it is heal.

There are ways that I am mitigating all of this, though, and that's through exerting as much control over sex and the place it has in my life as I can. So, when I plan a night with my lover, it is far in advance. I pick the time. It's in my house, my space. I dictate the agenda. I keep it in this little cordoned off area in my life, and I can deal with that. It has boundaries and walls, and as long as sex feels contained, I can deal. It is safe in that little walled-off place in my life. And I didn't realize how necessary this was, this need for me to control sex in order to feel safe, until two things happened.

The first is, I got a text from my lover on a random day, sexual in nature, and I freaked. I was all WHAT I CANNOT DEAL WHAT IS THIS HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME. And it was not even explicit, this text - it merely REMINDED me that we were going to have sex at some future date. But I couldn't handle it. I couldn't deal with a reminder that I have sex and I was going to get fucked, because it felt like sex was INVADING MY LIFE. Sex had showed up outside of its little walled off space and this felt like a betrayal, a surprise attack. Sex needs to behave; it needs to sit and STAY for me to continue having it right now. It must remain in it's little roped off corner for now and show me it will not hurt me before I let it out to play in another room. If sex is really good, I might give it reign of the whole house. Eventually. But right now: back behind the baby gate for sex.

The second thing that happened involved the opposite reaction. Someone with whom I have never had sex and have no future plans to have sex said something sexual to me. We were talking about politics, or some such, and then all of a sudden, he made a sexual comment. It wasn't rude, or obnoxious, or any of these things; it was a joke, and I recognized from an objective standpoint that were I not suffering from the rapebrain, I would have laughed and gone right along with it. It would have been fun and flirty. But the way this comment went down, the person might have said something in Pashtun. I responded, with, "Uhhhh, what?" Like, I couldn't get it. Because the person had brought up sex outside of the little area in which I have decided sex can play in my life, I couldn't understand what was being said to me. I couldn't switch gears. There is either sex, or not-sex in my life. There is no in between. These are not fluid categories right now.

The thing is, I can talk about sex. As an academic exercise. And also as an exercise on autopilot; I mean, jesus, I taught middle school for six years, I can talk about sex in any number of ways in my fucking sleep. But I don't understand it as applying to me in any real way in the rest of my life, nor can I handle any real encounters with sex outside of the controlled place I have allowed sex to inhabit.

It's weird, the way I am experiencing and managing sex, but I understand why this control is necessary right now. I understand why I am so protective of myself, and I think slowly, I will eventually be able to take down the walls, remove the gates, let sex start taking more forays out. Pretty soon, sex will be all over the house, and I will not be able to stop it from climbing the stairs or getting into all the closets, but that will be ok. And then maybe, when I don't feel the need to watch sex every minute to make sure it's not breaking something, maybe I can address the newest infant that's been banished to its playpen: INTIMACY.

But that's for another post.

Mad Man Season 4, Episode 8: It ain't easy being a working girl

2010-09-13T12:27:00.000-04:00

Yeah, Don is cleaning up, Betty gets called out for being a child, there's stuff there, but I want to mostly talk about Peggy and Joan.

Joan's line, that now Peggy has made Joan just a meaningless secretary and Peggy seem like a humorless bitch, were pretty much the only options seemingly for women in the workplace. You could be non-threatening and cajole and use the fact that you are a woman to wheedle things out of men or scold them like children, and Joan has this perfected; the problem is, at the end of the day, she doesn't have any real power. She can't fire Joey for sexual harassment (Note: FUCK YOU, JOEY. That "walking around like you're trying to get raped," comment makes me hope that right after you left the office with your things you got run over by a bus), and she can't control him, because that's the thing - any guy can always cut a woman down just for being female. Joan can never really get the upper-hand, because some asshole can always just tape a drawing to her window to remind her of her place. As a woman, you are ONE COMMENT AWAY from being cut down, from being made smaller, lesser than, powerless.

