Plenty of Otherwise

This blog is now closed.

2012-01-17T00:20:00.002-05:00

Please direct your attention to my new web site.

(You'll find the details of why I chose to do this over there, too.)

The first book I read in 2012

2012-01-07T21:05:00.005-05:00

I just finished reading Jeffrey Eugenides' most recent novel, The Marriage Plot, which was released in October of 2011.

His Pulitzer Prize-winner Middlesex (published in 2002) is one of my favorite books of all time. So I had really looked forward to reading this, and had high expectations for it.

And maybe that's why I was a bit disappointed by it. I think I would have liked it more had I read it prior to reading Middlesex. Because I loved Eugenides' earlier work so much, I couldn't help but make comparisons.

The Marriage Plot is the first of his novels that isn't set in my hometown of Grosse Pointe, Michigan. As much as I gripe about this place, a huge part of why I love Middlesex (and The Virgin Suicides, for that matter) is that I can picture the setting perfectly.

But anyway, I should stop gushing about Eugenides' earlier novels, and get to writing about The Marriage Plot.

It's centered around three graduates of Brown University: Madeleine, Leonard, and Mitchell. The novel begins on graduation day in 1982 and follows them through their first year or so thereafter. The book is titled The Marriage Plot for two reasons: Madeleine, an English major, writes her senior thesis on that topic (Austen, James, Eliot, etc). Plus, the three aforementioned characters are part of a love triangle: Mitchell loves Madeline, but Madeline loves Leonard.

The book contains some really beautiful/amusing passages-- the type that I really admire Eugenides for as a writer. Here are a few of the things I highlighted:

"Everyone in the room was so spectral-looking that Madeleine's natural healthiness seemed suspect, like a vote for Reagan" (25).
"Reading a novel after reading semiotic theory was like jogging empty-handed after jogging with hand weights. After getting out of Semiotics 211, Madeleine fled to the Rockefeller Library, down to B Level, where the stacks exuded a vivifying smell of mold, and grabbed something-- anything. The House of Mirth, Daniel, Deronda-- to restore herself to sanity. How wonderful it was when one sentence followed logically from the sentence before! What exquisite guilt she felt, wickedly enjoying narrative! Madeleine felt safe with a nineteenth-century novel. There were going to be people in it. Something was going to happen to them in a place resembling the world" (47).
"In Madeleine's face was a stupidity Mitchell had never seen before. It was the stupidity of the fortunate and beautiful, of everybody who got what they wanted in life and so remained unremarkable" (77).

But, as you might notice, I stopped highlighting things pretty early on. This is because Eugenides' statements seemed less profound than they would be had I liked the characters more.

I just couldn't bring myself to care about Madeleine. She wasn't entirely unlikable, exactly. But she reminded me of someone I went to high school with: someone who, however full of good intentions, had absolutely no idea how privileged she was.

I don't know. To me, she just seemed empty: completely devoid of a history that would explain her personality. She'd be fine as a minor character. But as the protagonist, she just wasn't complex enough for me.

I felt similarly about Mitchell, the guy who's in love with Madeleine. He's from Grosse Pointe, and I feel like I wouldn't have learned anything about him if I didn't have prior knowledge about his hometown. For example, of his graduation, Eugenides writes, "Deanie, in a blue blazer and London Fog raincoat, was beaming at the sight of his youngest son, having forgotten, apparently, that he'd never wanted Mitchell to go to college in the East and be ruined by liberals" (117). Because I know that Grosse Pointe is a notoriously conservative town, I laughed when I read that.

Leonard, meanwhile, is pretty interesting. He's manic depressive; I alternated between feeling compassion for him and being extremely annoyed by his failure to recognize how much he was hurting those around him. Leonard wasn't a very likable person, but he wasn't supposed to be. My opinion of Leonard is similar to that of the other characters in the book. And I admire any author whose talent can allow me to participate in a story that way.

Another thing I struggled with: Although a lot of the references to literary theory made me laugh, it all just got really old/pretentious after a while. Eugenides grew up in Grosse Pointe and then went on to attend both Brown and Stanford. He sort of reminds me of Edith Wharton in that he has access to the upper classes and takes advantage of his ability to reveal things about people like that. And I think that his aim here was satire, which is awesome. But, like everything else about this book, it fell short and all just seemed a bit over the top.

Although I enjoyed the ending (and I won't give anything away), I didn't enjoy the pages leading up to it enough for it to be really profound for me.

And while I want to blame my criticism of this book on my biases (the fact that I'm a huge sucker for good character development, as well as the geography thing), what friends of mine who read this before I did have said about it rang true to my experience. As my friend Liz put it, "I think it was good but it just wasn't... as good? I don't think [Eugenides] accomplished what he had intended to do."

I agree with that. This book had quite a few great moments, but was not, as a whole, great. And maybe that's just because I loved Middlesex so, so, so very much and therefore will always hold Eugenides to a ridiculously high standard as a writer, but still.

Books I read: 2011 edition

2011-12-31T11:21:00.006-05:00

For the past few years, I've felt like I haven't been reading enough. I don't know what "enough" is, exactly, but I've definitely been reading less than usual.

And that's how I feel about 2011, even though looking at this list, I didn't do too badly. My big thing this year was that I had a hard time focusing on fiction. I told everyone I was on a huge nonfiction kick. And that's certainly what it felt like, even though that wasn't entirely true. I read a decent number of novels, some of which were pretty long.

I didn't read much poetry until just this month, when I discovered Mindy Nettifee. She gets special mention up here because her books inspired me to start writing poetry again. Read them.

But anyway, the list. As in previous years, I've added comments about a few, and links to longer posts that I wrote earlier this year about certain books.

fiction

In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez (1994)

Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (2006)

The Man from Saigon by Marti Leimbach (2009)

Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson (1989)

On Beauty by Zadie Smith (2005)

This book contains a brief reference to an early Tracy Chapman album. A+.

White Teeth by Zadie Smith (2000)

Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn (2001)

Inventing Memory: A Novel of Mothers and Daughters by Erica Jong (1997)

Alfred and Emily by Doris Lessing (2008)

American Salvage by Bonnie Jo Campbell (2008)

The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall (1928)

Once Upon a River by Bonnie Jo Campbell (2011)

The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi (1990)

ya/children's

Hope was Here by Joan Bauer (2000)

When We Were Saints by Han Nolan (2003)

The Absolutely True Story of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie (2007)

Pregnant Pause by Han Nolan (2011)

Don't You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey by Margaret Peterson Haddix (1996)

I picked this out randomly, because I love YA books. It contained a list of books by the same author, and although I hadn't recognized her name when I picked this up, I realized that she also wrote Running Out of Time, a book I read in elementary school and loved. So it was cool to accidentally stumble upon another book by the same author.

nonfiction

I Never Called it Rape: The Ms. Report on Recognizing, Fighting, and Surviving Date and Acquaintance Rape by Robin Warshaw (1988)

My one complaint about this book is that it's a bit dated. A lot of the scenarios therein chronicled women who found themselves trapped in a bathroom in the home of someone who had assaulted them. They then had to crawl out of the window to find help. Cell phones have changed that, so I think that a more current edition would be helpful, because unfortunately, this is still a very relevant issue.

He's a Stud, She's a Slut, and 49 Other Double Standards Every Woman Should Know by Jessica Valenti (2008)

The Journal of Helene Berr by Helene Berr (2008)

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Harriet Jacobs (1860)

Up From Slavery by Booker T. Washington (1901)

Killing the Black Body: Race, Reproduction, and the Meaning of Liberty by Dorothy Roberts (1997)

This was the best book I read all year. It was published quite a few years ago, so I don't know why it wasn't on my radar until now. But it rocked. I could literally feel my brain growing and learning as I read it-- a lot of the information was hard to digest. It was totally riveting and I think that everyone interested in race, class, and reproductive justice should read it.

A People's History of the United States: 1492-Present by Howard Zinn (1980, 2003)

I actually started reading this last year and just finished it this spring. It's a giant beast of a book, but everyone should read it; it was first recommended to me by a high school teacher six or seven years ago. I think this particular high school recognized my political leanings before I was even aware of them, though, so I'm glad that I waited until college to read it.

Side note: I have a list of people I'd like to high five before I die. Howard Zinn and Lucille Clifton were both on it, until they died within a couple of weeks of each other. That's when I started to get serious about my high five list, and in November of that year, I tracked down Michael Franti after a show in Ann Arbor and gave him a high five. He also gave me a hug, which was AWESOME, but I digress.

When Everything Changed: The Amazing Journey of American Women from 1960 to presentby Gail Collins (2009)

No Excuses: 9 Ways Women Can Change How We Think about Power by Gloria Feldt (2010)

Manifesta: Young Women, Feminism, and the Future by Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards (2000)

The one cool thing about this book for me is that the authors included a blurb about a student at the University of Michigan who started a feminist zine there in the 1990s. And the name sounded really, really familiar, so I Googled it, and realized that she teaches in the women's studies program at Wayne now. So I took a class with her this fall. :)

Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power in a World Without Rape edited by Jaclyn Friedman and Jessica Valenti (2009)

Behind Every Choice is a Story by Gloria Feldt (2002)

As I've mentioned in previous entries, I did not always consider myself to be pro-choice. I only became pro-choice after hearing many women's stories and realizing that reproduction is not an area of life in need of government interference. This is not a book about abortion. It's a book about the difficult decisions that women make.

It was published quite a few years ago; I was bummed to find that many of the web addresses Feldt included don't work anymore. But other than that, it's a pretty good read. What I liked about it is that Feldt left it largely unedited, which allows each woman's individual voice to come through.

Sister Citizen: Shame, Stereotypes, and Black Women in America by Melissa Harris-Perry (2011)

How the Pro-Choice Movement Saved America by Cristina Page (2006)

My problem with books like this is that the people who really ought to read them never will. This is yet another reason why I think the climate surrounding the "abortion debate" should be modified. The whole pro-choice vs. pro-life thing isn't effective. Talk to people. Respect each other.

A Shining Thread of Hope: The History of Black Women in America by Darlene Clark Hine and Kathleen Thompson (1998)

The Way We Never Were: American Families and the Nostalgia Trap by Stephanie Coontz (1992)

This past summer, a former professor mentioned that she was reading Coontz's most recent book, and told me that she thought I'd really like it. Although I didn't go out and find a copy of the book right away, I kept the author's name in the back of my mind, and was surprised to find her work referenced all over the place (in essays I read, blogs, etc). So finally, I looked to see if the Grosse Pointe library owned copies of any of her books. And I found this one.

It's dated, and could benefit from some more recent statistics. But Coontz is a historian, so I still really appreciated what she had to say about American families in earlier centuries. I also really liked how objective she was. The book has been described as "myth-shattering," and I'm always skeptical of that label, because it's usually a euphemism for "hugely biased." But that really was not the case with this book.

The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan (1963)

As mentioned above, I intended to read Stephanie Coontz's most recent book. But it was written about The Feminine Mystique, which I hadn't read. So, maybe because I'm completely insane, I decided to read it in its entirety. Lucy joined me, because a friend of hers recently wrote a capstone paper on it, which she found interesting.

I also wanted to read this book because, as someone who was born twenty-five years after it was published, I feel like I've been told how to feel about books like this one: It's outdated, not inclusive of women who aren't white/middle class/etc. And while those things are all pretty much true, these books obviously had a lot of influence in their time. So I like to read them to figure out why; they're not exactly assigned reading in my women's studies classes these days, and I'm fine with that. The focus of the program I'm in is to emphasize that feminism is still relevant today, and therefore, our readings are more current. But I like to read and think history is really important, so here we are.

That said, parts of it were definitely difficult to get through. For whatever reason, I wasn't expecting Friedan to spend so much time on psychology: Freud, Maslow, etc. To be honest, I don't like psychology very much. I used to. But after taking however many psychology classes at SVSU just because I found it interesting, I got tired of spending so much time in my own head, and decided I cared more about how people interacted with each other. And now I'm a women's studies major. It's sheer personal bias, but it still really influenced my opinion of this book.

A Strange Stirring: The Feminine Mystique and American Women at the Dawn of the 1960s by Stephanie Coontz (2011)

Just Kids by Patti Smith (2010)

Inferno: A Poet's Novel by Eileen Myles (2010)

This isn't really a "novel," which is why I've placed it under the nonfiction heading. Creative nonfiction, that's it. Myles herself is the protagonist, and describes her time on the art/poetry scene in 1970s NYC. It was interesting to read this right after I finished Just Kids.

poetry

for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf by Ntozake Shange (1975)

This is another one of those books I had a hard time categorizing. Should I have put it beneath the heading below? It's referred to as a "choreopoem," so. Here you go. I have yet to see the Tyler Perry film.

Crush by Richard Siken (2005)

Stephanie raved about this book, so I decided to read it. Also, I pretty much automatically love anyone who has ever won the Yale Series Prize for Younger Poets, which Siken did. This reminds me that Carolyn Forche gave a reading at SVSU back in March and I missed it because I live two hours away and had to work that night anyhow. I'm still really bummed out about that.

Late Wife by Claudia Emerson (2005)

Rise of the Trust Fall by Mindy Nettifee (2010)

What I loved about this was that it was both poignant and hilarious. Also, it inspired me to start writing poetry again, which is significant, because I hadn't written any in almost three years. Mindy Nettifee gave a reading at the West Side School for the Desperate (where Stephanie lives) back in October. It was on a Monday night, and I live all the way out in Michigan, so I missed it. And I'm so bummed about that, because Mindy Nettifee is one badass poet, and I would have loved to see her read in person.

Sleepyhead Assassins by Mindy Nettifee (2006)

drama

M Butterfly by David Henry Hwang (1986)

Is this really the only play I've read all year? Gotta step my game up, I guess. I love reading plays. The idea of an entire story being told through dialogue = win, win.

Obligatory end-of-year summary

2011-12-16T18:49:00.003-05:00

What did you do in 2011 that you'd never done before?

Made a zine! Went to Lollapalooza! Did legitimate feminist activist work! Rode a Greyhound bus for 14 hours straight!

Did anyone close to you give birth?

Rose did. :) My cousin Sandy also had twins, but I don't know if that counts, because she and I are not especially close, and I haven't yet met her kids.

Did anyone close to you die?

My cat Mac. Really, though-- he was my very best friend and I miss him a lot.

Which countries did you visit?

The only country outside of the U.S. that I've ever visited is Canada, and I don't count that because I have citizenship there. I did visit a number of states, though: Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Illinois (for the millionth time), and Kentucky. In that order.

What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

Some kind of job or extracurricular activity that actually pertains to my interests.

What dates from 2011 will you always remember?

Technically, all of them. My memory for dates is completely absurd. That said, some are more memorable than others.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?

My grades this semester are AWESOME.

What was your biggest failure?

Being afraid to take risks. Wasting too much energy on people who don't care about me at all.

Did you suffer illness or injury?

Other than menstrual pain, no. Really, though, my uterus developed such a distinct personality this year that I named her Maude, after the 70s sitcom. She is obnoxious, demanding, and opinionated, but means well.

What was the best thing that you bought?

Lollapalooza tickets. That weekend rocked. I'm being literal, of course.

Whose behavior merited celebration?

My mother's. Somehow, I managed to get her to jump on the organic food train with me (this can also be counted as one of my greatest accomplishments of the year).

Whose behavior left you appalled and depressed?

The haters. You know who you are. Wise up, fools.

Where did most of your money go?

I gave it all to Trader Joe! In exchange, Trader Joe gave me food and cute tissue boxes with cute sayings on them.

What did you get really excited about?

My birthday, because I'm not-so-secretly an overgrown child about that every single year. Other than that, there wasn't much to get excited about, because most of the awesome things I did this year occurred pretty spontaneously. "What? You guys are leaving Saginaw for Pittsburgh RIGHT NOW and will be at my house to pick me up in less than two hours? Okay-- I will be ready!"

What song will always remind you of 2011?

My taste in music is so varied and questionable that it is quite impossible to answer this question. Ask me which 1,000 songs will make me think of 2011, and then we'll talk.

Compared to this time last year, are you:

Happier or sadder? Much, much happier. Much better-adjusted, also.

Thinner or fatter? Thinner. One of my mom's reasons for giving in to my demands for organic food was that I apparently refused to eat anything in our house, and she became concerned, because I lost a lot of weight.

Richer or poorer? Financially, poorer. My life feels a lot fuller than it did at this time last year, though.

What do you wish you'd done more of?

Reading. Risk-taking. Speaking up.

What do you wish you'd done less of?

Babysitting.

How will you be spending the holidays?

Quietly, at home, in a food & wine coma.

What was your favorite TV program?

The Golden Girls. This, I'm sure, will remain a constant throughout my lifetime.

What was the best book you read?

Killing the Black Body: Race, Reproduction, and the Meaning of Liberty by Dorothy Roberts. If you're interested in race, class, and reproductive justice, I highly recommend that you read it. It'll break your heart and fill you with rage. But it's worth it.

What was your greatest musical discovery?

The Penny Loafers. They're an a capella group I discovered via Pandora Radio this year. I think they're cool because instead of singing without instrumental accompaniment, they use their voices to create the background music. It's really interesting.

What did you want and get?

FRIENDS! The beginning of this year was rough because I'd transferred schools but didn't know anyone on my new campus. The people I've met through the women's studies program have made things much better, and I'm so grateful for their friendship.

What did you want and not get?

A pony and infinite naps.

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 23. I kept things pretty low-key because my birthday fell on a Thursday during finals, so not only did I have things to study for, but I had to babysit, because I babysit every Thursday. Also, I had the worst cold ever. It turned out great, though. I got a pair of warm slippers from my parents (seriously guys, they're awesome), and the kids I babysit teamed up with their mom to surprise me with all kinds of goodies, too. It was really sweet.

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

Well, see, that's just the thing. I lack a fashion concept. I wear whatever's on top of the clean pile. And those things don't always match and people assume I'm mismatching on purpose and trying to make some kind of statement. But I'm not a hipster. I'm just lazy.

What kept you sane?

I don't really claim to be sane, but talking to people who care about the same issues I do really helped me to feel better about things.

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I think most people are aware by now of my huge-o celebrity crush on Emma Stone.

What political issue stirred you the most?

I don't know how anyone could turn away from the Occupy movement. Also, all of the anti-choice bills pushed through congress this year really got my ire up, of course.

Who did you miss?
The many friends I met at SVSU-- I haven't visited Saginaw very much this year. Also, Stephanie and Sarah, because I always miss them (I got to see them more times this year than I usually do, though, so that's good). And my cat, who died in August. :(

What new friends did you make?

At WSU: Lura, Kali, Alie, Kaitlyn, and Ashley. And then there's Stef, who I met via the Intarwebs. She lives in New York. I haven't yet met her IRL; maybe that'll be a goal for 2012. :)

Share a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011?

Warm slippers will make your life immeasurably more satisfying.

Today I am 23.

2011-12-15T11:41:00.005-05:00

Which isn't any kind of milestone. And please don't remind me about that one Blink 182 song.

In the past 23 years, I've written countless poems and published some, written a ton of stories, but published none of them. And I've written a bunch of other things. Blog posts, letters, birthday cards for my pets. I've edited two school-sponsored art & literary magazines and then had this (poorly developed) idea to make my own zine. It'll get better someday.

I had something like a 20% chance of survival at birth due to my failure to adjust to the idea of breathing outside of the womb. But then I conquered that obstacle and screamed for three months (sorry about that whole colic thing, Mom & Dad), thereby developing one hell of a set of lungs. I've since used those to grow into a singer who has danced onstage in horrible shiny pants. And then later I became a loudmouth feminist. I wonder what's next.

I've read a lot of books. And I think I wrote a novel when I was fifteen because accidentally, out of nowhere I realized I'd created a 237-page Word document-- a story that went on way longer than I had intended it to.

I had knee-length hair as a child because my mom couldn't bear to part with my baby curls. So I've gotten my hair stuck in an escalator and also pooped on it. And then I wrote slam poems about those things and performed them at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island and won a swanky trophy.

I've lived in the suburbs and also in a cornfield, but that's really it. I like to make birthday cakes out of healthy foods.

I am kind of a square, mainly because I'm the only person of my generation who uses the word "square."

I've seen Chantal Kreviazuk in concert three times. I also met her and was a little bit bummed out when she spelled my name incorrectly.

I floss compulsively but still get reprimanded every time I go to the dentist. I'm convinced that dentists are just used to reprimanding everyone for not flossing enough.

I've developed some really embarrassing celebrity crushes and some not-so-embarrassing ones. My most recent one is of the latter variety, so I'll spill: Emmastoneemmastoneemmastone!

I've skinny dipped at 4 a.m. in Higgins Lake and napped in the sunshine. I've had way too many dreams about having sex with people I really shouldn't ever even think about have sex with.

I've mastered the art of fighting with soccer moms in SUVs over parking spots outside of the elementary school at dismissal time. Because I babysit a lot.

And yet I've never had kids and can't ever picture myself having any.

I named my uterus Maude. I like to tweet about it.

I've flown to Colorado on Christmas Eve. And have had pizza and vodka for breakfast on Christmas morning. We mixed the vodka with Powerade because that's all we could find at the gas station, which was the only place open on Christmas morning.

I think Karen Carpenter's voice is totally gorgeous, even if no one my age even knows who Karen Carpenter was.

I got in big, big trouble with my mom one time because I decided to stop at the candy store on my way home from school one day in the second grade.

I've injured my sister badly enough to have her sent off in an ambulance... not just once, but twice.

I've developed and maintained a pretty impressive coffee addiction. And memorized a lot of random facts and dates and numbers. I'm fairly certain I know the birthdays of just about everyone I've ever met.

At sixteen I attended a summer writing seminar because I'm a nerd and it completely changed my life. And then I went back every summer for years.

I wish I could do that with everything I love. But I hear that living in the past is unhealthy.

So, I'm off to be 23-- which, for the immediate moment, means babysitting and getting some last-minute studying in for an exam I've got tomorrow morning. And also eating cake. And telling my cat that I love him even though he's asleep and can't hear me and doesn't even speak English anyway.

Wait... what?

2011-12-10T21:33:00.007-05:00

By writing this, I run the risk of sounding whiny and ten years younger than I am. But I'm going to put it out there anyway, because it's something that's been on my mind all semester.

Where did I come from, and what the hell am I doing here? I live with my parents and sister in the epitome of white, middle class suburbia. All three of them smoke. Though they deny it, they're pretty racist. They drink as much Pepsi as I do coffee and don't consider a meal complete without a decent-sized portion of red meat. They don't believe in turning off the TV-- ever. They each own a car and drive everywhere-- even to visit friends who live around the block in the middle of summer. Neither of my parents went to college and my sister's dropping out of community college after this semester.

Don't get me wrong, they're pretty accepting of my feminism and lesbianism and commie/hippie tendencies, even if they'll never understand any of it. I even got my mom to jump on the organic food train with me (although she says she only did it because I literally refused to eat anything she cooked and lost about ten pounds).

But I just don't understand where I got any of this; they're different from me in every way possible. I want to say that I came to believe what I believe because of outside influence: friends, teachers, whatever. But that's really not the case. I grew up here, in Grosse Pointe, and moved to Saginaw for three years before moving back into my parents' house.

For me, it's always just been a matter of common sense (emphasis on the word always). Maybe all kids are born with this mentality and most outgrow it, but I just didn't? I don't know. But I remember being a little kid and feeling totally floored when I learned that my parents paid a water bill. I didn't understand (and I still don't understand) how anyone could put monetary value on a substance that makes up about 70% of a person's body. And I've applied that mentality to food, too, or anything people need to survive. Like a place to live. Around the age of nine (fearless little thing that I was), I told my friend's dad that I thought it was wrong of him to own a vacation home on Lake Charlevoix, because it was vacant most of the year. What a goddamned waste.

I don't know. I've always surrounded myself with like-minded people, of course. That's what we do. And it's made life bearable-- even enjoyable. But I can't say that I grew up thinking one thing and then went to college and met people who changed my way of looking at the world. Because, as illustrated above, that just didn't happen. I've always felt this way. And then I got to college and was disappointed because I still didn't really feel like I identified with anyone.

I've been kind of angry at myself lately, mainly due to my lack of involvement in things like the Occupy Movement. It's right up my alley and yet I'm utterly absent from it. I justify this to myself by pointing out that I live near Detroit, and Detroit is vastly different from Wall Street, where this protest originated. But that's really no excuse; this isn't the only thing I've (cowardly?) shied away from. There's also some other activism that I'm not as involved in now as I was just a few months ago. And although I'm generally pretty good at following the news and being aware of what's going on, I'm certainly not posting witty commentary on everything the way many of my friends are.

And yet, I know that I've always expected way too much of myself, so I'm trying to look at the whole picture. Given my upbringing and current living situation, I'm pretty strong. I may be taking a million years to get through school, but I haven't quit. And even though I get really effing overwhelmed by the news and my readings for class and the harsh realities of the kind of stuff I'm drawn to, I haven't turned away from it. I can't.

Here are some of the things I've got going for me: I'm more aware of things than I've ever been; if I wasn't, I wouldn't be reading almost compulsively, and working so hard to drag my family into the twenty-first century. I'm on track for a straight-A semester, so I must be doing something right, something productive. I have a job for which I earn money. I get out of bed every single day.

I realize that by writing this, I'm beating myself up for not doing this and that and the other thing, which tells me that I'll be back to it eventually. As Audre Lorde said, "Caring for myself is not self-indulgence. It is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare."

We all do what we need to do.

"It's hard to dance with the devil on your back, so shake him off."

2011-12-08T08:38:00.007-05:00

- Sarah calls me "green bean" because we both love YA literature and there's a character in the sequel to _Stargirl_ who's five years old and instead of saying "human being" she says "human bean." So, green bean because I am one of Sarah's favorite "beans" and green is my favorite color.

- I have another friend, also named Sarah, who sent me a coffee mug in the mail for my birthday yesterday. She is always doing random nice things for people, and I love her for it. She sent me a condolence card when my cat died this past summer, too, complete with a full color photo of him that she printed off of my Facebook page.

- I am currently obsessed with this song (this live on SNL version in particular because Florence Welch just looks so happy).

RIP, SMART Bus.

2011-11-30T22:50:00.007-05:00

I don't think there's anyone on this planet who hates driving more than I do. I'm nearly twenty-three years old, but have only had my license for a little over three years. I only sucked it up and got one because my inability (or unwillingness, really) to drive angered my dad to the point where our relationship suffered; he just could not understand why the hell his sixteen-year-old daughter would shy away from something that he had always considered to be a teenage rite of passage.

At nineteen, I finally took (and passed!) my road test. As a reward, my dad bought me an old Kia Spectra to drive around Saginaw, where I was living at the time. But when I moved back to Grosse Pointe a year and a half ago, I sold it. Why own something that I don't need? There's a bus stop a block and a half from my house, and a bus to Wayne State passes through once every half hour. I work within walking distance of my house, and on the rare occasion that I need a car, I can just borrow my mom's.

(If I may be perfectly honest, when I was weighing the pros and cons of transferring, I said to myself, "If I moved to Detroit, I could sell my car and never drive again. That would be AWESOME.")

Within the past few months, though, there's been a lot of talk about making cuts to the SMART bus service in metro Detroit. Even when I was voting absentee from Saginaw, I paid attention to what was going on with the bus system; public transit has always been really important t me. So this time, I really did my homework. And I discovered that my own route to and from school would be eliminated.

Actually no, I should rephrase that. The route itself won't be eliminated. But it will end before the Detroit city limit. And I use it to get to downtown Detroit. Isn't that mainly what everyone else uses it for, too? The route passes through the financial district before continuing on to Wayne State.

These changes will officially go into effect on Monday, December 12.

I can't blame myself for this. I spoke the fuck up: posted about it on Facebook, answered surveys put together both by SMART and Wayne State, signed petitions, and wrote letters. There was a rally organized by students at WSU, too; I missed it because I had to work. But the fact that they had one tells me that I'm not the only person affected by this.

What they're telling us to do is transfer to DDOT, the bus system that runs solely within the city of Detroit. But that will be a huge hassle, especially given that my previous route went straight to Wayne State. I'd not only be transferring buses, but bus systems. That would undoubtedly make the commute even longer than it already is. And don't even get me started on the issue of overcrowding. DDOT is facing its own set of cutbacks, and won't easily be able to accomodate all the SMART riders from the 'burbs who would need to transfer over.

So now I'm just really bummed out. And I'm not sure where to go from here. I guess I could find myself a cheap car, but, as I've said, I hate driving and have no desire to own a car: maintenance, gas, and parking at Wayne are all expensive.

But what choice do I have? Society makes me feel shitty enough for being in my 20s and living with my parents; I don't want to rely on them for transportation, too. And besides, they've got their own places to be and won't have time to drive me to and from school each day.

My friends keep telling me to move to Detroit; they know how much I dislike living in Grosse Pointe. But even though it's a bit of a commute (twenty minutes by car; more like thirty-five by bus), I don't have to pay rent here. And I have a job here, too. So I have a number of decent reasons to stay.

