My ESL kindergarteners have a hard time pronouncing the letter ‘S’ at the end of a word. Bus becomes buh, house becomes how, and horse becomes something that makes me giggle.
Archive for September, 2010
Betrayal
by AndreaMother Nature and I have a deal. She holds off on snow until AFTER my birthday, October 8th, and in return, I try to keep my showers short and conserve electricity and all that jazz. We set this up in elementary school, and more often than not, I’m graced with a snowless birthday. In recent years however, Mother Nature’s been testing her boundaries.
This year, Mother Nature let down her end of the bargain AGAIN. Outside my window, there are snowflakes fluttering down. Please keep in mind that it’s only the 26th of September. I repeat, the TWENTY-SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER. That’s crazy even for Anchorage. Mother Nature ought to be ashamed of herself. On Friday she toppled a tree with a windstorm and cut off my power, and now this? Mother Nature must be hitting the sauce.
Now it’s true that this snow is melting as soon as it hits the ground. It’s true that the snowflakes are very tiny. But it’s still snow, and let me tell you something: Mother Nature will not get away with this. I’m going to take a very long shower, and then at the supermarket I will bag my groceries with paper AND plastic. HA!
Contradictions
by AndreaIt occurred to me this morning that it was probably a little hypocritical for me to whine about people over-sharing on Facebook one day and then slam the chauvinistic notion of modesty the next. While I still firmly believe that there is nothing inherently moral or immoral about the human body or the display thereof, I submit that there is a time and place for everything, and that a Facebook status update is not the place to discuss cervical dilation, or anything else pertaining to the bunky region. I mean, do you really want the nerdy kid you sat next to in ninth grade biology to know what’s going on with your bits? I sure wouldn’t.
Am I the only person who can’t quit Facebook but recognizes that I’d be better off without it?
The Modesty Myth
by AndreaSometimes when I feel like I could use a little more batshit craziness in my life, I read the letters to the editor in the Daily Universe, the newspaper at Brigham Young University, which I used to attend before I discovered the joys of coffee and HBO. If anything, the letters are usually good for a laugh. It seems that at least once a month, a letter gets published whining about what the women on campus are wearing. These letters are usually written by men, complaining about all the CLEAVAGE and KNEES and PANTY-LINES and MIDRIFFS they’ve been seeing, and how disturbed they are by all the SKIN. Somebody even wrote in once, complaining about women wearing messenger bags across their bodies. Apparently the messenger bag strap situated between the breasts was just too much for this gentleman, and he wished that they would stop drawing attention to themselves and their breasts by the way they wore their messenger bags. I wish I were making this up.
Students at the university must sign something called the Honor Code, which has a very strict set of guidelines for dress and grooming. No tank tops, no visible midriff, skirts and shorts to the knee, no tight clothing, no cleavage, etc. The letters usually invoke the Honor Code, then accuse the women who are supposedly violating the Code of being well… slutty.
While I agree that people who sign the Honor Code should dress accordingly, the vicious, sanctimonious screeds that appear in the Daily Universe are much more problematic than unsolicited cleavage, because they illustrate the problem of modesty itself. Modesty is a false concept, a social construct that is relative to culture, and a tool for controlling and manipulating women. Furthermore, the idea of an “immodest” woman shifts responsibility for men’s actions. That’s why I have a problem with letters like this, because it suggests that women are somehow responsible for the behavior of men, which is not only deplorable, but patently false. (You can read my response to the letter here.)
In Mormon culture, modesty is a huge issue. While I was growing up, I was told by my church leaders that I had a responsibility to dress “modestly” in order to help the men and boys around me keep their thoughts clean and avoid sexual sin. I’m just going to come right out and say it: men will have sexual thoughts no matter what the women around them are wearing. It has nothing to do with clothing. Take, for instance, Muslim countries, where women cover their entire bodies, save their hands and faces. Do you suppose that men in those places don’t have “dirty” thoughts? That rape and sexual harassment don’t occur? The idea that negative or unwanted sexual attention from a man is somehow deserved if you’re wearing a short skirt is sexist, offensive, and rape-enabling.
I once tutored an adult student who stared at my breasts for an hour straight every single morning. It was humiliating. I took to wearing a huge hoodie when I tutored him, hoping that by dressing in a tent, I could get him to focus on grammar instead of my chest. It didn’t work. He stared anyway, at the place under my tent-like hoodie where I’m sure he imagined my breasts were located. What I wore made absolutely no difference whatsoever.
A man should take responsibility for himself, not blame women, their bodies or their clothing for his actions. Additionally, the preoccupation of some men with what women should or should not be wearing is just creepy and weird. Quit judging my hemline and mind your own damn business.
TMI
by AndreaI feel like Facebook should have a filter in place that makes it impossible to post anything about cervical dilation, because I should never, ever be privy to information about my seventh grade lab partner’s baby box.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t think birth is “icky” or anything like that. I’m all about demythologizing birth and owning your birth experience and all that feminist stuff. But seriously, if it’s a body part that can’t be shown on network television, don’t discuss it on Facebook.
Soldier of Love
by AndreaHere’s what I wrote in my diary the day I met Donny Osmond:
October 10, 2003
GUESS WHO I JUST MET?! I GOT AN AUTOGRAPH! I SHOOK HIS HAND! OHHHHHH MYYYYYY GOSHHHHHHHHH!
If you think this diary entry is awkward, you should have seen the actual encounter. I was grinning like an idiot, couldn’t form whole sentences, and I think I actually drooled a little.