Joan's comment to Peggy was because she was mad. She has every right to be - she can't make the sexual harassment stop. But it was unfair, what she said to Peggy, because there was no win there - if Don had fired Joey, then it would have been a man defending a lady's character and preciousness, and that would have been business as usual. Joan's comment that Peggy fired Joey for herself is true, but not something bad - every woman who has to be in an atmosphere of sexual harassment, whether it is directed at them or not, is unsafe, and devalued. But Peggy DOES value Joan, and I hope at some point Joan sees that. Joan has never been one for sisterhood, but Peggy has. I wonder what will happen between them later - will Joan get over her jealousy? As the feminist movement grows, will she be able to join? I wonder.

Peggy is still awesome. I love that Don tells her to just go fire Joey - she hesitates for a moment, realizing she has real power, and then she embraces it. Also, when she is watching the dudes fuck with the vending machine, her comment, "I feel like Margaret Mead," made me laugh SO HARD. But with Joey being gone - I mean, the art guy knows Peggy is not a humorless bitch and a prude - she's already shown him up. And now that the guys know who is pulling the strings and that there is no culture of impunity, I am hoping they shape up. That homosocial environment where guys try to see who can be the most childish and misogynist as a "joke" is a really sick, stuck place for everyone, and neither Peggy nor Joan have to put up with it anymore.

And apropos of nothing, I want Peggy's navy and red dress, the end.

Ok, guys, thoughts? About Betty and how she can only interact with Don if she can feel smug and superior to him? And the fact she is such a child? And I really enjoyed watching Don on that date with the woman at the office whose name I forget, but that was nice, right? And Don actually knowing enough about himself to onyl take her to her door, because that's as far as he could go? And his attempting to quit drinking, with ALL THOSE SHOTS of alcohol all episode?

Have at it - what did you think?

I have an awful case of rapebrain tonight.

2010-09-12T22:28:00.000-04:00

Also, guess whose rapist has disappeared off Facebook? Why does this bother me? Because I think NOT knowing about him or what he is up to means he could be ANYWHERE, doing ANYTHING, and that is far scarier. Also: it might mean he is in a bad place, and doing some bad shit again, with the no Facebook page. And for some reason I got onto replaying this, like, imagined scenario, in my head today, of what if he dies: do I cry? Do I go to the funeral for closure? Do I just get furious, or finally tell all the people who mutually know us what happened? I DON'T KNOW. And I don't know how I got there, with that particular fantasy, or like what the fuck my brain is up to. But I am struggling with issues around sex and intimacy and relationships (like apparently, if you like me, and you express wanting to be with me, I might freak out! Because I was raped by a kid with whom I was involved on and off for ten years and also did indeed consider My Greatest Love! And hey, that makes me a little weird about anyone asserting they like me, apparently! Or getting too close or intimate! Who knew!) tonight, and so, yeah. I am also trying to get work done. So, fuck it, I am leaving you possibly my favorite poem I have ever written about myself. It is especially true tonight.

Extraneous Metaphors

words of snide courtesy fit me to a "t."

a thing is nothing until it is named.
we pick up cups by their verbal handles
and know to drink from them.
you could crack me like an egg -
with pressure from all sides evenly
then i may stay whole -
but one swift hit and i
am pure gold yolk dripping through
your fingers.
i would be called Delicate,
you would be afraid to touch me.
i would move into the china
cabinet and wait for dust to
line my edges like the teacups
at my elbows.

or i would be called Weak.
i would grow old then,
but more quickly growing
thin.
(you would see then, i am nothing
but waiting soul and
skin.)

I give you a links post! That I didn't have to put together!

2010-09-12T12:11:00.000-04:00

So my friend Punning Pundit, who is brilliant and wonderful and terribly endearing (although I may disagree with him on perhaps some political things)(but, you know, Gayle is fucking RADICAL; if she were to tell you one thing she is proud of, it is that she HOLDS the margin, and will defend it to the death, and will singlehandedly maintain that lefty-left position to keep the Overton window from moving any far fucking rightward)(someone has to do it, yo) writes a link round-up every Sunday.

And he very, very kindly links to your blogmistress every week. Even when she doesn't agree with him (see above).

He always has a really great list of things to go read, and since I am crap at link round-ups, I am sending you there for your Sunday reading.

