tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19897720237360827292024-03-05T02:53:20.362-05:00FeministBuddhistExploring the universal paths of the human condition through the lens of a peace-seeking feminist.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-23522433761594918072016-06-03T21:54:00.000-04:002016-06-03T22:20:18.542-04:00Iron Cocks<script>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGFSUNd_AfW4G0hJjpvUTVXpMARmIFfI2j23epIctBgIF6C3AK0B4vKDn9V932xp0NuRWoV7OolIk3KmNkgCTWIpZhD0hBt6IUbpzgbX3O5bdzMBvOJ-YHe69Mli6AfT_xgNl4-iGdaw/s1600/slip+carefully.jpg"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGFSUNd_AfW4G0hJjpvUTVXpMARmIFfI2j23epIctBgIF6C3AK0B4vKDn9V932xp0NuRWoV7OolIk3KmNkgCTWIpZhD0hBt6IUbpzgbX3O5bdzMBvOJ-YHe69Mli6AfT_xgNl4-iGdaw/s400/slip+carefully.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Where is your boyfriend?</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” Wang Xiu Ying, the Chinese shopkeeper at my corner store asks me when I’m in there alone without my children. I’m in the mood for a Mandarin conversation, because if I wasn't I’d go to the East side of the intersection to the Korean-owned store, where we don't make chitchat and I can shuffle around in peace and quiet. I pause to recollect which 'boyfriend' she means exactly, and deduce it to the most plausible suspect.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We broke up</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.” I reply. Her eyes and mouth go wide with surprise but once she sees my serene smile and languid shrug, she leans across the counter at me with a knowing look and scrunches up her face as if she is smelling a fart.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ah, you dump him because he is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">yi mao bu ba</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here we go. Time to indulge in my chéngyǔ lessons, the popular Chinese idioms consisting of four characters. Her English is great except for her pronunciation. My Chinese is absolute shit. Watching the two of us stumble back and forth in broken languages is like watching a pair of idiots - or as the Chinese say, a couple of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">turtle eggs</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. But my garbage Chinese makes her feel better about her English, and she is the only thread I have in my life connecting me to that complicated language I’ve barely spoken in over 10 years. It’s win-win.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He is like Iron Cock -- one feather won’t pull out!</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” She says in her slurred voice. I deduce she means rooster, having taught British English in China, I frequently heard students boasting how China was shaped like a big, giant cock. It’s true but without Taiwan, no foot, without Korea, no beak.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wang Xiu Ying is implying </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">boyfriend</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> was a penny-pinching cheapskate. The pun here being the word “mao,” which can mean either a small coin or a feather. Thus, an iron rooster is a rooster that won’t part with even one of its feathers — they’re so hard to pluck out it might as well be made out of iron. Chinese insults almost always involve animals or numbers. Insults in English involve sexual terms or body parts. Almost universally in any language if you throw in female genitalia or someone’s mother, it sadly ups the vulgarity.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I gently tell her no, we didn't break up because he was cheap, but yes, he was cheap. Very.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Seeing an opportunity to practice my Chinese narrative I humour the Beijinger with the tales of pettiness shown by the various men I've dated that no doubt send her into culture shock:</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">That time a date and I stopped into a Tim Horton’s and he asked me to buy my own donut. That time at a concert when a date lined up for drinks, bought two, one for each of his fists and none for me. That time I was invited to a barbecue and was expected to bring my own meat. That time I was invited out to dinner and my date bought us an entree to share. Those times absolutely everything from TTC fares and five-dollar cab rides were expected to be split right down the middle. More awkward moments over donuts at Tim Horton’s. I should probably stop going there. Especially on dates.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">The judgement on those dates came only in the looks of disapproval and concern for me from bus drivers, concession stand workers, waiters and taxi drivers. I waited until after the date was over to judge them. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">But not once did I ever speak up about how their cheapness bothered me, instead I recluse, become unavailable, and hope they would just go away. They always do.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am content with being a woman who pays the bill; for friends, for lovers, for family. I’m agreeable to splitting the costs of dates, I get by fine without lavish displays of chivalry, and I’m cool with cinema coupons and dinner at fast food drive-thrus. But I suppose my notion of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">without money we’d all be rich</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> just wasn't working in a practical sense. Yet dumping a guy I’m crazy about just because he is petty seems really….well, petty.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You’re a poor man’s dream!</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” my friend says. “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your problem is that you are not judging enough!</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”</span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The truth is, I do not want to live in a world where women expect men to pay for everything. I’m not even sure I believe men are obligated to pay on first dates. Who pays the bill because of the absence or presence of a penis isn't the entire issue. Money and feminism aside, I remember a chéngyǔ that goes: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">yán xíng yī zhì</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">; simply put: practice what you preach, sexy bitch. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Seems the one common thread between all the tight-wads I've dated is me. And not once did I communicate my values to them. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Wang Xiu Ying dusts off the lotto machine with her cloth and offers me a plastic-wrapped candy which judging by the wrapper is bean-curd flavour and will be disgusting. I accept. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You know, in China, man pay for EVERYTHING. If man doesn't pay, woman must never marry him</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”. She says.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I nod knowingly because I've seen it and I've been there. And I explain to her in simple Chinese phrases:</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I suppose deep down I’m purposely seeking non-marriage material. My heart is not ready to find another husband. But I do gravitate to love without all the bells and whistles.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You will soon be ready but you should NOT love any man who doesn't give you the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">whole wide world. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A gold ring for your mother and long-life vitamins for your father. And save his money for university for your children.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I laugh at how culturally inappropriate those foreign expectations are, and are as relevant to me as a red herring sitting on the Great Wall of China in a thunderstorm.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But you deserve the whole wide world!</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” she exclaims and it sounds so natural, like something my native-English-speaking mother would say.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What is your worth? Do you know your worth?</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” she probes sternly.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I pause and carefully construct my sentence using a mix of complete honesty and lyrics from Chinese karaoke pop songs. It’s delivered with quite sturdy pronunciation:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yǔ shìjiè gèdì dì dìfāng hé tián tián quān”.</span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-3107516916916737202016-05-23T19:11:00.001-04:002016-06-03T22:06:30.948-04:00The Bicycle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgywHsDYMJsLfA34zjb1aPcoqSeCN8RGUmepGqh_qhXFvLEz9GwqCDeNnSQJsupTdRmyxbqv_6PUBnMXzlLuKrhDacLew_oWhG4CJR5PAWngI59-hQjY8KqHBpnN3AGFDmWyJhL7TpFjMA/s1600/buddhabike-899x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgywHsDYMJsLfA34zjb1aPcoqSeCN8RGUmepGqh_qhXFvLEz9GwqCDeNnSQJsupTdRmyxbqv_6PUBnMXzlLuKrhDacLew_oWhG4CJR5PAWngI59-hQjY8KqHBpnN3AGFDmWyJhL7TpFjMA/s320/buddhabike-899x1024.jpg" width="280" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I often compare the "doings" of modern life like peddling a bicycle, just as <a href="http://www.tarabrach.com/" rel="" target="_blank">Tara Brach</a> points out in her book <i>True Refuge</i>. We spend our lives on a bicycle pedalling to get somewhere. Pedalling to get away from this moment. Pedalling to avoid feelings. Pedalling to make something happen. Pedalling to prove how great we are and "<i>Look at me! Look where I'm headed</i>!" -- chasing a dream, forgetting to breathe, racing away from presence. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Meditation allows for the "un-doings" of things so we can actually become free. The undoings of our controlling behaviour, the undoings of limited beliefs, the undoings of labels and stories that we carry about ourselves and other people, the undoings of physical tension that we carry in our bodies, the undoings of defensive armour.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We do not choose to meditate to get somewhere. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We do not choose to meditate to turn us into something different.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We do not choose to meditate to get to some spiritual achievement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We do not choose to meditate on a quest for self-improvement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So when <a href="https://www.tarabrach.com/part-1-do-you-make-regular-visits-to-yourself-audio/" target="_blank">we make regular visits with ourselves</a> - when we meditate, we should try our best to set an intention that brings us closer to ourselves. Not to get closer to a destination or a goal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Examples of intentions may be: for spiritual realization, to seek truth in your present emotions, to calm thoughts of anxiety or distress, to address longing, to sit with unpleasant emotions for a period of time so they are safe, to simply connect with presence, to pay lovingkindness to yourself or another, to activate peace, to say hello to yourself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Whatever the intention is -- we must do it with <b>sincerity.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Sincerity</b> is simply connecting with what matters most in your heart. </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"The most important thing is remembering the most important thing."</span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> - Zen Master Suzuki Roshi</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So the analogy of the bicycle affixed to the purpose of meditation provoke the following inquiries: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Who rides the bicycle? Who pedals the bicycle? What part of your body do you use to pedal the bicycle? What sits on the seat? What holds the handle bars? What smells the passing lilacs? What breathes in the fresh air? What sees the way? What tells us where we are going? What knows we are safe? What are the benefits to our bodies? Our souls? Our minds? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The answer to these questions are all the parts of ourselves that we bring to the experience of life and also into meditation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Presence. You. Your body. What you're equipped with. This moment. You. You. You. You. Who cares about anything else right now -- just YOU in presence. YOU.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b>To read what I've learned from meditation, read my post <a href="https://feministbuddhist.blogspot.ca/2015/07/the-m-word.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</b></span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-60004235047900296362016-02-20T16:00:00.000-05:002016-02-21T10:47:58.669-05:00Nachiketa and the Kingdom of Death<script>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The following is my adaptation and interpretations of an ancient Upanishads story. These original stories were written in Sanskrit likely somewhere between 400 and 200 BC and centralized its teachings on philosophy, moral conduct and the path to salvation. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Nachiketa and the Kingdom of Death</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nachiketa was a young woman who lived with her father in a small village along the rice fields of India. Her father was on a quest for spiritual bliss and had heard that if he gave away all his material possessions to the saints, sages, teachers and priests, this would fulfill his vow for spiritual attainment. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nachiketa discovered that her meager father was hiding all their finest possessions under the cushions and offered up only their useless property: lame cows that did not produce milk, broken furniture, and decaying fruit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Boldly, Nachiketa confronted her father on his insincere offerings in front of their fellow villagers: </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“<i>What you have done is not right. If you didn’t want to give away everything, why take the vow?</i>” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">With the rage of shame and betrayal, the father shouted: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“<i>You can go to hell, Nachiketa. I give you to Yama, the Lord of Death</i>!” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nachiketa wrapped her garments around her body and set off willingly </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">beyond the rice fields into the dark forest where Yama lived in the Kingdom of Death.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">For days Nachiketa searched for death, but he didn’t come. Exhausted, lonely, and hungry in the frozen Kingdom she was greeted by Yama’s three assistants: </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Pestilence, Famine</b> and <b>War</b>. They tortured Nachiketa and caused her more injury. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When the Lord of Death finally arrived days later he was moved by the young woman’s resilience and determination. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">He offered her three wishes before he would take her life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nachiketa uttered her first wish: “<b>I want peace with my father. That all be forgiven.</b>” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yama granted her wish and in just one pulse of her heart, Nachiketa felt pulled by a sudden and radical undefended openness. She felt a peace she had not known and an insight that she could not meet death if she was pushing her father, or anyone out of her heart. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In that space and freedom of forgiveness, Nachiketa posed her second wish:
“<b>I want inner fire.</b>”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yama didn’t understand so he asked her to explain. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“<i>I want the courage to experience and commit fully to everything that happens, good or bad. Every moment.</i>” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yama granted her this wish and gave her three days in the Kingdom of Death to live with her newly acquired power and then to report back. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When they met again Nachiketa told him: </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">My journey began with disenchantment and disillusionment. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have faced my horrors. I have been thrown out of my nest.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’ve learned that everything goes away. Everything changes. We get sick and die. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The ground we walk on is always shaking. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">What made us happy no longer applies. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Life just doesn’t cooperate. Our own moods just happen. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have confronted impermanence.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Curious, Yama asked what were the markings of her inner fire, to which she replied: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“<i>I make my choices and cultivate my creativity with sincerity, and from a place of innocence. It is not coming from duty or guilt, pretension, or one of the ‘shoulds’. I am wholly moved by a trust inside my belly.</i>” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yama was impressed by Nachiketa’s insight and asked her to tell him her third wish so that he could grant it:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “<b>I want to know who is the real Me. What would be left of me after you take this body? I want to know the mystery of my true being without the shell and beyond the grave.</b>”
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yama was taken aback. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“<i>Young woman, you could wish for anything you want! Why not wish for eternal beauty, riches, a beautiful baby to hold in your arms, your own land to roam free, perhaps</i>?” He suggested. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">But Nachiketa was not easily swayed. She pointed out that all those suggestions were objects that would eventually die and end up in his Kingdom. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yama handed Nachiketa a mirror.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“<i>In fact, I do not have that wisdom. But you can look within yourself to find the answer.</i>” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nachiketa spent three days in the Kingdom holding up the mirror, looking at her own nature in hopes of discovering the truth of who she was.
Frustrated, she learned that self-knowledge was not necessarily good news. There were the stories she told herself about who she was. There was anxiety. There was chronic commentary. There was a pile of 'shoulds'. She was fixated on surface waves. She did not trust the depth and vastness of the ocean of her being, so she stayed skimming the surface.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nachiketa asked her reflection:
“<i>How do I begin to relax and really see what’s here?</i>” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And then it dawned on her that this was the most important inquiry and the only thing she had ever wanted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nachiketa sat down on the cold ground and quieted her mind a little. She didn’t fight thoughts, nor did she turn them off. She became mindful of her thoughts. She began noticing.
Nachiketa learned that in that moment of noticing thoughts, she felt she was no longer hitched to them. She was floating above them. Which meant that she was no longer inside. She was free. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Free from preoccupation, there was a space between thoughts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">That space was pure, quiet, untainted. </span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is your true nature. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This space is who you really are. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Do you see her? There she is. That is you.
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nachiketa stayed with it for days, with the days turning into months.
Yama let her be, approaching her finally after an entire year. Nachiketa bowed before him.
She thanked him for the gift of the capacity to look into her own being and find true love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And in that moment the landscape suddenly changed from the frozen Kingdom of Death into the rice fields of her beloved India. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nachiketa went home to embrace her father, who was now aging and near death. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">She started her new life; just as she was and dedicating herself to finding space.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-39385948602522953962016-01-27T18:40:00.000-05:002016-02-12T14:59:28.309-05:00Free Spirit<meta name="google-site-verification" content="oUu0G9Nlpvym9nk4XtkApfILK3__qS7nwrBXUNL7dfk" />
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Religious folk will talk about the longing to touch God or to feel God. The longing for me since as far as I can remember is to experience reciprocated emotional intimacy on a depth that I am certain I have never experienced in a relationship. And like an untouchable mystic spirit tucked away out of reach -- it’s the Holy Grail of romantic life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Married, single, or somewhere in-between, here is the paradigm: Those who fear intimacy are the ones who long for it. Those who fear it most likely have no idea what it actually is. Those who don’t know what it is, would really like to know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I’ll go out on a divine limb here and try to describe it myself:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Emotional intimacy </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">is a process of opening and softening to the life that’s here, without shutting it down. It’s the desire to be known and to know. It’s exposing the deepest parts of ourselves to another person and allowing the deepest parts of another person to be shown to us. It’s an energetic power that gives us strength to reveal ourselves without fearing the consequences."</span></h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Intimacy is deeply interwoven with shame and vulnerability -- three pieces of the same puzzle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Despite the closeness we had with others </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">growing up</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">, most of us have been shut down by peers and family in some way as a means of keeping us in line. This taught us very gradually and systematically that intimacy is risky business.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As parents to our own children, we learn that emotional intimacy can only go so deep because we must protect them from knowing our darkest fears, our anxieties, our failures. Those barriers are what keep them safe. </span><br />
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The Fear</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Despite the gift I have for <b>connecting</b> and <b>bonding</b> easily with others, I would have to agree with <i>Baggage Reclaimer Natalie Lue</i>*</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> that relationships that have “a connection” and "so much in common", even shared pain, admiration, offspring, experiences, attraction, hobbies, interests, and orgasms <b>does not necessarily equal intimacy</b>. An authentic, emotionally honest, loving and caring relationship means very little on the depth scale if we fundamentally are afraid of the consequences of closeness. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We all have some fear of closeness, be us single or attached, and it can feel like this: that being <i>you</i>; vulnerable, emotionally available, with all your quirks, your mess, your horrid past, your personality -- will result in another person leaving, disappointing, criticizing, fighting with, or rejecting you. Therefore we either don’t even bother, or we shift the blame on the other person’s shortcomings, or we build walls, and limitations (or choose insecurely-attached people) that cocoon us from deep experiences ever happening.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The History of Intimacy</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Intimacy isn’t typically pitched to us as a basic human right. It’s a luxury. And it's still taboo. Traditionally marriages were set up with the expectation for sexual intimacy, living out gender roles which didn’t deviate, the woman’s sexual needs likely didn’t matter, anything relating to the woman’s sexual reproduction was kept private, and when the man felt burdened by the pressure to provide for his family, he had to “man up” -- channeling the stress into hard labour, sports, or war. Marriages were (and still are) setup to guarantee reproductive success, to optimize quality of life, to increase our chances of survival, and to carry on the family name. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Historically, intimacy was encouraged through God and through prayer, but not necessarily with your spouse. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></h4>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>So how do we build intimacy?</b></i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">My short answer is this: In order to start exploring a new process we first need to be aware of what it is we are missing out on -- and what patterns we take on that block us from experiencing life and love from a deeper place. The answer to building intimacy is, as Rumi suggests:</span></span></blockquote>
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<h1 class="quoteText" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”</i></span></h1>
</blockquote>
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Intimacy versus Autonomy</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Intimacy can feel like it’s at war with our autonomy.</b> Countless studies have examined the inquiry I admit has been my recent personal struggle: </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Will the desire for intimacy with another person get in the way of my independent personal fulfillment</i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It’s like the child learning to take those thrilling first steps away from their mother, and then when she falls and gets hurt, throws herself back in the comfort and solace of her mother’s arms.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But in truth, autonomy thrives when paired with intimacy; the more we have those safe harbours, those secure attachments to fall into -- without shame, without inhibitions, without doubt of a loving response -- the easier it is to explore, thrive and take risks. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For most of the Western world depending on your culture, in this day and age, we have complete opportunity to choose <b>how much intimacy we want, and who with, and for how long</b>. This denotes to pure freedom, but can feel like pure chaos. We are living in a time in history where we have the most romantic/sexual power, yet are completely ill-equipped with the value systems we need in place to survive this climate. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Intimacy is blocked by Self-Aversion</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Self-aversion is a desire to avoid or turn away from the parts of ourselves we don’t like. Let’s face it -- being with another person is like having a giant mirror held up to our flaws; we are constantly tested, provoked and exposed, in good times and in bad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Makes you wonder why so many single people have pets. Pets provide the company and unconditional love but without the judgement. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We Meet our Match</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We choose what we are. We find our mirror. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We don’t want to talk about our feelings so we find someone who also doesn’t. We don’t value our orgasm so we find someone who doesn’t either. We don’t like revealing much about our past so we find someone who doesn’t do a lot of probing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If you’ve chosen a person who frequently shuts down intimacy that could be a strong indication that it reflected your fear of being intimate at the time you met. And not to crush anyone’s spirit here, but now you may feel you’re stuck with the consequences. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That’s not to say you need to throw the baby out with the holy bathwater. When both partners have a desire to explore intimacy and recognize the patterns that have been blocking it, keep the faith that love can continue surviving -- and thriving. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">However, when a person is unwilling to know or touch intimacy in any way, there is no amount of date nights, eye-contact, candles, tickle-fights, new sex positions, or nagging that can solve that problem. The person has to tap into an awareness and go to that place willingly, and in most cases that requires professional help.</span><br />
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Behaviour patterns that block intimacy are: Shame about our bodies and/or our mental health, lying, faking, picking fights, being secretive, having lots of rules, holding back emotions or opinions, casual dating, faking orgasms, substance abuse, cheating, withholding sex and/or affection, avoiding conflict to “keep the peace”, proximity without closeness, separate lives, being “busy”, small talk, physical/emotional abuse.</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Are any of these your patterns? Your partner’s?</i></span><br />
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">God Willing</span></h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Of course, along the path there will be people who just don’t want intimacy or who are hard-wired to loath it. </span><b>Intimacy does not need to happen in every relationship if it is not worthy of it.</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Intimacy is a slow process of time and safety. It requires mutual vulnerability, trust, and most importantly -- shared values. The operative word being “mutual”. It requires a transparency and openness that is received first and then reciprocated; and that becomes the trickiness (and the fun) of it all. It does not happen immediately or all at once but it can happen in many different relationship structures. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What’s most important is that we take ownership of our exploration and awareness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Before finding intimacy in a partner, first learn how to be an intimate partner.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Practice peace and acceptance for our own selves and the circumstances in our present life, and the desire to share our whole body and soul with another human will send a light to the worthy ones. We also have to take a few leaps of faith.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There's a simple question we can ask ourselves when we feel heaven might be knocking on our door:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>How does it feel to reveal? </i></span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Wonderful? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Well then, keep doing it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Scary? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Well then, keep doing it too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">*<a href="http://www.baggagereclaim.co.uk/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Baggage Reclaim blog</a></span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-67627448940331784482016-01-03T20:01:00.000-05:002016-01-10T13:53:50.989-05:00No Walls Required<script>
