I Forgot...

to blog on International Women's Day. Shame on me. Here are some flowers by way of an apology:




And please, take a few moments to go and add your name to the virtual march in solidarity with our feminist sisters in Iran.

And if you get another minute and have some spare cash, nip over to Ms. Jared's place and help her increase her sponsor money for the walk against rape. Cheers!

So, There's This Dentist...

I currently take anti-anxiety medication, something else for panic attacks and another load of dope for another health issue that I don't care to reveal at the moment. (You don't need to know and it's neither exciting nor front-bottom related.)

Here's my question: should it be okay for my dentist to say to me "I take it you aren't on the Seroxat (Paxil) any more!" and then giggle as if she just told a really good joke? I felt really embarrassed and at that moment I didn't know why. Quick as a flash I answered "actually I am." She responded a bit sheepishly with "20mg?" I answered "30mg. I am, in fact, quite insane." She wrote it all in my notes and got on with the check up.

So, anyway, I know the answer to my own question. It wasn't okay for her to make an assumption, joke about it and make me feel ashamed of the medication that I need. But why did I have to try and be funny about it? First off, I wasn't sure why she made the comment. Has she seen the bad press that surrounds paroxetine and assumed that no-one takes it any more? Has she looked at my notes and calculated the length of time I have been on the tablets and assumed I ought to be "cured" by now? What prompted the question and the giggle?

Secondly, was there any way I could have responded to that comment without irreparably damaging the otherwise excellent relationship that I have with her? I love my dentist. She has coaxed me into more and better dental healthcare and she is still NHS. She has always been caring and sensitive and this was totally out of character for her. My gut feeling is that she will have noted the exchange and felt quite silly about it. I hope so. This is one of those conversations that I really don't want to have.

I suppose what I'm really asking is, "Why am I ashamed of my mental health status?". I'm a bit shocked that it was such a sore point. I thought I was beyond that kind of thinking. Turns out maybe I'm not.

Happy Monday!

I WILL not be tearful today..! This video made me wet myself. Really. Take the five odd minutes and enjoy some feminist comedy.



I love Maxine! "Dammit girl, you're Condi-licious!"

Have a wonderful, radical week you women!

Can Anyone Explain?

Why "BDSM Sexual Intercourse" has appeared as one of my subscribed feeds on Bloglines? I am going to complain about it. It was a bit of a shock when I clicked on my feeds page this morning; it was there at the top of my list! It's gone now because I deleted it, but now I'm thinking that deleting it may have activated something? Does anyone know? I am scanning with all my virus ware immediately!

Oh I Am Down Today...

In the interests of knocking recent unpleasantness on the head before I keel over and die of exasperation complicated by ineffable sadness at the state of radical feminism today, I will apologise for printing e-mails in part and without permission. It was the wrong thing to do and I recognise this.

I am now politely asking certain people to leave this blog and my e-mail alone. I don't need it and I don't want it. I find that it is now becoming oppressive. I won't be contacting you and I hope you can afford me the same courtesy.

I have modified and/or deleted all references in my posts to the entire situation. I have left comments alone, authors of said comments may feel free to ask me to delete them. Let's move on.

What and Who is Fair Game in This War Against the Patriarchy?

Where is the line of acceptable action drawn? May we use any means to make our point or fight our corner? Should we, as radical feminists, be held to account for higher standards of behaviour then we would expect from the enemy camp? Or is anything okay given that often, the ends justify the means? When does disagreement about this line within the radfem sphere become pointless infighting?

This Week I Read...

My Mama's Waltz: A book for adult daughters of alcoholic mothers. It was amazing. I have had therapy for many years and still never REALLY felt that anyone knew how I had grown up; I still felt alone. Not now!! Every story in this book touched a nerve with me. Every woman in this book has had some experience that ties in with mine. I understand now that it is normal to love and hate my mother at the same time and not get why it works like that. It just does, and it's okay.

I feel understood. I feel validated. I feel comforted.

Some Thoughts on Touching...

I am not used to being touched. I am not used to touching other people. I hug my family and have always been a cuddler, by which I mean that if you are crying or feeling shitty I WILL hold you and let you sob; I WILL cuddle you until you feel safer. But when it comes to something like last night's yoga class, where we partnered up and pushed down on each other's thighs, I go cold. What is happening here?

The class is made up of some eight women and three men. Two of the men are great, ordinary guys who just get on with the class. But of course, there's the obligatory dickhead wearing inappropriate shorts who has already spent ten minutes showing us his Thai-boxing skills and his well-defined thigh muscles. Nobody in the room wants to partner with him. He makes some sort of faux sexual grunting noise when our teacher leans over the opened thighs of her partner. You know the man, we all do. It is understandable that he makes me uncomfortable. But I am comfortable with my partner. I know her. Still, as I lie there my body is fighting her touch. I feel overwhelmed with the need to get her off me. To have my space back. And I can tell, as I return the touch, that she is feeling the same panic.

