Image via Wikipedia

I have been known to quote myself, despite realizing how redundant and in poor taste it is to do so.  And this time I’m quoting an entire post of mine.  The subject is Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues, a play which has turned into a movement to end violence against women and girls.  Go to Vday.org to learn more, and attend a production in your area.

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone.

Greta has the wonderful opportunity to perform in Eve Ensler‘s The Vagina Monologues next weekend at a women’s club in the area.  If you don’t already know, The Vagina Monologues is an important theatrical work which brings to light our attitudes about a subject that is often shrouded in awkwardness and Fruit of the Loom.  In monologues that are serious, silly, hilarious and heart-wrenching, we learn about some serious growing up that the world has to do regarding the vagina.  Even the word causes a bit of discomfort.  VAGINA.

Now, why exactly do vaginas need monologues?  Haven’t mouths done an adequate job in the theater of the last 3,000 years?  What can a vagina say that my mouth can’t?  Don’t answer that.  Seriously, what’s next, the Penis Papers?  Or the Butthole Diaries?  Eyebrow and Elbow Stories?  Haven’t vaginas raised enough of a stink by their odor alone?  Truth be told, they’ve been douched on since they were first introduced to Adam.  Not every one, but a lot of them.  The word ‘vagina’ has not been invited to be a part of polite conversation.  Unless you’re a doctor or a quirky and clinical bedfellow, you’re not allowed to say it.  In fact, Kotex, a manfacturer of ‘feminine protection products’ (huh?), recently created an ad which used the word ‘vagina’ but it was rejected by the major networks.  Understandably.  Why would we actually name the thing that grows new life, accepts visitors, and has the audacity to drip blood every month JUST SO our species can exist?  THAT’S GROSS and apparently not a good marketing tool.  VAGINA.

Of course, just because it exists doesn’t mean we need to talk about it.  Defecation comes to mind as something that is central to our well-being, but is best not rendered on the stage or TV for our thorough contemplation, even if we are being arty.  I do think the vagina deserves the same amount of stage time as does its good buddy and counterpart, the PENIS.

You see, you could mention penis envy at a dinner party and you would, at the very worst, be called Freudian.  But if you accused your friend’s husband of having clitoral envy you would be called weird, and he would be called Tiger Woods.  Also, no woman since the beginning of mankind has ever been accused of thinking with her cervix, yet entire offices have been staffed by the semi-stifled, under-the-table erections of the world’s most powerful men, men whom you might call the Cock of the Walk, even though you’d never call Oprah or Hilary Clinton the Fallopian Tubes of the Town.  Or the Canals of the Canal.  When it comes to attention beyond the nudie bar, vaginas get no play.  They’re blackballed, in fact.  See, there’s no female equivalent to that.  Well, maybe getting the shaft.  VAGINA.

And here’s the point.  As long as our vaginas are denied their due monologues, we leave all the vagina dialogues to the PORN INDUSTRY.  That’s right.  Whom would you rather have educating your daughter about her ‘down there’, Larry Flynt or Mother Theresa?  The good people of the world who are too afraid to say ‘vagina’ are losing their voice against an unsavory cast of characters who tell women where their vaginas belong:  in a bathing suit on a runway, at the beck and call of that jerky boyfriend, or in the throes of violent aggression by those who despise women for having vaginas in the first place.  Misogyny and gender inequality are widespread on this manly ball of earth.  In subtly subversive ways and in THE MOST HORRIFYING WAYS IMAGINABLE.

In fact, Eve Ensler has required in the performance agreement of all The Vagina Monologue productions that the play be completely centered around creating awareness and garnering funds to support the women of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.  She has dubbed this region THE MOST DANGEROUS PLACE ON THE PLANET TO BE A WOMAN OR A GIRL.  Congolese women and girls are being raped, tortured, genitally mutilated, humiliated and then ostracized by their own families if, in fact, they are not killed or do not die from their wounds.  This occurs in mass numbers.  All because they are women.  Here are some chilling accounts of the femicide.  Read this on a day you are willing to experience shock and bewildering horror, but do read it.

Perhaps talking about what makes women women, is the beginning of understanding why one in three will experience violence during her lifetime, often at the hands of someone she knows.  Saying the word and hearing monologues won’t stop the violence, but it might teach us to be more mindful of how we do or don’t respect the vagina and the female souls anchored to them.  VAGINA.

For information on performances of The Vagina Monologues in your area, click here.

