achtung! alles lookenspeepers!

hugh laurie, whom i love and admire, on raising his daughter:

"girls are complicated. the instruction manual that comes with girls is 800 pages, with chapters 14, 19, 26 and 32 missing, and it's badly translated."

imagining the wrinkly sex-symbol trying to figure out his teenaged daughter's crying fits and embarrassment attacks does make me giggle.

double X, double time

she has been in the news lately, also due to the book* that has been written about her: tensin palmo, the woman who wants to achieve buddhist enlightenment in a woman's body. which, allegedly, is impossible, a woman would have to be reborn as a man to achieve the highest state of spiritual accomplishment.

she spend twelve years in a cave, sleeping only three hours a night in upright sitting - meditation - position, meditated most of the day and farming her few crops and fethcing spring water the rest of the time.

buddha spend six years the same way.

it proves, again: a woman has to do twice the job af a man to have a slight chance of acknowledgment. even in everyone's favorite religion.

(in a meeting with the dalai lama, the man who is adored by so many for his wisdom is just as reluctant and hesitant about her inquiries and demands as any wordly boss might be towards his female subordinates. it goes to show.)

* a cave in the snow

cannes lion/ess bronze

it's a commercial for a ladyshaver. still. it's cheeky with a smile, it plays with gender concepts, even if they are questionable... aw, just watch it and enjoy: philips - karis.

girls & boys

today, i had two surprises. i'll tell you about them in a minute.

before the holiday, by chance a book fell into my hands that i had been given by my mother when i was, oh, something in my teens. 15 or 16, most likely, a certain age when a mother might wish to share things with her daughter that are part of grown-up life but when she cannot not know how far she can go. 

my mother gave me this book and just told me to enjoy it, and i did, thoroughly. i loved the book, it hit me in just the right spot and has defined my approach toward, well, these things of grown-up life a daughter might not wish to share with her mother. 

when i held this book in my hands now, at the age of 31, i just needed to read it again to see if it's still great. and it is.

the book is the hotel passion flower by rosalind erskine, from 1962. in an english boarding school a group of five young girls, among them our first person narrator sarah callender, decide to counter their physical and psychological needs and those of the boys in the neighbouring boarding school with an almost professionally run strip club slash bordello. the difficulties and obstacles for this organization - the syndicate - are obvious, and then there's also the usual embarrassement and insecurity that dominates adolescent sexuality...

what fascinates me was, and is, of course, the modernity and recklessness of such a book - teenage girls prostituting themselves eagerly in a upper class educational institution! - at such a time as this book originates from. the early 60s were surely closer to the 50s than to the so called "sexual revolution" of the following decade. so i knew even when i read it the first time that this book was audacious, no matter that in my teenage world pop culture magazines offered public councelling for sex-newbies and the rocky horror picture show was already for those born-yesterdays that liked hair, too (it was the 90s, c'mon!). 

i don't have to tell you about the comfort also offered by the fact that even in 1962, girls were troubled by the same reluctant longing, the terrified curiousity that prevailed in my mind... and last but not least, this book is well written. it's witty, sharp and true, while it subtly unfolds the internal life of a slighty arrogant, even presumptious 15 year old girl, who is daring and self-confident in thoughts and decisions, but shies away from personal execution, even cheats her friends when it comes to the very real act the whole "syndicate" is about. still, she will make her way in the world with her intellect and efficience, that much is for sure after the story ends.

these are in short the laurels i can pile on this book, and when i read it some weeks ago, i planned to recommend it to anyone with a ribald sense of humour and a good memory of his/her teenage years... so today i searched on the internet for the passion flower hotel and the author, rosalind erskine. and here are the two surprises i had because of that: 

1) it seems to have gone out of print and is very hard to get, and i have found only one english copy, an old printing for $99.77 - another german copy, obviously also "antique", is available for $9.46 (which is no a high price for a book, but there are no current printings, it seems). it was like discovering that the dress you wore belonging to your mother's is a real designer model (which happened to me, too...).

