At night, or at any time really?
I was harassed twice today, or yesterday as it will be when this goes up. Some creepy bastard propositioned me, then exposed himself, at midday in the cemetery surrounding a church – in view of the main road going through the cemetery to the church where there were a decent number of people walking. (I was looking at an interesting tomb. No, I normally don’t go to urban cemeteries by myself, but I normally figure that if there are lots of people visiting graves and other women walking alone that it should be fairly safe.) And then tonight, as a got off the metro, some young hooligan approaches me yelling “devushka, devushka!” wanting something. I ignored him, and tried to walk away – again, decent crowd of people getting off the metro here. The punk raised his fist, feigning that he was going to punch me, and then finally gave up. I swear, the next time I hear a male voice pronouncing “devushka” I’m going to snap.
And, for the rest of my walk home from the metro – a decent portion of which is through areas with virtually no lighting, I found myself wishing that I had waited at the restaurant for one of male friends who lives in the same general area, so that I could have asked him to walk me home even though it would be very out of the way for him to do so. Except, I probably wouldn’t have done so, because I had pretty much recovered from midday, and I doubt that punk would have hassled me if I had been in the company of another male.
Now I’m sitting in my room, upset, angry, shaken, and feeling quite helpless about the whole situation. Is this really what I have to look forward to for the next however many years? Because, I might be innocent, but I know this isn’t Russia, I just haven’t had to put up with the same level of harassment in Memphis because I don’t do much walking in Memphis. And, with any luck, I’ll make it out of Tennessee for graduate school, and be living somewhere where a car isn’t necessary, feasible, or justifiable. But it’s looking like the new silver lining of not getting into graduate school could be moving back to the ‘Shire, where I don’t have to worry about shit like this. (And can get my grandfather to teach me how to shoot. Or something. Maybe I should learn self-defense.)
But what in God’s name do I have to do to be able to go through my day without being seen as a sex object? I’m contemplating getting some sports bras in order to appear flat-chested and tucking my hair under a hat any time I’m walking at night. With the coat I have, I might be able to escape attracting any attention. Part of me is willing to give up the long hair that I’m currently enjoying and the earrings that I love, bind my breasts, and see if I can’t manage to successfully pass myself off as Dmitri, instead of Demetria. Just for cursory glances! And then I start thinking, that I’ll have to worry about being beaten up for being queer if someone looked at me and realized that I was a female trying to pass as male.
And, I even know that what I’ve had to put up with is only the tip of the iceberg really. That there’s so many worse things that could happen. And no material harm was done to me. But why should I have to be afraid to walk alone?
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
A Too Much Information Post: On Legs, Shaving, Make-Up, Etc.
Writing from a Dayquil induced haze in Saint Petersburg, Russia . . . A place I’m probably not girly enough to be hanging out in.
It’s now been just over a year since I last shaved my legs. No, I didn’t mark a calendar or anything like that, I just happen to know that the last time I had smooth, ‘feminine’ legs, I was creating a scandal in a knee-length, halter top dress at my mother’s second wedding. But you know, I didn’t see any other dresses I liked (and Crystal and I did the shop until you want to drop dead thing), and – according to my standards – it wasn’t an immodest number, and tell you what, next time I wear it, it’ll probably be with opaque tights. Everybody happy now? Good.
Back to my legs. They are gloriously furry. I will not subject you to photos. Know that I thought about it and tremble. Mwahaha!
So here’s the grand revelation – I quit shaving my legs because I decided that it was a silly behavior for me. I was not getting anything out of the practice except: razor burn, occasional cuts, being twitchy because I missed a spot and I’m mildly OCD, and backaches from twisting about in the shower. Probably a few other unpleasantries.
It was a very pointless practice. My legs are only slightly less hairy than those of my little brother. We both have copies of my dad’s body hair gene. My dad had to shave his face twice a day to keep the stubble down. So if I shaved the legs in the morning, by the time evening comes around they’re at that really horrible sandpaper stage. And I hate the feel of stubbly skin. I’ve actually tried a couple of ways to potentially get around this. Nair – at which my coarse leg hair laughed. At home waxing – at which my thick leg hair laughed.
Adding to the feeling of pointlessness – my usual uniform is blue jeans. Maybe dress pants. On occasion, a long ankle-length skirt. Under normal circumstances, no one sees my legs except for me (and, perhaps, my long-suffering roomie). So, not only was I not getting anything out of shaving my legs, but no one else was getting anything out of me shaving my legs.
