///w-a-m///

Shoe Metaphors

 

A long time ago, one of my friends used the metaphor of himself as a pair of practical shoes and another friend as a pair of "flashy seventeen year old feet" to ask me whether or not I thought he had a chance with her.

It has since been pointed out to me that when he started talking about relationships in terms of footwear we should have known right then and there he was gay. However, that didn't come until much later.

For five years, I have thought about guys in terms of "dating you is like wearing what sort of shoe?". "Are you right for the calluses I am currently dealing with?" We all know that the right fitting shoe in the right style can go far. A shoe that is "so cute" but constricts your foot just a little too much might not be worth the sacrifice and will get thrown into the back of the closet quickly.

Once you find that shoe... the shoe that fits you and your lifestyle and your personality so well... you have to deal with durability. Will it hold up for the long haul? Sometimes you know going in that this shoe is for this season only. Sometimes you only want a summer sandal. Sometimes you think the shoe is well made and will hold up. Then one day you realise that it's falling apart. You hang on to it as long as you can, but eventually either you give up or the shoe gives out on you.

There are pumps, those guys who seem okay and practical and like really they go well with almost everything, but really, pumps are not fun, hard on your ankles, nearly impossible fit into a casual outfit, and give me blisters. I'm not saying that some women don't do well with a pair of pumps as their primary shoe. I just don't. Pumps are good for a business dinner, bad for a day at home. You know those guys. They're completely acceptable for the rest of the world, but just not quite ready for everyday use. It's not that they fall apart. They're sturdy, timeless, ready to go the long haul. They just aren't right for you.

There are platforms. Those guys that are fun and flashy and great for a night out. Platforms can go with jeans and skirts. They can go to work. They can go to the clubs. They aren't easy on everyone though. They're demanding. You need to be willing to wear longer jeans, have strong ankles, sacrifice a certain degree of being able to feel the ground, and they can be hard on your back. You can't wear most platforms with shorts. Once I'm used to wearing a pair, I can wear them everywhere, everyday. After my summer sandals though, it's hard to go back. You don't wear platforms out to dinner with your family. Or I don't. And many times, platforms give out on you long before you give out on them. We've all dated those guys. They're fun. Some of them are just fun and have no practical value. Some of them can cope with a professional situation. Some of them are nearly impossible to date, but so cute! Some of them just think they're cute. In the end though, there's always a degree of adjustment neccessary before I can wear or date a pair of platforms in the long term. And it's hard to find a pair of platforms that will go out to dinner with my mother. And sometimes, you have to do without them. They just don't go with shorts.

A guy who is like a pair of hiking boots is never going to be quite right when you have to wear a dress. He's comfortable. He's sturdy. He's fun in the right situation. He'll cause no harm to your feet or ankles. With the right pants, hiking boots will go out on the town. A nice pair of hiking boots can go basically everywhere I want to go. Hiking boots can even be worn to my workplace or out with my family. They're just so damned casual, while at the same time smothering the foot. Hking boots guys want to take care of you.

Sandal guys will leave you with room to breathe. Sometimes though, you need to be a bit more covered up. Sandal guys are there for you in the sun and they'll stick around through the rain, but they don't really help the situation much. Sandal guys are fun and cute and go anywhere, but they have to go when the weather gets rough. Sandal guys are gonna mostly see you through the glass on the ground, but they're not going to help in the sticker bushes. Sandal guys are not for the long term. Unless you're willing to sacrifice your toes to them.

What I am looking for in terms of coverage is a clog. I know, there's so little committment in most clogs. They'll slip right off your feet, or you can kick them right off. I've known some clogs that will stay right on your foot with barely an adjustment to your step. But you're not going to stub your toe in clogs. They'll see you through most of what I deal with. And they leave you with room to breathe. That's important to me.

I don't need to deal with any problematic heels in my next pair of shoes. I don't want "flats" (sure they're harmless. They won't hurt you, maybe a blister. They can be fun sometimes. Ultimately though, They're sole-less.) But I don't need any ankle-twisting drama heels. I want a nice tough, lugsole. Just a nice pair of lug soled clogs.