For REALLY, REALLY important information on how to help stop the violence in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, click here.

Related articles

• Fighting Congo’s Ills With Education and an Army of Women (nytimes.com)

Sugar in da Mornin'...

The night of trick-or-treating is over.  Costumes are in the wash, the San Francisco Giants beat Texas in game 4, and you can finally remove the skull garland with which you thoughtfully adorned the eating area of your kitchen.  Your work is done.  But now you have to confront The Candy Factor.

And your kids kindly offer you a piece of your choice, and just when you begin to think that they’ve grown in their restraint, you realize that, like good drug addicts, they want you to use Snickers with them so that no one will call the po-po.  And this is a problem because if you are like me, which I hope you aren’t, you like candy, too.

So you can deal with it one of several ways.  But your desire to be a normal family that isn’t too pure for M&M and Mars once a year conflicts with your knowledge that having a very seventies Coke-and-a-smile attitude made us the chubby-wubby country we are today.  What to do?

• There’s the Switch Witch who comes by night and trades candy for a gift, teaching your children that the best things in life aren’t bad for your heart.  But then all the world’s children are eating Snickers and you’re not because you got a copy of Johnny Tremaine in exchange.  And being a dietary purist is a bit like being a Jehovah’s Witness.  You feel different and can’t have fun at birthday parties.

• You could just let the kids eat it all recklessly with absolutely no monitoring.  It’s their loot.  They said, Trick or Treat for it.  It’s only once a year.  They will not die and they will not remember your micromanaging their celebration of a holiday.

• Use Snack Socialism.  Put every child’s candy in one big bowl.  Ration it out as you deem reasonable, making sure to skim a large portion off the top for the governing bodies (the parents) who are larger (much larger) and can take more and, quite frankly, deserve more because all people are created equal, but some people are more equal than others. Sorry, but this blog was OVERDUE for an Orwell quote.  Of course, socialism is bad for incentive, it is said, and so that will teach those children to go begging for candy every year.  “All this work?  (throwing down bunny/devil/cat ears) For what?!”

• The workplace is a welcoming society for an onslaught of candy.  The bite-sized Snickers is an excellent diversion from wondering if the email from the associate vice president was intentionally rude or just a joke that’s not funny.  And, a good portion of the work force is in their twenties and kidless.  They did not purchase candy to hand out at the door because they were off at naked Halloween parties.  And let’s be real, people in their twenties don’t really eat that much because they are lazy or perfecting their hotness with religious devotion.  They’re probably hungry.

• There are recipes for leftover Halloween candy, but then you have to eat the candy PLUS the throne of fatty cake or cookie on which it sits.  And then you have to spring for a new wardrobe.  Too expensive.  I vote no.

• DONATE, DONATE, DONATE your candy to various organizations like Operation Gratitude which gives care packages to U.S. Military Troops.  Or donate locally to homeless shelters and food banks.

• I hear that some dentists and orthodontists are buying back candy at the rate of $1 per pound (perhaps as they slip you a glossy brochure for their premium, under-insurable services that you absolutely must have done yesterday or you will die toothless and naked in your forties).

I wish you all the very best in balancing sanity and insanity, sickness and health, Snickers and a truckload of Snickers.

Related articles

• Sell your kid’s halloween candy (money.blogs.time.com)
• Do Kids Really Need to Eat All That Halloween Candy? (alwaysbcmom.com)

Are girls Bratz? Or can they learn to be Moxie Girlz?

I am a reader of the blog MoxieMomma.com, and I love Moxie’s clear and comic voice.  But one day came the post about the negative traits that are supposedly specific to girls.  And now, in the name of girl power and my daughters three, I will hurl sugary spiced vomit and everything else nice all over the widely held notions that Moxie espouses.  (The Mox herself, in true Moxie spirit, has agreed to a gentlewomanly duel.)  The bullet points below are excerpted quotes from her blog.

• “If I wanted a squealer I would adopt a pot-bellied pig…I’d like to lose my hearing because I enjoyed way too much loud music in the 80’s, not because I had to listen to some Prima Donna scream like a banshee because she didn’t get to go down the slide first.”

Translates as:  girls are shrill-voiced, out-of-control swine.

Such vocalized, piggish entitlement is FEMALE in nature?  I guess, if you’re Shakespearean in the head.  Look at Lady Macbeth.  Behind every murderous man is a demanding woman who screams, More!  More!  More! And don’t forget Pandora and Eve who were responsible for introducing ALL the evil in the world.  What sounds would they have croaked in line at the slide?

