Hey, Sarah...

As someone who writes frequently about feminist topics, I'd be remiss if I didn't at least comment on the Sarah Palin issue. Let's leave out the fact that I disagree with absolutely everything she believes in...Really, EVERYTHING...and stick to how I feel her nomination affects the role of women in politics. In answer to what someone (who clearly doesn't know me very well) asked, No, I'm not excited about the first Republican presidential ticket with a female vice-president nominee on it. Would I like to see more women in highly visible political roles? Absolutely. Qualified women. Trustworthy women. Women who can make it through an interview without sounding like bumbling idiots.

There were many other viable female McCain could have chosen if he was really interested in having a woman's perspective in the White House. John McCain's choice of Sarah Palin was nothing more than an attempt to gain some street cred with the right-wing conservatives for whom he wasn't conservative enough. Everyone knows that crowd will overlook a multitude of deficiencies of character and ability (see George W.) as long as he/she loudly proclaims a devotion to "God's will (a.k.a., ending reproductive choices, creationism in science classes, abstinence education, and keeping those gays in check). And in that regard, Palin fits the bill.

However, many of us have a tougher criteria for a candidate than that. For instance, I require someone with the knowledge base to handle the job. As she's proven every time she's been interviewed (and the McCain camp has done its very best to keep her quiet since), she has a very low level knowledge of big politics (and doesn't think well on her feet). Sweetheart, even I know what the Bush Doctrine is! And, when Katie Couric looks at you like you're an imbecile, clearly something's wrong.

While I'd love to see more women in high levels of politics, I can't stand to see those who have risen without deserving it. We've worked too long and hard to be taken seriously in politics to ruin all that with a vice-presidential nominee who's best quality is that she resembles Tina Fey...who'd make a MUCH better nominee by the way...She's picked up a lot more foreign policy doing Weekend Update than Palin apparently picked up governing a state with fewer people than many medium size cities.

Step down, Palin, you're making intelligent women look bad.

The Woman Vote

Last weekend at a party, a good female friend of mine informed me that she'd taken the time to watch the most recent Republican debate on televison, "because I know you are into that sort of thing," she said. I am into "that sort of thing." And even though, I would rather she had watched the Democratic debate, I was glad she took the time to become an informed voter for the party of her choice, even though it's not necessarily her "thing."

In the last election more than 20,000 women failed to vote. Most weren't even registered. If I had a dollar for every time a woman told me she didn't "get" politics or didn't care about the process, I could retire. You just don't hear that excuse from men. Most of them appear to step up and do their civic duty without question. Maybe that's why there are so few women in political offices. When we as a group so segregate ourselves from the polticial process, we are making it the domain of men. The domain of old, white men. And then we wonder why it seems like our leaders don't understand what we need or want.

So, why can't we, whether we enjoy politics or not, take the time to think about our beliefs and priorities for our country? Is that so strange? Would you work in your job aimlessly without thinking about where you hope to see the company and yourself go? Would you be in a relationship in which you never thought about the future? Would you buy a new car without thinking about your driving needs? So, why not consider where the country is going?

The second step is to find a candidate who supports causes and national priorities you hold dear. This means more than finding out who friends, significant others, or other social leaders are voting for. I've known too many women who have copied their political views from their husbands like math homework. Like I used to tell my students, grow an opinion, an informed one! If we don't help make decisions, other people will make them for us. And, I don't know about you, but that's not good enough for me. This is about how lucky we are to live in a country where we are free to fully participate and be a visible, functioning part of our society.

But thousands of women won't be. Take a minute to watch the video above. Can you imagine what 20,000 more votes might have done in the last two elections? Can you imagine that your vote might be the one that puts the first female or minority in the White House instead of the same old white guy? You've got the better part of a year to figure out how you are going to make a difference. Do it already!