Basically I am looking for a guy who resembles my Simple. clogs. They're not attention grabbing, but at the same time, they're very cute. They're comfortable most of the time. They go hiking, they go to work, they'll go with the skirt or the jeans or the shorts. I love them, but they don't make me feel bad when I don't always wear them out with my friends. They aren't the cute shoes in the back of the closet going "wear me, mary, I'm cute!". My mother doesn't see the attraction, but she doesn't hate them. They're earthy-girl shoes. They'll go to the bar and dance all night. They've been around for years and only get better with age.

I can see the personal ad now... "SWF seeks guy who resembles her Simple. clogs for ...."

10/24/2002 (0) comments

Isn't everyone a feminist?

 

Brace yourselves, kids, I am going in for the rant.

Is it still controversial to label oneself a feminist? I mean, I know that sometimes I am way out in left field so far that I don't even know that's going on in the center let alone over there in right field, but really, how did I miss the boat? How did I spend at least the last seventeen years believing in feminism without finding out that there are educated people out there who don't share my beliefs?

I grew up in America, free, white and middle class. Also female and disabled. I believe in equal rights. I believe that no one has the right to tell me I should or should not do anything because I am female. I believe that I should have the same opportunity to have kids and a career and a fair paycheck as anyone else. Isn't that how everyone feels?

I was raised with the knowledge that "you've come a long way, baby" required the retort that if we'd gotten to the destination, you wouldn't be calling me baby.

I know that there are people out there who really do think that it is my mission in life to find myself a nice husband and make some babies and raise those babies.

I confront those people every damned day. I deal with people who are like "You should shave your legs because that's what girls do." But the thing is that I just always figured there was something missing in their worldview. That I needed to educate them that the hairy legs come with the boobs. That they are a package deal and if I'm going to be happy to have breasts, I might as well be happy to have leg hair. And I understand that some people really do like the way their legs feel hairless. Fine. I don't. Why can't that just be my personal choice? No one is turning up their nose at me because I wear cotton undies and they prefer silky ones. If it were a matter of taste, I'd let it go.

But first you should ask yourself why you are doing these things. Are you doing them because that's what women do? Or are you doing them because you want to? Because you really have evaluated your options and this one is preferable? Or because you've never questioned what you've been told?

Are there really still thinking people out there who believe that to be a feminist means to be anti-male? Don't we all know by now that being a feminist simply means that you believe that all people deserve equal treatment and equal rights? Then I say we have more work to do!

And how did we reach a point at which some people don't appreciate all the work that has gone into all of this? There are girls out there who excersize their right to a safe, legal, clinical abortion without any gratitude to the women who worked so hard to make that possible. I mean, how can you look back and know that you didn't always have these rights and not be willing to fight to keep them? How can you take your right to vote for granted? How can you excersize your rights and still not call yourself a feminist?

"Do you really feel like you are discriminated against?" someone asks me. Um, yes, as long as people are trying to tell me that what I don't do in the shower is inappropriate because of my gender, I'd say there's some pretty serious discrimination going on here.

As long as there are girls who can't talk about their periods. Who can't admit to touching themselves "down there". Who really think that males can have both children and careers, but there's something wrong with you if you're female and you want both children and a career... Then I feel discriminated against.

And besides which, what does my feminism really have to do with currently being discriminated against? I believe that everyone should be treated equally regardless of gender. That's enough to qualify for the title of feminist. And isn't there enough in the past to keep us wary? It wasn't that long ago that women really got any rights.

Someone that I respected actually told me tonight that if you are a woman and you have a child you should be happy to give up your personal identity to raise that child. But it's "different" for men. Why? Because we have wombs.

Did you know this is going on? I mean, I knew on some level... but I just can't accept this. I just can't accept that there are thinking, reasonable people who are not feminists.

And then there are all the "third wave" issues. You tell me that you know what would drive a girl to be anorexic but that it's different for guys. But you can't tell me that's unfair? That something needs to change? That there's something wrong with this picture? Really? Because I think there is. What about all those people who call us girls who are engaging in extra-marital sex sluts and such, but "that's normal for guys." Is that fair? Does something not need to change here??

I hate that I feel called to engage in debates, in merciless debates, with my friends. But the thing is that I know I am right. I know that so whole heartedly that I can't fathom that there is another side to this debate. And this is some serious shit we're dealing with. We're talking about my position in the world here. I just didn't realize that there were still so many people out there who wanted to limit it for me simply because I'm a girl.