Please correct me (and help me raise hell) if I'm wrong about this, but I get the vibe that people around here are way more complacent than they should be about bus cuts. Detroit is notorious for its inadequate public transit. But one of the things that I think makes a big city thrive is access to these services. And we've clearly got the foundation already; I've proven that by managing to get around pretty much solely via bus. By making these cuts, we're destroying something that we should only be building upon.

Greyhound adventure

2011-11-28T09:13:00.004-05:00

Yesterday I woke up at 4 o'clock in the morning, rode a Greyhound bus for fourteen hours, and almost got stranded in Cincinnati.

It's the type of adventure I've wanted to take for a long time. Many of my friends (especially the ones who are writers) think it's one of the best ways to find something to write about.

Sarah was in Michigan for Thanksgiving and her birthday (which was that week as well). Then she planned to drive to Bowling Green, KY to visit her boyfriend. So she invited me to come with her, and picked me up along the way. She's driving back to Oklahoma today, so I had to find a way to get myself back to Michigan.

Amtrak was out because there aren't very many Amtrak stations in Kentucky, and the ones I did find were nowhere near Bowling Green. So I decided to take a Greyhound bus.

I purchased a ticket less than a week prior to the trip, and because of the Thanksgiving holiday, decided against having it mailed to me; I wanted to make sure it arrived on time. So I opted for a "will call" ticket; I'd show up at the bus station half an hour before departure and pick it up at the ticket counter.

Except when we got to the bus station in Bowling Green, it was closed. I assume that's because it was five o'clock in the morning. So Sarah and Kevin waited with me for the bus to show up, which was nice of them. It was dark and rainy.

My lack of a physical ticket turned out not to be a problem, so I hopped on the bus and rode it to Elizabethtown, then Louisville. In Louisville, they made everyone get off the bus and then get back on. And my internal monologue was like, "Oh shit, I should probably go to the ticket counter and get a ticket." But there really wasn't any time to do that, so I tried to re-board without one, and didn't have any problems.

So then we rode to Cincinnati and repeated the process of getting on and off the bus. I was slightly irritated by this policy, because for one thing, I'd been riding the bus for about six hours by that point, and was tired of accounting for all of my things. And secondly, we were only expected to get off the bus at the big, busy stations. I've posted before about my spatial impairment; because of it, I get really overwhelmed by crowds and signage and whatnot. And it was the Sunday after Thanksgiving, so everyone was out and trying to get themselves home after the holiday.

But whatever. When I got off the bus, I took my purse with me, but left everything else near my seat (duffel bag, coat, library book). But then I wasn't allowed to re-board the bus as I had been in Louisville. I knew that lack of a ticket would catch up with me sooner or later. But why did it have to happen at a busy, crowded bus station right when everyone was boarding?

[Insert headache here.] I was pissed off and upset (if the station in Bowling Green had been open when I arrived, this wouldn't have happened). But I maintained my composure and trudged over to the ticket counter. Except I was right behind a cranky alpha mom who was trying to get a ticket for her teenage daughter. And the lady at the counter wasn't too pleased about having to deal with her. And let's face it: I look like a teenager myself. So she snapped at me about how I should have gotten my ticket in Bowling Green and then muttered something about having to work at the Greyhound station during the busiest travel day of the year.

And then I looked out the window and saw my bus pull away. With most of my shit aboard with it.

At that moment, I sort of wished that I had a pushy alpha mom to stick up for me; I saw the teenage girl line to board a bus to Chicago and shot her a dirty look. And then I started crying and called my mom to let her know what was going on. The conversation went something like, "People are assholes and my stuff is on its way to Detroit but I'm not. Instead, I'm stranded in a city hours from home where I know no one. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

She told me not to start any fights with anyone (lulz?) and to maintain my composure and if worse came to worse, she and Dad would drive down and get me.

It was kind of comforting to know that there are people in my life who love me enough to offer to drive all the way to Cincinnati from Detroit to pick me up on the busiest travel day of the year. Since I knew my bus was gone anyway, I took my sweet time calming down. I went pee and found some coffee and got myself into another long ticket line to see if I could get onto another bus to Detroit.

As I was waiting in line, I received a text message from my Dad asking if I knew yet whether I needed him to come get me; he was looking at maps online to figure out the fastest route to Cincinnati.

For the record, I hadn't planned on taking my parents up on their offer. I was exhausted anyway; I figured that if I was indeed stranded, I'd get a hotel and take the earliest bus the next day. But I have to hand it to my dad. I complain a lot about how he's the family patriarch; he's protective as fuck, and I'm pretty independent. But he'd do anything for me.

I got to the ticket counter and tried to stay calm as I explained what had happened. The woman took my debit card and ID and once she realized that I wasn't some kind of blubbering incompetent teenager and that it was Greyhound's fault I was trapped, she apologized and got me a ticket for the next bus to Detroit (which turned out to be not too far behind the previous bus I'd been on). Then she called the bus station in Detroit to tell them to hold my stuff for me when I got there. I was happy to know that the problem had been fixed, but still irritated by the fact that people only treat you kindly if they know that you've given them money.

Anyway, I boarded a crowded bus and called my parents to let them know that I was fine and would be home in a few hours. The guy sitting next to me overheard my end of the conversation and said, "It sounds like you've got a long way to go."

"Detroit," I said. "And I'm traveling from Bowling Green, Kentucky."

The lucky bastard got off in Dayton and a whole slew of new people boarded. We repeated this process in Lima, Findlay, and Toledo. The Toldeo-to-Detroit leg of the trip was the roughest for me. Between Findlay and Toledo, the bus had been pretty empty, and, beyond exhausted, I'd put my purse beside me and greedily took up as much space as possible. I had sort of intended to do the same between Toledo and Detroit; by that point, I'd been Greyhounding for thirteen hours and wasn't in the mood to interact with anyone. But as more and more people boarded, it became obvious that I'd have to give up the seat beside me.

"Stop being a dick, Amelia," I told myself, and cleared the seat beside me. And instantly, another passenger appeared and sat down in the seat. He was a friendly old man who wanted me to teach him how to use his very basic cell phone. I took a few deep breaths and mustered all of the patience left inside of me. Normally I would have been happy to help someone with something like that. But hours ago, my internal monologue had started whining about how it just wanted to go home and eat dinner.

An hour or so later, we finally arrived in Detroit. I picked up my things and waited outside for my mom to pick me up. I was actually glad that she was running late; it felt good to walk around in the cold air for a bit.

When I got home, I took a shower, changed into my pajamas, ate some eggs and toast, drank a cup of tea, and fell asleep with my kitten at my feet. I never thought I'd be so happy to be in Grosse Pointe.

Weird and stressful as this experience was, I'm glad I did it. And I think that my writer friends were correct; I sort of think that everyone (writer or not) should spend fourteen hours on a Greyhound at some point in their lives. The world would literally swell with interesting stories.

Life lately

2011-11-13T16:10:00.004-05:00

It's been a really dreary fall in Detroit. I don't think I've ever suffered from seasonal depression, but I'm definitely feeling weird and apprehensive about the coming winter months. I've spent the past few months feeling hungry for sunlight; I can't seem to get enough-- not that there's much to get around here these days. It's rained a lot, and now that we've turned the clocks back an hour, it gets dark around 5 p.m.

But I'm still pretty excited about things. Namely that:

Sarah will be in Michigan this coming Friday, November 18.
A week later, on Friday, November 25, she and I are driving to Bowling Green, Kentucky (where the guy she is dating lives-- Sarah will be moving there too after she graduates next month). We'll spend a couple of days together there, and the 27th, I'll take a Greyhound to Michigan and she will fly back to Oklahoma.
I may visit Saginaw the first weekend in December, but this is still dependent upon my friends' schedules. We'll see, but if that works out, it'll be good, because so many people I care about live there, and I miss them.
On December 10, I'm going to see Tori Amos in Chicago with Lura (which is ridiculous because I've already seen Interpol and gone to Lollapalooza this year, but whatever).

So much random travel. And somehow I keep winding up in the South, of all places. More important is who you're with, though, and I'm so excited to spend time with Sarah. We haven't seen each other since January, when I flew to Oklahoma to visit her. The other day we had this weird "Internet slumber party" where we got on Skype and braided our hair pig-tail style while drinking (bourbon for Sarah, beer for me), if that tells you anything about what our friendship is like. We are ridiculous, but she means a lot to me. Everyone needs friends like that.

In other news, I'm finishing up the first edition of my zine; I'm glad that I actually made one. I was kind of afraid that I'd talk about wanting to make one, but never actually do it. But it's coming together quite nicely, actually.

I spent this weekend working more than usual (I had to babysit on both Friday evening and Saturday afternoon), so decided to treat myself to Han Nolan's newest book. I'm almost done with it; I love YA literature so unreasonably much. The stuff I have to read for my degree program gets depressing sometimes. YA lit is also kind of depressing (the book I'm reading now addresses issues such as teen pregnancy, infidelity, and suicide). But I feel like it's easier to deal with because I've been there already-- it's only been four and a halfish years since I graduated from high school.

Just trying to keep myself grounded, I guess.

"The world spins madly on."

2011-10-28T12:07:00.007-04:00

Yesterday was weird. Really weird. I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and got online. The first thing I saw was a tweet about Occupy Oakland, and my immediate reaction was to just start sobbing. This inevitably led to more of that-- half an hour of it, exactly.

Then I made a pot of coffee. After I drank it, I attempted to start my day over again, so crawled back into bed for a bit and pulled my four-month-old kitten close to me.

Back on the Internet: Read, cry, rinse, repeat. So much for starting over.

One of the things I found was an article in USA Today titled As NOW marks 45 years, is feminism over the hill? Never mind that Shelby Knox, now 25, was the subject of a documentary on the importance of comprehensive sex education. Or that Katie Stack, 23, who won this year's Speak Out for Choice Award from NARAL, is the president of a chapter of NOW which consists mostly of young women. Or that my good friend Stephanie Sutton, 22, was one of the main organizers of SlutWalk Chicago & then traveled to New York City, where she bravely shared a poem she wrote about her sexual assault in front of ~4,000 people gathered there for SlutWalk NYC. And if I may connect this to the subject of OWS, my friend Stef--who lives in Brooklyn and can't find a job even though she had a master's degree by the time she was 22--has been actively involved in OWS and sent me a text message yesterday that said, "I'm running Occupy Student Debt on FB and @OWSDebtDay on Twitter to help have a Generation Debt rally on 11/12 at all OWS events!"

So here's the thing: I actually think that the USA Today article is directly linked to what happened in Oakland earlier this week. If people truly think that no one really cares and it's all just a game, then yeah, cops are going to get away with sneaking up on people and beating the shit out of them. It's not that no one's working hard to change things. It's that it's simply more convenient for people to say that no one gives a shit so that they can continue to uphold the status quo.

Anyway, by that point it was well after 10 a.m. I decided to get some homework done. I actually tend to do better on schoolwork when other stuff is stressing me out, because I use it to keep myself distracted from reality. Except um, I'm a women's studies major. So basically, I'm getting a degree in not turning away, in caring too much. "Distraction" really isn't part of my vocabulary these days.

I had to babysit at 3:30-- pick up the girls (ages five and eight) from school, help them with their homework, feed them dinner, bathe them, and put them to bed before their mom got home. So on my way out the door, I went to grab a book to bring with me; I'd have time to read it after they fell asleep. And I have tons of reading to do for school, but I couldn't decide on anything. My options were to read about this kind of oppression or those other people over there who are being discriminated against or all this other heartbreaking shit that's going on in the world.

And that's when I lost it. Sat in my car outside of the elementary school and cried until the dismissal bell rang. During that time, I used my cell phone to post the following to Twitter:

I really can't cope with shit today. I don't know what my deal is, but I feel like all the work I'm doing will amount to nothing. #mope

Between my women's studies classes & the news & other activism, everything is disheartening. Idk. I don't feel very strong today.

Other thoughts that were running through my head: Why do we bother? History just keeps repeating itself; this obviously is not the first time that there's been news of police brutality at a peaceful protest. And not only that, but it turns out that if we do care and we do work hard and we refuse to give up, PEOPLE WILL STILL FAIL TO ACKNOWLEDGE US.

And then I think of the kids I work with, and how I can't deal with the fact that they're growing up in a world like this-- where they're told that they can be anything they want to be when it flat-out isn't true. The government doesn't give a shit about them. They can grow up and work their asses off and, like Stef, have master's degrees by 22. But then what? They could, like so many already have, realize they've been lied to all along. And then they could protest and raise hell but it won't matter. They'll just be ignored.

I'm posting this because I think that if you deny that you feel helpless and desperate, you'll never be able to work past those feelings and make something good out of it. And, if I'm going to frame this as a response to that USA Today article I read yesterday: Maybe people are failing to recognize that we're here because they're looking for burning bras and rage but THERE ISN'T ANY LEFT RIGHT NOW because feminism has changed over time and currently takes the form of despair.

I'm a young feminist. And I'm angry. But I'm also profoundly sad. The problem isn't that young people don't know what's at stake. All you need to do is take a brief look around to realize that. Instead, I think that because of the current political climate, compassionate people who believe in equality are, in some cases, shamed into keeping their mouths shut. And those who are brave enough to speak out just aren't being heard over the noise of those who insist on holding all the power.

Shifting gears

2011-10-25T11:43:00.008-04:00

There are a lot of things I've been thinking about. And writing about.

But not here.

I've kind of neglected this blog recently. Sure, I've updated from time to time, but mostly just to say that I'm still alive and (miraculously!) haven't burned down the kitchen in my attempts to keep myself fed.

This is a far cry from what I was doing with this blog a year ago, at which point I was an active participant in feminist blog carnivals (This is What a Young Feminist Looks Like, NARAL's Blog for Choice Day, and I Stand with Planned Parenthood, among others). I also wrote posts reflecting on books I read, and shared my thoughts on things like education, young adult literature (because I will not-so-secretly always love it-- no matter how old I get), and general 20-something-type stuff: feelings of inadequacy, uncertainty, etc, etc.

But I think it's important to put those posts against the backdrop of where I was at in life last year. At the time, I'd just transferred colleges, moved in with my parents, and was--even though I was hesitant to admit it then--incredibly lonely. My self-indulgent blogging habit (as I came to call it) helped me not only to organize my thoughts and figure out what the hell I was doing, but also kept me connected to people who shared my interests.

And some of those online connections turned out to be far more profound & long-lasting than I would have ever expected. This year, I've had the chance to meet and work with feminists from across the country, and have gotten involved in a couple of projects that I'm really excited about.

(And yes, I've also made some friends at my new school. I couldn't be more glad about that.)

Anyway, I've thinking of making a zine. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I got the idea from my friend Lucy, who, in the editor's note of her inaugural issue, explained her reason for replacing her blog with a zine: "Every time I try to do a blog it ends up feeling like I'm pulling teeth to say what I want and make it politically correct for any future employment. This zine is created on my terms and with my own words."

I have been very busy and active-- infinitely more so than I was a year ago. As I mentioned, I'm incredibly excited about the stuff I've been doing, and have a lot to say about it. But here just isn't the place to share my thoughts on those things.

So I've been looking for a more appropriate venue for sharing my thoughts with a few friends and fellow activists. And just as I was pondering that, a copy of Lucy's new zine arrived in the mail.

I've spent the past couple of weeks reading up on zine-making. Lucy's also given me a few tips. She and I are both former editors-- she of the student newspaper at NMU, and I of two art/literary magazines (Looking Glass in high school and Cardinal Sins at SVSU). And yet this is an endeavor very much unlike either of those publications. I have some graphic design know-how, but don't really intend to use it. Lucy's zine was a mix of things: typed stuff that she photocopied, pages of handwritten material, and a few images. She took pages of 8.5 x 11" computer paper, folded them in half, and stapled the pages together. I will likely do something similar. I like that what she made looks very much like a scrapbook. That, I think, is well-suited to what I hope to accomplish by doing this: something tangible to show for what I've been up to lately-- a more interesting way of communicating with people than Facebook messaging. Maybe it'll eventually evolve into something a little bigger than that, but who knows; it's all a big experiment for me right now.

I'll still update this page from time to time; unlike Lucy, I have no plans to delete my blog anytime soon. When I joined Google+, for example, I didn't leave Facebook. I just post whatever's most appropriate for the audiences on those respective sites. Same thing with this. Assuming my zine actually materializes, it'll certainly have a much more limited audience than my blog does. Therefore, it'll contain different information.

Anyway, that's all for now. See ya around, Internet.

Things I think

2011-10-10T10:13:00.007-04:00

This past weekend, I received a zine in the mail from my friend Lucy. It was really cool; she mentioned in her "editor's note" that she'd been inspired in part by the Riot Grrrl movement to create it. Parts were handwritten, others were not. And then she'd photocopied pages from books she's been reading lately. And there were a few images, too.

My favorite page was one where she'd written "Things I think" at the top. And then she just listed stuff. From reading it, I learned that she'd growing out her hair and that she's taking an Arab Islamic history course right now that she loves.

One of the things she really emphasized was the importance of not just embracing chaos, but creating it. That spoke to me because even though I hide it well, I'm pretty uptight, and panic if I feel like I'm not in control of a given situation (even one that I'm not supposed to have control over in the first place).

In an attempt to loosen up a little, I'm going to make a list of things I think. Here goes:

I really want swoop bangs like Mary Weiss (lead singer of the Shangri-Las), circa 1965. This is something I've been thinking about for years now, so maybe I should just do it already.
I want to go back to creating music. Singing & playing piano were two of my very favorite things when I was younger. I'd like to go back to it.
Sometimes I take a deep breath and remind myself that I will not be babysitting forever, because the kids I watch will not be children forever.
Iron & Wine-induced naps are so, so great.
Some days I wish that the Internet didn't exist so I'd be forced to get up and go after what really matters to me. The web is the only way I stay connected to the people I care about, most of whom live far away.
"Super Bass" by Nicki Minaj is my happy song.
This is slightly morbid, but just like anyone else who writes, I have to admit that I think about death a lot. And I'm convinced that traditional funerals are unnecessarily expensive (I feel the same way about weddings, but that's another rant for another day). I think a great way to stick it to the man would be to research exactly what a traditional funeral would cost and then give that amount of money to a cause that the deceased person was passionate about. And then instead of having a normal wake, just cremate the person and gather at someone's home to reminisce.
The sound of people talking over each other makes me really anxious and panicky. I don't watch TV for this reason, or listen to radio talk shows. Everyone in my family loves to watch TV though, and there are often several TVs on at one time. It's overwhelming and awful and sometimes I wonder if there's something physically wrong with me, because other people seem to be able to handle a shitstorm of noise. But I just can't.
I'm constantly being made aware of my own blinders, my own preconceived notions about things and people. I live in a notoriously conservative town. So when I decided to wear overtly political pins on the strap of my tote bag, I assumed that I'd get nothing but shit for it. While I have gotten some (a lady at Kroger told me that she'd pray for me), I've also gotten into great conversations with like-minded people because of the pins I wear. Shame on me for making assumptions.
Public transit > driving.
I have a thing for 80s sitcoms. My favorite show of all time is The Golden Girls. I spent my summer watching all 7 seasons of Family Ties on Netfilx (yes, really).

That's it for now, I suppose. I've decided to stop making excuses and just write as much as possible, because no matter how much I try to deny it, writing is and always will be extremely important to me. I need to write more often. And maybe I'll post some of it here; I've kind of neglected this blog lately. :-/ I've felt annoyed with myself because I've had this blog for over two years now and still don't know what the hell I'm doing with it. Can't seem to focus.

But maybe that's because I care about a lot of things. And that can't be bad. Embrace chaos. Create it.

Thanks, Lucy. :)

Fall 2009 semester, two years later

2011-10-03T22:18:00.007-04:00

Those who know me even remotely well know that I have a pretty astounding memory for numbers, especially dates. I don't know why this is, exactly, but it usually comes in handy. Like on people's birthdays, for example.

There's a downside to this, however. And that's that I remember bad things, too.

For the past couple of years, October's been rough. This is because in October of 2009, I was going through a really hard time. But I'm not going to get into the details, because it's been done before.

Thanks to my memory for dates, I spent October of 2010 replaying everything that had happened a year prior in my head. It sucked. I woke up on October 1 of this year and started to do that, but decided that I just couldn't waste a whole month on that again.

So I've decided to write down everything that happened that month, sans anything negative.

And I've come up with quite a bit. :)

As background, I'll say this. I was twenty years old and in my third year of school at SVSU. I was majoring in creative writing, and working as the editor-in-chief of the campus art/literary magazine.

Friday, October 2: I drunkenly stumble into a Saginaw coffee shop and loudly declare (to friends of mine who are gathered there for a poetry reading) that I'm a lesbian (which, at this point, is something that very few people know). My ex-boyfriend's mom (of all people) drags me out of the coffee shop, puts me in her car, and takes me to her house, where I run into my ex-boyfriend. Because I'm classy, I throw up all over myself. And because he is a saint, he washes my puke-covered clothes for me.

Monday, October 5: My friend says to me, "You know how you bite your nails when you're stressed out? Well, I couldn't help but notice that all ten of your fingers are bleeding."

I see that my friend is right; I am stressed out. So that night when I get home, I decide to dye my hair bright green. It turns an awful chlorine-shade of yellowish green instead.

Wednesday, October 7: The Director of Media Relations (otherwise known as the guy who interviewed me for my editorship) runs into me at Starbucks on campus, takes a close look at my head, and says, "But according to your Facebook status, it's supposed to be green. This doesn't look very green to me."

I shudder and tell myself to be more careful about who sees what I post on Facebook.

Wednesday, October 14: I run into an English instructor who tells me that I look stressed out, so should come to her office for chocolate sometime.

Thursday, October 15: I show up in aforementioned instructor's office for chocolate and a pep talk. I end up doing this several times throughout the semester.

Friday, October 16: I'm eating pancakes at my friend's apartment when her roommate says that she wants to be an atheist for Halloween because atheists are scary. So I look her in the eye and say, "Boo."

Saturday, October 17: The same friend who invited me over for pancakes the day before comes to my apartment to cook me dinner and bring me a bottle of Witches Brew. I tell her that I think I want to change my major. She looks surprised and says, "Never saw that coming. The next thing you know, Travis [our extremely responsible, conservative, predictable friend] will come rolling in on a motorcycle and tell us that he's joining a commune."

Sunday, October 18: I post the following Facebook status: "Amelia is having that crisis she assumes everyone has at some point in their lives. You know, the one that goes, 'Oh no! I don't want to be doing this for the rest of my life, but it's too late to change things!'"

A friend comments with, "Dude, you are TWENTY."

So I take a chill pill.

Tuesday, October 20: After class, I head over to my friend's apartment. Her sister works as a hair dresser, and has offered to give me a free haircut. While I'm waiting for her to show up, I check my email, and receive a really upsetting message. So I spend half an hour lying on my friend's lawn, sobbing. She takes a picture of me, which, to this day, pops up on her cell phone every time I call.

Saturday, October 24: I plan to spend the day in my office, laying pages for the semester's issue of the art/literary magazine. Because Starbucks is closed on the weekends, I bring my coffee maker with me to the office. I am absolutely certain that this is the best idea I have ever had. When my roommate wakes up an hour or so after I leave and discovers that the coffee maker is missing, she is not pleased with me.

Monday, October 26: After a day of classes, I walk out to my car and find a note tucked under my windshield from a friend who senses that I need a bit of encouragement. This makes my whole month.

People took such good care of me. I forgave the friend who took a picture of me having a meltdown on her lawn because she's also the one who invited me over for breakfast and then invited herself over to my apartment the next day to cook me dinner. Plus, she's the one who made the comment about my bloody fingers. And she frequently refused to hang out with me because she was worried that I wasn't getting enough sleep.

And they let me cry. I didn't mention that every afternoon, I called my mom from the backseat of my car, where I'd sit between classes and cry. One afternoon, I called her at the same time I always did, but for whatever reason, was in an uncharacteristically good mood. I was surprised by how exhausted she sounded when she answered, like she was bracing herself for another meltdown of mine.

She could have ignored the call, but she didn't. She always picked up, always listened.

So many people did that (see above). So maybe I should stop thinking of it as the worst time of my life.

I'm not going to look back at that time and beat myself up for being an ungrateful brat. I was far from ungrateful, and I do think that I had every right to be as angry/confused/depressed/frustrated as I was. But I am, from this point forward, going to try to focus more on the lovers than the haters. That's the mistake I made then. Instead of ignoring the people who were trying to bring me down, I spent my time trying to please them. I should have known that I wasn't going to win that battle. Instead of spending what little energy I had crying, maybe I should have focused on the areas where I knew I could succeed.

I can't go back in time, but at the very least I can say that that's what I'm doing now.

People have noticed that I've fully embraced a "Haters gonna hate" philosophy. I guess they assume that I did it because the cartoon guy who struts around saying it is totally adorable. But the real reason is that I learn everything the hard way.

Which is better than not at all, I suppose. :)

Kitchen experiments 2 and 3

2011-09-18T19:49:00.006-04:00

Because I'm tired of eating like a 40-year-old bachelor, I ordered two cookbooks online. This one, which is full of vegetarian crock pot recipes, was recommended to me by a friend. I figured it'd be perfect, given my schedule: I work from 3:30-9:30 p.m. When I come home, I'm hungry, but too tired to cook.

The other book I ordered seems pretty cool, too. It's full of recipes that use ingredients that can be found at Trader Joe's. I love Trader Joe's, and there's one a couple of miles from my house. So when Sarah saw it online, she thought of me, and told me about it.

Neither of the books have arrived in the mail yet. But I felt like eating something a bit more interesting than Annie's mac & cheese. So I consulted the Internet, and decided to make a couple of things.

1) Nutella cookies

I saw a recipe for these online a few months ago and was, not surprisingly, intrigued. They're super easy to make and probably dangerously unhealthy, but fuck it.

I preheated the oven to 350 degrees. Then I mixed a cup of flour, a half cup of sugar, an egg, and a cup of Nutella into a mixing bowl. And then I smashed it all together with my hands like some kind of little kid digging playing with dirt in the backyard.

Then I rolled the dough into little balls and put them on a cookie sheet. And I flattened them with the bottom of a glass. And then I popped 'em in the oven for about 7 minutes.

I have little to no self control, and will eat all of the cookies on the baking sheet unless someone restrains me. And I figured that since these are made with Nutella, I'd devour them all quickly.

Not so. And that's not because they aren't delicious. They are. They're just seriously the richest things I've ever tasted. I can only eat one at a time.

Which is fine by me. Means they'll last longer. :)

The only thing I'd change if I were to do this again (and I probably will): I'd bake it for a few minutes longer than recommended to see if it'd dry out the cookies a little bit. Because they're made with Nutella, they're almost a little bit "greasy." I can't think of another word that would accurately describe the texture.

But overall, this was a win. Recommend.

2) Epic tuna/rice thing

I didn't consult the Internet for this one, which is why it's got such a decadent-sounding name. :)

But once upon a time, my friend Katrina came over and we decided to cook dinner. We soaked salmon in a mix of honey and soy sauce, then broiled it, and served it over rice. It was pretty delicious.

I didn't have any salmon in the house (sad day). But I did have tuna steaks (I hate the word "steak" because I hate normal steak, but anyway). I decided to eat it.

I decided to cook it on the stove, and let it swim (pun totally intended) in a pool of soy sauce and honey. While that was cooking, I made the rice. But the last time I made rice, it tasted really bland. So this time, I cooked it in chicken broth instead of water for added flavor.

I served the tuna steaks over the rice. It turned out really well. But I should have added some vegetables.

So, win all around. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen today, didn't start and fires, and lived to tell about it. Also, I didn't starve.

I am slowly working my way toward becoming a real adult. The next step is to learn that dessert is supposed to come after dinner.

Whoops.

On living honestly

2011-09-13T03:10:00.009-04:00

"I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood." - Audre Lorde

I'm very tired. Partly because it's 3 a.m. and partly because this week, I've come to a very important (and scary) realization.

I'm still living in the closet.

I say this even though I told my parents that I'm a lesbian nearly a year ago. And I say it even though a quick glance at the tote bag I carry everywhere will tell you what my political views are; it's covered in buttons and pins.

Last year, I transferred to Wayne State from SVSU. And because my parents live about six miles from downtown Detroit, I decided to move in with them (because hey, not having to pay rent = win). I was pretty miserable growing up in Grosse Pointe. But I justified moving back by telling myself that because I'd no longer be enrolled in the school system, it'd be different. Easier.

But then I got a regular babysitting job.

I've written a little bit about it before. Three days per week, I pick up the kids from school, feed them dinner, bathe them, pack lunches, help with homework, and put them to bed-- all before their mom gets home at 9:15.