One Small Step

I have to admit, I'm pretty excited that on Sunday, 2 women in StL. will be ordained as Catholic priests. Never mind that I'm not Catholic. Never mind that I'll probably never attend one of their services. Not allowing qualified and well-educated women to preside over a congregation is what's wrong with most fundamentalist religions out there. There's something wrong when women are relegated to the nursery or Sunday school room simply because they are female. Women can do more than sing in the choir or be youth leaders. If they are given these roles under the stereotype that women are, by nature, nurturing, then why wouldn't a woman be a great option to nurture an entire church/temple/mosque/etc.? Nothing would make me more interested in a place of worship than knowing that the leader was a female. Keeping them out of top leadership is just another example of how men try to keep women in their places under the guise of "that's how God wants it."

As with any other "-ism," change takes time. I appreciate these women's courage to follow what they perceive to be their holy callings, even in the face of possible excommunication from their religion's leaders. It's also a testament to the community of women that other females from reformed congregations have stood by them, supported them, and even, in one case, offered them a sanctuary to perform the ordination, not just to anger the men in power but because they genuinely believe in the work that these 2 women will do. Another article I read put this particular situation in words I couldn't have said better myself: read it.

Maybe one day, some of the more resistant powers that be will put aside their own pride and desire for power and choose the person who is truly best for the job of leading a faith community regardless of gender.

Fashion Victim?

It's amazing how a new haircut can make me feel like a new and better version of myself.

I always joke that being a woman means being in a constant battle to stay on the right side of ugly (ie, the not ugly side). There are chipped toenails to be re-polished, legs to be de-fuzzed, skin to be exfoliated, pores to be mud-masked, eyebrows to be waxed, faces to be made up, abs to be toned, hair to be cut and colored, closets to be cleaned out and filled with wearable (hopefully slimming) outfits.

It gets tiring to say the least.

Maybe this is partially my own fault, as I am what "they" call a girly-girl. I'll run to Target in yoga pants, but I don't like leaving the house without mascara and concealer on. Sue me. I like to at least resemble the girl who B. first took out and not let myself go just because I'm "taken," part of which I feel is keeping the legs in first-date shape. I don't like to wear shoes with last season's heel or cheap clothing that doesn't hold its shape in the dryer. I realize that all these things are my choice. But constant choices become habits, and it begins to feel like I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to just make it in under the wire of looking halfway decent.

But Saturday, I got my out-of-control, overgrown short hair cut. I got a new style (as I do pretty much every time...): long, side-swept, choppy bangs and short, edgy layers. The cut took off the last of the leftover black-brown ends and left me with shiny, reddish medium brown. Add a little eye makeup and I was feeling like a supermodel.

Or I will for a week or two anyway.

The I in Team

I spent Sunday afternoon attending the bridal shower of a close friend. It was an old-school shower, the kind held in the fellowship hall of a church, filled with an interesting mix of girlfriends and church ladies. Halfway through the event, one of the church ladies gave a devotional on the characteristics of a "good wife." Some of the attributes were hard to disagree with: Compassion, kindness, wisdom. Then she requested that other married women in the group give the bride their best marriage advice. At this point, a word kept coming up that made me a little nauseous. Submission.

"Submit to your husband."
"Let your husband be the leader of the home."
"Allow your husband to guide you."
"Give him the final decision."
"The husband is the head of the household."
"Order your home as God intended."

I watched the bride nod politely, and I hoped she wasn't buying the advice wholesale. Another friend leaned over, "I'm going to lose it here in a minute." As I sat listening to their words, I remembered why I grew up with a screw-that attitude toward marriage. On one hand, marriage was billed as the spiritual and physical joining of two lives. On the surface, that sounds like an equal partnership, except for the little matter of the philosophy that god made men leaders and they should be in charge of everything in the household, including the woman. Ummm, sorry, count me out.

