As promised, here's my follow up after my feminism class met yesterday...
Turns out this whole desire thing is pretty well explained by good ol' Freud. The big mystery of life--that we discussed yesterday--is where does that tricky desire come from? There's this crazy argument about the nature vs. culture dichotomy, and a lot of people want to explain culture in terms of nature--ie: we function in certain ways, or culture develops in certain ways, because of our innate nature. The problem with trying to define nature, though, is that culture develops differently from place to place. Though nearly all cultures have taboos surrounding food, excretion, and reproduction--boundaries that determine what is considered "clean" and "unclean"--those demarcations are not the same cross culturally. Because said taboos are not the same, Poststructuralists argue, it is impossible to solidify "the person" outside of culture, time, humanity, etc. If you stopped following right about now, don't stress (Poststruct-what??), Freud falls on the other side of the argument, with the Essentialists, who explain culture in terms of innate nature: we are a certain way just because that's how humans are. So the Essentialist idea goes that people have this "lack," an inner void, if you will (sound familiar churchies?), that we are trying to fill. Hence, desire occurs because we are unsatisfied from birth. Freud explains that somewhere in the recesses of our unconscious, we hold to this ahistorical unity of self with "the Mother" (the existence of which, of course, the Poststructuralists question altogether)--that at one time we were a unified self, but at birth we are torn from our "home," which creates the "lack," a hole we spend our whole lives trying to fill. Freud says, I miss my mommy. Church tells me, I miss God.
So in my last post I skirted the issue of desire, asking lots of questions, but making no attempt to answer them for myself. Today, I spent some time with my journal to get to the bottom of things. No, really, what do I desire?
Frankly, I'd be lying if I didn't answer, "God"...because I do desire Him. But I'd be lying if I did answer simply as such...because it really isn't the whole truth. Of course, now my inner Legalist feels guilty because she knows the answer should be God. Period. If I really love Jesus, I wouldn't think of anything else, right? So I shouldn't desire. End of story. Rational Meredith steps in--well if I do desire other things, perhaps it's a problem of a misplaced signifier. In other words, perhaps I desire a man because I'm trying to fill the God-shaped void inside myself. Still digging for the bottom.
It's easiest to tackle the big one first: my desire for a man/boyfriend/husband. The illusive "One." So, really, why do I want a guy in my life? What is the desire that manifests as the signifier, "man"? I made a list...to feel valued, cared for, appreciated...for physical satisfaction, security. Even some more noble (sounding?) reasons--to learn what it's like to love sacrificially like Christ, to experience the depths of intimacy, to literally "make disciples" as I raise my children to know and understand God's truth. Then there's some other, less prominent (or overwhelmingly daunting) things on my list--I desire close friends, a good job, money, possessions--most of which link back to the same whys of seeking a man. And awkwardly enough, they are the very same reasons I seek after Christ: value, love, security...
Surprise! I find myself with another big issue: I've always believed that only in Christ will I truly find the desires of my heart. Allegedly, He will fill me up in ways that no man ever could. Now, experience shows that man will indeed fall short of my needs, expectations, whatever. However, that assumes that I can predict the future based on past events--logic that sometimes works, but can't actually be proven. To explain, it would be silly for me to make this argument: every time I have flipped a coin, it landed heads up; therefore, this next flip will also be heads. But it follows the same logic, only seems more plausible, to suggest that every time I drop my pen it falls to the ground. Therefore, this time it will also fall. Even though the logical progression is the same, what makes the first example sound dumb is that you question my lack of testing--how many times have I actually flipped the coin? Because probability says that, since we know the other side of the coin exists, it may eventually fall tails-up. Conversely, we know of no other alternative to gravity, and it's been tested for however many thousands or billions of years old you believe the earth to be. If we relate this logic to the boy situation, it leans (or maybe is pulled) toward gravity. I've never met a boy who could fulfill me like Christ. I haven't heard of anyone who found a soulmate to 100% truly complete them. Evidence seems to indicate that filling the void with a man isn't actually possible. But who knows? Maybe one day I'll drop my pen, and it will float up. I'm open to the idea...but I wouldn't bank on it. On the other hand, God is like the coin's tail. I can point to moments of closeness that made everything on this earth seem trivial. I know that tails must exist because I've seen it, felt it. And even though it seems like lately I'm flipping more heads than the French guillotines, I press on.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
This Desire Which is Not One
I read several interesting quips this week for my feminism class which got me thinking about desire. The reading which stood out most to me was by the Belgian psycho-linguist and philosopher, Luce Irigaray, an excerpt from This Sex Which is Not One. Admittedly, I didn't understand everything she posed, so this post may be a bit premature (In class tomorrow, I will hopefully find some clarification), but I found many of her ideas intriguing, perhaps for no other reason than that they were worded so ethereally. First she ventures to explain that,
"Woman...is only a more or less obliging prop for the enactment of man's fantasies. That she may find pleasure there in that role, by proxy, is possible, even certain. But such pleasure is above all a masochistic prostitution of her body to a desire that is not her own, and it leaves her in a familiar state of dependency upon a man. Not knowing what she wants, ready for anything, even asking for more, so long as he will "take" her as his "object" when he seeks his own pleasure. Thus she will not say what she herself wants; moreover, she does not know, or no longer knows, what she wants."