• “Dolls are scary…Now that I have age, wisdom and a sense of humor on my side I can see these dolls for what they really are – downright freaky…Bratz dolls look like junior varsity call girls with their provocative get-ups and their Restylaned lips. Nice...I’ll take Ironman action figures over Bratz dolls any day of the week.”

Translates as:  Girls have silly interests.

Moxie cites the hideous hoochiness of Barbies and Bratz.  She’s right, and I think the Bratz design could use some serious modifications.   But that’s not a good reason to not have GIRLZ in your home.  It’s a good reason to not have BRATZ.  Fortunately, boys have inherently superior recreational interests and would never desire anything equally offensive like Grand Theft Auto.

• “Welcome to Alice in Wonderland….And it’s doubtful I will have to deal with Queens of Hearts whose sharp words of criticism, boyfriend stealing antics,  and general “better than you attitude” would rob my precious “Alice” of her self-esteem…Hormonal hell rides are allowed by only one person in this household and that claim has clearly been staked by none other than me.“

Translates as:  Girls, unlike boys who navigate via reason, are rudderless dinghies in Hormone Oceans.

Right.  True.  And testosterone or other elements of chemical maleness are only responsible for good things like making babies, buildings, home runs and touchdowns.  All those mostly male-made unpleasant occurrences in the history of our existence:  fist-fights, rape, murder, suicide and The Man Show, those were all very reasonable, reason-induced crimes against humanity.  Not hormones…chemical imbalances or shifts of physiological fury.  Oh no.

• “Making up is hard to do.  I didn’t do the whole foundation thing.  That, to me, seemed more like fake-up…Nowadays, I see 8 year old girls with more makeup on than I even wear now.  It’s really scary.  They look like, well, they look like Bratz dolls!…And the media tries to hide their true intentions (make money) by basically telling girls it takes work to look natural – work and make-up, that is.”

Translates as:  Girls are painted frauds ruled by the media.

They are!  And dudes are frauds who drive fast cars that the media told them to buy.  And the media also said that to be proper men they must sleep with as many fake, painted chicks as their chafing genitalia will permit them to.  Image consciousness pervades both sexes.

• “Boys will be boys…And if I had a girl I would be very worried about that.  I once read somewhere that with a boy you only have to worry about one boy…With a girl, you have to worry about all boys.“

Translates as:  Girls are helpless victims of men.

Today in our country, on a social level, girls have the same capacity for dominance or victimization as boys.  And, on a physical level, we have a few equalizers, like karate, guns and two-toned, jeweled acrylic nails (with or without a dangle).  Moreover, girls can be taught to better protect themselves from danger.  And, in the US, men are more than twice as likely to be murdered than women are.

As far as I’m concerned, having a daughter is not a greater liability than having a son.  That is a perception due to the societal problem of Not Liking Girls as Much as We Should.  Yes, girls are ghastly beasts (mine are SCREAMING over a scantily clad Barbie as I type this).  But just as ghastly are the boys who, somewhere in America, are playing Men’s Olympic Gymnastics on the shower curtain rod and calling each other pussy.  So, Mox, we are wasting perfectly good carpal tunnel syndrome in talking about this.

A person can decide that yang is better than ying, but that would make for some pretty crappy looking tattoos.   Or that land is better than water, if you prefer the ability to stand over the ability to hydrate your body for your survival.

Have we learned nothing from the Reese’s peanut butter cup?  You get TWO great tastes in one candy bar.

Moxie, your move.  Bash gently.

Shop GRETA.  And indulge the gender-specific, unwholesome interests of your children every day!  CLICK to peruse or purchase.

Bratz Dance Crewz – Yasmin

Grand Theft Auto San Andreas

"Liberty Leading The People" by Delacroix

My days of desiring to be the white-gloved beauty of the Rose Bowl parade or the Homecoming game are behind me.  I don’t much care to have my gait observed and examined by a group of people who wish they were already drunk.  But when my friend had only four participants to march in support of her organization at the 4th of July parade, I had to say yes.  And so my children and I marched in the 4th of July parade.  For breastfeeding.

Yes, we took our boobs in the enemy territory of my hometown, where it is made clear by many that boobs are not intended for the feeding of our babies in Starbucks, but they exist for the exclusive entertainment of our husbands, boyfriends, and any other interested, onlooking strangers.  Boobs are to be salivated over, not salivated on.  At least, not by babies.