Make some coffee, grab a cat (or, alternatively, ogle his cute cat at the top of the links), and enjoy enriching your brain.

Energy vampires and escaping the negativity spiral

2010-09-10T18:31:00.000-04:00

True story: Law school is institutionally perfect for learning how to always berate and belittle yourself, always feel like a failure, always feel like you made a terrible decision in going at all. I felt this for maybe a month, and then I got over it; some people feel this all three years. They get EXTREMELY anxious and nutty about everything. I stay away from those people.

Here's the story bit: The first year in law school is especially bad, but as I only fretted for maybe a month, I got a reputation for being calm, composed, and able to keep everything in perspective (this was in fact true). Right before an exam at the end of the year, a fellow student came up to me, obviously freaking out. "Gayle, you're good at this," she said. "Tell me something that will calm me down. I am bugging out right now."

And I looked at her, and said, "Uhhhh, you're not a rape victim in war-torn Congo, you're just taking a test, so fucking get over yourself?"

She looked at me and said, "You're RIGHT. Ok. Good. Thank you. I am calmer now." And walked off.

I say this, because it has been particularly grating hearing everyone around me whinge and complain and be so fucking negative. You would not BELIEVE the anxiety around people who are worried about jobs after they graduate, fully assume the worst, and then act like the real victims of their imaginary assumptions. I hear from someone EVERY DAY how they wish they had done something differently, how they are beating themselves up, how they find they are lacking. This includes lately folks not in law school, too. My roommate walked in last night, and when I asked how she was, she IMMEDIATELY launched into, "Oh my god, I hate my life, I like don't have one," and continued on to list all the ways everything sucked.

It makes me not want to speak to anyone right now. And note: my roommate did not ask once how I was.

Now, I am the LAST person to say there should never be complaining. I think complaining sometimes can be really healthy and helpful - you get it all out there, and then you're over it, and then you move on. This is how I try to complain. I usually start with, "Ok, can I just whine for 5 minutes?" and then I whine and then I feel better, the end. But I am not talking about that kind of complaining. I am talking about the stewing on negativity that can come with professional complaining. Like, you get stuck in complaining mode, and instead of purging everything, you just feed off that negativity, and then that negativity infects everything else.

I am also not talking about people who are going through real-life, very-hard, completely understandably hellish shit. Those people aren't being negative; those people are trying to just survive. And often, they need to process that, and I really want to be there for those friends who need me for that. I am more than happy to listen.

It's the people who just don't have a single damn good thing to say and whinge for no reason and fixate on everything bad possible that are like energy vampires and make me want to hide in my room so they don't drain all of my goodwill out.

Because a couple things happen when I speak to these people: 1) I get erased. These people are TOTALLY into their own misery. And while misery may love company, it really doesn't - misery wants to talk AT other people, not WITH them, and it REALLY doesn't want to listen. And as I am not willing to play the complainy game so we can both just whinge AT each other, I disappear. 2) All of that negativity gets heaped on me, which I really don't need. I have SO MUCH WORK TO DO! In HUMAN RIGHTS! Like, I read about human trafficking a lot! Maybe I can't hear you complain about your day right now, because you are SO PRIVILEGED IT IS RIDICULOUS and it MAKES ME STABBY you are SO NEGATIVE ABOUT EVERYTHING.

I have been very careful about taking care of myself lately, because I know I will be working constantly, and it will be hard. I eat right. I run. I try to get myself in bed on time (this is only sometimes successful). I pay attention to little things, make mental notes all day about the little joys of just being alive. Like, today, on my run, I saw a baby squirrel! It was so tiny, and instead of running away, it threw it's tail over its head like if it couldn't see me, I couldn't see it. And I got really close and spoke to it until it looked at me from under its tail and stopped shaking. A bike ultimately scared it away, but is that not just fucking so cute and awesome?!?! It is. Life is awesome. I have overbooked my weekend, and I am sorta worried about getting work done, but I communed with a baby squirrel. Fuck yeah.

