I got Thelma & Louise'ed

You know what this blog is missing?

A good rant. That's what.

Thank you to KH for passing along so many lovely examples of blogs/online postings where people can rant about a specific event or asshole. You have given me such inspiration.

So, here it goes...

To the 45-50 year old, ugly, fat, bald man driving a 1989 red Chevy Cavalier westbound on I-84 yesterday at about 5:15pm near W. Hartford...FUCK YOU!!! You know, I had been thinking to myself that day...."What I really need now is for some strange man to nearly run me off the road as he tongues suggestively at me from his piece-of-shit car." God must have heard my request, because along you came. What I really appreciated was that with one vulgar, sexually objectifying behavior, you allowed me to fulfill my girlhood dream of re-enacting the scene from the movie Thelma & Louise where T & L get harassed by a trucker. Luckily for you, I did not write down your license plate. Otherwise, I'd be desperately trying to track you down so that I could put an explosive device in your car to get even. As T & L demonstrate, payback's a bitch.

In case you didn't notice my reaction because you were too distracted by your own tongue and concentrating too hard on making said tongue lick at me like you had your head between my thighs (you wish), I flipped you off. I also yelled "FUCK YOU." Just wanted you to know.

Hope you didn't get in a fatal car crash on your way home last night.

Love,
Martha

More evidence for the "Man Card"

In response to one of my earlier blogs entitled "What, exactly, is the "Man Card?," some of you seemed to be in disbelief that such a card exists. Well, I'm hot on the trail of more evidence that the "Man Card" does exist...

This past weekend while quenching my thirst, I had one of those random conversations with a stranger that can only happen at a bar. I was at a local watering hole and came out of the restroom to find that there was a line for the men's bathroom. No, really. There was a line for the men's bathroom---I know, I've always thought that was an urban legend. At any rate, one of the guys in line started up some conversation with me about how the picture of Nathan Hale on the wall looked like David Bowie (random, I know). After the conversation went nowhere (cuz, really...where could that conversation go?), I said..."You know, there's no one in the women's bathroom. Why don't one of you just go in there?" (It was a single bathroom, so there would be no danger of having to see other women in there.) The guy looked at me, sort of appalled, and said, "No. Then I'd have to give up my "Man Card."

This conversation leads me to believe that the "Man Card" does, in fact, exist...despite the fact that some of you have been trying to dissuade me. Of course no one handed you a card at birth (after noticing you were lucky enough to get a penis), which you tote with you in your wallet. But, the "Man Card" does seem to exist, at least proverbially speaking. Really, the idea of a "Man Card" is sort of
humorous.

But, at a deeper level, the idea is actually kind of intriguing and tells a lot about how we define masculinity. If a "Man Card" does exist, what does it indicate? Does it mean that the owner is aggressive, tough, and independent? Is he the alpha-male type who shoots first and asks questions later? According to the card above, he definitely cannot be a "metrosexual." There seems to be such a strict definition of masculinity in our society, that it would seem sort of difficult to even keep a "Man Card." What my minimal knowledge of the "Man Card" does seem to tell me, however, is that the "Man Card" is actually more useful in keeping men "in line" than in denoting who is a man and who is a woman. That is, the 2 times that I've run into references to the "Man Card" have been in situations where men tried to step outside of some masculine boundaries or parameters. The first one, if you recall, referred to taking away a guy's "Man Card" if he changed his last name when he got married, and the second one referred to a guy using a ladies' bathroom. It seems that guys are in danger of losing this precious identification if they even think about doing anything outside of modern definitions of masculinity. You know...like challenging patriarchal customs or entering spaces reserved for or dominated by women. Really, you're in danger of losing the "Man Card" whenever you do anything that remotely makes you--Gasp!--more like a woman.

Basically it seems that the "Man Card" is symbolic of things social scientists have known for awhile: social constructions of masculinity are narrow and restrictive. They probably harm men more than they help them, and in some ways, they are far more restrictive than social constructions of femininity. There doesn't seem to be a "Woman Card," and if there was one, I doubt someone would threaten to take it away if I peed in a men's bathroom. After all this mental work, I guess I've realized that the "Man Card" may not be that powerful after all. Sure, it's handy when you try to get jobs and earn a living and run for public office and get married, etc., etc., but it seems to just be another social mechanism to keep you confined to very narrow ideas of what it means to be a man. Besides, even if I could get a "Man Card," I'm not sure I would even want one. If all it takes is me going into the opposite-sex's restroom when there's a line for mine to get it revoked, then maybe the "Man Card" isn't all it's cracked up to be after all. But, then again, I think I knew that all along.

