My Vagina Monologue

So, for the Vagina Monologues this year, we've been given the task of writing our own monologue. Here is mine. Though this may seem impersonal, this atrocity has been own my mind for quite a few months. It has moved me to consume less and only buy from second hand shops. My heart has been consumed by this problem, and I'm not really sure how to fix it.

We use clothing to show the world ourselves. Dressing however you wish has been the mark of individuality. It’s the rebellion to dress codes, uniforms, even communism. It is been deemed art, an expression of our inner soul. Weeks in New York, Streets in California, stations on TV have been devoted to help you express yourself. Dressing fashionably, wearing tee shirts and jean, the inner hippy style—all are expressions of who you are.

Who am I?

I am complicit in slavery, an accomplice in the exploitation of women, and so are you.

Just as the style of clothing we wear is an expression, so is every garment we put on ourselves. The artful fashions we so desire, our individuality, are stitches of exploitation of an overworked, underpaid woman all over our body.

Don’t care for high fashion?

Don’t worry; your five dollar tee-shirt from a discount store is stitched from the same sweat, blood and labor of this woman. How else do you think a shirt gets that cheap?

We enjoy our cheap clothes; we aren’t the ones paying. She is.

She’s paying with her hope for a better life, only to be an indentured servant in a job that she can never leave. Her bed is housed in a factory, her meals are prepared by a factory, and her healthcare is administered by her master, her job—if you can even call it that.

Is a job a place you can never leave? Hers is a place that has barbed wire, keeping her in, not unwanted visitors out. She breathes in particles that ruin her lungs because she can never go home; her home is her work.

No choices, no way out.

Her body becomes her only bargaining tool for a promotion—not only her labor, and time, but where her boss rapes and sexually assaults her under the false promise of better pay and a way out—this never happens. She is a slave to her meager wages, wages she cannot live on, wages that kill her physically and emotionally.

She makes it possible for us to have a $5 tee shirt, for us to have individuality, for us to have fashion week, and style.

She must be worth less than us, less than me, less than you.

She never has individuality, or fashion week, and forgot about style. Her individuality is checked at the guarded factory door, washed away by the toxic chemicals to make your cardigan, and capris, and torn away from her by the fiber particles that make their way into her lungs.

Yes, every stitch in our clothes is made by the woman on the hard cement factory floor who is exploited, raped, and victim to our self expression and individuality. Our clothes are our proud display that we are complicit in her slavery for our fashion.

Slavery Stiched into the Fabric of My Clothes

Someone told me over the weekend they were concerned about finding and understanding religion because they want to know if they should do good for fellow humanity or just go on with their own self interests. They called this a crisis of faith.

My answer is this:

My religion is an unyielding love for humanity. Even if there is not some divine connection between us, such as Adam and Eve, or a prerequisite of good deeds to enter heaven or to end reincarnation, we are all still connected. We share this planet together, we are all dependent on each other in some aspect, our actions' ripple effects can be felt infinitely beyond what we will ever know. So hinging one's humanitarianism on its need to get into heaven is silly.

On the other side of the world, a woman works tirelessly in a sweatshop, where she earns barely enough money to eat so we can wear the season's best fashions. She eats, sleeps, and breathes work, so we can have cheap clothes. We send our factories to foreign counties exploiting their labor, resources, and health. We do this because their labor, natural resources, and well-being is worth less than our own. We build machines and train soldiers to kill another human being who believes they are right, just as we do. This soldier probably has a spouse and child who they are trying to project from the "evils" of the world.

I thought about my shoes the other day--
I have 30 pairs of shoes: a young boy trekking through trash in Africa has none.
I eat everyday, 3 times a day: a family of four, just down the street is lucky if they eat once a day.
I wish I could have a new sweater: some people don't have enough clothes to shield them from the elements.
I wish I could repaint my room: some people don't have their own room, some don't have heat, or a lock on their down, or electric, or clean water...or shelter.
I complain about waking up early for classes: a little girl in a developing country isn't allowed to go to school.


Thing about it, we could not live without our fellow human beings,--what we eat, what we wear, what we think, what we drive, what entertainment we seek, has been touched by others in humanity. My comfortableness is at the expense of some people's lives. If I just give a little more, share a little more, felt a little less entitled--things could be different for that shoeless boy, or the illiterate little girl.

Why does this connection matter? Because our salvation (our life) rests in others' hands. We all share this dilemma-the dependence on the other.

To some degree, the homeless, the sick, the poor, the disenfranchised, the abused are our responsibility. By looking at humanity not through religion's eyes but in regards to this other connectedness, it makes this responsibility all the more greater.

"Talk Bout' Your Revolution, It's Independence Day"

So often it is the “tragedy-that-stops-us-in-our-tracks” that allows an ageless incessant crisis to finally enter local discussion. The crisis which I speak of is domestic violence. In Lebanon County a phenomena is occurring; the taboo topic of domestic violence has suddenly reached the dialogue of our community. Because of my job, rarely a day goes by without partner violence entering my thoughts. It is as if domestic violence is a new crisis of Lebanon, but in actuality, this crisis has always existed. It is neither a novel concept, nor is it a recent trend as headlines have dubbed it.

