Gushing. Tons of people are doing really awesome stuff right now. I don’t know many of them but it doesn’t make it any less inspiring. I will probably spend a fair amount of time gushing about it. I can do that, because this is my blog! Off the top of my head, here are some awesome things you should check out asap: this great guest post at Jezebel, this hilarious and awesome website run by my #1 Internet crush and mastermind behind LWLLJB (yes, I am a creep, but not a creepy creep, so no, I don’t care), and this incredibly intelligent and kick-ass condemnation of Terry Richardson and the assholes who defend him by Ms. Tavi Style Rookie Gevinson. Be impressed.

Writing. Surprise! I will be writing in this blog! No but seriously, I have a lot to say (per usual), and now I finally have time to say it all. Get ready.

DIY zines. I have been toying with this idea for a while but seeing as until recently I barely had time to shower once a day (don’t judge assholes, you don’t wash your hair every day either, okay?!) I couldn’t really put it into motion. Now I’m free (read: unemployed) so I’m determined to make it happen. The Bikini Kill archive blog inspired me. The Internet is awesome and all, but there’s something to be said about tangible things you can hold in your hand. I haven’t decided how I’ll do these zines, but I’m open to suggestions. Would anyone be interested in a zine night? We could all contribute some pages and sit around and eat potluck and drink wine and make ideas into realities and it will be beautiful and I’ll probably cry because I’m leaving New York so soon and I won’t be able to suggest absurd wonderful brilliant things like that anymore (because obviously it’s only possible to hang out with cool artsy friends and make beautiful things in New York City, RIGHT?! Ugh.)

Feminist Photo Project Launch! I’ve been going on about this project for a while, but it’s finally taking real shape. I’ve been taking portraits of people who identify as feminists, and I am going to gather them into an awesome collection that will kick the shit out of any stupid stereotypical images people have about feminists. And then we will be able to take over the world! No just kidding. I mean maybe not, but one step at a time. Basically I plan to master Tumblr, start publishing the beautiful portraits I’ve been taking, and advertising the project in a big way. If you, or anyone you know, would like to be photographed, let me know! The more the merrier. (Ideally this will one day be a real live exhibit somewhere, too. But I’m starting with Tumblr.)

Reading. There are so many books I have been meaning to read for years. Years! I have books that I intended to read last summer still sitting sadly unopened on my bookshelf. I will read these! And I’ll write about the good ones for you lovely readers. You’re welcome.

Laughing, kissing, living, existing. I mean, it’s summer. It’s beautiful outside. You are all beautiful outside AND inside (see what I did there?) Who doesn’t want to live a little in the summer (or all year round, but right now I’m fixating on summer, so go with it okay)? I have a particular feeling of intensity about life right now because every time I do something I think, Oh my god this is the last time I will ever [insert ridiculous mundane activity here] in New York! Which is dumb because I plan to come back to New York after Israel, and also because today is probably not the last time I will bite my lip outside the bodega as I decide if I want to buy strawberries or blueberries, you know what I mean? But whatever. I just want to live and love and do a lot before I have to move home.

So that’s what I’ll be doing all summer! I know you feel so much better knowing all that. YOU CAN SLEEP EASY NOW! But seriously. You can expect lots of updates and crazy stories and angry rants and pretty pictures and existential quarter life crises and fun for the whole family! I’m so excited. Let the summer begin.

September 4, 2006

I took my french final this morning and then sold my textbook back to the bookstore (hello, $18! Oh wait, the original book cost $200. FML.) This means that I never have to speak french ever again if I don’t want to. Seeing as the language has been haunting me since 3rd grade, this is an immensely satisfying thought.

After class I met Rachel, my most influential professor I’ve had at NYU, for lunch on the Upper West Side. The only time I am ever on the UWS is to meet Rachel. I think that probably speaks for itself. Ha, but seriously, it was awesome. She is just so wise and puts things in perspective without even intending to, I think. She’ll just be talking and I’ll think, hm, how did she answer all the questions swerling around in my brain when I didn’t even verbalize them? So that was wonderful.

