tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81813845731578510352024-03-07T19:28:49.384-05:00Six-Winged ConfessionsSeraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-67137544817771944042011-11-28T20:28:00.001-05:002011-11-28T20:49:58.163-05:00Appropriation.I've seen a lot of talk about cultural appropriation lately. From the ubiquitous sugar skull costumes around Halloween, to posts about wedding traditions including a discussion of mehndi, chuppas, and jumping the broom, to a discussion about smudging with sage on a shelter blog. There seem to be two views on all of these things: a) that we're all members of the "human race" or "human culture," and thus all traditions are to be shared, and b) that we should be careful--especially, that people with certain types of privilege should be careful--to not use the traditions of other cultures in ways that might be insulting, hurtful, of just plain <i>incorrect</i> to their cultures of origin.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty solidly in group b, which was solidified not ten minutes ago, when a blog I frequent used the term for the most sacred rite in the religion I was raised in, to signify something that, while I know she meant no offense, was comparatively trivial. And it kind of stung.<br />
<br />
Now, due the fact that the rite was baptism, as practiced by Baptists (Southern ones, even!) I'm trying not to get all bent out of shape. Christians in general have done our share of appropriation--look almost every tradition surround Christmas, for a timely example. Not to mention that the Christian experience in the States is so widespread that you can't help but absorb some of it, or even a lot of it, and the dominant culture really has nothing to whine about. But the most important act in a young Baptist's life, one preceded by prayer, meditation, and pastoral guidance, one performed publicly in front of one's entire faith community, laden with tradition and one on which the very state of one's soul may rest? is not the same as falling out of a canoe on a chilly day.<br />
<br />
So, I have my little taste of what it's like to be on the other end of things. And I would like to apologize to anyone I've stolen culture from, in ignorance or in a misplaced sense of "sharing." And I'll try to do better.<br />
<br />
<br />
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A quick note: one of the blog posts that got me thinking--the wedding one, on Offbeat Bride--had a sort of solution to the urge to borrow culture in it. The writer and her husband, inspired by the meaning behind the glass-breaking in a Jewish wedding, invented their own tradition to honor the meaning without appropriating the act. In their case, this was adding a small charm to each of their outfits, as a remembrance of hard times during their joyful time. And in the smudging discussion, several commenters recommended Western traditions with similar intent, instead of borrowing an act the OP was obviously unfamiliar with--for example, cleaning the house thoroughly and lighting new candles, or rearranging furniture to make a space seem new and cleared of bad memories. Perhaps USians need to remember that we do, in fact, have our own traditions, and we need to find ways to honor those and rediscover our own meaning in them.Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-15851355116517679992011-06-02T17:25:00.003-05:002011-06-02T17:28:12.359-05:00You know what bugs me?Gendered nursery design.<div><br /></div><div>Really? I mean, really? This child that just slid out of your birth canal OBVIOUSLY won't like pink and will like orange and brown because it happens to (apparently) have a Y chromosome?</div><div><br /></div><div>This bugs me. Maybe more than it should given ALL THE OTHER THINGS that should be bugging me, but still. I read a lot of shelter blogs.</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-69423698351619025432011-03-14T19:45:00.004-05:002011-03-14T19:54:22.830-05:00Will nobody rid me of these troublesome sinuses?Puffs Plus: check.<div>"snot-rag bag"*: check.<br /><div>Simply Saline nasal wash: check.</div><div>peppermint aromatherapy shower tablet**: check.</div><div>beat the roommate to a steamy shower: check.</div><div>Ayr saline gel***: check.</div><div>Aquaphor****: check.</div><div>apple juice: check.</div><div>Panera Bread broccoli cheddar soup: check.</div><div>Yogi Throat Comfort: check.</div><div>Cable tv, internet, and ps3: check, check, check.</div><div><br /></div><div>The cold from hell is good to go.</div><div><br /></div><div>No, seriously, GO. Jeez. I blew my nose so many times between 12:00 and 6:00 I had a Very Dramatic nosebleed just as I was about to clock out. If I could get the stupid manager to change the filters on the vents it would really, really help.