So why was I shaving my legs? At some point, I was taught that women shave their legs. I do remember shaving as being a sort of rite of passage between being a little girl and being a young woman that I initially embraced.
But the thing is, I hadn’t been shaving my legs for myself in a number of years. I didn’t enjoy the process at all or the result for more than fifteen minutes. Part of this is that conforming to the aesthetic norms of society just isn’t that important for my psyche. When I look pretty, I don’t feel pretty – I feel awkward, and ridiculous, and like I’m wearing a mask that someone will tear off at any second. If I need to be confident and assertive (say for a presentation) – the worst possible thing I can do is femme it up. Better to break out dress pants, an oxford shirt, and a blazer – maybe a scarf in place of the tie I really want to wear. I get angry when I feel like I have to put on make-up in addition to being neat. I understand the need to be neat and tidy in appearance; I don’t comprehend the need to be pretty. The last important interview that I had, I wore make-up to, and I really think that I felt less confident because I was wearing make-up. I felt obliged to wear make-up – a point that was backed up by one friend conflating wearing make-up with being presentable. Society expects that I will attempt to be pretty. I get that other people feel more confident when they are meeting social expectations, but my brain doesn’t work that way.
(Oddly enough, I enjoy wearing make-up or feminine clothing as a part of an act or a costume. It amuses me – as long as I’m intending to be someone other than my normal self.)
And I can understand how a person can wear make-up or shave they legs entirely for their own benefit. I sometimes choose to wear eyeliner or shadow because I feel like emphasizing my eyes. I like for my clothes to coordinate in terms of color and pattern. And I’d be lying if I tried to claim that I didn’t choose my clothes to project a certain image – for me, it just appears to be more boyish, academic, flat-out grunge, or just strange. I use clothes to reinforce my sense of myself. I think it’s a problem for a person to use clothing and make-up to create a sense of self. But clothing, and make-up, and the act of shaving one’s legs (or other body parts) are neutral in and of themselves. I’m simply not a believer in doing things for reasons other than one’s own.
So, shaving my legs was a charade for me. It didn’t express anything about me, or reinforce any sense I had of myself. It was just a bother, a source of frustration, and literally, a pain. So I quit shaving my legs.
It’s now been just over a year since I last shaved my legs. No, I didn’t mark a calendar or anything like that, I just happen to know that the last time I had smooth, ‘feminine’ legs, I was creating a scandal in a knee-length, halter top dress at my mother’s second wedding. But you know, I didn’t see any other dresses I liked (and Crystal and I did the shop until you want to drop dead thing), and – according to my standards – it wasn’t an immodest number, and tell you what, next time I wear it, it’ll probably be with opaque tights. Everybody happy now? Good.
Back to my legs. They are gloriously furry. I will not subject you to photos. Know that I thought about it and tremble. Mwahaha!
So here’s the grand revelation – I quit shaving my legs because I decided that it was a silly behavior for me. I was not getting anything out of the practice except: razor burn, occasional cuts, being twitchy because I missed a spot and I’m mildly OCD, and backaches from twisting about in the shower. Probably a few other unpleasantries.
It was a very pointless practice. My legs are only slightly less hairy than those of my little brother. We both have copies of my dad’s body hair gene. My dad had to shave his face twice a day to keep the stubble down. So if I shaved the legs in the morning, by the time evening comes around they’re at that really horrible sandpaper stage. And I hate the feel of stubbly skin. I’ve actually tried a couple of ways to potentially get around this. Nair – at which my coarse leg hair laughed. At home waxing – at which my thick leg hair laughed.
Adding to the feeling of pointlessness – my usual uniform is blue jeans. Maybe dress pants. On occasion, a long ankle-length skirt. Under normal circumstances, no one sees my legs except for me (and, perhaps, my long-suffering roomie). So, not only was I not getting anything out of shaving my legs, but no one else was getting anything out of me shaving my legs.
So why was I shaving my legs? At some point, I was taught that women shave their legs. I do remember shaving as being a sort of rite of passage between being a little girl and being a young woman that I initially embraced.