I just wish we could all be a little more mindful of our privilege, a little more grateful - and not ALL the time, obviously; I know we all have bad days or get depressed about the state of the world or generally can't be happy all the time. I just am really over all the negativity for negativity's sake. I want some space from it. So I guess I'll start making some myself: I have had some very intense, very lovely internet conversations and connections this week, and that has been incredible. I got internet hit on today, and it was very sweet, and I BLUSHED SO HARD. There was the baby squirrel! And also 8 frogs on the run today! And then there are big things to I am so happy about too, like: I get to do things that will help people every damn day. Isn't that an amazing opportunity????

Feel free to share what you are grateful or happy about in comments, but I just wanted to inject some positivity into the world. I am going to fight back with joy, damnit, because I refuse to end up in the negativity spiral right now. And if you are having a bad day, I am sending you love, and happiness, because I have extra to spare, and maybe when you are ready, you can pass that on, too. Love fest, people. I want to be in one. I know we could all use it. So let's work on that.

Fuck America, seriously.

2010-09-09T20:17:00.001-04:00

I am SO! OVER! MY COUNTRY! TODAY!

I am too tired and depressed to write a post, so, since misery loves company, here's why:

- The Jeppesen decision is a disgusting show of injustice, and reminds me again why I have REALLY MASSIVE ANGER at Obama. And why if the Democratic strategy for the November elections really is, "They suck worse, " Democrats will lose massively, because Obama is the "they," and there is no "worse."

- More on why I'm disgusted with Obama - he orders more troops to the border! All so they can rape and torture!

- Everyone who wants to ding General Petraeus for his comments on how the Qu'ran burning priest might endanger American lives, SHUT THE FUCK UP. Because WHERE WERE YOU when the generals said that releasing the Abu Ghraib photos, which it turns out are indeed AS BAD AS WE THOUGHT, would kill American lives? Were you dinging the generals then, for infringing on free speech? Huh? *crickets* And ONE OF THESE THINGS would maybe have at least shed some light on abuses, brought SOME justice, vindicated some of the victims' stories, but funny how I didn't hear anyone complaining about generals infringing on our First Amendment rights then.

Also, I am tired of Americans acting like our exceptionalism means we can do whatever we want over here and there will be no consequences anywhere. Petraeus wasn't WRONG, and he didn't say it should not be allowed to occur, he pointed out that there is cause and effect in the world. I know we as Americans don't LIKE that natural law concept, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

- This is what happens in war: war crimes. Really awful, inhumane war crimes.

I am currently poking around on the internet looking for jobs abroad after I graduate. Anyone outside the U.S. want to hire an international human rights lawyer? Or at least let me sleep on your couch for a bit?

"The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you."

2010-09-07T22:25:00.001-04:00

Infinite Jest was a gift.

It was a gift from the first page to the last, every footnote, every storyline, every character in its complicated, tumbling, labyrinthine plot. It made me laugh aloud like nothing I'd ever encountered. It made me cry.

I have said, elsewhere, I think the book saved me. And I have thought more on that recently, and I do not think it saved me. It did.

There's a simple story here, and a longer one.

The simple story is: I took IJ with me to South Africa - it was my reading project, while I worked for three months at an international human rights and constitutional law organization. I've written about this before; my second week in Cape Town, my supervisor began to sexually harass me (the very first time, he cornered me in the office and tried to kiss me after we had a late meeting with clients and everyone else had left). He kept pressuring me. I said NO, and I set firm boundaries I thought he would respect, and seemingly did, for a time. But mostly, he was waiting until he could put me in a vulnerable position again - getting me alone with him in a car, where he drove us out to the middle of nowhere to assault me.

This brought up all these memories of a rape I had successfully repressed. They flooded me, threatened to drown me, and I shut myself away for a week, refusing to go out, or eat much, or do anything but read IJ. At the end of the week, I finished the book. I closed it, cried for a long time, and then said, "Ok, I am going to face this now." And I did.

It was messy along the way. But here I am.