I suspect that we are not used to such familiarity with our own bodies. With other people's bodies. For so many reasons, I am used to protecting my body and curling into a defensive posture, not lying prone and exposed. I don't know how to be open to this touch. I don't know how to stop feeling that burned in fear of touch. I worry that my body is somehow offensive to others. I KNOW that the actions of other's bodies can be offensive to me. What I am sure of is that I was not alone in my discomfort. Most of the women in the room had some sort of nervous reaction to the exercise.

So how do I get past this? Will it just become natural with experience? Is it even really a problem? All I can say is I felt that as a radical feminist woman, I was shocked by how tightly closed off my body is in this peaceful, safe space...

(Mister Shorts-that-show-scrotum was comfortable as long as he thought he was going to manhandle his female neighbour. His demeanour altered when one of the men stepped up and commandeered him before he got his hands on anyone else. Heh.)

Happy Monday!

I'm posting early this week as I'm pushed for time tomorrow, and I don't want you all to miss this weeks choice! Go here and spend some time going through the photos. I'm not sure if the e-mail to add your own pic is still active, but what's the worst that can happen?! I haven't really looked in detail at the Empowerment web site, but it looks interesting. Have fun and have a truly empowered week, women!

Zero Tolerance

I'm making myself clear. Porn is porn is porn. There is no such thing as "good" porn, "feminist" porn, "woman centred" porn etc. I make no apology for my opinion. I'm feeling a little outnumbered these days though...

Alright alright, you talked me into it...

Here's me and daughter at last night's Indigo Girls gig at Manchester Academy 2. I'm the one who looks older. And a bit overwhelmed...

Below are pictures that demonstrate two important things: first, the Indigo Girls are just magnificent. Second, I need a better camera.

Catherine Feeny, the support act, was fabulous. She has a strong, soaring voice and her style reminds me a little of Patty Griffin. I bought the album and suggest you check her out. One of her songs is currently featuring in the movie Running With Scissors. After Feeny came the main event. My heroes, the Indigo Girls. And yes, they were everything I expected them to be and more. Utterly amazing, pitch perfect, incredible guitar skills. I was waving my arms in the air and stamping my feet with the rest of the crowd. The playlist was fantastic, it included Last Tears, Land of Canaan, Jonas and Ezekiel, Kid Fears, Pendulum Swingers, Little Perennials and Chicken Man. I could really only have wished for Ozilline. Amy and Emily chatted with the audience, Amy fluffed her lyrics a couple of times and laughed it off, it was just such a friendly, warm, powerful evening. Standing there, holding hands with daughter, the love of my life, I was struck by the unexpected thought that my life is good.

Yesterday

I went back to church. I went for several reasons, one of which was the need to revisit the place of so many appalling and recurring nightmares. I had joined the Independent Methodists when I was a fresh-faced babe of about eight years old and I stayed through to my mid-teens. I left when I worked out that I was being scared into trying to feel emotions that I didn't understand. I left because I felt frightened. The fears and oppression that I felt there have followed me ever since, rearing up at unexpected moments, stopping me in my tracks, terrifying me. So anyway, yesterday I faced my demons and I devoured them; I am no longer in fear of that building or the people who worship within it.

It was, in truth, somewhat of an anti-climax. I had anticipated an internal battle, a panic attack, a purple breathless struggle for self-control. In fact I felt confident, tall and proud and grounded. I sniffed round the building, looking in rooms that had previously seemed large, dark and unwelcoming. I looked up at the impossibly high windows and saw just winter sunshine. No vengeful, homophobic God peering in at me. I read through some of the tracts that lay on the tables and I felt sorry that I had ever been trapped in such a miserable woman-loathing religion. I felt gloriously radical and feminist and human! And I slept like a baby last night.

Happy Monday!

I'm still hanging on to my internet connection. It dies frequently but only for moments at a time, so it's bearable for now! Anyway, this week I finally get to see the Indigo Girls live and in person! This makes me ludicrously happy and I want to share my joy. Of course I am catastrophising the whole thing: what if I can't get there on time? What if there's a bus strike/taxi strike/my legs fall off? What if they cancel? What if I get there and my tickets are lost? I could go on and on. I'm practised at it.

Anyway, back to the sharing of joy...



Have a fabulous week! Will you be able to wait for the photos? x

Oh Bitch, Why Porn?

