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I'm back in baby's arms
How I missed those lovin' arms

Date: 2011-03-21 15:02
Subject: The Sexist Network
Security: Public
I watched The Social Network last night with my older bother and his wife. I went to bed wondering about all the Oscars it went home with and dreamed that instead of winning best picture, a movie called "All My Rats" won and someone bombed the Oscars. But that is beside the point.

While the movie itself provides an important examination of our generation and our treatment of money, class, sex, and gender, the responses it generated were regarding our society's obsession with superficial connection as a substitution for "real" connection. Throughout the movie, women exist as (mostly underage) sexual objects and/or cold, snarky bitches. Rashida Jones, with her three lines, provides the only remotely strong female character is who neither portrayed as a slut looking to give rich, white college boys blowjobs in the bathroom, nor as a egotistical bitch dumping rich, white college boys. There is not a single woman involved in this movie for more than 5 minutes who isn't objectified, hyper-sexualized, or infantilized. The very birth of facebook was the result of Mark Zuckerberg's attempt to create a website comparing women to farm animals. I vomited in my mouth.

I am not arguing with the fact that the world of billionaires is notoriously inhabited primarily by white men, and I am not trying to argue that there should have been more women in the movie whether they existed or not. Perhaps this movie was a honest-to-goodness reflection on the events leading to the largest social network in the world, and the sexist and misogynistic morals and individuals that lead to its existence. But it needs to be reviewed and recognized as such, not just as a movie about making a friend. Perhaps the mistreatment of women was such a subtle part of the movie that it was overlooked, but it was all I could think about. And maybe it deserves all the honor it has received, but it deserves it for being an accurate portrayal of our generation's gross mistreatment of women in a way that flies so low under the radar.

I hadn't felt like such an angry feminist in a while.
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Date: 2011-03-01 00:03
Subject: 4U
Security: Public
I guess I think it’s important to keep up with you guys – you do me the service of updating me on your lives without ever actually contacting me, which I enjoy. It enables me to feel like less of an asshole for not calling you as often as maybe I should and I get a better idea of what’s going on than maybe even what you would say were we talking in person.

God you’re all so intelligent. I think it’s wonderful. There are a surprising amount of unintelligent people around here and I revel in the pleasant debates discussions I have with my friends that are closest (geographically, at this point). Uhhh, I thrive off of it, I have grown from it.

I went to the rally for women’s health this weekend (what up, Tori) and cried a little bit. Cecile Richards spoke and so did the Senator for New York and I thought how wonderful – women COULD start a war, and women COULD finish it, and we would win. Especially when they’re calling this foolhardy bill a “War on Women”, a special type of rage is incited and since we are so ready to feel this rage, there it is, surprise, just like a Boehner.

Anyway, it made me feel healthy. I am more aware of the line between being able to discuss and being active, and it’s seeping into my art, which is nice. I’m working on a solo for my dance making class and I am really proud of it. It’s going to be a long installation piece.
I also made a piece for the Open Concert which is happening this weekend, and I put these five girls in disposable workmen’s suits, so they’re forms are indistinguishable, but they’re naked underneath them and lit from behind so at certain points you can just make out they’re shapes. All the while they’re moving as a unit… it’s hard to explain but I think it’s wonderful and hilarious.

That’s all for now.
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Date: 2011-01-30 18:22
Subject: 8.24.10
Security: Public
I know you won’t remember how gorgeous August was – now it’s September. Summer hair sticking to summer sweat. Sweet sweet birthdays and clavicles and wood washed houses. Shake that body down.
Take for granted the actions you take to relate to yourself. Never leave your room. Hold hands with your bedposts. Wrap yourself in sweet-sweat-sheets. Reconcile and steal a sweet-sweat-kiss on your breast. Take preventative measures. Clear and gray and rain and

Beaches. I think the salty taste on my tongue is the ocean but I have it confused with your sweat.