Aside from the fact that her fourth "sentence" there is really a fragment, I am irritated by Irigaray's assertion that I don't know what I want. Now, I can admit that I don't know what I want, but I don't want anyone else telling me that. Besides, how does she know what I want? Actually, the whole bit reminds me of Romans 7 when Paul describes his spiritual battle between what his carnal desires seek and what his soul longs for. I love her response later in the paper:
"Thus what [women] desire is precisely nothing, and at the same time everything. Always something more and something else besides that one--sexual organ, for example,--that you give them, attribute to them. Their desire is often interpreted, and feared, as a sort of insatiable hunger, a voracity that will swallow you whole. Whereas it really involves a different economy more than anything else, one that upsets the linearity of a project, undermines the goal-object of a desire, diffuses the polarization toward a single pleasure, disconcerts fidelity to a single discourse..."
Got all that? I guess what frustrates me most is that this whole piece blabs on about how women are confused by their own desires. I think feminists mostly attribute this to social conditioning and sexual repression...yada yada...men are the enemy...so on and so forth. But aren't we all a little confused at times about what we want? I don't think it's just women.
Maybe it's just Christians and women...because I don't talk to enough non-Christian guys about these kinds of things...but it seems that a lot of people deal with internal dichotomies--opposites that they equally desire. Feminism often bashes binaries--discussing how society has constructed everything in terms of "normal" versus "other," to the detriment of all involved. This is a whole different topic, but basically you have man, who is normal, and woman may only be represented in terms that discuss her as "not man." Human is normal and animal is non-human, therefore, not normal. The list goes on. The French think it's a language thing--that we learn to view things as normal vs. non-normal because that's the only way we know how to talk about them. I think I don't really care. Point being, it seems that people have all sorts of binary ideals--differing desires that compete for prominence and attention. For instance, I want to be beautiful in the eyes of the men in my life, but I don't want to be objectified. Sort of contradictory, no? And I want to be smart, but I don't feel like studying. I want to have a great relationship with God, but I don't always feel like opening my Bible to read about Him...to get to know Him better.
What baffles me more than binaries, though, is how Irigaray suggests that women's plurality of desires is unique to our gender, as if men do not understand, cannot comprehend a more complex system. Do yall really have such a one-track mind? Her definition goes into some really awkward descriptions of anatomy that I'd rather not venture, glorifying the sex organs by suggesting their ability to define the essential nature of a man and a woman. Man is singular. Woman is multiple. Man is simple, woman complex.
My question still lingers: what do I really desire? According to Irigaray (and I LOVE this), the only reason I want a baby is because I'm sexually unfulfilled. And feminism tells me that the only reason I want a man is because society has conditioned me to believe this. Even some of my Christian girlfriends tell me that I am too young to desire a serious relationship--that I should enjoy my freedom (because marriage = enslavement) while I still have it. The feminists are right about one thing: I am certainly confused about what I want. It's hard to navigate my own emotions while so many outside sources yell out nautical coordinates. (Now I've got Garth Brooks singing in my head about how a "dream is like a river...") Class tells me that I cannot look to my patriarchal religion for the truth about how to feel--that its a socially constructed tool for subordinating women. But where else am I to find an anchor, a star to guide my way?
Enough sea puns and Christianese. These last weeks have been busy, and what I love (and simultaneously hate) about being busy is that it prevents me from having to answer my own questions. It doesn't matter what I really want if I establish a schedule packed enough that I never have the time to think about it. And when a free moment arises, which might lend to self reflection, I write complex, theoretical blog posts about it. Problem solved.