</div><div><br /></div><div>*This is what my dad calls the plastic grocery bag employed to segregate tissues from the communal trash. Also portable!</div><div>**It doesn't clear my sinuses, but it does make me very <i>aware</i> of them.</div><div>***To moisturize the inside of the nose.</div><div>****To moisturize the outside of the nose.</div><div><br /></div><div>My colds are, obviously, a bit of a process.</div><div><br /></div></div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-1483176044396379052011-02-17T22:05:00.003-05:002011-02-17T22:39:51.952-05:00Highschool EnglishBooks I remember reading in highschool and liking:<div><br /></div><div>Their Eyes Were Watching God (my first AP English teacher was in love with this one)</div><div>Wuthering Heights (But the ending sucked. I recently got an oddly romantic email about it from an old highschool friend. Go figure.)</div><div>parts of Canterbury Tales (I'm descended from Chaucer's sister-in-law Katherine Swynford)</div><div>The Killer Angels (actually this was eighth grade, I'm cheating)</div><div>The Great Gatsby (the high point of ninth grade english)</div><div><br /></div><div>Books I read in highschool and hated:</div><div><br /></div><div>Heart of Darkness (BLECH. It was a good teaching tool, being dense and short, but BLECH)</div><div>The Yellow Wallpaper (short story, not a book, but still, I detested it)</div><div>Lord of the Flies (Really now. Blech.)</div><div>Crime and Punishment (boring, nasty, long, and the epilogue doesn't make a lick of sense in context)</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure if I had to read Huckleberry Finn until college, actually? But I'm oddly indifferent to it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I really thought I could remember more. Apparently, most of what we read was forgettable dreck? At least I was never made to read Ayn Rand.</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-7057032728225867822011-02-13T22:16:00.002-05:002011-02-13T22:18:53.421-05:00Of all the things to be annoyed byIt suddenly ticks me off that in Discovery Channel shows about sex and sexual attraction, hetero sex is always man-on-top.<div><br /></div><div>Seriously?</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-20323484140131887092011-01-11T22:34:00.003-05:002011-01-11T22:39:30.906-05:00Sooooo...I decided upon graduating to take a year off of school.<div><br /></div><div>That year is up.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now what?</div><div><br /></div><div>Man, a BA in Literature gets you <i>nothing</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anybody have any ideas on how to become an editor?</div><div><br /></div><div>Anybody have any advice on getting really awesome recommendation letters for gradschool?</div><div><br /></div><div>Anybody know if you can put a key back on a keyboard when even the little squishy doohickey underneath is gone? My quotation mark key popped off...more than a year ago and I'm sick of it. I managed to write a thesis without it, too.</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-55300520950682194832011-01-09T13:34:00.004-05:002011-01-09T14:15:08.668-05:00In Which a Hobby Reinforces Harmful Gender PolicingI love it when blogs I would categorize as "fun" cover topics I call "serious." So imagine my delight upon finding The Studioist, and this post:<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.studioist.com/caveman-cavemom/">Thoughts on Man Caves, Mom Caves, and Gendered Space</a></div><div><br /></div><div>As the Guiness scientists would say, BRILLIANT!</div><div><br /></div><div>The comments continue the goodness, with such snippets as:</div><div></div><blockquote><div><br /></div><div>"When I commented that “I think this personal space arms race is often a sign of culturally-reinforced familial dysfunction”, what I meant is that there are strong cultural narratives about how families should work that undermine families."</div><div><br /></div><div>"...the “caveman” image insults everyone–it suggests that in the home or family sphere, men are incompetent, monosyllabic oafs, leaving women to be the Responsible Caretaker 24/7."</div><div><br /></div><div>"I also found it strange that they call it a mom cave. As if women in general can’t have a place to themselves, unless they are a mom."</div></blockquote><div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-48352147261394474382011-01-08T14:02:00.004-05:002011-01-08T14:19:07.919-05:00"Ready"When I find blog posts that are a bit too not-current to comment on, I try and remember to write here. And as I am in the middle of a snow day, I have time and energy!