2) the author rosalind erskine who so exquisitley illuminated the workings of a girl's mind is - a man. his real name is roger longrigg and he died in 2000 only, after writing 55 books under several pseudonyms. talk about trans-gender literature.

according to his writing in the passion flower hotel i must consider him a genius. really, it's not only the whole mindset and psychological situation of sarah callender he manages to draw already in the first short and quick lines, it's also the envy, jealousy, hubris and self-deception that this very loveable narrator reveals "unknowingly" to the reader. i admire her for her noncomfortism and love her for her moral weakness.

a very recommendable book that i needlessly recommend, as anyone will have trouble reading it who cannot find it in his mother's (or father's) basement library...

another favourable review and the same discoveries you can read here, an obituary on the author here.

happy birthday, social equality

it is 50 years ago today that the law for social equality for men and women in germany came into force. 

after WW II in 1949, germany had received a modern charter that stated, among other things, that "man and woman are equal" in article 3. in this spirit, federal law had to be reviewed and changed - the right to resolve marriage, changeing of names in marriage, sharing of properties, the "educational" right - to decide over education, residence and so forth of the children in marriage - all these things and many more were in favour of the husband. a widow even lost her educational right over her children when she married another man; the new husband became the lawful father of her children automatically.

the conservative government of the 1950 with conrad adenauer as chancellor had many ways of postponing and interfering with the law in its genesis. both catholic and protestant church had  warned the government about changing "the natural order of things" within marriage. the government was supposed to adapt "simple law" (federal law) to article 3 of the charter and had submitted proposals still containing parts that contradicted the charter. because until 31st of march 1953 this law was not passed and the term for adaption of federal law had run out, from 1st april 1953 marriages in germany were without regulation by law. which turned out to be a good thing, because federal constitutional court ruled that since the running out of the term, within marriage husband and wife were equal according to article 3 of the german charter. in case of a litigation, all the little details that were now not fixed by the missing federal law would have to be decided by courts according to the specific case.

so, in december 1953 the same dubitable law proposal that still contained many un-constitutional paragraphs was handed in and came into force 4 1/2 years later - after heavy discussions and arguments in parliament - on 1st june 1953.

but don't you think that that was it. thank god no. since then they have been working on it - hopefully for the better, i'm not familiar with all the details - and the last change has been submitted in 2006 and came into force on 25th april 2006. 

to give you something in perspective: the rape of a woman by her husband is only rape by law since 1998.

gay pride - stay proud

today was - is - christopher street day, and it was all over the world. but not everywhere people who wanted to celebrate it were free to do it - not at all, about which we will never know, or not without disturbances, which i ind worthy writing about onmy first day home from holidays on tenerife. 

in brno in czech republic, 20 of the 500 participants of the gay pride "rainbow parade" were injured from tear gas attacks by right wing "counter-protestants".

in sofia in bulgaria more than 80 right wing extremists have been arrested for attacking the "rainbow parade" with fireworks. the president of bulgaria gave allowance to the parade even after several re-locations and warning from amnesty international. he states that he is tolerant towards people of different religion or social satutes but "demonstrations of this alignment" disagrred with him.

i'll tell you freely, to me sexual orientation is actually only interesting if i'm interested myself, that is, it was when i was. of course i nurse my general curiousity about who's having sex with whom, but apart from that sex partners weren't that big a base for judgement on other people to me. i don't see the point of celebrating your homosexuality in a free country - i don't run around dancing and singing because i'm not interested in other women or like to dress as man, now, do i? but of course, repressions have been plenty and if there's improvement in a colourful, joyful parade, if there's more power to the masses than to the singled-out small-town boy who discovers his love for his gym teacher (o vice versa) - well, everyone else is having their parades and it's fun, so go ahead. 

so christopher street day is only so much interesting to me that it points out the lack of tolerance and liberality of our close neighours, countries that are members of the european union. it scares the shit out of me that there is such a laxity towards fascism, an allowance for intolerance that is not conceiveable in its publicity and implicitness in the western parts of europe, not even, i should think, in the more southern, catholic parts of europe. 

their just too close to be comfortable. so in heart and mind, i support the rainbowers in czech republic and bulgaria: more power to you.

lagging krauts

this is nothing new, but it's distressful, still. 

the average german working woman earns 22% less than the average german man. with this inequality, germany ranks among the 4 european countries with the greatest gender difference in income - with estonia, cyprus and slovakia. which is not to say anything about these countries - but even in cliché macho-countries as italy, spain or portugal, this average income of women is closer to the men's.

okay, could be in other countries less women are working, but those who are working are getting more money for it, it seems.

it just makes me... think.

princesses of formalia

just a little incident from my surroundings, that still did get me thinking... 

some days ago some people around me where talking about marriage proposals - how it's kind of uncomfortable to be asked in front of a group, because it almost makes it impossible to say no. but then one of the women said: "it's still better than just being asked like >can you pass me the salt? what about getting married?<". 

i was a bit piqued because hubbs had asked me kind of like that - in between cooking dinner on the first day of the year 2006, he had asked me if we shouldn't get married that year. i explained this and the woman looked at me and squeeked: "but you didn't say yes, did you?"