The conversations surrounding Meleanie Hain, a woman who was murdered by her husband-who then killed himself, is my frustration with my community. I am not writing to discuss my personal thoughts on guns rights or permits to carry as that conversation should not enter into this conversation. Many find it ironic that Meleanie Hain was killed by a gun because she was the famous woman who advocated for her own gun rights at a soccer game. The real irony is that so many find it ironic that a woman was murdered by a gun in a domestic violence situation. This was an intimate partner murder that happened to be committed with a gun. I say this because nearly any object could have been the lethal weapon. The sad reality is that her murder is not all that distinctive in the realm of women murdered—as 1 in 3 women murdered know their perpetrator intimately (compared to just 3% of male victims). And about the gun—in Pennsylvania, 60% of domestic violence fatalities involve the victim being shot.

Articles in the newspaper noted that Meleanie Hain had discussed with her lawyer leaving and obtaining a Protection From Abuse order—she never did. Unfortunately, this is a glaring example the complexities of leaving an abusive situation. It is hard to know the particulars of her situation, but she is now one of many disturbing statistics about women who died at the hands of an intimate partner.

Since the community has taken interest in the recent domestic violence deaths, one should view this as a call to action. Saying this is not an attempt to politicize Meleanie Hain’s death or take a tragedy and use it for some agenda. Domestic violence is like heart disease or breast cancer—it affects women of all backgrounds, races, and classes—and moreover, intimate partner violence will happen to 1 in 4 women in her lifetime. But unlike heart disease or cancer, the solution is not found in tireless scientific research, but is in all of us—it is in our control.

Ending domestic violence will never be an easy task, but has to begin somewhere.

Awareness is the first step—talk about in your churches, schools, social clubs, etc.—because if you ignore a problem you only allow it to flourish.

Change social attitudes towards women—domestic violence is long rooted in the idea that women can be property of their spouse and unequal to their male counterparts.

Know the warning signs of a potentially abusive situation: controlling/obsessive/stalking/isolating/verbal abuse/possessiveness/mind-games/and physical abuse.

Get help if you are or could become a potential abuser through counseling or other means. Get help if you find yourself in an abusive situation. Support friends, family, or co-workers who find themselves in an abusive situation.

Hold your elected officials, police officers, and school district accountable on laws and initiatives concerning intimate partner violence.

Dear Mr. President, I am dissapointed in you.

As most already know Barack Obama just won the Nobel Peace Prize. I am not really sure about how I feel about him receiving it so soon in his presidency. I mean, isn't it a little premature? So far he really hasn't done more than any "good" president should have done, or is doing--passing good laws, taking on long over-due initiatives. The last president to receive the Nobel Peace Prize while in office was Woodrow Wilson. He created the League of Nations, the first idea of an international dialogue between nations and was instrumental in the Treaty of Versailles. Has Barack Obama done anything close to that? Other than paying lip service to the way good diplomacy should be conducted, has he actually followed through?

I don't mean to say that Obama isn't a great motivator for peace. But, also in the news with him receiving the Prize was his refusal to meet with the Dalai Lama to keep the Chinese happy. This is not something a Nobel laureate should do. It is nothing more than ignoring a wrongfully disenfranchised group of people for selfish gain. It is in the U.S.'s economic interests to keep the Chinese happy. It's like ignoring atrocities happening in Africa, or unyielding taking the Israeli side in the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. His actions of not meeting with the Dalai Lama showcase that he did not rise above to save human rights--I don't understand how a person "fighting for peace" would do this. When running for president he told all of us his administration wouldn't refuse to talk with anyone--meaning unpopular groups in the middle east and Korea. I don't understand, is the Dalai Lama so much worse?

Crisis of the Eternal Opimist and the Case of Lynching

Yesterday in African American literature we discussed lynching. I wish I had something wise and academic to say about the whole matter, but I don't. I can only get at it from an emotional stand point. I'm not going to pretend I understand the African American experience in regards to lynching. I will never know or understand fully what it feels like to live in a country that did this for sport to one's own race. I can only understand it in regards to me. This is not a self absorbed idea, I think it would be minimizing to discuss a feeling that is foreign to me.

I feel disgusted to be a white American. So many of the privileges I receive is a result of heinous treatment African Americans received. I notice I write that in the past-tense by really, it is never ending. You'd think lynching, murder for sport,really, is a thing of the past. In class, we learned about actual accounts of lynching, masses of people would gather to watch the process of an untried man being decapitated, finger by finger, his skull broken, and then hung. What makes it all the more worse, these people who watched treated this as a family outing. People dressed in their Sunday best, with picnic baskets in hand celebrating a hanging of a "Negro." You think this happened decades ago, we have evolved. No, we haven't. In 1998, James Byrd, Jr. was beaten savagely to the point of unconsciousness, chained to the back of a pickup truck by his neck, and dragged for miles over rural roads outside the town of Jasper, TX, and then was decapitated. What does that say about us? What does that say about our society?

I am outraged. I am angry. Never have a felt so helpless. I don't even know what to do. As an advocate for social justice, I always looked on the bright side--the eternal optimistic. Ha, it seems so naiive now.

Never has anything shaken me to my core so much. My thought was always, "even on the worst days, people are still mostly more good than bad." This idea has stayed with me despite knowing the Holocaust, violence against women worldwide, war for greed, mass killings-- horrible, horrible things. Some how I still managed to believe people were mostly good, perhaps misguided, but mostly good. I have put up with extreme realism of professors, and denied that people are evil thus the need for government.