From there I rushed back downtown to meet Bruce Bromley, my Writing the Essay professor from first semester freshman year, with Liz and Steph, two friends who were also in that class. You guys, first semester freshman year was September 2006. WHAT?! Anyway, I am possibly one of the only people at NYU who adored Writing the Essay, and of course it was entirely because of Bruce. We had such a great time catching up, and I got kind of emotional, because it just felt very symbolic and “come full circle”-ish, you know? Hanging out as a grown up real person in a coffee shop with an influential professor who taught my first semester at NYU on my last official day of NYU? Yeah.

Both meetings really put me in a good head-space about my upcoming adventure to Israel. I’ve been nervous, mostly because it’s a complete unknown right now, but also because everything is so good here and I feel so comfortable and like such a part of a community and it’s just scary to think that in a few months I’ll be launched outside of my comfort zone in a very intense way. But, as I said, I feel like after today I am in a good place to embrace that launch.

So. Undergraduate degree, almost complete. Summer, almost here. Loose ends, almost tied up. I’m probably just saying this because I like for things to be poignant and symbolic, but on my walk home tonight the sky looked almost apocalyptic. We had such a weird weather day, with the humidity and the thunderstorms and the wind and the cold and the heat, but at 8pm it seemed as though things had settled, at least for a moment. The sky was a light blue with some deep gray clouds scattered between buildings, and the church on 2nd and 7th was all lit up for an event of some sort, and the air seemed a little bit still but not oppressively hot, and I’d like to think it was a signifier that an end of an era is upon me. Still, even with that truth hanging in the (now oppressively hot again) air, it’s nice to imagine that everything coming up is gonna be alright.

It made me grin a whole lot.

Background: my mother is my best friend. She is a really fucking awesome lady. We disagree a lot, mostly about feminism and gender and the way the world works when it comes to both of those topics. I think my mom feels a little bit betrayed sometimes, because as I’ve mentioned before, I was not always who I am today. I did not always think the thoughts that exist in my head now. Just this afternoon she asked me about my opinion on a topic we had talked about extensively when I was in high school, and I confirmed that my perspective on the subject has changed a complete 180 degrees over the past few years. She wasn’t surprised. But yeah, I think, without putting words in her mouth or thoughts in her head, my mom misses the days when the focus of our conversations didn’t revolve so much around those issues. I realize I can be annoying in my obsessional fixation on feminism and gender and how they function in the world we live in, and sometimes I think my mom just wants things to revert back to the way they used to be. I also worry that she feels judged sometimes, which is never my intention. I worry that a lot of my close friends feel judged by me, sometimes. I don’t want to make anyone feel that way.

Anyway, because we love each other, and because we are best friends, my mom and I make a concerted effort to tackle these intense topics, and to keep the conversations going, and to educate each other as best as we both know how. And sometimes, I just get really fucking happy and proud with the way she comes to conclusions that I don’t know if she would have been able to articulate a few years ago.

For example, the Barbra Streisand interview. And also, this afternoon. I called her to inquire how her weekend has been going, what with the Boston Aquapocalypse and all, and she told me about a weird thing that had happened during a dinner she attended. Without going into details, lest any middle-aged adults from Newton are checking up on my blog and recognize themselves featured and get all offended, my mother witnessed something that made her feel as though the “boys club” still exists. She saw this thing happen between two men she considers friends, good fathers/husbands, kind people, and all around nice guys. It was not an intense experience––simply a comment that felt uncomfortable, a wink that reeked of collusion. In that moment, she told me, “I felt like maybe this patriarchy you always talk about really does exist.”