of course i did! we had discussed getting married before, this was just settling to really do it. so i asked: "why shouldn't i have?", and she set out that it would at least need an invitation to a nice restaurant, some flowers and the presenting of the ring. the whole hollywood shebang.

this is one of the things that make me go "argh". i kept my mouth shut then - no use argueing - but i wondered if it's not a beautiful thing in itself that the man loves you so much he puts himself out there to ask you. i muttered that he might not have asked again if i had said no then, which i don't even believe - it just wouldn't have occurred to me to reject him just because the setting wasn't right. hubbs was the one who felt bad he didn't "really" propose to me, but it had never been a question for me that we would get married anyway, so what do i need a man on his knees for? he made it clear that he wanted to and soon, manifesting that he had no doubts about spending the rest of his life with me. the implications of the question are romantic enough in itself, i feel. 

what i am about is the schizophrenia of modern women in their expectation towards modern men. one moment we want to be their equal, earn our own money and share responsiblities; we expect them to treat us with respect, admiration even, to trust us with cars, money, politics and sports and be as good as their buddies in just about every way.

and the next moment we beam ourselves up in rapunzel's tower, unattainable and without a speck of profanity on our virginal skin. suddenly we expect them to be the notorious prince on the horse, preferrably white, who has to go through all kinds of difficulties to make us his own.

no wonder men are confused about the right thing to do. and no wonder we end up with not quite the respect and equality we would wish for. it's called inconsequence. 

it's not that i despise this concept of romance completely - it's not mine, but that's alright. i just wonder if it doesn't hold a potential for sorrow for the ones that enslave themselves to it. 

to stick to the image: if we are the princess in the tower from which we need to be saved, it implies that a) we haven't had a life but have spend our time waiting and prepairing for the one that will come, b) he is the one who knows his way in the world and will guide us for the rest of our time in it. to put it less anachronistic: either we are equal, then marriage should be an agreement between two caring partners who pay into and take out of a relationship their share of rights and responsibilities. or the woman is a passive object with no more discretionary than a binary yes-or-no-mode, and the man is the active subject who has only to push the right buttons to receive the right answer. 

again: if this two-faced masquerade works for your relationship, that's fine. just don't expect others to play along. if we want to live modern lives as modern women, we cannot demand from our modern men to follow an archaic etiquette. they are likely to apply it to other aspects of life as well, and we wouldn't want that, would we.

glikl after all

last week on the front page of german wikipedia, i came across the name of bertha pappenheim, whose obit it was on that 28th may. in the beginning it was only curiousity, but the more i read, the more i was enchanted with this little piece of knowledge, and as the english article on wikipedia concentrates solely on one aspect of her biography, i thought i'd share it here. the following is a summary of the article you can read here, if you understand german, or at least look at the pictures, if you don't.

bertha pappenheim was born third daughter to a jewish family in vienna on 7th february 1859. belonging to a wealthy family, she received her education at a catholic school, while being raised and living according to the jewish faith.

in her childhood, at 8 years old, she suffered a traumatic loss as her eldest sister died from tuberculosis. when she was 16, her education ended, she stayed home and was expected to develop household skills; she painfully envied her younger brother who of course was allowed to continue school.

when she was 21 and the family was staying at ischl during summer, another tragedy was imminent. her father became ill with an infection; while bertha was guarding his side over night, she was suddenly haunted with hallucinations and irrational frights. the development, consequences and therapy of her psychological affliction brougt her dubious fame. the symptoms she suffered were diverse and fascinating: she had aphasies - meaning at times she couldn't speak at all, at others only express herself in english, french or italian - and paresis - she couldn't move her righthand side, forcing her to learn to write with her left hand. her moods varied from anxiety and depression to relaxation according to the time of day, influencing her ability to understand and speak (german). in crises, she wouldn't eat, it even went so far that she didn't drink for weeks and only ate melons to quench her thirst. to top it all of, she had amnesia and could not remember things that had occurred when she had been in another state of her illness. the more physical symptoms were disorders of her eyes and a neuralgia of her face; the common therapy of this led to an addiction to morphin and chlorale.

eventually, her father died. the news was held from her, but she soon realized the fact and fell into a state of numbness, followed by an episode with the mentioned symptoms so severe she was delivered to the sanitarium at inzersdorf. here she was treated by dr. breuer, who published her case together with sigmund freud as the case of anna o. the development and supposed healing of her hysteria can be found in the common literature. to me, the most interesting part was that she was healing herself by telling stories - daydreams, little fairy tales and such. she called it "talking cure" and "chimney-sweeping", as if her affliction was due to an overcrowded imagination, an overflowing and constipation of her mind.