8/28/2002 (0) comments

Wet T-Shirts Drench Feminism

 

It's an endless debate whether pornography is empowering or degrading to women. It is important to look at the source of one's power and evaluate if one is gaining power at the expense of another living being. There has been a craze to go to the Patton Avenue Pub wet t-shirt contest. This is a once a week event where five lucky ladies get paid twenty dollars to dance around in a cut-up, wet, white t-shirt. The audience decides by noise which lady was the best and she wins one hundred dollars. My questions of pornographic empowerment led me to participate and to watch such a contest. I was not thinking beyond the scope of myself and how I was comfortable with my body. It is hard to deny the allure of $20 for the few minutes of discomfort while some man pours cold water on you and you dance around along for the length of a song. In the spirit of a poor college kid, I put my integrity on the line and competed for the much needed one hundred dollars.

I had no idea how such an action would affect my own empowerment or that of womyn. The fact that I felt like my integrity would be lost in such an activity should have been a clue. In an ideal society, each person's body would be valued based only on its function to self rather than the pleasure of others. This is not currently the case and instead are given attention and money based on their appearance. The problem with dancing in a wet t-shirt contest or other live pornographic entertainment is that it empowers the self at the expense of the image of all womyn. If participants could address the audience and tell them that because they are proud of their body does not mean that they are giving it away or opening it for the public's theories of value, then the innocent motives for participating might be better conveyed. However, this is not the case, and we instead need to be looking deeper into why people would feel that womyn are opening themselves for sexual compromise.

Being in a wet t-shirt contest perpetuates bad theories about womyn. When one gets money for showing one's body, essentially it is being said that the person wants or is willing to sell their body. This proabably has to do with why a man would appoach someone with a wet t-shirt contest and offer them one hundred dollars for a sexual favor. Dancing around exposing one's breasts voluntarily can give them the impression that womyn want people to stare and admire their breasts. It is viewed as an open invitiation for people to get their thrills off of womyn's body parts. It perpetuates the idea that womyn's bodies and appearances are what gives them value. Furthermore, allowing one's body to be used for sexual entertainment conveys the sentiment that womny's anatomy is there for people's pleasure and amusement, especially if the price is right. It is this devaluing of womyn that leads to oppression. If we continue to support activities that connote such ideology, then we are endorsing this belief that womyn should be valued for their physical appearance and the amount of sexual pleasure they can offer.

It is important to note that this is not a womyn's issue, but an issue of all people. Who is to say if the lady participating is any better or worse than the person who goes to watch? If the reason for going to such an event is to support the womyn, we need to be evaluating what is being inadvertently supported as well. If this is seen as a profession or a way to put food on the table, then we need to be evaluating why a person can work a full time job and still have to sell their body to make ends meet. Pornography is one of the only professions where womyn make more money than men. On average, for comparable work in most professions, womyn make seventy cents to the dollar made by a man. Perhaps instead of supporting these womyn by going to a contest or bar which endorses one, you should give your time and money to a battered women's shelter since one in three womyn are raped or abused in their life. I mention these statistics not to harp about feminism but because they are what one is buying when they go to a wet t shirt contest and it is what one is selling when participating. For every girl who decides it's empowering to show her body, another lady has a harder time gaining respect for something other than her body.

It is my hope that we will reach the point as a society where all people start on euqal terms. For now, however, womyn are fighting an uphill battle to be valued for reasons other than their physical appearance, and every time we chose to participate in an activity which encourages people to value womyn as sexual entertainers we make the battle for equal footing a little harder. Is the power or fulfillment one gets from the sexual entertainment worth all the sacrifices other womyn have to make as a result? For each t-shirt that is wet for live pornography, another aspect of liberation is being drowned.

Michelle Blau is a name to take note of, because one of these days she'll be ruling the world. She devotes her time to a volunteering for a huge variety of social justice activites (as well as being a bar-fly), and she wishes that more people would call her Ratchet.

This originally appeared in The Conscious Collective , handmade at Warren Wilson College by sarah and ginelle, Issue #5, March 2001. They can also be reached at The Conscious Collective/#7160 P.O. Box 9000/Warren Wilson College/Asheville NC 28815.

It is reprinted here with the permission of the author.

5/29/2002 (0) comments

Okay, so I went into a Wendy's

 

by: Joe Tipton


Okay, so I went into a Wendy's
With three of my buddies and got my number four
And sat down next to two older ladies
Who were looking at the back of my head
Which was turned to keep them
From conversing with me & they saw my black kickallotherbadasses
"The Crow" hat and read Believe in Angels
Written on the back
And ASKED If I believe in Angels. Ah Jeez!

