feminist blogs

It was the summer of 1988. Probably the turning point of my life...or one of them. I was 18 and sitting in the back seat of someone's car. It was probably my car, and I was probably being driven around Chicago by one of my friends, while the rest of the passengers joked and laughed and talked about various things. I had my nose in a book I had just bought at Powell's. I had pulled it at random from the shelves, saw illustrations by Sue Coe, and decided I had to read it. That book was _Narcissism and Death_ by Mariarosa Sclauzero, which is an experimental prose book about the human psyche, love, ethics, beauty, narcissism...and death. ha. It was fascinating to me, because it was written in a sort of ADD skipping from one topic to the next style that seemed to be a salvation in terms of setting an example for a type of novel I could actually write. I have never been very linear...and I am not good at envisioning and bringing to life meticulously accurate story lines from beginning to end with any amount of cohesion.

At any rate, I had my nose in that book when we turned on to Kenmore street. I remember the name of the street because people were talking about Kenmore appliances or something. Maybe the topic of washing machines came up. Maybe someone was talking about duds and suds, the new bar/laundromat that we always talked about going to, but always ended up dragging bags and bags of dirty clothes to my moms house in the suburbs, anyway...on those weekends we would go back for shows at Dirty Nellies and, later, mcGregor's.

So we parked somewhere on Kenmore to visit with my roommates boyfriend Erich "Fish" Blocher, and his roommate Warren "Fish" Fisher. They were two men who shared an apartment and a nickname. Warren was fish for obvious reason, and I believe he played bass for screeching weasel for awhile and was in a band called Ozzfish or The Ozzfish Experience...although I recently chatted with my other old roommate and we can't for the life of us figure out who the Ozz in Ozzfish was. Erich was nicknamed fish for reasons unknown. He was a tall, goofy, John Denvery looking guy with round glasses and a sort of hippie, laid back demeanor. He was living in the other Fish's closet at the time. I remember laying on the pillows on the floor and looking up at the chain that hung from the bare lightbulb in the closet. there was a long string tied to the end of the chain as a means of extension "Because I am too lazy to stand up to turn it off at night." said fish.

And as I lay there, with my nose still in Narcissism and Death, one of the fishes made me a tape of the Chumbawamba lp _Pictures of Starving Children Sell Records_ because I just HAD to listen to it over and over again. And I have. And I still do. It is kind of a masterpiece.

And when I hear Chumbawamba now, I think of that day. I think of being driven, nose in book, refrigerators, washing machines, lightbulbs and fish and fish and fish's closet. And I think of black and white ink drawings and songs about anarchy and I think about Pictures of Starving Children and Narcissism and Death. And the richness and clarity of these memories amazes me always.

Hey everyone...

One of the things I am most thankful for in my life right now is the presence of an amazing creative partner who inspires and surprises me.

A few weeks ago, I got an email from him asking if we should try to participate in this radiohead/aniboom video animation contest, and even though I don't really consider myself to be much of a visual artist, I couldn't turn down the opportunity to embark on a creative adventure with him.

So, I am pleased to announce our entry into the storyboard phase of the contest. We chose Weird Fishes because the story was evocative and, well, speaking for myself...because fish are relatively easy to draw. hahaha.

If you like the storyboard, it would be awesome if you would vote. I know it's a pain in the ass to sign up for a website to vote for something, but it'd be rad if you would. :)

Whether you do or not, I hope you enjoy the storyboard at least. It represents 3 weeks of brainstorming, chalking, pep talking, nagging, more brainstorming, more making a chalky mess of myself and everything around me, and lots and lots of wonderful creative processing...

I am looking forward to more of the same, for as long as I am fortunate to have such a wonderful artistic collaborator in my life.

Here's the video:


Watch more cool animation and creative cartoons at aniBoom

You can go here to vote for it:

http://www.aniboom.com/Player.aspx?v=206718

...about what I leave behind. Not in a bullshit business productivity training "leaving a legend" way, but more like keeping track of where I am and where I want to be. What I have tried...all of the different ways I have tried to live my life.

And the thing is, I am happiest with my life right now in this moment...in this era. But, you know how it is when you feel you have something to lose - suddenly it seems as though you have everything to protect, and it's easy to start wondering if maybe it's not easier to have nothing at all.

The other day I twittered: Grateful 5: fun kids, rewarding career, adventurous lover, inspiring creative partner, and freedom in all these relationships. Why complain? And I meant it. Maybe the reason I am tempted to complain is that it all seems a little too good, and when things seem easy, I have a difficult time relaxing and enjoying. It's that old working class work ethic of "if you ain't sweating, it ain't work." (actually, I just made that up, I think...but I know that's how I feel) I have a tendency to feel like if my life isn't difficult or complicated in some way, I'm being somehow lazy.