I have to admit that early this year (February, March, and April, especially), I started to feel really down about it. Because I'm a transfer student, I didn't have any friends at Wayne State. Living and working in Grosse Pointe (especially on Thursday and Friday evenings) made it damn near impossible to meet anyone.

And yet I was taking these 5000-level English and women's studies classes that were completely blowing my mind. It was damn near impossible for me to keep what I was learning contained to a classroom setting. And I think the whole point of classes like that, if I may say it, is to bring that knowledge beyond the walls of the classroom and into the real world.

I had all this energy and nowhere to put it, no one to share it with. And I was angry with myself because I'd wanted to transfer, but it wasn't working out. I was optimistic, hopeful, and somehow, mysteriously, profoundly unhappy. But I was afraid to admit that to anyone because I didn't want people to think that I regretted my decision to leave SVSU.

So I kept it mostly to myself, which only made things worse.

The feeling caught me entirely off-guard. It was very overwhelming and strange; even now, it's hard to write about. I've always been a bit of a hermit, and had not expected to need people that much.

I somehow managed to pull myself out of my funk, reach out to people, and make a couple of friends. And I even decided to keep my babysitting job. After all, I need to make money, and this sure as hell beats working some bullshit dead end job for a corporation. By being a reliable babysitter, I'm helping someone-- a single mother who's on welfare, at that. Every feminist bone in my body tells me that I've made the right decision by sticking with it.

But it's not enough.

The other night, the kids' mom came home complaining about an argumentative writing class she's taking at a nearby community college.

"This kid tried to tell me that homosexuals are oppressed in this country," she said incredulously. "Can you believe that? I think it's celebrated; everywhere I look, I see rainbows."

I stood there feeling stunned, offended, and unsure of how to respond. My internal monologue, meanwhile, had plenty to say: Well, maybe if homosexuals weren't oppressed, your babysitter would feel comfortable telling you that she's gay.

Not that my sexual orientation matters all that much in the context of my relationship with her. But it'd be nice to be able to feel like I can the truth when she tries to make small talk with me about my plans for the weekend, you know?

I'd also like to explain to her kids that it's okay for women to fall in love with other women, and men with men. Recently, the five-year-old declared that she's "in love" with a little girl who lives down the street. The eight-year-old piped up with, "No. You can love her, but you can't be 'in love' with her, because you're both girls. Girls can't fall in love with other girls."

I should have said something, but I didn't. Because for some reason, I was afraid to, even though something I believe very strongly is that the world isn't going to get better unless we teach kids not to believe everything that Disney tells them.

Looking at those incidents, I realize just how much of myself I'm hiding from them. I spend three evenings per week with those kids, and have been for over a year. And yet neither they nor their mother knows that I'm a lesbian, a feminist, a women's studies major.

And what's wrong with any of those things? Why the fuck should I hide the most important aspects of my identity, especially when I'm also trying to build a career out of it?

And I deal with this shit all the time. A few weeks ago, I took the girls to the park. They made a new friend on the playground, as kids often do. At one point, the little girl's mom had to go to the bathroom, so approached her daughter and said, "Come with me for a second." Then she pointed to me and said (loud enough so that I could hear her), "I don't trust that punk."

I'm just so very tired of keeping my mouth shut. Why the hell should I? For one thing, I seem to be the only one in this town who doesn't feel comfortable enough to speak her mind. And secondly, I act only out of love-- always. So why should I be ashamed of what I think and do? My wish is not to "get back" at the people who have hurt me. I'd just like to feel like it's okay to express my opinion in the town where I live and work and spend most of my time.

I've been using Facebook as an outlet. I don't really know where else to turn, and besides, most of my friends are there. Yesterday, I posted a pro-choice "vlog" update from Katie Stack. Not surprisingly, it sparked a debate between a few of my Facebook friends.

Afterward, I had a long discussion with the person who had originally objected to the post. It went well; I'm going to post some of what she said here, because it meant a lot to me.

If this is what you're passionate about and what's on your mind, you shouldn't feel guilty about putting it on FB-- that's what it's for. I'm just having a hard time dealing with hyper-focused Amelia on this topic. That's my problem, not yours, if I'm honest.

If these are your genuine beliefs and you feel strongly about them, you shouldn't have to cater to other people being offended.

Repression causes reactions. I get that. Be you, Amelia. You deserve to be heard, partly because you're my friend and I love you, and partly because you're a sensible person who can engage in a discussion without being a complete ass, and partly because you're level-headed and thoughtful, and those people deserve it most.

That's all I really want people to understand. That I don't want to hurt anyone. That I'm not a bad person. That yeah, I'm angry. But it's healthy to get angry.

And I have to add that it was nice to be able to try this out on someone I respect, and know respects me, even if our views differ.

I just want to talk to people and feel like they're listening. And since I'm here, I really ought to make the most of it instead of hiding in my room and feeling miserable and lonely.

If moving back to Grosse Pointe has taught me anything, it's that I need people a lot more than I ever thought I did. And it's pretty hard to interact with anyone when you're afraid of what they might say and/or do to you.

Kitchen experiment #1: Peachsauce?

2011-08-24T19:28:00.007-04:00

Most of the people who know me know that I don't eat red meat. A lesser known fact is that as a middle/high school student, I didn't eat white meat, either. I started eating it again when I started college and moved in with my friend Tracy. I'm kind of lazy, and really enjoy food. Therefore, I'm perfectly content to let someone else cook for me (hint, hint). And Tracy's a damn good cook. So, because I didn't want to be a picky pain in the ass, I started eating white meat when we moved in together four years ago.

But since moving back to my parents' house little over a year ago, I've been on my own a lot for meals. There are a couple of reasons for this: 1) I work in the evenings, so frequently miss dinner, and 2) My parents, unlike me, enjoy normal American cuisine (hamburgers, hot dogs, etc).

So I've been living off Annie's mac & cheese. And since I'm so often on my own food-wise anyway, I figure I ought to get creative: spend some time experimenting in the kitchen, and maybe go back to a meat-free diet.

It's not exactly "going vegetarian" because I refuse to give up seafood. (What kid of seafood enthusiast would I be if I did that?) But I still think that it'll be healthier.

And more interesting.

My plan is to make something new every week or so, and record my thoughts here.

Starting right now.

Today I made some peach/ginger soup. It's served cold. I got the idea from my friend Sarah, who made some for a potluck she went to recently. She lives in Stillwater, Oklahoma; it gets unbearably hot there at this time of year.

The recipe calls for the following:

2 and 1/4 pounds of fresh peaches-- peeled, pitted, and chopped
3/4 teaspoon of ground ginger
3/4 cup, 2 tablespoon, and 1 teaspoon of heavy cream
1 tablespoon and 1 teaspoon rum

But Sarah told me that she replaced the cream with coconut milk and the rum with white wine, so I did the same. Replacing the cream with coconut milk made it vegan (my whole point in doing this was to be healthier). And wine costs a lot less than rum. Win, win.

I spent a million years chopping peaches. Note to self for the future (because I will totally be making this again): Find a more efficient way to chop things.

Anyway, once the peaches were chopped up, I ground some ginger, and tossed them both into the blender. I have this handy "puree" button, so I pressed that until it turned to mush. Then, I mixed it in a bowl with the coconut milk and wine, and stored it in the fridge.

A couple of hours later, I ate it.

It had the same consistency as applesauce. I understand why people make this in the summertime; it was super refreshing.

The only thing I'm sad about is that I made only four servings-- I was afraid to make more in case it sucked. But it didn't suck. And I want some more.

I'm glad that my first kitchen experiment turned out well (I know, I know, I didn't use the stove and therefore didn't even have the opportunity to burn anything). But I'm encouraged anyhow, and will be back at this again soon. :)

Happy birthday to my tote bag. :)

2011-08-13T11:39:00.011-04:00

If you've seen me at all within the past year, you've undoubtedly also seen my tote bag. It has become a staple of my wardrobe and therefore deserves its own blog post. It celebrated its first birthday this week.

I bought it last summer in Yellow Springs, Ohio because I thought it was cute and I love tote bags.

No, really. I fucking love tote bags. I own about a zillion of them, and until this time last year, switched them out pretty frequently.

Some of my favorites:

the white one covered in spoons
the mustard-colored one with a record on it (love both mustard & music)
the Chantal Kreviazuk one (as I said, I love music)
the Theodore Roethke one (because I also love poetry)

This tote bag, though, has topped them all. I'm not sure how this happened. Maybe it's that it fits over my shoulders in such a way that I don't feel like I'm carrying it; instead, I feel like I'm wearing it. Or maybe it's that the straps are so wide that there's plenty of room for me to add personality to it with buttons.

Some buttons that have lived on my bag within the past year:

a pink breast cancer awareness pin
a pin that says "I <3 pro-choice girls" on it
a pin with one of my favorite Audre Lorde quotes on it: "Your silence will not protect you."
an LGBT pride ribbon
a pin with the original cover of _Beloved_ by Toni Morrison on it
a silver ribbon "Trust Women" pin

Or maybe I just love it because I don't have to worry about whether it matches my outfits-- the damn thing doesn't even match itself.

It looks a little more tired than it did a year ago, but it's still goin' strong. The zipper's broken and there's a little hole on the front of it. My cats decided that the tassels make good cat toys, so those are pretty frayed, too. And the inside is filthy, thanks to the frequent explosions of mini lotion bottles.

But I still manage to get compliments on it pretty frequently, in strange places to boot. A few months ago, I was walking to work. And I was crossing the street in front of a car parked at a stop sign. The woman driving the car rolled down her window, told me that she loved my bag, and asked me where I got it.

This question often leads to interesting conversations, because Yellow Springs is yarnbombed and wonderful.

I work as a nanny, basically. I avoid using that word because it makes me feel a lot older than I actually am. But it's a more accurate term than "babysitter," because it's a regular, structured gig. I take the four-year-old with me to pick up the seven-year-old from school, feed them an after school snack, cook them dinner, bathe them, and put them to bed-- all before their mom gets home at 9:30.

The tote bag has come in handy on multiple occasions-- usually on trips to the playground. People seem to think it's hilarious that I've pulled juice boxes, children's books, and toys from a bag that's so weird-looking and, thanks to my buttons and pins, loudly political.

Especially in a town like Grosse Pointe, MI.

Maybe this is my way of yarnbombing a town that really needs some color and life and fun and ridiculousness. I do my thing and it's fuckin' weird but people seem to like it.

It's strange, the things that'll end up making your day.

Or entire year, in my case.

Lollapalooza and other Chicago adventures

2011-08-11T11:00:00.006-04:00

Aside from the fact that I came home from Chicago to news that my cat had passed away while I was out of town, the weekend was fucking awesome.

Going to Lollapalooza was my friend Toni's idea. She spent last summer campaigning for someone who ended up not getting elected, so decided that this summer, she deserved to have as much fun as possible.

So I spent months being a hermit in order to be able to afford to go with her.

And damn, was it worth it.

Toni was excited for Lollapalooza itself, as was I. But I felt oddly luckier than her, because I had another good reason to visit Chicago. My friend Stephanie lives there. I've written about her before-- a fellow feminist and poet, she has long been a great source of sanity for me.

A few months ago, she started a literary collective called the West Side School for the Desperate, and offered to let Toni and me crash there for the weekend. I'd been really curious to see it; from talking to her, I knew that it wasn't a normal apartment. But I didn't really know what to expect.

As it turns out, the WSSD is actually listed as a commercial property. It used to be a Good News Bible Church (lulz), and before that, was a bakery. Now, Stephanie and her roommates use the main area as a performance space. Near the back of said performance space, there's this tiny door leading to a kitchen. There's a bathroom back there too. And they sleep in what I guess used to be closets. The walls to those rooms don't go all the way to the ceiling. It's hard to explain without a visual. But it's really interesting and open.

The night Toni and I arrived, Stephanie and her roommates were hosting a poetry workshop at the WSSD. So we sat in on it. It was a weird experience for me, in both good and bad ways.

One of Stephanie's roommates Julie (who also went to high school with us) has a background in visual art, not poetry. But she still wanted to find a way to contribute to the workshop. So she handed each of us a piece of surrealist art and had us write poems about them.

I hadn't written a poem in a very long time, and doing so felt really good.

Workshopping others' pieces was another story. Toni realized just how much of a nerd I was in high school, because I explained to her that that's all I did in my free time. But I hadn't taken part in a productive workshop session since early 2009, so when Stephanie put me on the spot and asked for my opinion on someone's piece, I stumbled through a response. It was weird, because that's something I used to feel confident about.

After the workshop, we all wound up at a nearby karaoke bar, and after a couple of pitchers of beer, Stephanie and I sang "Fuck and Run" by Liz Phair together. It's good to know that even though I've not been active on the poetry scene lately, Stephanie and I are still close-- even though our interest in poetry is the reason our friendship developed in the first place.

The next day, Toni and I finally headed off to Lollapalooza. But not before a delicious lunch at a sushi place across the street from Grant Park.

I love hanging out with people who love seafood as much as I do.

That day, we saw The Kills, The Mountain Goats, Crystal Castles, and Ratatat. The last one was probably my favorite. The only group that was sorta disappointing was Crystal Castles, if only because they stopped playing abruptly and disappeared forever and no one knows why or where they went. :-(

I think Toni and I were both surprised at how utterly exhausted we were after our first day at Lolla. Having been on our feet all day, we literally limped back to the West Side School for the Desperate-- arriving, appropriately, both looking and feeling pretty desperate. We slept for 600 years that night. It felt awesome.

The next day, Toni caught a train to Oak Park to meet up with her aunt for lunch. This gave Stephanie and me some time to spend alone, which was nice.

A few years ago, Stephanie and I got together on Christmas Day and watched a few episodes of "Curb Your Enthusiasm." One of the episodes we saw was the one about the Larry David Sandwich. In it, Larry has a sandwich named after him. And he's disappointed, because the sandwich is made up of whitefish, cream cheese, and capers. And who the fuck likes those things?

Stephanie and me, that's who. We were like, "Man. People need to stop hating on the Larry David Sandwich. That shit sounds delicious."

We proceeded to raid her parents' fridge for fish. This was especially hilarious because her family had just eaten Christmas dinner, so there were piles and piles of delicious leftovers for us to eat. But did we want any of it? No. We wanted whitefish.

For the record, we didn't find any, and ended up eating leftover ambrosia instead (mmmmm). But since then, we've said that we'd someday eat seafood sandwiches together.

Soon after that, Stephanie discovered a classy sandwich shop in her Chicago neighborhood. She has been nagging me for literally years now to come visit her so that we could eat delicious sandwiches together there.

One in particular is named after Alice Walker. It contains salmon, avocado, cucumber, feta cheese, and wasabi mayo.

So, needless to say, we officially (finally!) declared Saturday, August 6, 2011 "Sandwich Day," and went to this sandwich shop together. And I ate an Alice Walker sandwich and my life was forever changed.

After that, I met Toni downtown for more Lollapalooza madness. We saw the Black Lips, Death From Above 1979, Ellie Goulding, and Beirut. Again, the last one was my favorite, mostly because they played an encore, which is virtually unheard of at Lollapalooza.

Sunday was pretty intense. Stephanie took us to a classy breakfast place for crab benedict. Except they were out of crab benedict. :-( So we ate various other delicious things instead. And then Toni and I headed off to Lollapalooza, day 3.

We got drenched, and our electronic devices (namely my cell phone and her iPod) were taken as casualties. But it was my favorite day of the festival.

We saw Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. in the blazing sun. They did a rock cover of "I Will Always Love You" by Whitney Houston, which was the most hilarious thing I have ever experienced.

And then the clouds rolled in and the temperature dropped 10 degrees. During that time, I ate a delicious vegetarian wrap thing that completely blew my mind.

All I care about is food. Don't judge me.

We headed off to see the Arctic Monkeys, and that's when it started pouring. It poured for at least half an hour, which was long enough to turn the ground to muddy mush. Also, our clothes were completely soaked through.

I danced in it, because I have no shame. You have not lived until you've experienced an outdoor concert in the pouring rain. Just sayin'.

But that was just the beginning. The skies cleared (there was even a rainbow), and once the Arctic Monkeys finished their set, we wandered over to another stage to see Explosions in the Sky.

After that, the skies darkened again and it poured even harder than it had the first time. The whole park flooded. We watched the Foo Fighters from a distance and then got delicious falafel pitas. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, more food.)

We heard the Cold War Kids playing nearby, but didn't stick around long enough to figure out whether they played "Hang Me Up to Dry." It would have been extremely appropriate.

We found our way back to Stephanie's, where we took turns showering. Stephanie had milk and cookies out for us, which was super cute, and then we went to bed at 11 p.m. because we're old and boring.

And that, my friends, was my Lollapalooza/Chicago adventure. It was both excellent and delicious, even if it ended badly.

I'm not just referring to the death of my cat.

When my mom heard about my waterlogged cell phone, her solution to the problem was to dig through drawers until she found my very first cell phone (circa 2005). She took it to Verizon and got it activated for me.

So until it's time for an upgrade, that's what I'll be using, I guess. Lollapalooza and Mother Nature teamed up to force a reunion between me and my 16-year-old self.

Never thought it would have ended that way, but okay. I still count the weekend as a win.

RIP Mac, 2002-2011

2011-08-09T10:24:00.006-04:00

I spent the weekend at Lollapalooza in Chicago, so had been planning a pretty epic post about that. And maybe I'll still write it. But not right now.

Because when I got back to Michigan yesterday, I received some terrible news. My mom picked my friend Toni & me up from the train station, and of course, the first words out of my mouth were, "How's Mac?" Just a few hours earlier, I'd updated my Facebook status with, "I'm on a train now, headed toward home. Although I would have liked to spend more time in Chicago, I'm very excited about reuniting with my cat."

My mom told me that she knew I'd ask about Mac, and then said that she'd been dreading me doing so. She pointed to a box of tissues by my feet and told me that Mac had died over the weekend.

Although I knew she'd never joke about something like that, I spent a few moments in the "Are you fucking serious?" stage. And once it sunk in that it had really happened, I cried for what felt like ages. I felt guilty for not having been there when he died, of course. And the night before we'd left for the train station, Toni and I had camped out in my basement, watching Bette Davis movies on TCM. So Mac hadn't slept in my bed with me like he usually does. It had crossed my mind to go upstairs, find him, and make him join me on the couch. But I didn't.

So it helps to know that he didn't suffer. My dad found him dead near his litterbox on Sunday morning. It actually looks like he had a heart attack after taking a huge shit. Last night Toni said, "Your cat was a badass. He died like Elvis."

We've actually long suspected that Mac had a bad heart. His breathing has always been noticeably labored. And he lost a lot of weight over the past few months. We took him to the vet back in June, but he found nothing wrong with Mac, and just said that he was underweight and dehydrated (weird, given that Mac has an impressive appetite). But we took the vet's advice and put him on a high-calorie diet of super delicious kitten food that Mac loved.

He was always a very enthusiastic eater, just like me. :)

Waking up this morning was hard, not only because Mac usually sleeps with me at night, but also because I usually feed him first thing in the morning. I'm one of those people whose glasses live on her face unless I'm asleep or in the shower. So Mac knew not to bother me if my glasses were off. But the moment I took them from the nightstand and put them on my face, he'd start begging for food. Loudly.

He was very vocal. When I moved to Saginaw, I took him with me. And he'd howl in protest all the way up and down the I-75. For a guy with a bad heart, he sure had great lungs.

And he charmed my friends with them. Talked politics with people who came to my apartment. At one point, my friend Tracy said, "Dude, you're going to hate this, but I'm pretty sure that your cat is a Republican." She had a number of solid reasons for this, but my favorite was that he was an old man from Grosse Pointe.

Political disagreements aside, he loved Tracy's cooking. And everyone's cooking, for that matter. As I said, he was as enthusiastic about food as I am. My mom told me that he devoured some leftovers from Olive Garden with her the night before he died. I'm glad that he had a great last meal.

I've had many pets throughout my lifetime, and losing them isn't new to me. My dog Wylee died last year. My cats Poe and Smokey both died while I was in high school. And I've also buried two hamsters.

But Mac was my favorite. And I guess that's just because he decided that I was his favorite human, and was loyal to me even during the two years I spent living on campus at SVSU and couldn't have him with me.

I even had my senior photos taken with him when I graduated from high school. And he had his own Facebook page ("Mac the Feline," just in case you'd like to check it out).

People keep telling me that I'm handing this really well. I don't know about that, really. I'm a mess. But even though I wasn't here when Mac died, I know that he was well cared for. My parents and sister had a tendency to spoil him with affection whenever I wasn't home.

And everyone else knows how much I loved him (see the part about the senior picture and Facebook page), and has been really good to me, too. It helps to know that despite how obnoxious I've been about how much I love my cat, people seem to accept the fact that I'm a giant cat lady. Mac was kind of the center of my universe.

RIP, Stinky Head. That was kind of a dick move you made, leaving without giving me a chance to say goodbye. But you made up for it by being awesome in every other way possible, and I just hope that I will someday meet a cat who is as wonderful as you were.

On insidiousness

2011-07-24T18:11:00.006-04:00

"Stories go rancid inside you if you don't let them out." - Rachel Corrie

I've been thinking a lot about homophobia. My coming out experience has, for the most part, been very positive. But one thing in particular still gnaws at me. And I have to blog about it. I'll explain my reasons for doing so at the end of the post.

Anyway, my parents and friends have been overwhelmingly accepting of the fact that I'm gay; I'm very lucky. My grandparents, however, are blatantly homophobic. And I've realized that in some sick way, that's a blessing. Because others have been more insidious about it.

Like this one person I used to know. I still can't wrap my head around what she did or understand why she did it. I've tried to avoid her since October of 2009, when everything blew up in my face at a poetry reading she gave at a Saginaw coffee shop.

I met her in July of 2005 at a week-long seminar for young writers. She was an adjunct at the school hosting the seminar. Although she didn't teach a workshop that summer, she spent the week hanging out-- going to poetry readings and keynote speeches, that sort of thing. Her son was there as a student, and so was I.

She was thrilled that he and I hit it off. She liked me because I was a serious student, poet, and to top it all off, "really damn cute." I liked her at first, too. The closing lines of her poems made my breath catch. After the seminar ended, I devoured all of her poetry and modeled my own after it.

When I came out to her in October of 2009 (and I'll elaborate on that in a bit), she told me that she had first suspected I was gay two years prior, when I was eighteen. By that point in time, her son and I had broken up, but she was still holding out hope that we'd get back together. She thought that spending time with/money on me would increase the chances of that.

Obviously, it didn't work out that way. and, although I was unaware of it at the time, that's when she started trying to get me to come out to her. We got together several times; if she didn't say something blatantly homophobic, she'd at least talk incessantly about how much she wished that her son and I were still dating. She really seemed to take issue with the fact that someone as pretty as me didn't have a boyfriend.

Around that time, I realized just how conservative she was. She couldn't even differentiate between birth control and Plan B. Given the conservatism, homophobia, and the fact that she was my ex-boyfriend's mom, I told myself that if I could come out to her, then I could come out to anyone.

And on October 2, 2009, that finally happened, though not at all the way I would have wanted it to. She invited me over to her house for a few drinks before her poetry reading. I blacked out before I'd finished my second glass of wine. I can't help but suspect that she spiked it with something; I may only weigh 100 pounds, but I drink often enough to know how I feel after not even two glasses of wine. And blacked out certainly isn't it. I literally do not remember anything about the evening post wine consumption.

While we were drinking, she said all kinds of blatantly homophobic things, and I finally just blurted out, "I'm gay, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up." She grinned and said, "I knew it! I finally got you drunk enough to admit it!"

Well, that explains why she had brought me to Grand Rapids with her two months prior to visit a friend of hers who gave me lots of tequila and a makeover. "We tried to get you to admit it then," she told me. "But unfortunately, you just weren't drunk enough."

Yes, really. Oh, and the makeover? they chopped off my hair in an attempt to give me a more "butch" hairstyle.

And it gets worse.

After I came out to her, she brought me to the coffee shop where her poetry reading was to be held. (Never mind that I was already blacked out by that point.) According to what I saw on Facebook the next day, I stumbled through the door, announced to everyone that I was gay (because, as I mentioned, I'd told myself that if I could come out to her, I could come out to anyone), and spilled a cup of coffee on one of my best friends.

After an eventful ten minutes at the coffee shop, my ex-boyfriend's mom took me back to my apartment (but again, I have no memory of any of this), where, according to her, I threw up all over myself. She put me in the bathtub to wash me off. Her boyfriend, who was there with us, told me the next morning, "Obviously, you're a lesbian. While you two were in the bathroom, I looked through your bookshelf. Only lesbians own that many books on feminism."

It was an awful night.

I stayed in the closet for another year after that. Most of the people who were at the coffee shop that night didn't think I was really gay; they just assumed that I was sputtering randomness because I was drunk.

At the time, I was the editor-in-chief of the school art/literary magazine. And one of the people who happened to be at the coffee shop that night was my faculty adviser. He was furious because he felt responsible for me, and there I was, the head of a student organization, totally smashed and underage to boot. He cooled off quite a bit after he reminded himself that the reading wasn't an SVSU-sponsored event. But he still wasn't too pleased with me, and that didn't help me to feel any better about what had happened.

I wanted more than anything to forget about what had taken place that night. So I made a conscious decision to set my sexuality aside and instead focus my energy on what was happening at school. It was a terrible semester for reasons I don't want to get into right now, but suffice it to say that I often cite it as one of my main reasons for transferring schools. What most people don't know is that the incident I just described is another one of my biggest reasons for leaving. Even though my friends are all great people who didn't think any less of me after that night, it was still really hard to face everyone at school the following Monday.

My ex-boyfriend's mom thought the world of me until she realized that because of my sexual orientation, I'd never marry her son. And what's scary is that I didn't clue into that fact until a couple of months after that disastrous night at the coffee shop. I was too busy being angry with myself for saying something drunk that I really needed to say sober. So I failed to realize that what had happened that night wasn't my fault.

When the semester ended, she pulled the "I'm older than you" card, and lectured me about how irresponsible I'd been all semester (she, like anyone else who interacted with me at all that semester, knew that things hadn't gone well for me). She told me that if she could, she would ground me "until Jesus comes back." I don't remember how the conversation played out, exactly, but believe it or not, she somehow managed to convince me that I deserved to be punished. And after talking to her, I felt even worse about how the semester had gone (anyone who is aware of what I went through that semester knows that I already felt badly enough about things, and didn't need to feel any worse).

My friend Sarah sent me an email on New Year's Eve. It was two pages in length. (I know this because I printed it out-- it's one of the most beautiful/brave things I have ever read.) In it, she told me that although she didn't want to risk making me any angrier than I already was, she felt that, as someone who genuinely cared about my well-being, she had a responsibility to tell me something straight up. She told me that I wouldn't start to feel better about what had happened until I realized that although I had every right to be angry, I should not have directed my anger inward.

Only then did everything click into place.

Clearly, if my ex-boyfriend's mom is smart enough to get inside my head, know what makes me tick, and and figure out what makes me vulnerable/weak, then she's smart enough to know that she shouldn't have done that in the first place. And that's why I'm so furious with her. At least with my grandparents, I can chalk up their homophobia to ignorance and the way they were raised. But she knows better. And what hurts the most is that I have no idea why she did it.

What did she gain?

Even if writing this down won't get me any closer to understanding why it happened, I do hope that my sharing this will help others understand that it happened. And that this sort of thing happens all the time.

I've wanted to share this story for a long time. But I was afraid to. I'm still afraid of how people will react, honestly. Because certain people (namely those who were at the coffee shop that October night in 2009) will know exactly who I'm talking about.

But I didn't write this for them. It doesn't matter now why I suddenly felt as though I needed to move out of Saginaw ASAP. I left over a year ago-- it's long over. The last thing I want is pity; clearly, I've moved on. But what good will this experience do anyone if I bury it?

I wrote this for people who are facing discrimination, but like me, might not recognize it as such. I need to speak out about this, because what my ex-boyfriend's mom did was wrong; she got away with something that she shouldn't have. It took me a long time to realize that, though, because I never thought her capable of hurting me. What's so insidious about discrimination is that those who experience it are often tricked into thinking that it's their fault, or that it happens because something is "wrong" with them.

I was angry with myself for a long time. For what? Being myself? Drinking a glass and a half of wine before heading out to a poetry reading? What the hell did I do wrong?

And yet I live in a world where I'm still afraid of how people will react to this post. Which just tells me that I really ought to share it. Because I live in a world full of people who need to read it.

Last night, I was talking to my friend Victoria about this post. And she mentioned that the most important thing is to make sure that I do this entirely on my own terms. So, let's go back to that night in October of 2009 and do it my way: I'm sitting here with a six-pack of Bell's Oberon (I prefer beer to wine anyway). And I'm a little tipsy and definitely gay and quite comfortable with that and I own tons of books on feminism but so what and things are good.

Cheers!

Pro-choice is pro-life.

