Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Jessica Valenti is my feminist icon (but I still like Carrie Bradshaw)

I've been singing Jessica Valenti's praises since I first picked up her book Full Frontal Feminism in 2007. I bought it, went home, read it cover-to-cover, and thought, "At last! I've found her! My feminist self!"

She was funny. She was realistic. She said 'fuck' (a lot). But mainly, she was dead fucking on. As I blogged for The Bloomington Alternative after first discovering Valenti:
"The writing is accessible, funny, full of the actual f-word and other profanities, but most importantly, right to the point. She’s not talking strictly to heterosexual, white females; she recognizes that men also face sexist standards; and she addresses issues that young women deal with on a daily basis, whether we’re conscious of it or not."
Finally, I had found my brand of feminism. I was already a dedicated Bitch magazine reader; I'd taken a gender studies course or two; I had read plenty of feminist lit. Yet still not one feminist voice had completely struck a chord with me since my mother, the ultimate and initial feminist force in my life, had passed away in 2002. Valenti was speaking my language. I was in love.

Soon, I was jumping full-force into feminism in a way I never quite had before. I bookmarked Feministing, the blog Valenti founded, on both my home and work computers, and began telling anyone and everyone who would listen about it. I began paying attention to the news, advertisements, and pop culture in a way I never quite had before—and began blogging about it more and more. When I was interning for In These Times last fall, I suggested interviewing Valenti for a Web feature, "20 Questions," and actually squealed when I saw a reply email from her in my inbox. (I didn't actually interview her ultimately, but ITT did run the piece.)

In the last year, I really feel like I've grown into my feminist identity, and I have Valenti to thank for a lot of that. But my feminist identity started at a young age, with my mother constantly expounding feminist rhetoric my way (even if I didn't recognize it as such). I'd be remiss if I also didn't mention my father's role in shaping me as a feminist. He might not use the F-word directly, but damn if he isn't more of a feminist than some of the women I know. Not only did I get a first-hand glimpse of male-female relationships with an equal power balance from witnessing his relationship with my mom, he was always (if not so loudly as my mother) vocal that I could do anything a boy could do. I didn't realize until I was an adult how big of an influence that had, and continues to have, on the way I view relationships and my world in general.

And this is another reason why I so quickly fell in love with Valenti's brand of feminism: She got it! Men are feminists too! As she wrote in Full Frontal Feminism, "The same social mores that tell young women that they should be good little girls are telling guys to be tough, to quash their feelings, and even to be violent. Their problems are our problems, ladies. Men aren't born to rape and commit violence. Men aren't naturally 'tougher' emotionally. These gendered expectations hurt men like they hurt us."

Pot Kettle Pot Kettle Black!

In. LOVE.

Taking a break from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack to stomp all over my apartment. My bright red toenails really add to the effect.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Poetry Slam Tuesdays (and the true meaning of Xmas)

I know I've already featured Bukowski in the short-lived poetry slam Tuesday feature, but I just can't help it. One of my presents from Santa and Mrs. Claus (AKA Jay and Jasmine) was my favorite Bukowski collection, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense.

I love this collection so much that, as a gift, it made it into my Top 5 of the year. And believe me, competition was ROUGH this year. It started off with a bang on the 23rd when Jay handed me my early present, Mickey's Christmas Carol on DVD! (And some say I'm not getting paid for all this blogging!)

Yes, I realize I'm getting away from the thesis of this post, which was to delight you with the words of Bukowski, but all in time. For now I need to delight you with my Top 5 of Xmas '09. Cause that's the meaning of Christmas, right? Presents?

Top 5 of Xmas '09

5. Loafer Slippers (Not only are they super comfortable, they are also bright purple AND sparkly. Yes, sparkly. And the sparkles are a brilliant fuchsia tone.)
4. You Get So Alone... by Charles Bukowski
3. Dirty Dancing 20th Anniversary Edition Soundtrack! (YES!)
2. Sly Stone vintage tee
1. DIRTY DANCING: THE BOARD GAME

You might be reading this list and thinking, "There is absolutely no way one person got this many fantastic presents in one Christmas. It's just not fair." Especially not the same person who sunk lower in her chair when her nephews squealed as they opened their MarioKart Wii game and remote controlled spider, "Who are these from? This is awesome!" and the rest of her generous family said, "From all of us!"

Yeah, it's just not fair. That's what I'll be thinking as I dance around my living room to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, wearing my new slippers, Sly tee, and my new sweats. (The sweats didn't make my top 5 but probably should have, as I can't stop wearing them. I'm sick right now. Cut me some slack.) When I get worn out from doing the merengue and Johnny's Mambo, I'll be reading Bukowski aloud to the cats.

Right, Bukowski. The man. He didn't start writing poetry until he was 35-years-old. 35! That means I have just under a decade to get my act together! Hoorah!

A Friendly Pre-NYE Reminder...from your Grandma

Please, don't drunk text your grandma this NYE. Also, use a condom.



Via Bitch.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Take a seat, George C. Scott!

Because I'll always say Ebenezer Scrooge was best played by one Scrooge McDuck.



And Nephew Fred played by Daffy Duck?! Holy crap. It's genius. I hope I can find the old VHS tape at my dad's house this week so I can watch this in full. Then of course I'll be watching:



All Herbie wants is to be a dentist! A dentist, that's all.

I think it's officially Christmas now.

Poetry Slam Tuesdays: The Dreamiest of the Dream Songs

Dream Song 171
Go, ill-sped book, and whisper to her or 
storm out the message for her only ear 
that she is beautiful. 
Mention sunsets, be not silent of her eyes 
and mouth and other prospects, praise her size, 
say her figure is full. 

Say her small figure is heavenly & full, 
so as stunned Henry yatters like a fool 
& maketh little sense. 
Say she is soft in speech, stately in walking, 
modest at gatherings, and in every thing 
declare her excellence. 

And forget not, when the rest is wholly done 
and all of her splendors opened, one by one, 
to add that she likes Henry, 
for reasons unknown, and fate has bound them fast 
one to another in linkages that last 
and that are fair to see.
 -John Berryman

Thanks, C, for bringing this into my life. I started rereading it this morning after Mufasa spilled water all over my night stand in a cruel attempt to destroy the dream songs (and the other six books stacked there)! She's conniving, that cat.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Ho-ho-hoin...here, my dear, so give a kid a beer

This is the first song I'm requesting at Beth and Stephanie's Christmas party tonight.



I'm throwing a temper tantrum if I don't hear this tonight.