Gender Role Gentrification

So, for those of you don't know, I'm in law school now. Let me just go ahead and disclaim that it is NOT all it's cracked up to be. Namely, in some of the types of people that attend law school. The know-it-all, the "I'm just here on daddy's money" types...the personalities run the gamut. (Read more about the people you meet in law school here.)

But I digress. I was having a conversation about relationships with two of my classmates; for some reason, people assume I'm some kind of relationship anomaly because I married before I turned 30. In talking to them, I began to see why; I had one friend tell me that she "would have a hard time performing wifely duties with a man I'm not married to."

My response: "What exactly is a wifely duty?"

She looked at me like I had 3 heads...but couldn't give me a straightforward answer. I was under the impression that, with this being the age of hyper-feminized, independent women, we--as a gender--wouldn't still perpetuate such dogma. My classmate went on to explain that a wifely duty was: "...you know, making sure his dinner is prepared when he gets home, making sure that he's taken care of intimately so that he doesn't step out. Wife stuff."

I think I could literally hear my eyes roll.

As if women don't sustain these illusions enough themselves, the internet is overflowing with "research" that these dated ideals are actually good for a household. One such article (a term I use loosely) on MercatorNet.com entitled, "Do Traditional Gender Roles Mean a Better Relationship," not only says the traditional roles are alive and well, but encourages them. "Much media attention has been given to a handful of studies that demonstrate that husbands who do more housework get more sex, as their happy wives are more inclined to acquiesce to their husbands’ needs.  Researchers from the Juan March Institute and the University of Washington, however, suspect that the reverse is true.  According to their hypothesis, husbands and wives who do more gender-related tasks tend to experience greater sexual frequency." 


In other words, women should slave away all day cleaning, ironing and taking care of home while their more important husbands enforce their dominion over home by handling the more substantial tasks, like fixing the car and mowing the lawn. Thus, in sticking to their roles, they have more sex.

I HAVE ABOUT 1898758674873HJKJDFH9 PROBLEMS WITH THIS ARGUMENT, but I will reduce it to two.

One. Marriage, and relationships in general in my opinion, is all about duality. In order for there to be one thing, there must be an opposite to balance. In terms of roles, there must be one for both parties. Hence, if there are wifely duties, there have to be "husbandly" duties too. However, in adhering to this idiocy, the wifely duties are almost always clear and defined. Cook. Clean. Take care of the children. Maintain the fire and passion in the relationship to keep your man interested--because everyone knows if a man cheats, its the woman's fault (but even if he isn't, it's okay because he's a man). And oh, Lordy, make sure you perform oral sex on him at every turn (as actress Niecy Nash advises is the best way to keep your man). Where are the husbandly duties? After he completes his three tasks for the day and passes out in front of the TV watching the game, where is the rule that says his wife deserves attention and appreciation for all she does? That, God forbid, he has to maintain her attention so that she won't cheat? Where are the scholarly articles that say she needs oral sex to, as Nash colorfully mentions, "keep the divorce attorney away"? 

Two. This myth perpetuation passes on to children, which turns into expected behavior in their subsequent relationships. If Dad is doing nothing and objectifies Mom into nothing but a cleaning, cooking, domestic sexpot, there's a pretty good chance that becomes the son's attitude toward all women. His sister, his wife, his receptionist, etc.

Just gonna sit that right there.

Media Response: “bell hooks Calls Beyoncé a Terrorist”

Just a bit of background info before I start: bell hooks (punctuation omitted purposefully) is an African-American author, activist and well-known feminist. One of her most famous works, Feminism is for Everybody, digresses on how the women’s movement for equality isn’t just for die-hard, rebel feminists.

So, first of all, let me say: I am by no means a Beyoncé stan. I think her music is catchy and highly marketable, but that’s about the extent of our auditory relationship. I think blogger Curls 4D Gurls said it best in her article "Bey is for Basic" : “Beyoncé is Queen Bey….of the Basics. She is easily one of the most basic women in the history of the music industry. People give Beyoncé credit for a lot of things that I don’t think she herself has much to do with. She isn’t very deep, as a matter of fact I would venture to say she could be shallow. There’s not much there.” Welp.