Here's a miserable little tale: I started reading feminist blogs after I stumbled on Bitch PhD. I came across her site one day last year and I liked what I read, so I stayed. I eventually strayed into my own blogging territory and those of other radical feminists but the Bitch still offered a good place to visit occasionally. Sadly, not any more.

You may or may not know (via Twisty, thank you very much) that Bitch has taken a paying job with Suicide Girls, blogging as culture editor or some such thing. My disappointment is palpable. Really, I believe it may be felt from yards away. I feel betrayed and I don't know why. She doesn't owe me anything. We're not friends. We have only academia and feminism in common... Oh, that may be it. The feminism thing.

Suicide Girls purports to be all about "unique, strong, sexy and confident women". They "are an army of 1,318 unconventionally gorgeous pin-up girls devoted to changing your idea of what makes women beautiful. [They] are the girls you've wanted to meet all your life."

Good God Almighty! How does an intelligent woman fall for this bullshit? Look at the "girls" page. Do any of those women look unconventionally beautiful to you? Do any of them have stretch marks, mastectomy, body hair, body fat, acne or any other human feature that might be (culturally) considered imperfect? Do me a favour. These "girls" are not even afforded the courtesy of being described as women, having adult status.

Porn irreparably damages women and girls. Porn encourages rape. Porn is a tool of the patriarchy. And porn is porn, no matter how you tattoo it, pierce it, label it, dress it up in faux-feminism and try to defend it. That's all.

Happy Monday!!

I'm baaaaaaaack! Up and running but having troubles with Blogger. It's late on Monday evening and I have no time tonight to find anything joyful to show you and set you up for the week, so I will just wish you all a peaceful, powerful, radical week! I have loads to catch up on, I will work my way round to you all and thanks for sticking with me! P x

Bugger.

I have no internet access at home for the last and next few days. Hence no Happy Monday post, no delightful witty/pithy/blow-my-own-trumpet comments on the world in general and no fabby vids of bunnies for you, Spotty... I feel sad. So, can you do without me for a while? Will you still love me when I return? Will the internet fixer person get me up and running again? Oh it's all just tiny stitches in the rich tapestry that is my life. Bum.

Happy Monday!

You WILL enjoy this week. I command it. Here's a poem to start you off on the right foot:

The Year I was Harriet (by Karen Brodine)

the year I was Harriet
I could do math
and was bossy

that was third grade
and there were two Karens
so I turned into Harriet
who was my grandma
and my middle name.
chin thrust forward
I stood up in that room
and the numbers
clicked to attention
I wasn't fooled
by them anymore
their squeaks
their chalky tongues
their carrying on.
all that year, brassy,
I was wild horse, holding my own
reins loose, knees tough with scars,
taking the ground for granted.
my elbows stuck out to the sides,
my glasses gleamed with fake
diamonds and purpose.
I stuck my head under my desk
and ate grape jello raw
right out of the package,
then peered up, bloody purple.
when Mrs. English shrieked,
"oh lord what now?" I just
bared my bright teeth
in a weird, brave smile.

I am being Harriet this week. Have a great week, women!

Oh PETA, you're so right...

While I was over at Creek Running North, I came across Chris' response to a new PETA ad. I jumped in at PETA and on their ads and activism ideas I suggested that they stop using naked women to sell their politics and tried treating women with at least as much respect as they demand for animals.

And here's the reply:

Thank you for your letter sharing your thoughts about PETA’s “State of the Union Undress.” We appreciate the opportunity to address your concerns.

Sarah Harley, the star of our ad, has said “there is nothing shameful or ‘wrong’ about being naked; I believe that women—and men—should have the choice to use their own bodies as political statements.” PETA wholeheartedly agrees. In fact, the tactic is actually age old; it has been used since at least the 11th century, when Lady Godiva rode naked on a horse to protest taxes on the poor. Consider, too, that it is the societies that allow women to wear revealing clothing in which women have the most rights and the most power. Likewise, it is the societies that punish women for wearing revealing clothing in which women have the fewest rights and the least power—they are considered chattel who must do as they are told. We would also like to note that we do not feature only women in our more provocative ads; please see the following examples:

http://www.FurIsDead.com/feat-rodman2.asp
http://www.PETA.org/feat/jennaethan/
http://www.FurIsDead.com/feat-kristoff.asp


The current situation is critical for billions of animals, and because it is our duty to continue drawing attention to the plight of animals abused in the meat, clothing, experimentation, and entertainment industries, we are willing to use all legal means at our disposal in ways that will capture the public’s imagination. Because we have found that people do pay more attention to our racier actions—and we consider the public’s attention to issues that affect animals to be extremely important—this will often entail our taking our clothes off. We understand that some consider our projects that include nudity to be controversial, but if our doing so shakes people up and even shocks them into discussion about the staggering number of lives at stake, then we are successful.

