Neighbors Kim & Scott introduced me, the other day, to a Columbia math grad student. He was nice, et cetera, not the point. At brunch on Sunday, Kim was telling us all about hanging out with him and his other Math Student friends. The particularly interesting part was the girls. Apparently, from spending so much time in a male-dominated field, a girl becomes "one of the boys." Meaning that these ladies talk about their sex lives as openly (read: brazenly) as the guys do. Kim's example was a girl talking about some spring break trip and saying, "And remember that time I had sex with three guys in one day? That was awesome!" Her male friend said, "Yeah, that was awesome!"
I was about to say, "Is it weird that I think that sounds great?" But my roommate beat me to it--"You know Susan B. would totally talk that way if we did." She was totally right, and I totally appreciated it.
Two things. One: this maybe supports my family's belief in co-ed education. I dunno. Two: It's funny that I've basically never been able to just gleefully spill all my details to anyone without fearing it was TMI. I came closest with my flatmate in London, mostly because we were two American Broads Abroad and that's what you do. I don't even know for sure that my guy friends talk that way to each other. But then I wouldn't, would I? They don't seem like the types, but that's probably a Naive Girl thing to say.
So if anyone wants to be my Kiss-and-Tell buddy, applications are now available.
Monday, January 7, 2008
I Know My Calculus
How The Other Half Lives
The other night, over birthday drinks, I wound up talking to some friends about compulsive serial monogamy and how in general it is not good. Not a novel stance on our parts, but always a subject worth revisiting. Partway through, I realized that my three comrades were all in longish-term relationships, and were talking about not just what it's like to be single, but about what one has to do in order to be single in a healthy way. It occurred to me that I, in fact, was single, and that in an inadvertent way they were inherently describing what my life needs to be like in order for me to be healthy. Which I do not say negatively--they were, after all, saying good things, and presumably believe that I (basically) live my life as a Good Single.
The thing that struck me, as it always does, was that to some people singledom is something one must work towards. Now, this year I did some dating that was not necessarily awesome but mostly got me over my idea that I am incapable of dating, and that dating is something that other people do. However, it still occasionally blows my mind that, to many people, dating is a default setting. Some people have to learnto be single.
Just below, I discussed my theory that "Some people were born to fuck." Maybe some people are likewise Born To Date. And just as I ought not constantly be fucking, so too is it a good idea for the BTDs among us to chill out now and then. And most of them do. But when a friend of mine, having settled in a few months after moving to New York, said "I think I'm ready to start dating now," it actually spun me a little. It hadn't occurred to me, in practical terms, that dating was a function of readiness. That is, I'd always thought of it as some kind of alchemy that you might stumble into a person whom you not only liked but who-- BY FREAKISH COINCIDENCE--happened also to like you. The odds have always seemed to me very slim that I would like someone who, out of every other person he knew, liked me--and vice versa. It seemed like something that had to just magically happen. Surely there was no element of human willinvolved.
So, perhaps the BTFs and the BTDs can learn from each other. Okay, I actually have no idea what the daters can learn from me, except that maybe when a BTD dates a BTF, ze will know that being sexually active is not a sign of spiritual bankruptcy. I don't know. But I am learning--and, as a New Year's resolution, will continue to learn-- that perhaps I have some agency after all. We shall see.
Susan B.'s Words To Live By: An Ode to Fucking
A bit of a preamble on this one.
Trite though it may seem, Susan B. has a fuck buddy. Or perhaps a booty caller--once or twice a year we get together and have awesome sex*, and then we don't see each other for at least six months. The interesting thing about this guy (I mean, there's more than one, he's an interesting guy, you know what I mean never mind) is that he was my aforementioned first. He did not know this fact until afterwards, and was surprised by it, and the next time he saw me seemed a tad guilty, like he thought he should've called, and I was all "whatever dude" and we did it again.
Though I feel weird posting too much detail (I actually had written more on the subject but changed my mind), suffice it to say that this guy was not any kind of boyfriend, and I sort of took the initiative, though really he made the first move. (Something for which I am eternally grateful.) I left feeling extremely empowered, like I'd thrown off the tyranny of "Someone Special." As though, with his assistance, I'd taken my own virginity.