I really need to stop that. hahaha. I do have all of those things I am thankful for, and then some, and I do feel fortunate for it. That is not to say there aren't plenty of things that I don't have...but the things I DO have keep me quite busy. My life is full, busy, and productive. I need to stop worrying about looking for more, more, more.

This spring in Austin has been the nicest I can remember. Every night is cool, every morning brisk and sunny and bursting with the sounds of doves and other birds I can hear through my open windows. The trees seemed to go from bud to full foliage overnight. I missed the unfolding...but there is always next spring to witness that.

So, it seems I never blog anymore. I was actually thinking about it today, because I read an article that I wanted to blog about...and it took me like 30 minutes to fully read the article, and then about 3 hours to get over how depressed it made me feel. And by the time I got to the end of that 3 hours, I was listening to Abba when I should have been blogging, and all I wanted to do was rock out to "Dancin' Queen" Who has time for blogging?

Oh, wait...that's what I am doing now. Haha. This blog will now be delayed while its author rocks out to Dancin' Queen. Feel the beat of that tambourine, baby!!!

**PAUSE**

I'm not sure why, but it seems like it's been awhile since I have had some alone time that I have actually enjoyed. Lately, I have felt a lot of pressure to be socially active and datingly inclined. I think that's what bothered me about that article I read. It was some single mother ranting about how you should settle for a man while you are young because by the time you are smart enough to realize you need a man to take care of certain more practical, less romantic needs, you will be too old and ugly to attract a good one.

Yes, I know I'm oversimplifying a bit...but not a lot. If you really feel like you want to read the entire article, you can find it here.

I think the thing that really got to me is that, yes I do occasionally worry about my future if I don't find some sort of partner to share the practical burden of day to day living and growing old. But I don't necessarily think that's productive, nor do I think "settling" for someone or some specific type of relationship or lifestyle is going to necessarily ensure my future will be less burdensome on the whole. The author of the article seems to feel that a healthy response to a fear of being alone is to, as she reports, remain in a relationship that would prompt someone to say "“You’re so lucky, you don’t have to have sex with someone you don’t want to.”

Because, you know, at least the woman who is having unwilling sex HAS a MAN!

Jesus fucking Christ. I don't think I have anything to add to that. I'm just going to play a bunch of '80's music in my house alone, and be happy that my fear of facing a future in which I am potentially alone for eternity exempts me from coercive sex. Suddenly being single doesn't seem like a bad thing at all.

I went to bed feeling really upset last night because I had spent some time earlier with people that were confusingly snooty. They didn't actually say anything mean to me, but I was so freaking uncomfortable around them that I didn't know what to say.

I think sometimes that because I have a (perhaps unhealthy) tendency to self-evaluate, I get extra super irritated with and uncomfortable around anyone who issues forth unexamined ignorance to an extreme degree. I don't know how to describe it. Perhaps it helps to say that even now, having just written that, I'm thinking "Wait...did that sound self-righteous? Maybe there's a different way to explain that so it doesn't seem like I'm saying "I'm better than other people..." etc, etc. So, I mean, I'm kind of aware that I have a bit of an obsessive urge to overthink everything. However, I don't think that fact should necessitate me being totally tolerant of people who UNDERthink.

At any rate, I'm not even sure why I am blogging this, except maybe to force everyone to witness my pms-insanity. hahaha. I am all over the place right now. Missing my kiddos, still keyed up by sxsw, looking forward to vacation time next week, feeling like I'm neglecting my mom because I'm too chicken shit to call her, worrying about my job, being absolutely elated about what a great job I have, having a lover/wanting a friend, wanting a lover/having a friend, having extra money for the first time in a LONG time, being scared to death about the future of the planet, tired of politics, feeling extra politically charged up, not having enough time, having too much time, looking forward to hanging out with my mama friends tonight, looking back on my week and wondering where all of my time went, and on and on and on.

Today, I'm looking for a perfect moment. Just one perfect moment where I can sit, and relax, and just be there now. Whenever that now happens. In the meantime, I need to catch up with myself, remind myself that all of these things will have their time to play out, relax, relax, relax...be thankful and chill. Be thankful that I'm even in a position where I can afford to overthink my overthinkingness. And chill.

(and as I typed the word chill, I suddenly became aware of this bird calling rhythmically outside, and I stopped, and listened, and immersed myself in that moment. And it was nice.)

I had been driving the car for about 2 months like this. The brake light would come on and glow steady red whenever I would make a hard left, or brake suddenly, or go up an incline...and then it would go out.