The longer story is not something I'll ever get down in words. It's about how ten years of loving someone, which also became 7 years of loving someone with a substance addiction (and who was the person who ended up raping me), made a lot more fucking sense after reading IJ. And how I was able to forgive myself for many of my choices in those ten years. And him, too. It's about how I could read this story about a character who was the PGOAT, the Prettiest Girl of All Time, and hate her, because of her beauty, and know what she was saying about me, and know she was me, too - she was everything that was ill and disturbed in my thinking about beauty and appearance after being raised in this patriarchy. She was my body dysmorphic disorder, while also my reminder to grant humanity to and empathy for all women, because we all suffer here, no matter our relative attractiveness. It was about being an athlete, and being smart, and those friendships that spring up from shared purpose and competition and just being together every damn day. It was about laughing at our society, our ridiculous, hyperbolic American culture, and being patient with us, too. There was depression in that book that I recognized as mine, or else it managed to recognize depression in a way I have never found captured in words before or ever will hence. The book made me feel seen, it made me feel loved, it made my memories suddenly click into place so they were clearer and more revealing.

There is an earnestness to IJ that I think many people miss, a calling for patience, kindness, not judging anyone or writing people off; those who discuss the book's irony don't seem to get how it's really not being ironic at all. I came across a quote from DFW the other night, where he said:

If you can think of times in your life that you’ve treated people with extraordinary decency and love, and pure uninterested concern, just because they were valuable as human beings. The ability to do that with ourselves. To treat ourselves the way we would treat a really good, precious friend. Or a tiny child of ours that we absolutely loved more than life itself. And I think it’s probably possible to achieve that. I think part of the job we’re here for is to learn how to do it. I know that sounds a little pious.

The post from whence this quote came goes on to ascribe this to some kind of pop psychology love-your-inner child thing, but I think that's ridiculous. It's pretty clear DFW was damn suspicious of such easy fixes and surface cures and cultural trends. But coming from someone who suffered severe depression, and who was not able to survive it, the quote means a lot; I mean, I know those depressions. I understand what he is saying. I know that that piety is the most revolutionary thing I will ever learn to do. It won't be saving the world, which I fully intend to do, which will be the revelation; loving myself, granting myself the kindness I do for others, will be. That is the far harder task. This gentleness, this generosity, suffuses all of IJ. And I think that kindness, for everything, even myself, is the reason I did not give up right then. I think that's why I gave myself time and space to breathe through it. And why I am still here, still having to remind myself to just keep breathing, but breathing nonetheless.

Look, some of this is not ONLY the powers of IJ: sometimes books resonate with us, sometimes they don't, and we all know that may have more to do with us as readers, the state we are in, where we are physically, emotionally, in terms of maturity, or even geography, rather than with the book. I have started books where I just couldn't get into them, put them down, picked them up years later, and loved them. There are books I have loved more because I read them in a foreign country, books I have hated because I did not read them in the U.S., books that hurt too much, were too depressing, were too dour or too fluffy and trite to handle at a given point. So I think there are an awful lot of variables here that CAN'T be explained about why I love a book - because then I'd have to launch into my entire life history up until that point when the book just NAILED something PERFECTLY in my life to really get to the heart of the question.

IJ is that book for me. I would have to start with my first living memory and tell you all I could remember up to and including all the little moments of my days that summer in South Africa to explain what made me love this book more than any others. I do know that when everything was crashing down around me, when the panic attacks came violently and swiftly, when I contemplated taking the elevator of my apartment building to the roof and stepping off because I could not possibly ever comprehend how the person I had loved most in the world had raped me, David Foster Wallace's words, his difficult, hilarious, brilliant book, is what saved me.

Mad Men Season 4, Episode 7: Uh?

2010-09-06T16:03:00.000-04:00

Guys, Don and Peggy?

I don't know.

Some thoughts: I love when Peggy she says she knows what she is supposed to want, but it never feels right, and it never feels as important as her job. This sentence could stand as my whole fucking life and the way I approach my work. There is also that alcoholic thing going on, and as the victim of a partner with substance abuse problems that was hard to watch, where Peggy was supposed to be mother everyone behaving badly. Don just told Peggy more about his life than almost anyone else when we know he is notoriously secret, and what was that hand holding at the end?