Now that the proverbial elephant has been addressed, let me also make myself even further transparent: I am not here to bash Blue Ivy’s mom. I want to make clear that bell hooks damn well may be on to something. You know that older relative we have that knows what everyone is thinking—that super rude or shady comment—but has the nerve to say it anyway? Well bell hooks deserves the biggest literary award I can think of for her most current over-the-top, borderline Marxist comment. She further stole my heart with four little words: “Beyoncé is a terrorist.” hooks made her assertion at a discussion entitled “Are You Still a Slave?” at the New School in New York, featuring fellow feminists Janet Mock, Shola Lynch and Marci Blackman.

Sensationalist? YES. Probably making everyone uncomfortable in her unflinching convictions? ABSOLUTELY. That’s why I love it.

The reasons on why people abhor the singer run the gamut. She’s beautiful, she (supposedly) pushed out this human being and was back to her banging figure in a matter of weeks, she’s beautiful, her face is quite literally plastered everywhere (I’m still waiting for her visage to be marketed on urinal cakes)…etc. However, hooks has a LEGIT REASON: she’s poisoning the minds of our future little feminists. While “Run the World (Girls)” had a lovely, flowery message of women’s empowerment, it was contradictory in portrayal:

·         If you’re “raising a glass for the college grads,” it’d be awesome if you didn’t refer to me as a girl. “Woman” suits me just fine;

·         The lyrics portray women just as history does: sneaky beings who use the art of seduction and sexual connotation to gain power/money while simultaneously bashing men. With lyrics like “Some men think they freak this like we do but no they don’t” and “see, you better not play me oh come here baby, Hope you still like me, F' you pay me.”

hooks goes on to defend her stance related to Beyonce's mostrecent photo on the cover of TIMEMagazine: “Let’s take the image of this super-rich, very powerful black female and let’s use it in the service of imperialist, white supremacist capitalist patriarchy because she probably had very little control over that cover—that image.”

YAAASSSSSSS BELL.

Feel free to read the article on bell's comments and views in their entirety here.

Confessions of a Hater.

It all started with leap of faith. In a freefall from a 55-foot wooden structure. It was there that I realized my quandry. Why I couldn't seem to stand others happy. Why it was so hard for me to let go of some grudges that had lasted longer than necessary. I had to admit it to myself...that was was the first step right? My name is Crystal, and I'm a hater.

The 55-foot wooden structure I stood on, teetering dangerously close to the end of a 3-foot wide ledge, was at Camp Kalaqua, about 40 miles outside of Gainesville. In other words, the middle of nowhere. I was at a team retreat, where some of my track athletes go to "bond" as a team. I will withhold personal comments on that. The campgrounds were complete with a zipline, rock climbing tower, a zoo, a water park, and my choice of poison, a "Leap of Faith." (The camp belongs to a Seventh-Day Adventist church, so all the activities incorporated faith. The Leap of Faith was really a free-fall from the stop of a wooden tower attached to a bungee cord. The last words of the attendee before I jumped: "I promise, it's completely safe.")

The Tower of Faith. 

For obvious reasons, people find it extremely difficult to admitting to being a hater. It was like that one person that answers all the questions in class: no one wants to be "that guy." For the less slang savvy, a hater is someone that "hates"--in the sense that that person doesn't approve of, or blatantly lessens, someone else's happiness, accomplishments, or accolades. As I seethed at the newest job opportunity or family addition of a Facebook connection--I hate the term "Facebook friend"; it's like an oxymoron--I realized the real source of my disgust: myself. I evaluated my life, constantly, on the basis of what my peers were doing with theirs. That person has a new car; why don't I? They landed a job fresh out college; great, now I'm a bum. However, one day, after having a particularly awful day at work, this cute little old lady and her husband came in a bought a Coke in the old-fashioned glass bottle. She told me, "These Coke bottles are so old, we were only dating when we had our first one. It's so funny how life goes." That could have been interpreted a million ways, but that was all the affirmation I needed to stop looking at other people's success and be happy with my own.

As I stood at the top of that tower, I vowed to let go of all my hating and love a little more. I also vowed that there had to be a less drastic way to do this...like maybe not attached to a steel cable.

GQ Bullcrap.