Was I wrong all along? Are people really that horrible? Nothing has ever made me question my world view like this has. I don't know why...why is this so special? I don't like this feeling, the feeling that I was wrong about humanity all along. And if I am wrong, and people are really horrible then what's the point in fighting?

9/11

(Let's pretend I posted this yesterday.)

Eight years ago the United States experienced a tragedy that most of the world experiences everyday, terrorism. I am not writing this entry to minimize the horrific experience of innocent people and their families. The aftermath of the September 11th attacks was felt by everyone in the country. Suddenly, our little world of safety, perhaps false safety was shaken to the core. The fragility of life, and the harsh reality of the world we live in was exposed. In a small way we became citizens of the world that day. Sadly, even the wealthiest of countries, that has not been attacked on its own soil since the Pearl Harbor (and that was during wartime) had to learn it was not above the atrocities of the world.

Most people live their whole life the way we lived for one day. In America we have a tendency to ignore or have become desensitized to events like Mosque bombings in the Middle East, suicide bombings in Israel and Palestine.

Some terrorism is less overt, as it is not marked by a pivotal event. Instead it is so ongoing that is not one event as a reminder the world is not safe, but a lifestyle one must employ to stay safe and alive--that is their terrorism. In Africa, everyday people live in fear of rebels invading their village, destroying their shack-homes, raping their mothers and daughters, their children being kidnapped and forced to become soldiers. Moreover, this invasion is accompanied by starvation, inadequate sanitation, poverty and illiteracy.

Terrorism of these people is so unknown Westerners. We think that is over there--this is not us. If we have learned nothing else from 9/11, we should learn that their terrorism is our terrorism.

It Will Build Character...

I don't really know what inspired me to write about this, but I had this strong urge to write about about the Summer of 2006. That Summer is what I warmly recollect as the Summer of character building. I learned a lot about myself and I began to understand the world better as well.

I was in need of a full-time job that Summer, and with nothing falling into lap, I looked elsewhere. My dad owns his own construction business so I asked him if I could work with him. I assumed he'd let me do what I did over Winter break--working in the office selling extra materials on E-bay.

No, that was not what I did.

My dad thought it would be a great experience for me to work out in the field with the guys (though this may seem like a stereotype, that all construction workers are men, but no, all his employees were men at the time). He thought it would "build character." I protested and for most of the Summer I tried to weasel my way out of working actually on a job site with the guys.

I managed to be the "materials runner" most of the time. This consisted of picking up materials at a warehouse (where no women were around) in the beat up blue Ford truck that had two gas tanks to switch back and forth from and had an extended bed (Fortunately, the CD player worked.), then delivering the materials to the guys at the construction site(also, where no women were in sight). My dad's business specifically is commercial heating, air conditioning, and plumbing, so often the materials I delivered was large pieces of duct work. My dad made a point to tell me that the guys were not to be disrupted from work to help me unload the truck. Yes, I was to do it alone. I have to tell you, this did not go well. A lot of the times, despite my protests, the guys would always help me and I ended up trying my hardest to keep my dad from finding out.

I could go on and on about the mini adventures I accrued that Summer delivering materials. Like the times I got lost going to different warehouses all over central PA--I learned where all sorts of highways were, that I got funny looks when I asked for some very specific toilet part at the service counter, that this one time I drove the pick-up from the other side of Harrisburg to Lebanon with 10 toilets in the back shifting around that were to be placed in the movie theater at the Lebanon Mall, and when my sister came up to visit, her and I began the "sister initiation" of backing the pick-up truck into a loading dock jamming the tailgate, and then our dad blaming one of the guys. So far, 3 of 5 sisters have done this. Yes, that was the fun part of my job. But sometimes, there was no way of getting out of working at the job site, doing work the guys did. --I think my dad enjoyed me doing this most.

The first time I worked on site was with my Uncle at the Great Escape Theater priming copper pipping for the bathrooms. My hands became somewhat rough and cut up because the copper pipe ends were sharp and the wool was abrasive. But I got over it and learned how to solder pipe (not that my Uncle ever let me do it), cut pipe, learn all sorts of pipe names, and test for leaks. My dad's guys never treated me with disrespect, but I could tell some of the guys in the other companies thought I was in the way and that I shouldn't be there. This was a constant feeling I had all Summer.

My favorite experience was with painting, not because it was fun, but because the experience I had with one of the guys. My dad wanted me to paint at his newest property with Tom, an older grandfatherly type guy who has worked with my dad for awhile and who I had installed and caulked sinks with at the Theater earlier in the Summer. When we arrived at the house the guy I was supposed to work with that I never met was already upstairs. Now mind you, we are painting the interior walls of a house; it's not like fitting pipe. When I reached the top of the steps with Tom, he tells the guy, "your help has arrived!"
He looks me up and down as says to Tom, "Are you serious?"
Then Tom tells him that, "this is Rob's daughter."
They guy says, "Oh..."
Then suddenly he whole demeanor changed.