And you know what? I teared up. I know that sounds absurd, but I can’t help it, it’s the truth. I do not want to seem as though I’m belittling my mother, or condescending to her, or treating her like a child. She is a smart woman, and she has always had a strong sense of what is right or wrong. As I told her, I’m sure that even 10 years ago, this incident would have made her uncomfortable, because that’s the gut reaction. But what made me feel so emotional as she told the story with such confidence was the fact that she has internalized a language to discuss such situations. The fact that I think the actual comment she made was incredibly adorable is probably specific to the fact that I’m her daughter, but in all seriousness, I don’t know that she would have reached that same conclusion about the situation had we not been having intense, sometimes emotionally exhausting and upsetting, conversations over the past few years. And the idea that all the things I say, sometimes calmly and sometimes, admittedly, in not such an eloquent or poised fashion, have been sinking in and that she is really listening when I speak, means so much to me. I just…yeah, I just felt like crying.

I told her that, and in return she told me that she felt proud of the way I can articulate myself during disagreements, and the clear-headed nature with which I have been approaching our topics of conversation recently. That made me feel even more emotional and happy. I hope she’s right––regardless of the topic or of the opposing opinions I face, I’d like to think I can always discuss things in a way that is beneficial to all parties and that is productive and conducive to moving us forward into a better world. I would say that’s definitely an ultimate goal.

Okay, it’s not exactly Jennifer Lopez that’s annoying me here. Or her new movie (seriously, Jordan, don’t kill me.) I just hate that this is still the narrative in mainstream American life: Fall in love, get married, have a baby. If you don’t do it, you’re wrong. If you do it out of order, you’re wrong. This is the magic formula for being happy and if you don’t adhere to it you are fucking up! But then the people in charge of this bullshit did that thing where not everyone is allowed to get married. So even if you are lucky enough to fall in love, you may or may not get to marry that person, if you even want to, depending on how the state feels about your sexual object choice. And also, if you have the baby before the fall in love part, your story is grounds for a stereotypical romantic comedy, but definitely not real life. And FYI, all your life efforts should eventually lead up to FALLING IN LOVE and GETTING MARRIED and HAVING A BABY because if you don’t want that, what the fuck is wrong with you?!

I’m being melodramatic. It’s on purpose. I don’t think Jennifer Lopez rom-coms are the thing that is holding us back from a world without a patriarchy, and I don’t think this movie promo poster is the worst thing haunting feminism and its efforts in the world today, so before anyone feels the need to tell me that, rest assured, I know. It’s just frustrating to have daily reminders in literally every aspect of the world seep into my subconscious and tell me if I don’t make certain life choices then I won’t be good enough, won’t be right, won’t be following the correct path. I pass a poster for this movie every day as I walk down St. Marks on my way home, and it annoys me just a little bit each time I see it. Because I am tired of people telling me that two women and a baby don’t equal a family. I’m tired of people telling me I’m wrong to maybe want a baby even if I don’t have a partner at age 30. I’m tired of being bullied into falling in love by the media and world-opinion.

Freshman year I thought 2 of my best friends were totally crazy for never wanting kids. I still battle with the idea of wanting a white wedding, even though I can cognitively understand why the institute of marriage is fucked, and even though I am aware that should I choose to settle down with a woman, I may not be the one deciding to eschew nuptials. What I mean to say is, I know my opinions about this “list” of the correct way to live life were not always what they are now. Probably 5 years ago I would’ve been like, yeah dude, right on, that sounds great, when are we seeing that movie?!

But thank god, opinions (and the people who hold them) evolve and change. I don’t know why I feel the need to justify this, but I guess it’s because recently I’ve been hearing from a lot of people things like, You never used to think this way. As if thinking is some act that never changes, or as if opinions are set in stone for life. But guess what, guys? That’s not the case. These are my world views now. They may evolve more as I continue to grow. They may not. You don’t get to decide; I do. Deal with it.

So to conclude: Fuck you, PR company who handled the promo posters for this JLo movie, for telling me how to live my life. Frankly, I don’t even know if Jenny From The Block would approve of your message––just sayin’.