Final note: I'd love to hear anyone else's thoughts on the Irigaray quotes. Perhaps I'll reel in some fresh ideas tomorrow at sea...er class... (couldn't resist a couple more...I almost titled this piece "The Old Mere and the Sea"...seriously done now)
"Woman...is only a more or less obliging prop for the enactment of man's fantasies. That she may find pleasure there in that role, by proxy, is possible, even certain. But such pleasure is above all a masochistic prostitution of her body to a desire that is not her own, and it leaves her in a familiar state of dependency upon a man. Not knowing what she wants, ready for anything, even asking for more, so long as he will "take" her as his "object" when he seeks his own pleasure. Thus she will not say what she herself wants; moreover, she does not know, or no longer knows, what she wants."
Aside from the fact that her fourth "sentence" there is really a fragment, I am irritated by Irigaray's assertion that I don't know what I want. Now, I can admit that I don't know what I want, but I don't want anyone else telling me that. Besides, how does she know what I want? Actually, the whole bit reminds me of Romans 7 when Paul describes his spiritual battle between what his carnal desires seek and what his soul longs for. I love her response later in the paper:
"Thus what [women] desire is precisely nothing, and at the same time everything. Always something more and something else besides that one--sexual organ, for example,--that you give them, attribute to them. Their desire is often interpreted, and feared, as a sort of insatiable hunger, a voracity that will swallow you whole. Whereas it really involves a different economy more than anything else, one that upsets the linearity of a project, undermines the goal-object of a desire, diffuses the polarization toward a single pleasure, disconcerts fidelity to a single discourse..."
Got all that? I guess what frustrates me most is that this whole piece blabs on about how women are confused by their own desires. I think feminists mostly attribute this to social conditioning and sexual repression...yada yada...men are the enemy...so on and so forth. But aren't we all a little confused at times about what we want? I don't think it's just women.
Maybe it's just Christians and women...because I don't talk to enough non-Christian guys about these kinds of things...but it seems that a lot of people deal with internal dichotomies--opposites that they equally desire. Feminism often bashes binaries--discussing how society has constructed everything in terms of "normal" versus "other," to the detriment of all involved. This is a whole different topic, but basically you have man, who is normal, and woman may only be represented in terms that discuss her as "not man." Human is normal and animal is non-human, therefore, not normal. The list goes on. The French think it's a language thing--that we learn to view things as normal vs. non-normal because that's the only way we know how to talk about them. I think I don't really care. Point being, it seems that people have all sorts of binary ideals--differing desires that compete for prominence and attention. For instance, I want to be beautiful in the eyes of the men in my life, but I don't want to be objectified. Sort of contradictory, no? And I want to be smart, but I don't feel like studying. I want to have a great relationship with God, but I don't always feel like opening my Bible to read about Him...to get to know Him better.
What baffles me more than binaries, though, is how Irigaray suggests that women's plurality of desires is unique to our gender, as if men do not understand, cannot comprehend a more complex system. Do yall really have such a one-track mind? Her definition goes into some really awkward descriptions of anatomy that I'd rather not venture, glorifying the sex organs by suggesting their ability to define the essential nature of a man and a woman. Man is singular. Woman is multiple. Man is simple, woman complex.
My question still lingers: what do I really desire? According to Irigaray (and I LOVE this), the only reason I want a baby is because I'm sexually unfulfilled. And feminism tells me that the only reason I want a man is because society has conditioned me to believe this. Even some of my Christian girlfriends tell me that I am too young to desire a serious relationship--that I should enjoy my freedom (because marriage = enslavement) while I still have it. The feminists are right about one thing: I am certainly confused about what I want. It's hard to navigate my own emotions while so many outside sources yell out nautical coordinates. (Now I've got Garth Brooks singing in my head about how a "dream is like a river...") Class tells me that I cannot look to my patriarchal religion for the truth about how to feel--that its a socially constructed tool for subordinating women. But where else am I to find an anchor, a star to guide my way?
Enough sea puns and Christianese. These last weeks have been busy, and what I love (and simultaneously hate) about being busy is that it prevents me from having to answer my own questions. It doesn't matter what I really want if I establish a schedule packed enough that I never have the time to think about it. And when a free moment arises, which might lend to self reflection, I write complex, theoretical blog posts about it. Problem solved.
