Archive for July, 2007
Gender Fender Bender
Posted by: | Commentstom·boy (tŏm’boi’) : (1) an energetic, sometimes boisterous girl whose behavior and pursuits, esp. in games and sports, are considered more typical of boys than of girls
ef·fem·i·nate : (1) (of a man or boy) having traits, tastes, habits, etc., traditionally considered feminine, as softness or delicacy
I start this week’s blog in complete defense of the caveman. Some friends and I tooled down to the Golden Nugget on Freemont Street about a month or so ago to take-in a viewing of “Defending the Caveman,” starring Kevin Burke. After my wicked case of the giggles underwent mojito-enhancement, I spent a solid hour of the hour and ten minute show with a smile on my face (it’s no wonder why this show was the longest running one-man show on Broadway). After much nudging among the three of us and several days to let it all stew, I find great comfort in the fact that as a species, we’ve been seeking answers to the same questions — essentially since the dawn of time.
Granted, we’ve moved from spears and buffalo to semi-automatics and Ferraris, but our diabolical dilemma remains the same.
Why are men and women so goddamn different?
I don’t want to look at a guy with bigger tits than mine, and there’s a whole fetish originating in Brazil built on the he-she “hybrid” models. I’ve read that men are from Mars and women are from Venus and that men go “into their cave” and women want to “talk about things.” Today’s blog ponders the possibility that there’s a huge gender fender-bender on the main thoroughfare of our Western society, and it’s a 17-car pileup that isn’t going to resolve itself anytime soon.
The shift of societal focus from an agrarian model to an urban one has had undeniable impact on the role that gender plays within our culture. Whereas men were traditionally in the breadwinner role and women adopted that of the homemaker, there is a significant shift in focus that I feel (KNOW) has blurred the gender lines.
Women, and beautifully so, are assuming higher corporate positions and have enjoyed the benefits of “career life” consistently for the past 30 years in the Western world. But what does this mean for the men of our society? Specifically, how much of a blow to the ego is it to be displaced in the financial hierarchy the relationship dynamic?
<Soapbox>
I fucking HATE so-called “affirmative action” programs and feel that they have not only outlived their usefulness, but also contributed to a greater acceptance of lower standards across the board. I find it to be amazing that from a corporate human resources standpoint, we have been conditioned to accept that in some cases, less is more simply based on the determination of gender or racial origin.
</soapbox>
Back to displacement now …
Here’s what I really think about what the modernizations of our society have done to our gender roles, for good and for bad:
I would consider that it’s a tremendous blow to men to be displaced from the role of “hunter,” and quietly moved over time to what the male psyche would consider to be a role of lesser import. The thrill of the hunt, the tracking of prey, the camaraderie that inevitably develops between fellow hunters — it’s inherently manly, and as a woman, I find the scent of it all to be fiercely intoxicating. So why is it that Cosmopolitan and Jane magazines are pitching me Lysol to get rid of that pesky “man odor?” Somewhere along the way, we sent the message that men shouldn’t be men and our Western society underwent a “pansying” of the male. I think it’s left men confused between who they feel they are and what society has told them they should be.
It’s much the same for women, I think. With best-selling book titles such as:
“Why Men Love Bitches”
“Why Men Marry Bitches”
“Nice Girls Don’t Get the Corner Office”
“The Corporate Dominatrix: Six Roles to Play to Get Your Way at Work”
…are women really being encouraged to maintain their femininity? There are very specific things about the male and female psyches respectively that provide the incredible potential for a beautiful and symbiotic relationship experience, but there is one thing I’m almost certain of:
We’ve said to hell with the differences and tried to become the other.
Women are waiting longer to marry, and generally speaking, have become very self-sufficient as individuals. I can fix shit around my house (time consuming), install a ceiling fan (expertly), have my car serviced (highly inconvenient), kill bugs (gross), and balance my bank account (annoying yet necessary). I don’t need a man for any of that, yet it is likely that, as a woman, I’ll be able to tell you how I FELT about doing each of those things.
However, two marriages and a broken engagement later, I’m wondering if I have — through my own self-sufficiency — rendered my partners obsolete.
The OCD in me has driven me to a successful career in the sales field, where one excels solely because of either dumb luck or vehement determination (in my case, I acknowledge that it’s certainly a function of both). I’m 34 years-old, have no children, and quite honestly, don’t need anyone to help me get about the functions of daily life. But … yeah — it’d be nice to have someone. But perhaps what’s happened in my past, and for other men and women in our microwave/drive-through/grocery delivery society as well, is that we haven’t made room for anyone else in our lives, and that’s a primary source for our discontent.
