Saturday, November 27, 2010

You Can't Tie a Rope to a Meat Hook

Dear Lil Sis,

Well, you are sitting next to me right now as I write this, your stinky feet way too close to my face.  You and I are in Phoenix, Arizona, seeing each other for the first time since you moved away from Iowa last December, and we are visiting Dad, and his wife, S.  There have been lots of inside jokes accumulating since we got here on Wednesday.  It's been an interesting visit so far.  Mostly because we had a huge family fight yesterday, and it was seriously so involved that it took until like, I don't know, five or six PM to resolve it, and it began pretty early in the morning.  I really don't want to rehash the fight, and I know that you don't want me to, either, but for the benefit of our readers I will say that a few things have been "fixed" in our family because of the fight.  For one thing, I think S feels more like family (and the fact that you know her name is a step in the right direction), which I finally understand matters to her, and for another thing, everyone's VERY clear on one fact: I don't eat onions.  Yes, the entire fight arose because S cooked onions, and then I puked during her Thanksgiving dinner because of it. 

But anyway.  The trip has turned out better than I thought it would, and maybe what we really needed was a big blow-out fight.  It's weird to think about, that a fight could be a good thing, but I guess there are times where it helps you get your feelings right out in the open or whatever, and everyone can just sift through what's been said and make some sense from it, make a plan. 

Also, my writing career is starting to take off.  That excites me big time.  I'm talking to a few agents, I'm getting help from one of my all-time favorite writers, and I'm publishing essays in great places.  So it's all very exciting.  I'm also super tired all of the time because of my narcolepsy and I'm starting to fall asleep, so I'm going to sign off now.  Sorry this was so boring.  Your turn to take it up a notch.  Let's talk about something very....not boring.

Love,

Big Sis

Monday, November 1, 2010

Dear Big Sis,

Wow. Has it really been more than a month since either of us has posted? A lot has happened for the two of us, I'm sure. I just can't seem to remember all that much of it.

Truthfully, the last month has been relatively tumultuous. I can't seem to reach any stability, and I find that many of my relationships have become volatile. It's not a pleasant feeling. It makes me feel like I'm incapable of stability, incapable of keeping maintaining healthy relationships.

I have been knitting, though. So far I have finished a scarf for S and a hat for K. Both came out beautifully, and I'm really proud of myself. So far S has received his, and he likes it. I really do like making things for people. My current project is a capelet (like a short cape) for M. It's going to take quiet a bit more time, but I think I can manage it. I already started, but I need to start over because it isn't big enough. C'est la vie.

I have a job interview next week! This is very exciting, and I really do hope it goes well. I have been trying to get my life turned around, which means I'm going to bed BEFORE 5am, and getting up at an appropriate time. And doing job applications, instead of putzing around all day avoiding them. They are stressful, but overall I feel better having done them than not doing them at all.

What else... well, the weather is changing outside, slowly. It was 90 degrees today, which I know isn't very Fall-like weather, but it was beautiful. I took a nap in the hammock, until Chris threw some beans on me. Yeah, don't ask. Apparently it's snowing already in Ithaca. God, I miss Ithaca. I miss the first real snow of the year. It's so exciting, and so foreboding. You know that once the snow begins, it doesn't really stop for 4-5 months. And snow is beautiful, absolutely, but there is just too. damn. much of it. In the meantime, I'll be here in Austin, enjoying the warm breezes and smell of slooowly decaying leaves.

I hope you find time to write back soon, as this sporadic posting doesn't bode well for the health of the blog. Love you.

-Little Sis.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Why Can't People Be More Like Seahorses?

Dear Lil Sis:

Ha.  That date sounds pretty atrocious.  But aren't bad dates rewarding in their own way?  They give you fodder for good bloggyposts, for one thing.  As for your previous post, I'm glad you painted your room, though you kind of became obsessed and it was funnay.  And--I've said this before and I'll say it again--your walls need little brown seahorses.  They're the perfect addition to class up any room.