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Shame?</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I don't know what you're talking about....</b></span></i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>That's not something I have....</b></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Can we please not talk about that....</b></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>The intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefor unworthy of love and belonging</i> is how researcher and storyteller Brene Brown defines <b>shame.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's the unobtainable, hopeless, conflicting expectations about who we are supposed to be.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Shame is the feeling that something is inherently wrong with us.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Shame in our body can feel like a disturbing rumble across our chest wrapping around to our back. It feels like a straight-jacket. And in my opinion, it is the worst feeling. I reckon most people would rather feel any other negative emotion than shame - and so we do.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I know not one single person who is immune to shame but I certainly know a lot of people who won't admit to feeling it, or who cannot identify it, or who shrug it off like it's not a big deal. <i>Shame, yeah so what?</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
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</h4>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Shame, So What?</span></h4>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My theory is that shame doesn't get the awareness and conversation it deserves because it's too arcane. Too hard to identify. We know what it means when it's actively done to someone (slut-shaming, fat-shaming), but we don't talk about how it feels to carry it around even if we haven't fallen victim to a specific incident. It's just there.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">You know, that feeling that we are just not good enough. The feeling that we are just too flawed to function.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've realized the reason it's mysterious is because it's too difficult of an emotion to sit with. No one wants to look at it making it still so under-researched and taboo. And alas there is the chicken or the egg of shame.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Shame can mask itself pretty well. It doesn't have a distinguishable facial expression like embarrassment or surprise. I expected Disney/Pixar's <i>Inside Out </i>to include shame, a primitive and prominent human emotion. Instead it creeps up subtly as a side-kick to sadness, fear, disgust and anger.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And as </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Inside Out </i></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">depicts, emotional repression isn't selective. We can't numb ourselves to difficult feelings, such as shame, without numbing ourselves to empowering feelings, like joy, passion, and peace, and when we try, this lessens our true experience as humans.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Shame, if not recognized and not treated with compassion can turn lethal; depression, addictions, promiscuity, violence, suicide, deception, eating disorders, anxiety, self-loathing.</span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It's shame that sits with kids who shoot up schools. It's shame that sits with hockey players who sexually assault their fans. It's shame that sits with fearful businessmen who run for president.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We build prisons to enforce shame on others, but ironically, whether you are a convicted criminal or not, when you live with shame, you may as well already be living in a prison. No walls required.</span></span><br />
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The Stress of Shame</span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shame isn't <b>embarrassment;</b> which is a passing, temporary emotion of awkwardness or self-consciousness.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Guilt</b> is not the same as shame. Guilt can be healthy; it's a signal that we are conscious of other people's feelings and that we take responsibility for our choices and are accountable for our actions.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Shame<b> </b>gets thrown under the blanket term <b>"stress".</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"The stress of the holidays" for example -- a time of year where we observe and participate in a struggle with planning parties, gifts, social etiquette, booze, staying sexy, not over-eating, pleasing our families, over-parenting, not fucking up.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">That feeling tied to all those events that we are not doing enough, that we are not giving enough, that we haven't planned enough, that we are not caring enough, that we are not earning enough -- that's shame.</span></span><br />
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The threat of being kicked out of our tribe, or not belonging because of our flaws can ignite a fight-flight-freeze response, and that is the stress of shame.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You know that tension we feel when we are overwhelmed with deadlines, pressures or rocky relationships? Those pressures wouldn't exist if we weren't constantly trying to cover up shame. Unfortunately it gets diagnosed as "stress" and a recommendation of a stiff drink, a day at the spa or a weekend get-away is ordered. But none of those remedies tap into the issue of shame, hence why they provide only temporary relief, if at all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">We live in a culture that normalizes jokes about parents relying on booze to put up with the stress of family life. Blame your children as much as you want -- it's not kids who make you drink. The fear and sadness of believing that we are not good enough parents or providing enough for our loved ones -- <b>that's shame.</b> The emotion of shame is so unpleasant that we reach for anything to not feel it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And when it comes to our children, many cultures hold the belief that if they don't achieve our required goals this not only disappoints and embarrasses us but also causes intense family shame. It's a toxic cycle of <i>let's shame them into behaving accordingly as to reflect positively on me, because otherwise I will feel that feeling that would be the product of their failures</i> -- <b>shame.</b></span></span><br />
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The Opposite of Shame</span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My elementary school days taught me the opposite of shame is <b>pride </b>- but pride can be a mask of shame. It can be an inauthentic and narcissistic attitude to covering up shame.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The opposite of shame is <b>courage</b>. And courage can only happen if we practice <b>vulnerability</b>.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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Vulnerability</span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Vulnerability is basically uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. It's about showing up and being seen. To me it means tender and honest, while society sums it up as "weak". Vulnerability is the ability to show others and admit to ourselves that we are not perfect and we don't expect things to be.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Traditionally, for women the resistance to vulnerability sounds like: "Do not let them see you struggle".</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Traditionally for men, it's: "Do not be perceived as weak".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Strong is not the radical opposite of vulnerable (I consider them to be synonyms). It's <b><i>cool</i>.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Cool is "suck it up", "chin up", "Keep Calm and Carry on", "Fake it til you make it" and other mainstream ethos that are inauthentic and counter-intuitive. Though having a desire to "Live, Laugh, Love" is of course a desired state, it's a futile mantra to tell yourself when dealing with hardship because in order to overcome hardship, we must be willing to look at how it makes us feel.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We try to outrun or outsmart vulnerability by making things certain and definite, always having a plan, refusing to admit failures, labelling people and experiences as black and white, good and bad and blaming others or the universe when things go wrong. It's ignoring the tender feelings that creep up which if you really listen to, can be your guide, and instead following what you perceive as "tough" or "cool".</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the past, when I was avoiding vulnerability I would start hustling; and it's manic and exhausting. There is a belief in our culture that being grandiose, being extraordinary, being the best, having the most talented offspring, being the family everyone admires is what we should strive for. There's a fear of being ordinary. The moment you can look around and believe "I am good enough, this is good enough", you stop shame and </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">narcissism</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> in its tracks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"<i>What I am is good enough if I would only be it openly</i>." - Carl Rogers</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Perfectionism</b> is trying to gain approval.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Self-improvement </b>is a healthy way of growing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Why Vulnerability Works</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vulnerability and failure is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change. Hand on heart, being vulnerable opens the door to greater experiences and greater intimacy. When we feel like we have nothing to hide, we experience complete freedom.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vulnerability is not weak, nor giving up. But over-sharing on social media or crying to anyone who will listen is not a form of healthy vulnerability. Vulnerability is about sharing our feelings and our experiences with people who have earned the right to hear them. Being vulnerable and open is mutual and an integral part of the trust-building process. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">According to Brene Brown,<b> in order for shame to thrive it needs 3 things: </b></span></span><br />
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<li><b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">secrecy </span></b></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">silence </span></b></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">perception that you will be judged by others </span></b></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So if we experience something which causes us to feel shame and we can be open about it, without feeling like we will be judged by the listener, it simply cannot live. We stop shame in its tracks. When your friends/family approach you with their vulnerabilities; <b>it's not your job to council them, help them or change them; it's simply to be an empathic presence for which the person can use the conversation for personal growth.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have had to learn the hard way about who is safe to expose myself to and who isn't. Not every friend/family member is capable of seeing our vulnerabilities and sadly there are still many people who find the whole concept uncomfortable and may even shame us for it. Oh, the cycle of shame.</span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
Secrets and Lies</span></span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Consider the secrets we keep, even the little ones that we retain from our spouses, our parents, our children -- our closest tribe members. Shame breeds in the places where we cannot fully be ourselves and honest with our near and dear -- I reckon most of us live this way. We lie about our past, we lie about how much we spent, we lie about who we were with, how much we indulge, want we want/don't want in bed, we put passwords on our phones. Each time we tell one lie or omit one truth we are building another wall between us and the people we love the most. The irony is that when we are lied to or tricked we feel intense shame. And the result is to shame the person who made us feel that way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So here's where courage comes into play:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">The First & Second Arrow</span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We all make mistakes. We all fuck up. We all make really risky choices sometimes. We all have the capacity to have our feelings crushed.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The</b> <b>First Arrow</b> is: I made a mistake; I made an error, and I got it wrong. This may invoke feelings of guilt or frustration. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Or the situation may be; someone hurt me. Someone shamed me.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> B</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ut if we were to stop here, the crisis would only represent an error to correct or a lesson to learn, extending the opportunity to grow or advance. Imagine it like an arrow in your body. Look at the arrow, then pull it out. Take care of your wound. This is called self-compassion.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The</b> <b>Second Arrow</b> is the one we pick up and stab ourselves with when we've still got the first arrow in. This is the "<i>I fucked up. There must be something wrong with me if I behaved this way. What is the matter with me? I am such an idiot. I'm a bad person.</i>" This is the self-critic. This is the person who is attached to the story that we are damaged. This is shame. Alternatively<b> </b>if after getting struck by the <b>first arrow</b> we look around and seek external blame: "<i>Who did this? They are going to pay for this!</i>" and pick up the <b>second arrow</b> and throw it at someone (anyone!)...this is shaming.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The key is to bring awareness to how you react after the first arrow strikes. Do you take care of your wound, or do you bend down for the second arrow? Whether you have a pattern of directing blame inward or sending blame outward, the goal is to change the pattern of reaching for the second arrow.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">To become shame resilient we need to practice <b>self-compassion</b> and <b>forgiveness</b> to ourselves and others. There is no other way but this. It's as simple as putting your hand on your heart and saying your name or the other person's name. It is not easy. It takes honesty and it takes a lot of practice and time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Reap the Rewards</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For me the actual sensation of shame is less distressing because of my quest to understand it. But how and when it puts up walls and limitations in my life and stunts my communication skills, that I am still working on. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I believe all humans sit with some dose of shame, be it small or toxic. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I believe boys and men especially have been dealt a very unfair and cruel hand with how society treats them for exposing vulnerability. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Changing that status quo is what I consider to be part of my personal journey and it is part of the plight of feminism. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">If I could send a message to any man in my life or any man who has been in my life, it's that I am here, I will listen, I promise not to judge, you are loved more than you probably know, and you are forgiven.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For absolutely everyone reading this, including me:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Be kind to yourself. Go easy on yourself. Repeat. Reap the rewards of this radical behaviour.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-88566076202951405432015-12-26T14:54:00.000-05:002015-12-27T09:06:06.319-05:001989 Was A Good Year<script>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Music is the easiest and safest outlet most of us have for validating the intense feelings we’re not able to hold on our own. The knowing that someone else in the world is teetering between imploding and exploding can bring to light that sense of belonging. If it weren’t for the poets and musicians who justify our deepest fears, joys and longings, we would have no mirror.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">As a self-proclaimed lyric junkie, the most meaningful element of a song is the story. The cherry on top is the accompanied melodies -- the ‘second voice’ as I like to call it, to which the feelings are safely attached.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> There’s an intense bond that forms with an artist the moment you hear them take the words right out of your mouth. </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Music. Today...</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Bold beats, hooks, and production value are the virtues in our current musical landscape with most people in these digital days barely able to tell what is being articulated in a song. There's no longer a vinyl LP jacket in their hands as a point of reference. Words are indeed a dying art.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Yet I’m still a contemporary woman with contemporary taste - I’m an enthusiast of pop from every decade, however I’m remarkably drawn to the haunting and heavy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">...The Ryan Adams</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In terms of dark and broody, my most-relatable music from a human man is Ryan Adams.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ryan Adams is an American singer-songwriter musician/poet who falls in the alt-country genre with over 20 years of musicality under his cat-emblemed belt. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Like me, Ryan’s a joyful loner, with childhood wounds that run deep, who’s comfortable with vulnerability, and unpredictable with love choices. Unlike me, he’s actually a pretty decent musician; his lyrics are simple but unstructured, he’s a rock god on his Gibson ES-335, and his voice quality, though subjective, has incredible control and capabilities of a sweet falsetto tone. He’s collaborated with Elton John, Willie Nelson, Johnny Depp, and his cover of <i>Wonderwall</i> is so good that even Noel Gallagher said Adams “is the only person who ever got that song right.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When Ryan announced on Twitter in the summer of 2015 that he was covering Taylor Swift’s entire “1989” album the world of Rock and Roll purists scratched their heads in disbelief.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Taylor Swift? C'mon.</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The juxtaposition to Swift is in itself a clever marketing tactic. She is America’s People-Pleasing Feminist Pop Princess who sells out 75,000 seat stadiums and who is often persecuted, misunderstood and maligned for singing songs about past lovers. But that’s ridiculous and unfair -- all great songwriters write about their torrid love affairs. And she's got strong country roots. My guess is Ryan caught on immediately to the sadness and raw wounds that lay underneath all that pop synth of '1989' and was dying to poke at it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Her sound may say “John Hughes”, but her stories scream “Shakespeare”. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">At that point in time I wouldn’t call myself a fan of Taylor’s; her radio hits <i>Love Story, I Knew You Were Trouble, Blank Space,</i> and <i>Shake it Off</i> are fun to sing in the car with your kids but have little substance, though I could appreciate their verse-chorus structures.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But then the funkalicious guitar on the sexy and sultry <i>Style</i> twisted the knife in me a little because the parallels with my own ‘James Dean’ were too stark. I knew all about a love-lust that kept coming back to life and couldn't be shaken off no matter how hard I tried.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But tbh- <i>Style</i> is just a really awesome pop song.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"> '1989'</span></h4>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Regardless of whether it’s Ryan or Taylor singing the sonic 80’s songs on this album its theme is crystal clear with each track pulling the narrative in sequenced order.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The whole album documents a romance of impending doom and disillusionment. It’s a cat-and-mouse, back-and-forth kind of love. It’s a love that doesn’t follow logic, hearts and bodies fuelled by passion and led by pure emotion. Love that may just be about proving your self-worth. Lovers who are incompatible as partners perhaps, but with undeniable chemistry. Lovers who never uttered the words “I love you”, even though they did and probably always will.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It captures the utter grief and disempowerment when loves leaves. The agony of letting go of a love that is both good and bad but was never meant to last forever. It’s sealed with an internal declaration that you will never forget them as long as you live.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Most of us have been there - when you're submerged in it, it can feel like the juice of life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">She vs. He</span></h4>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtBKxqyTpiriYfOICYlYsGXcdVF9FjI70VLwFbeGje012mfhRha-NkVS2ls6I5m2u5NCedruWYTtxw5WKyHLg1aBaCegcBgxrXaXgWO6-UTQ3tHVhCKVSLZI_1NXCA-jEsvNOamYMgOEQ/s1600/ryan-adams-taylor-swift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtBKxqyTpiriYfOICYlYsGXcdVF9FjI70VLwFbeGje012mfhRha-NkVS2ls6I5m2u5NCedruWYTtxw5WKyHLg1aBaCegcBgxrXaXgWO6-UTQ3tHVhCKVSLZI_1NXCA-jEsvNOamYMgOEQ/s320/ryan-adams-taylor-swift.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I listened to the small samples of Ryan’s 1989 and fell in love at first sound. And when I love something or someone, I go deep, reeling on cult-fandom and obsession. Within days I knew every word and every whisper. I was stunned that the Smiths-esque songs were written by Taylor when they sounded so Ryan. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I was dying to listen to the album Taylor had already released almost a year ago. I purchased Taylor’s and my initial criticism was this: </span><br />
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If Taylor Swift is so earnest, why does '1989' sound so fake? </span></i></b></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Thank fuck for Ryan who injected authenticity to Taylor’s overproduction and wailing screeching</i>, I thought. <i>She brings the loud, big and bright while he brings the substance. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b> Initially I supported Ryan’s “mansplaining” of Taylor’s romantic plights. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Upon further investigation and listening to both albums on repeat for months, I found myself in a love-triangle with both artists. I have since retracted the negative criticism towards Tay-Tay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have listened to each song at least one hundred times, I know every single syllable, and I love them as if they were my babies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Taylor is my baby girl - in '1989' making references to her lipstick, her dresses, her gender role. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Ryan is my baby boy who honours the femme, doesn’t change all the pronouns and smashes heteronormativity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But let’s get this straight -- Ryan didn’t do ‘1989’ better, he simply turned her gems into ornate jewellery.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Time to give credit where credit is due:</b> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">These are Taylor’s stories, the words coming from her heart, the melodies -- her guitar, her piano. There is depth and capability as an artist. If it wasn’t for Taylor there would be no ‘1989’, an album that I can shamelessly admit is my favourite album of 2015 for moving the lovelorn foot-shuffler in me who also wants to get down to those sick beats.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>And just why do we feel compelled to write the words we do?</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We write to give emotions the movement they need </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">("e-motion") </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">in order to transform and to not be consumed by them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">We write to heal, to put our emotions somewhere appropriate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">We write to share</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> our stories as a way of finding intimacy with the rest of humanity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And we write to send messages to our lovers, of course. Even if they are not listening.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: 700; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">***</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Scoring the songs of 1989 (out of 10)</span></h4>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Welcome To New York</span></b></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She arrives single, fresh-faced and hopeful (imagine slouchy socks and shoulder pads) and everything she could ever want is waiting for her. She’s looking to find her musical sound but she’s going to stumble upon love along the way. Co-written by OneRepublic Ryan Tedder. The lyrics are overly simplified and so is the 80’s synthesizer. <b>(5) </b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The song opens to the sounds of Jersey shore seagulls. He takes the track, throws on some blue jeans, a bandana and a white t-shirt and gives it a macho mid-tempo rock ‘n roll sound like a Boss. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“<i>Like any true love it drives you crazy but you wouldn’t change anything, anything, anything!</i>” <b>(6)</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Blank Space</span></b></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></a>Her tongue-and-cheek response to the media’s perception on being a serial dater. This is not Taylor’s actual approach to relationships, it’s satirical. I’m not a big fan of this song but am a fan of the clean tones in her voice. <b>(5)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He turns this into a ballad and goes for the literal narrative. He's looking for a heart to break so he can punish himself by being deeply regretful for his actions. His trembling voice is beautiful. <b>(4)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Style</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></a>My favourite song intro on this album. This song is pop perfection. Despite how vulnerable and pouty she feels around the man who makes her feel un-done, I sense sex-positive undertones and equality in this relationship. The night setting is clear and she’s got him right where she wants him. So does he. Ah, young love. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“<i>He says what you heard is true but I can’t stop thinking about you and I</i>.”<b>(9)</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ryan does this song with pure earnest rock ‘n roll. He displays his committed passion like a peacock. He knows exactly what kind of girl he wants and he's out of breath articulating who she is. He channels Springsteen again, and you really believe he’s going to get everything he wants tonight. <b>(8)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><b><br /></b><b>Out Of The Woods</b></span></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I can’t decide what I love most about this song - the big and bright 80’s sound? The lyrics? The choices? I really like what she did with this catch-phrase as she laments on her dysfunctional relationship: “<i>Are we out of the woods? Are we in the clear yet? Good!</i>”. This is a super fun song to sing at the top of your lungs while gasping for air. <b>(8)</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He turns this song into a pleading lullaby that tells the story so clearly of two lovers whose love is always at threat. A perfect teetering-on-break-up ballad. When Ryan sings like he means it, he spits. And you can hear it. Instruments are added at every verse and at every chorus until there is a crescendo of crashing guitars and violins. Then he adds 16 extra bars at the end for you to get some tissue and wipe away the tears. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The rest of the world was black and white and we were in screaming colour.”</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(9)</b></div>
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<h3>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">All You Had To Do Was Stay</span></b></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Taylor’s take is a bubble gum Kiss-off. The squealing “Stay!” came to her in a dream apparently and personally, I love it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>“People like you always want back the love they pushed aside. People like me are gone forever when you say good-bye.” </i><b>(8)</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ryan’s take is a rock 'n roll yearning, as if he’s educating his lover. And there's regret in his voice and a warning that they're both going to be sorry. This is one of my top faves from both artists on this album simply because I feel like the words were taken right out of my mouth. <b>(8)</b></span><br />
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<b style="line-height: 1.38;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Shake It Off</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Another satirical jam a la “Hey Mickey”. The popularity and radio killed this one for me. Cannot even comment objectively. I loathe this song like an ex-lover I can't even bear to run into at the grocery store. <b>(2)</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He does this song in the style of Springsteen’s “I’m on Fire”. It’s a hit. He sings like he’s driving an old cadillac in the dead of night on deserted dead-end streets, burning out/coming down and like he may just drive off the Jersey turnpike. Ironically, Ryan brought this song back from the dead for me. <b>(7)</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I Wish You Would</span></b></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She’s lost her love and there’s urgency, mad regret and back-peddling. Another car-themed song with clean simple lyrics that can still break your heart. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“<i>We’re a crooked love in a straight line down.</i>” <b>(8)</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ryan does his signature alt-country-spit-lyrics and laments regret and sorrow, as if sitting with his buddy Tom Waits, whimpering into his drink at last call. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“<i>I miss you too much to be mad anymore.”</i><b> (8)</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Bad Blood</span></b></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is just too juvenile of a song (even) for me. I don’t hate it, but it’s another over-commercialized song killed by radio and gloss. <b>(4)</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ryan turns this into a mid-tempo middle-of-the-road country jam. He doesn’t make it great, but how can he when the lyrics are so basic?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>“You say sorry just for show. If you live like that you live with ghosts.” </i><b>(6)</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Wildest Dreams</span></b></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Personally, I find her weakest songs on this album are released as singles. The narrative of this song follows the post-break up of the estranged lovers. The memories are painful, the flashbacks of their sexual escapades are haunting, and the lingering question remains unanswered: "Was I special? Did I matter to you?" <b>(7)</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This song is pretty safe and vanilla but he extracts the juice Taylor set him up with. In both versions the instruments and melodies trump the lyrics. <b>(6)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">
How You Get The Girl</span></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Another bubble-gum pop love song done perfectly. The lovers get back together! And Swift tells exactly the magic formula required to make it happen. A Love-Conquers-All anthem set to high-production value and guitar-picking. <b>(8)</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A dragging your feet, kicking leaves, hands in pockets country ballad with the odd booming drum in all the right places. What Ryan does well is he finds the line Taylor shouts and then in his version, highlights it by repetitions or drawing out the vowels like Shakespeare's female protagonists: </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You could know that I don’t want to let you go.</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">” </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(9)</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><b><br /></b><b>This Love</b></span></h3>