Prophesize your way to the West, the best will break off and it’s a big old world so when it’s not there you will sometimes notice, it will itch at the back of your head. It will dig for gold beneath your hair and skin and membranes and say, “I’m here, I’m here!” and you will think, “come now, brother, there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

And when you sing it to your children maybe they will come back, maybe growth is real, and you will think about how you knew what came next.
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Date: 2010-12-24 17:51
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public
I don't like to be a downer on Christmas. Never! Oh, I love Christmas. I love Christmas from the moment it starts, generally with the first snow, but also in the first smells of cold and frost creeping in. I love Christmas in the round mugs that fit in your hand, warming it through the mittens your mom made you (or that you bought in the Union Square Holiday Market). I love Christmas in the sounds of the old New England heating system in my apartment. I love it in the mornings that I don't want to get out from under my warm blankets and soft sheets. In the golden morning glows! In the people who, without fail, every year say how much they hate Christmas carols - you know they're only doing it because they want to be an alternative part of the tradition (alternative to what?). I love Christmas in the hearty pastas and roasted vegetables and chicken pot pies. In cloves and honey and hot chocolate. I do, I do love Christmas. I love my Christmas. I love the Christmas I share with friends. I love the Christmas I share with strangers.

And every year. I resent the Christmas that I share with my mother, my father, my brother. We cannot trim the tree together without someone crying, one of "grandma's last ornaments" getting lost in the shuffle and breaking, Mom being annoyed that Dad won't stop playing Christmas Carols off-key on the piano, and Mabel eating some chocolate cookie that I made earlier and everyone panicking about her living or dying. I swear. To. Joshua H Christ.
Long ago my two older brothers made the trip to Cambridge, MA for Christmas. This made it bearable. This made Christmas real, this was a Christmas miracle! Now they have their own families (well, just wives) and go to cabins in northern California, where, apparently, "it snows". And here I sit with jealously, counting my blessings and feeling inadequate.

But when everyone goes to bed, and I have the kitchen and Christmas tree to myself, I can sit and breathe and light a fire and feel the warmth spreading back into my body. When I was younger I would be in bed, or standing by the stairwell, wondering if I stayed up late enough if I would hear Santa trying to squeeze his way down the chimney, and wondering what that must sound like. Welcome Yule, from the bottom of my heart, it is welcome, it will stay, and Christmas morning will come - and while this will be fleeting, I cannot counter its existence. It is welcome, we will smile at each other and exchange presents over coffee and cake and kisses. How gross. How truly, wonderfully, magically gross.
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Date: 2010-12-22 21:24
Subject: Real Magic: Netflix Watch Instantly & Instant Oatmeal
Security: Public
We are bored. "Boredom," my Grandfather would say, "is the plague of the unintelligent man." In an effort to shake this boredom from our bones we open our computers and search for entertainment. Of late my favorite has been Netflix Watch Instantly because, while my body assumes the position of a bored someone, all slouched, droopy eyes, unmoving - my brain is listening to a story being told. Not just any story! A story acted out by real life people. So great. And the best part is: I don't have to wait at all! Read the tagline: "Watch Instantly"! How wonderful life is that I can have an idea ('Oh I know what I'll do! I'll watch all 5 seasons of 30 Rock YES PLEASE!') and it can INSTANTLY come to fruition. I see my thoughts manifested in seconds, I learn in the amount of time it takes me to read something I just searched on Google. I am a wizard.

I am a hungry wizard though. Too hungry to take the appropriate amount of time to let my oatmeal cook in a saucepan with cinnamon and cloves, and maybe some maple syrup and maybe some nutmeg. Too hungry to sit and watch as it thickens with every stir, and as my house fills with winter warm smells. Nah, fuck that. I want my meal to take exactly 2 minutes and 30 seconds. Oh, what's that? I just have to rip open this paper envelope and put it in this magic box and it TRANSFORMS into OATMEAL? Magic is real.