<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com/2010/10/scarleteen-blog-carnival-talking-to-my.html?zx=696a7e2d1d0e9492">http://nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com/2010/10/scarleteen-blog-carnival-talking-to-my.html?zx=696a7e2d1d0e9492</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Hoo boy, would I have liked a mom like that. I pretty much literally got all my useful sex ed from Scarleteen. My schools hadn't quite regressed to abstinence-only when I went through, but they were getting there and the classroom environment was never one to encourage honest questions and answers. I went to a conservative Baptist church in which "February" meant "no sex month" to my (genuinely beloved) youth pastor. My mom never even attempted "the talk" with me. If I planned to ever be a parent, I would want to be a parent who could talk to her children like that. Maybe I'll get a niece or two I can mentor a little instead.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, that brings me around to the quibble I have with this post--or rather, the comments: Anonymous at 10:44 says that:</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote>I think your approach to your daughter's situation is a positive one. I do, however, disagree with the therapist who told you that your daughter is the only one who knows when she's ready to have sex. In my opinion, the very first criteria for being, "ready," to have sex is whether you're ready for the possibility of pregnancy. I know, for a fact, my 17 year old daughter is NOT ready for that. Could she handle it, if she had to? Sure. Maybe. Probably. Is she ready? No way in hell. Emotionally, yes, she has the final say in whether her relationship has reached the point where intercourse feels appropriate. But emotions aren't the end-all-be-all of being, "ready," for sex. Been there. Done that.</blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div>This statement is...limiting. I'm a college graduate in my mid-twenties, living on my own, on the marriage track with my wonderful long-term boyfriend. Am I "ready for the possibility of pregnancy"? NO, NO I AM NOT. I don't want to be a parent. I don't want to have a baby. I don't want to get pregnant. I don't want to have an abortion. I don't think I'll ever be ready for a pregnancy--pregnancy would be, for me, an utterly lose-lose situation. If it happened, I would FLIP THE FUCK OUT.</div><div><br /></div><div>Does this mean I am forever barred from having sex?</div><div><br /></div><div>This also puts a lot of weight on the female end of a male-female relationship, AND ignores same-sex relationships. Would this anony be comfortable with her daughter having sex with another girl? Or is the "pregnancy" litmus test a way for her to avoid the issue of her baby girl wanting to have sex?</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-68219776195726477912011-01-02T00:11:00.003-05:002011-01-02T00:18:23.963-05:00QuibbleA number of blogs I read are written by women who are pregnant. Most of these are my cotton-candy blogs, that talk about clothes and jewelry and interior design and have pictures of cats. So I guess I shouldn't have particularly high expectations about this kind of thing, even when said bloggers are open about considering themselves kind of liberal, and mostly it's just a mistaken misuse of the word--<div><br /></div><div>But I hate it when they refer to a fetus's "gender."</div><div><br /></div><div>I mean, the kid is still a cashew-shaped blob with a tail, floating about in your amniotic fluid, and you're already talking about how it will conform to societal pressures and expectations about its appearance and behavior.</div><div><br /></div><div>You mean your baby's sex, people. SEX.</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-36860334661854457712010-09-03T19:55:00.003-05:002010-09-03T20:08:29.732-05:00Word to the Eyeball-WiseContact lenses are a prescription device.<div><br /></div><div>It is federal law that you cannot be given contact lenses without a valid prescription. Contact lens prescriptions, according to federal law, only last one year.</div><div><br /></div><div>No, you cannot "OD on a contact." We know that. But it is still a prescription device that comes into direct contact with your eye.</div><div><br /></div><div>SERIOUS SHIT can happen when you wear your contacts incorrectly. If we give you contacts when your Rx is expired and you come back with a scratched cornea and an ulcer that cause you to lose your eye (YES THIS IS POSSIBLE, dumbass) that would be all our fault because we broke the law, and people would lose their licenses and it would be very, very bad for all of us.