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</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The only song on the album completely composed by Taylor. This song captures the bliss when the one you set free comes back. It’s a love song I’m sure touches every teenage girl, yet satisfies that fourteen year old in all of us grown women because alas, she’s still there. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Though her vocal chops are nowhere near in Adele’s league, the sentiment is just as strong as Adele’s heart-twisting ballads, though Adele’s lyrics are always problematically literal. Like any savvy lyricist Taylor’s good at using the abstract as to make it accessible for everyone. Taylor uses a continuation of metaphors throughout this album and the way she sets up the false calm after the storm I know this is NOT going to end on a high note.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“<i>This love has left a permanent mark, this love is glowing in the dark.”</i> <b>(10)</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He stripped down her beautiful ballad to falsetto whispering vocals and piano. I bet money this is Ryan’s favourite song on the album. Not gonna lie, this version has made me cry more times than it has not.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>“I fell to my knees. When you’re young you run ---” </i><b>(10)</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I Know Places</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here’s the story of lovers on the run who will stop at nothing to live out their outlawed passion. The world is full of vultures, hunters and chasers and fuck ‘em - they’ll never find us. Here’s bubble-gum-pop’s version of Springsteen’s <i>Born to Run</i>. Now calm down, this is actually a fair comparison and she's earned it. <b>(7)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Rugged. Love it. Took a great song and made it great with just the right amount of electric guitar. <b>(8)</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Clean</span></b></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bP5GTmCxvEAcom-FNN71f2eDkbedl2J5AuiuIIQ0C5zRc-hoHgTSiVk2UVqGNPlP1gnNdvQpb7WMrl0wFPFzqhBaZombfp4XMIdh2HuU03KI7hbpG2si2IjTPIgurfK7Irm89eT3nHw/s1600/taylorstory-651.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She takes the blooming symbols from “This Love” and drowns them. Taylor’s heavy breathing and sad child-like articulation of every word against the vibraphone shows the raw angst of the break-up as if it has just happened. The theme of this song is cleansing yourself from your addiction, step-by-step. You’ve realized that it’s not the lover you are addicted to -- it’s the high. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“<i>Ten months sober I must admit, just because you’re clean don’t mean you don’t miss it.”</i> <b>(10)</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cDQPviQr4HfCqRwxANF38_iU7-2xxGMnah7kaMZFWLZZnmM-J46hJehRSJ03_f6YXHhmlm3XozjMXhVmX68XQz5kJkf2nXzxn48Fz5TNkaP-t_K4vWbreVEEyxWizQRbuazi3wZMr2U/s1600/RyanAdamsNewportLead-001.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ryan sings like he’s got some distance - like he’s telling the story from 10 months down the road. Gather round now kids, let me tell you about the time I nearly died from heart break and had to check myself into rehab.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“<i>Now that I’m clean I’m never gonna risk it</i>” <b>(9)</b></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-67539628792693501592015-10-30T22:57:00.003-04:002016-05-08T07:57:50.704-04:00Apples and Oranges<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjgCw3g7C5eFFLcpXnHXn_W0Dq56MRxkTZgqLz1PLAGBLFv6prbYLHq-GB4VDJqsF0BBcFMKvanxuZYRIdJLiGQKnLLFvF2VzgwsgWwjZ0H-JYtsvEy0GIO81m8OPDE5JMKWrtnbKq4b8/s1600/vineyard.jpeg"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjgCw3g7C5eFFLcpXnHXn_W0Dq56MRxkTZgqLz1PLAGBLFv6prbYLHq-GB4VDJqsF0BBcFMKvanxuZYRIdJLiGQKnLLFvF2VzgwsgWwjZ0H-JYtsvEy0GIO81m8OPDE5JMKWrtnbKq4b8/s400/vineyard.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-f3183c5d-c101-7079-0a4a-b75546075b00" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">You walk into a grocery store that appears to be selling only apples and oranges. The shopkeeper is beautiful and charming and proudly shows you their collection of apples and oranges which appear delicious if you like apples and oranges - which you do. And they certainly know their apples and oranges. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">The two of you bond over your mutual love for apples and oranges, and you roll them around in your hands as you gaze into each other’s eyes. When they offer you samples from the fresh shipment they’ve brought in, you bite, wide-mouthed and eyes closed as the juice trickles down your chin. They tell you that no one has ever come into their store the way you have and appreciated apples and oranges like you do. You can barely remember that you had ever set out that first morning looking to buy some grapes. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">But when the time is right, you gently ask them if they have any grapes. They say no, there aren’t any grapes. There are apples and oranges because that is all that they can manage and the shape and size just works for them. Then they open up slightly by sharing some key information: Long ago they used to have grapes for some other customer, and that customer loved those grapes. They were the best. And they were so happy selling grapes to that customer whenever that customer wanted them. It was wonderful. And then one day that customer decided they didn’t like grapes anymore so that customer stomped all over the grapes, squishing them and their delicate skin all over the floor. And fled out the door to another shopkeeper who was selling figs across the road. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Their heart was broken. So that’s why they no longer sell grapes — they can’t bear to. It hurts too much. And so, for you, just apples and oranges, alright? They tell you maybe there will be grapes on the shelves one day. They may get some in. In fact, maybe tomorrow, if you come back. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">So you keep coming back day after day, week after week, year after year, and they keep describing the grapes they don’t have, and still they give you apples and oranges which are looking more hard-skinned, cold, and tasteless by the day. Still, you’d really like to someday see these grapes they keep promising to bring in. You are grateful for your apples and oranges but deep inside -- you crave grapes, so much so that the cravings wake you up in the middle of the night. You see people all around you stuffing their mouths with grapes. When your friends invite you to their homes, you eye the grapes in their fruit bowls and wonder which market they had found them. You know that grapes can do powerful things beyond just being tasty -- they can be turned into wine! You go back to the shop and do everything including cartwheels to try to get them to order in some grapes. They say that you deserve the finest grapes, and actually they are surprised a person like you hasn’t found grapes by now. But they’re glad you haven’t - because they were thinking about grapes just the other day and how they might get some for you... tomorrow. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Tomorrow you arrive to find their shop is closed. Just as they are turning the keys to lock the door for the last time, they tell you they are off to buy a vineyard with someone else. No hard feelings, eh? </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">They’re not rejecting YOU, can’t you see?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">It is you, after all, who cannot sustain yourself on just apples and oranges and they know nothing else -- have nothing else to give but apples and oranges. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">But what about the grapes they were planning on bringing in?</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">All lies. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "georgia"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">They never had any desire for grapes and it was all a story just to keep you interested and to see what you would do to remain a loyal customer. The story of the grape-loving heart-breaking customer was a fabrication, or a combination of a few former customers who got tired of those apples and oranges and walked away. And no, they’re not off to be the owner of a fancy new vineyard. How can they be, when they’ve never even liked or been interested in grapes ever in their life? There is no vineyard. They’re just setting up shop somewhere else to sell -- you guessed it… more apples and oranges.</span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-12176678605442412842015-09-19T12:33:00.001-04:002015-09-20T11:39:14.219-04:00Untouchable Face<script>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br />The blonde chick on the stoop drags on her cigarette and nods towards the over-sized orange tour bus parked on Queen street West.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">“Who’s playing tonight?” she quips and lights the cigarette of the wrinkled, disheveled gray-haired man who’s leaning against her shoulder. It's a warm September evening and she’s wearing her pj’s and his tattered shopping bags are next to his feet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br />“Ani Difranco” I reply. Her eyes bug out and she repeats the name but pronounces it “Annie”.<br /><br />“Holy. Fuck.<i> Untouchable Face</i> is the best breakup song of all time” she claims.<br /><br />“Oh, I know Ani Difranco” the old man chimes in. “But she’s not really my taste. But that’s because I’m into hardcore death metal”.<br /><br />I enter the concert venue and settle in the empty balcony because the plus-thirty crowd have taken up the folding chairs on the main floor. A guy called Scarekrow is the opening act and he’s a rocking old geezer with Neil Young, Pete Seeger and Tom Waits traits. He’s replacing Garnet Rogers who at the last minute got hit by a car. He’s alright, but apparently he broke something. <br /><br />A father and son shift in and sit one row below me with a buffer seat in between them. The son folds his arms across his chest and looks bored, his floppy brown hair falls in his eyes. The father doesn’t even bother trying to get him to give a shit. I assume this is his cruel and unusual punishment for some petty teenage crime.<br /><br />Ani finally saunters on stage, her D-tuned guitar is hugged close to her body, she’s wearing a classic white tight tank top, khaki pants with pockets all over the legs and a thick belt. The mature crowd goes wild; including the teenage boy’s father, the straight and queer gentlefolk on the folding chairs, and the married couples gripping hands with nostalgia for the 90’s.<br /><br />The teenage boy puts his head in his hands. His groans are muffled by Ani’s guitar. <br /><br />She opens with <b>Napoleon</b> (from the 1996 album <i>Dilate</i>); her mission statement-fueled rock anthem about navigating between being heard as an artist and selling out. The lyrics are a call-out to a female contemporary (rumoured to be Suzanne Vega) who signed decorative and deceiving music deals that she, herself turned down. <br /><br />Ani flubs the lyrics leading up to the chorus and starts the verse again. <br /><br />“Agh….Welcome to the Ani Difranco Show” she laughs into the microphone.<br /><br />Ani has a reputation for being “angry” - a basic way of summing up a person’s right to express themselves through art during a time when they feel threatened, attacked, mistreated or disappointed. But sigh, Ani is and has always been so misunderstood.<br /><br />Ani is at the core a brilliant poet: Her lyrics often include alliterations, metaphors, and symbols that are gentle and provocative. Her writing is revered and praised for its sophistication, which doesn’t even put her in the same league as her contemporaries; Suzanne Vega, Indigo Girls and Jewel. She’s of Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen caliber. <br /><br />She transitions nicely into <b>Angry Anymore</b> (<i>Up Up Up Up Up Up</i>, 1999). A song that expresses a new-found empathy for her parents and past lovers. If Ani had been performing with her band, there would have been a banjo, harmonica, saxophone, piano, clarinet, stand-up bass, accordion, drums, cello, distorted electric guitars and Ani would have played the water cooler. DiFranco's guitar playing has a signature staccato style, quick and agile fingerpicking and many unique guitar tunings. She has a powerful set of pipes, and many of her lines are delivered with vibrato and angst.<br /><br />Her prose can be vulgar at times which has taught me well: she talks about fucking and pissing and spitting and blood and broken bones. She also write about abortions, rape, violence, patriarchy, crime, gender inequality, racism, classism, consumerism, poverty, sexuality, cruelty, environmental pollution, depression, grief and isolation.<br /><br />She switches guitars, tuned up most-likely to DADF#GD because her sound has changed. She plays a handful of songs off her new album <b>Allergic to Water </b>(2014): the title track, a poem, a song about her daughter, a ditty about the depressive state of TV and grocery aisles, <b>Careless Words</b>, and then <b>Genie</b>, a folk song which could be the theme tune to my very own sitcom. She’s been retreating from politics and instead focuses on long-term relationships, motherhood, and spirituality. Topics I grasp well -- yet, I’ve never felt more disconnected to her new music. Sadly, it used to be that 10 out of 12 songs on every album were solid gold; now I’m lucky if I can appreciate two.<br /><br />She admits that people say “<i>Put the down-trodden Ani back in the bag and bring back that bitch with all the rage.”</i><br /><br />But Ani doesn’t give a fuck what you or I think. She’s the high priestess of feminist folk and she’s making the kind of music that suits her now. She laments political with the wisdom of a mama, no longer with the rebellion of youth. So I gotta let her grow.<br /><br />Ani starts taking requests from the audience:<br /><br />“<b>I’m No Heroine</b>!” some guy shouts<br />“<b>Back Back Back</b>!” a young woman screams<br />“<b>Independence Day</b>!”, “<b>Pick Yer Nose</b>!”, “<b>Letter to a John</b>!”, “<b>Outta Range</b>!”, “<b>Dilate</b>!”<br />“<b>Grey</b>!” I yell from the balcony. The teenage boy gives me side-eye and shrugs his shoulders to his ears. <br /><br />She deflects them all, giggling:<br />“Oh good one!”<br />“Wow, must re-learn that one”<br />“Haven’t played that one for ages”<br /><br />So instead she picks up her guitar and belts out <b>Two Little Girls</b> (<i>Little Plastic Castle</i>, 1998). It’s a ditty about being in love with a girl who is in love with another girl who is no damn good. Ani laments: “<i>Love is a piano dropped from a four-story window and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time</i>”. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ani identifies as bisexual. As a feminist, and as a queer performing music in America Ani has spent the majority of her career (which began when she was 18) fighting off harsh criticism, death threats, unjust labels, and basically being told to shut the fuck up. The reaction to her opinions particularly from men, (considering people like Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan were protest singers too), exemplifies the inequality of genders in the music industry. Those death threats most likely just proved Ani’s point, and so she kept fighting.<br /><br />Ani tells us she’s soon to be "best man" at a gay wedding and so she visited the Eaton Centre looking for a nice suit. The audience jokingly shames her on her choice of shopping venue. Even from up on the balcony I could see she’s embarrassed. Or perhaps annoyed. <br /><br />The teenage boy perks up and grins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br />“Sheesh. Well go ahead and put it on the Internet that I shop at the fucking Eaton Centre” she teases and tells us it’s time to get fucking serious. It’s time for <b>To the Teeth</b> (<i>To the Teeth</i>, 1999).<br /><br />It’s a post-Columbine Shooting anti-gun, anti-Republican ballad, one I puzzled over line-by-line as a teenager, working out the metaphors in the verses only to be told the moral message at the end of the song: <i>And if I hear one more time about a fool’s right to his tools of rage, I’m gonna take all my friends and we’re gonna move to Canada, and we’re gonna die of old age.</i><br /><br />She’s got us right where she wants us now and so she tells us about “Spoons”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br />Stanley “Spoons” Jackson is a California man, from the city of Barstow, serving life without parole for a murder conviction in the late 1970s. He was jailed at 19 and has since become an award-winning poet and playwright in prison. He’s part of the album that Canadian Zoe Boekbinder and Ani Difranco are making from songs from inmates: a mix of folk, rock, blues, and hip hop. So Ani sings one of Spoon’s memoirs that she’s turned into a song: <b>Nowhere But Barstow and Prison</b> plus a few other others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br />Ani’s point of view is clear: America is the #1 incarcerated country in the world and the human beings who are locked up behind these bars are experiencing more torture than the crimes they were convicted of. Every beaten down woman and every broken down man deserves mercy. We all suffer at the hands of institutional disease.<br /><br />Ani rounds out her concert with a string of crowd-pleasing classics: <b>You Had Time</b> (<i>Out of Range</i>, 1994) an epic ballad about the lover who waits for her while she’s on the road. Her next ballad <b>Everest </b>(<i>Up Up Up Up Up Up</i>, 1999) is a slow and beautiful love story with subtle hints of an interracial relationship. She was white, he was black, he showed her his life and she showed him hers, while everybody stared. <br /><br />At a Prince concert recently (he sang backup on her track <b>Providence</b>) she tells us she danced the night away.<br /><br />She invites us to get off our balconies and folding chairs and do the same. <br /><br />The end is clearly drawing near and if Ani tells me to get closer to her, dammit I will get closer than anyone. I ditch my spot near the teenage boy and his dad and flee down the steps towards the stage. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The crowd is a mass of old, accommodating, well-behaved white people. One guy makes way for me to get closer to the stage. When I reach the stage a young lady moves her bag so I can stand next to her. And there she is. Ani Difranco, one meter away from me. I can see every line on her face and what color of laces she’s got on her shoes. In the 15 times I have seen her perform I have never been this close. I sway and scream and take shitty photos with my phone.<br /><br />She’s playing her trademark rock-out song: <b>Shameless</b> (<i>Dilate</i>,1996) an angst rant about refusing to stop fucking her married female lover and they're about to be caught. She moves on to my favourite breakup song:<b> Gravel </b>(<i>Little Plastic Castle</i>, 1998) a man comes back to apologize, and she's torn. S</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">he's angry as hell at what he's put her through - but she adores him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br />Ani ends with a bang and thanks the crowd. She exits but our claps, screams and palm-banging on the stage bring her back. She gracefully returns and breaks out into <b>Untouchable Face</b> (<i>Dilate</i>, 1996), the crowd shouts along to the chorus:<br /><br /><i>Fuck you, and your untouchable face<br />and Fuck you, for existing in the first place.</i><br /><br />I remember the blonde on the steps who didn’t say Ani’s name right who has it all wrong. Untouchable Face isn’t about breaking up; it’s about the pain of never having that person to begin with. It’s about unrequited love. It’s about feeling invisible. But alas, Ani has a way of writing the theme tunes to our love lives we can all share. <br /><br />The teenage boy and his dad have squeezed their way near the stage too and are standing behind me. The teen stands stoic but holds up his phone towards the stage. He snaps a few pics of Ani as she makes her final bow and jogs off stage.<br /><br />I have to ask:<br />“Do you like Ani Difranco?” I shout up to his ear.<br />He turns to me, his mouth is tight lipped, curled slightly up. His floppy hair is covering his face.<br /> “No, not really -” He says shaking his head “ - But my mom did."<br />“I think Untouchable Face was her favourite song” he tells me, his dad is listening and he smiles at us.<br />“That’s pretty bad-ass” I say. <br />“She was pretty bad-ass” the father and son tell me in unison.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /><br />Additional resources:<br /><a href="http://www.motherjones.com/media/2015/02/new-folsom-prison-music-project-zoe-boekbinder-ani-difranco" target="_blank">These California Maximum Security Prisoners are Making an Album</a></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-21940132819584565682015-08-15T22:49:00.000-04:002015-09-07T21:34:17.998-04:00Singular White Feminist<script>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When a blanket of senseless media sources revealed to the world that Emma Watson recently had an “awkward” moment when she offered to pay on a date, it inspired me to examine the futility behind the interview. What a wealthy white Hollywood actress and her equally-privileged date decide to do with the food bill on a date is hardly the kind of feminist comparison the people down here need to hear about in 2014. Call me a rebel, but I’d like to hear something that’s actually - <i>bloody</i> - “awkward”. <br /><br />I’m a fan of Emma Watson and I believe her 2014 UN speech brought awareness to gender equality and she absolutely means well in her feminist work. Her speech, however, lacked any mention of intersectional feminism (</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">cite Kimberlé Crenshaw</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">) and the hashtag itself #HeforShe suggests a male-centric (not to mention binary-gender) feminism.<br /><br />But she has learnt a lot since then and is still learning and oh god, aren't we all...<br /><br />But let’s not kid ourselves, people listened to her, and the media covered the story not only because it was “game-changing” but because she’s famous, and pretty, and has a pleasing-sounding accent, and she’s straight, cisgender and white. And that’s the catch 22 of the her advantage: We listened to her because of all those factors, and she knew she’d be heard. This gives both the audience (mostly other whites) and the speaker the advantage -- a cycle that leaves everybody else out. But I’ll spare the speech on Critical Race Theory and how white supremacy gets internalized.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Emma Watson failed to acknowledge her white privilege just like so many other “feminist heroes” in Hollywood ever do. <i>Because it’s irrelevant</i>, they say. <i>It shouldn’t matter. We’re all in this together.</i><br /><br />People call this White Feminism.<br /><br /><i>Wait...isn’t that a little harsh? Isn’t that, like, racist?</i><br /><br />I didn’t make it up, but I will explain it: White feminism works on the assumption that all women are equally oppressed. It’s putting the concerns of Western white women before any other group, often leaving issues concerning women of colour out of the conversation completely. And it’s saviour based -- Let me help you. Let me take over. Let me change you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So yes, I’m pulling the race card -- Because so many voices of colour don’t feel heard. They don’t feel represented. It’s actually a really shitty thing that still happens in our society.<br /><br />Equality does not equal sameness. Feminism is not the same for everyone. White experiences are not universal. We’re not all in “this” together because “this” is experienced differently by everyone. Women’s rights are a complicated issue.<br /><br />If a white feminist such as myself says “yeah me too” when speaking to a woman of colour about her issues of feminism, I’ve got my blinders on. I do not experience misogyny the way a Muslim woman does.<br /><br />I’m pretty, petite, eloquently-spoken, heterosexual in lifestyle, white, working class, Canadian, single, able-bodied, with the freedom to experiment sexually and spiritually, and people listen to me. – That's called privilege. And it’s not lost on me. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">When I say something to the police, they listen to me. Then they believe me.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /><br />I don’t need to apologize for being white. Nor am I saying that all white people are privileged. Calling out white feminism is not attacking the white woman, it’s pointing out that white privilege prevents us from seeing the views of other feminist issues outside of our own bubble. This has been absolutely true for me.<br /><br />Take gender pay equality for example; white women earn on average less than men however black women get paid less than white women, Hispanic women even less still. No, they don’t blame it all on me but you can see why they’re not rushing to be part of my feminist sisterhood.<br /><br />It means that sure, I may not want my white western daughter wearing a burqa because I feel it symbolizes oppression (not to mention culturally inappropriate) it's acknowledging that the burqa means something different to an Afghani woman. The symbols for our little girls are not the same. Believing that they are is practicing a theory of feminism that isn’t intersectional.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We are not perfect feminists. We have so much to learn. And if the term <i>White Feminism</i> bothers you a bit, chances are it’s because you’re white. It certainly did me when I first heard it but like most lessons in life, I’ve learned this the uncomfortable way. Be careful not to shut out the people who challenge you, who make you feel uncomfortable. Keep them around -- they are there to teach you something. Take your blinders off.<br /><br />This means that as a white feminist I have to educate myself on the issues of feminism outside my community (mostly white), and my Facebook friends list (mostly white), and outside the feminist role models I’ve been exposed to and have grown up admiring (mostly white).<br /><br />It means that I don’t need to follow people like Amy Poehler and Lena Dunham on Twitter because most of what they preach will appear in a news source, my Facebook feed, or on a late night talk show. What mainstream media and what Tina Fey won’t tell me is <b>how it feels</b> to live with issues like poverty, the over-policing and under-protection of black women, female sterilization, domestic abuse, rape culture, transgender violence, and men being victims of the patriarchy.<br /><br />Sadly in most cases, activists don’t really understand these other sides. They don’t want to look at how they are part of what keeps other people pushed down. So we have a lot to learn from each other.<br /><br />Time to move on from idolizing the rich ladies of Hollywood to listening to voices that come from an intersect community:<br /><br />The 20 year old Saudi who expresses her empowerment when she wears her hijab.<br />The 58 year old white male with depression who is sick of having to put on a macho front.<br />The 25 year old openly gay American football player.<br />The 25 year old black girl who is angry as fuck about the violence that happens in her community.<br />The 36 year old Muslim woman who challenges white feminism.<br />The 21 year old queer Korean who practices feminist makeupping.<br />The 76 year old Mexican Catholic grandmother who worries marriage is a dying institution.<br />The teenage lesbian woman of colour who is fighting obesity.<br />The white single mom from Detroit who lives in poverty.<br />Sex workers<br />Buddhist feminists, Jewish feminists, teenage feminists, male feminists, black feminists.<br /><br />No, I'm not obsessed with labels, their identities are relevant.<br /><br />Follow them directly on social media. If you really want to know what feminism sounds like, if you want to hear the thoughts and opinions of feminists listen to them first-hand instead of via mainstream news sources who rarely voice the <i>minority or fringe views</i> and often mis-quote or change up the context. Read the tweets that make you uncomfortable. Ask yourself why it makes you uncomfortable. You will begin to get an idea just how diverse the landscape of feminism is. Some follow me back because they too want to be part of an intersectional feminist community, but most don't because they're probably sick as shit of white feminists.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And please don’t suggest I get off my working-single-mum-of-two butt and do some charity work in a foreign country; that’s your privilege showing.<br /><br />Just as much as it probably frustrates you to see a room full of 12 white men making policy for a nation, I’m sure for much of the global female population it frustrates them to see the same 12 white American female celebrities as the token voices for feminism. (Amy, Amy, Tina, Lena, Anne, Hermione, Zoe, Hilary, Lorde, Taylor, Patricia, and .....).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Gasp! But these women are awesome!</i><br />Sure, but they hardly represent diversity and hardly ever acknowledge their privilege.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’m a huge supporter of celebrities using their platform to advocate. It’s effective. They have power. Caitlyn Jenner (who actually acknowledges her privilege) is speaking up on the suicide rate of transgender youth, Amandla Stenberg speaks up about cultural appropriation, Michael J Fox, stem-cell research. I don’t believe Hollywood actors/ pop stars should shut up and stick to their art. No way. But as an audience, listen to them, allow them to enlighten you and keep moving. Educate yourself further.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br />I support Amy Schumer and Lena Dunham who are demanding respect in their industry, demanding equal pay and demanding their scripts to be picked up. They’re kicking butt in their industry and they're killing it. But if you look around at the rest of the world, those women, those girls...they are drowning.<br /><br />Lastly, when a black woman declares “<i>Black women are beautiful!</i>” hi-jacking it by claiming “<i>We are all beautiful</i>” is an insult to her feminism. When an Aboriginal student declares she feels it’s racism that prevents her from winning awards, don’t gasp and say she’s targeting white women. Shut up, listen, and open your eyes to what she’s pointing out. If you see it too, support her.<br /><br />There’s a reason I don’t chime in on matters of the hijab, black misogyny, inner-city poverty, aboriginal oppression and policy for sex trade workers. As white feminists, we don’t have to chime in on these issues. <b>We can shut up and listen</b>. This goes for male privilege too.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So you want me to listen to what other people say but say nothing?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Yup.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Well, that doesn’t seem very feminist.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Yes, actually it does.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Well, don’t I have an opinion too?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Yes, you do. Just make sure you check your privilege first and know that you don’t always have to make every issue about you.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Geez, sounds like there’s a lot of “rules” to follow.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Yeah, well, no one said living with a bunch of other people on the same planet was going to be easy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">***</span></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-733ccc63-344b-9eda-46ea-6aecd68cea05"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(Recommended Internet reading: Google "<i>Here's why it's not racist to talk about white privilege</i>" ) </span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-13576103511834384572015-08-09T11:45:00.002-04:002015-08-18T14:01:03.400-04:00Summer Shorts<script>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My summer so far has been full-bodied and I've been squeezing out some spare time to edit my short stories and write new ones for my <a href="http://www.wendysshorts.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Wordpress site</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Stay tuned for more FeministBuddhist content in the near future posted right here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In the meantime, please visit my <a href="http://www.wendysshorts.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">site</a> for some Sinclair Shorty-Shorts.