Today I read my month-old GQ Magazine while eating Chex Mix (while is what any self-appreciating, self-proclaimed feminist scholar would do after a long day) and was thoroughly pleased at my abbreviated journey through momentary "man world". At least middle- to upper-class, well-dressed, works-out-at-least-twice-a-week man world. Then...I reached the last story. It was considerably well-written; yes, I actually read GQ magazine for the literary material. However, this damned picture pissed me off--enough that I felt a blog post was needed (obviously). The article was entitled "The Blind Faith of the One-Eyed Matador," a disturbing piece about a Spanish matador, Juan Jose Padilla, who'd lost a eye and part of his jawbone to a bull named Marques. In between the gory details of Marques dismissively trampling Padilla and the five-hour surgery it took to save the matador's life, the author paints a picture of how Padilla heroically learned his family all over again and entered the bullfighting ring five months later. But this picture had me open-mouthed in disbelief. The photo, which depicts Padilla and his family in the foyer of their home, ironically with a taxidermied bull head mounted on the wall. The problem I have is that Padilla and son stand in the foreground of the photo, standing proud and strong. In the background is Padilla's wife, Lidia, and daughter, who's name isn't even mentioned. The two women are standing and seated, respectively, and are both very severe. To make matters worse than the women clearly just being part of background focus, is how the article described Lidia: supportive of her matador husband, "passionate and devoutly Catholic." To add insult to injury, passionate was put in quotes, which is, of course, just a politically correct way of saying she gives it up whenever he wants. The article also goes on to attribute Lidia as "Juan Jose's girl," which sounds remarkably close to making her a possession. I totally understand the piece is about the Cyclops-esque matador, not about his poor little wife, Gentleman's Quarterly. Next time just cut out the subtlety and have her in an apron, cooking dinner while simultaneously sewing sequins on his suit.

Prince...Mediocre?

I'm a cynic of a hopeless romantic, if that makes sense at all. I do believe that there's possibly a person that completes you, but the concept of "soulmates" escapes me. In my objectively biased opinion, people throw the L word (no not lesbians) around way too casually...but I digress. However, when a woman looks for a mate, more than likely there's a list of stipulations and qualities involved. The problem is: what does she do once she finds

someone with EVERYTHING SHE WANTS? Sadly, more often than not, she will cheat on him shamelessly, treat him like shit or do something imbicilic to drive him away. Why is it that so many women are relentlessly screwing over their Prince Charming and vying for the attention of Duke of Normalcy from the next kingdom over?

I only have one hypothesis, and I am my own basis of comparison. Even though it is my everyday goal, I HATE perfection. I absolutely need conflict, which is why I am addicted to reality shows, i.e Basketball Wives. I hate perfection for one reason only: it is BORING. Who doesn't like to discover that the woman with the perfect home, family and job has a gargantuan pimple on her lip that may or may not be herpes?

As women we should stop setting impossible standards for our current (and potential) significant others. Prince Charming could very well be an asshole under all that armor.

Double Weakness

It's not often anymore that classes actually make you discuss issues that are actually relevant in your life, much less than material that actually makes you inquire and seek answers. In my Mass Media class, my teacher made a bold statement--one that even offended me a bit--that Black women are "two steps removed" from the hemogenic culture of America. That is to say, the "normal" American culture consists of middle class White males. Believe it or not, she said, many people think of a Blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy when they're asked to conjure up the image of the average American. This country does not identify with minorities, as far as our paradigms are concerned.

However, that's not even what I'm angry about. Being a Black woman (or a woman of any minority for that matter) used to be a thing of pride and beauty. Women represent the fertility and backbone of humankind; life sprang forth from her loins. The Black woman, strong, full figured and royal, now has been demeaned to being "two steps removed." This means Black women, as a whole, are pretty darn f*cked. The White man is the center of the Universe, the White woman and Black man are fighting for what's rest of the power, while the Black woman is left patting her weave and chasing ball players.

Gracious knows, these reality television shows don't help our cause. People who don't know enough about our culture to make judgements see Basketball Wives, Single Ladies, and Bad Girls Club...what do we expect their mindset to be? Many don't know that underneath the neck rolling, soul-food eating, big butt girl is a woman...desperately (although nonverbally) crying for help. Some Black women are entrepreneurs, wives, mothers, deaconesses, backbones, strongholds, superheroines. Not all are hoodrats and "bad girls."

Somewhere along the way we lost ourselves. Became weak in a world prided on strength and zeal. Our claim to fame became our breasts and thighs, no longer our faith and our minds. All too often White women and Black men claim their syndicated objectification. Most times, Black women don't even get that.

Time out, Basketball Wives.