</div><div><br /></div><div>So no, we can't "just" give you contacts, any more than we can "just" give you, say, a pacemaker.</div><div><br /></div><div>PRESCRIPTION DEVICE, people.</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-35227156538190435482010-07-15T18:26:00.004-05:002010-07-15T19:12:42.579-05:00When I was your age (a blog review)<a href="http://karahaupt.typepad.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">This girl</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> reminds me just a tad of...well, me.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I've never decided if telling someone that is a compliment or not. I suppose it just is what it is. I mean, she's so very earnest and ambitious and thoughtful, but at the same time some things she says are irritatingly maudlin. It's a teenage thing. And a girl-who-thinks-too-much thing, most likely.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><a href="http://karahaupt.typepad.com/my-blog/2010/07/thinking-about.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">This post</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> is especially apropos.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"i've been thinking about thinking and i've been thinking that i think a lot."</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Ain't that the truth. And I feel like I'm intruding on her privacy sometimes when I read her blog, like I snuck into her room and picked the lock on her diary. Or maybe like I'm overhearing a conversation, or the way you feel sometimes when you notice something someone is doing when they don't know you're looking, like staring at someone else or picking their teeth or trying to hide an emotional reaction, and they suddenly realize that you're looking at them, and then you both feel embarrassed. It's like she's writing a journal more than a blog with some posts, and then in some posts she's updating her Etsy or talking about photography. It's a mixed internet bag. Sometimes it's great, sometimes it's really annoying. I think she has a lot of growing to do, but she seems like she could grow in really good ways.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">i've been thinking about what it means to be both a christian and a feminist."</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Oh look, a can o' worms. Though as one commenter says, "</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">doesn't being a christian automatically mean being a feminist? how could it not?" From where I stand, that sounds about right. Christianity can be about the last being first and the first being last, and about living justly and loving mercy, and about maybe one day the whole world being united in love. Another commenter quotes Galatians 3:28, "</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus." </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">And then there is what the church seems to have become, an excuse for the powerful to remain in power and for women to submit to their husbands and shut up in worship and dress modestly and be valued mainly for their reproductive systems. And as a mode to shame those who are not "moral"--not immorally power- and money-hungry politicians and business men who make people miserable through irresponsible decisions and a desperate clinging to their own special snowflakeness, but mostly people who have sex. No, mostly women who have sex. (More on that in another post).</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">So yeah, can o' worms. But a good can to open anyway, I think. I wish I had gotten around to that can by the time I was her age. Not that I'm so much older, just the end of adolescence is a jam-packed few years with a whole lot of changing and growing and decision making squeezed into a short time, and a time when our minds and bodies seem most prone to doing weird things and knocking us off track.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">When I was eighteen, I remember crying a lot by myself because I'M JUST EIGHTEEN DAMMIT, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO? Anyway.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"i don't know how to tell them that i don't care about who they want me to be, but that i do care about them."</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I would like to second yet another of her commenters in wanting a paraphrase of this on a poster.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So yes, this concludes the first ever Six-Winged Confessions blog review! It's like a grade school book review, only more like thinking about what you've read instead of proving to your teachers that you like to read, really. No really, this book was great. Like, I really liked it?