the end of her illness cannot be determined, neither the success of dr. breuer's therapy. still there is one thing he wrote about her that really catches on: he describes her as "of notable intelligence", her intellect "sound" and capable, if not requiring to be fed "a solid intellectual diet". he attests a rich and poetic talent, controlled by sharp and critical wit.

the story of anna o. ended with dr. breuer's report. bertha pappenheim was maybe never completely cured, but she moved on to greener pastures than the mental home.

when she was 29, she went to frankfurt with her mother. here, the large family was not only working charity - as is required by jewish faith - but was also active as patrons of art and sience. here she began writing and translating jewish literature anonymously, later under the pseudonym of p. berthold. her translations concentrated on texts concerning the role of the woman in judaism; also she translated m. wollstonecrafts "a vindication of the rights of women" in 1895. by that time, she had also taken head of the orphanage were she had started as a charity worker. in her time as head mistress, she changed the goal of girls' education in charity homes from becoming a wife and mother to becoming professionally and thus financially independent.

apart from co-founding and presiding different women's rights associations, she scandalized the jewish community in her battle against white slavery and prostitution by pointing out not only jewish women as victims, but also jewish men as perpetrators. she was critical of judaism and at the same time managed to remain pious and devoted to jewish faith and tradition.

when she founded her own home for fallen women in neu-isenburg near frankfurt, based on the israelite benevolent society, she established an education aiming at women's independence and the principle of follow-up care. she build her house as substitute for a home for her girls, and while the interior was sparse and accommodation spartanic, the jewish calendary and culture was held up as rule. still, her home was considered maybe not dangerous but dubious by the community. support for women who in whatever way have fallen from grace - illegitimate children, prostitution and such - is no more expectable within judaism as in most other major religions. bertha pappenheim not only took care of women who weren't even considered jewish anymore after being rejected from their families, she fed them, educated them and led them into stable, healthy and respectable lives, but she also pressed on the responsiblities of men who were always involved, as procurers, customers, originators.

of course, at the dawn of the third reich, which she still lived to see, antisemitic repressions became unavoidable. the children from her home, who had gone to the general schools in neu-isenburg, soon were expelled and had to visit a jewish school in frankfurt. in her last years, already ravaged by cancer, she even had to go through an examination by the gestapo, because a feeble-minded girl from her house had made a derogatory comment on hitler - funny enough, this seemed to make up an paradoxon for the staatspolizei: if she has wits enough to talk down our führer, she can't be that dumb. bertha pappenheim went to the interrogation on 16th april 1936 and spoke her mind... or maybe she just seemed harmless enough; nothing came of it.

bertha pappenheim did not have to see her home, that had grown from one single building to a complex of four houses inculding a section for pregnant and postpartum women, be burnt down to its grounds on 10th november 1938, the day after reichspogromnacht. she died, nursed by her friend of many years hannah karminski, on 28th may 1936. her home for fallen women was resolved by the nsdap on 31st march 1942, its inhabitants deported to theresienstadt, where most of them died.

this is, as i mentioned above, only a summary of the german wikipedia text. i excluded the short historical stub on the formings and conglomerations of women's societies in which bertha pappenheim was involved; also, i have no knowledge of her writing and scientific work. still, a woman who started out as the first example of the hysteric female and ended with such greatness, stability and wisdom, should be credited in this my humble blog. feel invited to find out more about her; i know i do.

the lady coroner

after having read the pillars of the earth once again - and again at high speed for eagerness to learn the end - i was craving for another historical novel. as follett's new book world without end is not out in paperback yet, i let myself be persuaded to try something else. the lady at the bookstore gave me this: mistress of the art of death by ariana franklin. the slightly unelegant title weighed against the advice of the seller and the fact that it was a lady novellist. so i bought it.

a short summary and opinion upfront: it wasn't bad, but nowhere as good as follett. placed in medieval england about a year after the death of thomas becket, which fitted nicely with the pillars, it tells a crime story of a psychopathic childkiller being chased by a female pathologist. with a plot that wouldn't embarass c.s.i. or any profiler show, the setting in the middle ages sometimes seems to be unlucky. i'm not quite able to put the finger on it, all i can say is that in comparison with follett (which is unfair, i know, but right now i can't help it), franklin occasionaly slips out of style. while the pillars has an authentic ring to every sentence, be it comic or tragic, light or grave, mistress sounds awkwardly modern or remiss every now and then.

still, her characters are likeable, and the narration has a good flow to it; there is a convincing love story to the side, and as a whodunnit, it works quite well.