During our last rendez-vous, about a month ago, he brought up for the first time the whole I-deflowered-you thing. After making it clear that he thought that was awesome, he said something like, "You've probably fucked tons of guys by now." I froze up a little, and he quickly said, "Or not..." And I realized that he'd meant it as a compliment. He thought I'd frozen up because maybe it was untrue and I felt lame or something. I remembered that before I'd even (seriously) entertained the idea of hooking up with him, I'd heard that he, well, got around. To him, a well-notched headboard was a thing of beauty.
And that's when I developed these words of wisdom:
"Some people were born to fuck."
If you'll pardon my language.
This is a slight plagiarism from Love In the Time of Cholera--I think the quote is something like, "Some people fuck and some people don't," but that implies a certain superiority that I do not mean. Plenty of people fuck. I did not invent fucking. But some of us have a different attitude. It probably doesn't even require a high number--you can be Born To Fuck and still like serious relationships. In High Fidelity (the movie, anyway), Lisa Bonet describes fucking as an inherent right. For some people, sex can be a genuinely beautiful thing even if you don't have strong feelings for the other person. Fucking can be beautiful. Fucking can be fulfilling**.
"Fulfilling" is an important word, because I've heard it used by two not-so-into-casual-sex people I know. As in, "How can that be fulfilling?" At the time(s), the question didn't actually make sense to me. Fulfilling of what? And why did it have to be fulfilling? Does everything you do on a Saturday night have to satisfy a spiritual need? But having really thought about it, it really does. Satisfy a spiritual need, I mean. When I moved to London for a year, I called it "running away from home," but my mom called it my Walkabout. And I decided that I had, in fact, found my spirit animal***. Sex was my spirit animal.
What the hell does that mean? Well, probably you either get it right away or you don't. Maybe you get it even if you don't feel that way, I genuinely don't know. There was a recent study suggesting that promiscuous people are either extremely emotionally cold or emotionally warm towards their partners. I guess I fall into the latter category. Unless something went actively wrong, I tend to think of my past partners with great affection, even when I didn't know that much about them****. It is especially wonderful, I realize looking back, when two BTF people cross paths. Maybe that's what made my first time feel so special. It was a meeting of the minds. And other things, obviously, but the important part: maybe we were, in some way, kindred spirits.
I don't know if this idea has any "ramifications." I'm sure, for example, that there are happy pairings across types. One thing I learned from growing up in Greenwich Village: not everyone is the same. Nor should they be. So, however many digits your number is, and however thick your black book, good luck and God bless. May you always be fulfilled.
*The kind that often requires a few days' recovery and a lot of cranberry juice.
**And not just literally.
***Culturally mixed metaphor, but bear with me.
****For example: their last names.
Friday, January 4, 2008
I Have A Fever...And The Only Perscription Is More Primaries
That is not actually a joke. The NH primary is on Tuesday and I am chomping at the bit. Obama and Clinton are my Britney, Wonkette my TMZ.
Some say that Huckabee is bad news for the Dems, since he's the only candidate who can galvanize the evangelicals. This is reportedly what happened in Iowa. But the Democratic turnout was more than twice that of Republican voters, so how galvanized can they be? 239,000 Democratic voters (compared to 2004's 125,000!) versus 108,000 Republican voters. Apparently you don't have to wave the Jesus flag to get people to the polls.
I don't know enough to actually extrapolate Iowa voting to how the nation will vote in the November election. I confess that I don't see how Huckabee or Romney could beat Obama, The Most Charming Man EverTM. I have no idea about McCain, since I find him so uncharming, but then I, unlike him, am pro-choice, so how could I find him charming?
I have never before been so desperate for hot primary action. Which is true of the rest of the nation--this is getting tons more coverage now than in 2004. But then, this is the first time since 1928 that none of the candidates are incumbents or Vice-Presidents. All the primaries actually matter!Except for all the ones after South Carolina, but you know what I mean.
Actually, this year's obligatory Stupid Christmas Family Fight was about the caucuses, which my mother for some reason thinks are cool. But she did make the good point that I have little historical perspective on the primaries and am basing my opinion mostly on 2004. (The opinion being that Iowa caucuses are basically the only primary that matters.) I later told her that Anna Quindlen hates the caucuses, too, which shut her up. But she couldn't bring herself to actually read the article.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
This Has Nothing To Do With Feminism
But I can't resist. Because it is too amazing. Someone on a Jezebel comment thread directed me to Brigham Young University's honor code, and on the main page, is the best Frequently Asked Question OMG EVER ASKED IN THE HISTORY OF QUESTIONS. You ready? Here we go:
"What is the process for obtaining a beard waiver?"