Final note: I'd love to hear anyone else's thoughts on the Irigaray quotes. Perhaps I'll reel in some fresh ideas tomorrow at sea...er class... (couldn't resist a couple more...I almost titled this piece "The Old Mere and the Sea"...seriously done now)
Thursday, July 12, 2007
New Music
I heard this song on the radio tonight and immediately came home, downloaded it, and put it on my myspace profile.
(So darling!)
Bubbly
by Colbie Caillat.
I've been awake for a while now
you've got me feelin like a child now
cause every time I see your bubbly face
I get the tingles in a silly place
It starts in my toes
makes me crinkle my nose
where ever it goes I always know
that you make me smile
please stay for a while now
just take your time
where ever you go
The rain is fallin on my window pane
but we are hidin in a safer place
under the covers stayin dry and warm
you give me feelins that I adore
It starts in my toes
makes me crinkle my nose
where ever it goes
I always know
that you make me smile
please stay for a while now
just take your time
where ever you go
What am I gonna say
when you make me feel this way
I just...mmm.....
It starts in my toes
makes me crinkle my nose
where ever it goes
I always know
that you make me smile
please stay for a while now
just take your time
where ever you go
I’ve been asleep for a while now
You tucked me in just like a child now
Cause every time you hold me in your arms
I'm comfortable enough to feel your warmth
It starts in my soul
And I lose all control
When you kiss my nose
The feelin shows
Cause you make me smile
Baby just take your time
Holdin me tight
Where ever, where ever, where ever you go
Where ever, where ever, where ever you go...
(So darling!)
Bubbly
by Colbie Caillat.
I've been awake for a while now
you've got me feelin like a child now
cause every time I see your bubbly face
I get the tingles in a silly place
It starts in my toes
makes me crinkle my nose
where ever it goes I always know
that you make me smile
please stay for a while now
just take your time
where ever you go
The rain is fallin on my window pane
but we are hidin in a safer place
under the covers stayin dry and warm
you give me feelins that I adore
It starts in my toes
makes me crinkle my nose
where ever it goes
I always know
that you make me smile
please stay for a while now
just take your time
where ever you go
What am I gonna say
when you make me feel this way
I just...mmm.....
It starts in my toes
makes me crinkle my nose
where ever it goes
I always know
that you make me smile
please stay for a while now
just take your time
where ever you go
I’ve been asleep for a while now
You tucked me in just like a child now
Cause every time you hold me in your arms
I'm comfortable enough to feel your warmth
It starts in my soul
And I lose all control
When you kiss my nose
The feelin shows
Cause you make me smile
Baby just take your time
Holdin me tight
Where ever, where ever, where ever you go
Where ever, where ever, where ever you go...
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Can a Girl Get Friend-Zoned?
Regardless of your opinion of the recent non-blockbuster, Just Friends, I would have to argue that the film holds merit in, if nothing else, the fact that it officially coined a term that we've all been wracking our brains to put a name to: the friend zone. Then, of course there's that scene with the drugged girlfriend and the toothpaste which is just beyond...*refocusing, clears throat*...So the friend zone is this amorphous, painful, no-chance-of-ever-scoring place that we ladies tend to put guys--and once you go there, gentlemen, there is no coming back. Allegedly, the worst line that a girl can give a guy is, "you're such a great friend." Because once you're a friend, you can never be anything more.
Before I continue with that thought, though, I must pause to introduce the other film from which I will draw for this post. A little compare/contrast, if you will. According to the wisdom that is When Harry Met Sally, a perhaps more credible reference than the aforementioned, men and women can't actually be friends. Harry lays out a few exceptions to the rule, but for the most part, he explains (and the course of events in the movie supports) that eventually someone always gets hurt. Inevitably, one person always falls for the other. The other, who will ever-so-kindly friend them to death.