The Monotony of Monogamy

Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love. They get married and live happily ever after. As rare as the "ever after" is (1 in 3 marriages end in divorce), the "happily" might be ever rarer. Men have been yelling at televisions, changing oil, and retreating into "man caves" for centuries. Apparently, they have also been circulating the addage that once you get married, the sex stops and all the excitement drains from the relationship. In fact, many men don't deem it as a relationship, but rather an imprisonment. So...why get married?

Many people who choose a long-term relationship do so simply because of the monotony of the damn thing. You wake up to the SAME person everyday, do the SAME rituals for years on end...until the "sameness" becomes absolutely and terrifyingly suffocating. However, some people get married for the same reason. There are those who find comfort in the familiar; they WANT and NEED to know what's going to happen every day. These people are encountering the same crippling fear, but on the opposite end of the spectrum.

Finally, there are the anomolies...like me. I love coming home to a routine: walk in the door, set down my keys, take off my shoes...so on and so on. However, my ideal marriage where spontaneity is key. Let's go to the movies on a non-date night...let's go to a bar, have a drink, and just TALK. Communication, or lack thereof, ranks pretty high on the list of why marriages don't last. Even my husband putting down his distraction (whatever it may be at the time--I don't know--curing infant ducklings of the flu) and listening to me can be a form of "spontaneousness" in and of itself.

Contrary to what many men may thing, women are simple creatures. Be intimate. Protect and provide for us, despite our dismissal of your chivalry. For God's sake, compliment us without us fishing for it.

Give us a break from the boring.

The Price of Respect

Doing my usual stroll down my Facebook news feed, I ran across a particularly interesting status posting; and I quote: “If you don’t get respect from your own kids, what makes you think a grown...man will give you some?” My initial reaction was to get offended and say a “grown man” is supposed to respect a woman regardless of the situation, but reality set in. First of all, do women really deserve respect at all costs, no matter what the action? Secondly, since its evident that mothers are no longer raising our children, who is?

Living in a world where respect is given with a grain of salt and classes are being taught on female empowerment, ladies are taking the whole equality thing to another level. Honestly, why on Earth would a 112 pound woman hit a 6’5”, 315-pound linebacker in the face? Because she is demanding respect, that’s why. Now, if said linebacker backhands her across her cheek Baby Boy-style, she will either: one) call the police or, two) grab a knife/gun/weapon. No matter what background you’re from, this is a double standard. Why do some women (lets not overgeneralize here) feel that their physical prowess over their mate translates into power? This is where I rebuke the urge to bring up anything Chris Brown-&-Rihanna debacle related.

In my opinion, VH1 and BET are doing poor jobs of releasing images and shows that are adolescent friendly; however, that’s not their job. Their ultimate goals are to produce shows that are both entertaining and shocking. The more shock-value shows adolescents watch, the less they are bewildered at every day life. So many teens are desensitized to tragedy and sadness now, it is becoming increasingly difficult for them to care about one another. For instance, ten years ago, if a teen was pregnant at the tender age of sixteen, she was shunned from her family, if not her whole community. Now she lands on the cover of InStyle and People Magazine. The message to teens is blatantly clear: if you want fame and fortune, don’t earn it. Just engage in reckless, damnable activities. Like hitting linebackers.

(Special thank you to Mike Bless for his status. I’m quoting you so it’s not stealing. Lol.)

Still a Controversy.

When I was in second grade, there was always a moment of silence before we got the day started; it could be used for prayer (to whomever you believe in) or to curse the quiz on times tables we had later that day. However, all this ceased when it was made clear that prayer in schools was "a violation of the separation of church and state." Coincidentally, when the prayer stopped, violence and behavioral issues exponentially increased.

A few years ago, Kanye West, one of the most controversial--and conceited--rappers to date, released a song called "Jesus Walks." He was the aim of much disapproval by those around him, pointing out in the song, "N*ggas can rap about anything except for Jesus..." His mentor, Jay-Z, wrote and produced a song on his fifth (and supposedly final) album called "Lucifer." On the track, he prays to God that he is forgiven for all his sins, as well of those sins of his fallen friends. The single never made it mainstream. This concept isn't just in the rap community. A pop song currently on the radio laments, "How we got into this mess/is it God's test?"

