Buried Alive

In my laziest move to date*, I am starting two new series with the same post.

“Reassigning” will be a series on the ways we reassign different feelings upon coming to feminism, how the transition process works to redefine and change our behaviors. And when I say “we” I’m speaking theoretically, distantly (you don’t speak for my individualisticness pisaquari!–I know knob, I know). If I feel up to it I may chronicle a bit of my own journey.

The second, which I self-debated doing, is on Looks or Physical Appearance, as I have called it. Thinking I’ve sort of covered my feelings on this I still feel feminism has not addressed this problem for the widespread, self-esteem-crippling issue it is. That bothers me.

A question (or possibly just venting statement stamped with a rhetorical question mark) was posed in the “Physical Appearance” thread by Buggle–one I feel appropriately introduces both new series:

I am guilty of “not wanting to see” that physical attraction is just bullshit. I don’t want to lose that feeling of being attracted to my boyfriend- so I don’t want to really “go there.” I was noticing that this weekend, that is the inevitable conclusion, but I’m scared to go there. What will I lose out on? And what if he realizes that his attraction to me is based on bullshit?

Well, first of all, me too Buggle! Seeing physical attraction for the media-frenzied, constructed, cruel bull shit it is has some far-reaching implications. Re-worded: it changes the way we see everyone. For women, it changes a great deal of how we view ourselves. I’ll get into that with later posts but right now, for anticipation purposes, I am making this post an overview.

To go along with the Looks series you will have to accept the undeniable truth that there is no scientific proof our brains take innate pleasure in certain human physical features (sexist science studies omitted—Ultra Darwinists run along now). We construct that. This, perhaps, wouldn’t be such a problem except that we then dish out preferential treatment to those in possession of certain characteristics. And no, btw, having your own standards seemingly different from everyone else’s (puh!) does not negate your discriminatory behavior. That’s too close to Nice Guy syndrome for my tastes anyway.

(Oh, and dontchaknow, *individuals* tastes often look quite similar to media representations of “beauty”! Logic-Lobotomied-Lou sez…. “Must be true!!”)

As I have known it, those not wanting to admit to social constructs err on the side of privilege. The construct benefits them, gives them an extra boost by society whether it be acceptance, admiration, financial power, respect, pleasure (many times a combination)–all unfairly and all the while perpetuating a standard wherein other people not meeting the standard continue to be oppressed for it.

Luckily feminism is not (supposed to be!) a game of selfish indulgences in privilege. Once you find out/accept that some idea is fake it becomes devalued immediately. And then one can begin reassigning different emotional and intellectual weights to certain actions/beliefs. Thereby making us more aware which better gives us the tools for prevention which allows us to circumvent the problem (to the best of our abilities) which removes that much more power from the privilege/oppression system which means that much more harm is not being done.

My unsolicited advice then, to more specifically respond to Buggle’s quote, would be to say: there is nothing really to lose. Rather than looking at someone and saying “I don’t want to lose this physical attraction feeling” you simply do not register the physical characteristics with any emotional preference. You cannot lose what you do not believe exists.

But that is a process of education, perspective and time. (Oh and guts.) And like most aspect of feminism, dare I say, becomes a point of never looking back.

* I know: you waited over a week and all you got was a stinkin’ overview! The next couple posts are practically written, tho, promises.

I will be out of town today thru Wednesday.

Apologies on a bit of sloooowness here at Buried Alive lately.  I actually have several posts in my head but cannot seem to get them out without writing novels.  So: probably looking at more series upon my grand return.

Open thread.

Scary.

We studied Dubai a bit in business school–the hotels, the money, the sheer material gluttony. The profs didn’t do any sort of ethical critique. It was all to dangle carrots in front of the money hungry bottom-line thinkers known as business students (the kind that wore suits every day to class while schmoozing with the profs about stock quotes or investments or a host of other topics they knew nothing about).

So, while you anxiously await Sexual Stigma P. 2 I present you a study in excess with your host: the city of Dubai.

Do grab a barf bag.

dubai

It’s happening again. An entire generation is misinterpreting their fashions, posturings, fads, social sayings, humour and inner muse with some type of new way of doing things. It’s bad enough they are missing the bigger point, wherein minus the cosmetics and faux hawks they are the same ole shit but let’s chew on this: they are generational traditionalists/ repeats (oh no she didn’t).

Suffice to say generations desperate to find their own identity are participating in the same old cycle–doing some crap cut/paste job of culture, (mix-matching vintage and eco-whatever) while “raising the bar” and calling it ME. This some how gets conflated into being contemporary/better/more interesting and along the way the elders are supposed to feel so out of touch that they smile weakly while fading into a depressingly silent background. Well that’s the idea isn’t it. Nothing new here folks.

Not only does this feed ageism but now it seems we need to officially introduce another -ism into the mix: generational-ism. For example, my uncle is a generationalist: after his generation and all their little cultural practices/hang-ups the world went to hell in a hand basket. I am a screw up by default of my birthday.