There is something I love about the way Don and Peggy interact, too. I mean, not his sexism, or the way he uses her to substitute for his own lack of life, but the way they meet each other, the way they are platonic, the way they talk to each other as equals. Even when they fight, there is a profound amount of respect each has for the other. Don uses Peggy, and its gross, and while I want Peggy to fight back I find she responds to people much as I do, getting trapped in that place where people are a mess and need help and even though you know you should push them away, you can't help yourself but go to them, because you hate to see anyone suffer.

And back to that hand holding - was that a thank you? Or was that more?

Discuss.

Yeah, I KNOW IT SUCKS; or how not to be an asshole to someone with celiac disease

2010-09-05T14:27:00.002-04:00

Yeah, I have celiacs, and let me just state on the record that I am fully aware that it sucks. It is deeply, deeply, annoying. Thanks, I got that. It has also made my life IMMEASURABLY BETTER, such that I feel like I have a WHOLE NEW LIFE now that I am not eating the dreaded grain protein. And, ya know, I try to concentrate on that last bit. EVERY ONE ELSE IN THE WORLD, however, is fixated on how terrible celiacs is, and it makes me want to punch the whole world in the fucking face until it cuts that shit out.

I went to the park yesterday by the river to lay in the sun and read a gazillion pages of case materials for my clinic (I don't know if I mentioned here I am working on a trafficking case? I am. It is going to be an AMAZING experience). As I was walking home, I thought for a treat I'd stop in one of the newer cupcake places here in Old Town that I know makes gluten-free cupcakes (also for the record, Lavender Moon Cupcakery makes the best gluten-free cupcake I have ever, ever had. It's heaven, with frosting). While I was standing in line, the woman in front of me pointed to the gluten-free cupcakes and said to her friend, "Oh, UGH. Those must be awful." And so I spoke up and said, "Yeah, some of us don't have a choice, but thanks for that, much appreciated." The woman turned around and began to apologize, and the lady behind the counter attempted to convince her that they were actually really, really good because they were made with coconut flour, but basically, I was pissed.

Now do you walk up to people who are eating food you don't like and point to it and say, "OH, EWWW"? No, because you have manners. Yet you would not BELIEVE the lack of manners that come out when it comes to me and my celiac disease and my eating habits. And for a girl who struggles with eating problems, this never goes well. So here's a handy guide to not being an asshole to someone with celiac.

For those of you who live on other planets without google, celiac is an auto-immune disease (and NOT an allergy) where if you eat gluten, the protein found in many grains, your body decides to wage war on your small intestine. It's different from a wheat allergy, in that, well obviously, that's an allergy, but gluten is found in more grains than just wheat, so celiac folks have to cut out more grains and can't resort to, like, spelt, which has gluten. It's genetic, and it's estimated 1 out of every 113 people has it, so it's not especially rare. A lot of people have it and do not know, or they get diagnosed later in life (and some people with very bad arthritis go on gluten-free diets to reduce pain - gluten seems to cause a lot of swelling in the body). Many people who have been diagnosed with other illnesses, like Crohn's or Irritable Bowel Syndrome, are now getting tested for celiac's and finding that was actually the problem in the first place.

My stomach and digestive system used to be a MESS. For a long time, doctors and I assumed it was because I got so very very sick when I lived in India when I was 20 and 21 - and I do still have parasite problems, like amoebic dysentery flare-ups - those never totally go away (and they are as fun as they sound). But the problems just kept getting worse in my 20's - my stomach was often painfully big and bloated, I almost always had gut pain, I was tired and felt like I wasn't getting enough nutrition from food, I couldn't digest anything well. I finally had a doctor when I was 26 who said, um, I don't think this is just parasites, I think there is something else going on - and hooboy, was she right. The first week I was off gluten, it was like the very angels of heaven had come down and were singing hallelujah choruses just for me - the pain disappeared. The bloat was gone. I was sleeping well, feeling rested. I had more energy than I could ever remember. It felt nothing short of miraculous.