The show is based off a book by the same name by Ilene Beckerman, and adapted by sisters Nora and Delia Ephron. It features five women, dressed all in black, who remain seated near the edge of the stage during the entire 80 minute (no intermission) performance. They sort of read out of binders, which struck me as odd, and poster-sized “drawings” of the outfits in question are hung in a makeshift “closet” on stage right as the play progresses. Melissa Joan Hart happened to be in this particular ensemble, and on an unrelated note, she was pretty unfriendly when I got all dorky-Sabrina-the-Teenage-Witch fangirl on her post-performance (okay granted, maybe it was kind of rude of me to be like “OMG YOU WERE SO GOOD IN SABRINA BACK IN THE ’90!” when she’d like, just put her all into this performance, but really I was being nice––Sabrina rocked, and this show sucked––I wanted to compliment her somehow!)

The New York Times gave the show a glowing review back in October 2009. The review was written by a man which seems relevant to mention only because he makes a point of how much he liked it and how “legit” the show was even though it may be geared to the “chick” crowd. Barf. Anyway, I laughed a lot while reading the comment section of the Times review, because an indignant Chris from California wrote the following: “Stay away from this; the NYT review is driven by political correctness and a love of anything dealing with the feminist or racial experience.”

Feminist?! Chris thought this show was a good representation of feminism? I wonder if maybe he is the type of person who thinks Sarah Palin is a feminist, too?

Let’s get one thing out of the way: certain parts of the show were vaguely humorous. There’s a section where all five women rattle off upsetting things their mothers have said, and yes, they ring very true, and yes, it’s funny. There is also the Purse Monologue that is heavily focused on in the Times review, and anyone who has a messy, cluttered, totally stuffed purse will be hard pressed not to laugh during that bit. And I’m sure there were a few other cutesy things here and there that made me chuckle.

BUT.

Anytime the play tried to get remotely serious, I felt embarrassed for the actors and the writers. There was a story about a woman who loved wearing boots, and used to pair them with little mini skirts. She then details how one night in college a man broke into her room and raped her. After that, she explains she felt uncomfortable wearing the skirts. She felt like everyone on campus was looking. I’m not joking, I was waiting for the line, “I felt like I was asking for it,” to come out of her mouth. It didn’t, but she might as well have said it. In the end she closes the piece by saying she donated all her skirts to Goodwill but hung onto her boots.

Now I’m not saying that a rape victim would never feel uncomfortable after such an incident. I’m not even saying that there’s no truth in the assumption that the woman would no longer feel comfortable wearing short skirts. But the way the emotions and reactions were dealt with made it seem as though the play was making a judgment on the way the woman should feel, and what she should do about those emotions. It was clear that in the world of the play, either the boots or the skirts had to go. I understand that the show was supposed to be a medley of stories focusing on love, loss, and clothing, but I think it’s irresponsible to touch on a subject like rape if you’re not going to do a somewhat deeper analysis on the aftermath of such a traumatic event, as opposed to just being like, “Well, I was raped, and then I felt like my outfits made me too visible, so I ditched the short skirts but kept the boots. I love boots! Problem solved!” I think I understand the intended message––this woman loved her boots so much, she was not going to let a rape take away something that she associated very much with a piece of her identity. And yet, that message did not come across very clearly, and both the rape and the issue of clothing somehow justifying the action of rape ended up seeming totally trivialized, as opposed to important and relevant.

There were other “serious” scenes that were written delivered in ways that made me highly uncomfortable: one story focused on a woman who was getting reconstructive surgery post-breast cancer, another focused on a lesbian couple shopping for wedding attire. Neither left me feeling as creeped out as I did after the rape monologue, but they both definitely came across as stilted, out of place, and a little off. Honestly, it seemed as though the playwrights had tried to put together this cutesy play, and then had thrown in the tragedies/”serious” things that they thought might most affect (a specific kind of) woman: rape, breast cancer, lesbian wedding! Okay, got our bases covered! I suppose perhaps that is what Chris from California meant when he implied the NYT was simply going gaga over the “politically correct” and “feminist” aspects of the play. The problem is, none of these issues were addressed in a particularly enlightening, honest, or effective way.