I say that to say this: prayer in schools is disconcerting, but pop culture sings about it regularly. That makes no sense. Today's youth is said to be easily influenced by the music they hear...however, why is the positive message overlooked, but the negative message spreads seemingly through osmosis. Was it coincidence that the woman that pushed so adamantly for the removal of school prayer died tragically, and soon, after the law was passed?

Is the separation of church and state separating the innocence from our youth? The saying goes that God looks after fools and babies, where do the new generation of prayerless souls fit?

Already Exhaled.

If you’ve ever seen the movie “Waiting to Exhale” consider yourself a participant in an almost cult-like following to man-bashing, women-empowering cinema. I personally don’t feel the two have to be correlated, but I digress. If you were under a rock in the nineties, the story is a harrowing tale of four single women in their 30s. The movie follows their ventures in dating, love and (for one character) divorce. However, the adventure ends sweetly (and a tad corny), in light of each attaining a personal victory in their respective lives. They’re gathered around a campfire on New Year’s Eve, toasting and celebrating, blah blah.

Personally, the character I identified the most with was the one I also despised the most. Savannah, who was portrayed by Whitney Houston, was dealing with a promotion in her career, as well as being a longtime lover’s mistress. Talk about having your plate full. Amidst all of this, she has her mother constantly nagging her to continue to make herself available for this scum because, and I quote, “He’s a good man…he’s just going through some things right now…”

This leads me to the aptly named “Waiting to Exhale syndrome.” Almost all women are guilty of it at one point or another: putting the needs of someone (well, for the sake of argument, a man) before your own.

One thing that reeeeeally pisses me off is telling a woman that she needs to keep her act together because she has a good man. What about vice versa? A woman is seen as faulty if she isn’t in a relationship, but a man is seen as “unattainable.” Why shouldn’t he have to keep himself on point to keep me?
In Savannah’s case, one thing was implied for sure: she didn’t know if she was strong enough to move on from a man that was once her everything. This is a scary thought for me—at what point does the cost of a relationship outweigh the benefits? At what point does a relationship warranty expire, even if you keep the receipt?

I wish there were customer service for this sort of thing.

A Cracked-Out Piece of Sh*t

The facts: as many of you may have heard, Pastor Zachary Tims—the pastor of an 8,000+ member church in Florida—was found dead in a hotel Friday afternoon by housekeeping. However, the kicker is that he was found with a “white substance” enclosed in an envelope in his pocket. Police don’t think foul play is involved, and an autopsy is in the workings.

Problems I have with this story: one) The particular piece I read, which was a headlining story on the Wall Street Journal (you can read the story here) portrayed

the pastor as a cracked out piece of shit. I quote: “Tims grew up as a drug addict in Maryland when he was ‘miraculously saved’ according to his website and a memoir published in 2006.” I understand how this has relevance to the credibility of the story, but I honestly feel it could have been phrased better. Had this been a different minister (such as Billy Graham perhaps), the news story would have been prepared quite different.

Two) This article is just another reflection of how society forgives, but never forgets. The headline for this story isn’t simply for informing the members, and non-members, of the pastor’s death, but is done for shock value. It reads, “Pastor Zachary Tims Had Drugs When He Died in New York City Times Square Hotel.” A pastor dying in a hotel is enough, but because of his less-than-squeaky-clean past, the drugs had to be mentioned for people to read the article? I highly doubt it.

Three) I understand news sources must remain impartial, but certain parts of the story were irrelevant; they were just added to further point to drugs as the reason why the pastor died (i.e. a drug overdose). His divorce to his wife, his affair (“with a stripper,” the story so colorfully added), even the fact that one of his children had cerebral palsy. Really, WSJ? It was clear this story was front page news to you guys because it was another Black man, who just so happened to have a positive effect on his community, who fell victim to the drug epidemic.

Some tragedy isn’t newsworthy damnit. It’s tragic; leave it at that.

Negative Plus Negative Does Not Equal Positive

Lately, as usual, I’ve been doing some self-reflecting. Like many women who do an emotional and physical evaluation, I didn’t like what I saw. I won’t delve into the depths of my self-consciousness, but there were some pretty negative thoughts going on there. Interestingly enough, most women will hear a thousand compliments, but desperately cling onto that one put-down. Why is that? Why do most women have the talent of putting themselves down more than anyone they know? I’ve seen women who have more confidence in their little finger than I did in the whole right hemisphere of my brain…and I was subsequently ridden with jealousy. What was holding so many of us back from seeing the beauty that everyone else saw? Or more importantly, seeing our own self-worth?