The addiction

Someone recently asked me if I have any vices. I didn't really know how to respond to that question, because I've always been the straight-laced type and don't really have any major habits that could be considered maladaptive. I don't really gamble, save the occasional grad student poker night. I'm not addicted to crack. I drink in moderation (ok, except when I'm in WI). I don't have any weird sexual compulsions...or at least, I don't think they're weird. So, really, I'm kind of boring in the vices category. I think I responded by saying "sweets," because I will do some serious damage to anything that has sugar. I mean, I won't even buy sweets half the time because I'll just inhale them in one sitting and then have to feel guilty about it later. But, frankly, that's a pretty lame vice.

But, yesterday, I figured out what mine is: knowledge. No, really...hear me out. I think I'm addicted to knowledge.

I've always been the smarty-pants type, but I don't necessarily think that just because you're smart you also have a potential addiction to knowledge. There are lots of people who are objectively intelligent and capable but who just don't give a damn about learning new things or seeking out new information. And there are others who may not exactly be grade curve-breakers, but who have a genuine thirst for knowledge. But recently, I realized that I'm addicted to knowledge. I just can't get enough.

I realized that I might be an addict because I realized I might go crazy if I didn't have access to new ideas. Like drugs, I constantly want to have access to the newest, "designer" ideas. New ideas and knowledge give me an instant high...they make me
want to get more of it, to revel in the feeling it gives me, and to always know where my next new ideas are going to come from. I love the idea that there is theoretically no limit to the new ideas or knowledge I could acquire...that there is an endless source and that I will never run out.

Maybe I get such a high from ideas because of the idea that "knowledge is power." The more you know, the better able you are to navigate through a lot of different situations in life, from handling the car mechanics' jargon to making yourself independently wealthy through smart investing. You can communicate with a wider
variety of people, from different backgrounds and different cultures. You can do any number of things with lots of knowledge, and I like that. I like that my options are unlimited.

Knowledge is also something that can never be taken away, save brain damage or the onset of dementia. The house may burn down, you may lose your shirt in the stock market. Your spouse might leave you, your friends might hate you. But knowledge will always be there, even if you don't want it to be. It's like the BFF you never had. Knowledge is also a way to invest in oneself, to cultivate your skills. To my best estimate, my brain and the knowledge it holds is worth about $200K right now, between 4 years of undergrad and going on 5 years of grad school. That's a pretty pricey habit if you ask me. But, on the flip side, the lifetime earning power of my brain is quite huge...perhaps a conservative estimate would be somewhere around $2M, not including inflation and interest. :) So, maybe this addiction will pay off in the end...

The best part of my addiction is that it's not illegal. It doesn't have any major health side effects, short of developing a fat ass, sitting at my computer or reading books. The only major negative side effect of my habit might be psychological distress. Ignorance really is bliss, people. Although knowledge gives me a sweet, sweet high, it can also enrage and depress me. Once you start to strip away life's assumptions and facades, it can be a very bleak existence. But, luckily I have a strong dose of optimism and pure naivety to keep me sane.

So, there it is. I've bared my soul. I'm an addict. Some people self-medicate. Some cut. Some have risky hobbies or taboo compulsions. Unfortunately, my addiction is a bit less interesting. Quite frankly, it's totally nerdy. But, I like it, and it can't get me arrested. At least not yet...

Bride bullet, dodged

This may come as a shock to some of you, but today Ms. Martha was supposed to become Mrs. Martha. Yes, the plan was for this blogster to be wed in holy matrimony on this, what the experts are calling the "biggest wedding day ever." 7-7-07 was supposed to be a particularly lucky day for so many couples in love--with up to 4 times as many weddings happening on this weekend than there were just one year ago.