I am a wizard who wants change. Imagine my frustration when I am incapable of using my words - my words that are now thick with feminist theory and calls for action and awareness and acceptance - or even my motions to affect someone's opinion Instantly. Where's my Instant Change? When I resort to raising my voice to my younger brother because he does not immediately understand why I don't like when he says "their faces are not important" when referring to a group of women, I, the wizard, freeze time. Not everything is instant. Our manual manipulation of time refuted the fact that almost nothing happened instantly. But, now, we are wizards, and now time is different, it is, for many parts, malleable in our capable hands. Except for change. And growth. And wisdom. Every little action is important, whether or not the result is visible. Let us not forget our capabilities.
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Date: 2010-09-19 21:33
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public
recently I've felt all the whelms: under, over, in the middle. but the worst feeling right now is feeling like you're putting all your energy in to something that spits nothing back out at you. i hate the apathy machine.
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Date: 2010-03-29 23:35
Subject: This Actually Happened. I changed some names. Don't forget, these women exist in the year 2010.
Security: Public
Candace is drunk and it is 3 in the afternoon. In one hand she holds a champagne glass, no longer full, from Tiffany’s. She decides that she will be keeping the turquoise box forever and has already stashed the silk white ribbon in her pocket when she thanks Catherine Em El for her gift. She remains in her seat – heels do not promote easy walking, least of all when drunk. She guesses it probably never took this little to get her this drunk but she is this little girl… woman.. and she can’t remember right now anyways. Surrounded by a pastel party of her... friends... Candace is thinking that she has never felt more like a woman. And look at all these ladies who love her:

Heather and Kim are talking about their Ziploc bag obsession. Mary joins:
“Oh I just love Ziploc bags! Especially when you vacuum seal them, get them real tight, you can just fit everything in to one suitcase!” (As Mary says this her she is switching the cross position of her ankles: left over right, right over left, left over right. Heather is annoyed by the sound of skin rubbing against own skin.)

“Yes, but have you seen the infomercial for that kind that comes with the vacuum? My husband just bought it for me and I cannot wait to try it out! I’m waiting for a vacation just so I can pack the bags!” Heather breaks her smile only to take a sip (a lady-like gulp) of her Mimosa. It's back on as her lips part from the glass, leaving a kiss Heather knows will take Candace forever to get out.
“Oh, please let me know if I should order that, I’ve secretly been dying to get my hands on some. I bought those ones where after you’ve sealed it you can roll it up and the air just releases, but so far I’ve been unimpressed.” Kim wonders if Heather and Mary know that instead of having sex with her husband, she stays up watching lesbian softcore porn and infomercials. The two together rock her world.

Heather nods. Kim moves on to a heated debate, Tupperware vs. Ziploc, with Mary. She hates it when her boyfriend uses a Ziploc when he could clearly be using Tupperware instead. Heather watches from the side, waiting for a chance to jump in, admiring the tenderness with which Mary is verbally devouring Kim. She can see Kim's infomercial-based opinions faltering and bending and now: She is Tupperware all-the-way. Heather remembers that in College, all the girls fell in to sync with Mary's menstrual cycle. That bitch.

Joanne is talking at Candace’s left ear about how much she loves her label maker (sometimes she even labels her Ziploc baggies). Meredith is telling Katie how her waist is still the skinniest even when she’s the pregnant one. Katie is protesting while helping Anna make the Mimosas. Taylor is texting in the corner of her room, no one knows it but she’s texting her girlfriend. Carrie is itching for a smoke. And Candace isn’t even wondering how she got here. She floated in from a dainty Texas town and she’s riding the wave into the arms of her dream man and will stay on this wave until her dying day. Never will the desert leave her high and dry. Her life is pretty damn good.