My roommate, Lauren, disagrees. She tells me that she's got quite a few guy friends that really are just friends--nothing between the two of them and no desire for it, either. I'm impressed. So I dig around for some personal examples, a testimony of my own. Sure, I've got loads of guy friends, past and present. In high school, I preferred them anyway because I couldn't stand most girls. So I've got plenty of examples to consider, any of which would make a lovely selling point for my argument. However, to avoid having to make up a gaggle of pseudonyms (to protect the innocent), you'll have to take me at my word. A blanket statement: I'm with Harry. In male-female friendships, it seems like something always goes amiss. Often it's me, daydreaming and planning. I misread intentions because I intend for them to mean something quite different from what he intends. Or maybe because I'm a girl so I think that every action must have a motivation, every word a subtext, which I'm told isn't true when you're a guy. Still, I start to assume...search my own heart and all of a sudden the TV set goes fuzzy like it's raining and the picture comes in sideways, which probably wouldn't happen if I upgraded to digital, but I'm too old fashioned. Then it's, "I never looked at him like this before...and what if he's...like...the one..." (vomit) Thus, I find myself up a creek without a paddle. Or a boat. Or a life vest. Maybe I scrounge up some water-wings, but let's be honest, one rough series of rapids , one sharp rock, and I'm fish food. (Not to be confused with the Ben & Jerry's ice cream flavor. Conveniently, they spell fish with a "ph" so as to differentiate.) Of course, sometimes, it's not me, which has been more the case since I hit college and learned that boys at parties are not nice to you just because their mama raised em right. And no one likes the awkwardness of "just hanging out" at your apartment, which he apparently saw as an invitation to mack on you. Classy.
Before you jump to any conclusions (especially those of my readers who are, in fact, male friends of mine), I feel I should clarify my stance. I'm fine with having guy friends--comes with the territory. You know...of life. Seeing as how half the planet is indeed, male, it only makes sense that I must interact with them at some point. (I say this like it's drag...ha.) But in all seriousness, after I left high school, I started to realize that one day I might be married, and I don't want my husband to be worried or stressed or jealous if I have a lot of really close friends that are guys. Plus I don't need any extra temptation. So I started pulling back a little. I let those old friendships, that were now inhibited by several hundred miles, peter out. Currently, though there are several "big brother" figures in my life, I would just as soon not become BFF with a bunch of boys. Especially if it will end in my own heartache or his friend-zone frustration. There are plenty of guys that I care about and enjoying hanging out with--but the moment things start to get a little too personal, or I start to really want to spend a lot of time with one guy in particular, it makes more sense to draw the line. I have enough friends as it is. And they are girls, which, though significantly more catty, are also strikingly safer companions.
Going back to my original question, it's hard not to speculate. My stereotypes of men have gotten me into trouble in the past, so now I know better than to assume that it's always the "nice guy" who secretly obsesses over the cute-but-clearly-oblivious female. Either sex is equally susceptible to that awkward moment when the other person mentions how delightful it is to have such a great friend. Talk about a DTR gone wrong. When did that word become so repulsive? Friend? Maybe it's a shot to the pride--a "how could you not like me?" moment where you start to question your worth and that inner intuition that people are always telling you to trust...that just lead you monstrously astray. I can't help but think it also has a little bit to do with the fact that we see every interaction in our lives through the "what's in it for me?" lens. I don't think anyone wants to call it like it is, but we probably only have friends because it benefits us to do so. And if being friends with a guy is going to do me more harm than good, why would I put myself through the torture? If it's going to come down to the friend-zone...and if it really is this icky place that you can't ever get out of...why continue to invest in it? Forgive my non-committal nature, but I think I'll bail.
Before I continue with that thought, though, I must pause to introduce the other film from which I will draw for this post. A little compare/contrast, if you will. According to the wisdom that is When Harry Met Sally, a perhaps more credible reference than the aforementioned, men and women can't actually be friends. Harry lays out a few exceptions to the rule, but for the most part, he explains (and the course of events in the movie supports) that eventually someone always gets hurt. Inevitably, one person always falls for the other. The other, who will ever-so-kindly friend them to death.
My roommate, Lauren, disagrees. She tells me that she's got quite a few guy friends that really are just friends--nothing between the two of them and no desire for it, either. I'm impressed. So I dig around for some personal examples, a testimony of my own. Sure, I've got loads of guy friends, past and present. In high school, I preferred them anyway because I couldn't stand most girls. So I've got plenty of examples to consider, any of which would make a lovely selling point for my argument. However, to avoid having to make up a gaggle of pseudonyms (to protect the innocent), you'll have to take me at my word. A blanket statement: I'm with Harry. In male-female friendships, it seems like something always goes amiss. Often it's me, daydreaming and planning. I misread intentions because I intend for them to mean something quite different from what he intends. Or maybe because I'm a girl so I think that every action must have a motivation, every word a subtext, which I'm told isn't true when you're a guy. Still, I start to assume...search my own heart and all of a sudden the TV set goes fuzzy like it's raining and the picture comes in sideways, which probably wouldn't happen if I upgraded to digital, but I'm too old fashioned. Then it's, "I never looked at him like this before...and what if he's...like...the one..." (vomit) Thus, I find myself up a creek without a paddle. Or a boat. Or a life vest. Maybe I scrounge up some water-wings, but let's be honest, one rough series of rapids , one sharp rock, and I'm fish food. (Not to be confused with the Ben & Jerry's ice cream flavor. Conveniently, they spell fish with a "ph" so as to differentiate.) Of course, sometimes, it's not me, which has been more the case since I hit college and learned that boys at parties are not nice to you just because their mama raised em right. And no one likes the awkwardness of "just hanging out" at your apartment, which he apparently saw as an invitation to mack on you. Classy.