But really, it's painting a freaking wall. How is this a daunting task that young ladies can't tackle? There's not even a learning curve, I've painted before!
This guy, for the whole Summer outwardly showed his annoyance for working with me every time my dad stuck us together...sadly, since he was as unskilled as I (This was the irony of it all) this happened often. The best was stacking wood, somehow he assumed I wasn't fit to do this and grumbled and huffed the whole time. By the end, he huffed less and actually talked to me about my plans for school...I think by the end he at least respected me.

That is not the only time it sucked being a woman that Summer. This guy, at least my dad knew so he didn't do anything belligerent. However, while I was working at the Theater something happened that I really don't like talking about. It makes me so uncomfortable that I didn't even tell my dad, only after the fact did I tell my Uncle. I was trying my hardest to fit in, be somewhat respected as "one of the guys," in so far as that was possible. I didn't slack off, I carried the heavy stuff without being asked, I tried to be efficient--I didn't play up being a girl.

One day I had to walk out to the truck to get something and a group of men working on the side of the building began whistling and catcalling. I felt ridiculous. What was worse was these guys didn't speak English, there was no way of calling them out on it. But, really if I could have, I don't think I would have. It wasn't flattering or charming. I was trying to work and those men reminded me that a construction site was still a man's world. They took all the uncomfortableness that was bubbling inside me and brought it to the surface. I hated being there, I prayed none of the other guys heard them, I wanted to be taken seriously. They put me in my place,their tactic worked. I was not a construction worker, I was a woman who didn't belong.

It took me a long time to get over it. I don't know how I managed to walk past them to go back inside. I wished I was strong enough to do something, anything. But I wasn't, I was terrified. It was first hand objectification. I'd like to say from then on I was stronger woman. I didn't take shit.

It took me a long time to grow into the feminist that I am. I am certain that the Summer of 2006 helped to become who I am. It certainly was character building. I wouldn't trade that Summer for anything. I am forever thankful for my dad making me do the dirty work. That was my summer of 06.

I am Comfortable in My Existance

I am more comfortable in my faith than I have ever before. I am not worried about my after life, I know I'll be okay. I am not worried about being saved.

I am ready to say: I am not a Christian.

I have struggled with this for some time and finally I feel okay to say I am not. I don't feel guilty anymore. I can finally say what I have been feeling for awhile. This is not a rejection of faith or embracing some other lifestyle that is full of selfishness and immorality. My spirituality is probably deeper and richer than some Christian's. I cannot reconcile what I know and what I feel. It is not a questioning faith or blasphemy. I cannot believe in the Christian God, because if what Christianity defines as God is true than He is not worthy my worship. If God is something else beyond Christian tenants, than is it really Christianity? I feel I can be more spiritual by not being Christian. I don't have to twist around and explain some man made Bible, or a jealous vengeful God, a booming voice in the sky, or even original sin. These things cannot be true, and if they are, that God is not worth it.

That being said, I don't think Christianity is bad or it's followers are naive, I just cannot do it. I'd be lying to myself. I believe totally that religion is the means, and spirituality is the ends. I believe Jesus' teachings are amazing, and to follow in his footsteps would not be a bad thing. I do believe religions teach basically the same thing: love and compassion. I try to live my life this way regardless of religion or what it will get me in the afterlife.

I believe in doing good because we are all part of humanity. If I were forced to identify with any religion, at the moment it is most likely Buddhism. I understand the Buddhist reasoning for interconnectedness--that cause and effect, one’s identity, and mutual dependence are all interconnected in and dependent of each other. I believe this wholly and I experience in my everyday life. Our well-being is dependent on the other. We are all human, all connected and so love each other like you love yourself. And in recognizing this and that nothing is forever and everything changes you can finally get to what is real, what matters and reach higher happiness. Like Christianity, I have no feelings on the Buddhist explanation of after death: I mean, I don't really care about reincarnation.

For these reasons my faith rests in humanity. I believe we are responsible for each other for this very reason. Likewise, if I were to be a Christian I would subscribe to the same logic: Jesus loved everyone and since we are all God's creatures we should respect all human life like we do our own. On an entirely different note, my values, morals and political ideology line up with my convictions and understanding of the human condition, religion, and faith--I am not stupid or naive, I am following my heart and my soul (I do the same things you do, but end up with a different conclusion).

The Last Straw: I am so Sick of Tyra Banks that I Can't Even Think of a Witty Title

It's one thing to be a model and follow the strict idea of beauty-to be hyper critical of beauty. It's something entirely different to realize the effect this has on society and continue to do it anyways.

As most people know Tyra Banks is a well known super model, probably most famously for Victoria Secret. But that's neither here nor there, now she hosts her own talk show and is pretty much in charge of America's Next Top Model. Between her career as a super model and her new television thing, she managed to develop her own camp for young girl to encourage self-esteem, Tzone . What a crock of shit!

This would seem almost noble and her way of giving back to society. But while she boasts building self-esteem for young girls and talking about real problems on her talk show, she is on Next Top Model preaching the same standards of beauty as it always does. She realizes the effects ridiculous images in the media has on young girls-hence the reason for the camp, but then on her model show, she hold these girls to the same insane standards, criticizing their hair, height, and even gaps in teeth. Now, I get the whole I am going to pretend to be a good person even though I don't really give a shit attitude. However, Week 4 of Top Model was a little out of control.