but i am not about literature criticism. and i mention this book not just because it's written by a woman or has a female protagonist - these two facts adding up to an almost-tautology. i do mention this book because it is a strong example for pop-feminist literature. it's easy-reading aiming at a feminine audience, with an obvious intention of giving power to modern emancipation. the whole of that must be fuel to my fire, you think - but i'm not so easily satisfied. alright, i'm sympathetic to the cause. but apart from her stylistic flaws, franklin also writes for a reader maybe less critical than me.

first of all, it's very obvious. she leaves out no occasion to make note of the chauvinism of the times or to make clear the gender-related differences of her protagonists. well, it is supposed to be the middle ages, so the modern perspective towards the depicted habitus is somewhat tilted. or to put it differently, she's hammering home her point.

secondly, i think she's inconsequent. true, she shares with us the discovery of the medical school in salerno where indeed women were allowed among students and teachers, untypical of the times. but at the same time, she relies on the cliché of medieval times that her protagonist cannot move anywhere without her bodygoard for the risk of being raped. i refuse to believe that and will until proven wrong. i just cannot take it for the truth that even in those days, every woman was free game to any man at any time. even then did they have laws, and more: they did have decency. at least, that's what i want to believe; and i wouldn't want to think differently just to have reason for my feminist actionism today (there is enough other reason for that).

thirdly - but i'm willing to relent on this point, because there is such a thing as plot necessity - our protagonist adelia has to go through cinderella-fication. in the beginning, she is a recognized physician who pays no regard to her outer appearance - which of course means she is "ugly" or at least inconspicuous to her male acquaintances. in the short sequences in which we see her through their eyes, we can already predict what is going to happen later on: when they look at her closer they notice that she could be attractive if she put some effort in it. so of course, there is a feast she is invited to, there is a housemaid who helps her and boom, suddenly she is beautiful by such easy means as displaying her hair and dressing in a colourful, figure-defining dress. and within the instant, she is also defined as a woman rather than as a physician. yes, this leads to a romantic development, and yes, that means she is also happier than she was before. the one thing that excuses this foreseeable turn of events is that she refuses to marry her love interest in the end, realizing that she wouldn't be able to work anymore as his wife. instead they indulge in a secret affair that is more likely to last and sustain its happiness.

i admit, on this last point i'm in a kind of dilemma. on the hand i heartily dislike the idea that femininity is so unseperably connected to pleasant appearance, to groomed, preferably long hair and soft fabrics tightly dressed to the body, to caring more for the outsides than the insides of ones own head. or rather, that the term of femininity is so definitely denied to those who are more concerned with anything but their looks. not that i prefer a grubby scientist to a clean bimbo - while i try to stay smart and professionally successful, i do take care to stay slim and apply lotions and potions every now and then - but the automation of this categorization enrages me.

...but that's also a topic for another day, back to the book. the other hand of the dilemma i experience is due to the fact that in the end, she is as well a recognized physician as a woman with a sex-life. which is a good thing, because it counteracts the cliché that a woman can either be men's equal in profession or men's partner outside competition. this is only slightly marred by the imperfection mentioned under "first of all".

with this, you now have the perfect example of how difficult it is for me to simply enjoy a good book.

a more favourable review than mine - and less concerned with the gender-issue - you can read here.

sad but true

alright, i got carried away. and i've been taught better just now, hearing a song by xzibit that not only tells us he doesn't want to hug her, he just wants to f*** her, but also features a female chorus begging him to choke her, spank her, pull her hair.

ah well. boys will be boys, i guess.

for lack of a better topic, and for lack of enthusiasm to write on a friday night, i'll just mention now that in the last week i have encountered so many examples of disagreeable male conversational behaviour i almost feel paranoid. interrupting, disagreeing just for the sake of it, interfering in discussions, you name it, i got it. i think i will have to develop an allowance for it. because every time i mention or complain about it, the reaction is sceptical. they just don't realize; i guess talking among themselves these are normal ways to establish a hierarchy. men - the unknown animal.

(with a grain of salt, please.)

99 problems

these past few days i have had the opportunity - thanks to hubbs - to listen to quite a lot of hiphop. which is fine by me so far, i have developped a taste for one or the other hip hop artist, for example xzibit or nas.

now, this being a blog with a topic, you can guess what i am about to note. i don't usually pay attention to the lyrics - if the beat is funky, that's good enough for me, and a rhyme's a rhyme... but every now and then, a whole sentence wriggles its way through my ear to my brain, and i stop to think.

it may be that i turn a blind eye on my named favourites, as i never noticed true mysogyny in either's lyrics. or maybe i have some allowance for "hood culture" - the word "bitch" has lost its negative connotation, and even "hoe" i'm led to believe has nothing to do with the semi-homophonous "hole" or "whore". but there are also hiphop artist whose music really appeals to me, while hearing their lyrics - some times more than others - makes me cringe. for instance snoopdogg with his crude romanticism on the one hand and the chauvinistic dismissal of females on the other, or mystikal with his plain proletarian objectifying fun machismo.