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Have a safe and sane summer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-45890839881694531142015-07-09T21:50:00.000-04:002016-06-03T22:21:29.271-04:00The M Word<script>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I discovered meditation initially as a coping mechanism, a form of cheap therapy unattached to any religious or spiritual label. When I could feel curiosity kicking and screaming during my novice meditation practices I gradually started turning to the study of Buddhist philosophy - the </span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">dharma, </span></i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">and then to other Buddhists </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>- Sangha support,</i></span><strong style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', serif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> </strong><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">for advice, connection, and understanding.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />It’s a classic tale of how the spiritual practice ball gets rolling: My friend introduced it to me, she was introduced to it by her husband, he was introduced to it by his therapist, his therapist was introduced to it by the monks he lived with in India, I introduced it to my friend, and she introduced it to her boyfriend. We all practice it in different ways, we all have our own spiritual gurus, and we all have our own reasons for doing it. For the most part it’s shameless yet very private: like flexing in the mirror.<br /><br />There are countless articles written about meditation and if you have time I’d read the ones that debunk the myths of meditation. Taking on the heavy task of writing about the meaning of meditation is daunting, so kudos to them for even trying. I’ve decided to simply and gently share <b>what meditation has taught me</b>:<br /><br /><br /><b>1. I am very rarely ever present during my waking hours.</b><br /><br />The presence of presence is so short-lived, as if going extinct, and to me, prevails only on the faces of babies and animals. Anyone meditating just one time knows how difficult it is to just sit down, be completely in the now and be aware of what our body and hearts are experiencing at the moment. Being present -- like really here, without thoughts or intentions on what we’re going to say next or do next, without wishing we were somewhere else, or reliving moments, or deep in concentration, or stuck in our judgments, or planning, or with stories drifting in and out– is really truly radical and difficult. Meditation helps me become aware of how much I am <i>not</i> present in my day-to-day life. Having this awareness through meditation teaches me how to tap into presence in my normal waking hours, if not for a few minutes of every day, allowing more connected, more amplified experiences. And that’s when the magic happens.<br /><br /><br /><b>2. Feelings have feelings.</b><br /><br />I tend to be the most enthusiastic about meditation when I am triggered. I often only meditate on the heavy stuff: frustration, guilt, anger, disappointment, betrayal, fear, loss, blame. I sit with the particular feeling, without thoughts or stories attached and commit to being with it for an amount of time all while exaggerating it from head to toe. Doing this I become better acquainted with it – and most importantly, less scared of it. What this practice does is it familiarizes and prepares me for each emotion when they unexpectedly creep up in my life, acknowledging them, and then letting them go. Like most people I have a tendency to react before properly identifying what it is that I am feeling. Now, I recognize fear, I recognize control, I recognize burnt out - they all have a clear sensation (and taste and texture and smell). The magic happens when I'm comfortable sitting with the pinching of resentment and the coolness of shame without acting out and without repressing. <br /><br /><br /><b>3. There are no unwanted emotions.</b><br /><br />This one may be the most eye-roll-inducing but it surprisingly was the easiest concept for me to grasp: I learnt to stay with the hurt</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> and self-doubt </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">that arouse when I was sitting cross-legged in solitude on a cushion. Meditating is not escaping or distracting me from the difficult. I don’t go off to zen-land and meditation doesn’t put me in a hypnotic, psychedelic trance. It’s quite the opposite: I see exactly what’s really here. What’s really underneath the shrug, the smirk, the jazz hands. What I’ve been pushing down since before lunch. I learnt to ignore the friend who said</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Don’t be sad. You should be happy!</i>” I</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">f I am paying attention, difficult emotions can indicate what’s really going on, especially if they keep creeping up. I don’t always leave mediation “feeling better” but at least I’ve learnt to stay with what is. The magic happens when everything is welcome.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“<i>Instead of being bad news, are actually very clear moments that teach us where it is that we’re holding back. They teach us to perk up and lean in when we feel we’d rather collapse and back away. They’re like messengers that show us, with terrifying clarity, exactly where we’re stuck. This very moment is the perfect teacher, and, lucky for us, it’s with us wherever we are.</i>”- Pema Chödrön</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /><b>4. It’s the only place I can be completely honest.</b><br /><br />Like most people I have an unconscious-sometimes-conscious pattern of dishonesty and wearing armor to self-protect and to protect my children, flawed as I know it is. During my private meditation it’s an opportunity to really look and be honest with my experience no matter how ugly. Cultivating honesty in my relationships and refusing to accept lies from other people can only happen if I have a private space to practice honesty. I suppose this is the Buddhist version of the Catholic Confession. However, there's a serious intention to not judge during meditation. We’ve been brought up to judge emotion: <i>Joy is good. Jealousy is bad</i>. We've been brought up to judge experience: <i>I'm not doing this right. It's not supposed to be like this.</i> Whatever the experience is when I meditate is as the Buddhists say: <i>no big deal</i>. It’s all part of the package – no judging on why it happened, how I got here or what emotions are likable or unlikable. The magic happens when I admit that I still find this one extremely difficult and I’m still trying to get the hang of it.<br /><br /><br /><b>5. Gratitude</b><br /><br />There have been countless times I’ve sat down to meditate but instead wanted to get up, turn the lights on and go check my Facebook (and believe me I have). In those times on my cushion, I have learnt to practice simple breathing in and out with feelings of gratitude for all that I have and all that I am. I don’t express gratitude enough during my waking hours, so during this meditation it brings clarity and perspective. I have so much to be grateful for. Most of us do.<br /><br /><br /><b>6. Self-Advocacy</b><br /><br />I’ve become a self-advocate -- which is not to be selfish or self-absorbed, though I have my moments -- but to not give up on myself. The root of everything is compassion; and the root of compassion is self-compassion. If nothing, absolutely nothing arises on that cushion; no thoughts, no emotions, no physical sensations, then at the very least I can put my hand on my heart for 10 minutes and devote to being kind to myself. Not everyone loves themselves, I get it. Even when I believe I do I still treat myself in ways that say otherwise. So I take time to give kindness, love, and compassion to myself <i>for no reason</i>. I don’t list all the wonderful things I did today, or check off my good deeds. And this magic-inducing gentle reminder: Go easy on yourself. Take care of yourself.<br /><br /><br /><b>7. I can always find my way back (home) to it.</b><br /><br />No matter how much something hurts or how long I’ve gone without meditating I can always come home to it. Paradoxically, I knew meditation was working for me when something traumatic happened and I couldn’t bear to face meditation. I abandoned it for weeks. I felt if I sat with it, the hurt would creep up and the thought of having to “look at it” would be too much to bear. Instead I turned to music, cigarettes and writing -- harmless as they seem. It takes a lot of courage to want to crack open. Meditation is always here when I’m ready. Even if it’s been a season’s passing, even if I’ve changed my mind and back again. I can have as many chances as I like. I can never fail and I can never truly master it, which means the path is limitless. There’s no end result, there’s no resolution. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So I suppose I’ll just keep going. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The magic happens when I can feel my</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> heart opening up a little more each time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />Lastly, I don’t claim to be enlightened, not in the least, I’m still striving for improvement, I know we’re all a work-in-progress. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Pema Chödrön</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">, a </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">popular guru and my most cherished, wisely and best states it this way:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"<i>Meditation practice isn’t about trying to throw ourselves away and become something better. It’s about befriending who we are already.”</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If anyone reading this feels they want to connect with me on any of the subjects broached, please know messages are always welcome, throw rocks at my window, knock on my door, smoke signals, whatever. And for those reading who believe they could never learn anything from meditation, I say that's cool too.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-52943556174191545062015-06-28T22:04:00.000-04:002015-06-30T13:39:12.448-04:00Does This Ambiguity Make My Butt Look Big?<script>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img height="265" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/m1n4iM3NbvJ340TNOqBAIP0s42puun1NVpWHoZwLlKxb-4725fBx1mODsNHsPLalTDd8hUXMQuPvz8a-mAJc-Ngd2wK0DwR9bK_HQbcEx2wiGwow1AYSGbKEpleyJYimECVkAT4" width="400" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;">It’s a quiet, lifeless Wednesday night at the downtown sex club (hey, we know the dj) and my boredom leads us across the street to the gay bar known as Zippers where we accidentally stumble on the city’s one and only weekly Drag King event. I plant my feet firmly in the first row of the show. It’s a combination of curiosity and envy that won’t let me leave.<br /><br />After watching three of the most convincing women-dressed-as-men lip-sync and cavort to my favourite pop songs, their hips gyrating, their bow-ties bobbing, my friend pulls me out the door by my arm as I plead with her to stay a bit longer.<br /><br />“<i>No way</i>!” she grumbles. “<i>There’s no hot guys here. We’re leaving.”</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br />“<i>Hey,</i> <i>I want to do this someday. Do you think I should try out?</i>” I ask as we get outside and light our cigarettes. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">She smiles affectionately and assures me if any woman would be amazing at this, it would be me. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img height="263" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/kJ4M8ufgD0U5o5vsYQDD2aCyhH_e3i_xkVxoW3Qep-FkWY9P5D_IaR4bAI4zVlq7vHMdYSyyN7y21HeDprJNskBZiyarpcZ849M-hKLhHx0_DDBPzwzzRHbOeKXH1XQKFQGHYBw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small; text-align: start;">Drag Kings: It’s not only the macho stage name and "clothes that make the man" but facial hair, breast-binding, crotch-packing and crisp, strong movement </span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">My first taste of an audience’s big-eyed reaction to gender play was when my twin sister played macho biker boyfriend to my blonde bimbo role in the grade six performance of <i>The Trial of the Big Bad Wolf</i>. I was told in rehearsal to not play the bimbo so well. Too convincing, the teachers say. On opening night, Hayley rode in the school gymnasium on a real motorcycle in her leather jacket and sang and flirted with my character with the suaveness of Uncle Jessie.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I recall the expression on my friend’s face that night at Zippers was being witness to some sort of anarchy. On the mom-and-dad faces in the school audience twenty-two years ago it was an expression of delight. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">A huge part of me gets drawn to drag because of the necessity to parody and play with gender fluidity and to cause the audience to question gender and its boundaries. Because gender so importantly needs to be played with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I’m not only talking gender identity -- one’s private sense of which gender one identifies with -- I’m talking expression; the way in which we externally convey our sense of identity to others. It’s in the form of communication; mannerisms, clothing, haircut, makeup, voice, scents, and accessories. <br /><br />I've learned the hard way to never assign gender identity to others, to never assume sexual preference because of the way one is dressed or the way one flips their hair. Gender expression and gender identity gives no indication of a person’s sexual orientation. Got it?<br /><br />As fluid as I think we should get, I’m still learning there are firm boundaries with the binary system: Butch women, a culture of females who display masculinity should not be confused with the kitschy and campy performances of Drag Kings pretending to be men for eight minutes.<br /><br />My whole life I’ve observed society's reaction to Butch women as females who are <i>"</i>ugly", "undesirable" or "failed": </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“<i>I just don’t get it.</i> <i>It's like they're trying so hard to NOT be pretty.</i>” we</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">’d say </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">with our expressions of arcane. </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Perhaps we didn’t know that men don't own masculinity and women don't own femininity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />The misunderstood perception of Butch women is that they are trying to be men. They’re not. Their style of masculinity is intentional, baby, and it's what makes them attractive and appealing. Butch is not to reject womanhood, nor are Butch women in the process of transitioning, or confused about who they are. It’s an expression. It may not be your version of what “pretty” is but it’s a type of beauty, it just happens to be in a minority.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img height="265" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ANo4rU3XQMDkuiW1onI1Jpgm4HdMEpBkRq8d-43anz47GOJjIFUOQhia2wSq6Q9XpBtKFuj9zc8kC3xbKHEq7IwuhQ-XmjYhsJaVhWEZIVq_2wgapNBoQZ8iaHpVrf3agkwOReQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"Butch women are beautiful because they carve into our culturally empty space a different and powerfully confrontive way to live as women.” (photo and quote from <i>Butch: Not like the other girls</i>, SD Holman ) </span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;">With gender expression I’ve realized sometimes a subtle adjustments makes all the difference: growing in my thick eyebrows, wearing men’s deodorant and throwing away the push-up bra. The same works in reverse; asking a hetero- cisgendered man to wear vanilla-scented perfume, or a delicate pink bracelet under his cuff or to grow his hair just 2 inches longer may make him feel uncomfortable. It’s not always about how you look or what message you’re trying to convey -- it’s how it makes you <i>feel</i>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>“To recommend that women become identical to men, would be simple reversal, and would defeat the whole point of androgyny, and for that matter, feminism: in both, the whole point is choice.”</i> </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">-- Carolyn Gold Heilbrun, American author</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />I am an example of someone whose gender expression has become more fluid as the years have gone by: having long hair, plucked manicured eyebrows and femme attire is something that feels a bit like 'drag' these days and I can feel myself moving towards androgyny. I still use my looks to attract men. It’s just now the types of men I attract are the ones who are more suited for me. As far as who I am attracted to, it took me a while to realize I am attracted to androgyny.<br /><br />I identify as a woman but I feel very comfortable when I can express gender as male. And I hope for more pop-cultural gender-benders like Jagger, Bowie, Prince, Madonna, Annie Lennox, Grace Jones, Ruby Rose and Lady Gaga to finally start normalizing androgyny without it being a “quirk” of their character. </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Does it really matter that people like Caitlyn Jenner and me speak up about our right to express gender? </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Can’t we just shut up and keep it to ourselves?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Yes, it does matter. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Because if you get to wear your pretty dress out to a party or wear a tie to work then I want to too.<br />Because like everyone else, I want to belong. <br />I want what I feel inside to reflect what shows on the outside.<br />I want to attract a partner who sees me, who understands my individuality, who likes my style.<br /><br />Choosing to pose for a <i>Vogue</i> magazine spread transcends attention-seeking. Caitlyn Jenner’s reasons may be as simple as the reasons you choose to pose for a family photograph or make a music video. Because I bet when she finished her shoot and she saw her image on the playback screen of Annie Leibovitz’s camera she thought: <i>Hey, that’s me. That’s finally me.</i><br /><br />My Annie Leibovitz came in the form of a talented Toronto-based photographer named Robert McGee. He didn’t know it at the time, but he played a profound role in this time of my life when I was ready to show the parts of myself that have always been a mystery. And for that, he will always have my grace and gratitude. He captured something no one has ever captured before, something I can only articulate as “self-recognition”.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img height="266" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/4BXYvljbuUhvL2taaaoWQxFDT_KiIioLUJPkcJCFxcOanp6_A3HEQokakmfYoIPMoTGSwl3JMCrgFN_KPVWqq5AI3HVwRXeL5UKeQzj4PoOhuN7LiZ-etwu6JIbATHc_j68xkzM" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Ah, there you are. Pretty + Handsome. (photo by <a href="http://www.robertmcgee.ca/" target="_blank">Robert McGee</a>)</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The friend who dragged me out of Zippers that night sees my recent photographs and calls me up on the phone:<br /><br />“<i>How’ve you been Ponyboy? You gonna do your Drag King night, or what</i>?”<br /><br />I chuckle and promise I will get around to it someday. I thumb through my closet with my phone nestled between my ear and my shoulder as we continue chatting. I touch that great pair of ripped jeans from an ex-boyfriend, the cut-up muscle tee from my boss and a quick glance in my mirror shows my underarm hair has been growing in pretty thick these days. <br /><br />My reflection still shows deep mystery that I'm elated to explore. So if the stage-name Ponyboy isn’t already taken, then I think I’ll go with that.</span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930846593326219148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-5029340046418092482015-05-27T14:11:00.000-04:002015-07-06T12:26:07.205-04:00Namaste, Selfie Police<script>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Greek God Narcissus was a beautiful man whose parents ensured that in order for him to live to a ripe old age he must “never know his own true self”. Thus denying him to ever see or know his own reflection. One day, Narcissus was walking in the woods when a mountain nymph named Echo saw him, fell deeply in love upon the sight of him, and followed. Narcissus grew irritated being followed by an unknown and shouted: "<i>Who's there</i>?". Echo repeated: "<i>Who's there</i>?". Echo revealed herself and tried to embrace him. He stepped away and demanded she leave him alone. Heartbroken, Echo spent the rest of her life in the solitary hills until nothing but an echo sound remained of her. Nemesis, the goddess of revenge, heard about the incident and decided to punish Narcissus by luring him to a pool where he saw his own reflection. Narcissus didn't realize it was only an image and fell in love with it. When he realized that his love for himself could not come to life, he committed suicide.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">...Or so the legend goes. I’ve heard other versions. But where am I going with this? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Oh yes, Narcissism.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A person who is excessively preoccupied with personal adequacy, power, prestige and vanity and who is cut off from shared emotional life suffers from Narcissistic Personality Disorder. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Narcissism is NOT the same as <b>healthy self-love</b>, it’s not the same as <b>self-esteem</b> and it’s not the same as <b>enhancing one’s own joie de vivre</b>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It’s a very misunderstood term and (*) FUCK (*) does this term ever get thrown around a lot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mostly by the patriarchy. Mostly towards women. Mostly on social media.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHZX1JCkrTGZ9bH25CPdDqzZbjcxI4u674pwz2awMqA2DhZAOGH27f0XR7SrGZ3djTwzqnngLPwSzf8WzZ45LU1d9SSsmGzfQzp_RfY6wJgUvaWmCPQj2FK54LPvCfcvzOlQeyjQI020/s1600/selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHZX1JCkrTGZ9bH25CPdDqzZbjcxI4u674pwz2awMqA2DhZAOGH27f0XR7SrGZ3djTwzqnngLPwSzf8WzZ45LU1d9SSsmGzfQzp_RfY6wJgUvaWmCPQj2FK54LPvCfcvzOlQeyjQI020/s640/selfie.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Notice the "voice" of each. Men are condemning. Women are the condemned.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It seems these days, people like to hate on people who take Selfies for being "narcissistic, braggy, slutty, too sexy, crying out for help, seeking out validation" or sadly used as yet another way for women to judge each other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yes, the hatred of selfies is about misogyny. The reaction to Selfies is an eye-opening crash course in sexism, but most significantly, it teaches people (particularly girls/women) to always expect and even accept a certain degree of misogyny.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And it’s a very methodical, slow erosion of women’s sense of autonomy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And since when is liking what you see a problem? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Comparing a woman to Narcissus - Ha! -- I doubt any woman has immediately fallen in love with their reflection so much that they’ll die to have it. For me, it took years to love and accept my body, and to unlearn everything I have ever been shown about what “beauty” is, thank you, patriarchy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Loving yourself and feeling good about yourself is NOT a problem. The problem is that if we all start loving ourselves they won't have any more shit to sell us. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg239ucGA8_TnNhCv9M7fAER7jrGlRC79gq62dI-TjCLBIK36LwZ77Qo4AIx9bE-768jpnb4DxdOt1zlK32dcslx0u8bXj01FtWCJOHiyftdtotwx8ohFM-Pi2CPr8uDOIA75gJtfzUSFQ/s1600/1365653032-selfie_meme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg239ucGA8_TnNhCv9M7fAER7jrGlRC79gq62dI-TjCLBIK36LwZ77Qo4AIx9bE-768jpnb4DxdOt1zlK32dcslx0u8bXj01FtWCJOHiyftdtotwx8ohFM-Pi2CPr8uDOIA75gJtfzUSFQ/s400/1365653032-selfie_meme.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This is sexist and misogynist. How are these two scenarios even comparable? Someone created this meme to degrade and put down women, plain and simple. We don’t know that woman’s occupation or passions in life. Who gets to decide how many photos a specific gender gets to take and for what reason? He went to the moon? She just passed her bar exam.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Girls are taught from an early age that they can only feel good about themselves through the approval of everyone else, especially men. And for some reason, if a person senses this vulnerability in women, they are taught to respond by pulling out an arsenal of shame and ridicule.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hugely popular songs like One Directions' <i>What makes you beautiful, </i> Ne-Yo's <i>Let Me Love You, </i>and<i> </i>Bruno Mars' <i>Just the way you are </i>romanticize self-loathing in young women as an indicator of extreme virtue. Girls who have low self-esteem are allegedly desirable because they’re vulnerable. (read: don't worry, you may not love yourself but you can find a man and HE will love you.)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDfRGVghPbtI6LB9xUY1PSOnhguIyYzWF1sm3tHf9iOE82U6iOkvJJYq_z0BNlZGPdHvHDw1DE18Oe_j4z_6Ni6D0LSV0Os0LX2LYMbwg7X0oAYADUs3MfrlBM6in9Glgl96DXlSSZ1o/s1600/one-direction-gif-8.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDfRGVghPbtI6LB9xUY1PSOnhguIyYzWF1sm3tHf9iOE82U6iOkvJJYq_z0BNlZGPdHvHDw1DE18Oe_j4z_6Ni6D0LSV0Os0LX2LYMbwg7X0oAYADUs3MfrlBM6in9Glgl96DXlSSZ1o/s400/one-direction-gif-8.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And if a person is posting selfies to receive external validation, well, that's their prerogative. That's their issue to work out, and besides, seeking validation from external factors isn't exactly a new phenomenon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">People who construct all the "rules" for how you should behave are not free. I have personally been guilty of judging the fuck out of someone's behaviour and it feels shitty being a condemner. It feels tight and it feels emotionally enslaved. In my humble opinion, true clinical narcissists running amongst us are NOT the ones posting selfies, anyways. Narcissists cause harm. Your selfies are not causing harm.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Before the modern-day Selfie you paid a guy to come to your home and paint </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">a portrait of yourself surrounded by all your fancy processions.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You do not have to apologize for being here, for taking up space, for believing you look and feel good today. Never feel guilty for announcing your presence. Your body belongs to you. So go ahead, honey, post your Selfie.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Woman takes Selfie. Same woman gives birth to two children.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Man-made sculptures in art history were for the male gaze. This photo had a phone Photoshopped to it and suddenly she was seen as vain and conceited. That’s why I’m 100% for selfie culture because apparently men can appreciate a women's beauty but when we realize how beautiful we are, suddenly we're a narcissistic asshole.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Y-GchR6vqHICkNNRMiBtGkMxuuJuyjyuZ3Uuu-G3JCEhLPm1Dyrz-6lwhwZn1uxON2AlFSNoAqa6igdDlKLG5nHC02J3_Hz3l4HMEsePPK2-hvkPSPmK_N272r5jTzn2eMbERj6GhZc/s1600/malegaze.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Y-GchR6vqHICkNNRMiBtGkMxuuJuyjyuZ3Uuu-G3JCEhLPm1Dyrz-6lwhwZn1uxON2AlFSNoAqa6igdDlKLG5nHC02J3_Hz3l4HMEsePPK2-hvkPSPmK_N272r5jTzn2eMbERj6GhZc/s320/malegaze.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“<i>You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting “Vanity,” thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure.</i>” ― John Berger, Ways of Seeing</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I once heard an alternate version of the Greek myth that goes like this: Narcissus tries to embrace and kiss the beautiful mountain nymph (Echo) who confronts him in the water but Narcissus instead sees his own reflection. "Narcissus <i>recognized himself</i> and lay gazing enraptured into the pool, hour after hour. Narcissus rejoices in his torments: <i>knowing at least that his own self would remain true to him</i>, whatever happened". But hey, maybe I got it all wrong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And now enjoy the tune where Lily echoes my sentiments exactly.</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-22600810149961073392015-05-06T11:21:00.002-04:002015-06-08T19:14:09.252-04:00Paper Bags and Bums<script>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDxnGQiLDWGFb4tL-B5PsFRuer31nb5tkn3r20d7ePp9_NeKPvg55wGE-jUPJPMkRpcDJzpAH4NLXJ6TAANgsP5hvL_zmx11Jvis7EwcPtWOQl035l1prkE3NHmjts2ox11SWG_oI_WjQ/s1600/image+%252815%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDxnGQiLDWGFb4tL-B5PsFRuer31nb5tkn3r20d7ePp9_NeKPvg55wGE-jUPJPMkRpcDJzpAH4NLXJ6TAANgsP5hvL_zmx11Jvis7EwcPtWOQl035l1prkE3NHmjts2ox11SWG_oI_WjQ/s400/image+%252815%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As a child growing up in the 80’s, my copy of Robert Munsch’s </span><span style="font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Paper Bag Princess</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, shared officially with my twin sister was more mine than hers and I would lay in bed studying every word and picture, no doubt with my dirty feet pressed up against the wall leaving marks, and my finger up my nose.</span></span></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It also happens to be my youngest son’s first official book that is truly his -- not from the book collection passed down from his older brother. My 9 year-old and 4 year-old sons and I occasionally read it before bed if the mood is right, with our fingers up our noses.</span></span></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unlike traditional fairy tales that model gender roles in which female characters are passive princesses waiting to be rescued, cared for, and protected by men, </span><span style="font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Paper Bag Princess </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">is radically alternative with a feminist-spin.