But the thing is, I hadn’t been shaving my legs for myself in a number of years. I didn’t enjoy the process at all or the result for more than fifteen minutes. Part of this is that conforming to the aesthetic norms of society just isn’t that important for my psyche. When I look pretty, I don’t feel pretty – I feel awkward, and ridiculous, and like I’m wearing a mask that someone will tear off at any second. If I need to be confident and assertive (say for a presentation) – the worst possible thing I can do is femme it up. Better to break out dress pants, an oxford shirt, and a blazer – maybe a scarf in place of the tie I really want to wear. I get angry when I feel like I have to put on make-up in addition to being neat. I understand the need to be neat and tidy in appearance; I don’t comprehend the need to be pretty. The last important interview that I had, I wore make-up to, and I really think that I felt less confident because I was wearing make-up. I felt obliged to wear make-up – a point that was backed up by one friend conflating wearing make-up with being presentable. Society expects that I will attempt to be pretty. I get that other people feel more confident when they are meeting social expectations, but my brain doesn’t work that way.
(Oddly enough, I enjoy wearing make-up or feminine clothing as a part of an act or a costume. It amuses me – as long as I’m intending to be someone other than my normal self.)
And I can understand how a person can wear make-up or shave they legs entirely for their own benefit. I sometimes choose to wear eyeliner or shadow because I feel like emphasizing my eyes. I like for my clothes to coordinate in terms of color and pattern. And I’d be lying if I tried to claim that I didn’t choose my clothes to project a certain image – for me, it just appears to be more boyish, academic, flat-out grunge, or just strange. I use clothes to reinforce my sense of myself. I think it’s a problem for a person to use clothing and make-up to create a sense of self. But clothing, and make-up, and the act of shaving one’s legs (or other body parts) are neutral in and of themselves. I’m simply not a believer in doing things for reasons other than one’s own.
So, shaving my legs was a charade for me. It didn’t express anything about me, or reinforce any sense I had of myself. It was just a bother, a source of frustration, and literally, a pain. So I quit shaving my legs.
Friday, August 24, 2007
I saw a Baptist Church of Christ in NYC...
So, the Church of Christ discussion boards I've been following have dissolved into utter chaos. I feel kinda bad for the several very thoughtful people who were trying to get actual discussions/debates going. I actually deleted my membership a week or two ago, because I decided I was getting nowhere very fast, and didn't feel up for another round of defending myself against accusations that I have never read the Bible. I nearly replied with something along the lines of "I've been spiritually beaten black and blue with the Bible, and placed in the top ten of regional Bible Bowl competitions six years in a row, I happen to know my stuff, thank you very much." Instead, I explained that it was somewhat difficult to analyze the usage of a single euphemism in two different narratives without actually reading said narratives a time or two, and later that I thought ad hominem attacks were cheap. Granted, I'm still watching from the sidelines, but I'm just not in the mood to play. But all of that is beside the point, and just more ramblings in the category of Metra likes to poke bugs with sticks.
Several people have expressed concerns that there's too much focus on intra-church practice and not enough on what the church can do in the world. A new topic was started explaining the poster's frustration with the emphasis on correct theology and asking people to respond with what God has done lately in their lives. I thought about rejoining to say something like: God smacked me upside the head and said, "These nutters don't speak for me -- I'm bigger than you or they will ever comprehend." Then, I decided that wouldn't be a productive use of my time, and I was better off reflecting on why theology matters.
Now, I don't think having 100% correct theology saves a person, or is even possible. I have a sort of Animal Farm outlook on theology (and philosophy): All theologies are wrong, but some are more wrong than others. And of course, my standards by which I evaluate theologies are subjective, but one has to work from somewhere. I'm interested in not reducing the Divine into a book and not excluding persons because they don't fit into some mold or another.
My grandfather is always telling me that I just have to be patient and let things change over time. I can't expect the CofC start letting women preach overnight. But, preaching isn't the real issue -- preaching is only symbolic. What is actually at stake is personhood. Not having the pulpit does relatively little damage to me in and of itself -- the accompanying message that I was defective because of something entirely out of my control -- my sex -- was incredibly damaging, even with the mitigating circumstances of a spinster great-aunt who was convinced that there was nothing a man could do that a woman in sensible shoes couldn't manage and a father who commented that maybe one day we'll go to a church were they let women lead songs (the actual incident was song-leading, not preaching). No, no, I was a impure, dirty, weaker vessel, who could not be suffered to speak -- and all the more dirty because I let it be known that I thought something was wrong with that idea. So, yes, the praxis in the mainstream CofC and a number of other forms of Christianity (and other religions) of restricting the ability of female-bodied individuals from fully participating within the life of the community is wrong. The theology behind it is worse and dehumanizing. Maybe not the most dehumanizing ever -- but it is an affront to personhood of roughly fifty percent of humans. Especially among groups claiming a "priesthood of all believers."