My mom’s comment about the dated nature of the script made me sad when I realized it might be true. Maybe 20 years ago the only way to discuss a campus rape was in the context of the length of the skirts the victim happened to wear. Maybe the only interesting thing to characterize a lesbian wedding was whether or not the brides chose to wear long dresses or pantsuits. I don’t know. Clearly many women still find these conversations/ideaologies relevant, because it would be unfair if I didn’t acknowledge that really, the (mostly female) audience responded very well to the play, and it has gotten very good write-ups. Not to mention the fact that it was supposed to close in December 2009, and now it’s April 2010 and it’s still up and running (the house was full on a Tuesday night.)

So I don’t know. Is it super detrimental to have this show playing in New York? Honestly, probably not. Is it kind of disappointing to see tangible proof that the majority of women in this city are still thinking about things in a way that I see as pretty backwards and ultimately harmful to the feminist movement’s goals or dismantling the patriarchy and rejecting hegemony and gender binaries? Well, yes.

I just felt sort of bummed after the show. I also want it noted that even if my entire feminist analysis is wrong, my mom is right that the show was somewhat dated, because upon hearing the line, “Everyone I know under the age of 40 has dressed up as Madonna at some point!” I was forced to furrow my brow and really think if anyone I have ever known has ever dressed up as Madonna. The answer? I honestly don’t think so. Now maybe if they had said Lady Gaga…

Anyway, it also sucks because I genuinely think the concept of laying out a life story by examining the clothing worn to certain events/on certain days is a very cool idea. I can totally remember certain outfits in my life: for example, I was wearing Calvin Klein jeans and a blue striped Guess tanktop when Stacy Greenberg dared me to kiss Eli Forrester on the bus in 6th grade and then Mrs. Feeney saw and reported it (to who?!) and the vice principal had to come and “chaperon” our next field trip. Huge life moment, clearly––no but seriously, I think that kind of visual-life-mapping is interesting and important. It’s just unfortunate that the concept yielded this disappointing final product.

So here’s the thing: everyone can be creepy. It’s not just a dude thing. But, I do have to admit that usually if someone is being creepy toward me, it’s a person who identifies as male. I’m not trying to be a fat/ugly/unshaven/man-hating kinda feminist…I’m just saying. You dig? Cool.

Back to creepy: it’s not an adjective with which you want to be described! Right? Right. So let’s talk about a hypothetical situation of something you should not do:

Let’s say you happen to be on JDate, or OKCupid, or any such fabulously awkward dating site for the forward thinking sexually frustrated romantically cynical millennials that we are. Great! You’re probably having an awesome time browsing through all those cute profiles, trying to figure out who you should message and what you should say. Finally, you pick someone! You IM her, and she answers! OMG! You guys totally hit it off online. But it doesn’t stop there––you sign back on the next night, and have another great conversation with the same girl! High five! So then, let’s say you gather up all your courage, and ask her for her full name, so you guys can be Facebook friends. Granted, from the experience I now have, I have to admit she’s kind of a fucking idiot to oblige this request before you two have formally met in person, but presuming she’s still in this naive stage of the online dating world, she gives you the info. Dude, you are so in. She’s practically said yes to the future marriage proposal! You guys have hit it off so well, and you are absolutely getting some when you finally meet! SCORE!

Okay, so continuing on with this totally hypothetical situation. You exchange phone numbers and set a time to meet in person. You’re both actually pretty psyched. Day of the meeting comes, you recognize each other at Starbucks on the Upper West Side, you sit down over two cups of chai tea and…ugh. I’m sorry to break it to you, bro, but she is just so not into you. I know, because in this completely made up and hypothetical situation, the girl is called Vanessa and guess what SHE’S ME! So yeah, I promise she’s not into you. It’s not your fault––there are just no sparks. The witty banter that seemed so great online is totally stale and cliche in person, you are being awkwardly touchy for the first official date, and your lips are covered with a weird coating of saliva (don’t judge my superficial complaint, assholes––you all have certain superficial standards for the people you plan to date/fuck, too!) So yeah. I’m just gonna say it, soon-to-be creepy dude––there is no way this is going anywhere. Hypothetically.