So, I've had a lot of time to anticipate this day. I really didn't know what to expect. Part of me thought that I would feel fine...that today wouldn't be any different than any other day. But part of me feared that I might be curled up in the fetal position with a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Fortunately, I haven't had the urge to rock in any corners or binge on sweets or cry as I page through Brides magazine. In fact, I've been just fine. However, I didn't want this day to pass without spending some time thinking about what I've learned during the last 10 months of my life...the amount of time that I've been un-engaged and have been navigating singlehood, recovering from a major break-up, and figuring out what the hell all of it means.

So, here are the bullet points:

Perfect rarely is.
For much of my life, I have tried make things perfect. I have always made lists in order to cross things off of them. I have always wanted things to be neat, organized, preferably with labels on them, in their place. So, inevitably, I tried to make my relationship with my ex perfect, too. To most people, my relationship seemed perfect, but it wasn't (and I didn't correct them). I was going to have a perfect wedding on a perfect day in a perfect dress with a seemingly perfect guy. But, somewhere along the way, I realized that I didn't have perfection and, most importantly, I didn't WANT perfection. I don't think that there's anything inherently wrong with the drive to achieve perfection, but I've come to realize that a) perfection is not really all it's cracked up to be, and b) perfection is not an attribute that should apply to relationships (or people, for that matter). It's not that I think that perfection is bad, necessarily. It's that I see it as boring. I've realized that imperfections can be some of the most beautiful things. Imperfections give things character, they signal uniqueness, and they let you know that it's REAL. I don't want a cookie-cutter life with a perfect house and perfect spouse and perfect kids in a perfect neighborhood...because it doesn't exist. I want things that are real, and I want the imperfections that go along with them. To think that things in life are black and white, that they can be labeled or classified, is silly. Life is complex, it is messy, and I've realized that there is tremendous beauty in the gray, the irregular, the imperfect.

At the end of the day, it's just you.
This realization is the most cynical on this list, but I believe that it's true. I think that the relationships that we share with the people in our lives are extraordinarily important and should be valued as such. I am constantly inspired, humbled, and fulfilled by the relationships I have with friends and family in my life. With that said, however, I also think that--at the end of the day--you need to be content with who you are and what your life means, without relying on your relationships with others. Ending a 6-year relationship--in which I had built a life and dreams for the future with this person--was nothing short of earth-shattering. With one decision, I effectively threw out most of my worldviews and ideas about how life (or at least relationships) works. I have never felt so alone as I have in becoming un-engaged, and this experience has taught me that, ultimately, you are alone in the world. Although this realization is tremendously scary, I think it has also enhanced my perspective on life. In realizing that I am (ultimately) alone in the world, it makes me value the love, intimacy, and support I share with my friends and family more so.

Scare yourself.
I've always loved the quote from Eleanor Roosevelt, "Do one thing every day that scares you," and becoming un-engaged has been the scariest thing I've ever done...by far. If you live in the proverbial comfort zone of life every day, you never get the chance to amaze yourself. If you never push yourself just a bit beyond your capabilities, you will never grow. These are certainly reasons to scare yourself every once in a while. However, I've always thought that you must experience the lowest lows in order to truly appreciate the highest highs. I would certainly rather be happy than sad, fulfilled than unfulfilled...so would most of us. But, I think that to truly appreciate the good things in your life, you need to also experience some of the bad. Although tremendously painful, I have grown and experienced new parts of myself and of life...things that I would have never felt had I not become un-engaged. So, although this decision has caused tremendous pain, it has also created the opportunity for tremendous growth and happiness...not to mention avoiding the potential misery I could have endured being married.

Relationships are living organisms.
Somewhat related to the idea that perfection is overrated, I have also realized a lot about the nature of relationships. Namely, I have come to recognize the importance of treating a relationship like you would any other human being. Relationships are living, breathing organisms and need to be treated as such. They need your attention and love. They need to be challenged. They have a life of their own. They will always change, and you shouldn't try to restrict them. I did my best to create a relationship that could flourish, but I do realize, in hindsight, that I didn't always treat it as a living organism.