2011-07-15T02:15:00.011-04:00

The other day I read an article in the Michigan Messenger about how Thaddeus McCotter--a Republican congressional representative running for president in 2012--signed a "Pro-life leadership pledge." This means that if elected, he'll "nominate pro-life judges, select pro-life cabinet members, de-fund Planned Parenthood and support legislation that would ban abortions after 20 weeks of pregnancy."

That news didn't exactly surprise me, but it still pissed me off, especially given the fresh batch of anti-choice news that has popped up in the US this week. The Executive Council in New Hampshire just voted to de-fund Planned Parenthood. And yesterday, a federal judge blocked a law that would have required Crisis Pregnancy Centers, or CPCs, to disclose particular information about themselves, such as whether they employ licensed medical personnel.

CPCs pose as abortion clinics, but do not provide abortion or contraceptives (nor do they refer women to organizations that do). As the Ms. article points out, CPCs are notorious for providing false medical information about abortion in order to scare women out of considering it as an option that might work for them.

I'm really uncomfortable living in a country whose government damn near shut down over an argument about de-funding an organization as necessary as Planned Parenthood. And it hurts even more to learn that people are actively working to ensure that the nation's laws stay on the side of CPCs that flat-out lie to women who come to them for comprehensive information.

As someone who cares deeply about reproductive justice and people in general, I'd like to take a moment to explain--to Representative McCotter, Judge Pauley, and everyone else behind all of the legislation that has come up since the last election--that pro-choice is pro-life.

A lot of people will be surprised to hear this, but I didn't always identify as pro-choice.

Yeah, really. Because let's face it: the rhetoric sounds great. Don't kill babies. That's something I could totally get behind, you know?

Neither of my parents are US citizens, so they can't vote. Therefore, politics just weren't discussed in our house when I was growing up. I've read that statistically, parents have a great deal of influence over their children's political views. That wasn't really the case for me. I had a few opinions, but those were based shallowly on what I felt to be common sense.

So, when asked for my views on abortion, I would proudly declare that I was pro-life and thought abortion was wrong.

But once I got to high school, I noticed that a lot of people I respected were especially passionate about their pro-choice views. And important things were going on at the time that forced me to seriously reevaluate my stance. In 2006, when I was a junior, my school district considered adopting an abstinence only sex education program, to replace the comprehensive one that was in place.

People went apeshit. Friends of mine spoke out against the proposal at school board meetings. Medical professionals came in from out of town to voice their opinion, too. And in the end, we stuck with a comprehensive program.

I was pleased with the school board's decision not to adopt an abstinence only program (because even though I didn't believe in abortion, I wasn't quite that conservative; I've always fully supported birth control). But I still could not understand how or why my friends felt so strongly about the abortion issue in particular. And because I knew my friends to be intelligent, compassionate people, I wanted to understand their point of view. So I started researching the topic.

I don't remember a specific moment when I "became pro-choice." I do know, though, that I kept finding instances where I could concede that abortion was an acceptable option: rape, incest, poverty, etc.

But what won me over fully in the end were the personal anecdotes. By reading tons of stories about women's experiences with pregnancy, I discovered that it was impossible to put them into boxes marked with the aforementioned labels. It hit me that I couldn't call myself pro-life without taking women's lives and diverse experiences into consideration.

The Supreme Court's upholding of the "partial birth abortion" ban in 2007 is the event that both tested and solidified my new pro-choice views. I was furious with the decision, even though when GW Bush signed the bill four years prior, I hadn't had a problem with it. That's because on the surface, "partial birth abortion" sounds awful; it evokes images of selfish women who, after 35 weeks of pregnancy, suddenly freak out and realize that they don't want to have a baby. So instead, they decide to have an abortion.

But for one thing, "partial birth abortion" is not a medical term; it was coined by right-wing politicians. And secondly, come on, there have to be reasons for women to get an abortion that late in the game.

And damn good ones, at that.

One woman's story has really stuck with me over the years. It appears on page 14 of _The War on Choice_ by Gloria Feldt:

We were awaiting the arrival of a son. I'm diabetic, so I had more prenatal testing than most women. At twenty-five weeks I had an ultrasound and the doctor's exact words were, "Vick, you are disgustingly normal and so is the baby." At thirty-two weeks I went in for another ultrasound and my world came crashing down. They discovered that [the fetus] had not grown past twenty-five weeks, and further testing revealed that he had nine major anomalies, including a fluid-filled cranium with no brain tissue at all. He could never have survived outside my womb. My body was the only thing keeping him alive, and I chose to remove my son from life support. I'm a mom. I had three beautiful children, and in fact I have a new baby boy who's here with me now. Who are the people on the anti-choice side to judge me? They've never been in my shoes. I never in my wildest dreams thought something like this could happen, but it happened to me.

The abortion she had in 1996 was made illegal under the Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act. Her experience reminds me of the woman in NE who, earlier this year, was denied an abortion and forced to watch her baby die in her arms shortly after giving birth.

So this is why I feel so strongly that lawmakers should not get between a woman and her doctor. As NARAL's Speak Out for Choice Award recipient Katie Stack said earlier this year during her acceptance speech, "Women's experiences with abortion are nuanced and complicated. But... if [we are] given the opportunity to share these diverse realities, we can begin to challenge the stereotypes and falsehoods that are promoted by the anti-choice movement."

Pro-choice is pro-life. That's something I firmly believe and discovered simply by being curious and open. By reading. By trusting/caring about people, and respecting their personal opinions and choices.

I don't think that's too much to ask of humanity.

Beer and a new book that you should read!

2011-07-10T20:56:00.011-04:00

Earlier today, I went to Bell's Brewery in Kalamazoo, MI for the launch of Bonnie Jo Campbell's new novel, _Once Upon a River_. The book was released less than a week ago, so I haven't gotten around to reading it yet. But if it's anything like her earlier work, it's going to be excellent. And I have a signed copy now, so will be reading it soon. :)

I first met Bonnie Jo Campbell in April of last year. She came to SVSU to give a reading, and because I was the editor-in-chief of the student art/literary journal at the time, I was invited to have lunch with her. She also taught a fiction workshop at the Controlled Burn Seminar for Young Writers in 2009, which, because I'm a loser, was actually the first year I didn't attend. I know, I know, I missed out. I tried to make up for that today, however.

That's a picture of the two of us, taken this afternoon at the book launch. I lost my camera a few months ago and had to borrow my sister's, so wasn't aware that all of the photos were going to come out with a pink tint. But they did. Oh well.

For more photos, click here.

Suffice it to say that the experience was awesome. I've been looking for a good excuse to visit Bell's for a long time; Oberon is perhaps my favorite beer ever.

I also ran into a good friend of mine from the Controlled Burn Seminar, Patric. It was great to have a chance to catch up with him, but, going through my photos, I see that there aren't any photos of the two of us. Lame. :(

Anyway, go find yourself a copy of _Once Upon a River_. It's bound to be great. I wish I could say that I'm going to sign off now to go read it, but I should probably read about the Bolshevik Revolution instead, so I don't make an ass of myself in class tomorrow. I am a nerd so I do things like go to school in the middle of July. Don't hate.

See ya later, Internet, and happy reading!

Happy birthday to my self-indulgent blogging habit!

2011-07-07T12:31:00.002-04:00

Nearly two years ago, on July 10, 2009, I was sitting in my bedroom in Saginaw, wasting time on the Internet. It was 4 in the morning, and Facebook was pretty dead. So, since I couldn't sleep and had no one to talk to but myself, I started a blog--this one, in fact.

I named it "Plenty of Otherwise," after a poem I'd written several years prior; I had no idea what the hell I wanted to write about.

To this day, I'm not quite sure what to do with this blog. I think that the best blogs focus on very specific issues, and mine does not. I've actually thought about retiring it and starting a brand new pro-choice blog or something, since that seems to be the feminist issue that gets my ire up the most. I've also considered just revamping this blog. I don't know. There are a lot of things I could do.

But wherever this blog winds up, I'm happy about the opportunities it has given me thus far. Last summer, I participated in the "This is what a young feminist looks like" blog carnival. Through that, I met a lot of other feminist bloggers, and found out about all kinds of other blog carnivals (badges from all of these can be found to the right of this post).

As anyone who knows me well is aware, I'm kind of a walking calendar. So I thought I should acknowledge the anniversary of my blog, but wasn't sure how.

And then I remembered the poem.

I wrote it six years ago at the Controlled Burn Seminar for Young Writers, which was actually something I wrote about here the day I created this blog. Things have changed a lot since then; I'm no longer pursuing a career as a writer/editor of literary magazines. And I think that this blog has reflected that, with its gradual shift toward feminism/politics.

So, here's something I wrote at the age of sixteen. It's a little embarrassing, but I think that's why you'll enjoy it.

Plenty of Otherwise

For Jenna

Sixteen years--technically seventeen, but I wasn't born 'til December. And it's only July. Friday, July 8, 2005, 11:01 p.m. You're twenty-six hours, nine minutes old.

I don't really know you (yet), I just

know the tears--

your first,

and mine too, I suppose.

Because these are my first, it seems

that aren't in the angst

of a teenaged

heart, soul, and blah, blah, blah.

I'd really rather not elaborate on my life--regrets and otherwise (and I'm happy to say that there's plenty of otherwise). In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter much who I am, who I've been, and inevitably, who I'll become (I know I seem old to you now, but I'm only sixteen). I've spent my time, and I'll spend my time writing poetry

for you,

and I think it's a great way

to spend my time,

don't you?

Don't waste yours, darling. I won't tell you how to keep from wasting your time. If I did, you probably wouldn't agree with me anyway. So, simply enough, two words: love yourself,

and find beauty

in little things:

cliches like that and

homemade gifts

for your parents,

the ones

that I hope you won't be embarrassed

to see on the refrigerator

in the next decade or so

to come.

My parents still hang my schoolwork on the fridge: a quiz I took on _A Farewell to Arms_ in American lit sophomore year, and the first math test I ever got an A on. I've learned to live with it, even though it's really the poetry I'm proud of. And there's never been a poem tacked to the fridge.

I have vegetarian leanings, and love cats; your dad hunts, and your mom likes dogs. So I'll leave my pretty little spin on animals out of it, except to say that you should always remember your first pet (Riley). Luckily, he's young. Like you. I had a dog when I was born, but he was pretty old by the time I showed up, so he was kind of grumpy, and I blame him for my fixed idea that cats are better.

That said,

you're lucky,

beautiful, alive (officially, finally), and

you amaze me, already

with your

way of being

not quite human, and yet

more genuine than any life fully lived.

Not that there really is such a thing,

but you could defy that--

and I know you will,

in growing.

Saturday, July 9, 2005, 12:14 a.m. You're twenty-seven hours, twenty-two minutes old.

I only hope

I've gotten the math right.

Good friends and good energy

2011-07-01T09:55:00.006-04:00

Yesterday, I hung out with my friend Lisa, and this morning, I received a letter from Sarah in the mail. I've decided to write about both of these things because they've filled me with some much needed good energy. And I think that good energy should always be shared.

My mom has been driving me crazy lately. She's a lot more conservative than I am, and in the past few weeks, has been picking fights with me more than usual. I won't go into too much detail, but I get the feeling that she's disappointed in me for not graduating on time, and just wants me to grow up already. And by "grow up" she means "realize that being so freaking liberal isn't a good idea."

Which is ironic, because now that I've transferred to an urban university in one of the most liberal cities in America and picked up a major in women's studies, I've got even more fuel inside of me than usual. So we clash. And it's especially hard, because we live together.

So I've made a point of surrounding myself with people who are sources of good energy. Like Lisa and Sarah. They have done me a world of good. I'm so lucky.

Lisa and I met last year at SVSU, right before I transferred to Wayne State. She was working at Starbucks on campus, and I was hanging out there, doing homework or whatever. It was a Friday and the place was pretty dead, so she came over from behind the counter to tell me that she liked my shoes. Then she added that she'd seen me hanging out there a lot, and had actually admired a lot of my outfits. She told me that she found my creativity really refreshing, because she thought that Saginaw tended to drain the life out of people.

My response was something like, "Well, it's funny that you should say that, because I do feel like Saginaw's draining the life out of me, so I'm transferring."

We added each other on Facebook and surprisingly, kept in touch, mostly because as it turned out, we know a lot of the same people.

She's originally from Royal Oak, which is about half an hour from my hometown of Grosse Pointe. But she's seldom there. After she graduated from SVSU last year, she went to Korea and then Taiwan to teach. And now she's hanging out at home for a couple of weeks before she starts grad school in Arizona.

Given that we're so seldom in the same time zone, I decided that I was going to take advantage of her being in Royal Oak and spend a day with her before she moves. It could have been awkward; we haven't seen each other in well over a year, and have never hung out one on one. But whatever. When I see a good opportunity, I run with it.

I think that both of us were surprised at the extent to which we understood each other. We were really on the same wavelength with everything: namely our taste in weird healthy foods and habit of getting lost in bookstores for hours.

So that's what we did yesterday: We combed through bookshelves and ate dinner at an adorable smoothie/sandwich shop. Then she stopped at the health food store to pick up some falafel (MY FAVORITE THING), and we ended up trying to figure out whether there are any actual health benefits to steel cut oats, or if it's just a texture thing.

You can't have that kind of conversation with just anyone, you know?

Later that night, she told me that she likes hanging out with me because the fact that I'm good at going with the flow and am generally pretty chill about everything removes any anxiety she has about everything.

That surprised me, because I am super anxious about a lot of things much of the time; it's not really a secret. And that's also why it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.

I was in a really good mood when I got home last night, and was still in a good mood when I woke up this morning. But then my mom started spewing conservatism at me before I'd had any coffee. So my good mood disappeared. So I checked the mail, and found a really encouraging letter from Sarah.

In it, she said, "I love being out in the woods away from technology--I get so overwhelmed by all the screens in my life sometimes. That's why I admire your wanting to be an activist. I couldn't cope with the need to be connected and in touch and on top of various political happenings; the need to mobilize people, etc. I'd just shut down. But I am really epically proud of your decision to pursue feminism. It isn't easy. But you're brave and tenacious, even if you have to fake both of those things sometimes."

I don't think I need to explain why her note meant so much to me. Also, it was very nicely timed. I'm not going to lie and pretend that I never think about what my life would be like right now if I hadn't transferred and added another major to my degree program. I'd definitely be closer to graduation. I act like that doesn't bother me, but it's hard to watch so many of my friends graduate and not be there, too. If I hadn't left SVSU, though, I'd still be miserable. So it's really validating to hear that what I'm doing to keep myself sane isn't just selfish and ridiculous. I'm sure now more than ever that who I am and what I'm doing is right, even if it is hard sometimes.

Thanks, friends. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you, but I'm glad to have you around. And I hope you are as kind to yourselves as you have been to me.

Love.

Inventing Memory... but not much else.

2011-06-24T12:58:00.012-04:00

I just finished reading a book called _Inventing Memory: A Novel of Mothers and Daughters_ by Erica Jong. I have a lot to say about it, but I'd only give it about two stars (which, according to the GoodReads.com rating system, translates into "it was okay").

I am kind of a huge sucker for family sagas that span several generations. I loved _Middlesex_ by Jeffrey Eugenides and _White Teeth_ by Zadie Smith. So when I came across this at the library the other day, I thought I'd like it. From the dust jacket:

Spanning a hundred years, _Inventing Memory_ brilliantly interweaves the lives of four generations of unforgettable women, from the turn of the last century to the early years of the twenty-first century. Propelled out of 1905 Russia by a pogrom in which she loses her first child, her twin brother, and her father, Sarah Solomon arrives in an America of bowler hats, Irish cops, elevated subway cars, Jewish and Italian anarchists, and labor ferment. Establishing herself as an artist, Sarah lives with and loves two very different men: a landsman, Lev Levitsky, and Sim Coppley, a proper New York WASP who is in love with all things Jewish, including her. While Sarah and Lev embark on an artistic life together that will take them west to a newly established Hollywood, their wild, flapper daughter and avant-garde writer, Salome, cavorts in 1929 Paris with the likes of Henry Miller, Anais Nin, and Gertrude Stein, until she learns a shocking secret that compels her to search for her WASP roots. Salome's daughter, Sally, destined to become one of the 1960s' most famous folksingers, is struck like lightning by fame, and with it the ravages of a counterculture that wreaked havoc upon the lives of so many young artists.

We meet Sally--and all of these women--through her daughter, Sara. Born in 1978, trained as a historian and in the process of researching her family history at the prestigious Council on Jewish History in New York, Sara finds herself drawn into the tumultuous lives of her ancestors via a sepia-tone photograph of her great-grandmother Sarah, for whom she was named. A single mother with a young daughter, Sara absorbs all she can of the strength of her great-grandmother and grandmother, and tries to make peace with the ghost of her own neglectful mother; she comes to understand the paradoxical, subjective nature of memory, and the way we invent, reinvent, and assimilate our ancestors.

Right off the bat, one thing in particular seemed odd to me: At just 300 pages (with decent-sized print to boot), it seemed hardly long enough to contain such a colorful set of characters and complicated storyline.

And my major issue with the book, in the end, was a lack of character development. All four of the protagonists had the potential to be interesting and colorful and completely engaging. But because Jong did not take the time to explain their motivations, they all fell flat.

There's no background on Sarah Solomon, for example. What was her personality like when she was living in Russia? Without that bit of insight, it's hard to understand why she comes to the US without knowing any English and all of a sudden out of the blue starts worshiping Emma Goldman. During that whole part of the novel I kept thinking to myself, "That's fucking awesome, but I don't understand why Sarah is such a die-hard anarchist."

And that question was never answered. Neither were most others.

Sarah's daughter Salome is an even bigger mess of a character. At seventeen, she goes to Paris to write a novel and hangs out with all the cool people who were writing in Paris at that time. Then, she comes back to the US, and there's this twenty-year lapse and all of a sudden it's the 1950s and she's all tangled up in McCarthyism. Also, she marries this guy named Aaron who has what sounds like PTSD; he witnessed a lot of terrible shit during World War 2 in Europe and made several suicide attempts. His emotional instability is what causes his daughter Sally to spend the 1960s in a marijuana fog, writing folk songs about deadbeat dads.

Around this point in the book, I started to get the impression that Jong took all of the important events of the twentieth century and deliberately placed her characters in the middle of them. I think that she should have researched things more, gotten a bit of dirt on a few of the celebrities she mentioned, and then cut out the rest. I started making notes to myself every time a celebrity was mentioned, but I soon got bored of it. Between Sarah, an artist living in the early twentieth century; Salome, a writer in Paris in the 1920s; and Sally, a folksinger in the 1960s, there were a lot, and in my opinion, too many for any of the references to be meaningful to the story.

One of my favorite books of all time is _Blonde_ by Joyce Carol Oates. It's an account of Marilyn Monroe's life, from birth to death, in novel form. It reads a lot like a biography, but it's largely fictional. Oates did tons and tons of research on Monroe's life, and then because she's a very brave badass, she took a lot of liberties and created this brilliant beast of a novel about one of the biggest pop culture icons of the twentieth century.

That book could have been a giant disappointment. What is there left to say about Marilyn Monroe that hasn't already been said? But Oates found lots to say: nearly 800 pages' worth, in fact.

This is where Jong fell short. Her protagonists interacted with many historical figures. But I gained no insight on those people from what I read.

For example, at one point in the novel, Salome's hanging out with a bunch of famous writers in Paris:

They were all there... Miss Stein to Sam Beckett, Val Miller to James Joyce.

How the great ones avoid each other! Still, there was a moment when Beckett, Joyce, and Miller all pulled up chairs near each other, but they were accosted by their sycophants and admirers before they could speak a word.

To Miss Stein, however, the very fact of the chairs being pulled up connotes conspiracy.

"A chair is a chair is a chair is a chair is a chair is a chair," she says.

Like, really? You have the opportunity to write a scene wherein your protagonist interacts with Gertrude Stein--who was one hell of an interesting person--and all you can come up with is the most overused Gertrude Stein reference ever?

After about a million scenes like that (Sally the 1960s folk singer does too many drugs, dies, and Patti Smith, Bob Dylan, and Joni Mitchell all turn up at the funeral), I began to find it all ridiculously hilarious. But that's just because after a while, I decided to read it that way in order to make the book more enjoyable.

I don't know. This book contains a lot of great insights, but none of them struck me as profound, because due to lack of character/plot development, the book wasn't set against a very believable backdrop. And that's sort of ironic, given that it brings back to life many people who actually existed at one point, and contributed to the political/artistic landscape that this novel is trying to revive for this generation.

So apparently, Planned Parenthood "preys on women."

2011-06-24T01:37:00.004-04:00

PREYS.

I cracked open a beer and turned on the TV after work this evening and that's what a woman quoted for this news story was saying. If you watch the accompanying video, you can hear it for yourself, but in case you don't feel like sitting through the commercial they'll make you watch before the video starts, here it is: "We are also very near colleges, universities, and high schools, where the women they will prey upon are not fully understanding what's happening here at this site."

Her name is Brenda Savage, and she's a spokesperson for Right to Life, so maybe I should expect as much from someone like her. But even the story itself was biased; Savage's comment was untrue, offensive, and should have been edited out.

As for the issue at hand: Really, Comfort Suites? You sell your building to Planned Parenthood of all organizations and then get pissed off when you realize that the facility will be used to provide abortions? Isn't it kind of common knowledge that abortion is one of the many services provided by Planned Parenthood?

Please let me be frank for a second: I'm really fucking sick of this shit. I'm pro-choice, proud of it, and do not understand why an organization that helps women as much as Planned Parenthood has been forced to put up with so much anti-choice whining since the last election.

Just a thought.

2011-06-13T23:58:00.007-04:00

Today I went to get my teeth cleaned. And the hygienist tried to make small talk with me. (I say "tried to" because I don't understand why these people think it's a good idea to talk to anyone whose mouth is obviously too busy hosting the War on Tartar to engage in conversation.) But anyway.

The hygienist (whose name is Jan) asked me what I'd like to do with my life.

Without really thinking about it, I bullshitted my way through an answer about working as an editor. If you know me, you know that that's the last thing I want to do. Been there, done that. But that's just the thing. I know it, because I've done it. I can talk intelligently about editing all day long, and those who listen to me can walk away without any doubt in their minds that I am a twenty-something has a head on her shoulders, and one hell of a future ahead of her.

But reality looks like this: While I'm not lying when I say that I'm an English major, I am omitting a major fact: I'm also a women's studies major. And the latter is where my interests lie. At this point, I'm really only an English major because when I transferred to Wayne State last year, the people who looked over my transcripts were like, "Holy shit, you have a zillion English credits. Don't drop that major. It'd be a huge waste." And they weren't kidding; I spent my first year at Wayne enrolled in a bunch of 5000-level English classes in order to finish up that aspect of my degree.

So, sorry Jan, but I lied. I want to be a feminist activist. There are a lot of issues that I care about, but anyone who knows me should be aware by now that one of my biggest passions is reproductive justice. (See that Planned Parenthood badge over there on the right side of this page? Or the NARAL badge? Yeah.) And although I won't get into the details now, suffice it to say for the moment that I've been actively pursuing a career in that field.

I want to tell people about that instead. But I don't, because you can't just make small talk about it at the dentist's office.

And it's not the inevitable "But you'll make no money!" lecture that I'm afraid of. I started out as a creative writing major, so I'm quite used to that. My problem with the way people react is that too often, they flinch. Because apparently, equality is controversial.

Let that sink in for a second. What kind of bullshit world do we live in where those who are putting their energy toward just causes have to keep their mouths shut for fear of offending people who will, in the end, benefit from these efforts?

Really, if the idea of promoting equality is too controversial to be talked about (much less acted upon), then that's solid reasoning right there for me to pursue it. Because clearly we've got a lot of work to do.

Letter to my sixteen-year-old self

2011-06-10T21:56:00.008-04:00

So, I was reading Feministing today, and came across a letter that Chloe Angyal wrote to the sixteen-year-old version of herself.

Like a lot of the people who commented on her post, I was inspired to write one, too, even though I've already posted a list of things I wish I could tell my sixteen-year-old self.

At sixteen, I was between my sophomore and junior years of high school. That summer, I attended a week-long writing seminar that completely blew my nerdy, lonely mind. And then I spent the time before school started up again hiding in my basement, moping because I missed it.

I lacked political views back then, but that's not because I was apathetic. I was just raised by immigrants who couldn't vote anyway and therefore, didn't bother paying attention to what was going on around them. I was curious about things, though, and tried to form an opinion based on what felt right to me. But because I hadn't been raised in a politically-conscious household, I didn't trust myself too much, so kept my mouth shut. (It's hard to picture that version of me now, isn't it?)

A few things have remained the same: I loved salmon, Tracy Chapman, and The Golden Girls. I wouldn't go near red meat. My favorite color was green. And even though I hadn't discovered Margaret Atwood yet, I still had quite good taste in books (that's the year I read _The Color Purple_).

So anyway, the letter:

Dear 16-year-old Amelia/Amy,

Even though TV is generally pretty lame, I'm really glad that you spend so much time watching Daria; she's a good role model to have. But please, please, please do me (and Mom!) a favor and stop talking like her. Monotone doesn't suit you.

I start with that because holy shit, you have a lot of energy. Use it to do and make good things. Keep writing, singing, and playing the piano. Learn how to play the guitar, too; that's one thing I wish I had gotten around to doing.

Be nice to people. (You're very kind to animals, but I don't think you've got people down quite yet.) That's probably because you spend a lot of time alone. And I don't blame you--six years in the future, you'll still lack the desire to interact with most of the people in Grosse Pointe. But know that there's a world beyond the GP city limit; you're about to meet some of the most incredible people ever--at the Controlled Burn Seminar for Young Writers.

Don't let your classmates make you feel shitty about not having a driver's license yet. Their opinions don't matter, because in six years, you won't be in touch with most of them anyway. You will pass your road test eventually, but that won't change your feelings on driving too much. I walk/ride my bike as much as possible these days, and because gas is so fucking expensive now, people tend not to give me a hard time about it.

Nail-biting is gross, but I'm not going to tell you to stop doing it, because I haven't kicked the habit yet. And besides, I don't think you feel the way you do just because you're a teenager. Instead, your anxiety has a lot more to do with just being human, and alive and aware of things. Trust yourself. You wouldn't have such ambitious, brilliant friends if they didn't see a little bit of that in you, too.

Keep your eyes and heart open. Things will really suck sometimes. People you love and trust will hurt and abandon you. But know that the things that bring out the worst in some will bring out the best in others. Keep them around.

Also, it's okay to be an atheist. You believe in all kinds of good things. God doesn't have to be one of them.

Pet Wylee and give her a dog treat for me--I miss her. And please give Mac some catnip for me--he's kind of old and boring and sleeps a lot these days.

Love,
22-year-old Amelia/Amy (who is still referred to as Amelia by some and Amy by others)

Change and bravery

2011-06-01T00:02:00.004-04:00

Today I'm blogging for LGBT families.

--

Last night I was babysitting. And Josephine, who is seven, said to me, "You're old. You're a teenager."

"No, actually," I replied. "I'm twenty-two, which means that I'm not a teenager anymore."

"Wait, so you're an adult?" she asked incredulously.

I nodded.

"But you're a babysitter, not a mom," she argued. "You're still in college. And you live with your parents."

Every time I talk to kids, I'm reminded of how they're conditioned to accept life as some sort of clearly defined progression rather than the colorful mesh of experiences it actually is. To them, everyone

gets a driver's license at 16,
finishes high school by 18, moves out, then
gets a college degree by the age 22, and shortly thereafter,
gets married (to a member of the opposite sex), and
has kids

Etc, etc. And what gets me is that kids believe this even when their own experience doesn't match it. Josephine, for example, is being raised by a single mother who doesn't have a college degree.

I open with this story because the problem, to me, isn't necessarily exclusive to LGBT people. It's about the freedom to lead your life however you damn well please without being judged for it. And I don't think that can happen until this idea of a "fairy tale future" is seen as equal to all other futures that children may grow up to have.

I came across a blog post recently that's actually more than four years old now. But its author makes an interesting point: "Being gay used to mean a little bit of fabulous, a little bit of edginess, a little bit of fight and a little bit of fun. It was about standing out, not blending in. And somehow we lost some of that. Our fight now is not for protecting our right to be gay, but fighting for our right to act straight. And that truly saddens me."

I don't think it saddens me, exactly. I personally cannot picture myself ever getting married or having kids. But I will still fight for marriage equality and the rights of LGBT parents, because I want everyone to be able to do whatever suits them best.

And I don't think that this problem can be fixed until kids are taught to accept futures other than the ones outlined above. I want to live in a world where nobody's situation--be it a personal decision or a matter of unavoidable circumstance--is stigmatized.

Mitch Albom recently wrote a pretty obnoxious piece about parents in Toronto who are keeping the sex of their child a secret. What he said really pissed me off, namely "The Toronto couple believe they are giving their child a 'choice' -- even though that choice was made by nature and was evident in the first pee-pee" and "If the child... one day asks a doctor to mangle its private parts in an effort to be something else, it still will be unable to deny that it was born one way."