On the watercolor painted by the universe depicting the stark naked differences between Adam and Eve, a thunderstorm broke out and caused His fig leaves to run into Her hip bone, and we got all fucked-up from there. Somewhere along the way, I think women felt they had to grow a pair and men were told to give-up theirs. In pursuit of what’s important to us, have we individually become so self-contained that we are unwilling and unable to allow the entrance into our lives our compliment …
… the ying to our yang?
… the peanut butter for our jelly?
… the embodiment of all that we were not designed to be, yet by design — still NEED?
I wasn’t designed to be a man. At birth, I got this extra “wo” and along with that comes a litany of remarkable things. It all makes me wonder why I’ve been so insistent on being the star of my own fucking one-woman show all these years.
At age 34 and 7 months, I’m learning several things about myself that I’ve either repressed for shitload of years or am discovering for the first time (and really enjoying the process):
- It’s OK to ask for help with something (even though I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself)
- Underneath this sailor-mouthed, no bullshit, business suit-wearing exterior, I’m a girly-girl. I like dresses, pink ice cream, flowers, cooking, hosting, and grocery shopping. There. I said it. I like grocery shopping.
- There is something truly beautiful about watching a man in his element, where he is solving/creating/fixing/moving/rearranging/planning/capturing/etc. And I think there may be moments where men look at women the same way.
- That I have to be willing to make room for someone else in my life. While this may not be an immediate process, I know that for me, it’s allowing myself the time to see where someone fits and enjoy the process along the way. Otherwise, all I’m really doing is asking someone to come along for the ride, and that kinda sucks.
There’s so much more that I’m learning about myself, but I do think that where society has led us has created more of a Pandora’s Box than ever before. By opening-up that box and letting fly the dogs of war, I’m realizing that there are (for certain) ways to embrace my femininity yet remain a strong presence — physically and spiritually. For men as well, there are ways to appease your “inner hunter” yet acknowledge the contributions of the “gathering” nature of womankind. You can go shopping without feeling like a pussy and it’s OK to have feelings that make you a better partner on some days than others. And for both men and women, it’s OK to take that “you” time, to be yourselves … alone … just go.
Maybe it’s time that we pull over to the shoulder and ask for directions along the gender highway as opposed to following some of these traffic patterns that got us into this fender-bender in the first place. Hey lady—yeah, you in the Tahari suit. Cross your legs while sitting at the boardroom table and put on some mascara. And you — yeah you. Guy pushing the cart of groceries for his wife with the forlorn look on his face. What are you doing here? You HATE grocery shopping. Go home and watch the race on ESPN!
Men will be men and women will be women (and thank god for that, as only Toyota should make hybrids). Why are we so hell-bent on trying to be something we’re not in a world that is exactly as it is? For the love of all that is available at the adult bookstore, I think it’s fabulous that single men have no food in their fridge, and you can bet your sweet ass that if I’ve forgotten my razor, I’m gonna use his on my legs.
I’m a girl. It’s what I do.
Additional reading for those interested on the premises from which I’ve formed my opinions/drawn my conclusions/launched my rant can view the following links:
Impact of Gender Roles on Men
http://www.unfpa.org/swp/2005/english/ch6/chap6_page1.htm
With More Equity, More Sweat
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/national/longterm/gender/gender22a.htm
The Evolution of Sex Roles
http://www.philly.com/inquirer/magazine/20070402_The_evolution_of_sex_roles.html
Gender Roles and Technological Progress
http://economistsview.typepad.com/economistsview/2007/07/gender-roles-an.html
Does the Volume Knob on My Heart Go to “Eleven?”
Posted by: | Comments“If I could be like that, I would give anything
Just to live one day, in those shoes.
If I could be like that, what would I do?
What would I do?”
3 Doors Down, “Be Like That”
11:27pm
The Alchemist finds its way to the bedside table after a hesitant closing coupled with my near-silent sigh. Trying to center myself this evening, I abandoned my current reading project for literature that could predictably provide me comfort and guide my head out of my ass without the use of forceps.
Tonight I wonder about turning myself inside-out and what kind of person that would make me. This consciousness I’ve developed over the past few years — I hold it as the greatest treasure. Yet on days like this, I wonder why it is I can’t just “bump along.”
It’s a small part of me that admires those who can abide the by-and-by, questioning little and moving along with the herd. If I could be content with knowing less and absent of yearning to learn more, to have a self-worth that permitted me to be in a perpetual support-role career and act like an automaton … what would that be like? Fuck, I’ve tried it before, and I know it just doesn’t work for me, but does ignorance sometimes come with proverbial bliss?