Wedding hoopla is ridiculous.
I had a ring, a dress, a cake, a DJ, a church, a reception site, save-the-date cards, and an obnoxiously cute page on www.theknot.com. Having been through about 75% of the planning of a wedding, I can honestly say that it is highly overrated. Is it important to celebrate love and commitment? Yes. Is it important that you blow $20,000+ on one day? No. There is a whole lot of bullshit that surrounds weddings, and I am glad to not be a part of it any longer. If I had it to do all over again, many things would change. The biggest of these changes would probably be a no engagement ring policy. Unless one of you has sentimental heirloom jewelry that has been passed down through the generations, they are a waste of money. Blowing 12K on a ring is stupid. And, there is the obvious feminist objection to an engagement ring: the ring symbolizes that the man has effectively "purchased" the right to marry a woman. No matter how you cut it, there are a lot of ridiculous traditions and customs we do in order to get married, but most of them are optional. Considering that most couples don't really enjoy their wedding day and most of the traditions are for show or are done simply because "that's how we've always done it," people might be happier if they took a more non-traditional approach to marriage.

So, there you have it folks. Had I not overhauled my life, I'd probably be leading the Electric Slide (because I would totally be that bride who's out on the dance floor the entire night), drinking a beer, rocking out in a big white dress, newly hitched right now. Maybe it wouldn't have been all that bad after all. But, most likely, it would have. I had a fulfilling relationship for 6 years, commited myself to someone in an authentic and meaningful way, and learned what it meant to love someone completely. But, I've also learned more about myself and about life in the last 10 months than I probably could have any other way. And I'm not sad about that one bit.

So, at least for now, the bride bullet has been dodged...

Case closed

Finally!!!

Wanda Sykes has come up with one of the most brilliant solutions to cure many of women's toughest problems: the detachable pussy. Feminists' lives just got a whole lot easier...

Respect knuckles?!

Uh, I guess even old white guys (who just so happen to be major world powers) like to give respect knuckles. Right on!

Alaska...fuck yeah! Part 3

“There’s a land where the mountains are nameless, and the rivers all run God knows where, there are lives that are erring and aimless. And deaths that just hang by a hair, there are hardships that nobody reckons; there are valleys unpeopled and still. There’s a land-oh it beckons and beckons, and I want to go back and I will.”
~~Robert Service

There's something about this place that gets in people's blood. It makes them never want to leave, and if they do, it makes them want to come back. At least that's what everyone I've met has been telling me. There's no doubt in my mind that I will make it back to AK...it's just a matter of time. Oh yes, I will be back.

Although I consider myself to be a fairly articulate person in describing what I think and feel, I just can't explain what, exactly, it is about AK that makes people never want to leave. I guess there's just a feeling you get when you're here. It's part awe at the unbelievable landscape. It's part relaxation in the midst of people who adhere to a relatively simple lifestyle. It's part disbelief that you're actually here...in this place that seems nothing like the rest of the lower 48--it seems like I should need my passport to get here. It's part humility in realizing that nature and the world are so much bigger than oneself. And the rest is something that is perhaps unknowable.

My friend B has been such a good sport at putting up with my touristy desire to take a picture of absolutely everything. (I think I have taken 160+ pictures on this trip!) However, one thing that he said to me about pictures has stuck. On our adventures to Homer, AK, he described how one of his friends said that he had stopped taking pictures of scenery or life events because he wanted to keep them only as mental images. He wanted to rely only on his memory to capture the essence of various life moments and that pictures would pale in comparison to the richness his memory could preserve. Although I didn't really adhere to this sentiment on my trip, this idea has stuck with me. As I look back on my pictures from this trip, I realize that no picture (no matter how many megapixels it has) can capture the feeling I had in each of those moments. Sure, the picture can capture it as a reference point to jog my memory in the future, but I don't want to rely on the megapixels to recreate the moments I've had in AK. There will never be a way to recreate these moments, these overwhelming feelings of awe, joy, and serenity. There is no way to recreate the feeling of wind and sun on my face 2,000 ft up a mountain, the sounds of nature in the dead of night (or of the horse galloping around our tent!), or the smell of trees or melting snow in AK. Perhaps I shouldn't even try; to do so would cheapen them. Instead, maybe I can relive these moments from time to time...relive a little of AK in my daily life. I have no doubt that there's a little AK in my blood now, and it's only a matter of time before it calls me back...

Alaska...fuck yeah!