Holy whoa, transphobic!

Now, I do have my own mixed feelings about the couple's decision to let their child choose his or her own gender. But my concerns have nothing to do with biology. My problem with it, as you may have guessed by reading what I wrote above, is that life will be made harder for the child by the constraints imposed by society. And as we can see from what Albom wrote, that's already happening. And the kid hasn't even left the womb yet.

But because I believe that challenging those norms is what's ultimately going to change the climate for LGBT people, I support the Toronto couple's decision to keep the sex of their child a secret.

My own coming out experience has been, for the most part, very positive. My parents and most of my extended family members found out last fall that I'm a lesbian, and overall, it went pretty well. So I encourage LGBT people to come out; it's important. At the same time, however, I acknowledge how hard it is. It's still hard for me, even now. As anyone who has experienced it knows, coming out is a process that really never ends. A neighbor, for example, was telling me recently about how she got married at the age of nineteen. Then she realized that I'm older than nineteen, and asked me why I'm not married yet. "Never mind marriage," she said, "Girl, you're way behind. You don't even have a boyfriend."

I could have been honest and said, "Well, besides being happily single, it's not exactly legal for lesbians to marry in the state of Michigan."

But because of her tone, I didn't feel comfortable saying that. Nor was I up to defending LGBT rights to someone who may not have been open to such an argument. (Coming out to my parents, by the way, was one of the most exhausting things I've ever done. It went well, but even so, I felt drained for days afterward. That thought keeps me from speaking my mind a lot of of the time.)

I've witnessed a lot of bravery on the part of LGBT people. Living honestly in an inhospitable environment isn't easy. I've made a few brave moves myself. And that bravery has done me a world of good, which is why I think that it's time for the rest of society to be brave, too.

Victim blaming is bullshit. Also, the personal is political? Advice, please.

2011-05-31T12:18:00.013-04:00

Yesterday I was sitting in the backyard with my parents, telling them about the various events I plan to attend in downtown Detroit next month: namely Motor City Pride and SlutWalk.

My dad made a comment that, for reasons I'll explain in a minute, was both racist and sexist: "You know I don't like you going west of Alter Road."

It was about the twentieth stupid comment he'd made all weekend, so I finally told him that if he isn't going to change his way of thinking, he needs to at least have the decency to keep his fucked up ideas to himself.

My mother, ever the peacekeeper, intervened. But instead of supporting my stance, she told me (for the zillionth time) that I need to accept that my dad's not going to learn/change, and ignore his comments.

Now, let me back up a bit and explain the context of my dad's remark:

The thing about most Detroit suburbs is that they're not actually very close to Detroit at all. Royal Oak, for instance (where I was born) is in Oakland County. Detroit, meanwhile, is located in Wayne County.

But Grosse Pointe--where I have lived most of my life--is one of the few Detroit suburbs that's actually in Wayne County. We even share the 313 area code, made famous by Eminem and Faygo ads such as this one.

Which is funny (read: sad and embarrassing) because Grosse Pointe, in stark contrast to its neighbor, is both affluent and overwhelmingly white.

Our house is a block from the border.

And so that's why my dad's comment was both racist and sexist. He was basically saying, "You know I don't want my pretty little girl to venture into the ghetto." Never mind that I'm twenty-two years old and in the process of earning a degree from a university in downtown Detroit. BUT ANYWAY.

So, here's my dilemma: In some cases, I do accept that certain people just aren't going to change. It depresses me more than I can express. But I'd rather focus my energy on people who might come around to the idea of equality. The kids I babysit, for example. They're young (four and seven). I see them three days per week, so hope to have some positive influence over their lives.

But in the case of my dad... it isn't easy to place him into the category of haters that I ignore. I share his genes. And we live together. I actually think it's healthier (for all parties involved) for me to speak up--and release all the pent-up energy I have--rather than keep quiet while he makes comments that upset me to the point of needing to email the people I know who care about the same things I do just to thank them for being there. (I've done this a couple of times, most recently, this past April.) My energy has to go somewhere, you know?

Another example of my dad's outlook: Last week there was a story in the news about a woman on the campus of Wayne State who "says [that a] campus cop pulled her over just after midnight and demanded a sexual favor in exchange for letting her go." She reported the incident; he was taken into custody and suspended without pay.

Upon seeing the story on the 5 o'clock news, my dad rolled his eyes and said, "That woman probably just wants money and came up with a creative way to get some."

Do I even need to explain why that's the worst thing anyone could possibly say? I know firsthand (as I'm sure many people do) how hard it can be to come forward about something that fucks with the whole power structure.

Secondly, I know that if I were to tell my dad that something like that had happened to me, he'd stop at nothing to make sure that the cop in question got his balls chopped off.

I babysit just a few blocks from my house, so I ride my bike or walk to and from work most of the time. I get off work at 9:30, by which point, it's dark outside. The first time I walked home from work, I entered the house to find my dad standing in the entryway. "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again," he snapped. "I know you don't see yourself as a girl anymore, but you're still my girl."

*Headdesk*

I'm not an idiot. People know where and when I'm walking. But the idea of "some big burly black man lurkin' in the bushes" isn't enough to make me drive the three blocks to and from work instead of walk. This is my world, too, and I'm sick of being part of a culture that teaches women not to get raped instead of teaching people not to rape. Which is why I'm such a vocal supporter of the SlutWalks that have been popping up literally all over the globe.

I digress.

So, what to do? Part of me just feels helpless, heartbroken, and exhausted because if I can't get through to my dad of all people, how can I possibly expect to have any influence over people who aren't related to/don't live with me?

I believe in living honestly. That's why I don't eat red meat or drive if I can help it, openly identify as a feminist, and told my parents that I'm gay, among other things. My mom, though she disagrees with me, knows that I'm adamantly pro-choice. So I find it really difficult to just shut up while my dad makes racist/sexist comments. I don't understand why I'm the one who's expected to shut up and let him say his piece. Because if I make a feminist remark, he's able to tell me stop because he's my dad and therefore, trumps me in terms of authority.

Furthermore, because I know my dad to be a pretty good person overall (or at least, someone who tries to be in the ways he knows how), I think it's unfair to him to act as my mom does. I can't just say, "Well, he's from Poland. And he never went to college. So he's just never going to get it." Um. He accepted the fact that his daughter's a lesbian, so I like to think that he can be a little more open minded if I do a little bit of work, you know?

Or is my mother right? Am I just wasting my energy?

Lemme know, Internet.

No Excuses!

2011-05-25T11:48:00.006-04:00

I just finished reading Gloria Feldt's latest book, _No Excuses: 9 Ways Women Can Change How We Think About Power_. And I've decided to blog about if for a couple of reasons:

1) She offers some great advice for aspiring feminist activists. _No Excuses_ definitely motivated me. But I knew that simply reading the book wouldn't be enough. I had to think about how what she was saying affected me personally; I read very slowly, and (nerd alert!) took a lot of notes. How many times have you read a book full of good advice, but then acted on none of it? I know I have. And I didn't want that to happen this time.

2) Likely because it was published so recently, this book contains a lot of information about how websites and blogs are changing the landscape of feminist activism. I'll elaborate on that in a bit. But suffice it to say for now that as as someone who considers herself a feminist blogger, I'd be wrong not to mention this book here.

Feldt's book _The War on Choice: The Right-Wing Attack on Women's Rights and How to Fight Back_ (published in 2004) totally blew my mind, so when I heard that she was coming out with a new book, I was eager to read it. But I have to admit that at first, I wasn't sure how I felt about the idea behind this one. From the inside front cover: "In _No Excuses_, [Feldt] argues that the most confounding problem facing women today isn't that doors aren't open, but that not enough women are walking through them."

It sounded a little like victim blaming to me. But given that Gloria Feldt isn't exactly the victim blaming type, I decided to read it anyway.

And I'm glad that I did.

She offers a lot of solid examples to back up her claim. For instance, women fought hard to win the right to vote in the US. But many stopped short of using their newly gained right as a vehicle through which to make further progress. Alice Paul, meanwhile, understood that winning the right to vote, though tremendous, was only one step along the road to equality. So she drafted the Equal Rights Amendment.

Feldt does not generalize about how women "aren't doing this" or "aren't doing that." Rather, _No Excuses_ is full of stories of women who, like Alice Paul, walked through the doors that were open to them. A huge part of her argument is really that those women aren't bringing enough people with them. And without a whole lot of us, we won't be able to achieve much.

She illustrates that by focusing on the idea of "power to," which she explains in contrast with "power over." The latter is force. Bad news bears. The former, however, inspires the solidarity that social justice movements are made of. So naturally, I was all over that.

Feldt does a really good job of emphasizing that everyone, regardless of age, race, gender, education level, party affiliation, or any other factor, can and should do their part to make the world better. I was particularly impressed with what she said about my generation of feminists.

There has been a lot of talk in the past couple of years about how "young feminist don't exist." The very first blog carnival I ever participated in addressed this very issue. More than forty feminist bloggers (myself included) posted in response to negative comments made by Gail Collins and Stacy Schiff in the New York Times.

But on page 276 of _No Excuses_, Feldt (who, at age 69, is a couple of generations ahead of my 22-year-old self) says, "Younger women's involvement and leadership in advancing women's rights to equality and self-determination are crucial because that's the only way the movement for equality will continue to flourish and grow. I fear for our future unless young women step up to lead a new wave of civic engagement--and indeed, one of my greatest delights is seeing how many young women are doing just that." She goes on to highlight work by young feminists such as Shelby Knox (24) and Courtney Martin (31).

But where to start? Feldt emphasizes that the best way to gain self esteem is to stand up for what you believe in. The first thing I did when I read that, of course, was compare myself to the activists highlighted in the book. And then I proceeded to beat myself up over what a shitty job I've been doing of standing up for what I care about. But I also realized that there are already things I'm doing correctly.

Like "wearing the shirt," for example, or, in other words, putting your beliefs out in the open. One need look no further than this blog to see that I'm already doing that. In the "about me" blurb, I say outright that I'm a feminist. And below that are badges to all the blog carnivals in which I've participated. From those, you can tell that I support LGBT rights, Planned Parenthood, and pro-choice/feminist issues in general. My Facebook and Twitter feeds are littered with similar posts.

And then there's my tote bag. I carry with me everywhere I go. There's an Audre Lorde quote ("Your silence will not protect you") pinned to it. And there's a "trust women" pin on it as well. And to support LGBT rights, I wear a "gayclet" that my friend Angela made for me out of rainbow-colored pieces of string. I've been asked about all of those. It's not scary to me, because those are topics that I love to talk about--even with people who give me dirty looks.

And in some cases, my vocal habits have paid off. A couple of years ago, I was driving with my friend Kevin from Saginaw to Kalamazoo, MI. As soon as we got onto the freeway, Kevin, who had been following my Facebook posts, asked me why I identify as pro-choice. Because he knew me to be a kind, compassionate friend, he wondered why I was so incredibly passionate about something with which he so adamantly disagreed.

And so, in our three hours on the road together, I explained why I care so much about it. I had all the time in the world to offer up examples and answer his questions. Neither of us were hostile about it; he was genuinely curious and willing to listen. In the end, he told me that he could see that there was good reason for supporting pro-choice issues. I realize now that the conversation would not have happened had I not been spouting off online.

Despite my confidence about certain issues, however, there's still this discrepancy between how I see myself and how others see me. If you use Twitter, you know that you can organize your "followers" into "lists." Followers of mine have categorized me this way: "feminist," "feminist bloggers," and even Gloria Feldt's favorite word, "power."

But in my head, it's a different picture entirely. I've always said that I'm a "feminist with a blog" instead of a "feminist blogger" because although everything I write comes from a feminist perspective, I don't write exclusively about feminist issues. Furthermore, although I've identified as a feminist for a number of years now, it was only a year or so ago that I got active in the feminist blogosphere. I make the mistake of comparing myself to women like Feministing's Chloe Angyal or Shelby Knox, the subject of a documentary on comprehensive sex education. And I get discouraged, because they, like me, are in their early twenties. And they are doing some pretty amazing stuff.

But just because I don't write for Feministing, doesn't mean I'm not a feminist blogger, right?

This got me thinking about all the times that I've underestimated myself, or backed off when I shouldn't have. Here's just one of many examples: A year or so ago, a "Facebook friend" of mine posted a status in which he declared that "feminism has gone too far." Obviously, it really pissed me off. But instead of responding to his post with reasons why feminism actually hasn't reached far enough yet, I just blocked his updates from my feed and got on with my day. Because I didn't want to deal with the inevitable backlash.

I regret that. And I don't know why I constantly talk myself out of speaking my mind when I know that I'm pretty well-versed on a lot of feminist issues. In _No Excuses_, Feldt refers to quite a few books--among them _When Everything Changed_ by Gail Collins, _The Means of Reproduction_ by Michelle Goldberg, and _Manifesta_ by Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards--all of which I've read. She also refers to a lot of things that have happened recently in the blogosphere. She spent several pages on "abstinence porn," which is a term coined by Chrstine Seifert of Bitch Magazine to describe the genre of YA lit into which the Twilight series fits. I didn't need a refresher course from Gloria Feldt to understand that, because I read the Bitch article when it was published several years ago. To this day, I cannot think about Twilight without my internal monologue going, "Abstinence porn! Abstinence porn! Hahahahaha!"

So clearly, I know my shit. There are doors there. Gotta open 'em.

And I see this blog as the key to doing that. From page 331: "There are many reasons to keep blogs or maintain websites. To advance our professional lives by displaying portfolios of our work; the thrill of the open confessional; documenting a hobby, talent, or obsession; or simply as a place to document our daily lives. Just as my T-shirt is valuable real estate to proclaim my convictions, so is your online platform--you can wear the cypershirt. You can tell your story uncensored and find a community of people who share your problems and your passions."

As I mentioned, I'm already doing that to some extent. But there are still a few things that have kept me from having much of an impact. So I hope to use this blog as a vehicle through which to change that. I'm part of something great, and need to fully embrace it. This means recognizing that I too have a voice in the feminist blogosphere.

Now stop reading this. Go find a copy of _No Excuses_, and read it if you haven't yet already. Then figure out what your strengths are, and go get shit done.

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

2011-05-25T09:15:00.004-04:00

So, for the past month I've been working on a 30 day blog challenge. Found the prompts on my friend Katie's blog.

I don't know why I decided to do it, exactly. I was done with school for the semester, and I'm not taking classes again until the end of June, so I knew I'd have time on my hands. I liked some, but not all of the prompts. I went with all of them, though, hoping that I'd find a few interesting things to say about the ones I thought wouldn't appeal to me. And I was right about that. For instance, I haven't traveled much, so wasn't looking forward to the prompt about travel. But then I remembered why I started collecting postcards, and wrote about that, which was fun. I probably would not have thought to write about it otherwise.

Some of the prompts, though, were redundant. I think I was asked to write about travel twice. Some of the prompts about goals for the future were like that, too. And unfortunately, a few of the really good prompts were about things I'd written about recently. Like my views on education, for example.

But it was a good way to bide time while I tried to figure out what to do with this blog. I've always thought that the best blogs have a specific focus. Mine does not. Nearly two years ago, when I started this blog, my intention was just to create a personal space to spout off about things that get my ire up. :) But then, last summer, I started participating in blog carnivals, and that has opened me up to a whole community of bloggers that write about things that really matter to me. I've been trying to figure out how to focus my blog in on those things. Another option would be to start another blog, but keep this one for more personal stuff. I don't know. Decisions, decisions.

In the meantime, I've made a few updates to this page. I added a couple of lines from a Tracy Chapman song beneath the header, because I think it sums up my world view pretty well. I moved my tags to the top of the page, just because once I started adding stuff to the sidebar (I'll get to that in a second), it started to look way too cluttered over there.

Most notably, I added a blogroll. I actually have about twenty blogs there, but decided to just show the five most recently updated ones. Less clutter.

I struggled with which blogs to include because of the focus issue I've been having. I didn't know whether to include strictly feminist blogs, or personal blogs, or blogs on other topics. But because I still don't know exactly how I'm going to narrow this project down, I went with "anything goes." Lucy's blog is there. So is Sarah's. Then I included a bunch of feminist blogs. And then there are a couple of random ones thrown in there devoted to environmental and health issues. I just shared what I liked to read.

Furthermore, I added a link to my Good Reads account. Mine's private, because I'm kind of an Internet privacy fiend. But if you're on Good Reads, feel free to add me.

You might have noticed that a few days ago, I added a badge for a new blog carnival. I will be blogging for LGBT families on June 1. You should, too.

And that's pretty much it. My life has been pretty uneventful lately, because I'm taking a few weeks off school and chilling out in suburbia. I've just been working, reading, and hanging out with myself. One of the books I finished recently is Gloria Feldt's latest, _No Excuses: 9 Ways That Women Can Change How We Think about Power_. It was excellent; I'll post my thoughts on it soon. A lot of the things that Feldt said is what got me thinking about the changes I'd like to make to this blog, actually. So when my review goes up (probably sometime later today), I hope you'll read it. :)

Okay, that's all for now. There's a downpour here, with rumbles of thunder. I'm lying in bed with my laptop, cat, and a cup of coffee, and couldn't be happier about that.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 30

2011-05-25T08:59:00.005-04:00

Your highs and lows of the past month.

I haven't been in school at all since I began the blog challenge, so stress has been minimal, as has social interaction. Therefore, the highs haven't been very high and the lows haven't been terribly low.

But anyway:

The highs:

having time off (which means having time to read for fun!)
warm weather, which allows for early morning bike rides
going to the DIA and Greektown with my friend Toni
sending/receiving snail mail from friends
ditto FB messages: I've gotten some really kind ones lately

The lows:

sinus infection
not being able to snag Adele tickets before her concert in Royal Oak, MI on 5/23
missing friends in faraway places
getting punched in the face by an angry drunk person
working on Thursday & Friday nights, which means missing poetry readings

Guess that's all? Bye, blog challenge. It's been good.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 29

2011-05-24T11:32:00.000-04:00

Goals for the next 30 days.

I've actually been thinking about this a lot. And though I plan to explain this in more detail in a post 30-day challenge entry, I'll touch on it briefly here for now:

Personally, I need to get some school-related stuff together. And manage my friggin' finances. I've been putting it off, but know that once I get my butt in gear, I'll have some much-needed peace of mind.

And since the one class I'm taking this summer doesn't start until the end of June (over a month away yet), my plan is to keep reading as much as possible. Right now, I'm devouring a lot of feminist nonfiction: mostly books published within the past ten to fifteen years. Some are a little outdated (like, for instance, _Manifesta_, published in 2000), but they're so frequently referenced on blogs I read and women's studies classes I take that I figure I ought to read them. I'm averaging one or two books per week. Not bad, considering that I'm still reading blogs and whatnot online.

Speaking of reading, I also plan to put into action a few things I learned by reading Gloria Feldt's latest book, _No Excuses: 9 Ways Women Can Change How We Think about Power_. A lot of what I'll be doing will involve this blog, so stay tuned.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 28

2011-05-23T08:39:00.006-04:00

Something that you miss.

See, this is tricky. Because it's not really about what I miss, but who.

I miss my friends; they're all over the place. Chicago, IL. Stillwater, OK. The Bay City/Saginaw region of MI. I've been thinking lately about how people take for granted the fact that people they care about live nearby. That is not the case for me.

But I guess if we're going to pinpoint a specific "thing," I'll go with the Controlled Burn Seminar for Young Writers, which I attended every summer as a teenager.

Liz, a friend & fellow Controlled Burn attendee, summed it up really nicely:

"It kind of feels nice to be in your element, you know? Everyone is constantly drinking coffee even though it tastes like ass... because they need to stay awake in order to finish their homework. We play pool at 1 a.m. and distract ourselves and it's just so laid back, you know? It's just a bunch of kids existing without judgment. Maybe there is judgment but it doesn't get in the way. No one cares. I love it here."

At Controlled Burn I felt, for the first time, like I really connected to people who cared about the same things I did. 2009 was its final year; it was canceled because of funding & other issues. I'm really sad that it doesn't exist anymore, because I wish more kids could have the opportunity that I had. But I'm very glad that I got to be a part of such a wonderful thing.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 27

2011-05-22T17:49:00.003-04:00

A problem that you have had.

Well, today I have a sinus infection. This is the third time I've gotten sick in less than a year, which is really unusual for me.

But honestly, I can't really think of anything to write about that doesn't sound like all the other 20-something freaking out about the future type stuff I normally post here.

I already blogged about how it took me a really long time to get my driver's license. And how I lost my front tooth in a scooter accident.

So today, my sinuses are out of control. And tomorrow night, Adele is playing a sold out show at the Royal Oak Music Theatre and I don't have a ticket.

Other than that, though, I can't really complain.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 26

2011-05-21T10:35:00.004-04:00

What kind of person attracts you.

"I think I tend to look at people's souls more than anything else." - Sarah

I think the most beautiful people I know are those who live by what they believe in (to the best of their ability, anyway--depending upon what you value, the realities of living in the US can make that hard).

I like people who are honest, earnest. People who care about things. Avid readers. People who have a sense of humor despite the fact that the world is completely bat shit insane.

People who are bat shit insane. And kind. Animal lovers. People who aren't afraid to speak their minds. People who are afraid to speak their minds, but do it anyway.

I am personally biased toward Tracy Chapman fans.

Those are just a few of the qualities I admire. This is not an exhaustive list.

Let's be friends.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 25

2011-05-20T10:58:00.006-04:00

A photo you took.

I'm no photographer or anything, but here's a picture I took with my cell phone of some anti-choice propaganda I found in a bathroom stall at SVSU in October of 2009.

People should be able to urinate in peace, you know?

Needless to say, I added this to my list of good reasons for transferring to Wayne State.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 24

2011-05-19T00:40:00.002-04:00

Somewhere you would like to travel.

We totally did this already.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 23

2011-05-18T11:23:00.012-04:00

Give pictures of 5 people who are famous who you find attractive.

(I changed "guys" to "people" because I hate that the Blog Challenge assumes its only challengers are heterosexual females.)

Also, I'm not posting pictures because I am technologically inept and posting more than one photo per blog entry apparently causes more headaches than I'd like to deal with.

So. Celebrity crushes, in no particular order:

1) Adele. Her voice is so very sexy.

2) Tracy Chapman, which, if you know me, should not surprise you. I think she's so beautiful. (Alice Walker thinks so, too! When I found out about the romance that went on between the two of them, my intellect was like, "Whoa, that is the hottest thing I've ever heard.") I've never gotten over it, and doubt I ever will.

3) And then there's that one guy I'd go straight for. I've had a crush on Taye Diggs since I was like fifteen years old. Ho hum.

4) His wife, Idina Menzel, is pretty hot, too. :)

5) And lastly, Tori Amos. Because she's Tori Amos.

Honorable mentions include Regina Spektor, Emiliana Torrini, and Sinead O'Connor. And I have a giant intellectual crush on June Jordan, too. Watch the documentary "A Place of Rage," and you'll understand why this is.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 22

2011-05-17T11:55:00.005-04:00

Something you want to do before you die.

As I said in my answer to Day 2's prompt:

graduate from college
move somewhere other than Michigan, and
live in commune

You're running out of good ideas, Blog Challenge.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 21

2011-05-16T00:39:00.006-04:00

One of your favorite shows.

TV shows, you mean? I don't watch a whole lot of television, but the one show that I love dearly (and that's an understatement) is The Golden Girls.

(And that's me, watching it with my cat.)

The show was canceled in 1992--the year I turned four. So I don't really remember how I got into it. Like feminism itself, I wasn't raised on it. I just discovered it one day and was like, "Well, damn. This is really, really good. How did I ever live without it?" I blogged about it when Rue McClanahan died (almost a year ago now--wow).

But I think my friend Christi said it best: "Where else in pop culture do you see women of a certain age portrayed as anything but loony cat ladies or sexless grandmas? Dorothy and company lived it up well past the age most television characters even make it to."

I'll share something here that I've only shared with a couple of close friends, because it's embarrassing and kind of cheesy: I made the decision to transfer from SVSU to Wayne State while watching the final scene of the Golden Girls series finale. That particular episode just happened to be on TV at 1 o'clock on a Thursday morning (when I should have been sleeping but instead was thinking a little too hard about what the hell I should do with my life). Seeing that, I cried and cried and cried and then decided, like Bea Arthur did, that even though it had been mostly good in really surprising ways, it was time to move on.

Thank you for being a friend.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 20

2011-05-15T13:37:00.005-04:00

How important you think education is.

I wrote a pretty detailed post on this topic just a few months ago.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 19

2011-05-15T11:30:00.003-04:00

Disrespecting your parents.

Suffice it to say that I don't see "disrespect" as being synonymous with "disobey."

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 18

2011-05-14T10:08:00.005-04:00

Something that makes you laugh.

This blog always makes me laugh. Hysterically.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 17

2011-05-13T23:35:00.005-04:00

Disclaimer:

It's not my fault that I got behind on the Blog Challenge. Blogger's been down for the past couple of days; people could still read posts as usual, but nobody could update!

So, I took a blissfully unexpected break from blogging and got some reading done. For the record, I'm currently halfway through _On Beauty_ by Zadie Smith; it's holding my attention, but isn't nearly as good as _White Teeth_.

Now, without further ado...

Your highs and lows of this past year.

This is hard to write about, because a lot of the -low- moments of the past year are really personal. Even though I have a blog and tend to overshare on FB/Twitter, I do actually have a sense of when I ought to keep my mouth shut.

So, let's settle for a purposely cryptic list:

The highs:

transferring: I felt incredibly hopeful about everything
coming out as a lesbian to my family: it was exhausting, but worked out in the end
MEETING MICHAEL FRANTI
knowing that I have really wonderful friends, even if they live far away
babysitting: I love the girls I babysit

The lows:

the not-so-great aspects of coming out
getting punched in the face by someone who really shouldn't have punched me in the face
feeling like a giant piece of existential fail
living in Grosse Pointe
loneliness
babysitting: Even though I love the kids, that shit is hard work

See what I mean? Purposely cryptic. Suffice it to say that I was really hopeful about a lot of things that didn't turn out. But it's okay, because I was also rather pessimistic about the things that did turn out. Such is life.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 16

2011-05-11T11:11:00.002-04:00

Your views on mainstream music.

If you're looking for a hipster's perspective, move along.

I like what I like. Some of it's embarrassingly mainstream. A lot of it's not.

Here are my most-played artists, according to Last FM:

Tracy Chapman
Adele
Michael Franti & Spearhead
Tori Amos
Cat Power
The Beatles
Chantal Kreviazuk
Regina Spektor

Sarah and I had a conversation about this a couple of years ago. We both really liked Regina Spektor's album Begin to Hope. But a lot of our friends weren't too fond of it for a number of reasons: it was a lot less raw than her previous releases, for one (it did sound quite different than her earlier work, but I didn't necessarily think of that as a bad thing). And all of a sudden her music was being played on the radio, so tickets to see her in concert went up in price. (I saw her at St. Andrew's Hall in 2006 for $13. A year later, she came to the Fillmore, and tickets cost about $40.)

But the way Sarah and I see it, as long as you're being true to yourself and doing what you really want to do, then it's fine. As someone who's a huge fan of socially conscious lyrics, I think it's really great when stuff like that reaches a bigger audience.

This might seem like an odd connection to make, but my feelings about music are similar to my views on/approach to convincing people that war is stupid. I get really ticked off at people who talk about the monetary cost of war without ever talking about the human cost of it. But I make sure to keep the financial facts in my head when I argue with people who support wars. Because that is a way to appeal to their interests. And if I can convince them that we're spending too much money on war, then maybe I'm one step closer to convincing them that killing people senselessly is EVEN STUPIDER.

So basically, music is meant to be shared. So share it, you greedy, selfish hipsters. Feel the luv.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 15

2011-05-10T22:24:00.004-04:00

5 people in your life right now who mean the most.

I'm going to organize this based upon how long I've known these people. The ones I met earliest are at the top.

Stephanie
I met Stephanie when we were juniors at Grosse Pointe South High School. She had just transferred there from Interlochen Arts Academy. And she was one bitchin' poet. (Still is, in fact. She's graduating this weekend with a BA in poetry from Columbia College Chicago.)

As you'll be able to see by glancing at her blog, Stephanie's also one hell of a feminist. She thinks that I give her too much credit for her role in helping me to view the world from a feminist perspective. But I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it; she did a lot to help me become who I am today.

I was a little intimidated by Stephanie when I met her. I don't know why, exactly. Probably because she, like me, wanted nothing to do with most of the people who graduated with us. So I assumed that I was just another one of the people she wanted to avoid.

But I was wrong. Thanks to our similar interests, the two of us became friends. We were kind of huge dicks in those days, and thought we were better than everyone else. We talked a lot of shit and smoked a lot of weed.