of course i'm aware that african-american culture is completely different from my own background, but then, it is part of western civilization. it may be i'm just a fussy white bitch with an issue and no life, and african-american women, or women "in the hood", feel very different about it; they may even enjoy the sexualized lyrics, as being a "real woman" might be defined as being an object of masculine attention, no matter how.

now, please don't flag me as inappropriate, i'm just toying with ideas here. but these sometimes incredibly aggressive mysogynyst lyrics really make me wonder what the hell is wrong with those guys. have they been mistreated by their mothers, turning them all into norman bates? of course not. they enjoy sex too much for that, even if it is often connected with humiliation or disregard of women.

so as i'm really spinning this around in my mind, it dawns on me that these horrifying lyrics are a product racism and ethnical suppression: after centuries of segregation and emasculation by white folk, the male african-american soul of todays hiphop artist is in an uproar close to psychosis. the long and sad history of african-american culture itself is that of humiliation and disregard, and i feel confident to say that any male psyche would suffer under this and will react with aggression and dissipation of negative energy. so the target of course are women as the "weaker sex" (or, as an alternative, another even more vulnerable group: homosexuals... but that is another topic, as homosexuality actually only exists in hiphop - as far as i can fathom - as an insult. real homosexuals don't exist, the word "faggot" is used to insult those who surely aren't homosexuals).

i hope, having understood this (or at least making it work as an explanation for myself), i can relax more when hubbs is playing hiphop. but i can't be sure. because having a history does not excuse, for me, the lack of development. so i'm torn between compassion for a troubled african-american soul... and impatience: grow up, you suckers! this is the 21st century, and still being victims of racism does not make it okay to victimize, mistreat, insult and violate others for their sex. actually, it does make you as bad as those who do it to you for the colour of your skin.

think, men! they are your mothers, sisters, daughters, spouses, lovers and friends. they fight your battle and they work hard. harder than you, i can imagine, because they bring home the bacon and they fry it, feed it to you and the children, then do the dishes and the laundry as well. and many times, they even find it in their heart to let you have it. so think before calling them whores who are only after cash and a large cock, think before you suggest that only a dead one is a good one, and think before you denounce them and depict them as puppets without a will of their own. think - and treat them as equals. stop being kkk to the double-x.

been there

okay, now it's done. i just finished wetlands. 

it didn't take me this long because i'm a slow reader - i'm not - but because the book is not something i would take with me to work and read in my lunchbreak. wouldn't have gotten to eat much then.

conclusion:  it wasn't as bad as i thought. it's charming in a way - in a sub-surface way it's a story of a dysfunctional family that might encounter a healthy breakthrough after the end of the book. the protagonist helen, in between recounting her different thoughts on hygene, sex, masturbation and her proctological affliction, dips carefully into family history, i.e. how she came home from school one day after her parents split up and found her mother on the kitchen floor, clutching her little brother, both drugged, the gas oven wide open and running. different problems of course arouse from this. a mother who is suicidal is only the most obvious one; but the most painful: why would the mother take her little brother, but not her? evidently, this has nothing to do with granting her a life. it must be something to do with not caring for her so much.

also, the protagonist nurtures the hope her parents might fall in love with each other again if reunited in the hospital room, so she has to try and stay in hospital as long as possible - because of course both parents are extra careful not to meet each other. spoiler: in the end she gives up this hope, enlightens her little brother as to why he hates hospitals, thus cracking open the one big subdued trauma haunting her family, and moves in with the sweet, tolerant and very caring nurse robin.

all in all, it's actually a sweet book, well written and entertaining. i did laugh out loud several times, and every once in a while i needed to take a break when it got to an especially gross point. these gross moment a different to every reader, i figure - to me it's a always to do with feeding on own-body-products. and our protagonist isn't shy of anything: from whence ever the liquid or crunchy, she puts it in her mouth.

regarding the meta-topic, namely the overexited hygene women are subject to in our modern world - she does take it over the top to make her point. i'm sure many of the things helen does to prove her very anal mother wrong are not really an issue for the author. but i think i get her point: i wasn't raised by such a mother, but i have in my life found some things not so big a health problem as my mum made me believe as a child. and concerning the very rich industry that's living on female hygene and sexual repressiveness - i agree. whether it is tampons, sanitary towels, shavers and epilators, or the pill: i think a lot of money is made with the hysteria of smelling, being dirty, unattractive and sexually unaffordable. i still prefer ready-made tampons to self-made ones, but for me sanitary napkins do not need extra wings or perfume. i will not wear one every day in my life just in case i get surprised by my period, and definitely not because of the mucus that happens to appear on the other days. don't laugh, i remember the bewildered question of my brother when i announced i was going to wear boxers for the rest of my life: "but how will you be wearing your sanitary napkins?" it appeared that his experience with women had him believe we all wear these things every day of our life. there are women out there that do! (of course, i don't wear boxers when i have my period...)