The goal was to pose as a dead girl in the photo shoot. Really? That is so not cool. Of all the offensive themes of modeling, this is my far the most insulting to women. It dehumanizes women and says violence against women is sexy. Note the judges comments where the one girl doesn't look sexy enough, she just looks dead. WTF!

So, this is the last straw for Tyra and I. I really don't like her. Please don't say you're advocating for inner beauty or for self-esteem, because Tyra, you just helped to tell those girls they look best dead.

Things you Never Learn in History Class

Last night I watched the movie Valkyrie. The movie depicts actual events that took place to overthrow Hitler. High ranking German Officers conspired multiple times (15 times to be exact) to attempt to assassinate Hitler and end the war. All of these attempts failed, and the final attempt occurred just 9 months before Hitler committed suicide. As one of the head organizers wrote in his diary, they wanted to world to know they not all Germans were like Hitler. He noted all the atrocities the Nazis under Hitler committed and even though what they were plotting to do was high treason, they had to plan this coup to inevitably save the world. Their last attempt, Operation Valkyrie, failed. Those behind the attempt, approximately 4,800 Germans, lives were ended as a result. Most were executed or committed suicide, if not sent to a concentration camp. It's noted that Hitler wanted these people to die a slow painful death by being hung with piano wire attached by a fishing hook.

My only wonder is why I never was taught this. I've had countless history classes that illustrated all Germans were Nazis, and all were horrible people. Never ever did I learn some of his highest ranking officers attempted multiple times to kill him. I think knowing this provides hope in society. Even in the midst of a horrible war, things are not always as they seem and there will always be people who stand up and a critical of their leaders.

I've been considering the actions of these people in regards to our own government. Hitler seemed like the savior to the Germans. They were in despair and he suddenly had all the answers. He seemed to good to be true, that no one held him accountable, he took their trust and ran away with it all the way to the ends of Europe. A labor movement somehow got transformed into a holocaust and no one was able to stop it. With enough convincing, everyone is capable of potentially following the wrong path.

We should always be critical of our leaders, even if we voted them into office. Just because they give us what it seems like we need, if they go off the deep end, we still don't need to follow. War for oil, war for greed, war for any reason really; ignoring Africa, letting human rights violations occur all over the world--we don't have to sit by and let it happen simply because your government tells you it's in your best interest.

For My Sisters.

Self respect. Confidence. Self Worth. Inner beauty. Independence.

That is what I wish for my sisters. I have 4 younger sisters, in case you didn't know. The oldest is 20, the youngest is 13.

The world is full of pressure. Pressure to be hot, sexy, and every man's dream. In the 50's the way young girls were taught to catch men was an easy bake oven, a baby doll, or tea sets. Today it's sex.

Young girls are expected to idolize women like Lindsay Lohan, the Olsen twins or Paris Hilton. Why not, they have their own perfume, they make teenage-geared movies, have their own make up line, clothing. etc. Saturday morning TV shows have tween aged kids dating and running after the opposite sex. When I was growing up Stephanie Tanner did not run after boys. Explicit music about sex and drugs is geared towards teens. Then there's the overt sexualization of girl in magazines, movies--the media.

The media isn't the only problem- padded bras for girls younger than 10, thongs, stiletto heels, racy Halloween costumes, and the desire to be sexual. It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

Who can blame girls for rising to the occasion of sexualization? I mean at 12 years old you're just trying to fit in. It is almost imperative to fit in at this age. The sexual socialization girls go through is very real and serious. The American Psychological Association suggests that the proliferation of sexual images of girls and young women in the media is harming their self-image and development. This can lead to an unhealthy development of a girl or young woman in several different areas It can ruin her confidence and make her feel dissatisfied with her body, this can result in negative self-image and lead to feelings of shame and anxiety-and eating disorders.

And it's all really confusing at 12 because no one is talking about sex, or not in any real way. There's abstinence only education in schools while everyone other outlet is educating girls about how to be sexual. I wish you could teach tweens about sex and self worth in a real way. They know what it means to be sexual, they don't understand the implications of it or what to do with it.

The peer pressure is ridiculous. Every outlet of society-from toys, to clothes, to media is telling young girls to sex it up. Who can blame a young girl for having sex before she's a teenager.

Sadly, it's society's way to control women, from a young age, just as it always has done. It used to be easy bake oven and babydolls, now its just lacy underwear and padded bras. The domestication of women failed to control, so now sexualization of women as control is the new tactic of control. And it works...just look, young girls are putting on makeup and their pushup bras, starving themselves and convincing themselves they cannot be worth anything because they don't look anything like the women in the airbrushed magazine, they want to be like Brittany Spears.

Young girls are ruining their future to fit in. 3 out of 4 teens will have sex before 20, and 1 out of 10 have sex before age 15. They want to fit in; they want to fill their role in society.

Change, Change Go Away, Come Again Another Day

I am a creature of habit, I hate change. It's unsettling; it makes me have that sick pitted feeling in my stomach that you get when you have a huge presentation--a feeling of dread.

School is ending; people I have shared 4 years of my life with everyday are leaving. I hate saying goodbye. So, much that I didn't actually say goodbye. No more talking about each other's papers, no more talking about loving lives, drinking too much, what you did over winter and summer break. No more. No more harassing each other about missing class or for writing meaningless English papers. No more lunches together.