But I think that both of us have grown up a lot since then, and our friendship has lasted; Stephanie is one of the most intelligent, compassionate, generous, and reliable people I know. She's also hilarious. And she pours a lot of her energy into really cool/important projects, like West Side School for the Desperate and SlutWalk Chicago.

I actually just sent her an email earlier today asking for some advice on something I'm dealing with, and as I was working on this blog post, she replied with a list of things I need to do right the fuck now in order to fix the situation.

Put Stephanie in charge of any project: running the student poetry organization at Columbia College, forming an arts collective, or dealing with her friends' personal issues, and I assure you, shit will get done.

Sarah
I met Sarah at the Controlled Burn Seminar for Young Writers in 2005. We were in Mary Ann Samyn's poetry workshop together.

But for whatever reason (likely my teenage lack of maturity--Sarah's three years older than I am), our friendship didn't really form until a couple of years later. She graduated from SVSU in 2007, the year I finished high school. And then I enrolled at SVSU, so pestered her with questions (What the fuck is a FAFSA form? Whose classes should I take? Etc, etc).

That fall, she moved to Marquette to pursue an MA at NMU. But she came down to Saginaw damn near every weekend, and we spent a lot of time together. We also spent spring break together that year. We hung out with her adorable pet ferret Bandit and broke a lot of rules.

When she finished her MA and moved to Oklahoma, I was sad because we'd no longer be living in the same state. But it's not like we've ever lived in the same city. So in a way, things didn't change much. I don't usually like talking on the phone, but I really like talking to Sarah, and because we're completely ridiculous, we manage to talk for two to three hours at a time. I also flew out to visit her this past January.

Also, she sends me the most beautiful postcards, usually for no particular occasion. I wish I could say that I did a decent job reciprocating. But I don't. So props to her, fail to me.

And that is why I love Sarah. She's really ambitious academically (finished college in three years, is working on her second Master's degree, etc), but loves me even though I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with my life. She has always been really encouraging and sincere.

(And since I know she reads this: Hi, Sarah! ILY.)

Tracy
When my parents met Tracy, my mom said that she was "charming" and my dad referred to her as "a breath of fresh air." Nearly every time we hang out, Tracy rubs this in my face. (Since then, I've been referred to as "charming" in a letter of recommendation, and just the other day, someone told me via FB message that I am "a source of energy for good vibes," so there).

Tracy and I were roommates during our first two years at SVSU. We first bonded over peach yogurt and wheat bread three days after moving in together; I rather liked her taste in groceries. :)

I didn't know it at the time, but food would become a really important part of our friendship; Tracy loves to cook and is damn good at it. She even managed to whip up some pretty interesting things during the year we lived in a dorm without a real kitchen.

One of the things I love most about Tracy is her wit. She's fucking hilarious. All the time. And she makes it look effortless. Her sister Tricia works in a hair salon, and one day, we paid her a visit and asked her to tame my eyebrows. We were both laughing so hard at everything that came out of Tracy's mouth that finally Tricia said, "Trace, I need you to stop being funny for five seconds so I can get this wax off of Amy's face without screwing up the shape of her eyebrows."

Tracy's the friend I stay with whenever I visit Saginaw. She knows to stock up on coffee when I come. And she puts up with all of my quirks and questionable habits. We don't actually talk much when I'm in Grosse Pointe, but whenever I visit her, it's as if I never left.

Matthew
Matthew and I went to SVSU together; he was the editor-in-chief of Cardinal Sins before me. He's fifteen years older than I am. When I met him, I was a nineteen-year-old freshman; he was in his 30s and a lot closer to graduation than I was.

So if someone had told me then that we'd remain good friends even after he went off to grad school in Baltimore, MD and I transferred to Wayne State, I wouldn't have believed them.

We make an odd pair, but I've realized that that's just the point: Our entire friendship is based on our quirks and fondness for cats. He didn't think it was weird at all that I brought a rubber dinosaur to the student publications office and instead of helping him lay pages, talked to the dinosaur and gave her a name: Gertrude.

In fact, that night he wrote on my FB Wall, "Give Gertie a squeeze for me."

Our friendship hasn't gotten any less strange since Matthew moved out of state. Last month, he sent a package addressed to "Mac the Cat, c/o Amelia Glebocki." It was a mix CD. And yes, there were songs on it that mentioned cats.

I "made Mac send him a thank you card." Matthew told me that I'd done a good job of teaching my cat how to write.

It's just weird enough to work. My guess is that you can only base friendships off of quirks like this if you're both legitimately strange and comfortable with that strangeness.

Rose
Rose and I went to SVSU together, but that's not where we met. We met a year or so after she graduated, at a coffee shop in Saginaw in August of 2009.

I'd gone to a poetry reading there and met up with a bunch of people I knew (among them Matthew). I didn't know Rose at all. But when she walked through the door, all my friends went to her. I guess Rose doesn't come out to play much? Everyone was so happy to see her.

Through the crowd of people, Rose saw me hanging out awkwardly by myself in a corner of the coffee shop where our friends had left me. She came over and said simply, "Looks like you're friends with my friends. And they ditched you for me. Sorry about that. I'm Rose. I'll add you on Facebook when I get home."

I figured that we wouldn't interact much on Facebook, and that I'd end up deleting her from my friends list. Boy, was I wrong about that.

For about a year, we commented on each others' posts. By the time I moved back to Grosse Pointe in May of 2010, we were exchanging lengthy, candid FB messages. And that October, she invited me to her wedding.

So back to Saginaw I went. I hadn't seen her since the day we'd met over a year earlier.

She also came to visit me in GP this past February, which really meant a lot to me.

It's hard to explain how we became friends or why. But things that she says make sense. And she listens. I like to think I do the same for her. I think it's lovely that we used Facebook not only to keep in touch, but to get to know each other in the first place.

Friendship takes effort. I think both of us realize that in a way that a lot of others don't. Getting to know each other online and living far away from each other has really forced us to practice what we preach. And I like that.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 14

2011-05-09T00:00:00.008-04:00

A photo of a cherished memory.

Unfortunately, most of my photos are on Facebook, and I've deactivated my account (more on that later). So you'll have to settle for the unillustrated version.

The photo I'm thinking of was taken in Ann Arbor, MI on Tuesday, August 11, 2009. My favorite musician of all time, Tracy Chapman, performed there that night. And she was amazing.

At the time, I was living in Saginaw (an hour and a half from Ann Arbor) and taking a summer class at SVSU. The class met on Mondays and Wednesdays. And that Wednesday, I was scheduled to take my final exam.

But I was determined to attend this concert, because not only is Tracy Chapman my favorite musician ever, but she also doesn't tour much. And when she does, she usually spends more time in Europe than the US (not that I blame her, but still).

So I convinced my mom to go with me. And that Monday after class, I drove to Grosse Pointe, where I stayed overnight at my parents' house, because GP is significantly closer to Ann Arbor than Saginaw is.

And the next day, my mom and I left for Ann Arbor, where I spent several hours raiding bookstores. Because she knows what happens to English majors in bookstores, my mom went off and did her own thing. And eventually, she got me to leave the store by bribing me with food; we ate a super delicious meal before the concert.

Upon arriving at the theater, a friendly tall person made my good mood even better by offering to switch seats with me when he realized that his head obstructed my view.

Tracy put on a great show. I really appreciated her subtle and smart sense of humor. Before she sang this song she said, "This is about how we need to be saved from those who think they need to save us." (Creative way to list your religious views on Facebook, anyone?)

And then this song made me cry. So hard. It caught me entirely off-guard, because Tracy just popped out of nowhere with an acoustic guitar after she had performed several songs with a full band. And without any kind of preface, she just started singing this. And it was really, really simple and beautifully done. So I cried. And when I say that I cried, I mean it. I put a lot of effort into stifling weird noises and swore I'd never forgive my mother if she made fun of me afterward (because there's no way in hell that she didn't notice). It was really intense and I'll never forget it.

So I was all over the place emotionally. Not surprising, I guess, given that I've been a die hard Tracy Chapman fan all my life.

But remember, I had a final exam the next day.

And since I'd spent the whole day before the concert dicking around in Ann Arbor, I really had to study.

On our way back to Grosse Pointe after the concert, I made my mom stop at a Tim Horton's so I could get some coffee. But not surprisingly, I didn't get much work done that night. Instead, I was too full of adrenaline (and whatever other crazy emotions inevitably go along with seeing your favorite musician live) to work or sleep. So I talked to friends online about how incredible Tracy Chapman's concert had been.

And then I took a power nap, woke up at 6 a.m., and drove back to Saginaw. I was exhausted, but swore I wouldn't allow myself to sleep or have a concert-related meltdown until after my exam.

I was actually relatively successful, thanks to the anxiety that always creeps up before an exam and motivates me to get shit done.

But by the time I'd finished the exam, I looked like I'd been to war and back. On top of all the normal final exam feelings (Holy shit I'm so tired and my brain is fried and I never want to use my brain for anything ever again), I had all these ridiculous feelings to deal with because I had just seen THE BEST CONCERT OF MY ENTIRE LIFE IN A CITY THAT I LOVE and had been forced to return to reality (read: a small university in the middle of a cornfield) well before I'd had any time to process the experience.

I ran into one of my professors in the hallway after the exam. Upon trying to make small talk with me, he realized that I was a severely sleep-deprived pile of emotions. (In case you think I'm exaggerating about how tired I was, he didn't like the idea of letting me drive home.)

But in the end, I drove home anyway, fell asleep, woke up fourteen hours later, and learned that I'd managed to pull off an A- on that exam.

Tracy Chapman, though, gets an A+.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 13

2011-05-08T00:11:00.008-04:00

Somewhere you'd like to move to or visit.

I've been dreading today's prompt because unlike a lot of people I know, I've never really drooled over any specific location. My friend Katie loves Nova Scotia. Lucy and Sarah both went to school at NMU and really love the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

But I've never experienced any level of attachment to a certain place.

Don't get me wrong; I love the idea of traveling. But I'm terribly indecisive. And given my background, that makes sense. My dad's from Lublin, Poland; my mom was raised in Sudbury, Ontario, Canada. Yet somehow, my sister and I wound up in Michigan.

I didn't travel much as a kid. But I knew a lot of people who did. And I was jealous. So in the fifth grade, I started collecting postcards. I don't remember where I got the idea, exactly, but I hadn't yet discovered the Internet, and considered postcard collecting to be the best form of virtual travel. So whenever someone I knew mentioned that they were going somewhere, I asked them to either send or come back with a postcard. I still do this (hint, hint).

Meanwhile, whenever I went somewhere, I'd make sure to pick up a postcard or two. I still do this. I brought a few back with me from Pittsburgh this past March.

The picture above includes only a portion of my collection. It has grown to include not only places, but things that interest me: everything from art to literature to ridiculously cute baby animals. I also have a whole series called "Great American Women." Each postcard includes a picture of an American woman with a description of her contribution to history. There are something like twenty-five of them.

If I ever live in one place long enough, I'd like to use my postcards as wallpaper. But for now, I settle for making posters and decorating notebooks full of poetry with them. I still don't really know why I continue to collect postcards after all these years. But every time I look at one of them, I'm reminded of who gave it to me or where I was when I picked it up. I often don't even remember to ask people to send them anymore. But they still do. I've even gotten a few in my mailbox over the years that just say, "This is for your postcard collection."

I took a class my senior year of high school called Literature, Culture, and the Humanities. In it, we covered everything from literature to architecture to film to paintings. I feel like that's my postcard collection in a nutshell. So, this is everything that matters. Yes, that's right, the entire world matters. And yes, I can fit it into a box that I store under my bed.

It kind of makes me feel better about not knowing what the hell I want to do with my life, where I want to focus my energy. But I digress.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 12

2011-05-07T09:18:00.009-04:00

Bullet your whole day.

Friday, May 6, 2011

(Of course, catch me on a day when I'm not enrolled in classes and don't have to babysit.)

woke up just before 9
went downstairs to make coffee/feed the cat
read for a while (while drinking the coffee I made, natch)
played on the Internet
received a text message from my friend Victoria, asking if I'd like to get together for dinner/drinks once she got off work at 8:15
replied to that text message with "yes"
took a shower
did boring, responsible things like 3 loads of laundry, Swiffering the floor, and cleaning the bathroom
ate some peach-flavored yogurt and a Nutri Grain bar
read some more
did the dishes
read
decided that I needed a change of scenery, so went to Caribou Coffee by Victoria's work to wait for her
finished reading _White Teeth_ by Zadie Smith (A+)
got really excited when I heard an Adele song playing in the coffee shop
ran into someone I knew from high school and exchanged awkward pleasantries
went outside to read some more (_When We Were Saints_ by Han Nolan) because it was warm outside and had stopped raining
marveled at very large dogs walking with their owners
met up with Victoria and her friend Ben
went to Victoria's so she could change out of her work clothes; wound up watching "Sexy Gay Friend" videos online for half an hour
drove to a 24-hour diner in St. Clair Shores because my uterus demands such foods once per month, if you catch my drift
ate $14 worth of cheap diner food, wondered why my bill was so high, then remembered that I'd only eaten some yogurt and a Nutri Grain bar thus far that day
went to a nearby bar but left after the first drink because the music was too loud and we're old and boring
went to another bar, where Victoria was disappointed because they no longer had her favorite beer
went to another bar, where Ben and Victoria got drunk
I stayed sober because I'm boring (and had to drive)
we played pool
the bar closed, so we went home
went to bed around 3:30 a.m.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 11

2011-05-06T00:00:00.003-04:00

Put your iPod on shuffle and list the first 10 songs that pop up.

"Halfway Around the World" by Chantal Kreviazuk

"A Theory" by Tracy Chapman

"He Won't Go" by Adele

"Half of You" by Cat Power

"Just Dance" by Lady GaGa

"Right as Rain" by Adele

"I Want to Sing" by Regina Spektor

"Lovegame" by Lady GaGa

"I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got" by Sinead O'Connor

"If Not Now..." by Tracy Chapman

--

Maybe this isn't the best representation of all the music that's in my library. But it's a pretty accurate representation of what I've been listening to recently. I always listen to Tracy Chapman alotalotalot. And lately, I've been listening to tons of Adele. And I'm convinced that everyone listens to Lady GaGa all the damned time, whether or not they admit it. :)

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 10

2011-05-05T11:04:00.004-04:00

Someone who came into your life unexpectedly and made an impact.

The thing about my best friends is that they've all come into my life in very surprising ways. But I'll save detailed descriptions of specific close friends for a later prompt about five people who mean a lot to me. Here, I will elaborate on a group of people who came into my life a little over a year ago.

I spent three years at SVSU prior to transferring to Wayne State at the beginning of the fall 2010 semester. While I was there, I majored in creative writing. The English Department is split into several areas of focus, literature or creative writing, and English education.

And so not surprisingly, there are all these groups/cliques based on one's individual major within the English Department. And even though SVSU's a small school and elective courses have us taking classes with people from all across the department, people tend to stick to their own area of focus socially. That's not an absolute, obviously, but you get the idea. And I'm sure the same type of thing happens at other schools, too.

For a whole bunch of reasons that I won't get into right now, three years into my degree program, I suddenly found myself torn between transferring or changing my major from creative writing to literature.

For purely social reasons, I sometimes wish I'd chosen the latter.

Because all these awesome literature majors popped into my life right before I left. I have no idea what they saw in me, honestly: the semester before I transferred, I was really standoffish. I knew I'd be leaving, and it was hard enough to say goodbye to all my old friends. I didn't even want to think about making new ones.

But somehow, I did. And I've kept in closer contact with them than I have with some of the people I've known since my freshman year at SVSU.

A year ago today, I was packing up my apartment and preparing to move back to my parents' house in Grosse Pointe. My friend Sara invited me to spend my last night in Saginaw celebrating her birthday with her. I gladly accepted, even though I didn't know many of the people she had invited to her party.

And that's how I got to know Toni. We'd had a couple of classes together, but prior to Sara's party, hadn't said more than a few words to each other. And one year later, we're really good friends. Last weekend, she came down to Detroit to spend the day with me at the DIA and Greektown. It was awesome. And later this summer, we'll be going to Lollapalooza together.

Baffling, given that I met her the day before I moved away. (Thanks, Facebook!)

The same goes for Angela. I met her in a class I took the semester before I transferred. And actually, I dropped that class about two weeks into the term. And then I loaned her my textbook. I figured we wouldn't interact with each other again after she returned it to me at the end of the semester.

But no. As a thank you gift for letting her borrow the book, she bought me (of all things) three tiny (and sparkly--yes, sparkly!) donuts from Starbucks. That was just weird and hilarious enough to give us something to come back to. So after I left, we got to talking online. And then I visited her in Bay City a few times. And she even came down to Grosse Pointe for my birthday this past December.

Furthermore, Stephanie, Jamie, and Carolyn--The three people who took me with them to Pittsburgh this past March--are all literature majors, too. While we were waiting for them to come and pick me up my mom said to me, "I don't remember you mentioning these friends of yours, Amelia. When did you meet them?"

My answer: "I've taken a few classes with Stephanie and Jamie. And I don't actually know Carolyn very well at all."

But now that I've spent three days with her in Pittsburgh, I do!

Weird how that works. It's taught me to be more open minded, really. I wish I'd met them sooner. But I'm glad I was given the chance to get to know them at all. I hope I don't fuck up my chances at opportunities like this in the future.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 9

2011-05-04T14:12:00.003-04:00

How you hope your future will be like.

But this sounds so similar to the prompt for day 2!

...Or I'm just too lazy to talk anymore on the topic. However you wanna look at it's fine by me.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 8

2011-05-03T00:53:00.008-04:00

A time when you felt the most satisfied with your life.

You're going to make fun of me, but honestly, I was probably the most satisfied with my life during the 2002-2003 school year, when I was in the eighth grade.

Everyone hates the eighth grade. But not me. I owned that shit.

Academically, I excelled. The worst grade I got all year was a B+, and that was in math.

And thanks to the effort of a very dedicated English teacher who had had me in class before, I got to do some really awesome things with my writing: I placed in a statewide essay contest, had a poem published in an anthology printed by the Michigan Reading Association, got to attend a young authors' luncheon in Grand Rapids, and at the end of the school year, was presented with a writing award from the English Department.

That year, I was in the choir and also had a role in the school musical, Guys and Dolls. Ironically, I was cast as a missionary, so I had a lot of fun with that.

It was, I think, the only year when I was really active in a lot of things that I loved. During all my other years of school, I focused on either writing or music, but not both.

I think the reason I was so busy was that things were sort of falling apart at home. Both of my paternal grandparents passed away, and we moved into their house. It was stressful, so I just focused on school to keep my mind off things.

Since then, I've kind of been all over the place. That's not necessarily a bad thing: I've figured out a lot of things, gained some interests, and lost some, too. But the eighth grade was great because I excelled at all kinds of things I loved, and was surrounded by people who seemed to care about me.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 7

2011-05-02T16:07:00.004-04:00

Your zodiac sign and if you think it fits your personality.

I know nothing about astrology, so this on required a little research.

And by "a little research" I mean that I typed "Sagittarius" into Google and clicked the first link that popped up. (My birthday is December 15.)

A lot of what's there rings true for me: I like to think that I have a positive outlook on life; I'm hopeful even though I have many reasons not to be. I'm definitely honest, trustworthy, and sincere. and it's no secret that I'm a huge champion of the underdog (unless the underdog happens to be John McCain).

But then there's this whole paragraph on religion/morality. I'm not religious, obviously. But I do tend to abide by what I believe in. It also says, though, that "they regard rigid, unloving, intolerant adherence to ritual and conventional codes as more as more important than the truths they symbolize."

I'd like to think that's not true for me. I have my fair share of strict rituals: I need, for example, exactly two cups of coffee and a shower every morning before my day can begin. But I don't see that as harming anyone--other than the person who might be unfortunate enough to cross my path before I've got any caffeine in my system.

I don't really take this stuff seriously and doubt I ever will. I look at my horoscope sometimes. But the truth is that if no one told me it was mine, I could just as easily look at the supposed traits of someone who falls under any other sign and say, "Yep, that sounds like me." I've always found these things to be written in such abstract terms that just about anyone can apply them to their lives.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 6

2011-05-01T01:20:00.004-04:00

A photo of yourself and 30 interesting facts about you.

Oh, this sounds familiar.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 5

2011-04-30T23:34:00.003-04:00

A time you thought about ending your own life.

I don't think I ever have. Not seriously, anyway.

That's not to say that I haven't felt like complete and total shit--and for extended periods of time, to boot. But I've been very lucky to have good things/people in my life to help balance that out.

I also doubt I'd ever kill myself because a few loved ones of mine have done that. And it hurt. Even the attempted suicide of a friend upset me to the point of having to take a day off to pull myself together.

As one of my favorite musicians, Chantal Kreviazuk, said in her song, "Surrounded":

I was there, come on tell me I wasn't worth
stickin' it out for.

Well, I was there. And I know I was worth it,
'cause if I wasn't worth it that makes me worse off than you are.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 4

2011-04-30T04:34:00.004-04:00

Your views on religion.

My take on religion was actually the topic of my very first blog post back in July of 2009. But it's been a while since I've written (or even thought about) it. So. Take two:

From _Let Me Stand Alone: The Journals of Rachel Corrie_:

"I thought we were Christian because we were white people who weren't Jewish. Those were the only options I was aware of...When I was a little older I asked [my mom] if we were atheists. I think it made her sad that I thought we were atheists" (191).

I once asked my mom that very question. And she reacted the same way.

I was raised without the influence of religion. The only thing I regret about it is that my lack of Biblical knowledge makes me a terrible English major. I miss a lot of imagery/symbolism that many fellow literature enthusiasts find very basic/obvious. It's kind of embarrassing, actually. I really ought to fix that.

Somehow though, both my sister and I wound up baptized Catholic. My paternal grandparents were Catholic, and my dad was raised that way (although he gave it up once he reached adulthood). I was born with some pretty serious medical problems, and wasn't expected to live more than a few days. So my grandparents insisted I be baptized, because they were afraid that if I died, I wouldn't be able to be buried in "holy ground."

My sister's baptism, like mine, was done on the fly. She had surgery on her kidneys when she was eight, and just as they did with me, my grandparents stepped in and voiced their concern. What if something went wrong? What if she died on the operating table? So Paige, like me, was baptized.

But that's literally the extent of my exposure to religion as a kid. We celebrated the big Christian holidays: Christmas and Easter, mainly. But that just meant that we got together a couple of times per year, ate a nice meal, and exchanged gifts.

To this day, that's what my family does. Sometimes I partake, and sometimes I run off to spend time with other people I love, even if we're not related by blood. In 2007, I spent Thanksgiving with my friend Sarah and her family in West Branch. And two years later, in 2009, I flew to Durango, CO to visit my friend Victoria for Christmas/New Year's.

I'm an atheist. Spent some time exploring religion as a teenager, and decided that organized religion definitely wasn't for me. Tried to be spiritual. Had to admit--to myself and to others--that I'm just not.

And that's okay. A friend's mom put me in an awkward position a couple of years ago when she asked me if I considered myself a "good Christian." I didn't want to lie, but I also didn't want to sound like a huge dick.

So I told her, "No. But I'm a good person."

And I am, or try my best to be.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 3

2011-04-29T09:34:00.006-04:00

No, really, I'm not slacking off already. But Blogger was in a bad mood yesterday and ate what I wrote, so I had to redo it today. Mregh.

Your views on drugs and alcohol.

I spent my high school years hanging out with people who smoked a lot of pot. And yesterday my dad told me that he thinks I drink too much.

But it's a lot more complicated than it looks, because I've also sort of been on this lifelong health food kick. So that definitely has an effect on the substances I put into (or don't put into) my body.

Caffeine is, apparently, a drug. I'm drinking coffee right now. I consume anywhere from two cups to two pots of the stuff daily and think nothing of it. It's delicious and keeps me awake. I openly admit that I caffeinate myself to excess and have no plans to cut back.

Coffee goes nicely with cigarettes. But I don't smoke cigarettes. I'm the only member of my immediate family who doesn't, actually.

My reasons for not smoking usually surprise people. Smoking is terrible for you, so everyone assumes that I, of all people, would jump on that and cite it as my main reason for not smoking. But no.

I love smoking. And given that I've spent my entire life around second-hand smoke, I'm fairly certain that my lungs are fucked whether or not I choose to take up the habit.

But I don't because it's just really inconvenient to be a smoker. There's a smoking ban in Michigan. And it snows here. I've ventured into the cold to keep my friends company while they smoke a cigarette. And in say, February, it's not fun. If I could be a seasonal smoker, I would. But unfortunately there's this problem of a nicotine addiction. So I just don't bother.

Also, cigarettes are pricey. I'd rather spend my money on books and cans of chick peas.

Now, pot. I've recently come to the conclusion that I don't like it all that much. Either that, or a bad experience I had with a pan of particularly strong "special brownies" back in December left me lacking the desire to go anywhere near the stuff again.

But I get that it does a lot of good for a lot of people. I just happen to not be one of those people. So, you do your thang, grrl.

As for booze: When my dad told me that I drink too much, I think he really meant that I drink too often. (I need a beer a day to stay sane, man.) But I do I have a history of alcoholism in my family; I've seen it do some pretty terrible shit to people I love. So because of that there are certain drinks I just won't touch (whiskey's a big one).

Based on the experiences I've shared, I think you can figure out what my views on it are. I have my reasons (however weird) for doing what I do. You have yours. Just please don't hurt anyone.

Let's be friends?

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 2

2011-04-27T12:20:00.008-04:00

Where you'd like to be in 10 years.

Oh, that's tricky, mostly because I believe it's about the journey more so than the destination.

(Or that's just my way of making myself feel better about not knowing what the hell I want to do with my life.)

Really though, I don't want to say something like, "By the time I'm however old, I'd like to have achieved x, y, and z." Because I've done that, and was incredibly disappointed when it didn't work out. I didn't do it in the conventional sense (i.e. I want to finish college, get married, and have babies), but I did it nonetheless: I want to get a degree in creative writing, then go on to get an MFA in poetry, teach creative writing, and live happily ever after.

I scared the shit out of myself when real life caused me to deviate from that path. So. No more of that. Because, as John Lennon says, "Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans."

That's not to say that I'm entirely without ambition, however. Here's a list of a few of the things I'd like to do within the next several years:

Graduate from college
None of my family members--on either side--ever have.

Move somewhere other than Michigan
Another state, another country? I'm Canadian, after all.

Live in commune
This one always surprises people/turns them off, but I'm not sure why. I had a conversation with a friend once about polyamory. Neither of us understands the line between friendship and more, but we agreed that for us at least, it isn't sex. She told me that rather than be in a monogamous relationship with someone, she'd like to take eight or so people she really loves and have them all move into a house together and take care of each other.

I really liked that idea and think it's something that would work for me. I also think that it may explain why I've been in so few relationships but have really close bonds with quite a few friends. But I hadn't even thought about it until she mentioned it to me. Living arrangements like that--probably because this is a capitalist society--aren't exactly looked upon kindly. But I think the idea behind them is really beautiful, and I'd love to experience something like that.

I've mentioned before that as a teenager, I spent a week each summer at the Controlled Burn Seminar for Young Writers. I was in a poetry workshop with Mary Ann Samyn. And one year, she gave each of her students an individual assignment. I don't actually remember what mine was. But my friend Liz was asked to write a letter to herself, ten years in the future. Her poem was titled, "Oh, Lady. Don't Be Forlorn."

That's really all I want. For everyone.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 1

2011-04-26T21:11:00.006-04:00

Your current relationship. If single, explain how single life is.

As Kate Nash put it in her song, "Merry Happy,"

I can be alone, yeah.
I can watch the sunset on my own.

I'm single. Sometimes I think that I'd like to be in a relationship. But I've never been the type of person who feels as though she "needs" to be in a relationship in order to feel whole. One, after all, is a whole number.

That doesn't mean that I'm not open to the idea, though. And actually, I do happen to have a giant, ridiculous crush on someone. ;) But I moved in with my parents about a year ago. And I automatically assume that no one wants to date someone who's living in suburbia with Mom and Dad. Maybe I'm wrong and not very brave?

My friend Rose gave me some really great advice recently. We were talking about friendship, but I think this applies to all relationships, so I'll share it here. We were talking about the times we've been let down or hurt by people who were very close to us. Rose pointed out that our instinct, then, is to protect ourselves from getting hurt again by refusing to trust anyone.

But because she knows that she has already experienced the worst that can happen, she figures she can handle it, and that it's worth it. So, she told me, "If I find someone beautiful, I just go for it."

I like that. I might even like that enough to act on it.

Summer plans and other random things

2011-04-26T13:09:00.008-04:00

Hi, Internet.

I haven't blogged too much this month. And if I may be perfectly honest, t's not because I've been busy with end-of-semester stuff. It's because I've been really down about a lot of things, and everything I wrote sounded whiny. So I just didn't post much.