I think the fact that you are so meta-aware of your own nervousness about writing in the public sphere is really telling.  It shows so much about our relationship.  I'm the writer by trade, I'm the Big Sis, I'm the one who has been enjoying her ability to write well for years and years.  You are the Lil Sis, you must by virtue of your age follow in my footsteps (or at least that was the case when we were younger), and you are lacking confidence, which is compounded by my success.  It's really unfortunate that this dynamic has been set up, though, because you are a good enough writer to do anything you want with it.  You could be famous, but instead you are nervous about a dippy little bloggy. 

I hope my saying all of that doesn't upset you.  I want the world to know how brilliant you are.  And if you don't want to pursue writing, then you are absolutely within your rights to do that.  But what shouldn't happen is you not pursuing a creative avenue simply because you feel inferior, or fear the possible outcome of inferiority to me.  I can't read your mind and I don't know if that's what's going on, exactly, but that is how it seems to me.  And I hope that in your life, you can do whatever you want to do, without being held back by anxieties or complexes or old dysfunctional dynamics.

In other words: I'm really proud of you and I have faith in you.

Meanwhile, speaking of writing careers, I am so confused about my own right now.  Well, I mean, I know for sure that I am and will be a novelist for always.  But as for making the cash?  I have no idea.  The two arenas of possibility right now seem to be writing professor or technical writer.  There are pluses and minuses to both.  I don't want to be incredibly stressed out my whole life, because, quite honestly, I do better with a little room to think and breathe, but I also have the most intense passion for writing and sharing it with others.  I think, and I can't believe I'm saying this, that I'm leaning toward professor.  But I need to work on my stress-management skills and my physical and mental health. 

Well, and I have been doing that.  I recently figured out two very important things:

1)I am allergic to all meat and shellfish, leaving fish as the only animal protein I can consume without my throat closing up or projectile vomiting.  Since I stopped eating meat, my chronic pain and migraines and stomach issues have gotten SO much better.

2)My chronic pain is stemming largely from plantar fasciitis, which my doctor told me I had some months ago.  I didn't realize that the pain from the bottoms of my feet was spreading up into my calves until recently, though.  I am taking care of my feet with stretches, icing, foot baths, and good shoes with orthotics, and I have high hopes that soon, the pain will be better.  I think it actually already is, somewhat.

So things are looking up, for sure.  I have a job interview tomorrow at this amazingly awesome research lab where they study schizophrenics who smoke pot WHILE getting a PET scan of their brains.  It doesn't get more interesting than that.  I really hope I get this job.

Anyway, I have homework for class today that I have yet to do, so I'm off to complete that.  Tell K's butt I said hi. 

Love,

Big Sis

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Dear Big Sis,

A letter within a letter, if you will.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Dear My Date From Last Tuesday,

Thank you for buying my pasta dinner. It was delicious, and a revelation that I can get such yummy, healthy-ish Italian food 5 minutes from my house. I will surely be returning there on a regular basis to get more of it.

But I won't be returning with you.

You see, there were a few things you did on our date that I deemed inappropriate and a total turn-off. For ease of reading, I shall break these faux pas into bullet points, so you can better process them and not fuck up the next date with someone else.

One.

When your date sits down and removes her button-down to reveal a modest tank top (after being outside in 95 degree Texan weather), overly awkward remarks about how "scandalous" it is for her to dress so "revealing" doesn't endear you to her, 10 minutes in, but instead makes her question not only her clothing choices, but your common sense too. Jokingly criticizing your date's clothes is a no-go. Implicitly calling her a whore? Also a bad idea, even if you are attempting sarcasm.

Two.