It doesn't even make sense to say "hey, I'll see you sometime over summer." That's not the kind of friends were are--we're seasonal friends. Like a part of your life has closed and along with that goes the relationships in it. I don't want it to end. I don't want it to change.

Maybe it would be different if I were graduating, too. Perhaps not. I'm not even upset about not graduating. I just hate change.

All About God.

These heightened feelings on religion have been simmering in my soul since Easter and now I think it's finally time for me to share my thoughts. Usually, I am accepting and sympathetic to organized religion, particularly Christianity. This will not be my usual blog about me finding beauty in faith or positively experiencing it. In my quest for spirituality, I am open to experiencing different faiths. I have shared that I am appreciative of most religions because they teach basic love for fellow humanity-that sentiment still holds true. However, this is a critical look at religion.

A dear friend who has helped me become more interested in my spirituality invited me to join her at a church she regularly attends for Good Friday. I have not attended a Good Friday service since a was a young girl (like 7 years old) with my grandma at a Catholic mass. So, I thought it would be a good experience, especially since she told me it was an alternative sort of church. To her credit, the people were just as nice and welcoming as I hoped they would be. They let me share in their service like I'd been attending for years. That being said, I worry some of their niceness was a result of me "finding salvation.'

I really enjoyed the pastor's discussion. Not because I agreed with him, but he challenged his congregation to think critically of scripture. What the words actually mean, what it means for Christians, and talked about The Passion like the people in it were just like you and me. He stayed true to their mission--Raw Christianity. It wasn't fluffed up, it was real, and their faith was real.

The issue with challenging his congregation is that I did not find the same conclusion he did...instead I was left with all kinds of questions. He addressed the story of the Cross.

God told Jesus to do this. To sacrifice himself for all of humanity, for humanity's grand sin-to be human for biting an apple. He asked us "What kind of God would do this?" What kind of God would abandon his son, when he was crying out to him, "Why have you forsaken me?"

Yeah, what kind of God would do this? The pastor said well, God was full of so much love for us that he sacrificed his son for us. That it was between God and his son. This love, Jesus loved God so much that he was willing to die for us because that's what God said was our only route to salvation.

Okay. Stop. Why?

Why is this our only route to salvation? If God is all encompassing, why does it have to be this way? Why does it even matter about some apple? I mean, didn't he know that by leaving a tree in the middle of a garden and telling them not to eat it, is sorta like asking for trouble? Why was it even all that sinful? Just because God said not to?

It seems that eating it made us more human. It's like God's little experiment went wrong, he wanted us to stay in this little garden and he could control us. But then we evolved and ate an apple, and now God is pissed. And so God had to make up this grand scheme to keep us under his finger--you need to like me--I don't care what you do, as long as you like me. And I'm going to make you feel guilty forever for being curious (even though I gave you the power to be curious). And remember you were made in the image of me...ha.

God is jealous, and God is kind of a control freak. That whole "praise God" is some sort of power trip He's on. It was God's choice to create us, no one asked Him to do it. Oh, it was such a grand gesture to create us and then make us follow all these rules and then to put this never ending guilt because you put an apple tree in a garden that you didn't even want us to eat--then why put it there?

That being said, I think Christianity's mainstream notion of God is man made. One needs to explain life. If you notice God has a lot of human characteristics. Oh, but wait, humans were made in the image of God. Nice save.

The rules inflicted on us is awfully in line with laws of the time. Women were under men--what a better way to justify than to say God said so.

But not all is lost, whether or not Jesus is the son of God or inspired by God, he is amazing. He loved humanity so much he was willing die for us. He's wonderful like Gandhi. He taught love, tolerance, and peace. He was way before his time. He's like the good part of Christianity; he is what makes it beautiful.

Christian God on the other hand, I'm not so sure about. If there is a God, I don't think God is flawed. I don't think we can hypothesize what they're like. I don't God's gendered. I don't even think God cares if we like him. And if God is just like us, full of negative feelings--then there is no God.

So, here's my solution--Love each other like you love yourself. We are all interconnected as a species. All living things are connected as citizens of the Earth. The intricacy of life makes us connected. We couldn't do without each other. Furthermore, all things are really connected- we die, we become dust, and that gives life.

Things That I Love and Remind Me of Spring!

This blog is inspired by my drive to campus today. If I was good a poetry I'd so write one, but I'm not, so this is what I've done. :)

Things I Love and Remind Me of Spring:

The sweet smell of green grass
Oversized sunglasses
Wearing flowing skirts
Driving with my windows open
Dave Matthews Band
Incubus lyrics "I dig my toes into the sand..."
The sun warming my face
Wearing flip flops
Painted toenails
Running through the grass sans shoes
Swinging on swings
Laying on a blanket at South Hills Park reading a book
Lighting bugs
Grilling
Picnicing
Warm Breezes
Cherry Blossom Trees
Riding on a motorcycle
Ice Cream
Baseball

My Favorite Rap Song...Ever

Most of the time I completely skip over rap music. Often it glorifies drugs, violence, and demeaning women--not really my thing. But today on my itunes' shuffle came my favorite rap song, Changes. It is closely written like Bruce Hornsby's song The Way It Is, in fact the instrumental is exactly the same. They both deal with social injustices.
Ah, it so clever for this black rapper to use this white guy's music to say "yeah, we've all got similar problems." Oh, I love music that talks about social problems. What do these two songs have in common? Understanding the dynamics of poverty. <3