It thus took a while for the realization that this would also kind of suck, being gluten-free, to sink in. It means that my food is more expensive, I have trouble finding snacks if I need them and I am out and about (and I am hyploglycemic, so sometimes, I NEED THEM; I usually have to make sure I always have something on me), I can't do social things like eat pizza or drink beer, I have to cook a lot, it makes it hard for people to cook for me, I have to quiz waitstaff at restaurants and scour menus and ingredients lists, and I pretty much have to think about what I am putting in my body ALL THE TIME. And for someone who can get into pretty fucking unhealthy spirals over what I put in my mouth, this is not really helpful.

So, here's some things that are ALSO not helpful:

1. Do not react to someone telling you they have celiac by announcing that that sucks. As I've stated, WE KNOW. Also, it doesn't, and every time I try to be a normal person and eat wheat, I remember why it is awesome that I do not anymore. Do not look at the person with celiac as if you now can only pity them. I promise you, they are a lot happier to not be eating gluten at this point.

2. Don't get cranky if there is a thing involving cake for someone's birthday and I don't go. Look, no, I don't always need to eat what everyone else is eating and I don't always need to be accommodated (and I am a vegetarian, so I got over this long ago), but what WILL happen if I have no cake is someone will ask me if I am on a diet, which will make me want to stab them, and then I will have to explain why, and then answer all their questions (This usually begins with, "Oh my god, so what can you eat??? And if I am not feeling indulgent, I will only say, "ONLY GRASS. I have to go out and graze with the cows"), and then they will react with #1 above, and then I will have to go through this EIGHT MORE TIMES. Also, I will get at least three reactions like #3 below, and these are infinitely WORSE.

3. DO NOT TELL ME HOW LUCKY I AM BECAUSE THIS PROBABLY MEANS I CAN STAY THINNER. This is not a weight loss tool, how dare you suggest that about my auto-immune disease, and also, FUCK YOU.

4. Fucking google, people. Use it. Maybe I don't feel like talking about my celiacs today. Go learn yourself. If you are dying to know whether I can eat a certain thing or not, that's why phones connect to the interwebs now.

5. Do not announce you cannot survive/would die without pizza or beer or WHATEVER. You're being hyperbolic and stupid. You're also erasing the fact that people with celiac don't have a choice, and now you're just throwing their limited diets in their faces. Also, you are an ego-centric prick, and if you say this, I will respond to you with, "I know, I have to talk myself out of suicide EVERY DAY," and then I will glare at you in such a way as to make you uncomfortable, and it's really hard to tell whether I am kidding or not sometimes. You will feel bad. So let's not go through this.

6. If you are willing to cook for me for dinner or a potluck, great! Thank you! Now please do not text me every three seconds about whether the ingredients you are putting in are safe or not! See #4. Also, if the google doesn't know, I don't know either, so don't ask.

7. People with celiac are not on diets. I used to have a friend who would dangle bites of brownie or cake in front of me and say, "You know you want a bite," trying to tempt me into eating it. I am not trying to cut calories. You are not tempting me into eating yummy sweets I am depriving myself of by choice; no, what you are asking me to do is hurt myself, cause myself pain, and make myself sick. That's not cool.

8. ALSO do not eat yummy sweets I cannot have in front of me and announce, "Oh my god, I am so sorry you can't eat this, it's so good." You are now just as much a prick as the fucker in #5. But also don't say, oh, I won't eat this in front of you because you can't have it. I don't need to be coddled. I will not cry if you do. I am quite fine with you eating whatever in front of me. Just don't be precious about it.

9. DO NOT ALWAYS MAKE ME PICK THE FUCKING RESTAURANT. You would be amazed at how good I am at picking out the things I can eat from any menu. And if I have a problem with your choice, or I'm pretty sure I can't find much there, I will say something, but do not put all meal decisions (even the ones we make at home) on me.

10. All the weird ways that people make food and the food we put in our mouths and our eating habits public and about morality and up for comment, especially when it comes to women? All that shit, do no transfer it to me. What I eat is not up for comment. Don't put your eating issues on my disease, thanks.