i'm also - as we're talking about it - one woman who has withdrawn from the power of the chemical industry. no, i do not take the pill - i have found a very adaequate substitution that will not make me feel depressed, will not make water gather in my thighs and that i do not have to think of every day even if i don't want to have sex. 

so helen: here's to you, sister!

men in tights

having worked up to 12 hours a day last week and 8 hours on a saturday (damn you, advertising-job!) i didn't get to write about what i wanted to write about. now, some small things have gathered, but it being spring, i want to start of the new week with a fun topic, not a tough one.

i have seen on comedy central that there is a MTV competition show (they have the best and the worst, i figure), where men try to be elected the most attractive woman.

like most other women (i think) do, i enjoy watching men go through the motions, dressing up in drag... there is something intriguing (to me) about men in drag. i think it is the uncommon combination of difference and similarity; they are different from me, as they are men, but in women's clothes they are a representation of my own kind. closer to the cliché of my own kind than i am myself, even. far closer.

so, a man in drag is the extreme of both images: male and female. i guess, in a way, a man in drag represents the extreme of my ideals, the extreme of what i could wish to be. so virile in his core, yet so feminine in his appearance. both seems to attract me, and the combination even more so. it's not that i feel sexually aroused by men in drag, but they do strike a note in my heart.

(by the way, it's a dream for me once in my life to dress like a drag queen - to go so far beyond my usual femininity that people would think i must be a transvestite. drag queens - so colourful, so loud and proud. i think i could be the best of myself if i could dress up like a cock in a frock.)

so, about the TV program: i wonder. i wonder if there's a bad thing to it. if so, i can't think of it, at the moment. let me put it this way: the good thing about it is, the men taking part in the competition and the men that may be watching (i don't know if there are any, i wouldn't be surprised if it's only women) do see what a lot of women go through to look good for them - the shaving and waxing, the tight clothes and uncomfortable shoes, the looks and comments of others... the not-so-good thing about it is that these men have far more trouble to go through to look like women. a woman at least has the advantage that her body hair is already shaven , so it's not so long, she is used to high heels and straps and clips, used to make-up and long hair and bras and all that.

all in all, i guess it's showing that there is still a little movement left in the world. the discussion is not over.

going there

on saturday i was given a late birthday gift - a book by a british born, german raised MTV host by name of charlotte roche. the book she has written, the title translates as "wetlands", concerns itself with a girl who has cut herself while shaving her rectum. this of course is not the topic. as far as i got until now, and as far as i understood the media-reactions and -support the book has received, the topic is the warped perception of all things physical that seems to be prevailing in our generation. the no-go of talking about haemorrhoids, the detailed description of masturbation techniques and the close encounter with stuff we can find in our underwear, all these have already been tackled in the first, say, 20 pages. which leaves me unsure about how i will get along with this book.

i wouldn't say i'm prude - and i hope to prove it - but naturally, or maybe not so naturally but nurturally, there's things that disgust me, put me off, things that i don't feel must be brought out in the open. still, i have a tolerance for the artistic expression that breaches taboos, i even have respect for the courage it must have taken her to write these things down and publish them, even admitting that there are biographic elements in the book. so, i think, i support her motive, but at the moment, i'm doubtful whether i approve of her way to pursue it.

i will tell you when i'm finished.

the death of a tom-cat

to begin with, i thought i could refer to something already written, which actually solidified my idea for this blog - because it is, granted, a monothematic essay on a movie, posted at first in my movie-diary. in the community of my fellow diarists, the feminine/feminist POV is tolerated, yet not really noticed; if anything, i do get the occasional advice not to be so tight-assed or something of that order. of course i do also watch movies without regard to their gender-philosophy and i cannot say i'm not appreciated as one of the very few female diarists.

but enough of that. not to let anyone think i didn't put an effort into this first entry: i had to translate the whole piece into english, which doesn't always work so well as if i'm writing in english originally. this is only to apologize upfront for possible obscurities and mistakes. remember: i know i'm leaving out a great deal of the advantages of the movie. i just wrote about what it made me think and feel.