They said they were from some bla bla
Fanatic that goes around explaining Why people question God &
Life Miraculously saving pathetic losers
From suicide & hell.

Oh great! Two Jehova's witnesses asking me
If I believe in angels & therefore God
& heaven & hell Satan destiny life death Ghosts reality Republicans
Democrats Billionares America myself
& LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.

I mean, what kind of question is
"Do you believe in Angels?" Huh?
I don't believe in Angels,

I just watch the movie and wear the hat;
I don't believe-I do (I saw her again
Last weekend when I was sick & miserable & she hugged me for so long
And felt sorry for me made fun of me
& ran away to come to my room that night
To talk & tickle me & give me a back rub
That could put masseuses out of work
Until I fell asleep from the NyQuil.
She's perfect & beautiful short exotic
& mysterious predictable & comes & goes & is brilliant & "shiny & happy"
But sometimes morbid and wicked
A little bit twisted so erotic
& always there at my
Jagedrockbottom moments petite gifted
& artistic playful & leaves
When I'm better. She can disappear leaving Only the lasting
scent of her perfume behind. OH YEAH, SHE'S ADDICTIVE.)

Those ladies wouldn't shut up & asked
"So, Do you believe in Angels?"
& I said "Yeah, I do." as I slurped down
My biggie Coke

I don't know who Joe Tipton is. I got this poem in an e mail from the boyfriend at the time in March of 1996. I have searched high and low for any information about it. Please let me know if you have any. - mary ann

5/22/2002 (0) comments

It's Ghetto-Fabulous

 

When you tell someone whereabouts it is that you live… you usually want them to show some basic familiarity with the area. “Okay, I know where you’re talking about. My doctor’s office/childhood friend’s house/favorite little café/grocery store is not too far from there.” When I tell people where I live, they say, “You know you live in the ghetto right?” or something about “the hood” or “not nice” or “rough”.

When I first moved there and people started telling me that, I refused to believe them. What did these people know about ghettos? Yeah, I’d say, It’s urban, but it’s not a bad area really. It’s kinda poor, but not dangerous or anything.”

My first sign was really the lady with the shopping cart who comes and
takes the aluminum out of our trashcans early on Saturday mornings. You don't really get that in the nicer parts of town. I was willing to accept her since my friend Andrea has the same homeless woman steal her aluminum cans and she lives in a completely respectable area. One morning I gave her an extra hash brown from McDonald’s and after that I felt a sort of connection with her. She was no longer a potential sign of my neighborhood being “bad”. She was the nice lady I ate breakfast with that one day who loves to recycle.

One night I went to Speedway to get myself a pack of smokes and a map. When I walked into the store, some man was wandering around mumbling to himself. That isn’t that uncommon in any little store. I was looking at the maps, trying to decide which would best serve me on my journey through seven mid-western states that weekend.

Then the man went up to the counter and started screaming about money. I really though I was going to get shot. Suddenly, it was becoming clearer that maybe this wasn’t such a “nice” place.

It turned out that the man was just some friend of the cashier and he
didn't realize I was in the corner looking at the maps. He apologized
profusely.

Gas stations are robbed all the time though. It was so easy to rationalize myself out of the moment when I thought I might die and suddenly maybe it wasn’t a safe place to be.

Later, I was telling a friend where I live. I explained that it's between the train tracks and the drive through liquor store. The liquor sign flashes on my bedroom floor. I told him about the band that lives and practices upstairs. He called it "that apartment". You know, the one you read about/see in a movie that epitomizes living in the ghetto. I saw his point.

Still, though, I refused to believe that the area was really that bad. My coworker tried to tell me there were prostitutes and drug dealers out on the street just a few blocks away. I told him he didn't know what he was talking about. I drive there all the time, and I hadn't ever seen one.


Then my car died. Suddenly I was riding the bus every day. I was walking around within my neighborhood. I saw more of it than the nearest gas station, the liquor store and my parking lot.

A police officer even stopped me one day to let me know it wasn’t safe for me to be out walking where I was. I would guess I was less than five blocks from my home. The bus drivers always seem surprised when I get off where I do. I have even been asked by my neighbors what I was doing out in “this part of town”.