At first I thought it was the brake fluid. Perhaps it was running out. But when I asked for them to check it when I brought it in for an oil change, all fluid levels were fine. That had been a month ago, and the light was still going on. As the days passed, I felt more and more anxious that something seriously and unaffordably wrong was going on. And the more time passed, the more symptoms of big problems seemed evident to me. Wait! I think the Brake Light just came on when I TAPPED the brake! What was that noise? Did I hear GRINDING? Maybe there won't be a warning...maybe this IS my warning that the brakes are going to go.

The other side of my mind would respond by reassuring me that I just had the brakes fixed 8 months ago, and they were still under warranty...and anyway, that light doesn't stay on for long. It'll all be ok.

Of course, neither side of my mind wanted me to bring the car in to the shop. The panicky side was sure there would be a million other issues that would be discovered and haven't I had to pay for enough car repairs over the past year? The calm side could never prioritize the trip over my other millions of daily responsibilities.

And so it went on until the brake light very definitely WAS coming on more frequently, and I happened to have a semi-unbusy day with plenty of time to bring the car in. Also, my tax return hit my bank account the same day as my paycheck, making me feel extra-super rich in spite of the fact that the majority of the money is actually spoken for. So I did it. I brought it in.

The problem? It was a loose wire on the sensor in the brake fluid tank. It cost me nothing to repair, and the courtesy vehicle dropped me back at home and then picked me right back up again.

I spent the remainder of the day laughing at my tendency to fret over warning lights, when all that's wrong is a short circuit.

Or has everyone/anyone else noticed a distinct shift towards hopelessness?

It seems like in the past year, all of the various doomsday indicators have been sounding out voluminously. It'd be a death toll except it's more of a peel. Like the squeal of brakes as they are quickly applied before an unexpected precipice.

I've even noticed the gloom in my children, who talk openly about the fact that the adults have fucked up the world for them. I don't know if my children are just extraordinarily jaded, but I just don't remember being eleven and even thinking about the future, much less mulling over having none and grouching about the fact that the planet might be "nothing more than an empty shell" by the time I was old enough to eat all of the candy I wanted whenever I wanted to. Because that's what I viewed as the main benefit of adulthood.

Well, guess what...the grown-ups have cleaned out the candy dish and broken it to pieces.

And those of us who have been paying attention all along have kind of known there would be a point of no return, but it's so easy to be lulled into tranquil security to the hum of the shift in targeted advertising. Lately, I am hearing strains of tune-changing as commercials on TV tout the benefits of NOT spending money (seeing as so many of us have so little to spend). I am wondering when reality TV will shift to pure fantasy TV, or perhaps...as actually my 11 year old so astutely pointed out after watching Nanny 911 with me..."I think the point of those reality shows is that when you are done watching them you are thankful for your own life because by comparison it looks pretty good."

And, you know, I don't want to lose hope. And I will actively set my mind and soul against losing hope...but I can't deny that the shift is palpable. I was watching the PBS show Now this morning, and a woman said (about something totally off this topic, but still somehow applicable) "There is right...there is wrong...and then there is reality." It's like the opposite of being given a choice between a and b and choosing C. And for the life of me, I can't figure out how to explain it better than that.

So here is what is up in my little corner of the world. In between reading headlines about the end of the world being nigh and all of the political infighting on the part of two politicians who pretty much have the same agenda (come to think of it, don't they all?) and economic and environmental collapse I am parenting. I am being a mom. I am being a boss. I am being a daughter. I am somebody's lover. I am somebody's friend. And I am trying to remember to breathe and stay focused on my little world, even though it feels smaller and smaller and less impactful all the time.

The kids are doing great. M, after a few weeks of trying his hand at being an obstinate, rebellious pre-teen is now testing what it's like to be cooperative and sweet. I, of course, prefer the latter, although the former is in interesting challenge for me. C is still zippy and bouncy and the sayer of weird stuff like "What happens when you try to take a zombie's pulse?" They are both learning and growing and failing and trying again, as am I.

My job is going well, but it's stressful. And there are some potentially stressful changes coming up that I don't want to have to deal with right now, but I will have to whether I like it or not. Damn the timing! But I have an awesome group of kids I am working with...and a great organization...and a wonderful slew of clients...and it is a rare day that I don't thank whoever is in charge of this weird, disordered universe that I somehow ended up in just the right place at just the right time with just the right skills to land this job.

My love life? Meh. hahaha. Not so much. But I'm getting by. A dear old friend asked me, a few months ago, "Lainie...how's your love life?" I responded that if he knew any men who would appreciate a 38 year old woman who spent two hours on her day off from work and children staring at, taking pictures of, and filming a lizard as it slithered around her window...and then spent the next 2 weeks talking about it excitedly...and pretty much spends all her free time staring at trees and birds and the sky...they need to call me. Until then, it just seems like most men really don't get me, or want me to be someone I am not, or want me to give them an inordinate amount of attention in exchange for very little...or are just plain tragically impossible.