I am quite sure there are more, but I am tired. But, if you are my friend, and you manage to not violate any of the above, I will make you some gluten-free brownies someday that will knock your socks off. You will take a bite, and groan, and your eyes will roll back in your head, and it will never occur to you that you need to inform me my celiac disease must suck ever, ever again.

*** Edited to add - someone brought up appropriate responses? I put them in a comment here.

Azrou helps me change the sheets, part a billion

2010-09-04T22:40:00.000-04:00

Yeah, I have like 3 posts in my head I need to write, but I am waking up early tomorrow to go trail running, and I am tired, and seriously, making the bed with Azrou is an ORDEAL. He loves playing in the sheets. I mean:

YAY SHEETS.

Thursday Night Crap Music Post

2010-09-02T20:50:00.000-04:00

Ok, so, I have this very serious post I need to write about being gay and being targeted in India and the Uganda anti-gay law and whatever, but I am not prepared (read: too drunk right now) to write it. So. We're gonna talk about COMPLETE BULLSHIT in this post, here we go.

You know who is so aggressively mediocre that I absolutely cannnot understand his popularity and I will immediately leave any space I am in, I don't care if they are about to award me the Nobel Peace Prize I am out of there, if they ever play him? Fucking Billy Joel, guys. Fuck that dude. He is SO AGGRESSIVELY CRAPPY.

Today, I went to my favorite vegetarian place near school for lunch in an effort to get something in my belly before I went to journal happy hour so I wouldn't get too drunk (OH WELL), and they were playing like the Best of Billy Joel or something. And I ate my lunch, and stayed for as long as I could, but DEAR SWEET JESUS Billy Joel is so bad. There wasn't a single song that wasn't somehow overly cheesy and melodramatic while yet tepid. And I am NOT the only one who thinks this. Anyway, I started texting a friend, trying to figure out which of his songs are the worst (and I may hate "Piano Man" the most, but I've had to hear it the most, and for me it's gone from tolerable if schlocky to brain-aneurysm-unbearable).

My friend said "We Didn't Start the Fire" was super fucking annoying to him. My vote is, "She's Always A Woman." This Village Voice article claims it is "I Go to Extremes." There are so many, really, to choose from (I feel like this is a very similar competition to the, like, worst Robin Williams' movie, as there are, again, so many painfully bad ones)(And I'd have to go with Patch Adams there).

So, Readers, what do you think: Which is the crappiest Billy Joel song? Or which is the crappiest Robin Williams movie, since I brought it up (Bicentennial Man- also really fucking bad)? Or just what crap piece of popular culture can you really not explain (example: Grey's Anatomy)? Or should Gayle really stop trying to post when she's drunk? Any and all of these questions beg to be answered. Lovely Readers, the answers are in your hands.

Hey folks! Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyy.

2010-09-02T09:02:00.000-04:00

So, seriously, I got nothing to say this morning. I just wanted to say, "Hi." I went to see The Vibrator Play last night (and here is the NY Times Review so you can get a better idea of the story) and so I have been thinking about orgasms like ALL morning, but I don't have any coherent anything to say about that yet. I have been pondering what female orgasms would look like, what my orgasms would look like, if porn and R-rated movies had never existed, and there weren't expectations by myself and others that I would come in a certain way. I have a meeting, a great deal of reading to do, and happy hour with my fellow journal colleagues today. It's still fucking hot out. If I end up on all un-air-conditioned subway cars AGAIN today, I will know god is officially fucking with me.

I just wanted to reach out and say, "Hey." Hi, Readers! This is an open thread. Share whatever you like! I'll see you in comments.

This must have been arranged by the God of Ridiculous Set-Ups

2010-09-02T00:13:00.000-04:00

Remember when I wrote that post about books that didn't change my life?

Turns out not only is the novel Ishmael CRAPPY, it is also apparently DANGEROUS in the wrong hands.

Weird, guys. So weird. I have to admit, my first reaction was to burst out laughing. NOT FUNNY the hostage-taking bit, I know, but still, ok, maybe the inspiration, a little funny.

- h/t to my high school ex-boyfriend, who texted me about this immediately. God bless that boy, I love him so.