</span></span></span></span></div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-33687828862342868242010-04-14T20:43:00.002-05:002010-04-14T21:09:20.755-05:00Mmm, what you say?In honor of <a href="http://tigerbeatdown.com/">Tiger Beatdown</a>, and <a href="http://tigerbeatdown.com/?p=1087#more-1087">Ladypalooza</a>, and Silvana, I present you: entirely bitchin' music by ladies!<div><br /></div><div>(as my taste in music is almost entirely vocally/lyrically driven, these are all female-sung, rather than focusing on female-played instruments)<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div> <object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UYIAfiVGluk&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UYIAfiVGluk&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fbeBvRAK3zo&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fbeBvRAK3zo&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hUFPooqKllA&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hUFPooqKllA&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/iWIADZKU9dw&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/iWIADZKU9dw&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object></div><div><br /></div><div>My friends and I were <i>all</i> about Flyleaf when they first appeared on our radar. A girl! Who <i>screams</i>!</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, in finding these videos, I find that I tend to buy vastly more music by men--female artists I like, like Tori Amos, I tend to not bother buying whole albums. I look her up on YouTube instead. This needs to be remedied!<br /><br /></div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-52833635529941451502010-04-10T23:20:00.003-05:002010-04-10T23:35:41.464-05:00a reminder to The World:Sometimes, emotion is a rational response.<div><br /></div><div>If you insult me, my anger is not irrational. It is very rational, it is very real, and it is not a reason for you to cease listening to me.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Rationality and emotion are not mutually exclusive, people.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wonder if this hatred of "emotion" and love of "ration" is related to the equally false mind/body dichotomy? Emotions are felt bodily, therefore they must be separate from and less than the good and rational mind. Men are rational, mind-oriented, women are irrational and body-oriented. Emotion is also bad because it is womanly--so women are bad because they are "emotional," and emotions are bad because they are "womanly," and it all goes in a big nasty circle until I want to grab the next man I talk to who says I'm being irrational and <i>shake him </i>till his big manly brain rattles around in his big manly skull.</div><div><br /></div><div>And this is an ENTIRELY RATIONAL RESPONSE, people.</div><div><br /></div><div>Rant brought to you by <a href="http://tigerbeatdown.com/">Tiger Beatdown</a> and all the Freddies of the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>[ETA five seconds later to add: "mansplaining" is my Word of the Year. Seriously, whoever made it up deserves a medal or something. In the shape of like, a dictionary with a dick.]</div></div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-38038331337604171722010-03-15T19:09:00.001-05:002010-03-15T19:11:50.314-05:00Porn For Women<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjef0hRkJUqoY-hWTNHQfAe1qCziD4tkT7ykeWDSk3v5xbDYvYoU_cVzMczMbNvpoK5NyENiMSBGIiRRGq_NpwLYKXEtmJgx6jLWMqcFmr42xYniNwh1yRck3JcXr-ek2atto5x7GijyT4/s1600-h/porn_for_women.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjef0hRkJUqoY-hWTNHQfAe1qCziD4tkT7ykeWDSk3v5xbDYvYoU_cVzMczMbNvpoK5NyENiMSBGIiRRGq_NpwLYKXEtmJgx6jLWMqcFmr42xYniNwh1yRck3JcXr-ek2atto5x7GijyT4/s400/porn_for_women.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449017521473934866" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>brought to you by <a href="http://xkcd.com/">xkcd</a><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-17723304983424179262010-02-25T00:02:00.003-05:002010-02-25T00:07:26.698-05:00My dumb dude friends, as magically portrayed by A Softer World<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwePPcMRvhdEYRurAcphcC9x43Y_qiUaS4gJWZX-L2oifW4aSLgv2yXEyw6nj-Hcqd3NjvLmZTGnrjEnh2HI79Ao7BPs1PAyH8ojBiWne8T5R0s6u4ftcE4EOIavLKg_9-GODnww172Y/s1600-h/men+feminist+asw.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 145px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwePPcMRvhdEYRurAcphcC9x43Y_qiUaS4gJWZX-L2oifW4aSLgv2yXEyw6nj-Hcqd3NjvLmZTGnrjEnh2HI79Ao7BPs1PAyH8ojBiWne8T5R0s6u4ftcE4EOIavLKg_9-GODnww172Y/s400/men+feminist+asw.