So right, back to this totally made up situation. Let’s pretend the girl is polite on the date and doesn’t run away screaming when she realizes you don’t click, and you actually walk to the subway platform together. You’re going uptown and she’s going downtown; you make small talk until her train comes. She politely declines to make future plans, but does not overtly tell you not to call her.

What is the appropriate course of action to take after this dud of a date, you may ask? Well, I’m so glad you did! Let me first tell you what is not appropriate in these hypothetical circumstances:

1. Not appropriate to send 4 text messages within one hour of saying goodbye, even when she does not respond to any of them. Definitely not appropriate for 2 of the 4 texts to be sexually explicit. Absolutely not appropriate to get obviously angry in the last text and demand a response immediately. Hint: that’s all creepy.

2. Not appropriate to call the girl three times after the text-debacle. Not appropriate to sound really entitled to a second date, and really not appropriate to demand a reason why she has no interest in dating you. Look, I’ve been there, and we all want to know why we are undesirable to certain people we find very desirable. Those types of soul-searching heart-wrenching spirit-killing cry-fest conversations are sometimes okay to have; say, for example, you’re in love with your best friend of four years, and you try to kiss him one night, and then he says he doesn’t love you like that, and you sob hysterically and leave his house and drive away into the night playing Jack Johnson loudly on the stereo and probably waking up your suburban neighbors…I mean that’s a hypothetical situation too, obviously. But whatever. What I’m saying is, as a random girl you met online through a dating site who agreed to go on one single coffee date with you that lasted 30 minutes at most, I owe you nothing. So yes, you guessed it: the actions described here fall under the category of creepy!

3. Not appropriate to sulk on the phone after you both establish there will not be a second date. Also not appropriate to message the girl via the online dating site the next day to ask if she really hasn’t changed her mind. CREEPY.

4. Not appropriate to send a Facebook message to the girl, after she deletes you off her Friends list because she seriously regrets ever letting you add her in the first place, that reads: “WHY?” Super creepy.

5. And guess what? It’s not appropriate to keep friending the girl on Facebook for months after this whole stupid hypothetical theoretical interaction, like, trying every few weeks or so, because you know, she still doesn’t want to date you, and you were never friends, and you’ve proved yourself to be such a fucking creep that do you understand why every time my Blackberry buzzes and I see a Facebook notification that says “XXXX XXXXX has requested to add your as a friend” I want to hurl my fucking phone against a wall because what the fuck dude, you are so fucking creepy, can you just stop already?! Jeez!

I mean not that this hypothetical situation is true or anything. Or that #5 happened today for the 6th time since this hypothetical incident, which occurred in July, by the way. Obviously this is just hypothetical.

But, were this to happen, I would be really fucking pissed off that this guy has clearly decided he has some sort of right to a date with me, or at the very least, a chance to fuck me. I’d be so aggravated that he interpreted some flirty chats online as a ticket to something more. I’d tell him that I owe him nothing, that I don’t owe anyone anything inherently, and that he is harassing me and I wish we’d never met, not even for 30 minutes in Starbucks. I’d tell him his persistence isn’t sexy, and actually it’s creepy. I’d tell him I don’t need any help feeling threatened or intimidated by men. I’d tell him to fuck off.

I don’t want to engage, though, because clearly engaging would be viewed as encouragement. So instead I keep hitting “Ignore” when the friend requests come through, and I wrote an angry blog post about it. Now I have to go write a manifesto against rape for one of my last college assignments. I think I have worked up the appropriate amount of rage to accomplish that in an appropriate manner.

It’s not my job to make you a better man and I don’t give a shit if I’ve made you a better man. It’s not a fucking woman’s job to be consumed and invaded and spat out so that some fucking man can evolve. What I want is for you to write “fuck me” on your chest. And then I want you to walk out that door and I want you to walk out on the street and anyone that wants to fuck you I want you to say ‘sure, sure, no problem,’ and when they do, you have to say ‘thank you very very much,’ and make sure that you have a smile on your face and then, you stupid fucking coward, you’re gonna know what it feels like to be a woman. – The L Word

So the thing is, Jenny is kind of growing on me.