Plenty of religious texts support either implicitly or explicitly the idea that men are somehow more valuable than women in this capacity (plus, if the woman is busy making babies, like she's supposed to, how is she going to have time to be an equal partner??) Most ancient cultures were patriarchal in nature. Of course the men writing the texts were going to hear their god(s) tell them to stay in control. And might I point out, there were also rules about keeping women away from others during their periods and after childbirth and forcing women and men to worship separately, both of which we mostly no longer observe. If we've been capable of identifying other ideas as culturally obsolete, why can't some people see that subjugation of women in marriage is equally ridiculous? Women run companies and countries. Women are as intellectually and emotionally capable as men. So, why then wouldn't women be able to lead a home with her husband?

What about teamwork? I see myself as more valuable than a supporting player always being told to pass the ball to the star of the team, even when I have an open shot. Maybe this idea worked when a girl was passed from her father's house to her husband's. But in a world where most people don't get married until many years later, those old philosophies just don't work. I love B. more than anything, and I love all the little ways in which he makes me feel cared for, but I've been taking care of myself on my own for more than a decade. I don't need or want someone to make decisions for me (except maybe which restaurant to eat in). I don't want to acquiesce simply because I'm a woman and he's a man. I won't be a second-class citizen in my own home.

To the bride, if she's reading, I'd say what I didn't have the opportunity to say that day: Make your marriage a parliamentary democracy. Discuss the pros and cons of decisions together and make decisions based on logic rather than which partner thought of the solution. Be all of those other great things, compassionate, kind, and wise. If you truly want the best for each other, finding satisfying compromises for the daily issues of life will come easier. When they don't come easy, keep talking it out. Hold onto each other and float, rather forcing one person to swim and pull the other along. No one need "wear the pants" in the relationship; share the pants. If anyone must submit, keep it in the bedroom. *wink*

Concessions

My favorite Ensler monologue is the one about the short skirt. It's the one I'd read if ever I was invited to perform a Vagina Monologue. I'd wear a sassy, short skirt, probably in black, maybe leather, and stilleto heels to show off my calves. I'd roll the words off my tongue like poetry,

"It is not an invitation, a provocation, an indication..."

I'd probably stand with one hip jutting higher than the other, body slightly twisting, sensual but not to be trifled with.

"My short skirt, believe it or not, has nothing to do with you..."

I'd run a hand absently up my thigh, silent self possession.

"My short skirt is my defiance, I will not let you make me afraid..."

But I'd be lying. Some days the defiance lacks. Some days I just don't want to rock the boat. I don't want to defend.

A snapshot of Sunday morning:
I gathered my week and a half's worth of laundry, detergent, Glamour. I was rosy cheeked and fresh out of bed, wifebeater and soft red sweatshirt-material shorts. As I passed the mirror, I paused and looked back. The fabric ended just a fraction below the curve of my round ass. Every muscle and curve in my thighs were visible. I felt momentarily proud. Then, I dropped the basket and pulled on track pants instead.
"Why are you changing clothes to go to the laundromat?" B wanted to know.
"I don't want to deal with any negative attention today," I explained.

In the laundry, no one looked at me. There were no unwanted come-ons. Coincidence or consequence of my concession? It was hot inside. No air circulating, dryers superheating the room. I felt the sweat bead up behind my knees and run down the back of my legs. I felt angry. I wouldn't have been hot if I hadn't changed. It wasn't fair.

Were my only choices really to wear what I wanted and fend off the sleazy men hanging out in front of the Express Mart because my shorts were "asking for it" or to cover myself, censor myself, become invisible in exchange for peace? I can't fight on prinicple every day. I'm not that hard inside.

I learned in a college logic class once that there are always more than two options to a logical dilemma. The Either/Or fallacy. So, what's my third option? Why should I have to be the one to give in?

"But mainly my short skirt and everything under it is Mine. Mine. Mine."

Maybe someday.

A Review and a Thought

I finally got one of the books I ordered from Amazon. It is Eve Ensler's new compilation A Memory, a Monologue, a Rant, and a Prayer: Writings to Stop Violence Against Women and Girls. I've been a fan of Ensler's literary and activist work ever since the first time I saw Vagina Monologues performed. All of the proceeds from the book and author royalties go to the V-day organization.