My life IS bliss … blessed with friendships, affection, opportunity, and ambition. What the lyrics above miss, I think, is that we create our ownshoes. As I lay here with laptop-on-lap at an hour rapidly approaching one that will jeopardize my morning workout, I wonder why my hypothetical shoes are walking around my bliss like it’s dog poop on a scalding summer sidewalk at noon.
Perhaps, on occasion, it’s an easier solution to lament one’s circumstances than to put energy into resolving them. Right now, maybe it’s not so much an issue of resolving as releasing my need to have an answer right-goddamn-now.
As a child, my mom got my brother, sister, and I each a magnet with a quippy phrase to adorn the avocado green fridge. I remember distinctly the gentle “thwack” as the magnetized vinyl attached itself to the door. I also remember not knowing what the phrase on my magnet meant:
“Lord, give me patience … but I want it RIGHT NOW!”
Mother knew/knows me best, and here I am 27 years later battling with patience as I await the Universe’s intent for my future. Patience — how can one word evoke feelings running the gamut from peace and contentment to urgency and frustration? The Old Erika would have lost night upon night of sleep and made a series of ill-advised decisions, jamming yet another PB&J sandwich into the VHS machine. I guess it’s a step forward that the Erika-in-Progress just stays up late thinking … thinking in the bathtub with candles aglow, wrapped in a cocoon of Mr. Bubble … thinking through ideas, rational and not-so, in this nighttime sanctuary I’ve created in my bedroom.
Words I read moments ago come to mind:
“Why do we have to listen to our hearts?”
“Because, wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.”
“But my heart is agitated,” the boy said. “It has its dreams, it gets emotional … It asks things of me and it keeps me from sleeping many nights…..”
“Well, that’s good. Your heart is alive. Keep listening to what it has to say. Because you will never again be able to keep it quiet. Even if you pretend not to have heard what it tells you, it will always be there inside you, repeating to you what you’re thinking about life and about the world.”
Maybe the reason I can’t “bump along” is that I keep listening to my heart and my irritation stems from the simple fact that I went Spinal Tap on my own ass and turned the volume to “eleven.” That inner voice that tells me to be content with the NOW and receptive to the future, that all will come my way in due time … to consider my circumstances and never choose the road more traveled simply because of the traffic pattern … it’s all coming through in Dolby 5.1 and roadblocking my trip to dreamland.
Ignoring the bliss that I’m gifted with in favor of doubt – maybe that’s why my heart is screaming right now. My heart, knowing it as I have come to, isn’t happy with doubt. There’s a part of me that’s wondering if the pursuit of my passions will pay dividends or be another dog of a penny stock bought in volume whose losses point to another dream deferred … if my impending choices are truly the best or yet another diversionary tactic to keep me from taking a risk.
I think I’m done for this evening. I’ll decide sometime tomorrow if I’ll publish this as a blog or not. It seems a little private right now, but I can’t ignore the fact that my heart is screaming at me. You would think that at midnight on a “school night” it would know to keep the goddamn volume down. I mean, people are trying to sleep, here!
Funny thing about the heart … I have a feeling that it always speaks at the appropriate time and volume, whether we realize it or not.
“Even though I complain sometimes, it’s because I’m the heart of a person, and people’s hearts are that way. People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they don’t deserve them, or that they’ll be unable to achieve them. We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away forever, or of moments that could have been good but weren’t, or of treasures that might have been found but were forever hidden in the sands. Because, when these things happen, we suffer terribly.”
The Alchemist
~Paulo Coelho
I Left My Salvation in Little Johnny’s Pants
Posted by: | Comments
Buy one indulgence, get one free
It’s Wednesday morning and we’re set for another scorcher here in Las Vegas. Clear skies, high of 102, and I tell ya, not a Catholic in site to save my mortal soul from the wrath of hell’s sunshine that beats down on this city spawned from sin. Those pesky Catholics! Never one around when you need one.
It’s been a rough month for Catholicism, and I mean rough-like-I-ain’t-shaved-my-legs-in-seven days-while-camping-rough. Not only did the Vatican issue a paper reiterating much of Vatican II and continuing to justify the hypocrisy of the church as divine intention (and further ostracizing sects of their own faith), but they got beat-down by The Man in court to the tune of $600+ million since their “boyz” can’t keep their hands off of little boys’ toyz.
Why did the priest run down to JC Penny’s?