The political climate in this country is really, really upsetting me. Earlier this month, governor of Michigan Rick Snyder declared the city of Benton Harbor to be in a state of crisis and appointed an "Emergency Financial Manager," who stripped all elected officials in BH of their duties.

Giant democracy fail, I know.

Furthermore, the Detroit Public School System sent layoff notices to every single one of its teachers. We can blame Rick Snyder's budget plan for that, too.

My mom is Canadian. She was born in Sudbury, Ontario, and moved to Detroit when she married my dad (24 years ago yesterday). So I have a lot of relatives in Canada. And one of them--my mom's older sister Kerrie, who lives in the Yukon--offered to let me come live with her for the summer.

I thought it was a pretty neat idea. And not surprisingly, I've been fantasizing about getting out of the US for a while. So Kerrie talked to a friend of hers about getting me a job. I didn't tell too many people about it, because I wasn't sure whether it was going to work out.

And in the end, it didn't work out. I'm oddly not too bummed about that though, because a fear of mine is that a summer in the Yukon would make me lonelier than I already am here in Grosse Pointe.

So, my summer looks like this:

classes at Wayne State
babysitting/searching for another job
the release of Bonnie Jo Campbell's novel _Once Upon a River_ at Kalamazoo's Bell's Brewery in July
my friend Rose having a baby
Lollapalooza in Chicago with my friend Toni

That last one is sort of a big deal. The day tickets went on sale, Toni wrote on my FB Wall, telling me that I should come with her. As much as I liked the idea, I did not at first intend to say yes. Shit's expensive. Gotta plan a purchase like that in advance.

But then she followed up with a lengthy FB message, detailing how much it would cost. I appreciated the gesture and really like Toni. Besides, I wanted to go.

So I told autonomous adulthood to suck it, asked my mom to loan me some money, and bought a 3-day pass to Lollapalooza.

I just paid it off a couple of days ago, and will spend the next few months being a huge tightwad in order to be able to afford to spend three days in Chicago. But it will be a fabulous end to the summer. :)

Also: Summer would not be summer without summer reading. Recommendations? Here's a(n unrealistically ambitious) list of books that I'm thinking of reading (in no particular order):

_Sexing the Cherry_ by Jeanette Winterson
_The Golden Notebook_ by Doris Lessing
_Midnight's Children_ by Salman Rushdie
_Breeding a Nation: Reproductive Slavery, the Thirteenth Amendment, and the Pursuit of Freedom_ by Pamela D. Bridgewater
_Reading Like a Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and For Those who Want to Write Them_ by Francine Prose
_The Way We Lived_ by Audrey Jacobs
_When We Were Saints_ by Han Nolan

And speaking of books (especially that last one): My inner 13-year-old is jumping up and down, turning blue, and squealing over and over, "AMELIA, TELL THEM YOUR NEWS!" So: I learned today that HAN NOLAN WILL BE RELEASING A NEW BOOK IN THE FALL. I love her books so much: reading her work has made me a better person. I've blogged before about how much I love her.

Anyway. This post has been all over the place. I apologize. They'll soon go back to being more focused. I've decided to participate in a 30-day blog challenge. Let's see how closely I can stick to it.

I'll leave you with a really great NYT article I read last night, which I think sums up everything that matters to me. Virginia Woolf once wrote about what it would have been like if Shakespeare had had a sister. Well, Benjamin Franklin did have a sister. Her name was Jane Mecom. And she didn't do so well.

And this is relevant today because, as the article states:

"Tea Partiers dressed as Benjamin Franklin call for an end to social services for the poor; and the 'Path to Prosperity' urges a return to 'America’s founding ideals of liberty, limited government and equality under the rule of law.' But the story of Jane Mecom is a reminder that, especially for women, escaping poverty has always depended on the opportunity for an education and the ability to control the size of their families."

On vulnerability

2011-04-23T10:17:00.012-04:00

I've been listening to Adele's new album, 21.

Her voice is the most gorgeous thing I have ever heard.

I love Adele. She's young, ambitious, and (I'll say it again) has an incredible voice. Also, she recently told Rolling Stone, "I don't make music for eyes. I make music for ears."

So much win in those words.

Until recently though, I took issue with most of her lyrics. It bothered me that someone as strong and beautiful as Adele was on her knees in so many songs, most of which, she has told the public, were inspired by a bad breakup.

But then I started thinking about my own writing habits. And I came across a note I made to myself in January of 2009:

I don't know why I'm so opposed to sounding vulnerable in a poem when I know that I'm the narrator. Like, if I take on the voice of someone else, I have no problem with sounding vulnerable. But when I know it's me narrating, I can't. I have to be a super strong feminist allthefreakingtime. So. My new goal is to write a poem in which I, as narrator, expose my vulnerability.

I never wrote it.

Last night I was out at a bar with a friend from high school. And I ran into someone I met at SVSU, of all places. This particular person was once a very close friend of mine, but we aren't really in touch anymore for a lot of complicated reasons. There is a lot of pain connected to my friendship with her. So it hurt to see her again, and brought to the surface a lot of emotions I didn't exactly want to deal with.

So I look at Adele, who confronts her pain, and I have to admire that. It takes strength to admit that you've been betrayed, because in doing so, you admit that you trusted someone you perhaps should not have.

That's something I struggle with because if you admit all of that to yourself, you then have to acknowledge the fact that some people do some pretty hurtful shit. And it's hard to accept that if your entire philosophy is built around loving everyone.

I own a copy of Ani DiFranco's album Canon. And between two uncharacteristically sad songs, she says:

And so now like, it's so funny like, all the righteous babes--well, not all of 'em, just a few who have got their panties on a little too tight--they're all up in a twitch because they're like, "Oh, well, you fucking wench, just writing about like, love n' shit. What happened to your politics? What are you just gonna sell out? Is this a conscious move away from overly political songwriting?" And I'm like, "No man. It's just. I got kind of... distracted."

Distraction then, is good. And necessary. You can't be strong if you merely bury your weaknesses/vulnerabilities. Because then they will inevitably turn up out of the blue and join you for a drink right before final exams.

Much as I've been trying to deny it all this time, the truth is that (as Adele puts it), "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead."

Guess I'm off to write some poems about the times when "it hurt instead."

Food

2011-04-05T13:07:00.004-04:00

I am really intense about food.

That's something I say often, and yet people always seem surprised to find out just how true that statement is. I'm not even sure what it means to be "really intense about food." But anyone who has ever seen me eat knows that I sure as hell am.

I have always been fortunate to live with people who love to cook. Even my roommates in college didn't mind feeding me, because I so thoroughly enjoyed whatever they made. It's impossible to turn me away, apparently. I'm too joyous and grateful (I've even been known to charm servers in restaurants who clearly hate their jobs).

What's weird is that my taste in food isn't even remotely consistent with my upbringing. I'm Polish, and thus, was raised on Polish cuisine. (This means that sour cream goes on everything. Twice.) But I weigh in at just 97 pounds, and don't eat red meat. So, no kielbasa for me. (Sorry, Grandma.)

I want to say that my avoidance of red meat stemmed from things I've learned by watching documentaries and reading books. But no. As a child, I couldn't pronounce "roast beef." Instead, I called it "gross beef." And I guess the idea just stuck. In one of my favorite photos of myself (above), I'm sitting at the kitchen table, pouting over a hot dog (doused in ketchup to disguise the taste). According to my mother, I sat there stubbornly for hours. I was four. That was the last time my mother tried to make me eat red meat.

At eighteen, I moved to Saginaw. My roommate Tracy loved to cook, and every Thursday night, would make dinner for everyone who lived with us. Luckily for me, she'd also invite her sister Tricia, a vegetarian, to join us. So even as a poor college student, I ate like a champion.

I was in Saginaw for three years, and in those three years, my parents got used to my absence. They stopped keeping veggie burgers in the freezer, etc.

So now I'm living with them again, and am on my own a lot for dinner. And I've been inching closer and closer to vegetarianism. The kids I babysit are being raised as vegetarians, and one of my favorite things to do is snoop through their fridge/cupboards for ideas. I've taken to sampling what I find, and then going to the store with a list of what I like.

Furthermore, their mom works at a health food store and has about a zillion books on health/fitness. Compulsive reader that I am, I've looked through those, too. And they're fascinating.

I figure that since I'm on my own a lot grocery-wise, I may as well have fun with it and learn stuff. I'm in college and it's expensive to eat healthy food all the time. But my body demands that I eat healthy food, so I do. It punishes me if I don't. (I forgot to mention that I brought a great deal of shame upon the people of Poland the first time I ever ate a paczki. I threw up every half an hour for an entire night. My little seven-year-old body was just like, "That shit is gross. I'm going to get rid of it.")

And it's weird. Because I don't believe in counting calories. Math really isn't my thing, for one, so counting calories just sucks the enjoyment out of the experience for me. I freaking love food. Watch me eat, and you'll understand.

So for me, being healthy it isn't about limiting myself, or taking away things that give me pleasure. It's about giving my body what it wants. And my body is a selfish, greedy, demanding little fucker much of the time. I don't care that it's snowing. Take me for a bike ride. Right now. And I'm hungry. I'd like some salmon. The free-range kind. No, I don't care that your wallet doesn't support my lifestyle. If I'm not around to support your lifestyle, then what the hell are you gonna do? That's right. I win.

There are very few things that bring me joy lately. (Living in suburbia will do that to you.) I've been lonely, sad, and overwhelmed by a lot of things. So if I can be selfish and healthy at the same time, then that's what I'm going to do.

Lonely transfer student talks about poetry

2011-03-29T12:30:00.013-04:00

Poetry has been on my mind a lot lately. It kind of hurts.

A couple of things in particular have got me thinking about it:

In her latest blog post, Lucy wrote about how she loved poetry in high school, but has since moved on to different things. I agree with her that connecting with people through venues such as journalism, nonfiction, and social networking just isn't the same as connecting through poetry; an important emotional element is missing. Her post really spoke to me, and was especially poignant because I met Lucy at the Controlled Burn Seminar for Young Writers nearly six years ago. So I've workshopped and participated in readings with her. I understand exactly how much she loved poetry, and how weird it feels to not be immersed in it anymore.
When I found out that Carolyn Forche will be at SVSU on Thursday, I cried. I cried because I'm no longer an SVSU student, so getting there is a lot harder than simply penciling it into my planner. I cried because I work on Thursday nights. I cried because I took last Thursday off work to spontaneously run off to Pittsburgh for the weekend, and probably can't get away with pulling the same stunt this week. And most of all, I cried because I realized that I really, really wish I could be there, which means that I still love poetry a lot, even if I've been trying to talk myself into accepting the fact that I don't.

I remember the last productive workshop I took part in. I was a sophomore at SVSU, and had recently joined the editorial staff of the campus art/literary journal, Cardinal Sins. Then editor-in-chief (a fellow writer and friend of mine) mentioned that his first semester of editing had made him realize how much he missed workshopping. So while we were waiting for submissions to come in, he organized a meeting for anyone interested in a workshop. Four of us (three students and one faculty member) showed up on a Friday morning at the end of January.

I'd like to share the poem I brought to the workshop that day. And I'm doing this because as Lucy mentioned, doing so feels strange. I never in a million years thought that I'd use poetry to leave my comfort zone.

Crossing Jefferson in the Rain

We're the only ones
who speak this language. Words splash
against the windshields
of passing cars, seep through our clothing,
soak into us.

But nothing is permanent.

The fabric will dry and
you'll leave this town, whose
lawns and sidewalks meet
like lock and key,
form a pattern and click
into place.

And I'll keep my eyes closed--
feel every breath of the ground
beneath my step,
each of its shy gestures.

Funny how the last poem I wrote is about a friend who isn't really part of my life anymore. So many things have shaped me in ways that I hadn't expected them to. I'm trying to figure out just how everything fits into my identity without getting hung up on the ways in which they're not significant parts of my life anymore. And I don't want to shut out new things.

I don't know. I wish I had the time/energy/resources to match my capacity to love. But I don't. So, what to do? Who to be?

Let's take a spontaneous trip to Pittsburgh!

2011-03-27T10:55:00.015-04:00

On Wednesday afternoon, I was sitting at the Cass Cafe near Wayne State, wasting time on Facebook. My friend Jamie (who is a student at SVSU) had posted a status about how she was packing her bags and heading to Pittsburgh for the weekend with a band of nerdy English majors.

Nerdy English major that I am, I offered love and cookies in exchange for a ride to Pennsylvania.

Moments later, having seen my comment, my friend Stephanie offered to take me along. Apparently, one of the people who was supposed to be going on the trip couldn't get time off work, so Stephanie had an extra spot in her car.

I eagerly said yes and spent the next hour or so frantically packing and wiggling my way out of work. And to Pittsburgh we went.

I don't know why I'm blogging about it, really. I don't see this post benefiting anyone other than me. But I have to write about it because I had a damn good time. And it's been a while since I've enjoyed myself that thoroughly.

Their reason for going to Pittsburgh was the Sigma Tau Delta International Convention. I'd never been to a conference before; the experience left me feeling personally validated, but professionally doomed. In other words, I'm smarter than I feel and need to tell my various insecurities to shove it. But smart though I might be, I'm getting a degree deemed useless by people who are more pragmatic than I am. So I need to find someone willing to let me live in their basement for the rest of my life, because I'm going to be penniless. (Anyone? Anyone? As always, I will provide love and cookies.)

But at least I'm not the only one who's freaking out about the future. During our three days in Pittsburgh, we had a lot of coffee-fueled conversations at 2 a.m.

And by day (when not at the conference or napping), we wandered around Pittsburgh and were exceedingly silly (as evidenced in the photo included with this post). From left to right: Carolyn, Jamie, me, and Stephanie in the oldest building in Pittsburgh. We stumbled upon it accidentally while waiting for Carolyn to pee in an outhouse (let me reiterate: we were very silly). Naturally, the tiny one in a bonnet got to hold the gun. :-)

(But don't worry. I'm a pacifist in real life, I swear.)

On Thursday night, we ate at a Lebanese restaurant called Kassab's (recommended to us to a literature professor at SVSU who happens to be from Pittsburgh). Anyone who knows me knows that I love food about a thousand times more than the average person. My mom has said that watching me eat is like watching a kid open gifts on Christmas morning.

And Lebanese food just happens to be way up there on my list of favorites. So I was particularly vocal about how much I loved the falafel and stuffed grape leaves. In fact, by the end of the weekend, I'd acquired a new nickname: Falfy. And the others were ready to lock me in isolation out of fear that I'd eat their souls. I am not exaggerating.

Other highlights:

The view from the condo where we stayed. Pittsburgh at night is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
The shower at the condo. Seriously, hear me out on this. Settings included "massage" and "monsoon." Monsoon!
The condo was up on a mountain (hence the gorgeous view). So naturally, whenever we drove up there we sang, "She'll be comin' around the mountain when she comes..."

I could go on, but you get the idea. Suffice it to say that the trip was amazing. My friends are brilliant; this weekend was full of nerdy hilarity (and some not-so-nerdy hilarity, too). I lost count of how many times I said, "I am so, so happy right now."

I didn't realize how much I had needed that spontaneous vacation until I got back home to Grosse Pointe [insert sigh here].

What the hell am I doing with my life? There is a world out there, and I need to be part of it.

I don't want to have kids.

2011-03-19T17:40:00.005-04:00

I make a point of saying that out loud (or in this case, writing it down) every now and then because it's taboo but shouldn't be. Not wanting to be a mother does not make me lazy. It just means that I realize how much work it is, and would rather be productive in other ways. Many of my friends are parents. I respect the hell out of them for it. But parenthood just isn't for me.

No doubt some people saw the title of this blog post and chose not to read it. You're not supposed to tell people that you don't want to have kids. And this is especially true if you're a woman.

Usually, two things happen when I mention that I don't want to have kids: People assume that I hate children, and then they tell me that I'll eventually change my mind. (Would you really want someone who hates children to change her mind? Just sayin'.)

I don't hate children. Please. I used to work at a vocational preschool. And since August, I've been babysitting two girls, ages four and seven, three times per week. While the job sometimes makes me feel like some kind of premature soccer mom, I do love the girls. And because I realize that they are the future, I make a point of treating them with respect. This is a concept that seems to be lost on a lot of people.

As for the people who tell me that I'm just too young to understand that I'll eventually want children, well. That's offensive. For one thing, I may very well change my mind. Life happens. But I'm 22. While I'm young, I am of child-bearing age. Who are you to tell me that I don't know my own mind?

It's especially fun for me to pin this argument up against the backdrop of my grandmother's wish for me to find a man, marry, and reproduce, ASAP. If I'm old enough to do that, then I'm old enough to decide not to.

And really, this is something that I've thought about all my life. My mom told me recently that she saw signs of my feminism very early on. She noticed that when I was a kid, I had a fascination with women who worked outside of the home, likely because she herself did not. I was in the first grade when I realized that many of my friends' mothers did things a lot differently than my mom. I also have an aunt who lives in the Yukon. She never married and doesn't have kids. And she has always been one of my favorite people on Earth. My mom assumed (accurately) that it was because her reality was vastly different from anyone else's.

The unfortunate thing about Kerrie (aforementioned aunt) is that her parents and siblings (all of whom did the whole get married & have kids thing) treat her as if she's some kind of overgrown child who just refused to grow up. Respect others' choices. Kerrie can do a lot of things that they can't, because she lives by herself in a very cold, remote place. You have to be really freaking strong and independent to pull that off.

I want to be strong and independent too, and am still figuring out what that means for me. I doubt I'll ever move to the Yukon--super low temperatures aren't really my thing. Nobody's shaking their finger at me for saying that. So I don't see how it's so unacceptable for me to say that I don't want to have kids.

Failure to launch

2011-03-15T12:02:00.017-04:00

I haven't posted much to this blog this month, even though there's so much going on in the world and just as much I could say about it.

I've actually sat down at my computer several times in the past week or so to write about all of it: the devastating earthquake in Japan (and the YouTube video from a crazed Catholic who saw it as some sort of "beautiful" sign from God); the Wisconsin loss; Governor Rick Snyder's plan to destroy my home state of Michigan; the victim-blaming piece of bullshit I read in the New York Times about the gang rape of an eleven-year-old girl in Texas; and the news that a woman in Nebraska--thanks to her state's anti-choice legislation--was forced to watch her newborn die because she had not been permitted to terminate a pregnancy that doctors told her would result in the death of her baby.

But each time I've started writing, I've gotten too overwhelmed/tired, given up, and gone to bed. Lately, I've felt too deflated to accomplish much of anything.

I feel as disappointed in the world as I did in the first grade, when a classmate called and asked if I'd like to come over and play Candy Land with her. I envisioned her house--which I'd visited many times--transformed into a castle made of candy. I pictured the two of racing through it, sugar adding to the energy I already had just from my level of excitement. And I eagerly said yes.

But Candy Land turned out to be just a board game.

I read a really great Between the Lines article last week called "The kid aren't all right," about how my generation isn't going to stand for any anti-LGBT bullshit. One part in particular gave me some much-needed hope: "This generation is often ridiculed for having a sense of entitlement. But these kids show that they feel entitled to basic human rights. And if those rights aren't there, they're going to organize, ask, demand, and fight to have them."

If that's true, then I need to find a way to join in. Part of why I'm so down about things lately is that I feel like I'm the only person who gives a shit about anything (even though from reading my friends' posts on Facebook, I know that I'm not).

But I feel so terribly alone because my current living situation and babysitting job make it really hard for me to go out and pursue my interests. I live with my parents twenty minutes from campus, don't have a car of my own, and work on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings. And because I'm a transfer student, I don't really have any friends in the area.

So, woe is me. I keep telling myself to be strong and stick it out until June, when the kids I babysit will be done with school for the year and I can think about moving on to something else, freeing up my evenings. But that's not real strength.

When I transferred to Wayne State, I moved in with my parents because doing so would save money. I knew that transferring would mean taking longer than four years to finish up my BA. So I thought that by moving in with them, I'd be making them happy. Because if there's one surefire way to make my parents happy, it's by saving money.

But it just hasn't turned out that way. My parents, though they mean well, are stuck in some kind of time warp, and are waiting for me to "launch." Their word choice scares me. I'm afraid that by their definition, I'm never going to "launch." I got my driver's license three and a half years after it was legal for me to do so. I won't finish college in four years. And to top it all off, I'm gay, so even if I were in a committed relationship, it's not like I could get married anytime soon.

I mean, it's understandable for my parents (like any parents) to want to watch their kids grow into successful adults. But what they don't understand is that for so many reasons, they can't hold me to the standard to which their parents held them. For one thing, there are obvious economic obstacles to making it through college in four years (thanks, Rick Snyder, for slashing state funding to Michigan colleges/universities by more than 20%).

And more importantly, there are so many ways to be successful. And success, to me, is happiness. We can agree that I've failed. But I'm not a failure because I got my driver's license three and a half years later than my peers. I'm not a failure because I won't graduate from college on time. And I'm not a failure because I have no desire to marry and have children. Instead, I am a failure because I've settled for living in Grosse Pointe. I'm a failure because two hours from now, I'm going to leave the house for an evening of babysitting instead of leaving it to go after what really inspires me.

Life has told me to settle for board games. Living, however, has taught me that if I have any hope of doing something good for this world during my time here, I need to build a candy castle--even if right now, it only exists in my imagination, and no on else can see or understand my need to create it.

Thoughts on children

2011-03-09T00:58:00.002-05:00

I think I've finally figured out why children exhaust me so much.

It's because they're wonderful but the world they live in is not. And I don't like having to be the one to explain to them that it's not. (Note how I said "that it's not" instead of "why it's not." Fuck if I know why.)

Also, it sucks that they haven't yet figured out that adults don't have all the answers. We have fewer answers than they do, really. The kids I spend time with are so imaginative and energetic and great. But they're tiny so they're the first to get stuffed into boxes. They're small enough to fit.

A letter from a feminist/first generation college student to her parents

2011-03-04T08:54:00.015-05:00

Dear Mom & Dad,

I love you a lot. And I appreciate how supportive you've been, both financially and emotionally. Despite all your good intentions though, there are still a lot of misunderstandings between us. So hear me out:

School is really important to me. I transferred to Wayne State because for a number of reasons I don't feel we need to go over again, things fell apart at SVSU. I moved in with you so I could stay in school and save money, which is something I thought would make all of us happy. But I feel that the money I earn babysitting is more important to you than school is, even if you'd never say it.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not against earning money. I lived in Saginaw for three years. Students have soul-draining jobs to defray the cost of school. The economy is terrible; life is life. And given what my interests are, I think it's important to have worked jobs like that so I can understand people who rely on those types of jobs to make a living.

But both of you need to understand that right now, earning money is not priority #1. School is. And even though I love it, it's not a hobby. Mom, you said something to me recently about how I need to suck it up and stop hating my job because my whole life will be like that, and I'd better get used to it.

Dad, your whole life has been like that. But I'm in school because I'd like mine not to be. I know that you worked 80 hours per week because you had a wife and kids to support. I am grateful to you for that. But even though I'm the same age as you were when you started working that hard, you need to see that I'm not in the same position. I am single, for one thing. And childless. And gay. The list goes on.

Abundant idealism aside, I am also, somehow, decently realistic. Maybe I inherited that from you. I don't expect to graduate and get a job that I love right away. But I'm willing to do the work to hopefully get me somewhere where I can do something other than babysit or clean houses or work as an aide in a preschool or anything else I've done so far.

And so you need to understand that as much as I enjoy school, it is work. I'm more than willing to help out around the house. But it bothers me that of the four of us who live here, I'm the one who is always expected to drop whatever she's doing at the drop of a hat when the dishes need to be done, just because I always have my nose stuck in a book. I still have to have that book read within a certain frame of time. And reading, though enjoyable, is time-consuming. Especially when you're planning to write a research paper on it later.

I get that you're scared. Your kids are both grown, and you want to see us move on with our lives so you can move on with yours. But our lives are different than yours. I'm in college. Neither of you went to college. So already, there's a huge difference in our respective versions of reality. And that's exactly why it's unreasonable to gripe about how I'm not going to graduate in a typical four-year time frame while trying to convince me not to take summer classes in favor of earning as much money as possible.

Now, my majors/interests: Those scare the shit out of you too, no doubt. I get that you're afraid of seeing me go off the "Commie deep end" or something. Understand, though, that my intentions are as good as yours. People that both you and I respect see what I believe in as a good thing. You only see what I do as "militant" or "extremist" because your God-fearing parents told you to believe that. You knew better than to fear God, and did not raise your kids in church (THANK YOU for that).

You never gave me a hard time about being a creative writing major. For one thing, I loved it too much to consider doing anything else (which is why, having known me all my life, you need to trust that if I'm going to go after something else, it's only because I love it just as much). And secondly, you were okay with it because creative writing seemed neutral to you. I mean, your kid spent her childhood up in her room, writing. Can't cause too much damage doing that.

But take a closer look at what I wrote about. It isn't like I went to SVSU and had one conversation with someone who "turned me into a feminist" overnight. It is something that has tugged at me my entire life. I got it from examining how much we differed from other families in Grosse Pointe, and wondering why the hell it is that we live here. I got it from seeing the literal brick wall that exists along Alter Road on the border of Grosse Pointe and Detroit. And I got it from moving to Saginaw and realizing that it's really no different there, either. There was so much unfairness right in front of me, wherever I went. How could I not take notice? Now that I'm aware of it, how can I let it be? You should be proud of me for being moved enough by it to want to change it.

I've worked really hard to try to understand your perspective. Maybe I'm missing something: If so, let me know. But in the meantime, please try to understand mine. And know too, that it's okay to be different. Just because I didn't graduate from high school and immediately get married and have kids like you did, doesn't make me a failure. And it also doesn't mean that you're failures as parents because your kids didn't turn out the way you thought they would.

Love,
Amelia

Why I stand with Planned Parenthood

2011-02-25T01:30:00.014-05:00

This was written for the I Stand with Planned Parenthood blog carnival, hosted by Fair and Feminist. For a list of participating blogs, click here.

--

I haven't written about reproductive rights since NARAL's sixth annual Blog for Choice Day over a month ago. And it's not because I haven't been paying attention. It's not because there hasn't been anything to write about, either. The GOP has been up to all kinds of no good lately. MoveOn.org has referred to their bullshit (accurately, I think) as a "war on women," and published a list of things that the GOP has done recently to destroy what matters most.

Notice that a few things are missing from that list. Like the Georgia rep who announced that he wants to investigate all miscarriages (to make sure that women haven't induced abortions--talk about demoralizing). And the House's recent vote to bar Planned Parenthood from federal funding. Neither of those things made the list because they came up after it was published.

So see, they're not stopping. I've hardly been able to keep up. that's why there have only been a few brief mentions of all this on my blog: Holy shit, look what the Republifucks are up to now...

It's all so overwhelming. So I'm grateful to Fair and Feminist for hosting this blog carnival, and providing a prompt, therefore forcing me to focus.

So! I stand with Planned Parenthood because really, it'd be stupid not to. What kind of person would I be if I didn't? Everyone should stand with Planned Parenthood--even those who voted to bar it from funding.

Yeah, that's what I said. Because what gets me about this bill is that it works against what the GOP says it wants: no abortion. If you really want to eliminate abortion, you shouldn't cut funding to the very thing that prevents women from having to seek one.

As fellow feminist blogger Katie Stack so eloquently stated on her Facebook page, "You can't have an ideology based on the idea that abortion is murder without taking away pregnant women's autonomy entirely."

And that's what the GOP wants to do. They may not say it (because hello, they know it'll piss us off), but they sure have jumped at the chance to act on it. And regardless of what they say, this bill isn't about protecting anyone--not fetuses, and certainly not pregnant women.

This bill isn't even really about abortion. Public funds aren't allotted for abortions (I think they should be, but that's another rant for another day). So many important services would be barred from funding under the Pence Amendment: Birth control, cancer screenings, HIV testing, etc. So really, what the fuck is the GOP doing, then?

And that's why I consider what happened in the House last week to be one of the most blatantly anti-woman acts I've encountered in my lifetime. If the members of the GOP were really true to their convictions, they'd look more closely and be a little (um, okay, a lot) more careful. But no. Instead, they just want to destroy the one thing they associate with what (or who?) they don't like. Because they see Planned Parenthood as nothing more than a giant baby killer.

(And we're the ones who are labeled extremists?)

In other news, Michigan governor Rick Snyder is busy trying to turn my state into a third world country. So naturally, I'm pissed. But what makes me even angrier is hearing people say, "Well, whatevs. It sucks, but I didn't vote for him." Neither did I. but I do live here. And I don't want to see my home go to shit.

Same thing with what's happening to Planned Parenthood. It's unfair that we have to work this hard, especially since we didn't vote for the people who are causing this to happen. But the reality is that the GOP isn't messing around, and neither should we. The term "forcible rape" was removed from the HR3 bill because we spoke the fuck up and demanded that it be removed. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't the biggest victory in the world. But it's something--proof that if we fight, we can win.