Having nursed my first child-and-a-half in the iconic, freedom Mecca of Berkeley, I never knew such discrimination.  Berkeley held the nursing world record (until 3000 mothers of the Phillipines smashed it in 2008).  I was at the Berkeley nurse-in, with my soon-to-be-born first baby.  I was bought by the distributed scientific data and sold.   To Camp Funbags.  I mean, easier post-pregnancy weight loss, the protracted health of my child, and, YEAH, free milk.   Why use my Starbucks money on Similac?  You CRAZY.

So I was embarrassed to march in a town where they scream SOCIALIST in a city planning meeting if you say that you don’t hate low-income families and you don’t believe you should go against STATE LAW to prevent them from living among you, since it’s STATE LAW FOR MUNICIPALITIES TO PROVIDE ADEQUATE AFFORDABLE HOUSING FOR ALL ECONOMIC FACETS OF THE COMMUNITY.

And now I was going to take my six-year veteran, shrunken, retired boobs through a white, blue and redneck crowd of baby bottle wavers and their perky breasts, and the men who love them.  Plus, my kids are ages eight, six and three, and would be presumed by the crowd to all still be nursing simultaneously, with the help of my third freaky hippy-alien Total Recall teat.  This is who I am in the eyes of the bird-brained boobists who think that mammals who act like mammals are GROSS.

So I walked sheepishly, half obscured by my sign.  And we met a few groans, the sarcastic clap, and an audible “they’re crazy,” plus jokes from ALL THREE commentators along the parade route.  I guess boobs, karate and army tanks make an incongruous mix.   But to my surprise, we did find several pockets of impassioned cheers and applause.  And I was moved by this.  It appeared that some people truly appreciated our presence.

Stupid damn hippies.

And I realized that it’s excellent to be a stupid damn hippy once in a while.  And I salute my friend Gianna, who spearheaded the group and wanted to walk despite our low numbers.  And, I think, when you are in the minority, and you have something to say, and you fear ridicule, it might mean that it’s extra important to say it.  Being in the majority is easy.  Being in the minority is not.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I’ll be SPEWING about affordable housing later this week.  Just as soon as I tell you about my poor, sick kitten.

Shop Greta, you source for Mammary Lit.

bOObs: A Guide to Your Girls

I’m going to break down my thoughts about the experience in list form because it feels good to do so.

• Just because the individuals of a group all have vaginas, does not mean they are like-minded.

• The individuals of a group who all have vaginas are often like-minded.

• Men who listen to feminist plays about vaginas have to ask themselves if they ‘do that’, ‘think that’, or ‘are that’.  People with vaginas appreciate the consideration.

• The director of the play, who possesses a vagina, had her husband, who does not, as her lead staffer.  He moved chairs, ran around, and followed her lead all evening three nights in a row.  And his sense of masculinity remained fully intact.  Feminism is alive and well in some places in the world.  Go, rural, northern California.

• There are women and girls in parts of the world who still suffer to an inconceivable extent.  All because they have vaginas.  Click here to learn more about women and girls in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

• Some of the women whose vaginas have been maimed are uniting, marching, and healing despite the criminal actions of those who tried to destroy them.  Click here to learn of the progress being made in the Democratic Republic of Congo.  You’ve got watch this video!  It’s inspiring.

• People with vaginas generally like to dress prettily and put on make-up.

• Vaginas:  everybody either has one, wants one or would like to avoid one at all costs.

• Every vagina has a story.  Every story shapes the person who carries it, whether it be in jeans,  a sarong, a linen skirt or a burka.

• We were all belched into the world via vaginas.  Everyone.  Even Adam Carola, the Pope and Dr Laura.  Though Howard Stern probably spawned from the poo of jellyfish.

Image via Wikipedia

Greta has the wonderful opportunity to perform in Eve Ensler‘s The Vagina Monologues next weekend at a women’s club in the area.  If you don’t already know, The Vagina Monologues is an important theatrical work which brings to light our attitudes about a subject that is often shrouded in awkwardness and Fruit of the Loom.  In monologues that are serious, silly, hilarious and heart-wrenching, we learn about some serious growing up that the world has to do regarding the vagina.  Even the word causes a bit of discomfort.  VAGINA.