Aprons are handed out as gifts. Katie, pregnant, hands one to Meredith because it is too big on her. Katie smiles and thanks her, "Katie, the only way this is going to fit me is if I tie it around my neck!" The ladies laugh. Candace laughs the loudest.
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Date: 2010-03-27 01:56
Subject: Sometimes, I think my roommate is on speed:
Security: Public
It is a typical Friday night.
My day was spent mostly asleep until noon, when I promptly took a shower and decided I was going to get my laundry done. I walked past the television on my way to the kitchen to make myself eggs to kickstart my day and Project Runway was on so duh, I sat down and watched it with Kait. Of course afterwards you have to watch Models of the Runway, and then 30 Rock to put you in a better mood than the one that watching jaded brown-nosing waifs moan about their walks put you in.
Then roommate no.3 (according to this years Census. I'm number 2, what?) calls with news of "what-a-fine-day", then "my-car-is-fixed-let's-go-anywhere" and so we go antiquing in Mamaroneck (again, duh) and I marveled at a tea-cup collection, Kait at a carrying-case and Lauren at some chairs. At this point I remember: 1) I am not wearing a jacket and it is very cold outside. (The man standing outside the store inviting people in is wearing a thick down coat with gloves and a hat. I am still trying hard to please the pseudo-hipster inside with my white V-neck, a button-up plaid unbuttoned over that, jeans and my fake nike high-tops. No coat. No gloves. No hat. Not even a pseudo-hipster scarf you could swear I got at Salvation Army.) and 2) I have not eaten anything and it is 4:37pm and we are fast approaching dinner time. I mention out loud a few times how hungry I am with the hopes that one of them will catch on and be hungry too. Lauren does. So does Kait. We eat at a Peruvian restaurant and I note our waitress's fine ass silently to myself while I order Combo #2: 1/2 chicken, arroz, pollo, and frijoles. Kait gets the fish and Lauren gets the shrimp soup and we talk about how we want to go to Peru. I don't want to go to Peru but I do want to go to Barcelona, where I imagine it is bright and hot, and there should be lots of mosaics and being sweaty just looks good there, you know? I don't mention any of this, but I don't pretend that I want to go to Peru so really I am not lying. The news is on while we eat our food. There is a segment on police dogs. This reminds Lauren of the richest family in the town that she lived in who purchased trained attack dogs from Germany. They only spoke German. ("They only spoke German?" Kait tried to correct her.) "My doctor got a call from the family and had to leave because one of the German-trained attack dogs had de-gloved a grandchild's hand. Like when you take a mitten off, but really you're taking off the skin." Lauren explains, and I imagine my hand without it's skin. My mouth tastes sour.
We eat our food, we pay, we drive home. My high-tops are quite small and my feet are quite wide so by this point my last three toes are numb but who cares. Kait gets dropped off at the train station. Lauren and I go home.

Quite soon after, Kat comes over. I am trying to heal our friendship but I find that I remain uninterested in the things she is talking about so we watch Lost for about five hours. I am intermittently doing my laundry. Kat leaves at midnight; my laundry is done and in a pile but somehow my room is still as messy as before and so I begin. I clean from my door to my window, starting with my dresser. Unpack, keep, throw away, dust off, try on, put away. I move to my desk. Dust and dirt and things stick to my cold feet. The floor sticks to my feet. I move to my bed. I do not make it but I put new pillow cases on. I am feeling good, steady. The kitchen is still a mess but that comes next. And then: Kait comes home.

I could hear her from the elevator. There was no real way to know that it was her but the timing worked out perfectly so I guessed (also perfectly). I was tucking away some old shirts underneath my bed and I heard her come in. The first thing she did was peek in the kitchen and I heard her say something. I know she detests a dirty kitchen. It was on my list of things to clean next, but I realize it is one am. Shit. I stumble over to her and raise my hand (peace): "Kait - I'm cleaning." I see her eyes. They are large, she is filled with something, she states that she has to pee and that she is glad that I am cleaning. Immediately upon emptying her bladder is she fierce and in the kitchen. She is a blur and she is speaking to herself (this is not uncommon, I am used to it) and I have no idea what she is saying but I do know to be out-of-her-way. So I am, but they are my dishes, I like to wash them and I want to, so I steal a few and wait in my (our) room with them until she is done so that I can do some. Sometimes, I think my roommate is on speed.
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Date: 2010-03-18 10:23
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public
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Date: 2009-12-21 21:59
Subject: no particular order
Security: Public
Tabitha (or Tabatha)

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my journal
March 2011