Before you jump to any conclusions (especially those of my readers who are, in fact, male friends of mine), I feel I should clarify my stance. I'm fine with having guy friends--comes with the territory. You know...of life. Seeing as how half the planet is indeed, male, it only makes sense that I must interact with them at some point. (I say this like it's drag...ha.) But in all seriousness, after I left high school, I started to realize that one day I might be married, and I don't want my husband to be worried or stressed or jealous if I have a lot of really close friends that are guys. Plus I don't need any extra temptation. So I started pulling back a little. I let those old friendships, that were now inhibited by several hundred miles, peter out. Currently, though there are several "big brother" figures in my life, I would just as soon not become BFF with a bunch of boys. Especially if it will end in my own heartache or his friend-zone frustration. There are plenty of guys that I care about and enjoying hanging out with--but the moment things start to get a little too personal, or I start to really want to spend a lot of time with one guy in particular, it makes more sense to draw the line. I have enough friends as it is. And they are girls, which, though significantly more catty, are also strikingly safer companions.
Going back to my original question, it's hard not to speculate. My stereotypes of men have gotten me into trouble in the past, so now I know better than to assume that it's always the "nice guy" who secretly obsesses over the cute-but-clearly-oblivious female. Either sex is equally susceptible to that awkward moment when the other person mentions how delightful it is to have such a great friend. Talk about a DTR gone wrong. When did that word become so repulsive? Friend? Maybe it's a shot to the pride--a "how could you not like me?" moment where you start to question your worth and that inner intuition that people are always telling you to trust...that just lead you monstrously astray. I can't help but think it also has a little bit to do with the fact that we see every interaction in our lives through the "what's in it for me?" lens. I don't think anyone wants to call it like it is, but we probably only have friends because it benefits us to do so. And if being friends with a guy is going to do me more harm than good, why would I put myself through the torture? If it's going to come down to the friend-zone...and if it really is this icky place that you can't ever get out of...why continue to invest in it? Forgive my non-committal nature, but I think I'll bail.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Buy You a Drank
I've heard wind of this song for a few weeks now, but finally experienced it on the radio this afternoon on my way to a princess party. A little T-Pain to get me prepped for some face-painting, balloon animal, princessy fun. You know. Actually it came on right after the "Umbrella" remix, which seemed much more appropriate considering that I was playing Cindy (whom we refer to as such for copyright purposes) at the party today. "You can be my Cinderella...ella...ella, eh eh eh...." But I digress.
I heard "Buy You a Drank" again via Justine in her car and it started me wondering about the implications of doing as the song says...letting a guy buy me a drink. Or drank. Whichever it may be. A friend of mine recently admitted that one of her friends--a just-a-friend--bought 70 dollar tickets to take her to the ballet. Is that allowed? Can she accept that sort of thing without owing him something? Or is she leading him on by allowing him to treat her kindly? Personally, I'm obnoxious when it comes to people doing nice things for me. I can't help but wonder what they really want--I'm always looking for the hidden request behind the action. On a date, I tend to calm down some since (usually) we've already established that he's interested, so I'm not confused about why he is showing me special attention--he's interested. But at a bar it's a whole new ball game. Does a drink mean I have to dance with you? Talk to you? Go home with you? And what is the proper way of rejecting such attention? The bartender or waitress brings it over to you, "This is from that man over there." And if I'm not interested, do I smile politely and refuse the drink? I'm not one to let good alcohol go to waste, but it seems that it would just be wrong to accept a gift of sorts without at least humoring the guy. And generally I'm not in the mood. There has to be some proper way to handle such a situation with the utmost etiquette. But how?
Oh Emily Post, where are you when I need you?