I have lived in and around Lexington KY for almost six years now. I kept telling myself there was no way I could have been here that long and not known that this area was the ghetto.

I remembered when I was looking at colleges. I crossed Transylvania University off of my list, because it’s “in the ghetto”. My neighbors (the band) are Transy students. I also remembered my mother telling me it wasn’t a dangerous area, it just looked bad. I decided I now agreed with my mother.

All of this rationalizing ended suddenly one night. I was waiting for the bus. Standing on the corner. It was about 11 PM on a Saturday. The drive through at the liquor store was hopping. Right when I arrived, a car came and stopped by where I was standing. The driver rolled down his window.

“Hey, baby, do you need a ride?”
“No thanks. I’m waiting for my bus. It’ll be here any minute.”
“Oh. You’re real pretty. You waiting for someone special?”
“I’m waiting for the bus.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a ride. I can drop you off wherever.”
“No thanks.”

This happened two more times while I was waiting. I was only standing there for about ten minutes and I didn’t actually feel unsafe. There were so many people waiting for the liquor store drive through that I knew if I screamed I would be noticed.

The third guy said something about “picky bitches” and “overpriced”. Alarms went off in my head. They thought I was a prostitute! I was wearing gym shoes and jeans and an old corduroy coat. I didn’t even really have on any make-up.

Obviously those men thought that any girl standing on that street must be an easy target. Either the place is crawling with Johns or I would be a particularly desirable prostitute.

Either way, I have now come to terms with it. I live in the ghetto.



mary ann is a silly girl who makes an epic journey of just trying to get to work every day.

3/15/2002 (0) comments

My Mom's Death

 

my mom died when i was 2. it was a car accident. on the way home from grandma's. i was in the car. so was the rest of my family. my dad broke his leg. i got a piece of glass through the eyebrow. my 6-month-old sister broke her leg. my 4 year-old-brother was bruised. my mom suffocated under the dashboard. she drove straight underneath a truck. it was the other person's fault.

i often listen to the song "last kiss," the pearl jam version. i wonder if that's how it was when my mom died. did my dad hold her hand, crying, saying things like "i love you" and "everything will be fine, you'll be fine."? did he know? was he concious? was his first priority his 3 children? was his first priority his pain? i wonder if she said anything to me or any of us before she died. did she know? was she concious? what was her last thought of? was it of me? was it of my dad? was it of the pain? was it "oh shit"?

for the most part my mother took all the pictures when i was young, so pictures of her, especially ones with me in it, are very very scarce and precious. but the day she died, everyone tells me i refused to leave her side. i wouldnt let her put me down for more than 3 seconds. and someone took a picture. i have it. but i cant let my stepmom see it. she would kill me. i dont know why.

i also have letters she wrote to my grandfather and aunt about me. and somewhere my dad is hiding her journal. that is all i have. that is all i know.

the green woman

3/12/2002 (0) comments

Tiny american Flag

by smallvoice

 

How are you gonna represent your nation with a tiny
flag you bought at a gas station and put on your SUV.
There’s a part of me that wants to key your car.
Because by far the thing I hate the most is those who
boast of something they don’t understand. The flag is
a brand. It’s time to take a stand against this
patriotic fad. And it’s kind of sad that our nation’s
station is to support corporations that sell their
patrons their deaths. And I have no regrets at this
point but I anoint my words with hate to make them fly
straight into you because these things bother you too.
And if red white and blue are the colors that define
you then I’m sorry to disrupt your worldview but
someone’s got to. So why not let it be me that makes
you see that America has flaws and it’s laws are not
perfect and you understand that this land was not
made for you and me but stolen from a peaceful society
and given into the hands of corporate policy. Freedom
is a fallacy and between you and me I can already see
the end of democracy. The aristocracy of this country
has been made too complacent to care where we attack
just that we fight back. And terrorism is about as
hard to track as political leftism. Remember
McCarthy? An american Nazi. The house committee on
un-american Activity. Liberty is not something to be
approached with levity it’s not funny to me when I
look on tv and see no enemy in this war? Didn’t
anyone read 1984?

Fuck you all.

3/05/2002 (0) comments

we'll be back.. soonish.

 

there is a change in the works as we're currently contemplating/planning the new version.. the newest incarnation of wam... send an email to us at w-a-m-owner@yahoogroups.com if you want to participate, or want more info.

2/19/2002 (0) comments