Today, while in the oral surgeon’s office to get a wisdom tooth removed (which clearly didn’t happen; I wouldn’t be writing this) I saw the August cover of Redbook Magazine, which featured Jada Pinkett-Smith, the longtime faithful wife of actor Will Smith. The article covered Mrs. Smith’s many accolades, her “struggle” being a mother (living in LA as one half as one of the most prosperous couples in Hollywood is hardly a struggle), but most importantly some of her most valuable life lessons. One quote she used stood out to me (although I don’t remember it verbatim); she said that everyone makes mistakes but what are you gonna do to make it better? This can be applied to many things—in this case, one’s negative thinking. You could be having a bad day, everything’s going wrong, the mascara running down your face from the tears…but are you going to wallow in self-pity or get up and do something about it? Exactly.

Hopefully I can practice what I preach, circa 90s Barry White. Meh.

Jada’s August cover here.

Isn't That The Pot Calling the Kettle "Ethnic"?

One of the positive things about growing up in a large, diverse city like Jacksonville, Florida is that the numbers of opportunities to discover something new are endless. I further realized this when I was fortunate enough to visit Root Harmony, a hair salon that specialized in natural hair. The salon is run by LaTesea, a dread-coifed, beautiful, full figured woman. I had the pleasure of meeting her and her two gorgeous daughters (their names escape me, I apologize). It was there that I had my first real "salon experience:" where Black people sit around and talk about events, life lessons...and each other. It didn't matter what their backgrounds were, or their financial status; there was so much love in that room. And not the fake, selfish, narcissistic kind either. This was the kind that existed in the 70s--where Black people had a sense of pride and identity. It was refreshing to find these type of people still existed. What was most interesting to me was the caliber of woman (or man; it's a unisex shop) that came and sat their advanced psychoanalyses in her chair. It made me wonder was there an intelligence correlation to those Blacks that didn't chemically treat their hair. Did the relaxer destroy brain cells? The jury is still out on that one.

However, my issue came when I returned home, singing the praises of the shop to my mother. I told her some of the things we discussed, ranging from our shared hatred of cats to some Black people's sense of entitlement since we have had a Black president. My mother proceeded to tell me of a coworker that, in my mother's opinion was, "really Black." This wasn't in reference to her skin color, but rather her behavior. This has always puzzled me...how can someone "act their color"? I proceeded to correct my mother and give her a more politically correct term like "ethnic" or "more culturally inclined."

Where is our race's accountability? Where is the person to correct my mom's coworker who, undoubtedly is putting down her race, enumerating the ills of the future of us as a people? Civil rights leaders (and followers) fought and died for our little piece of the Declaration of Independence. You know the one. Sadly, now we yearn to be singled out because our president is Black (even if our Lambo is blue or not). Have our needs as a race generationally changed or are we, subsequently, culturally confused?

Low Self-Esteem = Prey for the Sharks

Just like a shark can smell blood from three miles away, it seems that men can smell a woman with low self esteem from even farther. It is apparently given off in pheromones and can be sensed by the males frontal lobe. (Don't Google that; I just made it up to sound smarter.)

Which brings me to the question: why do women have low self-esteem in the first place? Some have horrific adolescent experiences where grade school children have no registered emotion of hurting someone else's feelings and incessantly pick on someone's weight, height, etc. You would think that people grow out of that, right? Well some don't, and I can attest to that. I still am self conscious of my bust size, my smile, even the size of my feet. A better question still--do these grade school kids grow up physically but subconsciously remain those grade school adults, now with an agenda to pick on people? Whatever that agenda may be: financial class, jealously, or *gasp* because that person has low self-esteem themselves.

Another culprit is mass media as a whole. Companies and grass-roots movements are desperately trying to rid women all over of these screwed-up, innate paradigms that models are skinny, tall and possess one eating disorder or another. Other websites prove to show what some celebrities look like without Photoshop, make-up and other image-altering products. Is this helping young girls have better self-image and discern the real from the fake? The jury is still out on that one.

The obvious solution: love yourself. Point. Blank. Period. Whether you're a size 6 or 16. But until then, stay out of shark-infested waters.

Overreacting Much?