When your date puts her button-down back on when the restaurant has ramped up the A/C, commenting on her body's fluctuating temperatures by loudly asking/accusing her: "What are you, bipolar!?" is prooobably not going to get you laid. Ever. Especially when your date is, in fact, bipolar. To quote my favorite Liz Lemon of all the Liz Lemons, "that's a deal breaker!!" You are not only showing your complete insensitivy to individuals who have mental health conditions, but you show a woeful misunderstanding of what bipolarity really is. A quick lesson- being bipolar has nothing to do with fluctuating body temperatures.

A side point- don't talk about her body. And by you, I don't mean some general you. I mean you. Discussing a first date's body requires deftness of tone and the ability to be witty, two things you are greatly lacking.

Three.

When your date cannot remember immediately how old you are, don't aggressively ask her how many other women she is talking to. I didn't immediately recall how old you are because I'm talking up all the other ladieez, but because I have shitty memory (thanks, medications!), and also, your age really isn't that important to me. And since when did either of us agree that talking to other women is forbidden? We're on a first date, yo!

Four.

Spending the whole date talking about your fucked up family, all the jobs you've hated, and the details of your ex-relationships? Not a good idea.

Five.

Going on about your co-worker's revealing clothes and "porn shoes" just reinforces the budding suspicions planted by points one and three. That you have no problem slut-shaming women.

Six.

Admitting at dinner that you freaked out while on the phone previously when your date called your outing what it is: a date. I'm not sure why it wouldn't be a date, since we met on an online dating site, but not sounding enthused to use that label is worrying.

Alright My Date From Last Tuesday, I think that captures most of it. Because I'm feeling somewhat charitable, things you did right: laughed at most of my jokes. Told me a few times that I have a very outgoing, relatable personality. Buying me dinner. (Not because I'm old fashioned. I'm just poor and don't like to pay for shit. Ha!) Giving my unemployed ass a pretty solid job suggestion. And finally, hugging me goodbye instead of trying to kiss me (see points one through six).

Not yours,

Your Date From Last Tuesday

PS. If it makes you feel better, I went on an outing Friday with another woman, and we toootally meshed. I am optimistic that she will soon become a significant part of my life.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks Big Sis, I needed to get that off my chest. I'm relatively new to the dating scene (late bloomer like whoa), and going on bad dates is somewhat frustrating for me. Despite my previously mentioned outgoing personality, I can be slightly awkward on first dates, and being on one with a person twice as bad does. not. help.

Love,

Little Sis

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Paaaaint!

Dear Big Sis,

So I just got out of the shower, my hair is still dripping, and I am sitting on the couch writing a blog post. Because you told me to. So I am.

What should I really be doing right now? Probably getting dressed and moving furniture around my room, so I can finish painting the other two walls. Or applying for jobs. Or working on my finances. Or a million other things I have swept under the rug (so I don't get paint on them, I guess).

What color am I painting my room? This color. Except it's like, 500x brighter in real life. Once I redecorate my room with these, I think it will be much more tolerable. I hope. Otherwise I'll have to paint again, and I miiiight just lose my mind and paint the room neon pink/black stripes.

I'm not sure what to blog about. I'm out of practice; it's been a few weeks. Everything I am thinking about today is deeply personal and not appropriate for a public blog. I'm feeling vulnerable and anxious and unsettled today. I am somewhat convinced I am incapable of having a normal romantic relationship. I feel alone and simultaneously encroached upon. Basically my emotions are all right at the surface, vibrating strongly. It all probably has to do with my vastly fucked up sleep cycle, and having a bit too much fun during the weekend, so hopefully that will fade away as the days pass. But right now I would just like to get outside my head.

One positive thing happening right now is that I've picked up knitting again. I'm making this scarf for a close friend, and it is coming out GREAT. I forgot how much I love to knit, and the pure excitement I get from creating something. Even if I didn't make the pattern myself, or spin the yarn, I am so proud of myself for producing something. The ability to create something with your two hands is intoxicating.