the beguiled

in the u.s. civil war, clint eastwood as yankee soldier john mcburney/mcB is saved from death by a young girl who lives with several other women, among them a slave, in a girls' school. they take him in and nurse his wounds, while being divided about what to do with him in the following. as sexual tension and moral uncertainty proliferate, mcB begins to work his way into the community by telling each woman - head mistress, teacher, pupils alike - what each one of them wants to hear. especially the oaths of true love to the teacher and the inticing encounters with a premature pupil lead him into a trap. when he is found in bed with the teenager even after offering his physical and psychological aid to the head mistress, the severely decent teacher has a fit and involuntarily pushes him down the stairs, re-opening his wounds and braking his leg. in an operation of doubtable necessity (and leaving no doubt of its symbolic character) they amputate his leg. awaking he finds out and starts to rage, insulting all of the women and killing the pet frog of his first helper, the youngest girl. after his leaving the room, the women plot implicitly and without using any definite word to murder him with poisoned mushrooms. too late he announces his engagement to the teacher, who realizes the crime being committed but does not object. when they bury him, the refer to is death as a tragic accident, as due to natural causes, because "of course" the little girl can tell the edible mushrooms from the poisoned ones.

at the beginning, i was only watching with one eye, but then it grew more and more interesting. especially the intricately balanced cohabitation of women, this arduously maintained civilization, the repressive morality and etiquette of the times, which yet by all means can still be considered valid for “decent women” in its principles, and now here comes the clint eastwood character, such a macho, a masher and “real man”. he wouldn’t dream of the possibility that women could have an edge on him, regardless of the fact that he is one and they are many. no – they are a of the weaker sex, so he thinks he can play his society’s games, as if it wasn’t war time, as if it wasn’t an emergency situation. The tom-cat, playing with cats he mistakes for mice.

from their first encounter he manipulates them, there’s no doubt about it – while he is telling his heartrending story, we can see the simple skirmish that led him into his awkward predicament. this may seem excuseable at first, as the women make it very clear that they are only taking care of “the enemy” to refer him to the authorities. but soon he starts toying with them: he flatters the decent girl with soft words and true eyes, the other he compliments with enlightened yankee style, with the third he revels in a lewd flirt, for the fourth he acts as a fatherly friend. There are many women of different ages and different mettles, and true: he assesses them aptly. yet, on his ability of getting the better of each one, he cherishes his illusions – apparently he understands woman very well, but a whole community of women is far out of his grasp, a fact that will lead him to his doom.

the women are excellently characterized, by the way, which surprised me in its extent, concerning such a delicate matter as (female) sexuality and from a male director, no less. at least in my conception of the feminine soul – though that may be distorted – the characters develop in exactly the most credible way. the abandoned women suffer from the lack of men not for such reasons as sustenance, defence of properties or comfort in tragic circumstances. they miss men for the same reason men miss women in war. i cannot tell whether the head mistress’ incestuous relationship with her brother is only a dixie cliché; her severity to hide a longing for caress still seems plausible to me. the only grown up person who appears to have a hold on her fleshly desires is the (pardon the expression) negro, but even she can get a taste for a man in the house.

that these women, who at first only submit to a inevitablitiy, may have humananitarian or functional reasons for their actions, then turn first to wax in the man’s hand in their effort for his attention – the man who has finally arrived without explicitly swing his club to subjugate them – then in the following turn to icy furies after discovering his treachery – al this i find not only plausible, but conceived and narrated brilliantly through and through. Even more brilliant how they find a way coninciding with a completely medical rationale to punish the man, to painfully smash his self-image and at the same time render him nearly defenceless. he didn’t rape them in effect, but he made them look like fools, he undermined their grindingly sustained dignity, he denuded and rejected them at the same time – all this worse than a straight physical attack. they will never again display any infirmity. so now it’s his turn to rave: because women – only women! – have pointed out his boundaries and relegated him to his place. he is useless as a soldier, dependent, and also in many human situations limited to a, say, succumbing position; his ego cannot stand that. he cannot imagine development for the worse, so he becomes improvident. his new attempt to repair the damage – a genuine concilation or just another tactic manoeuver? – is too little, too late… and the female community finds reasons and alibis for his final obliteration. before mauling themselves because of the shortage, the "apple of eris" is removed from their midst: where there's nothing to fight about, there’s peace.

and even though these women violate the rules of any human community, regarded from any perspective, the depiction of their actions is not moralizing. or maybe it appears so only to me, who rates their characterization as comprehensible and without reproach; thus the aversion for this smug man churns me up, the denouement of the story fills me with reluctant admiration and an instinct for preserveration of my kind, that makes all of it look justified.

if realistic depiction of women is reprehensible: jail me.