News of ten year old little Thylane Loubry Blondeau, a ten year old French girl, has had her face splattered all over international news. What the hell can a ten year old do to be featured in news briefs all over the world? Pose for French Vogue, that's what.
Recently becoming a news headliner all over the world, this young model has been depicted as being "sexualized" by not only the photographer and the magazine, but by her mother, as well. American journalists have been crying that spreads (no pun intended) like this are proverbial nesting grounds for pedophiles everywhere. In one picture, she has her coif teased and pinned sky high, with a seductive pout and donning couture and high heels. Her mother, Veronika Loubry, has defended the shoot, claiming it to be artistic.

The first issue I have with this whole thing is French models are recruited out of the crib. If they want to encourage misguided views on body image, promote eating disorders and subject young women to a paradigm of beauty that they can never acheive, go ahead. Why is this America's problem? France doesn't care; neither should we. There have been questionable photoshoots of preteens since forever; why do we care so much?

Another issue I have, stemming from America poking its nose where it doesn't belong, is: don't we have enough problems to deal with, sans
a ten year old making front page news? How about we get out of debt, lower the unemployment rate, and for God's sake, stop worrying about what Kate Middleton is doing.

Hefty, Hefty, Hefty!

The issue of weight control is evident in Hollywood more than ever. In the 60s and 70s, curves abounded; no one cared if you were a size 5 or size 15. Body image in entertainment was more on the mesomorphic side because that's what the average person looked like. However, culture is looking at body image in a inversed mirror--the fatter normal people get, the skinnier are the people who represent us in media. In turn, the number of plastic surgeries (mainly in the areas of liposuction) has increased exponentially. What does this say about our self esteem? Not just women either; the slimmer jeans designed for males (i.e. skinny jeans) have made guys self conscious about their bods too.

So what happened to people just losing weight to be healthy? Recently, I became more aware that my mother was obese. Not to the point where she needed a Hoveround or anything, but where her knees and back were aching after less than an hour of standing. The idea crossed my mind: what if that's not all that's wrong, but she's not telling me? And true to my brain's fashion, my psychoanalysis ran wild and ended at the idea of my mother having a heart attack in church on the offchance day that her bra and panties didn't match. And that's how people would remember her. In short, I told her I feared for her health. With my help she completely changed her meal portions, her workout plan, and her hydration levels. The other day she was deemed healthy by the doctor even though she wasn't a size 2.

Where does that leave all the models out there surviving on "the supermodel diet"? The one where one survives on celery sticks, water and cigarettes? Or at the other end of the spectrum--those actresses who burst onto the scene with a endomorphic body type, but now what to lose weight to get different, "non-fat-girl" roles? Today's culture is so instant, I-Want-Everything-Now...who's gonna be concerned with their lives, and bodies, twenty years down the line?

Star Jones before and after her gastric bypass. Ew.

A Star Is Born...

It strikes me as interesting whenever people seek to explain how some people rise into fame and stardom. A common cliche is that people say, "...and on this day a star was born." Jay-Z even wrote a song about it, in which he enumerated many talented rappers of our time.

"Hey, Snoop Dogg did, Nelly came down
Facemob kept the ghetto for the H-Town
Luda moved digits after he moved bitches
Drake's up next, see what he do wit it"

So where does this leave me? I don't personally see myself as "star" material...I'm self-conscious, terrified of meeting new people, and am as anti-social as a Libra can possibly get. But is that the key? That people who are stars are simply so because they just are? Is it impossible to "stop one's shine" if the stardom is innately proven, time after time? When it comes to actual astronomic, scientific facts, they say a star is born "when the interstellar matter in gas clouds...compresses and fuses," according to the Scientific American. I assume this was not how Angelina Jolie or Denzel Washington came into being. Or is it? The interstellar matter of their lives finally compressed and fused their talent and spark into existence. So maybe I do stand a chance.

Jay-Z's "A Star is Born" here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVKRY4aDdrQ

Life Geometry.

Needless to say, its definitely interesting the way one's life changes the older you get. Relationships end, paradigms shift...the way you once lived doesn't quite quench your thirst anymore. Questions are even different. No longer are they as self-centered; well maybe this is just me. I'm beginning to question exactly what my purpose is.

I'm beginning to realize that the world is one big renewal. Things get born, destroyed, recycled. At what point does it end? Better yet, at what point is it enough? The daily bombardment of media and propaganda is almost overwhelming. Pink wigs. Eyelid surgeries. The best car. The biggest house. I began to wonder what was more important in my life: truly being happy or being rich? In essence, I don't give a damn about money. Well, in obscenely excessive amounts.