Last week I finished my thesis, handed it in, and attended a really great Queer Seder hosted by my friend Emma. She put together a Haggadah for the occasion that was made up of four different Haggadahs. My family seders are usually pretty traditional, so I really appreciated the alternative/political messages in this new Haggadah. One passage in particular stood out to me––it was what we recited before we drank the third cup of wine.

“A cup to Ourselves, to all of us who are at this seder tonight, to the present moment. We must love ourselves, for we are holy, and we have been created out of all that is. Let us take this moment to honor our bodies, our lives, and our communities. Let us honor all the things that have made us who we are––the pain and the pleasure. Let us savor our bodies in all their uniqueness: our skin and our bones, all of our different strengths and sizes, the places that look and move in ways unique to us. Note the places that hurt, the places we struggle with, the places that are changing and unfurling. Note the parts that have come down to us from our ancestors, the parts we have been taught to hate, the parts we have been taught to love. We are beautiful. Let us never forget that caring for ourselves, as we would care for our most precious and beloved, is part of creating the world we want to live in.”

Note the places that hurt, the places we struggle with, the places that are changing and unfurling…the parts we have been taught to hate, the parts we have been taught to love. We are beautiful.

That is fucking beautiful. I don’t really want any tattoos ever, and that’s kind of a lot of words to put on my short 5’1 frame, but if I did want one, and maybe if I was taller, I would get that shit sprawled all over my skin, to remind myself to be thankful for living in it.

If three decades of feminist theorizing about gender has thoroughly dislodged the notion that anatomy is destiny, that gender is natural, and that male and female are the only options, why do we still operate in a world that assumes that people who are not male are female, and people who are not female are male (and even that people who are not male are not people!)

- Judith Halberstam

Dudes! I’m handing this baby in at 3:30, no ifs, ands, or buts. As soon as that’s over with, I promise I’ll go back to posting real content, as opposed to awesome quotes from kickass theorists (that awkward one from my own paper that I posted last night is not included when I say “kickass theorists,” obviously.) Not that these are bad. They’re great! I just know you all miss my incredibly charming combination of anger and wit in these posts. Not to worry, there’s plenty more where that came from. Just as soon as I finish editing my 9000th draft. BRB.

As I have proved in this argument, there are multiple ways to use a feminist lens when interpreting a text, and yet it is telling that we as a society have yet to even hammer down a proper definition for the word “feminist.” Perhaps this reflects something about the nature of categorizing texts into this subcategory to begin with, or perhaps it reflects our discomfort with the word and the ideas behind it. This is not to say that feminist literary theory and criticism are not important—rather, it is to suggest that even more study should be devoted to the field so we can move forward and do more productive work with a word that is not empty or devoid of meaning in both academia and the world.

- From Vindications to Woman-Haters, A Spectrum: The Relevance of Feminism When Reading All Literary Texts, aka My Senior Thesis

I love how I begin my conclusion with, “As I have proved.” Honestly, at this point, I have no idea if these 60 pages prove anything. I’m slogging through the end and trying to incorporate the last-minute edits my advisor kindly emailed me this morning, but as of now the whole thing may as well be written in another language. Oh well. I’m just sort of projecting my desires onto academia at this point––let’s focus on feminism in the classroom more, dudes! Let’s have a required feminist course for kids starting in kindergarten! Let me be an elementary school teacher so I can teach 6 year-olds about the importance of subverting the sex-gender binary! Yeah, that’s where I’m at in this process. I may even just include a hearty “GENDER ISN’T REAL” at the bottom of my final page. Or like, paste a picture of the Spice Girls on the cover page and change my title to a simple “GIRL POWER!” I mean, or I could get off WordPress, finish this shit up to the best of my ability, and then get some fucking sleep. Either/or.