</span></span></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Radical, Feminist Plot</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Princess Elizabeth is a beautiful, rich, pre-pubescent princess with fine clothes and is set to marry the equally pristine Prince Ronald. A dragon burns down her castle, including her clothes and carries off the Prince. Elizabeth puts on a basic brown paper bag, chases down the dragon, outsmarts the beast, and rescues the Prince. The Prince upon being rescued takes one look at her and tells her to “</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Come back when you are dressed like a real princess</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”. Elizabeth calls him a bum and walks off. And they don’t get married.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">He thinks she's a disgrace...she thinks he's a Bum</span></td></tr>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I may have been young, but Munschs’ themes and metaphors opened the floodgate thereon in for my habit of “reading into things”. The very basic concept of a princess, *gasp*, SAVING a prince was so radical, it’s being blogged about right now at this very moment for the purpose of reminding ya’ll that this type of fairy tale is still considered “alternative”.</span></span></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The herstory of the idea for Princess Elizabeth goes like this: At a daycare in Ontario, </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Munsch came across a young girl called Elizabeth who would walk in and throw her coat on the floor expecting someone to hang it up for her because she had a slew of brothers who did everything for her. Her nickname amongst staff was “Princess”. Sexist perhaps, but I digress. Robert Munsch told two stories each day to the children, and he often changed the plots of stories each time and was “doing a bunch of dragon stories” with a prince always saving the princess. His wife Ann, who was the director at the center pointed out that most of the women who brought their kids to daycare were single moms and most children did not have princely role models at home. Ann asked, “<i>Why can’t the princess ever save the prince, Bob?</i>” So he obliged. It became “a story that the MOTHERS liked,” explained Munsch, “and it stopped changing and became a story that was asked for again and again.”</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">stunned and shirtless, Elizabeth is still a princess</span></td></tr>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As a child, and now, I love that the princess </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">raises above vanity -- a theme that is THE focal point of every single fairy tale forced down my throat as a young girl. I love that she was drawn shirtless with an un-sexualized body. I love the symbolism of the charred, mutilated crown that remained on her head throughout her journey. I love the air of dignity and industriousness of the paper bag. </span></span></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She finds herself in a post-apocalyptic situation where etiquette and expectations are tossed out the window and we watch her make her own choices. I love how her parents are nowhere in sight. I love that in each beautifuly-drawn illustration by Michael Martchenko her face captures the true emotions of a girl - the anger, the disappointment, the confidence, the smugness, the victory, the adoration, the joy.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQffHu5-MFRBzW3gAxZGt5qJJectymdkfqMwSXprBsQjP3wdQo-tRiy_l8RtNiE382hyphenhyphenfghL2IkDREqVBJNrFpbCdn4R_qvtPpdF8fLOuDl0pQK0VM35O7rPhxXCttwlutv22WcmF0PrY/s1600/image+%252814%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQffHu5-MFRBzW3gAxZGt5qJJectymdkfqMwSXprBsQjP3wdQo-tRiy_l8RtNiE382hyphenhyphenfghL2IkDREqVBJNrFpbCdn4R_qvtPpdF8fLOuDl0pQK0VM35O7rPhxXCttwlutv22WcmF0PrY/s400/image+%252814%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">pleased princess and out-of-puff dragon</span></td></tr>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">When faced with the intimidating dragon, Princess Elizabeth uses her brain and cleverness as opposed to her beauty/sexuality to problem-solve. I LOVED the reverse gender roles, I loved seeing Elizabeth standing next to a defeated dragon, staring up at the caged, vulnerable prince. In my childhood this was the ONLY fairy tale where a girl </span><span style="line-height: 30.1090888977051px; white-space: pre-wrap;">wasn't</span><span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> depicted as irrelevant, dim, passive, stagnant and stuck indoors!</span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiObX3uC0B8rD3tVun31XEn3AadPwzOfRQlQ-TnolrEx-yKkY-Q9pejx27ZYKtcNaG7sIofZ8vysQIVTUFEyUx-7SZq2z-Dows9M1AEC5vOCxQ4yvatb9IpCw8j7DDKzCxTPd5Q3HLOD6I/s1600/image%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiObX3uC0B8rD3tVun31XEn3AadPwzOfRQlQ-TnolrEx-yKkY-Q9pejx27ZYKtcNaG7sIofZ8vysQIVTUFEyUx-7SZq2z-Dows9M1AEC5vOCxQ4yvatb9IpCw8j7DDKzCxTPd5Q3HLOD6I/s400/image%25285%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Elizabeth rescues Ronald</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">I asked one of my parents if it was possible that Ronald was mean to her not because he really meant those cruel words but because he was shaken by being saved by a girl. They called this being</span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>emasculated</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and it was “a terrible thing”. I decided that day that masculinity </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 30.1090888977051px; white-space: pre-wrap;">wasn't</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> just a privilege for the boys, but something girls deserve to feel too.</span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The general reception to this story at the time was confusing, apparently. </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bronwyn Davies, Feminist scholar and author, did some research on the impact of this story (she was provoked to search for alternative children’s stories to read to her own daughter for role models to combat the materialistic and highly-sexualized consumer culture that surrounded girls). Davies discovered that children viewed Princess Elizabeth as "</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">bad once she stepped out of her female place</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” and her findings illustrate the 1980s as a time of changing gender roles in society. Davies found that children who had a mother working outside the home and who had a father who shared in the housework were able to grasp the feminist message of the story.</span></span></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What does Elizabeth walk away with at the end of the story? Not the prince, not a trophy, not a new status or an elevated hierarchy, not a new outfit or tangible object. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Aside from feminism, the message of <b>self-love</b> may be the most important concept to discuss with your kids -- boys and girls.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-VBzgCZX0HlK5Ey4mRMqAH_eOt6SUitqiLfZVm0jVFFnDC0ZT1CGiZPg8jHsHBrQ1EiExmHA3c30mD0QIUD_xHnPrOjWcd0-XDBMbxjCmdythmgvhmshUpnePTuIxi54qmVW5lKNRNI/s1600/snowbank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-VBzgCZX0HlK5Ey4mRMqAH_eOt6SUitqiLfZVm0jVFFnDC0ZT1CGiZPg8jHsHBrQ1EiExmHA3c30mD0QIUD_xHnPrOjWcd0-XDBMbxjCmdythmgvhmshUpnePTuIxi54qmVW5lKNRNI/s1600/snowbank.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twins! (Wendy & Hayley)</td></tr>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d434842-271b-dffd-a2e2-a9e3f83e5944"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What I love most about the paperbag princess, is that she makes me think of my twin sister, Hayley, who every single time we went tobogganing during those long Winnipeg winters would pull me in the sled the whole 2 blocks to the hill and the whole 2 blocks home, our parents nowhere in sight. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She marched to the beat of her own drum, is both perfectly resilient and perfectly vulnerable and </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">taught me how to stand up for myself. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hayley's a dragon-slayer, but she's a generous and compassionate one. And things that I could never really understand, she always had a way of explaining them to me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I have, like I’m sure every girl has, fallen for that deceptively beautiful man who turned out to be someone who took advantage of my one-sided devoted adoration. Reading the simple last lines from Elizabeth always brings me back to basics:</span><br />
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</span></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>The Paper Bag Princess</i> is NOT an anti-male sentiment, It simply highlights that unkind, disrespectful behavior from a partner, any partner, is sometimes just unacceptable.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 30.1090888977051px;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">According to Munsch, the moral of the story is: “</span><span style="font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">there are a lot of bums out there and you don’t want to marry one.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>***</b></span></div>
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/2008732&color=ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false" width="100%"></iframe>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Other Readings:</i></b><i><br /></i></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-JXRgmUUamD2Q1QEU1DTlvLBL3M5CaTZsYvSA1xq_wzGmgIr2z1hyq1tyB7_s-KCI3w05FWeWk-yvkqczNdpad4ugsVpVSMAV0JAaQxd-5HP6UTrFMvKcdU2OVSixGmGwrvi33bAa-Q/s1600/princess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-JXRgmUUamD2Q1QEU1DTlvLBL3M5CaTZsYvSA1xq_wzGmgIr2z1hyq1tyB7_s-KCI3w05FWeWk-yvkqczNdpad4ugsVpVSMAV0JAaQxd-5HP6UTrFMvKcdU2OVSixGmGwrvi33bAa-Q/s1600/princess.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/gregpak/the-princess-who-saved-herself" target="_blank">The Princess Who Saves Herself</a></i><br />(as per the book’s Kickstarter): The story of an awesome kid who lives with her pet snake and plays rock ‘n’ roll all day to the huge annoyance of the classical guitarist witch who lives down the road. Hijinks, conflicts, and a fun reconciliation ensue, all showcasing determination, bravery, and understanding.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /><br /><i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Frogs-Snails-Feminist-Tales-Preschool/dp/1572734485" target="_blank"> </a></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYHKTntMlYG19AbC8NKIed1f0Cqra1YqemqQyTbT2CeNNC2kQ6EFPXhyphenhyphenB8QHzDpFfF_sTK54wa6OsoN78sLVARTopqMgZNMJ7MrMUucObKMOff2PVKHVdZXQU_InAbQARRA_O3reYMFU/s1600/5924254.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYHKTntMlYG19AbC8NKIed1f0Cqra1YqemqQyTbT2CeNNC2kQ6EFPXhyphenhyphenB8QHzDpFfF_sTK54wa6OsoN78sLVARTopqMgZNMJ7MrMUucObKMOff2PVKHVdZXQU_InAbQARRA_O3reYMFU/s1600/5924254.jpg" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Frogs-Snails-Feminist-Tales-Preschool/dp/1572734485" target="_blank">Frogs and Snails and Feminist Tales: Preschool Children and Gender</a></i><br />(as per Google Reads description:) How and why do children become masculine or feminine? The way in which gender is constructed in our society means that in learning to be good people, to be members of our society, children must learn the way maleness and femaleness is done and they must get it right. Gender is a public rather than private category, and children recognize that they are not free as individuals to vary the way gender is taken up. Using children's play, their conversation, and their responses to feminist stories, this study provides both detail of the gendered world of childhood and new insights into the social construction of gender. This revised edition includes the addition of a chapter reflecting on the methodology, as well as detailed textual improvements.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Cinderella-Ate-Daughter-Dispatches-Girlie-Girl/dp/0061711535/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1430884413&sr=8-1&keywords=Cinderella+Ate+My+Daughter%3A+Dispatches+from+the+Front+Lines+of+the+New+Girlie-Girl+Culture%3A" target="_blank"> </a></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEtTZ2lra24BeIjBLecEtstBIYD4-ADTGImsaLRfjG2cHsJ7RYP-DrOea3guag9oxKhgR3SZ-fTpMEjsSp_J44uu-JeVP6tKaC-i4MrjPAXIDcNWXD-bBKJAp06ZAR0SA78wNMKgJxxM/s1600/51EJG8mZd1L._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEtTZ2lra24BeIjBLecEtstBIYD4-ADTGImsaLRfjG2cHsJ7RYP-DrOea3guag9oxKhgR3SZ-fTpMEjsSp_J44uu-JeVP6tKaC-i4MrjPAXIDcNWXD-bBKJAp06ZAR0SA78wNMKgJxxM/s1600/51EJG8mZd1L._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="133" /></a><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Cinderella-Ate-Daughter-Dispatches-Girlie-Girl/dp/0061711535/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1430884413&sr=8-1&keywords=Cinderella+Ate+My+Daughter%3A+Dispatches+from+the+Front+Lines+of+the+New+Girlie-Girl+Culture%3A" target="_blank"></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cinderella-Ate-Daughter-Dispatches-Girlie-Girl/dp/0061711535/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1430925726&sr=1-1&keywords=Cinderella+Ate+My+Daughter%3A+Dispatches+from+the+Front+Lines+of+the+New+Girlie-Girl+Culture%3A" target="_blank">Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Front Lines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture:</a><br />(Wikipedia): The book explores the phenomenon of princess culture and in particular how the concept is marketed to young girls. It expands on the theme set out in the article, incorporating child beauty pageants, American Girl stores, and a Miley Cyrus concert. Orenstein concerns herself with young girls' self-esteem and the sexualization of girlhood.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-74435508456289779552015-05-04T00:13:00.002-04:002015-06-08T22:15:45.452-04:00How to Host a Badass Clothing Swap<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>People + Clothes!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Right-on. That's basically all you need to hold a successful clothing swap. The guests don't even need to be friends. But chances are most of them will be by the end of the night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hostess Sarma who happens to live in a beautiful, spacious, well-located abode on Queen street East wanted to host this event with the help of her sassy friend Tessa and they asked me to throw in my flair and no-nonsense approach.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveeoBZnjUzkIBRxQTJcRd7tFDVnASb4VhwTfcXB1mT-P3kUmCJckxqDPYxQ52J4hw6T6_UfGB6VM7lyJWIEjrm9igtiOUk2ZPj_KFyhQDRhXriaW1wUIT2s6L6sd7TIf5oNY8BchEbLU/s1600/GIYC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveeoBZnjUzkIBRxQTJcRd7tFDVnASb4VhwTfcXB1mT-P3kUmCJckxqDPYxQ52J4hw6T6_UfGB6VM7lyJWIEjrm9igtiOUk2ZPj_KFyhQDRhXriaW1wUIT2s6L6sd7TIf5oNY8BchEbLU/s1600/GIYC.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hosted by Tessa, Sarma & Wendy (aka: <i>Girls In Your Closet</i>)</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBk3q3NpsL9Sl-RWIPqoLO4F_3OBlrjpEXQaecz4H8CTGnqRX9tPLcC9q25ybCT2xAugeTmXfWKiHJOm4o5WU41C1AdpXFS7pGRUQ7qCq3o-60Up6627B93fh-9ZDDxrryGOKpwim8eG8/s1600/clothing+swap+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We set up our event using Facebook and invited a shitload of people: People with bodies of all shapes and sizes. People who wear clothes. People who like to be with other people. Outside of the obvious "women you are friends with", I recommend inviting men, teenage daughters, your mother, your mother's friends, and people you don't know very well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">To draw interest I made up a poster using Picassa and found random Facebook pics of potential guests wearing, you guessed it -- clothes! (leaving out everyone's faces)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Our event started at 7 pm on a Friday night and the guests arrived to Sangria, wine, sushi and desserts. We urged guests to bring as many items of clothing as they wanted, plus additional snacks and booze to keep costs down.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">raw fish...maple popcorn....honey balls</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Here is the methodology for a badass clothing swap:</b></span></div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Arrange separate tables or stations for TOPS, BOTTOMS, DRESSES, SHOES, PURSES</span></li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Shoes go HERE</span></td></tr>
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<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When each guest arrives ask them to count their items and put them at the appropriate station.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Supply a roll of raffle tickets and a few pens; ask each guest to take the number of tickets per items they brought and have them write their name on the back of each ticket.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Daisy brought 26 items. She gets 26 tickets. She writes her name on the back of each. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She holds on to the tickets for awhile.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcNQNnJYs-J5rmEdJ1vyguAo_EC3csiaaZQ913380pYR72Los51iKEKM4pCDHZR6-xzEC8bnDNFfyy2EUPI-qdt45UDBypMmEoY0K89r5rCH1gKVmBs0v-7sItdwWqOeeXcvRgDzpJxc/s1600/IMG_0608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcNQNnJYs-J5rmEdJ1vyguAo_EC3csiaaZQ913380pYR72Los51iKEKM4pCDHZR6-xzEC8bnDNFfyy2EUPI-qdt45UDBypMmEoY0K89r5rCH1gKVmBs0v-7sItdwWqOeeXcvRgDzpJxc/s400/IMG_0608.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Make sure to try stuff on and provide swappers with plenty of mirrors</span></td></tr>
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<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The number rule is simply this: Help yourself to as many items as you have tickets.... Now start hunting!</span></li>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU6zjGM9sMe-rNvhf5U2nqmRzcoTS4r4LmitIhH_jNhzp1UO-sZZQ3vScmMlLCARYRCXuJQYXz6ny57cen9WIB68l-bHoBMS5duICcZKUpu5SxQkmYdd9AEbQ-rp9AwM9Moenc1x1y1I4/s1600/IMG_0618.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU6zjGM9sMe-rNvhf5U2nqmRzcoTS4r4LmitIhH_jNhzp1UO-sZZQ3vScmMlLCARYRCXuJQYXz6ny57cen9WIB68l-bHoBMS5duICcZKUpu5SxQkmYdd9AEbQ-rp9AwM9Moenc1x1y1I4/s320/IMG_0618.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Labels-Shmables! Everything from Joe to Marc Jacobs at this swap</span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5BI97tMBgY1___1g3atQTvu6O1BstON5M_RTXrgmjMeYkySrr9lxjgFc3GiQNZCyviBufchsO74GKYApgiIpwIMmcWcWN23wave-gbxEbCfVN_eYQznuKNVB3DWpnu-rjlRtFDOGjwM/s1600/IMG_0607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5BI97tMBgY1___1g3atQTvu6O1BstON5M_RTXrgmjMeYkySrr9lxjgFc3GiQNZCyviBufchsO74GKYApgiIpwIMmcWcWN23wave-gbxEbCfVN_eYQznuKNVB3DWpnu-rjlRtFDOGjwM/s400/IMG_0607.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Your trash is my treasure</span></td></tr>
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<br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Our clothing swap had fantastic ambiance; the vastness of Sarma's apartment was a huge asset, great music, outdoor balcony for smokin', if that's your thing, and the group happened to be a lovely, adventurous murder of women!</span></ul>
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<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If more than one person has their eye on the same item call the ref! This is the fun part. The individuals need to try it on, strut their stuff and the group decides who it looks best on. Muah!</span></li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jude and daughter Mika go home full-bagged</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNikukGs8dBMyCvmxndJujyzJSz1yDk0cLacif39YyijgVsQhJQXFFV2zM9ETvGRua7OS2Kjx4U5_1V_-NCIwd9TTyAnIaBE-n-lpgrDz12qMFmOLYG-dil0AcTBfbvY21v_7Qj_sAoyE/s1600/IMG_0641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNikukGs8dBMyCvmxndJujyzJSz1yDk0cLacif39YyijgVsQhJQXFFV2zM9ETvGRua7OS2Kjx4U5_1V_-NCIwd9TTyAnIaBE-n-lpgrDz12qMFmOLYG-dil0AcTBfbvY21v_7Qj_sAoyE/s400/IMG_0641.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A party ain't a party without GoGo</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJTLJD-rjNC5W-DDFtY1crN-YTM1QxBV1qBU9HRXfO0tIaew1XTIB-MTitirblG6ON43mCyOBJxOA05Kxh3ASFyW4ShMy7xccJsXkWAOT70icbRp5uMIhiWXsMi4v0f32h1XHMcDegJI/s1600/IMG_0654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJTLJD-rjNC5W-DDFtY1crN-YTM1QxBV1qBU9HRXfO0tIaew1XTIB-MTitirblG6ON43mCyOBJxOA05Kxh3ASFyW4ShMy7xccJsXkWAOT70icbRp5uMIhiWXsMi4v0f32h1XHMcDegJI/s400/IMG_0654.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Actors/artists Tracy and Shay pick up anything colourful</span><br />
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</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTvPezD-MXtQpkDUYn2rNHqnmyUFh4yVkskOjIY5lm-cJQDAZnko8BwFmrR8Rdn0j9JJIZciohkT1o0bpXOXC9ht6iVxn1nyB_jzltAlO3MDs3wpyEMRn_lzL2a8Yi3U-lyb1IXhNCIc/s1600/IMG_0662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTvPezD-MXtQpkDUYn2rNHqnmyUFh4yVkskOjIY5lm-cJQDAZnko8BwFmrR8Rdn0j9JJIZciohkT1o0bpXOXC9ht6iVxn1nyB_jzltAlO3MDs3wpyEMRn_lzL2a8Yi3U-lyb1IXhNCIc/s400/IMG_0662.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Anjali has experience with clothing swaps and she deems ours badass</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When everyone has found their desired number of items I suggest you blow a whistle for the end of round one. Close the tables. Guests sort through their piles, putting back any discards. Then round two begins and it's a free-for-all. Take as many as you like. The host doesn't want to be left with a big pile of clothes at the end of the night to dispose of.</span></li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhst2bbe63hVTiVAZYLme1T4U-WIjQehJyNZCeH-kty0AC_KnKeRMjVOUoU_TrDEnHoM9-8F8bi_81N_X7IaGbp2FSfLA8rqZ9gRYV8oFZQGogClwLTNfWQtHmrO40X07oNIzfYWNi3POI/s1600/IMG_0675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhst2bbe63hVTiVAZYLme1T4U-WIjQehJyNZCeH-kty0AC_KnKeRMjVOUoU_TrDEnHoM9-8F8bi_81N_X7IaGbp2FSfLA8rqZ9gRYV8oFZQGogClwLTNfWQtHmrO40X07oNIzfYWNi3POI/s400/IMG_0675.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This Wendy enjoyed her night out sans kids and contributed some well-appreciated items</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD3zrsLzTIw4MJJKrLBcoyOKl2zsliLTIj7S3WBv7zscnf6D33dhCp-1ssx8PH4KLJL3oxUgmbbGJazQTYUu8srAjm64HKGF7N9GgFb7OOELwjIPtYC8Ok3HiA8RRiRzhcs3F8MB9hH4w/s1600/IMG_0682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD3zrsLzTIw4MJJKrLBcoyOKl2zsliLTIj7S3WBv7zscnf6D33dhCp-1ssx8PH4KLJL3oxUgmbbGJazQTYUu8srAjm64HKGF7N9GgFb7OOELwjIPtYC8Ok3HiA8RRiRzhcs3F8MB9hH4w/s400/IMG_0682.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This Wendy added a few macho items to her wardrobe: genuine leather Deisel fanny pack </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">and faux-leather Forever 21 jacket</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: start;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcz4Yt3rKnOcjcNNmPSZxylxF4mMjMT9JeQFaM4Wm38T0mUthY6DTtqcOu9uSwlqvecmpFRbgwZbvJo1U0gQY87OpIoy0OS4J1YO-8aSlYEhYdvQeBnRdsgE2fXHhnu-JtbEwFCfuUuE/s1600/IMG_0673.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcz4Yt3rKnOcjcNNmPSZxylxF4mMjMT9JeQFaM4Wm38T0mUthY6DTtqcOu9uSwlqvecmpFRbgwZbvJo1U0gQY87OpIoy0OS4J1YO-8aSlYEhYdvQeBnRdsgE2fXHhnu-JtbEwFCfuUuE/s400/IMG_0673.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Not sure who ended up taking this skirt home -- GoGo or Shay?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1dfF_f5iSyxm5QOC6gbqW4LEx8JI2OA2YoIlsmJWyg38SAQsqKYPddcTqs_U5RvZDFV7w73jXTog0iOhZL1uCOhq3kr9PXbG3UBjHHF8GkWSNun1jwKtoxhbjOP7q8j_eJw6MkpXot1o/s1600/IMG_0683.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1dfF_f5iSyxm5QOC6gbqW4LEx8JI2OA2YoIlsmJWyg38SAQsqKYPddcTqs_U5RvZDFV7w73jXTog0iOhZL1uCOhq3kr9PXbG3UBjHHF8GkWSNun1jwKtoxhbjOP7q8j_eJw6MkpXot1o/s320/IMG_0683.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cinderella....(finally!) These killer heels went to a good home</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVh9Mj3LsEPQ_TSgaGjThoElX0moPXKC7oG7TRhBnw-7WnKLnzn-zvq0GZQeSC8u3UNjPeF7Ygz8Yh93Wv40iLbIQEfFZ1KethYIOEEC-ns2fpK5HS0DGC2g5Gd_i6GicbSyKIHKNVXOc/s1600/IMG_0684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVh9Mj3LsEPQ_TSgaGjThoElX0moPXKC7oG7TRhBnw-7WnKLnzn-zvq0GZQeSC8u3UNjPeF7Ygz8Yh93Wv40iLbIQEfFZ1KethYIOEEC-ns2fpK5HS0DGC2g5Gd_i6GicbSyKIHKNVXOc/s400/IMG_0684.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She found this dress and they look very happy together</span></td></tr>
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<ul>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5nUEa1ysX9w/VUbAm7qLahI/AAAAAAAAH_k/iBFwfrbaY9U/s1600/IMG_0684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Now, what was the point of those raffle tickets with our names on the back? We tossed them all in a hat and drew a name for a prize at the end of the night.</span></li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaF3xf_d7pnH7-yF0E_00E6cfAm613gjEff_-3DYy9TJFCeJJHFbKCvdEtxPn4iSPQFIv3wYLnuOAo_Irzu6RCjLds9SrMSFWJxzZYIj4pcu_0GqEyV29HiJKMUfCFu0AriDWPaaWB_g0/s1600/IMG_0708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaF3xf_d7pnH7-yF0E_00E6cfAm613gjEff_-3DYy9TJFCeJJHFbKCvdEtxPn4iSPQFIv3wYLnuOAo_Irzu6RCjLds9SrMSFWJxzZYIj4pcu_0GqEyV29HiJKMUfCFu0AriDWPaaWB_g0/s400/IMG_0708.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shannon wins the bottle of Tequila!</span></span></td></tr>
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<ul>
</ul>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RQ096oyhM00/VUbAoMPKQTI/AAAAAAAAH_w/4FORPEJiRp4/s1600/IMG_0708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">All the best at your next Clothing Swap event....signed, the FeministBuddhist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcLInq8yIDPVB1pA63AKtoTjMS0b4JFbqvtD_7gCPZmAU1pqOOWHXxZI7ve4ZTjWZjwsL5C2HZc4KiIqGuIG5Fnk8akaEsvMzvhnxkzZ-teisNekgEKeWGAFTMx5Yv5Reg0WaGzJeqek/s1600/cupid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcLInq8yIDPVB1pA63AKtoTjMS0b4JFbqvtD_7gCPZmAU1pqOOWHXxZI7ve4ZTjWZjwsL5C2HZc4KiIqGuIG5Fnk8akaEsvMzvhnxkzZ-teisNekgEKeWGAFTMx5Yv5Reg0WaGzJeqek/s1600/cupid.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I reactivated my OKCupid account recently -- this time around I'm on as a woman looking for a woman.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As a straight girl on the dating site a few years back, I'd seen every kind of creepy to every kind of awesome and typically speaking, it's a woman's game, receiving over 150 messages a week from men. But my taste in men is particular; roughly 3 out of every 100 were attractive to me. I went out on dates with a few handfuls of men and formed an attachment to exactly three which remains to this day. But Internet dating wasn't really for me at the time, so I stepped off.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My current profile states I'm not into polyamory, not typically into casual sex, not looking to fuck your girl to spice up your bedroom antics, or for a hetero fantasy. Please, no men, no couples.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">For the most part, I am a mostly-heterosexual-sometimes-queer-macho-femme-monogamous-woman.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It takes courage to check a box. And it takes courage to run up to those boxes and kick them so hard they go flailing through the air. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">A wise woman once said courage starts by simply <b>showing up.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Got that? All you have to do is show up. Show yourself. Show your true self.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">No fake smile, no stiff upper lip, no brave face, no keep calm and carry on, no put-on voice, no puffed-out chest, no shirt, no shoes if you don't got 'em. Wear lipstick if you want, but please not for amour. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This particular dating site's browsing feature works like this: you scroll through a banner of people and in order to move to the next one you either have to give them an X or a Star. If you want to know more, click on their profile but they'll see that you did. If two people have mutually "starred" each other, the system lets us know it's a match, thus a message at this point is really the only savvy way to open the gate to fuck-town.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My lesbian friend warns me in Non-Straight Ville -- population me and thousands of gay, queer, trans, demi's, heteroflexible, homoflexible, pansexual, sapiosexual or questioning people -- things are a lot different than Boy-Meets-Girl World, so she gives me some tips: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Don’t say anything too forward about how they look, it’s creepy.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Keep your messages short. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Don’t treat it like a candy-store. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Read their profile, see if you're actually compatible - women care about that stuff. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The ones you lust for because they look like Beiber (yeah, I’m that girl) are usually fucking cray-cray.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My friend is optimistic for my success: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Y<i>ou’ll do so well with the lesbians.</i>" she says </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>I hope I do as well as I do with the men</i>." I retort. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My friend envies me slightly for being into men too-- she finds women terribly difficult to date and wishes she could enjoy the proverbial banana and the tree attached. She believes men are easier and more simple to relate to. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My account has been active for over a week and all I can hear are crickets. Still, so far I can say there are more than 3 out of every 100 who pique my interest. I like these odds.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The silence and stillness is deafening. One woman looks at my profile four times in 3 days. Another looks at my profile twice in the last 4 hours. I click on hers. She clicks on mine. I click on hers. She clicks on mine. Still silence.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My friend warns me my profile has some heavy strikes against me -- I've got kids, which is cool with most guys who just want to bang, but women, well, they're a little more sensitive to the implications of that situation. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The biggest turn-off is that I bluntly state I am severely allergic to cats and I just cannot be around cats. She suggests I retract my motherhood status and keep mum about not being cat-cool. I refuse.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Most single women have cats. A lot of lesbians have cats.</i>" she reminds me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Noted. I begin to crack a joke about pussy but stop myself - the branch is far too low-hanging. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's been over a week and I'm stuck in quiet-ville without a single message. I cannot help but judge that the influence of social gender roles has a lot to do with this. Simply put; men are told to GO FOR IT. Women, gay or straight are raised to be careful...to hold back....better to be safe than sorry. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Well,</i> I say, taking my hands out of my pants,<i> someone’s got to do it and it may as well as be me</i>. I’m not here for window shopping, isn't reaching out kind of the point of this whole thing?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I start firing messages off to all the fine women who make me happy I'm not staring at a man's profile:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">You’re cute. I like your hair. What part of England are you from?</span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and...</span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Your dog looks like an accountant I once hired. </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">and...</span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">You sound so honest. Hey, I'm interested in feminist film too.</span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Your cat is named Lloyd?! That's my son's name! :)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">In a two-week span I send 15-20 messages.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">None of them reply. Zero. Most of them block me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I meet my friend Rudiger for drinks and spill the beans about my shitty timeshare in Rejection City.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"What are you saying to these women?? You fucking creep." </i>he exclaims.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I show him the messages on my phone to prove I've been nothing short of a gentleman. He cocks his head to one said “<i>Aw, you’re sweet. These girls don’t know what they’re missing.</i>” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">He's convinced he knows women who won't reject me and offers to go to the lesbian bar and be my gay sidekick. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Really? You’d do that for me?" </i>I say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He nods and jokes that he's hoping it will result in me, him and some woman having a threesome.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>You know sex with me is on the table. Like literally on the table.</i>" he says, "<i>No, seriously, lift your napkin, my dick is on the table.” </i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>My buddy Rudiger is the best and this may be a friendship that will last a lifetime. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">He cheers me up by telling me about his own sexual escapades; He tells me about the group sex, the casual sex, the polyamourous sex, the trans-sex, the oral-sex, the shut-up-and-put-out sex, the open sex, the shy sex, the monogamous sex, the meaningful sex, the meaningless sex. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Why are you looking for a woman anyways? What about that special guy you've been seeing</i>?"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I fall quiet for a minute and secretly hope we've opened the gate to love-talk.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I ask Rudiger how you know when you’re falling in love. He rolls his eyes at me and gives me a look of combined pity and dubiety: </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“<i>Well, gee, the great philosophers and poets from the beginning of time have been pondering the question but yeah, I’ll give it a try." </i>He takes his eyes off the game and speaks to me:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"You get butterflies in your stomach, you think about them all the time. You want to know how they’re doing. If they’re okay. You want that connection to be with them, like a thread pulling you two together. You miss them when they're not around. You want to to know more about them. You think about the possibilities together as a couple</i> --"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I interject: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">-- "<i>You can't stop feeling this way no matter how you try to talk yourself out of it. </i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">You feel it even if they don’t feel it back. And it feels so good.” </span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">He interjects: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“<i>Plus you want to lick their butt</i>.” </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I nod in agreement. But warn him that unlike him, and despite that I am a mostly-heterosexual-sometimes-queer-macho-femme-monogamous-woman. I've got behaviour patterns of a type checkmarked: <b>dismissive-avoidant attachment.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The qualities are these: keeping my life separate and private, feeling love but not telling them, pining after an ex I had an impossible future with, two-timing, pulling away when things are going well, keeping secrets and leaving details foggy (to maintain my feelings of independence), inability to reach out and make plans, fearing commitment means "losing myself", maintaining my self-sufficiency and disregard for mutual support. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There have been a few profound times when I have kicked that attachment-style label and sent it flailing in the air, raising above and showing true vulnerability and courage and it's been worth it -- even if I didn't get the results I was seeking. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Trouble is I always fall back to my check-mark-boxed pattern. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Whether we're operating in the real world or in a virtual one; we all seem to be having a lot of trouble with being vulnerable. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Vulnerability has a twisted reputation -- what it means is the ability to be comfortable with uncertainty, to take emotional risks, and to expose ourselves emotionally. One doesn't necessary need another's consent or permission to be vulnerable. Remember, you're doing this for you -- not for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sending a message to a stranger on a dating site is hardly the kind of risk I should be boasting about and checking off the box marked "vulnerability conquered" -- I've got to fess up to the feelings I'm running from right now. Fess up to the feelings this man -- my heterosexual lover -- brings out in me every time we're together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And when we're apart.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The next day I log on to <i>OKCupid</i> and I see I have finally received my first message.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Hey :) How's it going ? . Ur hair looks soo stylish and pretty :) u must be a hair dresser :) are you ??? ,,, hmm i reallllly apologize for being soo random . I am just wondering if u knew any nice cute manly looking gay or bi guys ??....thank u sooo much for ur help ..and I hope my message wasn't too awkward :S lol... have a wonderful day :) thanksssss</span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Greeeeeeeeaaaaaaat.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Just great.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually a real message comes in from a real woman. She is blonde, thin, not attractive to me, and quite young. She states simply:<i> I love your eyes.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I want to respond immediately, so she doesn’t fall into lesbian letter-limbo-land like I have so experienced. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I write back with honesty: “<i>Thanks, you’re cute but not my type</i>.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She actually responds: “<i>Ummm...k...lol….what’s your type?”</i> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I sit back in my chair and ponder the appropriate response that will cater her ego and mine. I decide to tell the truth -- after all, it’s been choking me up for months. But I decide to keep it on a level of purely aesthetics: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“<i>Big brown eyes....beautiful smell.... great laugh….amazing kisser….beautiful body….soothing voice... touchable skin.....warm…</i><i>...six-foot-two....beard.</i><i>”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I delete the words I’ve typed out and send nothing. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I log off and shut it all down. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">All I can think about is him. All I can think about when I think about love, when I think about sparks flying, when I think about naked bodies, when I think about intimacy, when I think about practicing vulnerability -- is him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm wise enough to know this is nature's way of telling me it's time to quiet the mind. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">And so I do. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I drift along for a few days, light on thoughts and heavy on feeling, I discover: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Right now I don't want anyone else but him. I don’t want to do anyone but him. Plus, I want to lick his butt.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This kind of love is not a box I can tick, and it's certainly not a hard hit from cupid’s arrow -- it’s fluid, infinite, evolving. I believe Cupid’s arrow is bent, soft as marshmallows and ejaculates glitter upon impact. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I want him not because he’s of a box marked <i>straight</i> and not because I am a mostly-heterosexual-sometimes-queer-macho-femme-monogamous-woman, but because he's who he is -- and he gets to be him and I get to be me. As two eager stars maybe all we need to do right now to keep this thing going is just keep <b>showing up</b>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To learn more about what a wise woman has got to say about vulnerability, check this out: <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability" target="_blank">http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability</a></span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-63784429459879925302015-04-08T21:23:00.000-04:002015-04-09T11:12:45.496-04:00Coming Out<script>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh no, she’s coming out as feminist<br />better lock up your cocks<br />lock up the misandrists, the misogynists, the patriarch, the matriarch<br />pro-butch, pro-femme, <br />pro lipstick-wearing-lesbian<br /><br />shaving my legs and shaving my head<br />pro masculine, pro dick, love men, giving head<br />i dunno if you know i like pussy, i dunno know if straight is straight<br />but challenge the men who run this place, hell yeah<br />damn straight<br /><br />you don’t wanna fuck doogie<br />well I don’t wanna fuck a kardashian<br />but how ‘bout I be doogie<br />and you be kim<br />and we see how that feels<br />now wait – which one of us is him</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">my lover is a hairy straight man who wears a suit and a tie<br />but he fucks me like i want it, like we both get to be the guy<br />he treats me like a lady, says baby you got a gift<br />i’m so good to him, <br />i treat him like one too</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
pop songs on the radio, yeah that taylor swift</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">that shit's catchy, you just change the he's to she's, the me's to you's</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and you got yourself a powerful story</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">i get to be james dean and i get to be red lip classic too<br /><br />i won’t judge you for how many holes you got, <br />don’t got<br />what you use ‘em for, which one’s kept closed<br />makeup, tattoos, mustache, ponytail, strut in ‘yo high heels<br />we all know it’s just drag<br />we call each other baby, punk, dyke, fag<br /><br />i’m coming out <br />you listen to me<br />i listen to you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />coming out, coming out, coming out</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c'mon, someone before me started this </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">now i'll be a leader and follow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now calm the fuck down – we’re all gonna be friends.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-72107691720202502082015-03-30T16:13:00.000-04:002016-07-21T12:33:27.180-04:00Fucking Feminist<script>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Please note that this post contains my thoughts and opinions regarding </span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">consensual sex acts</span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">***</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Everyone deserves to experience pleasure and everyone is entitled to a sexual experience that feels equal, empowered and unashamed. Where women, in particular, feel like equal partners as opposed to the secondary participant. Where participants have the safety and strength to explore their desires and to communicate what these desires are with their partners.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The above is my sexual conduct in a nutshell.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If it's yours too then you may just be a fucking feminist.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We need to broaden our definition of sex: The pumping penis-in-vagina is culturally still regarded as the main event and everything else outside of this gets referred to as ‘foreplay’, leaving out the gays, the lesbians, the transgender, and for the heteros, putting prominence on an act that isn't necessarily the favourite part of lovemaking for women, nor the surest route to climax. Very,very few women can orgasm from penetration alone and it's surprising how many people feel there is something wrong with them when climax doesn't happen from this activity. Human sexuality is extremely varied and defining "sex" as penetrative intercourse means leaving out the pleasurable acts and the categories of people which are vital to sexual liberation.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I know it seems unlikely that people could be expected to stay in a relationship which doesn't involve penetrative sex, after all, they have<i> needs</i>. People's <i>needs</i> may include receiving oral sex, but there are plenty of people who don’t view cunnilingus as <i>the</i> sex act. Plenty of people take certain acts completely for granted, probably because culturally we put intercourse on a pedestal.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> I run with people who share my "outside the box” fucking -- because let’s face it, most of us aren't fucking to make babies.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Historically women have been valued for their bodies and for the ability to improve the quality of life for men, not for being treated as whole people. A sexual encounter that caters only to the male's enjoyment is a throw-back to that time. As a single fucking feminist, I've had experiences that have felt like this relic of time still happens. Respecting women and being a feminist means both participants will care about her enjoyment. Of all the things that can strip away a woman's sense of worth it's being treated like a walking set of orifices.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When describing the act of intercourse with our children instead of saying "the man puts his penis in the woman's vagina" how about saying: "the woman takes the man's penis and puts it in her vagina."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course most feminist know that sex nowadays includes more than just penetration, but it’s hard to ignore the cultural imagery of sex in t.v./film and in the mainstream porn industry which is completely misogynistic, catered to male fantasies and not at all an accurate portrayal of </span><span style="font-size: large;"><b>female sexual pleasure. </b></span><span style="font-size: large;">We still subscribe to an entertainment industry where consensual scenes of cunnilingus are considered inappropriate while extreme, murderous violence is not. Hollywood is utterly sexist and female sex-phobic. A male's orgasm gets a PG-13 rating, a woman's orgasm (unless of course it's a fake one), receives a rating of R.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXtUl3nLaz6-_k70y2wNfPq4ifltE9hunpudWGhSixIbKnhU6xrqBNeoik73HDDoqH0zwRUE2yG1yJMuuEMLRpthb5WYOkrFFZpKgV0BsC-agGJ3GUzjcr37ghvcmi_YnvhZEocs9UIpg/s1600/hallebarry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXtUl3nLaz6-_k70y2wNfPq4ifltE9hunpudWGhSixIbKnhU6xrqBNeoik73HDDoqH0zwRUE2yG1yJMuuEMLRpthb5WYOkrFFZpKgV0BsC-agGJ3GUzjcr37ghvcmi_YnvhZEocs9UIpg/s1600/hallebarry.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Halle Barry's character receives mighty fine oral in Monster's Ball</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">The portrayal of women receiving oral sex in some Hollywood films such as <i>Away we Go, Blue Valentine, Black Swan, Greenburg, Basic Instinct, Boys Don’t Cry, In the Cut, Monsters Ball</i> actually nail, mind the pun, sex-positive feminism (</span><span style="font-size: large;">am I missing any? Let’s all ponder this exquisite topic for a few minutes).</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />Sex-positive feminism in film is not just about accurate portrayal of <b>female sexual pleasure</b> but also showing examples of women calling the shots with their own sexual health and safety. But I’d like to think we all know that as individuals we are responsible for our self-disclosure, STD/STI prevention and birth control methods. If your partner doesn’t agree with your methods, don't fucking fuck them.</span><span id="docs-internal-guid-6cba54b9-612d-129a-18d4-c449aa5432a3" style="font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZG3RKEHDQ3opr-21VqKn8sBKobDwX__uUBka8Xojdwoz30SBe_lNZqvgSeUxVY5H_GMZ-zoDtTyTu4SWUuiGAaKje7IlRnxtoeAN8W746QafZJuMD2cCL3I72Ms6ow4p9MUHpgKgpAI/s1600/Vivian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZG3RKEHDQ3opr-21VqKn8sBKobDwX__uUBka8Xojdwoz30SBe_lNZqvgSeUxVY5H_GMZ-zoDtTyTu4SWUuiGAaKje7IlRnxtoeAN8W746QafZJuMD2cCL3I72Ms6ow4p9MUHpgKgpAI/s1600/Vivian.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Vivian's a '<b>safety girl'</b> and she<i> </i>says<i> who</i>, she says<i> when</i>, she says<i> how much</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;">A film buff I was having a summer fling with told me: "<i>your vagina's amazing and you know it</i>". I assumed he was referring to my confidence level. What he meant was:</span><span style="font-size: large;"><i> "You know your own vagina. That’s sexy”. </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Taking the mystery out of your genitals is a big component of feminist fucking, show and/or telling, and expecting no one to be a mind-reader. Another big one is honouring the emotional side of your sexual relationships. It’s not being afraid to lose someone if they’re not on the same page as you. It’s speaking up and saying “<i>Hey, this feels degrading</i>”, or “<i>Hey,</i> <i>I’m falling in love</i>” or “<i>I’m not into that</i>” and surrendering to the intimate moments when you bring your whole selves into the act of sex and not just your genitals.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Feminist fucking for women is about knowing your rights and your equality -- you don’t have to be sent to the proverbial red tent when you’re menstruating. If you like screwing around on your period, you have a right to tell your partner and ask if they're into it. If you need extra stimulation from your vibrator, let them know. Girls need to learn from a young age that they get to choose how the act of sex goes and that they have a voice.</span><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.9400005340576px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So now I'm coining a simple formula for Feminist Fucking: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">CHOICE + VOICE </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Not the most feminist Sex & the City fuck scene - he's jack-rabbiting and Carrie has zero power</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Feminist fucking is about confronting the conflicted and negative response that can arise in women should we enjoy kink, BDSM, submissive role-playing or my personal fave, surrender sex:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“<i>because feminine surrender and vulnerability have been so abused by men in the past. And when there is no equality between the sexes, it is a very unhealthy dynamic indeed</i>.” (LadyBits@medium.com)</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If you want to engage in this type of sex, my big sister advice is to choose a feminist partner, educate yourselves and fuck like a slut. And a slut by definition is:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>“A person of any gender who has the courage to lead life according to the radical proposition that sex is nice and pleasure is good for you</i>,” write Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy in <i>The Ethical Slut: A guide to infinite sexual possibilities</i>.</span></blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWetYMmM36VrfIlIYd7pMpiUNL-GMZotGi_5fNwcYf0mPTAICL-yEIEwVeI_Eghd4thc9lvc9Gkho4VPIm43hLOqCBtl3RiztklrDZ7eyvjIZV0xvk1EB9QuhyTIXiE36ba9DpSlkPuko/s1600/anigif_enhanced-25746-1394511577-1_preview.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWetYMmM36VrfIlIYd7pMpiUNL-GMZotGi_5fNwcYf0mPTAICL-yEIEwVeI_Eghd4thc9lvc9Gkho4VPIm43hLOqCBtl3RiztklrDZ7eyvjIZV0xvk1EB9QuhyTIXiE36ba9DpSlkPuko/s1600/anigif_enhanced-25746-1394511577-1_preview.gif" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Blanche identified as a "slut' to strip the word of it's hurtful power, but still, names can hurt us</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Experience sex acts that are journey-oriented and not destination-oriented -- that don't end with your partner asking: "<i>Did you cum?</i>".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Being a feminist doesn't mean there are strict codes of conduct or a board of feminist executives who judge your authenticity. You either are or you are not. It's whether you believe and practice that women are equal to men socially, politically, economically, and in my opinion, sexually.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If you've ever felt like a secondary participant, give yourselves permission to re-think the patriarchal definitions of sex. Ponder the ways you've felt limited, excluded, unsatisfied, voiceless and accommodating. Flip fucking on its side and I promise you will get all the pleasure and all the power when you choose to become a Fucking Feminist.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-11247802359579897322015-03-23T19:16:00.000-04:002015-05-23T23:15:59.514-04:00Tramps Like Us<script>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now I'm the Boss</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I grew up on Springsteen, the man they call the Boss, and from an early age I wondered what made him the Boss.</span><br />
<br style="font-size: x-large;" />
<span style="font-size: large;">...And why does HE get to be the Boss? I want to be the Boss.</span><br />
<br style="font-size: x-large;" />
<span style="font-size: large;">And so I made myself the Boss. I mimed every word to <i>Dancing in the Dark</i>, impersonated every thrust, replicated every saunter. I slicked back my hair, squeezed my breasts flat into a tight sports bra, and put on my just-baggy-enough jeans. Then I stuffed my balled-up pink panties in those jeans, snapped my fingers high and low and strutted around my bedroom like I was the fucking Boss -- I knew if Hollywood came knocking they'd ask me to play him in his biopic.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now I just needed a woman. An object to complete my proverbial package.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The women he sung about often fell into three categories: beautiful, pure, unattainable, making her a conquest like Mary, Wendy or Rosalita, Or reckless and living independent lives making shitty choices like Candy, Terry or Kitty. Or 'loyal ladies' he ends up being stuck with like Mary in "The River". The women are objects, voiceless accessories to his vagabond life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />But I wasn't a Mary or a Candy or a Rosalita. I was Bruce. And it was just natural and I did it well, in fact I did it better than he did it.<br /><br />Yet he taught me that if I wanted to be the subject I better act like one. The album cover of Born in the USA -- his butt; it was the subject. Nothing was being done to his butt, it was his butt that was doing the action -- whatever that was. (I'm sure a homosexual man would disagree with me there as this photo was pretty iconic to the gay community). But there it was, a hard sturdy butt holding up two legs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">But back to his music. His songs romanticize wild adventures with damsels in distress, wealthy femmes, virgins, prostitutes and girls who 'belonged to' someone else. And these women hold tight to his leather lapels as he </span>breaks-through<span style="font-family: inherit;"> adolescence into independence and freedom. Springsteen is a true tramp, and those women, well, they're just tramps. And no one ever asks Candy what she dreams about becoming.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">There is no woman in the story of </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Dancing in the Dark</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> but he needs one in order to truly exist and to feel alive. You need a woman to ignite that flame, otherwise you're just tired and bored with yourself. You need Love's Reaction. His stakes are high, he's itching to get out, pounding on the beat, trapped inside his dump of an apartment. Come on you </span>schmuck<span style="font-family: inherit;">, get it together. Grow a pair. If I had written that song, I would have changed the lyrics and made that gun get out and get hired.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Without a Mary, a Candy or a Wendy there is no song. There is no Springsteen. There is no man.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><b>Springsteen taught me if I want to feel like a man, I better go out and feel a woman. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b><span style="font-family: inherit;">But instead, as I grew further into adolescence, I became less of a subject like the Boss and learned like most girls do -- to be an object. Like Courtney Cox in that video. In fact I dance a pretty mean Courtney Cox. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">And then when I was nineteen I met him. He rode a motorcycle, smoked way too much weed, could build a canoe with his bare hands and made apple pie from scratch. He was a tender cool rebel charged with lust, passion and faith. He too listened to Springsteen and I knew he wanted to be just like him. So if he was Bruce then I guess that made me Wendy -- and Baby, we were born to run. He let me in, he was my friend, and he guarded my dreams and visions, just like the Boss told him to. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As I go through life bouncing around from subject to object I've collected a roster of ways I express being a man, albeit secretly. </span></span><br />
<ul><span style="font-size: large;">