I took the book to the pool with me on Saturday. The pool was crowded with weekend sun-worshippers trying to get a little color before a night on the town. The concrete deck radiated a whole day's worth of heat. The sparkling blue water looked warm but was spine-tinglingly cold. I chose a deck chair far way from both the group of twenty-something women and another group of 30-something guys eyeing me up for totally different reasons. I slathered on a little more spf 45, spread out my decade-old Ralph Lauren beach towel and began to read.

While my skin beaded and ran with sweat, the words I read made my insides grow cold. Regardless of the artistry of the writing, the words rape, mutilation, molestation, violence, and violation reverbrated through me. As the climax of the stories built, I felt myself growing still, willing the all too real protaganists to triumph. Sometimes they overcame, some barely survived, some didn't. I felt empathy. There was sorrow. And strangely, to me, guilt.

Luckily, I have not been part of the 1 in 3 statistic. There have been situations that could have gone wrong, but they didn't. No men in my life have ever laid a hand on me in violence. They've never laid a hand on me sexually without invitation. I've been taken for granted, lied to, and cheated on, but never emotionally or physically abused. I feel blessed that I've been spared that. But in the same way that I look at children with terminal cancer, it doesn't seem fair that some people get to live such safe, sheltered existences while others have to endure horror and tragedy. It makes me feel like those of us who have been spared have even more social responsibility to reach out to victims of abuse and work even harder to end the violence against women once and for all.

We make jokes about what it means to be a feminist, but for me it doesn't come down to how much money we make on the job compared with men or how many women are in political posts. It comes down to how the historically perpetuated social framework in which we live views women, their sexuality, and how men are allowed to treat them. It's a complicated issue. We've made so much headway. Most of the men I know treat the women in their lives like queens. But reading this book, I realized anew how many negative attitudes (and the problems they create) are still very much alive and well even in the most progressive nations in the world. We need more than a band-aid to put on the problem of violence; we need to re-educate the attitudes that make violence possible.

I left the pool that afternoon with a couple more freckles and an unsettled feeling. I'm not aware whether or not St. Louis has a V-Day chapter. If not, that might have to change.

Something to look forward to?

I might be a tiny bit shallow. Or ageist. Or both.

I've never looked forward to aging, but I thought when the time came, I would do it with grace, naturally. Then again, maybe not.

I was in the locker room at the gym last night. Giving myself a mental pep talk for my impending workout, I turned from locker and got an eye full. I'm not one to try to put on a sports bra under my t-shirt in the locker room, but this woman was walking from the showers to her locker butt freakin' naked. She was old, and by old I don't mean 45, I mean like, old-old. And if that's what's waiting for me, I don't want any part of it.

We all know that gravity eventually gets the best of even the perkiest boobs. But the eye full I got was from behind, of a flat, saggy ass. I had no idea that the ass eventually deflates like a week-old mylar balloon. It made me sad. It made me cringe a little.

Then I felt guilty. What kind of feminist am I If I don't embrace the the beauty of real women, not just the manufacturered Hollywood version? I'm not saying that older women can't be attractive...with clothes on. And kudos to this woman for being at the gym, trying to stay healthy. But as I was pounding away on the treadmill, I couldn't help but wonder for what. Yes, I want to have a healthy heart, and low blood pressure, and strong bones and all that. But, I'll be honest (and here's where it gets shallow), I workout primarily because I aspire to look good. And if it's all going to go to hell despite my best efforts, what's the point???

Will there come a day when I don't want to look at my own body in the mirror? Will there come a day when I don't recognize myself anymore? On the other hand, do I want to spend decade after decade lifting, smoothing, and plumping in the quest to maintain? Would I be any less of an empowered woman if I did? Is it internalized expectations of feminine beauty or my own desire to be the best I can be (for me)?

I have no good answers and luckily quite a few more years to get a handle on it all. But I do wonder how other women feel about their bodies and aging. Talk to me...