Foriegn Country or High School

So, I keep having this strange feeling that I'm back in high school, and all the pretty girls are laughing at jokes in a language I don't understand.

That, and the library keeps running out of printing paper.

St. Petersburg is gloomy, St. Petersburg is bleak...

To everyone who just finished that off in your head -- congratulations, you are roughly the same age as I and infected with historically mangled, song and dance, animated versions of the Russian revolution.

Fortunately, my underwear is not frozen, because I am a smart young thing who put it on the radiator to dry rather than hanging it out on the enclosed balcony after doing laundry in the bathroom sink because my host mom is gone for the week and neither I nor my host grandmother knows how to operate the washing machine. Laundry is further complicated by everything on the machine being labeled in German.

And actually, the weather isn't too bleak to day. There is some sunshine and one of the fabulously blue Petersburg skies.

But lets talk about some other than the weather. Let's talk about something Russia and the US have in common, shall we? Entirely, f'ing disturbing advertising for feminine hygiene products, or whatever they should be called. Because, they do in fact have most anything you could possibly desire in the way of products to deal with your period now.

Of course, recently in the US we had Always' enlightened "have a happy period!" campaign. And I've seen tampon commercials that just make me think, what on earth? No, I'm just not that happy on my period -- I'm cramping and cranky.

Russian tampon/maxi pad advertising is a little different. Always is a generation or two behind, declaring that they are now "with gel action!" Gel action? What is that? Do I really want gel taking action next to my vagina? The bathrooms at the institute were recently invaded by ads for Tampax tampons, relying on the old trope of a woman on her period being unclean, but Tampax tampons will give you a clean feelings every day. Oh yes, my friends. Sprinked over the poster were little declarations: Я чиста! I'm clean! (Sarcastically, I think to myself that increased access to toilet paper would be nice as well.)

So, here's the question: Which type of advertising annoys me more? The upbeat US marketing that ignores the actual problems that many women experience from their periods. Or "the use our product to clean yourself up because you're dirty" marketing.

Just in Case you though the blues and rock and roll weren't enough...

Appreciate the Pig. And no, I don't mean the Beale Street BBQ joint. I mean PigglyWiggly. One of the great contributions of Memphis to the world.

You see, if I have my story straight, Piggly Wiggly (which is not, as a Yankee recently asked me, just a joke from Driving Miss Daisy) was the first grocery store, where you walked around, picked out what you wanted and then went to the cashier and checked out, instead of having to ask the clerk for the items you wanted to purchase. And Piggly Wiggly started in Memphis. We have the Pink Palace to prove it.

In Russia, the old system is still in place in about fifty percent of produkti (little groceries) and some larger stores. And while I'm sure that shopping there would be easier if I were used to the system and could speak the language, I now have a greater appreciation for the Pig and all of it's offspring. (Except Wal-mart, which I haven't really missed.)

So, don't let anyone ever say Memphis ain't paid her dues.

In Russia, Caucasians are Black

I was asked to comment last Sunday on whether racism in Russian was
worse or better than racism in the South (of the United States). And
I really couldn't answer the question with anything other than – it's
different. For one thing, I haven't been in Russia for a long enough
with enough language comprehension to have picked up on racially
structuring in Russia in anything other than a throughly academic
manner. (After however many years living full-time in Petersburg our
baby-sitter has picked up on the racial constructs, he went around the
room during orientation and picked out who might run into problems
because they do not fit the Russian, Orthodox ideal. Incidentally, my
Southern socialized mind would have classified all of them as white.)
Academically, I know that persons from the Caucasuses are referred to
as chernyi -- literally "black." It's a rude term, but not beyond the
pale, I've heard my eight year old host sister using it in a
discussion about her classmates with her grandmother, and while I
didn't catch all the implications it wasn't so much hateful as it was
entirely dismissive. (I had an awkward moment when my host mother and
grandmother asked if Memphis was a dangerous city, and when I said
that it was somewhat dangerous, one of them automatically followed up
with: "Well, don't you have a lot of blacks there?")

However, Russia has confirmed that yours truly is not color-blind.
I'm used to Memphis. Even if Rhodes remains mostly upper middle class
and white, I am used to Memphis. Russia is surrealistic in its
whiteness. All of the advertising features white people. Smiling
white Russian families – not necessarily blond haired and blue-eyed,
but definitely white (with rosy cheeks). A subtle difference from
American advertising which seems to shoot for a more pluralistic
ideal. (Gender stereotyping is just as bad, if not worse in Russia.)
The vast, vast majority of people I meet in the streets are white to
my mind. I have a sneaking suspicion that not everyone I would
classify as white is "white" by Russian standards. And on the
reverse, if my host sister were suddenly transplanted to Memphis, on
first glance, I think many people would decide she was Mexican, not
Russian. I saw a black man in the streets a couple weeks ago and felt
relieved at some odd restoration of normalcy. If I lived more toward
the center of the city, I think the surreal effects would be worse.
I'm in a working-class neighborhood, so there are more immigrants
living here than might be elsewhere.

So, yes, I'm quite aware of "race" in my white Southern-bred way. I
knew that, but now I know that.

Should I Be Scared to Walk Alone?

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?

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.

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.