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">When giving them directions, lean into the rolled down window, with one hand on your switchblade and one hand on your lipstick.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pay for dinner </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Get your car washed before you pick them up. Wipe the crumbs and garbage off the passenger seat.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Let them give you directions.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Help them carry their baby.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Always drive them home and always wait for them to get </span>safely<span style="font-family: inherit;"> inside.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Don't use your drill until you really, really have to and those screws just won't go in any further.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Take the garbage out, in the snow, without a coat.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">On your first date take them to that dumpy pool hall, that one with the bad lighting and grab that table at the back. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Help them reach something off the top shelf even if it means you have to use a foot stool.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eat whatever they cook for you. Even if you've just eaten dinner. Scarf it down.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Strut through the doors of the subway car and always give your seat up for a child, a pregnant lady, any lady, or a man.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy them whatever they want from the concession stand at the cinema.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Use whichever bathroom you want, just to let everyone know you're the Boss.</span></li>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-3566712845826958302015-03-15T13:30:00.000-04:002015-03-24T14:29:46.231-04:00Dads in the 80's: Papa Don't Preach<script>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">My first cassette was presented to me by my mother in 1987 when I was six years old. It was to be shared with my twin sister, of course, and we were still granted full access to my mum’s vinyl collection. This compact hard protective case housed mysterious black spools of tape and came in a paper jacket marked “Madonna True Blue”. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibo2UNlBiZZH_FvKS-OpM7-cL7bYoWlyeA5Z8kOk1c3paeDNH9I6Y3v9P34qE8z1vAaqVwgt8RSYxdtNIbMV8hFyNz8_GoroCyi07uvM6yHnIcHe679hdOX_AEqo_sOUlavqEspKp_l8Q/s1600/trueblue.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibo2UNlBiZZH_FvKS-OpM7-cL7bYoWlyeA5Z8kOk1c3paeDNH9I6Y3v9P34qE8z1vAaqVwgt8RSYxdtNIbMV8hFyNz8_GoroCyi07uvM6yHnIcHe679hdOX_AEqo_sOUlavqEspKp_l8Q/s1600/trueblue.JPG" height="254" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This album had been released for over a year already and it wasn't until my mum heard the song </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Papa Don’t Preach</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> that she decided that this Madonna character was respectable, her newest single had “a good message” and that she could be a positive role model for her two young daughters -- and that we were old enough to handle it. </span></span></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-d7115c22-1985-67e6-86d0-e7fc9dbb5e1a" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My mum cites “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, she was singing about pregnancy and people just weren't addressing those sorts of things in those days</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”. My mum also reminded us that it was usually in the car that we had all our serious talks; politics, pregnancy, sex, and sexism -- provoked by the various songs that blasted out of the car radio. Music creates conversation. The proof is in the pudding, kids.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The controversy surrounding Papa Don’t Preach at the time was that Madonna was perceived to be encouraging girls to go out and get pregnant. Or that she was a saint for not getting an abortion. Or a slut for getting knocked up so young. Or naive for not using protection. Or a loud-mouth, (or was it a hero?) for singing about it. Madonna’s comment on the controversy is this:</span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To me it's a celebration of life. It says, 'I love you, father, and I love this man and this child that is growing inside me'. Of course, who knows how it will end? But at least it starts off positive.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"</span></span></blockquote>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wish this song evoked such a simple, celebratory message in me. The evocation of this song didn't hit me until much, much later -- very recently. I am a soccer mom, driving home with my two sons and it’s blasting from my car radio. I know every lyric, every note, but the pang and desperation in Madonna’s voice sounds different to me this time around. So here I am down this rabbit hole, triggered, and self-investigative. </span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of all the analysis done on this song & video over the years, to me this is a song that screams:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>It’s NORMAL for girls to feel powerless</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The video starts off with Madonna, alone, on the day she discovers she is pregnant, walking home to finally, after days/weeks of speculation, tell her father about her “awful mess”.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJiH5vS-LwvV9fpolw3RC5bEKKb8LH2JRankafdJuvIpJB3fislGIiIeSHFf587dyPTf3rI6nbad0vHvBaZFW82TShDldX_TC66o5F_qusR6__sON2XYiklxdrnf4yJo1V4ROCZDcuZ7w/s1600/walking.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJiH5vS-LwvV9fpolw3RC5bEKKb8LH2JRankafdJuvIpJB3fislGIiIeSHFf587dyPTf3rI6nbad0vHvBaZFW82TShDldX_TC66o5F_qusR6__sON2XYiklxdrnf4yJo1V4ROCZDcuZ7w/s1600/walking.PNG" height="279" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Papa I know you're going to be upset</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">'Cause I was always your little girl</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But you should know by now</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm not a baby</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Madonna is alone a lot in this video, she’s sporting a new look; the gamine androgynous short hair, a more toned muscular body. I’d walk around in flats and a leather jacket too if I had to feel just temporarily, that I was powerful enough to match an over-protective Italian father.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The video flashes back to her childhood, raised as an only-child by a single dad in a 1980’s New York neighborhood. In my imagination it’s Queens, in a district called Ozone Park, where the breezes from the Atlantic rustle through their working-class neighbourhood. Boys dream of growing up to be cops or firefighters and girls dream of marrying them. Grown-ups put “no radio” signs in their vehicles at night to stop the crackheads from breaking in and teenagers take at least two buses and two subway lines to get to high school everyday. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU1jX9ZHre3gbnqg_4x65Hn0JxL3m8_OUpf2VHY5wtS3qXfRdNNHrTwB2iTxN78lDY8IXTB-dMB2x4FpLYTDUI_gAaBk1I1hwfYZO8AxDV4s9h4IZv2SmEfMsALsUWjeXS_sUJv4p-Rsw/s1600/dishes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU1jX9ZHre3gbnqg_4x65Hn0JxL3m8_OUpf2VHY5wtS3qXfRdNNHrTwB2iTxN78lDY8IXTB-dMB2x4FpLYTDUI_gAaBk1I1hwfYZO8AxDV4s9h4IZv2SmEfMsALsUWjeXS_sUJv4p-Rsw/s1600/dishes.jpg" height="249" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You always taught me right from wrong</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I need your help, daddy please be strong</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I may be young at heart</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I know what I'm saying</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-d7115c22-198a-7227-4fe4-83caf9f2c6a0" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her father teaches her how to do chores around the house and watches her while she sleeps. In every scene the two don't have conversations, he is depicted as her disciplinarian and teacher and Madonna plays the silent and dutiful daughter.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRHCnJRTHn_FPTn3KjOFERlC-oopyjdgqYAFGl59_XF1G11iISsp6DJ-JCrOr1uA8hnQ8QO_vKxacNIhiYUHvjKl1QeENtT36tiIBDeGNg6afLf2DvfSLjUTcp9yhDnIQ0lUy6lsSbMI/s1600/italians.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRHCnJRTHn_FPTn3KjOFERlC-oopyjdgqYAFGl59_XF1G11iISsp6DJ-JCrOr1uA8hnQ8QO_vKxacNIhiYUHvjKl1QeENtT36tiIBDeGNg6afLf2DvfSLjUTcp9yhDnIQ0lUy6lsSbMI/s1600/italians.jpg" height="260" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The one you warned me all about</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The one you said I could do without</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We're in an awful mess, and I don't mean maybe - please</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Not) Coincidentally, Madonna is sporting a shirt saying “Italians Do It Better” as she hangs with her girlfriends. Her hunky, beefy mechanic love-interest walks past. </span><span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">They stare at each other, wordless, her friends are ambivalent. So are his. They're not showing off. They’re not seeking approval from their gang. They’re into each other, truly. They’ve already “done it”. What we know from the lyrics is that Madonna’s father disapproves of this fella and we’re not sure why. Maybe he thinks his daughter should focus on her studies, maybe it’s because he’s from the wrong side of the tracks, maybe it’s because he doesn’t want her to get pregnant. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But herein lies the father complex: Madonna wants her father’s approval, and by fighting for approval she goes for the archetype he disapproves of. We play out situations in our personal lives that get us closer to obtaining what we’ve been longing for from our fathers.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> But you don’t have to take my word for it</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, ask Freud.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZnKwArR0lTp38ddlug_elTumpDsvPVzlNBGdUr8YHmJSSz96oiYVEXzISVMxgO2tgFVOPSz0dhtNCn-Ky5eSIRv9VGsPS2dd_fIYi0C6ZE15tVoemrDzHFzhsrzn1YVST1SoaB2OJyPY/s1600/dance.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZnKwArR0lTp38ddlug_elTumpDsvPVzlNBGdUr8YHmJSSz96oiYVEXzISVMxgO2tgFVOPSz0dhtNCn-Ky5eSIRv9VGsPS2dd_fIYi0C6ZE15tVoemrDzHFzhsrzn1YVST1SoaB2OJyPY/s1600/dance.gif" height="400" width="290" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I made up my mind, I'm keeping my baby, oh</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm gonna keep my baby, mmm...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-d7115c22-198d-be1b-4070-292eb9577e2f" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Juxtaposition-ed with a mid-tempo catchy hook, dancing in a cute outfit, she sings the chorus: the decision-making part of the song. Madonna is strong, self-compassionate and determined.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I am sexual. I am a woman. Look at my breasts, my curves, can’t you see? I’m not a kid.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The only thing she has control over is her body. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">She has no control at home, and no control over her future.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pleading out her plight, this is the only time in the whole damn video that her lips move. And when she cries out, there’s no one there to hear her. I’m dying to ask the male directors of music videos about such symbolism: Was this stuff intentional or did it just look good?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In my humble opinion, you could switch out “baby” with anything in this song; she could be singing about her right to get a part-time job, or go to art college, or wear this shade of lipstick, or to put this poster up on her wall, it all feels the same to a girl.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidERE2FoS8Icv8oTPWnUR2zUoy1mhfw7vH1pguO91GxR-ensFQO4Yt_UZxSFxONLxS3F0pdz71_1H7glYfzMB8O-dJxP5WXjJN8eSjezdEYPKQrKfUN54vF_3KgapLzk8on36MhFjTFnQ/s1600/boyfriend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidERE2FoS8Icv8oTPWnUR2zUoy1mhfw7vH1pguO91GxR-ensFQO4Yt_UZxSFxONLxS3F0pdz71_1H7glYfzMB8O-dJxP5WXjJN8eSjezdEYPKQrKfUN54vF_3KgapLzk8on36MhFjTFnQ/s1600/boyfriend.jpg" height="251" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He says that he's going to marry me</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We can raise a little family</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe we'll be alright</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's a sacrifice</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-d7115c22-198f-f233-1778-fda2624e1029" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now after many sleepless nights she tells us she’s got her ducks all in a row. There’s that anguish of feeling the pressure to always have a plan. God forbid we let someone down. She had better lock down that boyfriend of hers if she wants to survive -- going from her dad's care to her boyfriend's care.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.38; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Maybe we'll be alright, it's a sacrifice” are the simple lyrics. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.38; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">? Doe-eyed </span><span style="line-height: 33.1199989318848px; white-space: pre-wrap;">optimistic</span><span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">, or perhaps her standards for what a girl can have are pretty low: there's nothing </span><span style="line-height: 33.1199989318848px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ambitious</span><span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> about her future and "sacrifice” sounds like something her father and the Catholic church has lead her to believe she deserves. She’s banking her entire life on the love of a guy who’s just had sex with her. How scary is that.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHpdNIli24-o0ZqBHk8onnuR6wWp20FrEQRIgOt98qhWJrMh8m9z4ETTa6nJVspdr-WSD4SocTr0cqdEuR27ZeBfBLZziHm6qNSgS-a6Qww_jlbxtCurIuJ64W61P_hxpYFIDaT5t9ewk/s1600/steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHpdNIli24-o0ZqBHk8onnuR6wWp20FrEQRIgOt98qhWJrMh8m9z4ETTa6nJVspdr-WSD4SocTr0cqdEuR27ZeBfBLZziHm6qNSgS-a6Qww_jlbxtCurIuJ64W61P_hxpYFIDaT5t9ewk/s1600/steps.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But my friends keep telling me to give it up</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Saying I'm too young, I ought to live it up</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What I need right now is some good advice, please</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-d7115c22-1990-cada-30a7-a73c91512a01" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She turns her back on her community of females who aren't giving her the sage advice she seeks. They tell her to give the baby up. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But it’s not just actual advice on what to do that she wants, despite what the lyrics say -- it’s for the trust and unconditional love of her male role model.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have an engaged, loving, wonderful, supportive, feminist father. He didn’t shower me with loving words or praise and he didn’t have to -- the way he treated me I knew he loved me. He never treated me like his little princess. He never babied me. If he scolded me, it was never harshly. In fact, I rarely recall him raising his voice. Yet for whatever reason, there was always a deep yearning for his approval: </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>That sense of “<i>Am I doing this right?</i>” </b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now as a grown adult </span></span><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 33.1199989318848px; white-space: pre-wrap;">my mother</span><span style="color: black; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is my contemporary, but my father's role remains the same from where I stand. Whether I'm buying my own car or building IKEA furniture, I catch my mind drifting to my father -- </span><span style="color: black; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Am I doing this right?</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can’t say enough about the torture when girls feel they've let their parents down. Or when no one talks to them. I can’t speak for all girls but for me, all I wanted was to be seen, to be heard and to know that I was</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i> doing it right</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. What I wanted from my mother was something different, what my sister wanted was also probably different. What my brother wanted from them, again, something different.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline;">The peaceful conclusion is that it’s not a “problem”, it doesn’t need to be “fixed”. It just is. Freud would conclude I have a positive father complex; seeking out the positive attributes in male archetypes that I attribute with my father. Plus I’d say both my parents taught me about goodwill, and being independent, and being beyond competent, so well done, folks. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-jv9LSIZvK4meBB4c605VbR32hw2F1Zm-TcKqbYVw_A3jdaQY4UnFisAFppj0eFj6FYCi5rqh8I4C10aT6Fr8hQdd-M-EKZQ4wlgKGFFRM93ZiwdgJlyOuBV9AuOMchnssAlfHtXkgE/s1600/sofa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-jv9LSIZvK4meBB4c605VbR32hw2F1Zm-TcKqbYVw_A3jdaQY4UnFisAFppj0eFj6FYCi5rqh8I4C10aT6Fr8hQdd-M-EKZQ4wlgKGFFRM93ZiwdgJlyOuBV9AuOMchnssAlfHtXkgE/s1600/sofa.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Daddy, daddy if you could only see</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just how good he's been treating me</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You'd give us your blessing right now</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">'Cause we are in love, we are in love, so please.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-d7115c22-1992-e4c4-8a0f-3c583623cb11" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When she finally sits down to talk she tells him “Don’t Preach”, which is pretty powerful. It’s not a question. Plus to preach is to “judge or criticize” and lord knows she’s already been spending the last few weeks doing that to herself. Now help her feel she hasn't ruined her life and that you trust her decision.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This scene depicts the "normalized" view on father-daughter dynamics: A father’s role is to protect, that’s his job. That’s what makes a father “good”. He’s failed if she’s gotten pregnant. Who will look after him now if she’s gone off to start her own family? A girl will feel shame and guilt if she’s let down her father. Look, she’s covering her body with a cushion.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; line-height: normal; text-align: center; white-space: normal;">Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep</span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; white-space: normal;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; line-height: normal; text-align: center; white-space: normal;">Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; text-align: center;">Oh, I'm gonna keep my baby, </span></div>
<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; text-align: center;">Don't you stop loving me daddy</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; text-align: center;">I know, I'm keeping my baby</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He stands up, storms out of the room. She looks up, alone, afraid, unloved, unseen, uncared for, she’s a small cast-away. He says nothing to her, she says nothing to him. Over time she waits, saying nothing, not speaking. </span><span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hours go by, repeat. She has no power in this conversation. She must silently wait for him to come around and decide if she’s worthy enough to help, worthy enough to keep loving.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Finally at the end of the video he walks into her bedroom, takes her hand and holds her. The legacy of the father in this story is that HE gets to be "the hero".</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I never knew what happened to Madonna and her little family, or whether the relationship with her father evolved into something more progressive. Chances are she'll play this out in her new relationship. But who knows -- maybe they’ll be alright?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I like wearing makeup. I love makeup products. </span><span style="font-size: large;">People know when I'm wearing makeup.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">It's my choice to wear it or to not wear it. I don't do it to hide my flaws. I'm not wearing it to cover something up. I'm not wearing it to appeal to someone else's standard of beauty. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I wear any makeup I want, when I want, where I want.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
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To me, that's Feminist Makeupping in a nutshell.<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Arabelle Sicardi, <i>Fashion Pirate</i>, who coined the term and is a solid contributor to the hashtag presents Feminist Makeupping this way:</span></span><br />
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<i style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">"<b>It's how we present our body and selves to the world, and how we engage with the beauty industry and patriarchy's ideals on gender presentation."</b></span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course makeup is a political issue. Some women feel they need to wear it to look professional and to belong. Men can get fired from their jobs for wearing it.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpIkn1rQX0WbxcemVgN8nQTf6KvOldRsOdN8kZm5Q7aL1jA3bACciLZ6BQrlnh78_mGg79uAnvb3RoFyBzyJvWvYjx72pmhZUW6KYn2C-Auu34pPU0_j-_XoAfML_9lknLcJzjYm1pItM/s1600/steve-buscemi_642515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpIkn1rQX0WbxcemVgN8nQTf6KvOldRsOdN8kZm5Q7aL1jA3bACciLZ6BQrlnh78_mGg79uAnvb3RoFyBzyJvWvYjx72pmhZUW6KYn2C-Auu34pPU0_j-_XoAfML_9lknLcJzjYm1pItM/s1600/steve-buscemi_642515.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Makeup is about CHOICE. </span><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once you take away my choice, limit my options, or force it -- that makes me feel oppressed and limited and, well, second-class. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Those who don't feel comfortable wearing makeup feel the pressure to wear it to work, to job interviews or on dates. My non-makeup wearing female friend calls it "the lady tax", yet for me, n</span></span><span style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">othing says I'm in charge like wearing a bold lip colour.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I realize some women don't think this way, and that's cool too.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5w1Wm0iYpQgqc6KJjulzS4BhVPit1dyqJmDZmFX7MR9EO_YW_LeIccLJSsus7EKTst1Xy6in_VXsKxqBSO4jJ6pUWD4vsFPCNT1eMJe3v1jLb8RR-U2atXcKp31zWTUvLnOxDoTlfqy8/s1600/Photo+on+2015-03-06+at+9.59+AM+%232.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5w1Wm0iYpQgqc6KJjulzS4BhVPit1dyqJmDZmFX7MR9EO_YW_LeIccLJSsus7EKTst1Xy6in_VXsKxqBSO4jJ6pUWD4vsFPCNT1eMJe3v1jLb8RR-U2atXcKp31zWTUvLnOxDoTlfqy8/s1600/Photo+on+2015-03-06+at+9.59+AM+%232.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">At-work-wear: silver highlighting all over my skin, nude lips, blue eyeshadow, electric blue eyeliner (on top and bottom), blue mascara, pink blush.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">More at-work-wear: without much sleep the night before, I paint my lips burgundy, wear pearl eyeshadow, very white eyeliner on top and bottom, loads of thick black mascara and purple blush.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpuN_qMaZAY1cfNWxzDfVAqTXf_pFDLoNpkrFw9Y-sXB3BVPek7j2-YtBJhZmupK7iXo9Tqlc9mje6D6M1wbCx8fA24GFim2p6gi5wwlrLpWaUsTPATqEVucDFpTFa1tztkrWQ_C5FQTU/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpuN_qMaZAY1cfNWxzDfVAqTXf_pFDLoNpkrFw9Y-sXB3BVPek7j2-YtBJhZmupK7iXo9Tqlc9mje6D6M1wbCx8fA24GFim2p6gi5wwlrLpWaUsTPATqEVucDFpTFa1tztkrWQ_C5FQTU/s1600/image.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We've stumbled on a society where women are supposed to look "pretty" without looking like we're "trying too hard", and also, </span><span style="font-size: large;">glamorous without washing away when it starts to rain. Ugh, the pressure can be so taxing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And don't even get me started on the<b> rules</b> and <b>boundaries</b> of makeupping.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Magazines, blogs, and Youtube makeup tutorials teach women that you can only wear certain makeup during the day, certain makeup at night and that women over a certain age, ethnicity or gender can't wear certain styles or products.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Black girls are taught they can't wear red lipstick or who can't find eyeshadows pigmented enough so that really show up. Foundation for people of colour is usually named after some pastry or chocolate like people of colour are candies to be consumed and fetishised. They're also hard to find in stores and are consistently located in the back of stores or only in specific communities of poverty, or only found online, for more money than white shades"</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30px;"><i>- </i>Arrabelle Sicardi </span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Contouring, if you're unfamiliar, is a makeup fad popularized by celebrity Kim Kardashian. The purpose is to slim the nose, remove appearance of jowls, and highlight cheekbones. All to appear more Caucasian or Western and also to make you appear slimmer which is the modern standard of beauty according to the fashion industry and society at large.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVJEst_R9H9cwCEbDpeWsu3h3jE3_YOGZetVQiPBU90TRJ57lX-b6DqerBG3KbCcVQhQTCbtsWGcar9o2i4qUqlQyW6-ecPP7D0oQN7c2Jg-5Tlgc8HagubhM4iM-IWB7Jhs81MgwYW0/s1600/tumblr_inline_n0w6sw8lmV1szoko4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVJEst_R9H9cwCEbDpeWsu3h3jE3_YOGZetVQiPBU90TRJ57lX-b6DqerBG3KbCcVQhQTCbtsWGcar9o2i4qUqlQyW6-ecPP7D0oQN7c2Jg-5Tlgc8HagubhM4iM-IWB7Jhs81MgwYW0/s1600/tumblr_inline_n0w6sw8lmV1szoko4.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That being said, <span style="background-color: white; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">makeup is NOT deception. </span><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">If Kim K wants to wear her fucking makeup this way, then go KIM!</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">My first experience with makeup as a preteen was pretty driven by deception: I smeared foundation all over my face to cover my adolescent zits. I considered makeup a tool to mask my teenage ugliness, and many people use makeup this way. </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">The truth is I've been a babe all along, and chances are, so are you.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpkIifsnHwGcm6Vw2CGPq-IyX4srY4UW9COjBcy0Ex02tD_t3z0YR_iXzGo6Frbmc_Mk-4418_MtloynW9LM_CD9UEbK9dkfDIouwe0b6JX5ksZUTu6dWIpSlw8UEIk2FEXi6-Y_GYL4/s1600/fm_acne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpkIifsnHwGcm6Vw2CGPq-IyX4srY4UW9COjBcy0Ex02tD_t3z0YR_iXzGo6Frbmc_Mk-4418_MtloynW9LM_CD9UEbK9dkfDIouwe0b6JX5ksZUTu6dWIpSlw8UEIk2FEXi6-Y_GYL4/s320/fm_acne.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">As a thirty-something I still break-out but my attitude has much evolved. W</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">hen I have break-outs, I leave my skin bare allowing it to heal and colourize my life with bright purple </span><span style="font-size: large;">eyeshadow</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">, blue mascara and pink lips. Now I celebrate my beauty. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">These days I wake up, look at myself in the mirror, think "<i>You are one hot bitch</i>", slap my hands together and with a smile, dive into my collection of colour. My friend has called this <i>so very whimsical </i>and that is exactly how I would describe my relationship with makeup.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My makeup collection is the finest in all the land</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJQaYEKosvQCJiQa0iaju5N6xT2SVrZmhPlcBfGdyLOINd4fDd9HEOvCsyxL8j0zXsjT2dKUJ9GkuDqfOiDxsCR5G1BlQqww-riQd3ii38ylp2juto_OLmTvcQlK8tfGUkX3Of-aXcgA/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJQaYEKosvQCJiQa0iaju5N6xT2SVrZmhPlcBfGdyLOINd4fDd9HEOvCsyxL8j0zXsjT2dKUJ9GkuDqfOiDxsCR5G1BlQqww-riQd3ii38ylp2juto_OLmTvcQlK8tfGUkX3Of-aXcgA/s1600/image.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey, wanna party?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Girls and boys, your body, your face, your hair are all yours to change, adorn, or style - or not - in any way you please. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Parents, if you feel that anxiety of <i>what if she</i> <i>wears too much</i>, or <i>not enough</i>, or <i>she</i> <i>doesn't wear it right</i>, ask yourself what exactly are you afraid of? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Are your judgments about her makeup helping PROGRESS -- or are you just subscribing to the patriarchy-pleasing view of how women should appear?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Don't worry players, none of it makes you a whore (unless you ARE a whore, in which case, <i>go you</i> -- <i>work it!</i>).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">George's eyes aren't naturally lined blue nor are his lips naturally purple, and that's the point.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have a reputation for wearing makeup well, in fact parents have asked me to come by and "teach" their daughters how to wear makeup. I'd love to, thank you, but I won't teach them anything other than to be fierce and creative, oh, and if you don't want to fuck around, go with M.A.C. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Makeup is temporary, and that's the beauty of it. You can play, wash it away, and change your look as you saunter through your days. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">....And I'd attach these hashtags:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">#herchoice</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>#uptoher</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>#letherdecide</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>#itsherface</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>#beautifulnomatterwhat</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>#letherfigureitout</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>#hermakeupisnoneofyourbusiness</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: normal;">Hey Kids! Here's some colour! Do what you want!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am currently co-starring in a gloriously-unique independent feature film in production here in Toronto.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The movie is called <b><i>Love in the Sixth</i> </b>and it's the off-beat, grassroots brain-child of my favourite lady-friend, <a href="http://www.judecast.com/" target="_blank">Judith Klassen</a>. Jude is the writer, producer, director, and star of this feature film and she's an inspirational and collaborative talent to work with.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Love in the Sixth</i></b> is a film described by Jude as "<i>a character-driven musical comedy, a love story, an environmental angst story, a cheeky fearless indie adventure with kick-arse muthafucking songs". </i>The film is p</span><span style="font-size: large;">roduced on a </span><span style="font-size: large;">low budget, and it's beyond impressive how she makes it work.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Judith Klassen and the female cast perform "Fucking Love" (Klassen/Ettinger)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="font-style: italic;">Love in the Sixth</b>'s<b style="font-style: italic;"> </b>soundtrack features original songs composed by Judith Klassen, Asher Ettinger, and TC Folkpunk, with additional tracks from Natasha Nouveau and Collette Savard-- and they are real gems. It was an honour to pepper tracks such as <i>Fucking Love</i>, <i>Here from the Future</i> and <i>Mancation</i> with my background vocals and British-inspired punk rantings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;">As an advocate to dance like everyone is watching, I contributed my moves and choreography to a few scenes. The incredible task of directing a shoot for the final musical number starring the entire cast required my booming voice and my natural love for leading.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby & Mama Bird (Laura Lind) in front of green screen</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;">I stuffed my petite body into the costume of "Tar-Sand Baby Bird" for the video shoot of my personal favourite music number: <i>Dirty Lies,</i> a duet with Jude and famous environmental activist John Lefebvre. It's a riot of a music video with costume design by Mama Bird, Laura Lind.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The female cast and director of photography Rob McGee</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The cast encompass the non-cis/cis gendered straight, bisexual and gay men and women, the bi-racial, the realistic body type, the wig-wearers, the ambiguous, the small, the tall, the children and youth, and the main characters are all mostly over the age of 40.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">And we are all damn interesting and have a voice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">You can read my performance bio <a href="http://judecast.com/2014/12/26/wendy-sinclair-actor-singer-choreographer/" target="_blank">here</a>, but in a nutshell, I met Jude at the schoolyard, we hit it off, she cast me in her upcoming movie as a small bit actor (probably amazing woman at a party #2) and then she saw something big in me. She re-wrote the script and made me her character's bestie. We have been rolling with that ever since. I play <i>Mavis</i> to her <i>Dani.</i></span><br />