We must also note that we don’t rely on nudity for the majority of our outreach, nor do we use it gratuitously; it is intended to underscore our message, whether it is “I’d rather go naked than wear fur,” to emphasize the health benefits of a vegetarian diet, or to show the vulnerability of animals in laboratories or circuses. We make a point of having something for all tastes, from the most conservative to the most radical and from the most tasteless to the most refined.

This approach has proved amazingly successful—in just this past year, for example, major retailers, including Polo Ralph Lauren, Limited Brands, Ann Taylor, and Kenneth Cole Productions, made commitments to PETA to drop the fur from their clothing lines. Welch’s agreed to stop conducting deadly animal tests. Our campaign against the atrocities at KFC continues, and we’ve taken on new challenges as well. We’ve launched campaigns against Burberry and POM Wonderful, calling on those companies to stop killing animals. Please visit http://www.PETA.org/about/victories.asp for an inspiring list of victories.

We believe that America is ready to wake up to the truth about how animals are treated. We believe that America is ready to turn away from cruelty and embrace compassion and respect for all living beings. And, because we also believe that all this country needs to get the ball rolling is a little encouragement, PETA will work harder, shout louder, push further and, if we must, get “nakeder” than ever before. Please join us by visiting http://www.PETA.org/actioncenter/ for information on what you can do for animals.

Thank you again for providing us with this opportunity to explain our position on this important topic and for all that you do to help animals.

Sincerely,

The PETA Staff

Now, if you are still awake, I should take this opportunity to admit once and for all that I really AM just a humourless, wizened, body hating radfem. I think, and have always thought that the human body should be hidden away and never mentioned or alluded to. It was remiss of me not to acknowledge that we live in a society that allows women to wear revealing clothes, therefore demonstrating that our scantily clad women have rights. I am sooooo thankful that I don't live in a (ahem) society where women are chattel. I am ashamed that I didn't understand that nudity is an "age-old" form of protest. I feel so stupid. I thank those intelligent, educated and not at all racist people at PETA for correcting me and explaining the real morality and ethics behind using a nubile, perfectly shaven, unlined, white, slender woman to draw attention to their noble campaign.

Fat, So?

I went to a Yoga class. I got my sweat pants on and bought a bottle of water, said goodbye to my family and set off for unknown territory. It was a small, established class, I have never done Yoga before, and I don't do well at new things that involve other humans. I sat in the car for a few minutes debating whether or not to just forget the whole thing and go home where I know I'm safest. Recently, when I feel myself falter in this way I know that I have to act positively and boldly, and somehow I seem able to make myself do it. So with some hundred voices shouting in my head that I'm too fat, too old, too ugly, not posh and middle class enough, too loud and mouthy, just too much loud fat woman for people to take, I walked in to my first class.

So. I was without question the largest person in the room. I was, however, not the least fit. I stretched and felt self-conscious. I pulled at my top and my pants, adjusting them so that (I thought) no flab was exposed. I attempted every pose and rested during those that were far beyond my ability. After about half an hour I was really feeling stretched and warm, my heart rate was raised and my skin was glowing. I was enjoying myself! It was only in the final ten minutes where we rested in the dark, meditating, that I realised I had become completely unself-conscious. I had been utterly unaware of my appearance, size, exposed bits etc for at least half of the class. It was a revelation. It was freeing. I left the class feeling happy and confident, I conquered my chronic shyness (which manifests itself as brashness and inappropriate comedy!) and just spoke to people. I look forward to my next class on Monday. And I know it's a cliche but I really and truly feel taller.

I Heart Twisty Faster

Here is a quote from Twisty's latest and deliciously ferocious post:

Femininity is a set of practices and behaviors (boob jobs, FGM, ‘beauty’, the ‘veil’, the flirty head-tilt, pornaliciousness, BDSM, fashion, compulsory pregnancy, marriage, et al) that are dangerous, painful, pink, or otherwise destructive; that compel female subordination; that exist only to benefit Dude Nation; that are overwhelmingly represented by ‘girly’ feminists as a ‘choice’; and that are overwhelmingly represented by godbags and other irritating conservatives as ‘natural instincts’. In fact these practices and behaviors are nothing but inviolable cultural traditions in abject compliance with which comfort, contentment, and personal fulfillment are inextricably intertwined, and from which deviation is discouraged by the threat of ingenious punishments ranging from diminished social influence, to unemployability, to ridicule, to imprisonment, to rape, to murder, to the policing of feminist blogs.

Go and read the rest of it. It burns. In a very good way.