In other good news, K is coming to visit! In two weeks! At the same time my house is having our annual co-op birthday party! Which I am planning! This is a good thing, a very good thing. I love K, and look forward to gallivanting around town with him. There will be red paint applied in an even up-down motion to the many walls of Austin. With primer applied first, of course. And plenty of time to dry before furniture is replaced. Ok, you're right, I'm obsessed.

And with that, I will go to get dressed. Sorry if this post was sub-par, but hopefully I'll be up to writing something a bit more engaging soon. Love you.

-Little Sis

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Friday, August 13, 2010

Oh Yeah. Blog.

Dear Little Sis,


Sorry I've been away for so long.  My dogs gorged themselves on 85 caplets of my high-dose vitamin D, and were maaaaybe gonna survive.  Well, they did, although 11 days later, one of them, Harry, is still in the ICU, because his potassium is way low, due to the diuretic they were giving him to flush the vitamin out of his system.  It is so low he actually collapsed while urinating, because his legs couldn't hold him up.  So they're trying to get his levels up and then he'll come home.  My other dog, Lux, got through pancreatitis and is home now, scratching her ear and then licking her paw, as we speak.  Yum.  It was a really difficult time.  I wrung my hands and cried.  But those pups pulled through, and here I am, back in the bloggysphere, as it were.

I am also sorry about your two rejections.  First of all, DreamJob was not so dreamy, from what I hear via a former disgruntled employee.   Who knows.  But it may be a blessing in disguise.  Despite the ostensible Dreaminess of said Job, it might have been a hardship for you to work there.  Sometimes things work out for the best, and it might be helpful for you to think of it that way.  So keep looking for jobs, is what I say.  It seems to me that you sometimes put all of your eggs in one ovary, you know?  You should extend your reach to all corners of Austin, and hope that something clicks.  Sometimes jobs don't work, like the one I just quit because I couldn't stay awake there.  But you can gain skills, pad your CV, and make some mooooolah.

Second of all, perhaps the other rejection was only half-rejection, and half loving honesty, for the sake of preserving whatever connection you and the rejector have.  I don't know.  But isn't it possible that you could also think of this differently?  I mean, yes, the rejector didn't choose you, or at least didn't choose you in the way you wanted to be chosen.  But--and you'll have to let me know--is it possible that you were valued enough to not be dismissed or ignored, but instead truthfully told what your standing was?  In that way, you are loved too.

I have always envied your ability to make and keep friendships, even over long distances.  I am a loner in a lot of ways, and that is one way that we are not alike.  I get overwhelmed by large groups of people, and sometimes even people one-on-one.  My brain just gets...fried.  I feel like I stuck my finger in a socket.  The fact that you have so much love buoying you up, both from you and for you, is, like you say, a real blessing.  I believe that will always be one of your strengths.  You also have some great skills, like cooking and writing and your sense of humor, and good looks + great hair, a maternal kindness toward the kiddies, and an entertaining cat.

So, what should we direct the conversation to now?  Noisy parrots?  Kashi frozen dinners?  Violent lightning?  Empty cat food cans?  Okay, now I'm just naming things I see. But I'd love to kno what you're interested in discussing.  And maybe I'll even be able to keep up.

Off to get my food out of the microwave.

Love,

Big Sis

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Please help!

This is not an ad...my dogs are struggling for their lives in the veterinary hospital.  Your payments will go securely to my paypal account so I can pay the vet and pay to save their lives.  If you have any questions, contact me and I'll tell you how to get in touch with the veterinary clinic to validate what's going on.  THANK YOU SO MUCH.

Monday, August 2, 2010

MEGA SIGH, yo.

Dear Big Sis,

LE SIGH, as they say. I got an email a few moments ago from DreamEmployer, telling me that I'm not right for the position, but they'd like to keep in touch. Oh, gee thanks.

