feminist rant

North Texas is a place in which conscious, independent women can live, get by, but under very few circumstances thrive. This is a bastion of white male privilege, and I am reminded living here once again for almost two years how spending my adolescence here radicalized me as a feminist. For instance, I see so few instances of women's interactions not mediated by men, particularly by significant others. There is downright fear in relating without them...initiating conversation is a revolutionary act. Men purchase only deodorants and soaps specifically designed for "men," like Axe and Dial For Men. When my friend borrows her boyfriend's Dial For Men after running out of soap, he deems it perfectly reasonable. But he would NEVER use her soap. I pointed out to him yesterday that she was, in fact, using St. Ives Energizing Citrus Shower Gel, which has no specific gender associations. He replied that he did not know that. He simply assumed that her soaps were "feminine" somehow, and therefore untouchable. When I sing karaoke, I notice women performing Journey songs sung by Steve Perry, Goo Goo Dolls songs sung by Dave Grohl, even the kitschy 80s tune "One Night In Bangkok" penned and originated by Murray Head. But I have NEVER seen a man sing a song popularized by a woman. All I can do is relish in my boyfriend's claim to have sung Alanis Morrissette several times in the past and the spot-on imitatons of Prince that have brought him local fame.

The automatic devaluation suffered by items and intangibles exclusively associated with women is the overtone that harmonizes with the all-too-casual male use of the word "bitch" I hear all too often. It arises in living rooms, uttered in the same breath as Miller Lite and Crown Royal, shouted over the din of XBox 360 and Rock Band televised battle and clicking controllers, screamed over the industrial-size rage of Nine Inch Nails and Drowning Pool, contained by the indifference of passers-by feigned for so long to have become reality, and underwritten by barflys, Jugalos, wrestlemaniacs, and midnight cowboys itching for a fight.

Righteous anger

Last night, my boyfriend Brandon and I drove out once again to our regular Saturday night karaoke spot at the border between Plano and North Dallas, TX. We respect the professionalism of the karaoke DJ (KJ), for whom Brandon has sung and worked for 5 years. We got there around 7:30, a half-hour early, so we could top the list of returning singers, ensuring that we would be able to sing at least twice that evening. Several friends Brandon has met at karaoke over the years show up on these Saturday nights, and, sure enough, the three middle-aged couples who have championed our 1-&-1/3rd-year relationship from the get-go were there, seated per usual at the long table in the front. Brandon's younger friends had not yet showed up. Of those friends, I particularly like Jason, a spectacular singer who has started bringing along his new boyfriend from Houston, an equally kind fellow.

Shortly after we'd seated ourselves at the long table, one of the couples bemoaned the state of society today, under Obama's governance, to which the other couples nodded affirmatively. The wife expressed the hope that the much-feared 2012 "apocalypse" would just "come on down," that she would rather be swept up in the Flood than live another day where her $100,000+/year income be subject to higher taxation. As a staunch Obama supporter, my feathers were naturally rankled by this. But what depressed me me more was the likelihood that Brandon and I were the lone dissenters in that bar. I did jokingly reply that I would be the only liberal left standing after said Flood. But, had I tried for an honest discussion, without capitulating to the "joking relationship" that Spradley and Mann (1980) have theorized regarding bar culture, I have a strong suspicion that these friends of his would thereafter passive-aggressively give me the cold shoulder, perhaps hint to Brandon that I was too radical for his own good, and that the McCain-supporting KJ might mess with the mix while I sang so that the audience misheard me.

Later in the evening, around 10:00, it only got worse. The husband of another of the couples, a biker who rides with the local gang BACA (Bikers Against Child Abuse), staged yet another routine with the KJ mocking male homosexuality...what they've established as their schtick. The KJ was singing "Sandy" from the movie Grease. The biker flirted with him in front of the stage, after which point the KJ replaced every mention of "Sandy" in the song with the biker's name. The biker then got up onstage and started cuddling with the KJ, who responded by chuckling with mild embarrassment. Then, during the spoken section of the song, the KJ re-sang the line "And, baby, you gotta believe me when I say...I'm helpless without you" as "....I'm disease-free without you." But, caught up in the moment, wanting to fit in with the crowd, there I was, laughing with everyone else, wondering only afterward (just afterward) how that would've sounded to Jason had he been there. I am beyond ashamed. In that moment, I performed the precise opposite of the humanist values I cherish...that my close, true friends share with me and know me for.

I have now decided "Enough." These couples--lulled into the illusion of security their wealth affords them, refusing any social interaction that is not preaching to the choir--are not worth catering to. Sometimes one has to take a stand, risking anger they would rather not face (especially for the sake of a loved one, as with Brandon in my case). Revolution begins in the one-to-one, letting one's true voice ring out and being willing to savor the sour and bitter as well as the sweet and savory of the consequences. Better that I keep showing up and start owning my right to say my piece as proudly and loudly as they do, rather than slinking away in cowardice to give their fear-ridden views center stage, time and again, where they have dwelled for too long.