I want to get married and have kids. All of that jazz. But what if that's only what I've been conditioned to want? Is it true that human beings are so far ahead of our primal counterparts that we're the only ones in the animal kingdom that favor and cling to monogamy so dearly? Or, in fact, we're all just a bunch on monkeys?

I've also realized that things are so negative. Its like a big ass cloud, raining on my proverbial parade. Instead of dwelling on the things I hate, there are a great deal of things I like. Candles. Good smelling lotions. Having all the labels on things face out. Pedicures. (Good) kisses. My phone. Chocolate. Cake. Chocolate cake. Pictures of babies smiling.

Spirituality is another thing that is perturbing me. I was brought up in dogma--you will only please God if you're a good girl and go to church. It seems that the sinners get all the perks. So if sin is sin, the people that pick their nose and wipe it on a church pew and the people that have sex with corpses are gonna be in the same hell? There is one thing I wonder of religion (or lack thereof) though and it scares the crap out of me...what if EVERYONE is wrong?

more rants.

Yayyy! First blog of 2010! Over it.

Now. As I sit here, once again at 4 in the morning, I find myself crying for no apparent reason. I should be freaking ecstatic. I have a boyfriend that treats me like a queen, I have everything that I need (maybe lacking some stuff I want, but erroneous). The problem isn't evident. I'm listening to India.Arie's "Beautiful" and it makes me cry every time. Just listening to her imagery, her soulful lyrics..."The time is right/I'm gonna pack my bags/And take this journey down the road..." DAMNIT THAT'S WHAT I WANNA DO! I desperate yearn to drop out of school, get in my car and drive as far as a tank of gas takes me. I want to go somewhere the sun rays warm my legs through an awning of trees...

I've seen places like this when I was younger. My mom and I always used to visit my deadbeat brother (boo) in prison when I was like, 10. Although the trip was for a less-than-happy reason, I loved the drive. It was to Tallahassee or Pensacola...somewhere. We crossed this beautiful bridge where mansions perched on rocky cliffsides...trees gently stretched their arms to meet over the highway...their foliage a fiery welcoming. I'd give ANYTHING to go back to that place right now. The stress and hustle-and-bustle of every day life is damn near to heavy to bear. I agree with India: "I wanna go to a place where/Time has no consequences oh yeah/The sky opens to my prayers..." I want to be able to lie in the grass, shoes off, making out the realization of shapes of clouds. The warm sun on my neck, the breeze lapping at the hem of my sundress. I don't have to worry about painting my toes, shaving my legs, Nicki Minajes, term papers, the latest healthcare bill...how can something so simple and natural such as peace be such a futile and unreachable goal?

Forward to the Past...

Okay, it's four in the morning, I'm slightly nauseous from Goldfish and Little Debbie Christmas Tree cakes, and I'm insomnia-ridden. Not because of the tumultuous churning of my stomach, but because a revelation practically t-boned my mind. I am 21 years old and I'm screwed. I say this because there is a very strong possibility that I will not follow the field that my major is in. Every 5 years I change my life course. Blah, indecision. Will I be one of those college students that know practically every professor, what classes are offered what semester, and how to pass said class? Will I be the 40 year old grad? *gag* Graduate school to me pretty much is an extension on postponing the onset of the real world (college itself is the primary postpone-ation). How long can I actually continue on majoring in plagiarism?

Fast forward 10 years. Option A: I will be a successful associate news producer, waking up every day at ungodly hours to deal with my boss, who is "firm, but fair". (Pardon the cliche.) I will put my Starbucks coffee in a steel thermos, fight rush hour traffic to go discover what gang member initiate has held a gas station at gunpoint or what local child has gone missing. Fun stuff. Option B: I will be earning my doctorate degree in something or other. I will be living in a duplex next to a lady with 6 cats, 2 birds, and an iguana. She will cook something that smells absolutely ghastly and I will retire to bed with a gargantuan mal a tete and a 50 page dissertation slowly but surely destroying my life. Neither of these journeys sound fulfilling nor promising...hence my dilemma. Oh, not to mention the fun onslaught of bills that I have to look forward to. What joy.



Oh well. At least I have this as my motivation to continue on.