That is the second big rejection I've received this week. Yet, despite knowing that the two things I've felt so strongly about lately have fallen through, I feel really powerful. I feel more like "me", whatever the hell that is, than I have in quite a while. I am sad, and lonely, and of course, feeling rejected, but I am more grateful for the things I *do* have than I was before. I have you, of course, the best sister anyone could ask for (minus the glaring oversight of not mailing me chocolate every single day), I have the women in my co-op who have been immensely supportive of me through all this, and hopefully will continue to be, and I have all my friends all over the country who loves me unconditionally despite my failings. Maybe even because of them. To have this giant network of people, who all love me and want only the best for me, that is a blessing. I am so, so grateful.

I will be fine. I will be fine. I will be fine.

With love and disappointment,

Little Sis

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Pri-pri-privilege!

Dear Big Sis,

Thanks for sharing that clip. And for all those out there reading in Bloggyland, please note that I was the original finder of that clip. So yes, I am the cooler one of the two of us.

You wrote a lot, and I'm kinda sleepy (staying up till 3am the previous night will do that to a person), so I cannot write too long a post. My first thought was in response to something you said, that I think needs to be clarified. You said:

So while I agree that privilege is largely about what we don't see, I'm not convinced that learning to open our eyes removes that privilege.

I'm not sure if you got this from my words or from the blog I linked to, but this is not at all what I intended to convey. Privilege, by definition, is not earned or deserved, but given based on inherent characteristics. Like being born white, or cisgender, or male. Things one cannot control. It is the aim of all anti-oppression activists to challenge their (and others') privilege. To bring into the light what is by nature invisible. But that unearthing does not suddenly sublimate the privilege into something less noxious, as the privilege has not been taken on by that person but has been granted. No, acknowledging privilege does not make it disappear, but it does weaken the systems that privilege supports. Tangential but related, this is often a complaint of 101 level anti-oppression activists who begin to challenge and address their own privileges. They ask (as I have myself in the past), "If I cannot remove my privilege, how am I supposed to make a change? What can I do to be an effective ally to those who are oppressed?" To this I answer, your responsibility is to be vigilant about your privileges, to not take advantage of said privileges, and to educate others about their privileges. To not get in the way of others who are trying to overcome being under-privileged. To listen. To being open to learning. That is a big part of being an anti-oppression activist.

I have thoughts on how you described the groom's crying. As a sociologist, I see most major character divisions we ascribe to people as socially constructed. This means that gender is not some inherent biological trait that is intrinsically connected with our genitals/chromosomes/whatever. Your gender is assigned to you, at birth ("it's a boy!" "sugar and spice and all things nice is what makes up a girl", etc.), and is rigidly enforced your whole life. This is why I find describing his crying as a womanly thing to do as problematic. Of course, I agree with you that there is nothing wrong with a man crying, or taking on typically feminine activities, but to call it womanly denies the wide spectrum of emotions that humans are capable of. I have guy friends who are very comfortable crying, and I have woman friends who are incapable of emoting sadness in any form. To call crying a woman-based trait is to reinforce those rigid gender roles, even if that is not your intent. By encouraging people to move past the gender binary, you are dismantling it. Sound familiar? (coughcoughprivilegecough)

Also, you said that by crying, the groom was letting go of his privilege. I also disagree with this sentiment. A major concept in feminist discourse is that the patriarchy does not just hurt women, but everyone. One way we can see this is in the intense pressure on men to not emote, to not cry, to be stoic and tough. I see this at the preschools I teach at, when the teachers admonish the little boys, telling them that "boys don't cry", and to "suck it up!". They almost never say this to the little girls. In this way, men are not privileged, because they are forced by a patriarchal, homophobic society to be NOTLIKEWOMEN, ie, to not cry. So he is not letting go of some male privilege to cry. He is challenging patriarchal ideas through a pretty radical act, which is great. Does that make sense? There is more to this idea, but as I said, I'm a shleepy motherfucker.

So, when I started this post, I was going to mention that I wanted to move away from social justice stuff for a while, because I spend most of my days reading about it on my own, and it tends to wipe me out. Let's talk about other stuff, ok?