I heard "Buy You a Drank" again via Justine in her car and it started me wondering about the implications of doing as the song says...letting a guy buy me a drink. Or drank. Whichever it may be. A friend of mine recently admitted that one of her friends--a just-a-friend--bought 70 dollar tickets to take her to the ballet. Is that allowed? Can she accept that sort of thing without owing him something? Or is she leading him on by allowing him to treat her kindly? Personally, I'm obnoxious when it comes to people doing nice things for me. I can't help but wonder what they really want--I'm always looking for the hidden request behind the action. On a date, I tend to calm down some since (usually) we've already established that he's interested, so I'm not confused about why he is showing me special attention--he's interested. But at a bar it's a whole new ball game. Does a drink mean I have to dance with you? Talk to you? Go home with you? And what is the proper way of rejecting such attention? The bartender or waitress brings it over to you, "This is from that man over there." And if I'm not interested, do I smile politely and refuse the drink? I'm not one to let good alcohol go to waste, but it seems that it would just be wrong to accept a gift of sorts without at least humoring the guy. And generally I'm not in the mood. There has to be some proper way to handle such a situation with the utmost etiquette. But how?
Oh Emily Post, where are you when I need you?
Trends
I'm glad that pomegranates are out this year because they are really hard to eat. And though I've never seen a blood orange, I'm sure they are more my speed.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
The Pendulum Swings Back: Finding a Balanced Feminism
In the end, all of these things go back to the “what about me?” mentality. So if I look at the situation frankly, I feel no need to keep it going because the cause has done enough to serve me—I can vote and own property and all those lovely things. So why bother trying to further it? Which is, in itself, a difficult question to answer since I don’t really know what the cause is trying to do. Or who is in charge. To play devil’s advocate, why bother making any changes that will take power from white, upper-middle-class, capitalist society? Perhaps I am marginalized as a woman (which, despite the literature, I still doubt), but I am definitely a part of the “dominant” groups that feminists are trained to loath. Just as we consider whether or not men benefit from feminism, I don’t know if I can find the motivation for someone in my subgroup to bother with feminism. Why would those in power be motivated to give up their dominance? I ask myself, “what about me?” and find that I am just as satisfied now as ever. Ironically, it turns out that my “oppressive” patriarchal religion is the driving force that convicts me to fight injustice in the world. Because I feel blessed by God’s grace, I realize the value of sharing this blessing with others. If Jesus came to heal the sick and brokenhearted, and I profess to want to be like Him (which I do), then I should also be concerned with helping and healing others.
Then my other beef has been the negative attitude of the class, which if I may be so bold to assume, seems the attitude of feminists everywhere: it’s still not enough! When we look at history and see how far we have come, it really makes me happy. I am so thankful to be living in this age when women really do have such great freedom of vocational and lifestyle choices. Then, I go to class and my optimism just can’t hold up. By the time the 4:30 bell releases us, I want to bash faces in or slit my wrists. In bold letters across one of the recent readings, I found myself etching (like really digging the pen a few pages deep) the words, “what would it take for you to be satisfied?” I don’t know if this “all or nothing” attitude is the most effective. Watching the Colbert Report the other day, one of the guests, discussing her new book, criticized the war in
Meanwhile, I hope that I don’t become frustrated and jump ship. As much as I have dreaded the inevitable mudslinging in the readings and class, I am trying to remember the good and seek small ways that I can begin to make a change. Truly, many aspects of feminism are not only worthwhile for me to support, but follow directly with the type of character that the Bible encourages. I love reading Paul’s admonishments to married couples. Yes, he asks wives to submit to their husbands, but his command is greater for the men—they are called to love their wives, sacrificially, just as Christ loved the church. Marriage, then, is this grand analogy, intended to mirror God’s love for his people. As a woman, knowing men who love in this way, why would I not delight to follow their direction? Of course I make my own decisions, am rational and smart, but when I see the kind of selflessness of my father and male friends, submission isn’t such a foreign concept. I listen to my father’s advice because I know how much he loves me and I know that he is wise. Why would he steer me wrong? So if I chose one day (and thank the Lord that I do have this choice) to marry, I will look for someone that I can respect, before I put myself under the authority of any random shmuck. I don’t approach patriarchy as the problem itself because I’ve seen it implemented in ways that were hopeful and healing and good. I won’t be blind to problems in this world, and I hope I never freeze up when given the opportunity to act on behalf of those that are unfairly treated.
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