However, theoretically (and I'm quite sure in practice, as well) a church could practice good works while restricting women to the most marginal of roles within the community. And, it could be argued that the nutters like me demanding that we have the right to full participation distracts the church and it's resources from carrying out certain good works. Or that we are somehow causing discord where they should be unity. But if a church's mission is unity in Christ, how can they claim any sort of unity when persons are excluded based on genitalia or sexual preference or listening to music.
See the point is not that women can't preach, and the point is not that many churches won't marry same-sex couples; however, the point is that these practices reveal that the many churches have placed themselves in the business of determining who is and is not a full person and thus eligible for all the rights and responsibilities of membership within the community.
I'm not sure if any of that made any sense at all.
Several people have expressed concerns that there's too much focus on intra-church practice and not enough on what the church can do in the world. A new topic was started explaining the poster's frustration with the emphasis on correct theology and asking people to respond with what God has done lately in their lives. I thought about rejoining to say something like: God smacked me upside the head and said, "These nutters don't speak for me -- I'm bigger than you or they will ever comprehend." Then, I decided that wouldn't be a productive use of my time, and I was better off reflecting on why theology matters.
Now, I don't think having 100% correct theology saves a person, or is even possible. I have a sort of Animal Farm outlook on theology (and philosophy): All theologies are wrong, but some are more wrong than others. And of course, my standards by which I evaluate theologies are subjective, but one has to work from somewhere. I'm interested in not reducing the Divine into a book and not excluding persons because they don't fit into some mold or another.
My grandfather is always telling me that I just have to be patient and let things change over time. I can't expect the CofC start letting women preach overnight. But, preaching isn't the real issue -- preaching is only symbolic. What is actually at stake is personhood. Not having the pulpit does relatively little damage to me in and of itself -- the accompanying message that I was defective because of something entirely out of my control -- my sex -- was incredibly damaging, even with the mitigating circumstances of a spinster great-aunt who was convinced that there was nothing a man could do that a woman in sensible shoes couldn't manage and a father who commented that maybe one day we'll go to a church were they let women lead songs (the actual incident was song-leading, not preaching). No, no, I was a impure, dirty, weaker vessel, who could not be suffered to speak -- and all the more dirty because I let it be known that I thought something was wrong with that idea. So, yes, the praxis in the mainstream CofC and a number of other forms of Christianity (and other religions) of restricting the ability of female-bodied individuals from fully participating within the life of the community is wrong. The theology behind it is worse and dehumanizing. Maybe not the most dehumanizing ever -- but it is an affront to personhood of roughly fifty percent of humans. Especially among groups claiming a "priesthood of all believers."
However, theoretically (and I'm quite sure in practice, as well) a church could practice good works while restricting women to the most marginal of roles within the community. And, it could be argued that the nutters like me demanding that we have the right to full participation distracts the church and it's resources from carrying out certain good works. Or that we are somehow causing discord where they should be unity. But if a church's mission is unity in Christ, how can they claim any sort of unity when persons are excluded based on genitalia or sexual preference or listening to music.
See the point is not that women can't preach, and the point is not that many churches won't marry same-sex couples; however, the point is that these practices reveal that the many churches have placed themselves in the business of determining who is and is not a full person and thus eligible for all the rights and responsibilities of membership within the community.
I'm not sure if any of that made any sense at all.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Continuing Education -- Now for M.R.S. Majors!
It's not an M.R.S. degree; it's a post-M.R.S. degree. The Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary is now offering a home ec. concentration for the wives of ministry students.
Not so much to knock the actual skills needed to do most of things this concentration would be teaching (clothing construction isn't easy). My observation is that to run a house well one needs talent, hard work, and skill -- whether or not one is male or female and working outside or inside the home. But, the SBC is not placing value upon the work traditionally done by women -- they are admittedly doing this to put women back in there supposedly Biblical place.
Cause, in Fundie land Jesus didn't praise Mary and scold Martha. Of course, Jesus would have never praised a woman for sitting at his feet to learn. He would have sent her back into the kitchen where she belongs. Isn't that right, duckies? Pay no attention to what your Bible actually says.
Tipped off by Religious Left Online.
Not so much to knock the actual skills needed to do most of things this concentration would be teaching (clothing construction isn't easy). My observation is that to run a house well one needs talent, hard work, and skill -- whether or not one is male or female and working outside or inside the home. But, the SBC is not placing value upon the work traditionally done by women -- they are admittedly doing this to put women back in there supposedly Biblical place.