I could talk about how each lyrics\ is like a class discussion on poverty and drugs, race and prison population, etc. But instead, you should just listen, enjoy. I hope it inspires you.


www.dailymotion.com/video/xxjug_bruce-hornsbythe-way-it-is_music





Here's some stuff to think about: Tupac's Changes excerpts:

I'm tired of bein' poor and even worse I'm black.
My stomach hurts, so I'm lookin' for a purse to snatch.
Cops give a damn about a negro? Pull the trigger, kill a nigga, he's a hero.
Give the crack to the kids who the hell cares? One less hungry mouth on the welfare.
First ship 'em dope & let 'em deal the brothers.
Give 'em guns, step back, and watch 'em kill each other.

I got love for my brother, but we can never go nowhere
unless we share with each other. We gotta start makin' changes.
Learn to see me as a brother 'stead of 2 distant strangers.

I see no changes. All I see is racist faces.
Misplaced hate makes disgrace for races we under.
I wonder what it takes to make this one better place...

And only time we chill is when we kill each other.

And although it seems heaven sent,
we ain't ready to see a black President, uhh.
It ain't a secret don't conceal the fact...
the penitentiary's packed, and it's filled with blacks.

There's war on the streets & the war in the Middle East.
Instead of war on poverty,
they got a war on drugs so the police can bother me.
And I ain't never did a crime I ain't have to do.

Way it is

Standing in line marking time--
Waiting for the welfare dime
'Cause they can't buy a job
The man in the silk suit hurries by
As he catches the poor old ladies' eyes
Just for fun he says "Get a job"

They say hey little boy you can't go
Where the others go
'Cause you don't look like they do
Said hey old man how can you stand
To think that way
Did you really think about it
Before you made the rules
He said, Son

That's just the way it is
Some things will never change
That's just the way it is
But don't you believe them

Well they passed a law in '64
To give those who ain't got a little more
But it only goes so far
Because the law won't change another's mind
When all it sees at the hiring time
Is the line on the color bar

Feminism and prospective LVC students: That Went Over like Abgail Adams Asking Her Husband to "Remember the Women."

So, today Teddi and I set up a table at LVC Live in hopes to recruit some incoming Freshmen to feminism.
*Smile*
It was more like preying on innocent young high school students with their parents in toe. The bribery began before they even walked in the Arnold Sports Center door, for they were given a little card for each table to sign off on and when it was all full they were entered into a $50 college bookstore certificate--yeah, these kids had a lot to learn...the bookstore isn't all the grand.

Well, besides Freedom Rings, I'm pretty sure the F-word was the most uncomfortable table at the event. Personally, I loved our table. It was stationed on the upper level of the gym where it found itself sharing a table with the Chem Club... maybe LVC Live planners thought we had a lot in common, certainly more than we do with Freedom rings who was on the opposite side of the gym.

Our table displayed ample about of feminist lit. ie. The Beauty Myth, The Feminist Mystique, The F-word, Bitch (just to name a few), there was a picture frame of the Monologues entitled "Vagina Cast." But my most favorite was the tee shirt play strategically on the wall with the claim "I <3 Feminist Men" (well, because really I do!). Oh, and we had a email sign up sheet and fliers, too.

Some would pass by glancing at our table then quickly return to looking down at the feet. Others would detour around us completely by swerving through the bleacher-seat obstacle course, which was a breeze compared to saying "hello" to the crazy feminists.

Oh, and then there were the people who engaged in conversation for...the fun of torturing us.
These were our favorites.

Mother to son: I bet you can meet a lot of girls there, just not ones who will do your laundry.

A father points to our tee shirt on the wall: I love feminist men. I work at F&M with the environmental program, I always wanted to print a tee shirt that says: My mother recycles. And then walked away.

A girl and her mother listening to our spiel, Girl to us: oh, you want me to sign your list.
Girl to mother: Can I sign it?
Goes signs the list and walks away.
We look and it says Jordan, no last name, no email address.
Jimmy: What does she want us to do, facebook stalk her.

A girl, father and mother visit our table. Hi, we're the feminist club on...
Obnoxious Father to Teddi: What's your name?
Teddi: Teddi.
Obnoxious Father: Like Teddi Roosevelt.
Obnoxious Father turns to Chem Club Dude: Did you know the president with the name Teddi?
Chem Club Dude: No.
Obnoxious Father to Chem Club Dude: What's his last name?
Chem Club Dude: Roosevelt.

Some time later, Obnoxious Father to Teddi: Hey, can you sign our box?
Teddi: Okay
Teddi to Mother (trying to one last time to sell the f-word just one more time): Would you like a newsletter?
Mother: Okay
Obnoxious Father to Mother: Don't take that, you can't read.

Mother to son: Oh, look you'll fit right in.