Perfection. Try saying it aloud if you don't believe me.
Dudes I Like: Neo-Weimar Edition
This feature will be replacing "Male Feminist of the Week" because, well, that was too hard. Not that there aren't plenty of male feminists out there, but there aren't many guys TALKING about how they're feminists. So we'll switch to guys who I think are cool, and living in a feminist way or embodying a feminist ideal, and we'll start with this one:
Brian Viglione of The Dresden Dolls.Brian is, primarily, the drummer of this awesome Brechtian punk cabaret duo. I will in fact add a photo of both him and his counterpart, Amanda Palmer, as there are more cool pics of them together.
Anyway. One of the innumerable cool things about this band is that they are sort of an inversion of the White Stripes--male drummer, female lead vocalist and musician (keyboard), the woman is the front, uh, man. Viglione is, however, far more active onstage than Meg White. I of course have no idea how the Whites actually work when CREATING music, but Viglione has been a drummer since he was 9 (or earlier, depending on how you interpret his bio) and is a gifted musician independent of his main gig. Just sayin.Comparisons aside, it is inspiring to see a truly talented man supporting a (also truly talented) woman. While they are clearly partners, the focus is usually on Palmer, and she tends to be the protagonist--whether on stage, on CD, or in videos. You must check out the video for "Coin-Operated Boy," which will give you an idea of how integral he is to songs that are clearly from a female perspective. The Dresden Dolls give one hope that maybe men are actually capable of listening to music by (and--gasp--often about!) women. Maybe it's sad that I'm so impressed, but I really appreciate a man being able to collaborate with a woman, and not have to be the center of attention.
Not that he never gets center stage. Oh no. I saw the Dolls perform this New Year's, and in addition to being awesome on drums and vocals, and playing guitar a bit, well: Just before the countdown, he stepped up to the mic and took up the guitar. Amanda got behind the drums (hot!) to back him up, and announced that they were going to perform a "very old but very effective Jewish protest song." They then performed "Fight For Your Right to Party." Amazing. He was totally a credible Beastie Boy.
Full disclosure: I also like him because he's damn sexy. I did not quite realize this until the concert, when he ditched his trademark bowler hat (and, uh, his shirt), and it turns out he looks like this:
Who can argue with that?Also, according to Wikipedia (so who knows if it's true), he's been a crossdresser since he was 12. Hot. Sorry to objectify you Brian--I mean it with the utmost respect. There should be more like you.
PS: If you did check out that video (or have heard the song), it may interest you to know that the line "I can even take him in the bath" is, uh, different when performed live. FYI.
26 Years of Enfranchisement!
Well, it's been two weeks, because I've been sitting around being angsty about work. But what better way to return to my duties than...on my birthday! Yep, happy birthday to me. It is fitting, because last night I was thinking a bit about my birthday suit. That's right--it's body image time! So, here's what occurred to me for the first time: I don't hate my body. Obviously, we all have a few things we'd like to change about ourselves, and we all have what I like to call Bad Face Days, but all in all I actually kind of like my body.
But. (What, you weren't expecting a but?) I realize that I assume OTHER people hate my body. While I enjoy my curves and my soft spots, I know that they don't fit into what I'm actually supposed to look like. I think people should find me attractive...but I don't expect them to. Yes yes, of course I have friends who try to convince me I'm hot, but they tend to be people who love me and/or people who have girlfriends*, so I don't believe them. So when I look in the mirror and want to cry, it's not because I hate my body--it's because I hate myself for not changing my body when I feel that would improve my life.
But that, of course, is exactly why I have a hard time committing to any more diet and exercise than I've already done. (I lost 20 lbs. sophomore year of college through healthy means, it was nice.) I would be losing weight for some hypothetical other person I don't even quite believe in, for the sake of ideals I decry on this very blog.
Maybe this is not the happiest birthday thought, but it does make me feel better--both to realize I like my body, and to realize there's actually a kind of good reason I can't bring myself to weigh and measure my food. So I will not feel guilty about the mom-made yellow cake with chocolate frosting I will be eating tonight. Even though in some way maybe I should.
*Guys who have girlfriends are really good at thinking I'm hot while they're unavailable, then avoiding me like the plague as soon as they're single again. On bad days, I think of guys-who-have-girlfriends as my nemeses. Particularly guys-who-have-girlfriends-who-are-out-of-town-at-the-moment.
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