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442042508823468674" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=531">A Softer World</a> reads my mind, I swear.</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-32388324064468715852010-02-08T00:35:00.003-05:002010-02-08T00:51:04.135-05:00New title!I threw the "I Confess" header (a leftover from a personal project a few years ago) as a placeholder until I thought of something better--but I might as well keep it. Hence, the blog title change, to fit the header, instead of vice versa.<br /><br />Sorry about the double post, just felt like explaining.<br /><br />plus, I like the idea of "confessions" more than "reflections," somehow. Maybe it sounds less navel-gazey? Maybe I need to go to bed. Whatever.Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-64151829905338869522010-02-08T00:19:00.003-05:002010-02-08T00:31:09.955-05:00unintentional poetry, brought to you by Facebook chat.<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">how the hell do i remember what song </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">was playing when i left a city</span></span></div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-8572213055107615882010-02-06T19:55:00.002-05:002010-02-06T20:36:22.635-05:00Music! because I can.<object width="425" height="344"><p><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PCkT4K-hppE&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></p></object><p><br /></p><br /><object width="425" height="344"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/pvbbonV13BY&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/I3umk2gRYTM&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><p><br /><br /></p><p>The first one is an old favorite, the next two are new--found through a former coworker's Facebook. The last one talks about Lasik and mentions other optical things--though in optometry at least (I don't know what those crazy ophthalmologists do) we say "minus" and "plus," not "negative" and "positive." If your glasses Rx is -2.25-0.50x120, you say "minus two point twenty-five, minus point five, at one-twenty." And "negative five is pretty much blind" is utter nonsense--assuming your vision is correctable, you're not even legally blind at -5.00. I'm -7.50 in my right eye--I see less than 20/400 without lenses (the large E projected in the exam room? looks like jumbled semitransparent blocks, basically), but I correct to 20/20 and am therefore definitely not "pretty much blind."</p><p>Nitpick, nitpick, nitpick. It's a great song anyway.</p><p><br /></p>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-50835217875878087922010-02-04T21:51:00.001-05:002010-02-04T21:58:38.420-05:00Ugh, weather.<div>sleet hisses pale grey</div><div>on ice-cracked mountain sidewalks.</div><div>steam rises from tea.</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-9863715121304190522010-02-03T22:47:00.003-05:002010-02-03T22:57:32.525-05:00Horndog On A StickAfter three days on a different, low-dose birth control (Microgestin Fe 120, as opposed to the dreaded OrthoTriCyclen), is it too soon to know if it's the reason I am suddenly incredibly horny all the time?<div><br /></div><div>Or is it the fact that Wulfy came down with an _insert number of hours here_ stomach bug, and knowing I can't even kiss him is somehow bringing my (largely absent, lately) sex drive to the forefront of my consciousness?</div><div><br /></div><div>Amusing anecdote: night before last I dreamed that I fucked Wulfy in a Cracker Barrel restaurant, which was actually a riverboat. I told him this as he staggered back to bed after being sick again, and it made him laugh weakly while holding his stomach.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, the new pill doesn't make me throw up! Score.</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-6400666168860017562010-01-29T18:51:00.003-05:002010-01-29T19:21:21.379-05:00Watching the newsSpecial on the news my aunt is watching this minute:<br /><br />Reporter goes to a women's gym to horrify the 20- and 30-somethings exercising by telling them that, oh noes! by the age of thirty they only have 12% of their eggs left!<br /><br />I can't quite pin down exactly what's so facepalmy about this.<br /><br />Is it the assumption that all women want to have children? That was definitely there. The concern that the human race might come to an end because educated able-bodied white women aren't popping out babies? There was the whole "oh no, women are having careers instead of having babies" thing.<br /><br />Meh. Just a moment of annoyance while I happened to be online.Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-71766441607726773082010-01-27T19:17:00.002-05:002010-01-27T19:18:27.500-05:00Bunny Chaser<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ycQIiA7dnKQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ycQIiA7dnKQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-57335249456726038932010-01-27T18:46:00.004-05:002010-01-27T19:16:31.280-05:00Suckitude<p>Reasons last week sucked:</p><p>-Dumb argument with guy friends (see below)</p><p>-Sleep deprivation</p><p>-Tina Turner the Honda Accord has been making disturbing rattling, thumping noises.</p><p>-Annoying patients</p><p>-Coworkers disrespecting My Brother The Doctor</p><p>-Coworkers blaming me for "freaking out" over said disrespect</p><p>-Possible week before my period? Not sure, as I still haven't figured out exactly how I respond to the Pill.</p><p>-Dog my family has had since I was ten is steadily getting sicker.</p><p><br /></p><p>Reasons This Week Has Sucked:</p><p>-Parents had the dog put down Monday morning; they and my brother stayed with her. I had to stay here for work.</p><p>-Coworkers continuing to argue.</p><p>-Coworker who regularly cheats on her husband with her ex-husband (who cheated on her) <em>flips out </em>because her husband may or may not be corresponding with someone who may or may not be another woman, and has been looking at cute girls on Myspace. Facepalmage ensues.</p><p>-Annoying patients</p><p>-Sleep deprivation</p><p>-Today, Tina's front tire almost falls off when I drive my mechanic coworker around to figure out what's wrong with her. It turns out that when my parents had a very trusted family business at home to replace my tires last month, they didn't tighten the lug nuts down enough. It's amazing my tire didn't come off when I was going 70 on the interstate to get back here after xmas. Coworker helps me get her down to a local tire place to replace the lug nuts, which are totally stripped, and they end up having to replace the entire wheel, which is bent and broken all to hell. Repairs cost close to $200.</p><p>-I remain vaguely irritated at my aunt, all the time, because she's nosy and nitpicky and thinks she's my mother, and <em>she still hasn't cleared her stuff out </em>of the apartment I was supposed to move into in August. And she refuses to work on it until I clean my room--that is, the tiny guestroom she's tried to squeeze me in for months, with no desk and tiny twin beds. And not enough storage because her stuff is still in all the dressers.</p><p>-I need to go to a dermatologist because I think the rosacea I've probably inherited from my parents is beginning to show symptoms, because my cheeks are really red and blotchy and flaky, and it's But I'm not actually full-time so I don't have insurance right now. Which is freaking me out in general, really.</p><p>This is shaping up to be the Fortnight of Suck.</p>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-44364596615931740362010-01-24T20:42:00.003-05:002010-01-29T19:23:55.453-05:00On a lighter note, boobies!<p>After reading Dw3t-Hthr's <a href="http://lettersfromgehenna.blogspot.com/2010/01/keeping-abreast-of-subject.html">post</a> about <a href="http://kateharding.net/2010/01/21/guest-blogger-volcanista-of-boobages/">this post</a>, I thought I'd weigh in with my own thoughts:</p><p>Having been on the pill for a few months now, I am proud to report that my breasts have grown from 32-no-one-makes-cups-this-small-dammit, to 32-a! The past few years I've mostly worn training bras from Target, which come in a few cute colors and patterns, but are lacking in the won't-show colors of black and "nude," and have oddly-placed underwire. Now, I have one black bra and one "nude" bra that came from the adult lingerie section. I have arrived.</p><p>I still don't like my bra selection, though. Bras this small usually have a metric buttload of push-up padding, because most bra manufacturers seem to think that a-cups are something to be ashamed of. I stopped wearing padding after meeting Wulfy, who helped show me that my breasts are fine as they are, thank you very much. Victoria's Secret even has a bra they claim "fit's like custom," which means that d-cups have no padding and a-cups have more padding than I have breasts. And their underwire stabs me like woah.</p><p>I also don't like going braless, which larger-breasted women keep marveling at--even though they're small, it's uncomfortable to jog or go down stairs without a little support because they bounce (that, and my boss is the Abominable Snowman who keeps the office incredibly cold and a ridiculous lot of people are offended at the site of a nipple bump through clothes). This, even though my mom had to naaaag me to start wearing a bra when I was thirteen.