Now, why exactly do vaginas need monologues?  Haven’t mouths done an adequate job in the theater of the last 3,000 years?  What can a vagina say that my mouth can’t?  Don’t answer that.  Seriously, what’s next, the Penis Papers?  Or the Butthole Diaries?  Eyebrow and Elbow Stories?  Haven’t vaginas raised enough of a stink by their odor alone?  Truth be told, they’ve been douched on since they were first introduced to Adam.  Not every one, but a lot of them.  The word ‘vagina’ has not been invited to be a part of polite conversation.  Unless you’re a doctor or a quirky and clinical bedfellow, you’re not allowed to say it.  In fact, Kotex, a manfacturer of ‘feminine protection products’ (huh?), recently created an ad which used the word ‘vagina’ but it was rejected by the major networks.  Understandably.  Why would we actually name the thing that grows new life, accepts visitors, and has the audacity to drip blood every month JUST SO our species can exist?  THAT’S GROSS and apparently not a good marketing tool.  VAGINA.

Of course, just because it exists doesn’t mean we need to talk about it.  Defecation comes to mind as something that is central to our well-being, but is best not rendered on the stage or TV for our thorough contemplation, even if we are being arty.  I do think the vagina deserves the same amount of stage time as does its good buddy and counterpart, the PENIS.

You see, you could mention penis envy at a dinner party and you would, at the very worst, be called Freudian.  But if you accused your friend’s husband of having clitoral envy you would be called weird, and he would be called Tiger Woods.  Also, no woman since the beginning of mankind has ever been accused of thinking with her cervix, yet entire offices have been staffed by the semi-stifled, under-the-table erections of the world’s most powerful men, men whom you might call the Cock of the Walk, even though you’d never call Oprah or Hilary Clinton the Fallopian Tubes of the Town.  Or the Canals of the Canal.  When it comes to attention beyond the nudie bar, vaginas get no play.  They’re blackballed, in fact.  See, there’s no female equivalent to that.  Well, maybe getting the shaft.  VAGINA.

And here’s the point.  As long as our vaginas are denied their due monologues, we leave all the vagina dialogues to the PORN INDUSTRY.  That’s right.  Whom would you rather have educating your daughter about her ‘down there’, Larry Flynt or Mother Theresa?  The good people of the world who are too afraid to say ‘vagina’ are losing their voice against an unsavory cast of characters who tell women where their vaginas belong:  in a bathing suit on a runway, at the beck and call of that jerky boyfriend, or in the throes of violent aggression by those who despise women for having vaginas in the first place.  Misogyny and gender inequality are widespread on this manly ball of earth.  In subtly subversive ways and in THE MOST HORRIFYING WAYS IMAGINABLE.

In fact, Eve Ensler has required in the performance agreement of all The Vagina Monologue productions that the play be completely centered around creating awareness and garnering funds to support the women of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.  She has dubbed this region THE MOST DANGEROUS PLACE ON THE PLANET TO BE A WOMAN OR A GIRL.  Congolese women and girls are being raped, tortured, genitally mutilated, humiliated and then ostracized by their own families if, in fact, they are not killed or do not die from their wounds.  This occurs in mass numbers.  All because they are women.  Here are some chilling accounts of the femicide.  Read this on a day you are willing to experience shock and bewildering horror, but do read it.

Perhaps talking about what makes women women, is the beginning of understanding why one in three will experience violence during her lifetime, often at the hands of someone she knows.  Saying the word and hearing monologues won’t stop the violence, but it might teach us to be more mindful of how we do or don’t respect the vagina and the female souls anchored to them.  VAGINA.

For information on performances of The Vagina Monologues in your area, click here.

For REALLY, REALLY important information on how to help stop the violence in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, click here.

Related articles by Zemanta

• Eve Ensler, Author Of ‘Vagina Monologues,’ Communicates Stories Of Teenage Girls In New Book (huffingtonpost.com)
• Eve Ensler Teaches Men To Find Their Inner Vagina (huffingtonpost.com)
• Girls, ignore adults who wish you to be less than you are | Eve Ensler (guardian.co.uk)
• Marianne Schnall: Eve Ensler’s Mission: Awaken the ‘Girl Self’ (huffingtonpost.com)

For a country and a people who are no strangers to hardship and suffering, this tragedy seems especially cruel and incomprehensible.”

-President Barack Obama

We continue to keep the people of Haiti in our hearts.  Here is a link to the LA Times for ways to give assistance.