Because he heard little boy’s pants were half-off!
I’m disappointed, though. Really. I’m at a stage in my life where I’m open to searching, learning, and for the love of all that’s holy, there are days where I need some salvation. However, the Vatican has single-handedly ripped from my grasp all other options. Apparently (according to the literature released earlier this month), Orthodox churches are “defective” and that other Christian denominations are not true churches. Therefore, it’s pretty much sounding as if it’s “Catholicism or Bust,” and by “bust” I mean eternal damnation.
Not only that, but guess I really should just convert now, as the recent documentation also advises that any schools of religious thought other than the traditional Catholic faith, ”were not true churches but merely ecclesial communities and therefore did not have the ‘means of salvation.”
I tell ya:
I go to Baskin Robbins, I want ice cream.
I go to the Honda dealer, I want to buy a car.
I go to Home Depot, I want to be overwhelmed by do-it-yourself projects.
I go to church, I want salvation, goddammit!
I mean, why the hell else would I go to church? I have never had a craving for those sticky little unleavened wafers that your have to scrape off the roof of your mouth with your tongue and wash-down with a thimble full of Ripple. Do you honestly believe that the general churchgoing public goes to service because the pews are comfy? Absolutely not. They go for the soul-cleansing kumbaya, hoping that an hour of submission will redeem them from a week’s worth of sins. Funny…a week’s worth of cake doesn’t disappear after an hour on the treadmill, but what the fuck do I know? I’m a sinner, sinner, sinner.
Now, to further complicate matters as we—-the spiritually curious masses—seek an identity in a force higher than our own 3-1/2 inch black strappy sandals, the church that attests to their sole ability to deliver me to my salvation … wants to touch me naughty.
Quite frankly, the fact that I get “touched naughty” (over…and over…and…sorry. Distracted.) — would that not be one of the reasons I’m seeking salvation and redemption in the first place? I think it’s a shitty sports book where the house gets to play both sides of the line like this. AH! We need members…membership is down. Hmmmm…I KNOW! Let’s start having our priests touch young boys, generating a firm foundation for feelings of shame and thereby an entire generation of future followers of the doctrines of Catholicism! We’re offered a group discount on guilt in exchange for letting Father Jones do the Lord’s Work by way of our Underoos: buy one indulgence, get one free! Just like in feudal times.
By the way—have you tithed this month?
This week’s landmark settlement in favor of the 580 victims abused by clergy members within the Catholic church chimed-in at $660 million.
Well, slap me and call me “saved!” What does it take to get a priest to send a little of the Lord’s lovin’ MY way? Maybe one of ‘em could just graze a nipple and get my car paid-off.
(Small print disclaimer: I do acknowledge that I’m going to hell. As I’ve known this for quite some time, I already have property there. And I bought low.)
While that’s all I’ll say about that matter, I’ll move abruptly into what I consider to be the unmitigated gall of a “good ‘ol boys club” boasting membership totaling one-sixth of the world’s population (Statistical Yearbook of the Church 2005. Libreria Editrice Vaticana) to pass judgement on what IS and what is NOT valid in any sense of the word.
Pardon me, as I’m just a woman and all (not held in the highest regard by the Vatican community, I acknowledge, but please bear with me), but … weren’t you and your esteemed colleagues just ordered to pay damages for sexual misconduct, molestation, and other abuse allegations against your direct constituency, Mr. Roman Catholic Church? You’re trying to tell me that, in Western society, a child molester or convicted sex felon must report to the authorities, can have no further affiliation with children, must stay a certain distance from schools, and live a life branded by (justifiable) stigma because of his previous actions … yet you, Mr. Roman Catholic Church, can persist in your teachings, elitist pontifications, hypocritical white papers, and legacy of guilt — after having been ordered to pay over $745 million dollars in damages to the victims your religion has left in its wake? Ah yes. I see the logic now. GOD said it was OK …. (splashing acid in my eyes)
While one might be inclined to take everything that’s come out of my mouth (?) thus far in this week’s Redheaded Fury as I have a problem with Catholicism, or organized religion for that matter — I beg of you, no, no, no, no, and, um… NO! Pull off your blinders, as I’m pointing the finger at religion when it uses divine intent as an excuse for hypocrisy and elitism! I have the utmost respect for those who are committed to a personal system of beliefs that allows them to live a fuller and more enriching life. It’s the fundamental hypocrites, those who will admonish you for your deeds and then point to the distance, shrieking, “LOOK! ELVIS!” and the moment you turn to look, they’re buggering your wife and washing away the bad taste in their mouth with some of that communal wine from the big chalice that Mrs. Molasky just backwashed in, with which I have a problem.