Oh- before I forget- the new blog template you chose sucks cat titties. So tacky. (See for reference: me being the cooler sister)

What I do want to talk about is me. Shocker, that. Last Thursday was my 25th birthday. Being such a pretty, round number, it kind of hit me harder than the usual birthday. Which isn't to say that I didn't enjoy it, nay, I had a fabulous day. My housemate Tom gave me a get-one-free card he had filled up for this expensive smoothie shop down the road. That was yum. Then my other housemate, Chris, drove around Austin with me looking for free shit on my birthday. Apparently telling people it's your birthday isn't reason enough to be given swag. Maybe if I was 15 years younger. Then that evening my housemates + other close friends went to a great sushi restaurant up north. My housemates paid for my dinner (thanks Mike! And Sean!), and it was lovely. THEN, after that, I came home to find that Antonia (yet another housemate- did I mention to Bloggyland I live in an 18-person housing co-operative? More about that later.) had bought me a Bratz Doll pinata, which I promptly beat the living crap out of. Fun times! So yeah, it was a lovely day. I usually get disgruntled and antisocial on my birthday, for who-knows what reason, but this year was truly great. Thanks to all my friends/housemates for making it so stellar. I love you.

But still. I am 25. This past year has been kind of transformative. Come this Sunday it will be a whole year since I left Ithaca. I miss it terribly. I miss swimming in the gorges, the Chapter House (which will be my favorite bar from now until eternity), the smell of Ithaca in the autumn, autumn, the Commons, speeding around Cayuga Heights when I was feeling angry, swerving deer (no, not really), Grassroots Music Festival (which happened this past weekend- first one I've missed in probably 5 years), the rolling hills of upstate New York, and all the freaking WEIRDOS wandering around. The kind, fascinating weirdos. I have spent the past 6 years trying to figure out what it *is* about Ithaca that makes it so unique. I really haven't figured that out, and I don't know if I ever will. I do know that it would be close to impossible to replicate that magic anywhere else. Ithaca is my True North.

Except I'm not there anymore. I'm in Austin. And I love this city. It is not home to me, but I am enjoying the ride. It is a great place to be if you are young and curious. I'll write more about it another time. It is time for me to edit this post, then pass out. Tomorrow I get some big news, I hope, and I would like to be well rested to receive it. I guess I'm getting too old to stay up until 3am. Sigh.

Love,

(not so) Little Sis

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Shark Eats Plane

Dear Little Sis,

I didn't say I liked Taylor Swift.  I just happen to drive a car that doesn't have a CD player so sometimes I have to play the radio just in order to stay awake.  And except for La Roux, radio music totally sucks.

I really like that definition of privilege.  I mean, for example, I think I mentioned my new data entry job at ACT in a previous post, and to me, the whole idea of working in corporate America, or as a coworker called it, "Cubeland," is cute, a novelty, kind of entertaining in a I-won't-have-to-do-this-for-the-rest-of-my-life kind of way.  And it occurred to me at some point in the past day, that's my white upper-middle-class point of view, the POV of someone whose parents had the money to send her to an Ivy League college and support her through two graduate schools.  And it occurs to me now, it's also  the privileged point of view of a person with a high IQ, who has opportunities to move on to higher-paying jobs at some point by virtue of her education, skill set, and ability to be quick on the uptake.  So while I agree that privilege is largely about what we don't see, I'm not convinced that learning to open our eyes removes that privilege.

You know what I mean?  Even though I am starting to see myself as a smart, white girl from a wealthy upbringing, I still can't help but feel that working in a cubicle is kind of fun, only because it won't last.  To others, working in a cubicle might be a huge step up from what they're doing for so many reasons.  Higher pay, no physical labor, fewer hours, more interesting work...And yet, to others, working in a corporate environment, while still higher pay and all of those other things, is not preferable to their current position as a construction worker, garbage collector, dog catcher, whatever, because they enjoy what they do or get some satisfaction out of doing it, or are simply repelled by Cubeland, like so many richer people are.