To pass the time, Teddi and I thought up some schemes to raise recruitment:

1. Signing fake names to the email list to look like people signed up already in case they were nervous about it. Teddi thought its was very psychological.
2. Putting out my own stash of peach rings on the table for the good of the club. Chem clubs cookies seemed to work well.
3. Having our newsletters already in hand to pass out on the fly.
4. If a person looks at our table for more than 10 seconds--Get Them!
5. Tell them we aren't that radical.
6. Stop saying "Vagina" when saying Vagina Monologues.
7. Since no one was visiting on the top level and all on the floor--if they won't come to us, we'll take the F-word to them.
8. If feminism isn't their thing, talk to them about: where they are from, their major, other college choices, or anything else that would make them like us. Teddi and I could so be Valley Ambassadors.
9. If all else fails, "borrow" from LVEP's growing list
10. Randomly place our newsletter on other organizations' tables.

The best part of the day was that our truest interest came from the Asian boy from NJ asking me how we felt about men and women's equality. And he'll probably end up going to E-town.

Farewell to My Post

As ridiculous as the title sounds, it is true, as of tonight I will no longer be President of F-word. It's really bittersweet for me. I can no longer hold onto the head-in-the-clouds notion that I am in control of the feminist agenda at LVC--whether or not this is a reality is something entirely different. I am giving up deadlines, planning, and being the official speaker for F-word's stance on matters. I am happy to get rid of this, it was a wonderfully stressful position to have-I wouldn't have traded it for anything.

Now what do I do?

I have have undertaken women's issues as my personal mission statement. This mission statement of sorts has spilled over into all parts of my life, not just my extracurriculars. I have catered my courses to focus on women, I have worked at a domestic violence shelter for two years, I've been the Vagina Monologues for 3 years and directed for 2. I spearheaded all kinds of events and campaigns in the name of women. I've gotten everything that I've aspired to achieve--I've received the highest Vagina award, the Vagina Warrior.

Now what do I do?

Part of me feels a little lost. I'm not graduating with all my friends this year. I'll stick around for another semester to finish up. I can't start looking for a real job, but it really is time for me to move on from campus activism. So, what am I left to do? I feel like I'm stuck in limbo.

Luckily, I'm not worried about the future of the f-word, or even feminism on campus. I know that next year it will be taken care of by a group of wonderful people. It's like giving away your baby, or letting go of it all just praying it will work out. It will be OK without me.

I'm being overly dramatic-it's just a club. But, it has helped me find myself. I realized that I love organizing awareness campaigns. I love fighting for women. I have sort of found my ideal career--I want to be an educational coordinator. I want to help young women and girls with body image and self esteem. Or talk to teens about dating violence. Oh, it would be grand.

So, yeah, farewell to my post. Ya know if I were president of a country I would be bound for tell-all books and guest lecturing on the virtue of something or other. I guess it could be worse, for me, this is only the beginning.

A Love Affair With Your Cleaning Supplies

"Oh, Mr. Mop, I love you but I can't do this, I know we've been together for so long, but we must part , for I have found a new cleaning supply love, Sir Swiffer."

Are you for real?

Cleaning supply commercials are always geared towards women. In all my years of TV watching I have never seen a man in a cleaning supply commercial--unless of course he is making the mess and wifey to the rescue to save the helpless cleaning-impared family. They manage to somehow glorify cleaning--super mom with super strong paper towels, super mom with magic sponges, and super mom with a super light vacuum. Wow, what more could super mom ask for? Since her family is just helpless without her and they life would become dirt-filled if she didn't have her "super" cleaning supplies.

Is this society's way of making women feel important? Super mom cleaning commericals makes cleaning a sacred womanly task and if any other being would try their hand at it, they'd somehow screw it up. Nevermind, it reinforces gender stereotypes, the stay at home mom making sure the house is in neat order OR the mom who does it all--work all day and needs her trusty cleaning supplies to do the job in half the time.

Just where is husband in all this?

He should certainly worry because apparently according to Swiffer, Mr. Mop is trying to make a move on super mom. Their commercials are never more rediculous than most commericals, usually they just showcase their cleaning power, but this, this displays that women and their mops have a secret love affair with eachother. Women love their sacred duty so much that they have relationships with their mops. Replacing their mop for something new is an emotional task that requires putting it all in a closet and burning it (kinda like putting love notes in a shoebox and burning it.). Then Mr. Mop is so lovestruck that he stalks her, sends her flowers, and a singing telegram. Yes, your cleaning supplies and you are a lot like Love.

When Your Actions Follow Your Words

Today President Obama's signed his first bill as president into law--The Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act.It is a great moment in history when a president's first law enacted ensures equality for women in the workplace.



The Bush Administration blocked the bill in the last session of Congress. But Obama strongly supported it — he talked often about Ledbetter during his campaign. But rarely does a president do what he has promised when he finally gets in office. And instead he makes it his priority.

Imagine that...women's rights a Presidential priority.

I feel it is safe to say there have been more advances in human rights, and more specifically in women's rights in the last two weeks than there have been in the last 8 years.

End of an Era

Barack Obama overturned the Global Gag Rule--I feel like crying.

The Global Gag Rule, which was reinstated by President Bush on his first day in office, prohibits any international organization that receives U.S. funds from counseling women on abortion as an option, providing referrals, or discussing the dangers of unsafe abortions - even if the organization uses its own money to do so. The impact of the mandate has been deadly for women worldwide. About 70,000 women die every year from unsafe or illegal abortions - a number that could be significantly lowered by access to information and sexual health care.