Similarly if the idea of cutting up hookers does not suit your fancy you are likely some living fossil like a 70’s disco queen or a hippy or a survivor of the Depression.

Meet the true Creator of Cuttin’ Up Hookers apparel: Mr. Wha-what! Stefan Kane. (No that is not a caricature drawing at the top of this post showing him and his friend at the movies…). Mr. Kane is the one who derserves your attention too. Unfortunately I cannot find a way to get a hold of him, save a myspace message. But you are in luck cuzz know what? I’m a Generation-isms expert and I already know his response: he is simply mizunderstood–a victim of the hatas. He’s got a message! A point! Something to SAY.

While you ponder whatever the fuck it is he has to say you should also know that yesterday Alex the printer and distributor of Cuttin’ Up Hookers had more to say to me on e-mail than blog. I e-mailed him originally very confused as to how he could come to my blog and say he had no affiliation with the shirts when the internet crumb trail lead right to him. Aw shucks! Turns out he was mizunderstood too!

You see he was deeply troubled by this False Alex misrepresenting his reputation and wanted his image as the printer and distributer, Not Creator, set straight! And as you will read some of his points, while better articulated, were not that far from fake Alex.

Of course I let him know his attempt to salvage these shirts on the “joke” or “free speech” grounds was nonngetiable. His biggest response to that was pease-o-pease just take down those awful words mizunderstandin’ my position.

Well he was talking to the wrong blog for that. My last e-mail to him went unanswered yet strangely enough I read today he is done with Cuttin’ Up Hookers? Or maybe he is just done printing them but he will still distribute them? Or maybe now he will create them but not distribute? Or maybe he’ll just hire the high schoolers that model them? These tiny details of rather innocuous measure that are supposed to set him apart from the shirts run parallel with the Mizunderstood Generation’s tedious obsession with being this not that.

And those of us who dare challenge such margins need to accept OUR lacking in understanding.

Well this underling of the Gen Y supposed-to-wear-cutting-up-hooker-shirts says piss off!

“You just don’t get it” is a cop out. “Straight up.” It’s been used by every Mizunderstood Generation that’s ever been. And anyone who doesn’t get that needs to get with the times!

**UPDATE**: I cannot seem to find the Cuttin’ Up Hookers apparel line from District Lines. Could it be…?  Oh and you should keep yourself posted on the myspace page for the guy who punches babies–seems he is standing up for his rizzights!

Why do I have to like rock music? Like flies to shit these rock dudes….

On my way to work this morning, turn to one of the local rock stations hoping for music (b/c who wants to start the morning off with jackasses talking??) and I don’t hear music so I go to turn the station and “what’s this??…’porn addictions’” I hear. Whoa! So I listen for a minute, gather they have collected a couple third party “expert” dudes to talk about porn addictions and it’s effect on men. One guy is of the religious variety (of course!) and the other just a college-aged “former addict” who now works to get men on some buddy system to help, as he said, ween guys off the stuff.

The DJ’s were just straight up asshats about it, no surprise there. And nothing new to report on the porn front.

The porn experts, who reported countless cases of men having a terrible time stopping were laughed at. Why is it so hard?– “Hard”–good one dude!! Or I don’t see the big deal. Everything in moderation. You should be able to put it down anytime.

All the DJ’s started off the little round table like they watched porn so intermittently it practically didn’t exist in their life. Then it comes out, throughout the discussion, they all have these DVD collections and internet files and must bide their time between their porn viewing and dinner or their daughter’s volleyball game or whatever. The collection just, somehow, kept growing and growing…

One guy called in and claimed, “Jesus would have loved porn. It makes people happy.”

Another caller, a woman, was all confused, because why was this stuff so hard to quit?? MAN UP, she said.

Another DJ, later, wrapped it up for us:”It’s not a big deal, it’s natural. Men have to spread their seed.”

I want to remind people that this is 2008 and men are still saying SPREAD THEIR SEED. What are you? A bumblebee?

You are not HARDWIRED for spewing everywhere. Get over it!

I turned to another rock station and the first thing I hear is “If your wife were crippled would you bang some sluts?”

HOLY FUCK MY NICE MORNING.

So here’s my menz sympathy for the year: guys, you are going to have to be your own crusaders here and I actually feel for you. Women and men alike don’t want to come forth with what’s going on in the psyche of the pornsick. You are in a small small corner of the world and you are going to be made to feel smaller for it. Get used to it now.

Bumpy, rocky, jagged roads ahead.

Close that dropped jaw–hell yes I am against pornography and prostitution.

Apparently a host of really awesome bloggers are as well:

MANDATORY READING ASSIGNMENT

(Thank you for your work on this Burning Times)

There is nothing more indicative of Uncle Pat than a bunch of oppositional nuclear family units getting together to swap judgment over each others’ income bracket (gifts) and make underhanded remarks about the other’s age, failing (patriarchally constructed) looks, and weight (meet my family!) for Christmas. 