When the leaders we entrust to perpetuate a school of thought, doctrine, or specialty violate that trust by misusing or misdirecting that knowledge for their own gain (or kink), to where are we supposed to turn? How can we ever know that our “hired hand” is being on the up-and-up with us, especially when it comes to the life-changing potential of spiritual development? It’s why cults persist, fanaticism is likened to brainwashing, and ultimately why some choose to leave the fold inside which they’ve been reared in search of other solutions.
Personally, I left the Christian fold many a year ago (for me, it wasn’t so much a single “fold” as an entire oragami experience). Have I had my challenges along the way? Most certainly. I’ve tried returning to church, wondering if there’s something I’ve missed. Was I not giving this structured environment a chance? Why are the songs always written in that key I can’t sing in? Am I overdressed? Do I believe in any of this? I could be hiking right now. Holy shit — how many times can you say “amen” in an hour? Regardless of any inner dialogue that reaffirms my choice to depart from the effervescence of ecumenical comfort, I have no ill thought for those who choose to remain.
Whatever belief system we adopt as our own throughout our years on this mortal coil, I think it’s essential to live a good life. I can’t abide by a corporation disguised as a religion (Mr. Roman Catholic Church, Mr. Southern Baptist Church, Mr. Mormon Temple!) that repeatedly adopts the practice of open admonishment of those who differ. Last I learned in Sunday School (when I wasn’t changing the words of a favorite children’s church song to, “Jesus loves me, I’m impressed—he’s a guy who wears a dress…miniskirts and formals, too…some are pink and some are blue.”) is that compassion and tolerance are two fundamental principles within the Christian faith — and many other religions as well. What religion or belief system is so superior that it bears the right to burn at the stake those who see things differently?
I’m disappointed that the Catholic Church chooses to issue edict that openly states superiority and specifically names other belief systems as “defective” since they don’t acknowledge the Pope as their main homeboy. As well, I’m quite confident that the Most Rev. Joseph Pepe D.D. of the Archdiocese of Las Vegas would fail to find the humor in one of my favorite jokes: “I’ve found Jesus…I have him in the trunk!” They don’t even want to know where I keep my Pope.
I am also disappointed that a religion has brought upon itself $745 million in collective fines in seven years on account of allegations of sexual misconduct by those entrusted with people’s souls and spiritual development. If you consider that the number of victims in the two lawsuits total 1058 persons, that renders each incident of sexual misconduct (assuming, incorrectly of course, that there was only one incident per victim) a value of $704,158.79.
Pat, I’ll take “I Left My Salvation in Little Johnny’s Pants” for $704,158.79, please. Oooooooooh! The Daily Double!
I’m faced with a quandary here as I evaluate my options for redemption, and I’m sure the redemption-seeking public-at-large is as well. It’s likely that I’m beyond redemption (as I was ex-communicated back in 2001 from associations with any entity affiliated with “Jesus” after mentioning to someone that—hey! MY gardener’s name was Jesus, too…how much does your Jesus charge and can he fix a bubble-drip irrigation system?) However, I’ve found over the past several years that just trying to live a good life has paid me dividends that I could never have imagined. I am left wondering, however, if there is a section of Purgatory reserved for those who used hypocrisy as a weapon during their lifetime, a weapon to instill guilt, a sense of inferiority, and fear. I find free will to be the most incredible gift that this human existence has to offer us, and just have a (fundamental) problem with any belief system that comes along and preaches that free will? Bah—forget about free will. You’ll be much happier as a sheep. (not a Catholic sheep, mind you…ew. Or should I say “ewe?”)
So, my Salvation-Seeking public. Scroll back up to the top of this week’s blog and show me on the Pope doll where I’ve touched you during my diatribe. If you touch the “magic spot,” you, too, could be the lucky winner of a fractionalized interest in a $660 million dollar legal settlement! This is a limited-time offer, so don’t delay. While elitist religions may persist and always be at the ready to diminish your capacity to engage in free thought, the money won’t last forever! Act now, my friends, and without delay.
Please see below for contest rules.
Contestants must have accepted Jesus as their personal Lord and Savior. Gardeners, bus boys, dishwashers, and other day laborers named Jesus are not eligible for this promotion. Fundamentalist Christians (aka “posers”) and other non-Orthodox Catholics and their families are also excluded from participating as you must show proof of eligibility for Salvation when claiming your prize. Promotion not valid in Utah.