Back to men, and their entitled ways.  I went to my friend's wedding tonight, and I have to say that it was stunning, as a side comment.  One of the most moving, beautiful things I've ever been a witness to.  It was at this very old octagonal barn out in Iowa country, surrounded by rolling hills of corn and whatnot, and the ceremony was outside.  When the sun set, the sky lit up in a way that made me think of the kindness of the Universe.  But my point is, the groom, who happens to be one of the few men I really admire and appreciate, wept in this touching, dare I say it?--womanly way as he said his vows.  Of course, lots of people will think I mean this disparagingly, but that's part of the problem.  What is so disparaging about saying someone reflects elements of a gender that is not theirs?  Did you know that to be resilient, a psychological term that reflects one's ability to recover from stress or trauma, one would do well to be androgynous, among other things?  Meaning, possessing characteristics from male and female genders.  Do you see what I'm saying?  I thought it was wonderful that the groom was so overcome by emotion; it showed how much he cared for the sweet bride and how important their marriage was to him.  Those two will definitely be together forever.  I bring all of this up because in that moment, the groom let go of his privilege (though not in every way, the beautiful wedding being an example) to embrace his true feelings, to not be afraid of what judgments some people might have made, (although I doubt in that gorgeous moment anyone was making any) and to be honest to himself and to the bride.  If men could do that more often, it would be a better world.

You had me read The Invisible Knapsack (pdf) some years ago, and I'm glad you linked to it here.  In particular, I find the list of advantages to being a racial majority very compelling and true.  Thank you for the other links as well, which I will try to respond to in a later post, especially the lolcat, of course.

Let me also link to something: Greatest clip ever.


Love,

Big Sis

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

I saw the sign, and it opened up my eyes...


Well. I'm glad we got that out of the way.












Let me begin by saying that I'm actually offended you even know what a Taylor Swift tune should sound like. Offended, I say! (This coming from someone who regularly blasts Ace of Base out her car stereo while driving around town...One of these days I'm going to get a DWD ticket- Driving While Dancing.)

Onto real things. You wanted to talk about men- their role in society, the way Patriarchy benefits them, the way they abuse their privilege. I obviously have a lot of thoughts on the matter; I wasn't a Gender Studies concentration in college for no reason.

The first thing I would say on this is that the word privilege is being used a very specific way here. I like to go by the definition laid out in this Livejournal entry:


Privilege is: About how society accommodates you. It's about advantages you have that you think are normal. It's about you being normal, and others being the deviation from normal. It's about fate dealing from the bottom of the deck on your behalf.

I highly suggest you go read the rest of the post; Betty manages to explain privilege, which is a pretty convoluted concept, in a clear, concise manner. Yay for that!

I would also suggest reading The Invisible Knapsack (pdf), which was written by Peggy McIntosh in '88 about the ways privilege blinds us to having those exact privileges, in order to be a self-propagating system. Or, you could just look at this lolcat which sums up the idea of invisible privilege equally well.















You ask if men being aware of their privilege would help. I say yes, to a degree. If the two of us- who you should remember, have a bucketload of privilege, being raised in an upper middle class family, in the US, with stellar educations, white skin, and glorious good looks- can challenge our privileges and come as far as we have, then so can men. Especially because not all men are completely privileged. There are men of color, differently abled men, impoverished men, queer men, etc etc etc. This is where the concept of intersectional politics comes in. The idea that we are not static identities- I am not just a woman, I am a queer, fat, differently abled Jewish woman- you cannot separate those identities from each other when looking at my place in society, as the different levels of oppression do not see me as one single identity but a composite.