</p><p>I'm more-or-less happy with the way my boobs are now (I was not particularly happy when they grew, as now I only have two bras I can comfortably wear), I just hate whatever idiot designs most bras.</p><p>Now, a couple sources for small-sized lingerie. I haven't ordered from these yet, but at least most of the models do actually have small enough breasts that I can get an idea of the fit on petite ladies like me:</p><p><a href="http://www.lulalu.com/">Lula Lu</a> petite lingerie has lots of cute lacy styles, and lots of basics.</p><p><a href="http://www.thelittlebracompany.com/">The Little Bra Company</a> has bras designed by a petite woman just as frustrated as I am about bra design.</p><p><br /></p>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8181384573157851035.post-71654191228685152232010-01-20T21:10:00.005-05:002010-01-20T21:38:42.142-05:00How do you start?I just got into an argument with a few white male friends who <i>insisted </i>that American white men are discriminated against, other forms of discrimination have nearly faded out of existence, and "racism doesn't exist up North."<div><br /></div><div>*facepalm*</div><div><br /></div><div>At least one of them is genuinely a cool and understanding person. I think he's just burnt out on the atmosphere at this liberal arts college, where no matter what the class, the point is often that White Men Are Evil. If I had the emotional wherewithal to calmly discuss a few pertinent examples with him, I might be able to get somewhere. But I am an emotional person and I'm dissatisfied with my living situation and my body hates me and I'm underpaid and my dog is dying, and I just. Cannot. Do it.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, Irrational Female I remain.</div><div><br /></div><div>The other guy? Is a know-it-all engineering major. The numbers of disciplines in which he thinks he is an expert and is Most Emphatically not are ridiculously numerous, and no matter what the argument he seems to end it with "whatever, we're not going to agree anyway," with an undertone of "I'm right and you're wrong, no matter what you say." To which tonight, I had so say, "You're right, we're not going to," and refrain from saying "because you're never going to listen to a word I say." He's the one who said "racism doesn't exist Up North." By Up North he meant, mostly, Boston. Any minority Bostonians want to disagree? I'm sure you're out there somewhere. Not that he'll listen.</div><div><br /></div><div>And my beloved Wulfy had to take me home and comfort me, after being astonished at the ire I showed in this argument. And, because I am a white female and this is what I know, the conversation turned toward "women's issues." Why am I a minority anyway? My "minority" comprises 51% of the population, I say. My "minority" also makes less on average than your "majority," for the same work, of the same quality, over the same time. A female coworker of mine was flat-out told by our manager that she doesn't make as much money as a man who works with us, despite doing the same work and having more experience, because "it's a man's world, honey." And here's how I really flabbergasted him:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Can you tell me when the last time you were really scared you were going to be raped? <i>Because I can.</i>"</div><div><br /></div><div>My car wouldn't start and I was near my workplace, and after catching a ride over I got a male coworker who used to work as a mechanic to take me back to my car and get it to start. And I was scared shitless to get into his car, but I need my car and I knew he could fix it and I was afraid to piss him off if I told him I didn't want to ride with him after he'd gotten our manager to give him permission to leave work, and I knew for sure he could fix my car, for free, and in a far shorter time that waiting an hour in freezing weather for a AAA person who was a totally unknown quantity. And I had to weigh that against the fact that he's over six feet tall to my 5'3", and weighs nearly twice as much as I do, and I know he can lift me a foot off the ground at arm's length. </div><div><br /></div><div>And my boyfriend had no clue that I was scared that night, that I would have reason to be scared. Because he has never faced that kind of fear.</div><div><br /></div><div>And now I am so far away from that original argument that I don't know what to think. I'm just a mess of these stupid <i>emotions</i> and I've cried too many times today.</div>Seraphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11931043303622096862noreply@blogger.com2