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We invented Mavis based on ....well, me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And there is homage to the famous Euro-Canadian short-story writer, Mavis Gallant who was a hero to the single woman's rights to independence (with apparently an amazing ability to separate love from sex).</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6O5XtK5hNrnQbTyVDIOOFSAqe212pXG2mRTudeNvR4tQ2FJO0-QQhoB2zu_vlwz7BkI1aw-3FdHaoeEoWhyphenhyphenfybnEiFTJXfI6lImHUt67GIiVRCo9OoMyeNW9AEm4tJVRr_XKDO-SSm9w/s1600/mavis-gallant-1998-580.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6O5XtK5hNrnQbTyVDIOOFSAqe212pXG2mRTudeNvR4tQ2FJO0-QQhoB2zu_vlwz7BkI1aw-3FdHaoeEoWhyphenhyphenfybnEiFTJXfI6lImHUt67GIiVRCo9OoMyeNW9AEm4tJVRr_XKDO-SSm9w/s1600/mavis-gallant-1998-580.jpeg" height="341" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canadian author, Mavis Gallant</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;">In the Sixth, wise and witty Mavis is a divorced, single, working mother of two young boys. She's a </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">vibrant, cheeky polyamorous feminist whose </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">position in the storyline is to fluff and pump up the hero's motivations and development. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPp7Sx9bWpy6AM98rLnc7_2nfzbRk3-Vrf9hUcIgNvOfKhgO5ZKlRS7P9kbfN3iF6MUn-2PbPi7cUCyelnDYSrSs-4pZVHK9UhGGJt-Z85NEb_GtJjHhqWdCivyhcm7O6qcwuzXBehjm0/s1600/mavis_n.jpg" height="266" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mavis fucking rules!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Aesthetically, she rocks edgy short hairstyles, goes without and with a face full of makeup, and because of all the rad outfits I have in my closet, Mavis gets to be dressed in all kinds of funky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mavis is in a sexual relationship with two men at the same time (who are brothers) and she likes it very much. OK, that part is a bit of a stretch for the real me, but the idea came comically and Judecast decided to go with it. One brother gives Mavis depth, the other is a fun fuck. Both brothers care deeply for Mavis. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mavis longs for true love and intimacy for optimal survival just like everybody else. But will young Mavis reach out and take it?</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A scene shot in my apartment with Jason Butler as my lover</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The friendship between Mavis and Dani is an absolute organic development of the real-life behind-the-scenes chemistry between us. Those laughs, tears, and super-tokes are real -- so voila, a script was born! We often went off-road with the script, having no hard-and-fast rules.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dani and Mavis talk sex, motherhood and mental health</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mavis is an interesting counterpart to the interesting female lead -- </span><span style="font-size: large;">Sh</span><span style="font-size: large;">e teaches her favourite female friend to follow her Feminist Buddhist approach: "<i>Do no harm but take no shit</i>."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ultimately, Mavis is written as a character who holds the key to her own happiness. </span><span style="font-size: large;">She is free to be sexual without being called a 'slut' and free to get angry without being called a 'bitch'. Her choices are driven by her and not the fate and circumstance of her male counterparts. When the shit hits the fan she REACTS and does IMPRESSIVE things.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mavis brings sex-positive feminism to the Sixth</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To read more on <b style="font-style: italic;">Love in the Sixth </b> and to stay in the loop on the upcoming release date, visit <a href="http://judecast.com/category/vlog-blog/" target="_blank">Jude's Blog</a>!</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-16455241733190991832015-03-01T23:32:00.000-05:002015-03-24T14:31:01.270-04:00No Shit, No Truffle<script>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">During repeated scientific experiments, a rat pushed open a trapdoor, choosing to free their captive peer from the tight cage instead of indulging in a pile of chocolate chips set up nearby for temptation and distraction. In some cases when the cages were rigged to be particularly difficult to open, the rat worked tirelessly on the door, snacking on the pile for fuel but always saving a few morsels for the captive rat for when it was finally freed.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">Studies found that it was the females who showed consistent empathy, and males much less so. Males were reported to have taken a day off from helping their trapped partner every now and then, but the females, never.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">Almost a month belated, I zip off to a fancy French restaurant to meet my dear friend to take her out, finally, for her birthday. When we meet at the set of bar stools we do our quick catch-ups and famished, we focus on the menu items. We both order the steak frites from our friend, bartender, and make chit chat with him about misunderstood French food.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">He informs us that the job of the female pig to sniff out the rare and delicate fungus known as the truffle that grows in manure has these days been replaced by men, armpit-deep in shit, sniffing out 'shrooms, accompanied by their dogs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">"When pigs find the truffle, they just gobble it up. So man stopped using the pig." the bartender informs us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">"Can't blame a pig for being a pig." says my friend.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">My friend and I get back to just us and she describes her current home life as being very difficult and stressful. She feels overwhelmed, resentful and disappointed. Seemed everything that could give her a propensity to be bothered, was indeed. If I was judging her on Maya Angelou's standard, it wouldn't be fair:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">You can tell a lot by a person by the way (s)he handles these three things; a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled christmas lights." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">My friend wasn't coping with her pretty shitty circumstances at the moment. And that's fair. I sense she feels it pointless talking about this any longer and she directs the topic to what's new with me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">I was doing my usual shtick: </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">struggling, growing, struggling, growing, struggling, happily.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;"> I go into the lengthy details with her. The bartender is heavily eavesdropping, so my friend proudly points out to him that I am </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">a</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">lotus flower</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">I smile at the comparison; my ego likes this and I believe it is true. Plus, I've been compared to worse.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">The bartender immediately buys us some shots -- possibly because he thinks we should lighten the fuck up or he needs one in order to stand this conversation. But that's what you get for eavesdropping on ladies with souls, and no hip Yonge street French bistro will make a difference on how we relate to each other.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">The three of us knock back the warmth of the creme de cacao and Schnapps in unison.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">Ah, well I wouldn't compare you so much to a plant, but more like to an animal</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">." He winks my way. Either he’s flirting or insulting me - it doesn't really matter. I know what I am.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">A cat: </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;"> because over the past few years, I've been landing on my feet. No matter what tree branch my curiosity has led me to climb onto, it resulted in an experience of quick reflexes wrapped in nine lives. Wonderful things were usually rising out of the stink in my litterbox.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">And it was my dear friend sitting across from me who helped teach me quite some time ago about the science of struggling:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;">The lotus flower opens its petals one-by-one and only grows in the mud. The mud represents the common ground of humanity; the obstacles, the suffering, the sadness, the loss, the deaths, the sticky stuff. We should strive to grow like a lotus does, opening each pedal and getting comfortable being in the mud, and using it. The lotus lives in the mud, it doesn’t grow legs and walk away to paradise.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">The mud is your freedom should you pay attention. Don't sidestep the difficulties. This sludge isn't a detour, this sludge isn't a hurdle to avoid. THIS is the path. The trick is to allow and bring awareness to it without staying identified and fixated on it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">People often see struggles as circumstances we just need to "get through". We resist the current bad circumstances and wished that they weren't this way, wishing if only we could get past this sludge right now, life will then be different, life will then be “good”. If only I can figure this mess out, then everything will be okay. Just have to keep heading towards that light at the end of the tunnel, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">There is no tunnel. You are not living in a tunnel. Who wants to live in a tunnel?</span><br />
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And that light? You are the light, sister.</span></span><br />
<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">***</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">I keep talking about the hurdles that are going on for me at the moment, and then she harshly throws me a humility curveball:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38;">"You know we've been talking an awful lot about you. And it’s me who is really, really struggling right now. Things are just going so badly at the moment. And I thought being with you would cheer me up, inspire me, maybe I would feel supported, but I don't. I feel like you aren't doing any listening -- I just want to go home".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">And there it is: the mud.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">When we feel like we are stuck in the mud we typically act out in jealousy, shame, or anger. We become stressed. When we are stressed we are hard-wired to lose our ability to reach out to others. Evolution has designed us to react this way. But evolution has always been kind to the progress of female animals: The one who isn't "stuck" has the ability to reach out and help her female peer.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When the bartender offers dessert on-the-house, I order the humble pie: I </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">was not giving her suffering and story the same attention and presence as I was to my own damn self. There was a dialogue here and I was hogging it. And this is not the first time I’ve hijacked a conversation, in fact I have a reputation for doing this. It was her birthday and I had given her nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">I am so sorry</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">." I tell her. If I had a stack of chocolate chips, I would push every single one of them across that sticky bar over to her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">We bask in the golden silence for awhile boring the bartender and he backs off. He strikes up a conversation with some other birds over at the other end of the bar while my friend apologizes to me for taking a huge dump on our night. We left our meals unfinished and I drove her to the subway station trying very hard not to make this all about me.</span><br />
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">***</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">What we all long for when we struggle is not just to hear a “Me too!”-- but for </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">deep listening, compassion and attention</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38; vertical-align: baseline;">. To fully tend to others means we often have to swerve from our own path. To step outside of our own selfish animal and see the person right in front of us -- beyond our own shit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 1.38;">Remembering that while you are busy being a cat, to be less pig, and more rat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-16656941743169223602015-02-16T10:18:00.000-05:002015-06-08T18:38:51.001-04:00Legends of Love<script>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When I see a woman I'm attracted to, my body tingles with all kinds of throbbing sensations, and I get that hot zealous feeling in my pants. I think about all the things I want to do to her body. Then I want to talk to her and get to know her. I want to look into her eyes and hear her whole life story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Me too." my lover says as he holds my gaze. We smirk.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
My lover then asks me: "What do you feel when you see a really good-looking guy?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
"Like a sexy random stranger?" I pause and recall. "That often doesn't happen. Attraction usually comes by knowing them. Like you". I pull him in tightly and I feel immense gratitude and joy that I have him in my life. And that I get to fuck him. Yes, all that fucking that we do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
As we squeeze our bodies together I recall that time in recent present when I saw a particular beautiful man and my heart swooned. And it was rare. A man now long-gone from my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
"Honestly, my first feeling, initially, before anything else was: I wanted to marry him."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
He laughs. "That's what my daughter would say. So you're like a 14 year-old."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
"I think we're all like 14 year olds".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
"You should write a fairytale about the 14 year-old boys who just want to get their dicks wet." He suggests.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
"Oh, the original Brother Grimm versions of the fairytales were all about young men getting their dicks wet." I say, remembering the random-old-shit stored in my brain. "Sleeping Beauty, for example, it's not the prince's kiss that wakes her up from that spell. When the princess pricks her finger and falls under a sleeping spell, the prince comes by and has sex with her while she is unconscious. He buggers off on his horse. Nine months later, twins are born from her womb and instinctively crawl their own way up her body to her breasts and start nursing. This is what wakes the princess from her spell." I inform him. "True Love's First Kiss" - this is actually what that expression means."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
He gives me that "Hey, Whadda-ya know" look that sometimes I confuse with the "I call Bullshit" look.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
He turns his back to me as I sit high on my kitchen countertop and leans his head back into my hands. I twist and turn his hair. We say nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
He finally speaks: "The notion of seeing someone and thinking "Hey, I want to marry you", that must come from all those fairytales that we stuff down girl's throats."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
I proceed to tell him my favourite fairytale, a story Disney has not touched or fucked with:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
<i>When Queen Guinevere ruled the Kingdom, she punished a knight by the name of Sir Gawain for raping a young village peasant. She sent him to roam the depths of the vast kingdom for one year and a half searching for the answer to this question: <b>What is it that all women desire most in the world?</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>Sir Gawain talks to all the women he meets; </i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><i>peasants, servants, princesses, milkmaids,</i><i style="font-family: inherit;"> and he listens intently to each and every one of them as he asks them that single question; but they all say something different. He becomes increasingly disheartened that he hasn't discovered a defining answer. He stumbles on a horrible-looking woman in the swamps; she is truly grotesque; with giant warts, skin hanging off her cheeks, scabs over her eyes, puss bubbles on her mouth and the smell of feces seeping from her pores. He gags at the sight of her, but asks her the question, unable to look her in the face.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>"My name is Lady Ragnell and I will tell you, good sir, on one condition." Lady Ragnell says. "Vow to marry me and take me to your kingdom and make me your wife. Once we are married I will tell you the answer you have been seeking."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>Sir Gawain agrees as he is desperate to be welcomed back in his kingdom and to be forgiven by his brotherhood of knights and by the Queen.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>He mounts the disgusting woman on his horse and rides back to the palace. As he approaches, the men and women in the courtyard point and gasp. They wildly mock him, some vomit on the ground at the very sight of her. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>Queen Guinevere greets them with open arms and immediately arranges a wedding ceremony. Later that evening after the wedding, they go to the bedroom to consummate the marriage. Lady Ragnell goes behind a curtain to remove her clothing. When she returns to sight, she is not a gruesome troll but a beautiful woman, with skin as supple as cream and a face like a doll.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>"Sir Gawain, the truth is I have been put under a spell which makes me a horrible creature by day, and a beautiful woman by night." She tells him. "Only you can break it by choosing your preference. If you make me horrible by day, all your friends will see me as such and will mock you, but at night, when we lay together, you will have a beautiful body for whom you can happily make love to. Or you could make me beautiful by day, granting all the respect and admiration of your peers. But by night, you will cover me in a sheet and sleep with your back turned."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>Sir Gawain looks her in her eyes and answers her this: "My good woman, the truth is, I believe that you know what is best for you and it is you who should choose. It is your life, your body, your will. I trust you know what it is that makes you happy."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>"My darling husband, you have broken the spell. You have made me beautiful again both by night and by day, eternally. For you have discovered what it is that women most desire truly -- <b>Above all, women desire sovereignty, to rule their lives as they see fit.</b>"</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>And the spell was broken. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>Lady Ragnell and Sir Gawain lived lovingly together for several years until she disappeared one day and never returned. Yet they both lived happily ever after.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">***</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">
"Interesting tale. I like that one." My lover says simply and I hope he and I continue our way described by the Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk, Thích Nhãt Hanh:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
<i>You must love in such a way that the person you love feels free.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
We practice this, he and I. That's why I choose him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I continue stroking his hair and staring at the back of his head, I couldn't help wonder if my lover would ever love me so much as to want to marry me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
But that kinda stuff just ain't up to me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1989772023736082729.post-26662998229730039052015-02-09T12:57:00.000-05:002015-03-24T14:32:44.232-04:00Ask Her<script>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My lover and I laid post-coital as you do, when his text messages began to go off. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">There was a recent Instagram photo in question and the mother </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">of the daughter they shared was concerned and wanted his opinion on whether the photograph the daughter had posted was too provocative.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He and his ex were co-parenting, as you do, getting along, constantly in touch about the logistics of raising a girl (I will call Taylor), and monitoring her social media activity. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Making judgement calls on Taylor's choices was another responsibility they shared together. I can attest that this sometimes goes under the umbrella of co-parenting.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Before replying, he shows me the photo-in-question; she is a beautiful, tall, 13 year-old and she's taken a selfie through the mirror in what appears to be a girl's washroom.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"</i>What do you think? You can see a little bit of her cleavage and her t-shirt's a bit tight. Do you think it's too sexy?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I admit I am baffled by the whole sequence of this event. I look at him and I sense he wants me to take the easy way: </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><i>Agree with him. Make a wise-crack. Judge the outfit on a slut-factor-scale.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I'm not that kind of girl, and I suspect he knows that. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>
As a person living in this world I am not so interested in the rights or wrongs of policy and protocol because those are impermenenant and dependant on perspective. I'm interested in how those policies and protocols make us feel, as individuals. Right now.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Policing girls' bodies and the attire they choose to wear has been normalized and enforced in schools, at home, at work, in religion, from the beginning of time and it raises very confused emotions. Overly-exposed young bodies may provoke concern from a well-intentioned society. The same society that objectifies women and girls from a very young age, and teaches girls to self-objectify.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Consider the motivation behind the "selfie"; conscious or unconscious, this is a move we make on social media to be seen as a beautiful object by the eyes of others. The photo is in the individual's control. I choose the angle, I choose the lighting, I choose the duck-face. I know how to make myself look the hottest -- I mean, I've been practicing in the mirror since ....well, since as long as I can remember. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The paradox is this: when parents or institutions put dress restrictions in place to "avoid being sexualized" they are contributing to the problem they aim to solve. When you tell a girl what to wear or to cover up, you control her body. You take away her autonomy, you tell her that her body is not her own, which oh-god-so-ironically is what it feels like to be sexually assaulted.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Not only this, but it creates shame about her body, that looking 'sexy' is her fault. Gentleman, these breasts and hips are just part of being me. Like my cracked elbows and my stinky feet. Shame feels similar to embarrassment but it's deeper, more long-lasting, and it's the feeling that there is something WRONG with you. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VV_Mcj5F_v3_X6a-n60uOpzoM0rqilBc4edEoK9hui3wN7deCtrdU4xQjgsj7wgdUPySr4gcy62zs44_Mdgn9yfCiiXBWXncPK10LMhPKYAoLrzHnH7TRXEXe-PqfVMHv2AmU-qV_to/s1600/dress-code2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VV_Mcj5F_v3_X6a-n60uOpzoM0rqilBc4edEoK9hui3wN7deCtrdU4xQjgsj7wgdUPySr4gcy62zs44_Mdgn9yfCiiXBWXncPK10LMhPKYAoLrzHnH7TRXEXe-PqfVMHv2AmU-qV_to/s1600/dress-code2.jpg" height="384" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how policy makes her feel</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shame is the worst. Ugh. The worst. If I could describe how shame feels to me when I close my eyes, it looks like a green sludgy muddy puddle, feels like being pulled through a jagged tight tunnel and it smells like farts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Telling our girls to not dress a certain way, shaming them about their bodies makes me feel <b>disheartened</b> and <b>frustrated</b>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm not interested in going into a hefty rant with my lover while we lay there still-naked and twisted in sheets. These things take time and he's not open to hearing it, I can tell.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When I finally open my mouth to speak, I gently ask him how it makes him feel to see a picture of her like this one circulating Internet-land; and he says worried, threatened and protective. This is understandable. I hold his hand tighter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I ask him how it makes Taylor feel when he asks her to take down a photo or change an outfit. He reports he doesn't know. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This makes me feel disheartened and frustrated. I maintain my grip. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i>You could ask her. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">How does it feel when your mom and I tell you to take down a photo or change your outfit?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">How does it feel when you choose to wear whatever you want and no one says a word? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">How does it feel when you make a choice and I tell you to change it?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">How do you feel when you get attention from boys because of the way you look? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">How does it feel when you say something clever and people listen? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How does it feel when you make a boy laugh with your wit? </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ask her casually in a comfortable moment together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Don't answer. Don't talk. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Don't judge her. Don't punish her. </span>Don't try to talk her out of the feelings. Don't try to argue with her. Don't tell her she's wrong. Just listen. What she says may surprise you and it may change the way you view this. It may change the way you discipline her about her choices.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Whatever you decide to do as a parent after that, go ahead and do it, the choice is yours. Ground her, make rules, enforce policy. I'm not going to tell you how to parent your daughter, Fuck knows we are all doing the best we can and I am the first to admit I have many times not taken my child's feelings or opinions into consideration. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"You're over-thinking this. It's just about rules in the home. She's not allowed to do certain things, like expose too much skin, just like I'm sure you don't let your boys hunch over at the table with their food."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A woman's right to have control over her body and table manners are two very different things. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I reach deep down and pull out an oldie-but-a-goodie: "I have to teach my boys table manners, yes, and I have to teach them to not rape."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhTCWR32MOHFz1Ve-XdhCNmsUuaBYwVliyF5lL-DiRRr7xoyoZp6yAcD_GpxQNNEPX3k919R-eU59_SLHtx8ymTfYRDQSV9lk2-mA_SsAGYYCoHUGQUs4YJR80le9g9wrjzkmegIwRtY/s1600/dresscode3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhTCWR32MOHFz1Ve-XdhCNmsUuaBYwVliyF5lL-DiRRr7xoyoZp6yAcD_GpxQNNEPX3k919R-eU59_SLHtx8ymTfYRDQSV9lk2-mA_SsAGYYCoHUGQUs4YJR80le9g9wrjzkmegIwRtY/s1600/dresscode3.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how policy makes her feel</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We don't need to teach girls to dress more responsibly, we need to teach boys how to not assult and objectify women.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We need to teach boys that the rights and opinions of girls matter, table manners, not so much.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sure, it's easier when parents decide. It's easier to say "It's my way or the highway" to our daughters, but I promise you this: A disempowered girl at 13 is likely to be a disempowered woman at 33 and they'll be a lot of work to break a pattern of living in a world where it is His-Way-or-the-Highway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I understand this preceived need to protect our young but if we're following protocol and policy, the current parental bond instrument indicates that the best kind of parents are the "High Care & Low Protection" type, not the "High Care & High Protection" type that seems to be running rampant in our community of white middle-class. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn7GAFF3s9goorMkY_YQZvEzEpCjbwRjuWMTBuS38NGDSC6a4pDGSwR1IDn_1zWQ2KmfRTCrKEAxTMjjXaM_d-p4gtvNcDRPWpBZ2pye0vRzUVQ2V5Wtcx0ZlU6L5L0XVIlUUFCFsMPMw/s1600/dresscode.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn7GAFF3s9goorMkY_YQZvEzEpCjbwRjuWMTBuS38NGDSC6a4pDGSwR1IDn_1zWQ2KmfRTCrKEAxTMjjXaM_d-p4gtvNcDRPWpBZ2pye0vRzUVQ2V5Wtcx0ZlU6L5L0XVIlUUFCFsMPMw/s1600/dresscode.jpg" height="400" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how policy makes her feel</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was very little I could do to comfort him about how NOT easy this all is.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I sense he is the one who is disheartened and frustrated now. Yes, this would be a whole lot easier if I had just agreed with him that his daughter is too young to look this way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But before I could ask him, he stands up, pulls on his pants, leans down and kisses my forehead and then makes his easy exodus.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0