Yesterday I told M that his mamaw has cancer. I haven't found a way to tell C yet. C is so sensitive. M is, too, but he's more able to handle news like this. C gets really emotionally affected by the news on the radio. He will cry when he hears a story about a kid who drowned in a flood. It's ironic that we started reading Ida B right before I found out about my mom. That was two months and two chapter books ago. Now we are reading On The Banks Of Plum Creek and I am only just now admitting to myself that the children need to know. That it probably wouldn't be fair for me to Just Not Tell Them. Well, also...that it's not something that will Quietly Go Away.

About my mom's cancer...I just don't even know where to begin. I am overwhelmed by a flood of self-examination...and not just of the boobie kind. Odd how cancer is so metaphorical. There are so many nodes and so many cells to evaluate. I am stuck wondering which are benign and which need to be excised. What to rid myself of and what to keep. What my options are and what is just not even within my control.

It's strange that I never have given a thought to my mom's mortality. Really, I haven't given much thought to my own mortality for quite some time...if ever. For awhile there, it seemed like people around me were dying young all over the place, so I guess I just thought I was lucky to hang in for as long as I have. Now, I'm like "Crap...you mean my time is limited here? Shit!" And then I busy myself with all of my goings-on until I am too distracted by living to focus too much on death.

But it's still there. And lately it is a little too close for comfort, like an old cat perched on the arm of the sofa, silent and still so that I hardly notice it. I forget it's there until it opens its slitted eyes, stretches, and meows loudly for attention.

...so we haven't left the house much this week. Aside from work, and even that I have been doing from home until today because you can't take a sick child to play at a healthy friend's house, you know.

I am glad I have a job that is so portable and flexible with me. Although there are times that I wished being sick (or taking care of a sick child) meant having a night off. I also find myself wishing, at times, that I had more of a regular job that involved regular contact with other human beings in my age range. But, you know...I am very fortunate, and I suppose there is always something to complain about no matter what the circumstances. I am sure if I worked in an office every day, surrounded by people, I would complain about that way more than I feel the urge to complain about my relative isolation.

And anyway, I just feel more isolated this week because I have not been out at the sites and really interacting with people. And when I have, it has been to do unpleasant things.

But anyway, I did manage to sneak out for a bit yesterday and take a nice walk around the block over and over again. Actively combating the urge to think about diseases and statistics and predictable outcomes. But also retrieving calls from work about such things as "Where is such and such located?" and "I can't find thisandthat." from people who know I have even less of an idea where such and such is, because I'm not standing in the relative proximity of where such and such was alleged to have been left by another person who is not me. (and today I talked to my boss and reiterated an old comedy line from, I think, Roseanne Barr about how the uterus must be some sort of homing device, because people are always asking me where things are even though I had nothing to do with the getting them there.)

At any rate, that's not even what I was going to write about tonight. What I was going to say is that this afternoon we had to run out of the house abruptly to run an errand that I totally, in my pajama-clad-all-day induced stupor I had totally spaced off. And when we came back into the house...in reentering the place I had been holed up for what felt like eternity...I could actually smell it. And it smelled nice. I guess that's on account of how I did all of the rancid potato soup dishes earlier in the week, but also on account of how I have spontaneously sort of started doing this candle-lighting ritual at the end of my day. Nothing elaborate or extraordinary, but just lighting candles and burning some incense. Sprinkling a little lavender oil on things in the hopes of scattering some of the anxiety that hovers like the vultures who inexplicably live in my neighborhood.

You know. Rituals. Tiny ones that you don't even notice you are doing until they are habitual. Little ways to introduce consistency and constancy in the middle of chaos. But pervasive and far-reaching enough to hold back the vultures with the heavily wax scent of lavender as it rises from the wick.

Transitions are always so difficult. I used to blame the children, but it's really me. To go from 2 weeks of reflective solitude to a week of constant interaction is tiring for me. It wears me down. And then I start to feel selfish, because what parent resents the interaction...and I have made so many choices to ensure that my children are able to interact.

My kinder voice pipes in softly on occasion "It's ok...it's just a transition." But it gets lost in the white noise of frustration.

It's difficult, I think, to be a reclusive person with children. Also, sometimes it's difficult to be a romantic recluse. I can never have enough privacy OR enough intimacy. I can only comfortably deal with people one at a time...which is undeniably ironic, considering I make a living delivering training to groups of people. haha.

Sometimes I feel like every single aspect of my life is in direct conflict with another aspect. If I were a program, there would be little error messages all over the place.

But I am not a computer program. I am a human. So I sometimes hide in my room while the children scream at each other. I sometimes avoid talking to people rather than deal with conflict. I sometimes ask for more intimacy than I probably deserve. And I sometimes harbor a secret desire to run away to a desert island and escape.

And I guess that's ok, even though right now it doesn't feel ok.