So, yes, men can theoretically become feminist, patriarchy-busting allies once they challenge their privilege. In some ways they will never be able to eradicate that privilege, as it is not something they willingly took on but were given due to their inherent characteristics. But, in the act of challenging it, and forcing oneself to become aware of it, they are helping to weaken it. This is why I am SO outspoken with my feminism/womanism. Because it is only through constant education, and challenging of the status quo, that change comes about. Which, conveniently, is how I choose my male friends. If they are receptive to my beliefs, to taking on the challenge of hearing me and learning from me, I let them in. If they don't, I walk away. Easy peasy.

Further reading, from Shakesville:

(Trigger Warning) The Terrible Bargain We Have Regretfully Struck

and

Feminism 101: Sexism is Matter of Opinion


-Little Sis

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

It's ONNNNNN.

Dear Little Sis:

Let me begin by saying, it's 1 am and I'm still awake (this is starting to sound like a Taylor Swift tune), and I have to be up early just in case my job calls to inform me that my background check finally came through and I'm cleared to start work.  My data entry job.  Woooot.  So, let's talk about...the oil spill in the Gulf.  No, just kidding.  I have nothing to say about that, except to mirror the Facebook sentiment that it should be plugged with Sarah Palin (aaaand the conservatives click on to another blog.  Good, they're gone.) 

What I really do want to talk about is men.  I don't know exactly what to say, Sis, but I want to talk about my vet who calls his technicians "the girls," or the construction workers who used to whistle at me before I got fat, or the way any number of guys have a)paused our conversations to explain simple concepts at to me and b)tried to forcefully win arguments by intimidating me.  Men reading this, I don't hate you.  I don't want to vaporize the lot of you.  I just wish all of you could acknowledge your privilege and power!  But Sis, would it even help?  Would knowing their role in society, the social constructions that have led them to be so...patriarchal, even make a difference?  I know I have more privilege than many racial minorities, but it doesn't stop me from referring to white people as "we" when I teach a class, as if everyone in the room were white, like we were all members of an elite club.

I know I'm basically rehashing stale sociological commentary, but I'm just a layperson with a bone to pick, and it seemed like a good place to jump in.  Sis, if you want to enlighten me and the readers, that would be coo'.  Throw in some words like hegemonic and anomie and institutional racism and we're good to go.


Love,

Big Sister

PS--Have any stupid/funny pics to share?  I've got one:


hehe.

If You Insist.

Dear Big Sis,

Ok, first of all. Photostream is not useless. How else are we going to post pictures of Chopper sitting up like some lumpy stack of furry pancakes, attempting in vain to lick her inner thigh? Or Lux, a white blur mid-pirouette? These will be INTRINSIC elements to this blog, if it is to survive.

I must say, this post will not be long. I took my meds (psyllium husks, naturally.) (kidding), and I am getting sleepy and woozy. Not conducive to writing much of anything. But I will say that this blogging idea absolutely terrifies me. Writing, anything at all? Check. Writing, that other people can read? Check. Writing, that my profoundly talented (and published) sister can read herself? Check. And last- writing, that will be archived next to my super-duper talented sister's work? Check check checkity check. But I love you. And I love this idea. And I will try, despite the terror and insecurity and drugs that make it hard to keep my eyes open at this juncture.

And with that, I go pass out.
-Little Sis

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Let's make a blog!

Dear Little Sis:

Let's make a blog!  We can fill it with a rainbow background and lots of useless gadgets, like a Photostream.  We can write silly letters to each other about really, really, really important stuff.  Like dogs with tongues that hang out or how there should be a ten-man march for Mullet Equality.  We can keep in touch, even though we are no longer in the split-level in New York, fighting over who should get the big attic bedroom.  We can share pics of our cats slumped over lazily, their fat bulging out in every direction.  We can marvel over the fact that two New Yorkers have come as far as we have, in terms of miles at least.  Iowa and Texas?  Who woulda thunk?  We can commiserate as we try to figure out what our careers are and start them.  If any poor souls will read this blog, we can try to teach them all the fake words we know, like bops, and okshrean, and meebow.  We'll start a movement of nonsense talk.  Are you with me?

Love,

Big Sis