On Christmas Day this year I was called an asshole.  I was called an asshole by a really really big asshole (creepy perverted uncle to ice that cake) so I am still waiting to be insulted but, nevertheless, it is the reason for being called an asshole that I am interested in addressing. 

Somehow, and I don’t recall how because I don’t go advertising my opinions during BullshitTehHappiness Holidays, the topic of children and Christmas was brought up.  I was asked at what age I would tell my children Santa is not real.

If and when I decide to have/adopt children there will be no lies about a white Capitalist Dewd who runs a sizeist servant factory for lead-laden child-killer-toys.

I said it like this: “I don’t want my children ever thinking Santa is real.”

Family Chorus: WHAT?

“I don’t believe in Christmas,” I say “and I’ve never been a follower of Christ, so why would I?”  I add: “You people don’t follow Christianity by any stretch of the imagination either” for extra bite.

“No Christmas? No presents?  That’s cruel to kids!” says my aunt.  “How mean.” My aunt is a rather flamboyant yankee who loves shitstuffandshit.

“What about their imaginations and fantasy—you’re gonna take that away too?” asks my mom. 

Immediately I am reminded of the way the pornstitution works: construct a lie, indulge the lie in fantasy form, market it as porn—then feel so entitled to it that the lie becomes a “right” should any evil feminist question it.

“Yeah!” Chimes Auntie.  “Kids need to use their imaginations.”

Assuming children need lies to exalt their creative capacities is an insult to the mind.  Fantasy by way of lies is escapism.  Fantasy by way of truths is invention and advancement.   

I try not to be peeved.

I really hope, I tell them, my children’s imaginations are not considered compromised for never having drummed up all the ways a fictional creature delivers them materials.  More so,  I should think they’d feel quite flattered mom credited them with enough selflessness and brains to know this roving pink-cheeked (high blood pressure to be sure!) madman with bags of crap doesn’t exist! 

 I don’t want them thinking, I say, that giving is simply the reciprocal of receiving.

To this my mom waves me off like a puff in her face.  My aunt is still chewing on the word “reciprocal” when my Uncle blurts:

“You’re an asshole!  Don’t have kids!”

(Perspective time!  My Uncle came over to the United States some 20 odd years ago leaving growing children and an ex wife in Europe to be with my aunt.  As he tells it, he was an amazing parent having given his children all the tools they’d need to survive in the world thanks to his “discipline” techniques: a 2×4 and a fist…I should add his only daughter won’t speak to him and his son tried to swing dead from a noose last year…)

But, nevertheless, the Family Chorus agrees.  “[Pisaquari] is an asshole!”/rahrahrahrah 

Minutes later my younger sis walks in and immediately they are on her with their lassos, ready to reel in another for the Good Side*.

“[Pisaquari's sister],” they ask, “are you gonna tell your kids there is a Santa?”“

No,” says (radfemmy) little sister.  “That’s stupid.”

Yessssssss

Now matter how much I try explaining, to the point of going blue/teary-eyed in the face, I am shut down, shut out, called names, black-listed, accused of needing meds, or a variety of other defense tactics spewed from very closed, very scared minds.  But, you know, this is not for affect, not for attention–the things I say, the often radical philosophies I hold dearly to are BIG COMPLIMENTS to the capacities of people. 

Sometimes I am hopeful enough to think others will catch on. 

*HA!

“I need a new shade of lipstick.   It can’t make me look like a prostitute but it has make me look easy.”

Said the pregnant customer to my younger sister who works retail for the beauty industry (much to her disliking). 

Proof of the P in ‘07!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS YA’LL!

“Shine” Joni Mitchell

This is the kind of return album only Joni can make.  Pleasant enough to quietly soundtrack a still day and complex enough to split down the middle verse, arrangement, and sound.  She is so sharp.  As always she leaves you longing for those conversations you don’t have often enough with the best friend you wish you saw more.

Read about her grammy nom for “Shine” and other wonders here: www.JoniMitchell.com

“Icky Thump” White Stripes

Jack plays guitar against a backdrop of blues tradtions he chops and slaughters, using only the most ferocious and electric remains, to create his messy and acclaimed cut/paste style.  For many, his is an acquired sound, a new ear for blues that startles the unsuspecting with jumpy volume mixes.  Meg’s style, always suprisingly perfect for Jack’s playing, finds a new direction in the more Celtic and Spanish tracks. 

More on White Stripes here: www.whitestripes.com

The school system is infiltrated with teachers who reinforce the sexist, ageist, and racist ideals of this country. Being a mere 23 years old, male, and teaching in a local high school, I encounter ghouls of patriarchy on a daily basis.  Assuming the role of a baseball coach, and thus branded dominator of a group of dominators (young men), my status is somehow heightened within the school environment.  I feel as though I receive more respect than most teachers.  I am often asked “Isn’t that right coach,” as if I am end-all be-all to fact checking. Mind you, they never forget that word “coach”.  Oh now a male coach is in agreement so it must be true. Another example of this same patriarch dynamic would be when a mother tells her child, “I’m going to tell your dad how bad you were when he gets home”. Nothing is true until a male notarizes it.