The new Mike Doughty album came out this week. I promptly requested that someone else drive me (the roads here are absolutely awful right now) to the nearest Minnesota based electronic store so that I could pick myself up a copy.
It's good stuff. Doughty never ceases to make me bob every part of my body with his melodies and lyrics that always grab my attention with their borderline nonsensical yet somehow poignant tendencies. Pick it up, totally worth the drive.
I also picked up a live podcast of a Bon Iver concert at the request of Tim. It's, as I had to expect, beautifully soulful and wrenching. It also prompted me to check the iTunes-ness of his rereleased album, where I was shocked to find that it included a new track. I proceeded to download, listen to, and thoroughly enjoy it. At this point, I'm ready to declare Bon Iver my new god.
I have this intense craving to road trip, preferably someplace I haven't been for a significant period of time before. I'm thinking Omaha, St. Louis, Kansas City, or Madison. Chris, Amelie, Joe, Brian and I may hit up Omaha in a month and a half or so for a Mike Doughty concert, which would be incredible. I just need to get off campus and preferably out of Iowa for a weekend or so.
Also, I currently crave pizza.
And to catch up on homework.
2.19.2008
Hypnosis
I was sitting in the Writing Center last night, as I have a lot lately. It's become my room now that I spend almost no time in my sleeping quarters while awake. A few of my friends were around and we were occasionally spicing up our homework with conversations on current campus controversy or other mind stimulating topics. As this happened, I found the most enormous butterfly clip I have ever seen attached to the pocket of Chris' bag. I immediately removed it and began placing it on different parts of my body.
At first this did nothing but cause painfully loud reactions, followed immediately by throwing the clip off of my person. After a while I began finding strategically painful parts of my body and testing to see if I could maintain my composure while it latched on. It wasn't masochistic, okay not that masochistic, it was more out of curiosity.
I've always had a really high pain tolerance. The fact that I could clamp this onto my nose or knuckle while simultaneously continuing conversation wasn't wholly surprising.
I think this says something about me. I've been having issues lately with certain people's reactions to the person that I am. I understand that I have faults, large ones, that I need to work on, as we all do. What I founds was that I like to push limits. I have this craving to learn just how far I can go, then try to push past that. This idea of boundaries seems too safe for me (most of them, at least).
It's like those people who opt for hypnosis rather than anesthetics. A higher form of pain aversion.
So there I was, sitting on a couch in a room designed to make people comfortable, pinching myself with this clip and trying to keep my mind clear and ignore the pain. And I could do it.
At first this did nothing but cause painfully loud reactions, followed immediately by throwing the clip off of my person. After a while I began finding strategically painful parts of my body and testing to see if I could maintain my composure while it latched on. It wasn't masochistic, okay not that masochistic, it was more out of curiosity.
I've always had a really high pain tolerance. The fact that I could clamp this onto my nose or knuckle while simultaneously continuing conversation wasn't wholly surprising.
I think this says something about me. I've been having issues lately with certain people's reactions to the person that I am. I understand that I have faults, large ones, that I need to work on, as we all do. What I founds was that I like to push limits. I have this craving to learn just how far I can go, then try to push past that. This idea of boundaries seems too safe for me (most of them, at least).
It's like those people who opt for hypnosis rather than anesthetics. A higher form of pain aversion.
So there I was, sitting on a couch in a room designed to make people comfortable, pinching myself with this clip and trying to keep my mind clear and ignore the pain. And I could do it.
2.07.2008
I'm Going To Do It All Someday
So I'm sitting here at work, minding my own business, and an attractive female wanders in front of the desk. At the same time, a older man, her senior by at least four years of age, walks in the opposite direction. As they pass, this gent literally turns his head as he continues strolling, staring directly at her lower half. It’s actions like these that give my gender the reputation we have.
I’ve been thinking a lot about sex/gender. Last semester I was called out by the faculty advisor for not writing about female artists enough. The article in question was a gauntlet of sorts on five different poetry books. It was thrown together last minute, filled with books I had recently perused or could speed through quickly, and no, none of the poets were female (though one was S√he by Saul Williams, a collection of female centered poetry, though written by a man). I was a bit upset, but the fact is that she had a point. I am lacking in female artistry works.
I have since started a weekly three musician review per week in the paper and I’ve made sure to include at least one female per week. This is actually becoming a difficult task for me, as I’m finding it harder (not hard, just harder) to pick out female artists from my library of music. I cross my fingers and hope that this has to due with the industry and the simple fact that there are more male musicians than female. I know there are a lot of females in the biz, and I would like to hear from more.
On that note, I’m not an Ani DiFranco fan. Just not really my style. “Untouchable Face” is a great song, mainly because of memories I have tied to it. Beyond that, I just can’t get into her stuff.
Also, the Vagina Monologues are coming up on campus. Now, I support the Monologues, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t find them to be especially powerful. It’s a mixture of comedic and absolutely tragic accounts of female struggles. Somehow, hearing this is supposed to further the feminist cause. I know that I’m a male and that I can’t understand what it’s like to be a woman, I just don’t see this as what it’s advertised as. I have a feeling one gets more out of being a part of the Monologues than merely seeing them. That makes sense to me.