So we must. My mother worries about me, because she knows that the things I care about don't lie on neutral ground. She supports me until I start to piss off a certain group of people (read: the religious right). This is because simply enough, she's a nice person who wants everyone to get along. And I do, too. But the GOP has been pissing me off for a damn long time. Not just pissing me off, actually, but hurting me, and hurting those I care about. So if by voicing my opinion, I'm going to piss them off, then that's good. Because at this point, they need to know how it feels.

I know this blog post has been all rage so far, but know that I am hopeful. Seeing what erupted on my Facebook page and in the blogosphere within minutes of the vote in the House was pretty inspiring. And the Democrats still have control of the Senate. We have a pretty kick-ass president, too.

But that doesn't mean I'm 100% confident. Because it's still hard for me to believe that despite the efforts of everyone I mentioned above, the GOP has managed to do as much damage as it has--and in such little time! If I wasn't worried about anything, I wouldn't be so angry, and I wouldn't be writing.

Hopeful and angry is a good mix for me, though. It makes me do things, makes me act.

So, act. Sign an open letter to Congress. Contact your representatives--see how they voted, and send them a message. See if there's a walk for Choice event going on in your area. (There's one in Detroit on Saturday!) Share your Planned Parenthood story.

And whatever you do, don't fall for the rhetoric.

Announcing the "I Stand with Planned Parenthood" blog carnival, 2/25/2011

2011-02-18T16:27:00.006-05:00

Earlier this afternoon, the House of Representatives voted 240-185 to "bar Planned Parenthood health centers from all federal funding for birth control, cancer screenings, HIV testing, and other live-saving care." To say I'm upset would be putting it lightly.

Luckily, Shelley over at Fair and Feminist has wasted no time putting together a blog carnival in support of Planned Parenthood.

If you'd like to participate (and I hope you will), click here. Leave your name, blog title, and URL as a comment, and add this badge to your blog.

If you've had it with the GOP's anti-choice bullshit, I hope you'll blog about why you stand with Planned Parenthood on Friday, February 25. Be sure to tag your post "I stand with PP."

A few words on education

2011-02-10T09:04:00.012-05:00

Yesterday my friend Dan (who is a student at SVSU) posted a note on Facebook titled "The Cold War of Life." It's about what he's learning at school, and how that contributes to the greater picture (which is a topic I've wanted to write about). But until I read what Dan wrote, I wasn't sure how to frame what I wanted to say.

I'll start with an excerpt from his post. It's kind of long, but I wouldn't be sharing it if I didn't think it was worth your while to read it.

I have just come to the realization that my current semester is a bit of a downer. In one class, I am learning the historical beginnings of colonization and enslavement of native peoples by capitalists, leading to the current international economy and the division of labor that exploits the weak by multi-national corporations, who use economical power to control corrupt, undemocratic, resource-rich governments. In another class, I am learning about the Cold War. Additionally, during the day, I am being bombarded by negative information whenever I try to catch up on current events. But what I thought was another internal, moral crisis actually led me back to upholding my original principles and values.

Learning about the Cold War has taught me that it was just like life. George Kennan, writing from his insightful vantage point as a post-WWII diplomat, outlined what was to become the main American policy towards the Soviet Union for the next four decades, with an article (and a byline of “Mr. X”) called “The Sources of Soviet Conduct” in the magazine Foreign Policy. In the article, he notes that the Russian Revolution demonstrated the youthful impatience of revolutionaries who tried to industrialize a mostly-agrarian society too quickly. This swift change of policy and ideology led to distrust from Lenin and Stalin, on down to the peasant, and created a culture of fear and totalitarianism. Additionally, Kennan notes that because one ideology (capitalism or communism) will eventually “win” due to the fatal flaws of the other. Although Stalin believed capitalism would implode under the weight of its own greed and imperialism, Kennan believed the opposite, that communism would fall due to the rigid top-down nature of the Communist Party system and the lack of easy governmental transition upon the death of the Chairman. Kennan turned out to be right, while Stalin is remembered as a paranoid genocidal maniac and Russia is a shadow of what he knew when he lived. To meet this end, Kennan focused on a policy of vigorous “containment” toward the Russians, that if communism can be prevented to spread, the system would eventually splinter and bring change to an oppressive government that had to keep its people in with barbed wire.

Which brings me to my main point: Patience will bring change. We can respect each others’ ideologies because when it comes down to it, the truth will always come out, even under the most authoritarian of regimes, both here and abroad. When Martin Luther wrote out his complaints regarding the selling of indulgences by corrupt Catholic Church officials (which was an offense punishable by death), he had no idea that his little screed would literally change the known world. One little action propelled peasants, nations, kings, and popes into the boxing ring of competing ideologies; one spark from a lowly Catholic monk set off a cultural bonfire that led to new ideas such as national sovereignty, liberalism, the Enlightenment, the Renaissance, and the expansion of capitalism and democracy, just to name a handful. All the previous events listed brought us to a new era of humanity, forever separating us from the base animal with violent, wild instinct.

He goes on to give other examples of how seemingly small acts by patient individuals have ultimately changed the world for the better. After he posted the note, he updated his status with a quote from an individual whose identity is unknown: "Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting. That is laziness. But to keep going when the going is hard and slow--that is patience."

Reading that, I thought about how school has been making me feel lately. I love it, but feel that it needs to be a bigger part of my life, because I cannot possibly keep the experience contained to the classroom.

And yet, that's what I find myself doing. I'm a transfer student who lives with her parents twenty minutes from campus. So I often feel really lonely. The only people I spend a significant amount of time with are my parents (who didn't go to college) and the girls I babysit (they're four and seven--so it's not exactly possible to discuss my 5000-level English and women's studies classes with them).

Last night in class, my professor was talking about the importance of critical pedagogy. And my internal monologue was like, "Oh. This is why you feel so crazy and alone. Because you understand that this needs to be an ongoing discussion. And yet you feel as if the only person you have to talk to is yourself."

I got really mopey when I realized that everything I'm learning at school (and pretty much everything I believe in, for that matter) stands in direct opposition to the structure and belief system of the world in which I live. For example, we were talking in English class recently about how it's bullshit that college has basically been an unlearning of K-12's version of American history. What did we learn about Columbus? That he came over to what is now the United States and had a nice dinner with the people who lived there before he did. And what did we learn about slaves? That they were freed.

That in particular is really hard for me, because I babysit a first grader and see how that's exactly what she's being taught to accept as fact. And I feel helpless to stop it. What's the point of even teaching that? Her options are to either go to college and unlearn it all, or keep believing that forever. I have a hard time seeing how we've supposedly "come so far" as a nation when we're still teaching children this stuff, you know?

So I see a great danger in isolation: my keeping what I learn at school confined to a classroom at Wayne State; or telling first graders that what happened in the past will stay there, and has nothing to do with life as it is now.

Yesterday in class, we were talking about how Harriet Jacobs, who wrote _Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl_, tried to get white women in the north to understand her perspective. And to do that, she had to try to identify with them, even though she knew that her experience was vastly different from theirs. Her audience embraced the "cult of true womanhood," believing that women should be pious, religious, confined to the domestic sphere, and above all else, completely devoted to their children.

In order to get them to sympathize with her, Jacobs had to prove that she actually fit into that very mold. She justified the decisions she made by making her audience aware of the circumstances surrounding her situation as a slave. Even though she spent seven years hiding in an attic, she explained that she still loved her children; she made clothes for them. She used these examples to explain why she should not be held to the same standard as the white women to whom she told her story (thus dismantling the idea of the "cult of true womanhood," woo hoo)!

I got home last night and started thinking about how relevant that still is, almost two hundred years later. The next book I have to read for that class is _Killing the Black Body: Race, Reproduction, and the Meaning of Liberty_ by Dorothy Roberts. I haven't actually opened it yet, but I don't see how it's such a dramatic shift from our discussion of motherhood in the time of slavery in the U.S. There's a blurb from Ms. Magazine on the cover: "Compelling...Deftly shows how distorted and racist constructions of black motherhood have affected politics, law, and policy in the United States." Um, black welfare mother stereotype, anyone?

And so, the helplessness. I worry that nothing will ever change or get better. I want to quit real life and devote all my time to activism. But instead I gotta be a grown up and spend my time doing my part to support the very structure I oppose. And I do that by earning money babysitting.

But Dan's post showed me how I can, in my own little way, carry what I'm learning in school over to other aspects of my life. The other day I had a conversation with the four-year-old I babysit. She had just gotten home from ballet class and asked me why some of her classmates are boys. We had a little chat about how boys can take ballet, too. (And girls can do things that have been traditionally only associated with boys!)

That seems so insignificant, though. Maybe my talk with her won't change a damn thing. But maybe it will. And that hope is what tells me that I ought to continue to do things like that, however small and seemingly pointless. And I'll be patient. Not lazy, not passive. But patient.

38 years of Roe vs. Wade

2011-01-21T01:06:00.010-05:00

This post was written for NARAL's sixth annual Blog for Choice Day.

Whenever this time of year rolls around, I’m reminded of an argument I had a while back with a former college roommate about Roe vs. Wade.

After I explained to her why the state of reproductive health care is still such an important issue--even thirty-some years after Roe vs. Wade--she looked at me and said, “Chill out, Amelia. Abortion isn’t going anywhere.”

“You’re right,” I replied, surprising her. “Which is why it should remain a safe and legal procedure for women who need it.”

At the time, I was a nineteen-year-old freshman at Saginaw Valley State University--a small school in the middle of a cornfield. (Now in my fourth year of school, I’ve since transferred to Wayne State University in Detroit.)

I was frustrated as hell. Tired of conversations like the one I’d had with my roommate, I wanted more than anything to know that I wasn’t alone in worrying about the state of Roe vs. Wade. The 2008 presidential election was just a few short months away.

So I picked up a copy of Gloria Feldt’s book _The War on Choice: The Right-Wing Attack on Women’s Rights and How to Fight Back_. All I had expected to get out of reading it was a much-needed affirmation of what I already believed in. But I got much more than I’d bargained for.

Feldt offered so many examples (some without even realizing it) of how women’s reproductive rights are jeopardized. Her book was published in 2004, one year after then-president George W. Bush signed the Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act. Hopeful, Feldt had hypothesized that the US Supreme Court would fail to uphold the ban. Reading her words four years after they were published, I knew that she was wrong. For on April 18, 2007, the Supreme Court had indeed upheld it.

_The War on Choice_ made me angrier than I’d already been when I first picked it up off the shelf. It also made me feel 100% justified in being so vocal (arguments with my roommate be damned), and inspired me to keep fighting.

And there’s still so much to fight for. Recently, NARAL graded each state on its support of a woman’s right to choose. My home state of Michigan received an F. Classy. Illinois, meanwhile, received a B-. I have friends in both states who have had abortions, and know that the friend in Illinois had to deal with a lot less anti-choice bullshit than did my friend here in Michigan.

If we’re ever going to succeed in eliminating all of the bullshit, it’s especially important to put faces of real women on the issue. And because of the recent shift in Congress, we’ve got no time to lose. Props to the three women who recently shared their abortion stories on MTV’s episode of 16 and Pregnant, “No Easy Decision.”

Reproductive freedom has long been on my radar, but is now more than ever. An anti-choice governor was recently elected in my state, and the new Speaker of the House is anti-choice as well. And people like them are wasting no time checking things off their to-do list. (Repeal of health care, anyone?)

But the election this past November wasn’t a total loss. What about that huge pro-choice victory in Colorado? Such victories can (and must!) happen elsewhere. (And isn’t Colorado the birthplace of the Purity Ball? Come on, people. Anything is possible!)

Michigan may have gotten an F from NARAL, but that doesn’t mean everyone in Michigan is anti-choice. I’m sure as hell not. There are brilliant, dedicated feminists everywhere--including schools like SVSU. (Hi, Dr. Rich!) If you’re stuck in a cornfield somewhere (like I once was), speak up! Our silence gives fuel to the anti-choice movement.

Roe vs. Wade is in greater danger than most realize. I wasn’t “wasting my energy” on worrying about it during the 2008 presidential election. And I’m not wasting it now, though I really ought to be spending that energy on actually doing something about it.

Women who, like me (and ahem, my former roommate), were born in the US after 1973, have never lived in a time/place where abortion was illegal. And I hope we never will. But that’s really up to us. Just because we were lucky enough to have been born with the right to a safe and legal abortion, that right may not always be there for us. (If you’re not convinced, do some research on abortion laws on individual states. Michigan’s not the only one that got an F from NARAL.)

While I plan to drink myself stupid in celebration of Roe vs. Wade on its 38^th anniversary tomorrow, I recognize that I have a responsibility: not only to those whose efforts made the passage of Roe vs. Wade possible 38 years ago, but to to my peers and to future generations of women who, I hope, will always have the freedom to choose what to do with their own bodies.

Blog for Choice Day 2011

2011-01-18T01:49:00.007-05:00

The 38th anniversary of Roe vs. Wade--the Supreme Court case that legalized abortion for women in the US--is fast approaching.

To commemorate it, NARAL is hosting its sixth annual Blog for Choice Day this coming Friday, January 21 (one day before the anniversary of Roe). I'm going to participate. If you have a blog, I hope you will, too.

This is my first time taking part in this particular blog event. But having participated in Fair and Feminist's "THIS IS WHAT A YOUNG FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE" blog carnival this past August, I'm really looking forward to it. That was one of the coolest things I've ever been lucky enough to do. I was glad to have the chance to dialogue with other young feminists. A great sense of community developed that day, which has motivated me to keep blogging since. I can't wait to see what good will come out of NARAL's Blog for Choice event.

To sign up and get a badge for your blog, click here.

Three cheers for pubic hair!

2011-01-17T01:27:00.023-05:00

With this lovely anti-fur ad, PETA's basically inviting me to write a raging blog post in defense of women's body hair.

At first, I thought sa-weet. The idea filled me with glee. It's fun to offend haters who piss me off, especially when I'm doing it for a good cause... like, you know, equality.

But then I started thinking about it, and I'm angry. Not just because of the ad, or the double standard when it comes to women's body hair, but also because why the hell should I even have to explain to the PETA folks how this is offensive? I mean, do I really need to defend myself for choosing to neglect my body hair? It's not like I'm harming anyone. (Let's flash back to seventh grade, when a couple of dudes a year ahead of me noticed my legs and told me that I looked like a "gorilla." I like to think that they were just jealous of the fact that I had more hair on my legs than they had on theirs.)

I can't possibly be the only one who finds this ad blatantly offensive. Because I'm sure as hell not the only one who isn't exactly diligent about keepin' my pubic hair trimmed.

If you know me well, odds are, you've heard my tirade on eyebrows. But in case you haven't, here's how I feel about it: They're fucking eyebrows, man. Not exactly #1 on my list of priorities. So what if they grow to look like furry cats sleeping on top of my eyes? That's not really how I like them to look. But I've let them get to that point many times. I don't have enough patience to pluck them, so the state of my eyebrows generally depends upon the amount of money in my bank account. And given that I'm a twenty-something liberal arts major, well. You know how it is.

Apply that attitude to all of the hair on my body. I deal with it when it's convenient for me to do so, or when it gets too outrageous for me to tolerate any longer. It's my body, after all.

Don't get me wrong: I feel just as awesome as anyone else after I get a new haircut, eyebrow waxing, or what have you. But that's just it; in the end, it comes down to how I feel about it, not whoever the hell's going to be (or "supposed to be") looking at me. (And don't even get me started on what this ad says about who I'm "supposed" to impress.)

Despite my refusal to base my appearance on the approval of others, I've still got many wonderful friends and a pretty healthy sex life. (And this, of course, is how I know that I'm not the only woman who doesn't put trimming my pubic hair at the top of my to-do list!)

If you'd like to hear from another such woman (as you might still need to be convinced that we do, in fact, exist), okay. I'll leave you with an awesome poem by Alix Olson called "Armpit Hair."

Cardinal Sins in the spotlight

2011-01-03T16:39:00.009-05:00

During the 2009-2010 school year, I was the editor-in-chief of an art & literary magazine called Cardinal Sins. It's been in existence since 1981 and is published twice annually, during the fall and winter semesters at SVSU.

I found out today from my former faculty adviser that the winter 2010 issue (my last as editor-in-chief) received a first place award from the American Scholastic Press Association. :-)

This really says very little about me (even though my editor's note--which referenced something like seven Lady GaGa songs--was pretty awesome). It's more about my editorial staff and the others who found themselves tangled up in this project (like Katie Karnes, a graphic design major whose ability to reason with Adobe InDesign saved us from a huge technological mess).

Being in charge of Cardinal Sins was the most exasperating thing I've ever done. The experience forced me to question my entire career path. If I may be 100% honest, I found it incredibly unfulfilling at times, so much so that I questioned why I'd ever taken the job in the first place.

That isn't to say that it was an entirely negative experience--it wasn't. It just isn't something I'd like to do again. I'm glad that Cardinal Sins gave me the opportunity to figure that out as an undergraduate, while I'm still in a good position to change my mind.

It's about damn time I learn to have faith in my abilities--including my ability to recognize when I'm not as happy as I could be and move on to something else.

As editor of Sins, I shared an office with Sara Kitchen, editor of The Valley Vanguard--a student newspaper on campus (the two of us are pictured above). Whenever we'd find ourselves still working in the office after 10 p.m. on a weeknight, we'd listen to this song and lip sync with gusto.

Add that to the list of things that made this whole experience worthwhile.

Ridiculous, but worthwhile.

Books I read in 2010

2011-01-01T18:15:00.012-05:00

I didn't read very many books this past year, but am trying not to be too hard on myself about it. After all, I discovered a bunch of blogs, and therefore, did read stuff, even if it's not the kind of reading material I can post on Good Reads.

Speaking of Good Reads, I thought I'd make a list of all the books I read in 2010, since it has kept track of that for me all year. I won't comment on all of them, but will add a few words about some that I didn't blog about when I read them initially.

FICTION

_Goldengrove_ by Francine Prose (2008)

_The Devil's Arithmetic_ by Jane Yolen (YA, 1988)
This Holocaust story bears a striking resemblance to a book that was published six years later, in 1994. Han Nolan's _If I Should Die Before I Wake_, like _The Devil's Arithmetic_, is also about a girl who travels back in time and experiences life in a concentration camp. I think I like Nolan's book best, but am biased, because I'm the biggest Nolan fan on Earth. If there's anyone out there who has read both, which do you prefer and why? I'm curious.

_Push_ by Sapphire (1996)

_Schooled_ by Gordon Korman (YA, 2007)
I loved this book so much, and don't know why I didn't blog about it at length when I read it ten months ago. It reminded me a lot of _Stargirl_ by Jerry Spinelli. It's about a teenager (Cap Anderson) who has lived on an "alternate farm commune" all his life. And when his grandmother (who is his legal guardian) is injured, he is forced into foster care and attends a regular high school for the first time.

Culture shock ensues. He has no concept of money. And when he is elected class president, he's put in charge of organizing a school dance. The principal, in an attempt to teach him how to be financially responsible, gives him a checkbook. Cap realizes that checks make people happy. And in a completely altruistic attempt at making his classmates happy, he writes large dollar amounts on a bunch of checks and gives them away.

That incident (among others) really struck me, and made me realize that although we may think we hold certain values/beliefs, the society in which we live really limits the extent to which we practice that. Cap Anderson, having come from a totally different lifestyle, lived by what he believed better than anyone else. It was really sweet (and also really sad to see how he suffered for it).

_Number the Stars_ by Lois Lowry (YA, 1989)

_My Sister, My Love: The Intimate Story of Skyler Rampike_ by Joyce Carol Oates (2008)

_A Face in Every Window_ by Han Nolan (YA, 1999)
I loved this book because it affirmed my belief that it's okay to have an alternate definition of family; you're not just limited to blood relatives. An uptight teenager named JP finds himself living in a house full of social outcasts when his mother wins the house in a contest and invites a bunch of lonely strangers to move in. I don't think I've ever read a book with such a colorful and affecting cast of characters. And I loved watching JP learn to accept and love all of them.

I am so glad Han Nolan writes for young adults. She is using her talent to make the world a better place. I can't say it enough: If you haven't read her books yet, get with the program already. (There. I've just made your New Years resolution for you.)

_Household Saints_ by Francine Prose (1981)

_The Robber Bride_ by Margaret Atwood (1993)

_Voyage in the Dark_ by Jean Rhys (1934)

_Hang a Thousand Trees with Ribbons: The Story of Phillis Wheatley_ by Ann Rinaldi (YA, 1996)

_Keep Smiling Through_ by Ann Rinaldi (YA, 1996)

_Crazy_ by Han Nolan (YA, 2010)

_The Letter Writer_ by Ann Rinaldi (YA, 2008)

NONFICTION

_Slut! Growing Up Female with a Bad Reputation_ by Leora Tenenbaum (2000)

_To Be Real: Telling the Truth and Changing the Face of Feminism_ edited by Rebecca Walker (1995)

_Slouching Towards Bethlehem_ essays by Joan Didion (1968)

_Well Behaved Women Seldom Make History_ by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich (2007)
A lot of people have criticized this book for covering too much ground in too few pages. It did read a lot like a survey course in history. But I loved it. There were a lot of resources in the back of the book for more in-depth information on the topics covered. And because I am a nerd, I sure as hell poked around on the Internet/in the library learning things after I finished reading this. So I'll count it as a win.

_Zami: A New Spelling of My Name_ by Audre Lorde (1983)
I loved this book for so many reasons and can't possibly list them all here. What's funny is that this is a good example of how books teach me things I don't expect to learn when I first start reading them. Take, for instance, the definition of "biomythography." That's this book's genre. At first, I thought that was something Lorde made up (I had even expected an explanation similar to the one about the symmetry of her name). But no. When I Googled the word, I found a list of other "biomythographies" instead of a definition.

_When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple_ edited by Sandra Martz (1991)

_Click: When We Knew We Were Feminists_ edited by Courtney Martin and J. Courtney Sullivan (2010)

_Cunt: A Declaration of Independence_ by Inga Muscio (1998, 2002)

_Rose: Love in Violent Times_ by Inga Muscio (2010)
I actually wrote a lengthy post about this, but Blogger decided it wanted a midnight snack and ate it. I'm still too upset to redo it. But I'm sure I'll get over it eventually, and when I do, the post will go up. Suffice it to say for now that I liked this book a lot. I was drawn to it because it was published very recently (in it, Muscio quotes former BP CEO Tony Hayward saying he'd like his life back). Goes nicely with my recent need for new and relevant information, yes? I've been a blog-reading fiend all year.

POETRY

_The Best American Poetry, 2009_ edited by David Wagoner (2009)

_Book of Longing_ by Leonard Cohen (2006)

_Beautiful Rust_ by Ken Meisel (2009)

_Beauty Breaks In_ by Mary Ann Samyn (2009)

_Mother Love_ by Rita Dove (1996)

"No Easy Decision"

2010-12-30T02:04:00.008-05:00

The other night, MTV aired an episode of their show 16 and Pregnant titled "No Easy Decision." Dr. Drew Pinsky interviewed three women about their experience with abortion. if you missed it, you can view it here.

I don't watch too much TV, but a former roommate of mine watched 16 and Pregnant all the damn time, so I'm more familiar with it than I'd be otherwise. As someone who is adamantly pro-choice, I couldn't help but notice that abortion was never mentioned as a viable option for any of the women whose stories were featured on the show.

So when I heard about this episode, I decided to tune in. I was intrigued. Skeptical, but intrigued.

Overall, I was impressed with how MTV handled the subject. I'm bummed that they didn't air it prime time. And I wish it had been longer than thirty minutes. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't all walking on eggshells. And they managed to cover a lot of ground despite the time constraints. Natalia, for example, got the judicial bypass. As feminist Shelby Knox tweeted the night the show aired, "Kudos to MTV for talking about how parental notification effects [sic] women."

But of course, there's been backlash. CNN's Brooke Baldwin said that Markai "got herself pregnant." And Bryan Kemper of Life News couldn't get his facts straight. In an article titled "Youth Pro-Life Leaders Respond to MTV's Abortion Episode," he twisted the words/emotions of the three women and decided that they must have regretted their decision to abort.

Katie Stack, who was one of the three women interviewed, responded to that by writing a blog post. In it, she explained that she didn't cry on camera because she regrets having an abortion, but because she loves her family and felt badly for hiding something so important from them for such a long time.

By speaking out, she's doing her part to end the stigma attached to abortion. To me, her blog post was just as brave as her willingness to talk about her abortion experience on television. Her explanation should not have been necessary. Why the hell should she have to legitimize her tears to anyone, least of all an anti-choicer who couldn't even put the effort into getting his facts straight? But she took the time to explain herself anyway.

And I'm so very glad about that, because as much as I wish people would just respect others' decisions, these are the very stories women need to tell if we're ever going to succeed in putting a face on the issue, and make people understand that pro-choice is not pro-abortion. If anything, her display of emotion should serve as evidence that this truly is not an easy choice to make.

As Katie so aptly pointed out in the interview, "It's a parenting decision."

Feminism and crappy limericks

2010-12-25T21:20:00.012-05:00

"Part of getting older is owning the facets of your identity that frighten you the most." - Jessica Valenti

2010 has been a year of transition, of change. I transferred schools and finally gave myself the opportunity to explore interests of mine other than poetry (which, until a year or so ago, was the one thing I was totally comfortable with and felt 100% confident about). This year I learned to be patient. For once, I did not expect to come out on top. And let's get real for a second: I hit rock bottom (perhaps more times than I made known).

I made one hell of a mess. This mess looked much like the one I made when I was nine and just starting to familiarize myself with poetry (I'm referring to the stage where I spent all of my time writing crappy limericks). What's different now is that I'm not nine. I'm twenty-two. And crappy limericks aren't so cute anymore when you're trying to convince people to start treating you like an adult.

Anyone who knows me knows that identify as a feminist. And I have since my senior year of high school. Back then, my green-haired friend Stephanie and I spent all our time spouting off in AP Lit class, thinking we were total badasses.

But the more I explore the zillion layers of feminism, the more I realize that it isn't easy. It takes effort the same way honing my poetry did.

And man, poetry and me go way back. I attended the annual Controlled Burn Seminar every summer for years. I studied at Interlochen. At SVSU, I majored in creative writing. I competed in poetry slams (one of which was held at the Grand Hotel on Macinac Island). I worked as editor-in-chief of two art/literary journals (Looking Glass in high school, Cardinal Sins in college). And I had my work published in a couple of national undergraduate literary journals.

I lived and breathed poetry. But it took a lot of time to cover that much ground. And it wasn't even one solid thing. At nine, I wrote limericks. At fourteen, I wrote couplets and quatrains. By sixteen, I had moved on to free verse. By nineteen, that free verse was better polished. A never-ending process. Endless change and (I like to think) a great deal of growth.

And so even though I've identified as a feminist for three or four years now, I still feel like I'm in the crappy limerick stage of it--the stage where I litter my Facebook Wall with angry shit and walk around with Audre Lorde quotes pinned to my tote bag. But don't really know where I fit in in the midst of it all.

I just finished reading a book called _Click_, which is a collection of essays written about "that moment" when its contributors knew they were feminists. Feministing editor Courtney Martin wrote, "It makes me sad now to think that much of my first feminist searching was born out of such desperation. I wish I had come to feminism celebratory or even outraged. Instead, I came like so many...on my knees, confused, heartbroken" (90).

I've never thought of it like that. (Strange image to couple with feminism, yes?) But the same is probably true for me. Even though I've considered myself a feminist for years now, I had to experience a couple of things that hit a little too close to home before I could realize that it's more than believing in equality--it's also acting on that belief.

And that's some tough shit.

And so I've finally moved past desperate and heartbroken (anyone who knew me a year ago knows what that looked like). Now I'm pissed. Pissed and frustrated because there's so much out there to be done and I don't even know where to start, or how to start. Because I'm still just learning to trust myself and my voice.

You know, limericks.

But despite my inability to trust myself, people have told me for years that it's obvious to them that I'm a feminist. Well, duh. I scream it. But like I said: I've got angry shit all over my Facebook Wall, and Audre Lorde quotes on my tote bag. Lots of noise. (Eloquent noise, but still.) I hide behind all that noise. Where the fuck is my own voice in all of that?

So to me, growing as a feminist is a lot like writing poetry. As a poet, I subscribed to the idea of "saying as much as possible in very few words." A lot of the women I admire don't even have to go on raging, long-winded tirades for me to understand that they mean business. I can just see it in their actions--in the way they live their lives.

I want to reach that point, whatever that means for me. I know that these interests of mine aren't mutually exclusive. I could just write feminist poetry and call it good. That is, in and of itself, a form of activism. But right now, that isn't fulfilling enough for me.

I'll admit that I don't really know what the hell I'm going to do to satisfy this need. But I'm going to find it and live it. If it brings me back to poetry, awesome. If not, I'll keep moving on to whatever's next. I've taken one huge step away from my comfort zone. I can take a few more.

I'm pretty excited to see what 2011 has in store for me.