Cause, in Fundie land Jesus didn't praise Mary and scold Martha. Of course, Jesus would have never praised a woman for sitting at his feet to learn. He would have sent her back into the kitchen where she belongs. Isn't that right, duckies? Pay no attention to what your Bible actually says.
Tipped off by Religious Left Online.
The Rich Young Metra
There's something about packing and moving that inspires the ascetic in me. It's a weak inspiration and one that has yet to make it to maturity, but it's there. It was there in spades as the sister, the friend, and I tried to fit a bit over two years worth of dorm room accumulation into a Camry and a Scion. (I haven't moved off-campus since the end of freshman year.) At such times, I begin to contemplate getting rid of oh, say, 75% of the things I own. Maybe knocking it down to essential clothes. And then, like Saint Jerome, my attempts at simplicity die in the face of my love for my library. My preciouses, my babies, my books.
I'm leaving the state of Tennessee the day after tomorrow en route to Russia for the next four and a half months. I have a goal of taking as luggage: one 32 inch rolling duffel bag, one small carry-on bag, and my backpack (also as a carry-on). And, I think I'm going to be able to pull it off, but I'm having to get pretty creative. The heavy, canvas outer layer of my coat is now rolled up and strapped to the backpack -- that helps. Sweaters have been compacted in ziploc bags. Books are cut down to some necessary plane reading, Russian texts and dictionary, and my collection of Blok poems in translation. And I'm still struggling to make things fit into the bags. It's a game of Tetris -- I'm confident that things will fit, but I'm pretty certain that there is only one possible way that they all will fit.
And then, there's this weird awareness in the back of my head that many people don't have enough to fill up the bags I'm taking, and a separate awareness that I probably all of what I'm packing to live out the rest of my life, much less the next four months.
I'm hoping that living out of a 32 inch duffel bag for four months will convince me to let go of most the rest of my stuff. At least, the majority of the remaining clothes. The books won't happen -- I've just accepted that as a fact of my current existence and fact of cycling through another few rebirths before hitting true enlightenment.
I'm leaving the state of Tennessee the day after tomorrow en route to Russia for the next four and a half months. I have a goal of taking as luggage: one 32 inch rolling duffel bag, one small carry-on bag, and my backpack (also as a carry-on). And, I think I'm going to be able to pull it off, but I'm having to get pretty creative. The heavy, canvas outer layer of my coat is now rolled up and strapped to the backpack -- that helps. Sweaters have been compacted in ziploc bags. Books are cut down to some necessary plane reading, Russian texts and dictionary, and my collection of Blok poems in translation. And I'm still struggling to make things fit into the bags. It's a game of Tetris -- I'm confident that things will fit, but I'm pretty certain that there is only one possible way that they all will fit.
And then, there's this weird awareness in the back of my head that many people don't have enough to fill up the bags I'm taking, and a separate awareness that I probably all of what I'm packing to live out the rest of my life, much less the next four months.
I'm hoping that living out of a 32 inch duffel bag for four months will convince me to let go of most the rest of my stuff. At least, the majority of the remaining clothes. The books won't happen -- I've just accepted that as a fact of my current existence and fact of cycling through another few rebirths before hitting true enlightenment.
Monday, August 13, 2007
So, The Fountain...
NO! No! and No!
And now I know what not to write.
Seriously, why was the Inquisitor speaking in Gnostic/Cathar code speech? Why? No.
Just don't bother. Not even really worth a breakdown of everything that was wrong with it.
And now I know what not to write.
Seriously, why was the Inquisitor speaking in Gnostic/Cathar code speech? Why? No.
Just don't bother. Not even really worth a breakdown of everything that was wrong with it.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
I have already packed my brain...
I've been running around like a chicken with my head cut off for the past few days -- thus the lack of pontification. Packing to spend four and a half months in a foreign country is exhausting (and I'm trying to pack in one checked bag, one carry-on, and a backpack -- I need to work on being an ascetic -- it would be much simpler).
And, any preaching points were used this morning to compose a letter to the editor of the local paper regarding adding sexual orientation and gender identity the hate crimes legislation. (There was an opinion piece which caused Metra's blood to boil, but she made the sister read the letter to filter the snark.) Cross your fingers, and it might get in. Which would be -- interesting -- to say the least.
And, any preaching points were used this morning to compose a letter to the editor of the local paper regarding adding sexual orientation and gender identity the hate crimes legislation. (There was an opinion piece which caused Metra's blood to boil, but she made the sister read the letter to filter the snark.) Cross your fingers, and it might get in. Which would be -- interesting -- to say the least.
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