The paper ran an article on this production as our lead story this week. I have major issues with some of the things that were said. One quote from a student here states, “The men who are most comfortable with themselves and their own sexuality really enjoy the show.” This seems to insinuate that any man who doesn’t enjoy the show doesn’t know themselves as may not have a grasp on their own sexuality. I went last year and enjoyed my time, I can’t lie. But as I said, it didn’t move me. I didn’t feel more empowered or that I needed to fight harder afterwards. I am also very comfortable with myself and my sexuality. Even if this quote doesn’t necessarily apply to me, I still have issues with it. It’s a blanket statement that takes little more than the feminist perspective into view.
I consider myself a feminist just as much as I consider myself an equal rights activist for race, sexual orientation, class, and any other issue. I promote and will gladly fight for equality amongst all people of this planet. It’s the strictness, the anger in some extreme feminists, as well as activists in other fields, that makes me step back and reevaluate the situation. These people (I wouldn’t consider the owner of the above mentioned quotes an extremist, for the record) seem to alienate anyone who isn’t fighting as passionately, loudly, and publicly as they are, regardless of the other’s beliefs.
I am a feminist, but I won’t fight any harder for feminist rights than I will for gay, minority, lower-class, immigrant, environmental, or animal rights. That doesn’t mean I won’t fight, because I will. I simply refuse to step beyond the line of rational movement into the realm of extremism. It’s proven in the past to be nothing by detrimental.
I miss fighting. My poetry class this week had a short conversation about how, back in the 60s, students were in the streets protesting and making their voices heard. This attitude seems to be lacking my generation, replaced by a glaze of apathy and disregard. I want to fight. I want to march down streets and scream for an end to war and genocide and classism and all other -isms. I don’t want to slip into the irrational radicalism I just spoke against, I just want to make my voice known. My generation seems to be missing a lens to focus us. We have more and more issues arising every day and I have a feeling we don’t know where to begin in speaking out against them. I get tempted to stop my studies and take a year to become an activist, hitting the illnesses I see in our society and finding ways to combat them. Realistically, I don’t see this happening for the same reasons that plague all of my generation. I want to fight, I just don’t see how to work it. The rebel, the screamer, the rioter in me wants out.
I’ve been thinking a lot about sex/gender. Last semester I was called out by the faculty advisor for not writing about female artists enough. The article in question was a gauntlet of sorts on five different poetry books. It was thrown together last minute, filled with books I had recently perused or could speed through quickly, and no, none of the poets were female (though one was S√he by Saul Williams, a collection of female centered poetry, though written by a man). I was a bit upset, but the fact is that she had a point. I am lacking in female artistry works.
I have since started a weekly three musician review per week in the paper and I’ve made sure to include at least one female per week. This is actually becoming a difficult task for me, as I’m finding it harder (not hard, just harder) to pick out female artists from my library of music. I cross my fingers and hope that this has to due with the industry and the simple fact that there are more male musicians than female. I know there are a lot of females in the biz, and I would like to hear from more.
On that note, I’m not an Ani DiFranco fan. Just not really my style. “Untouchable Face” is a great song, mainly because of memories I have tied to it. Beyond that, I just can’t get into her stuff.
Also, the Vagina Monologues are coming up on campus. Now, I support the Monologues, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t find them to be especially powerful. It’s a mixture of comedic and absolutely tragic accounts of female struggles. Somehow, hearing this is supposed to further the feminist cause. I know that I’m a male and that I can’t understand what it’s like to be a woman, I just don’t see this as what it’s advertised as. I have a feeling one gets more out of being a part of the Monologues than merely seeing them. That makes sense to me.
The paper ran an article on this production as our lead story this week. I have major issues with some of the things that were said. One quote from a student here states, “The men who are most comfortable with themselves and their own sexuality really enjoy the show.” This seems to insinuate that any man who doesn’t enjoy the show doesn’t know themselves as may not have a grasp on their own sexuality. I went last year and enjoyed my time, I can’t lie. But as I said, it didn’t move me. I didn’t feel more empowered or that I needed to fight harder afterwards. I am also very comfortable with myself and my sexuality. Even if this quote doesn’t necessarily apply to me, I still have issues with it. It’s a blanket statement that takes little more than the feminist perspective into view.
I consider myself a feminist just as much as I consider myself an equal rights activist for race, sexual orientation, class, and any other issue. I promote and will gladly fight for equality amongst all people of this planet. It’s the strictness, the anger in some extreme feminists, as well as activists in other fields, that makes me step back and reevaluate the situation. These people (I wouldn’t consider the owner of the above mentioned quotes an extremist, for the record) seem to alienate anyone who isn’t fighting as passionately, loudly, and publicly as they are, regardless of the other’s beliefs.
I am a feminist, but I won’t fight any harder for feminist rights than I will for gay, minority, lower-class, immigrant, environmental, or animal rights. That doesn’t mean I won’t fight, because I will. I simply refuse to step beyond the line of rational movement into the realm of extremism. It’s proven in the past to be nothing by detrimental.
I miss fighting. My poetry class this week had a short conversation about how, back in the 60s, students were in the streets protesting and making their voices heard. This attitude seems to be lacking my generation, replaced by a glaze of apathy and disregard. I want to fight. I want to march down streets and scream for an end to war and genocide and classism and all other -isms. I don’t want to slip into the irrational radicalism I just spoke against, I just want to make my voice known. My generation seems to be missing a lens to focus us. We have more and more issues arising every day and I have a feeling we don’t know where to begin in speaking out against them. I get tempted to stop my studies and take a year to become an activist, hitting the illnesses I see in our society and finding ways to combat them. Realistically, I don’t see this happening for the same reasons that plague all of my generation. I want to fight, I just don’t see how to work it. The rebel, the screamer, the rioter in me wants out.
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