SUNDAY LINKS ROUNDUP!

Stuff that you should read, from around the blogosphere:

--At Feline Formal Shorts, Magniloquence has a fantastic post about continued "escalation," and the continued excusing of racially-motivated incidents as "just jokes."

--Rio reminds us of the harsh realities of foodphobia.

--Rachel of The F Word has an amazing post on the importance of perspective.

--Lauredhel of Hoyden About Town has a very informative (and somewhat terrifying) post on Livejournal's changing ownership yet again.

--Hugo posts on systemic exploitation, in the forms of sex workers' bodies and farm workers' bodies.

--Lindsay considers this year's "THERE'S A WAR ON CHRISTMAS!!11"-esque holiday freakout, which is: Is overweight, cookie-crunching Santa a bad role model for children?

--vesta44 has an incredible post on fashion, femininity, and the matter of "artificiality".

Read 'em.

Today in Useless Blog Posts Written by AnnaHam

Does anyone else think that this picture of Pat Robertson is rather, well, Applewhite-esque?



IM IN UR FORMUR AWLTURNATIV RELIGINS LOOKIN LIKE UR DED LEADURZ

This post has been brought to you by Shakes, and also the fact that I'm about to work on my thesis, which is ALL ABOUT HEAVEN'S GATE.

Y'all find this so interesting, I know. The good news is that Robertson is retiring! The bad news is that this post was more than a bit pointless.

The Perils of Being "Stuck" When it Comes to Blogging

I have decided to confess something. I'm posting this with some trepidation--after all, what person enjoys admitting their flaws and/or weaknesses?

I am stuck.

Specifically, I am stuck on what to blog about, and, to a larger extent, what to write about. There are a lot of things that piss me off, that anger me, that make me want to punch those responsible square in the face, but this is not the "What Pisses AnnaHam Off" blog. I could also take the opposite approach and blog about things that I am grateful for, or things that I love to do, but this isn't the "Happy Fun Glurgy Oprah-esque Reflection Time With AnnaHam" blog. Ideally, I would balance the two, but the fact is that [3-4, at most] people read this blog regularly, and in a way, I am still working out my "identity" as a blogger. Oftentimes, I find myself questioning whether or not I actually have the wherewithall or level of awesome-ness to blog at all. Is what I have to say interesting? Does it make people think, or question assumptions that they may have had before reading my posts? Do some who felt misunderstood, marginalized, or alone before feel at least a modicum better after reading something that I have written? I would hope that the answer to all of these questions is somewhat in the affirmative, but despite the mostly positive feedback that I do get, there will always be a wee voice in the back of my mind that constantly screeches NO!

This feeling is extending out into my academic life as well. I have no doubt that I'll be able to come out of being "stuck" with my academic work soon enough, as it is nearing the end of the term, and I almost always go through a phase where being stuck is part of the territory. I've been through it before, I know it's not the most fun thing to go through, and I know I will get through it, but, like any non-fatal human trial, it is hard to realize that you will survive--that you will get out of it--when you're mired in the thick, peanut-buttery consistence of it all. If I had to pick out one "positive" lesson that dealing with ongoing health problems--fibromyalgia and severe depression, specifically--has enlightened me to, it would be just that: I know I'll get through the worst of it, goddammit, but I sure as hell can't see that right now! [Sidenote: This also happens to be the only positive thing about my experiences with chronic health conditions, LOLZ.]

So, my question for EVERYONE who is reading this right now: How do YOU go about getting "unstuck," whether in your writing/blogging life, or in your personal life?

Also, it's World AIDS Day today. Just thought I should point that out.

And Yet, There Are People Who Find This Sort of Thing Amusing

Dear Persons Who Designed, Manufactured and/or Thought of This Product,

Thank you so much for making me lose just a bit more of my faith in humanity.

Regards,

A Female

Never Again Will the Phrase "I Have Nothing to Blog About" Leave My Lips

So, I've been mulling over this for a few days, and I still don't quite know what to think:

It's Tori Amos, live in Chicago at the Vic Theater, performing her song "Me and a Gun." Usually, this song is performed a capella. It is also about sexual assault, and I, along with many fans, consider it to be one of her most powerful compositions. You can take a look at the lyrics here.

The Chicago performance of the song (which had Tori "in character" as one of the members of the Doll Posse, Pip) has angered, confused and divided many of her fans (at least around the internet--where music nerds come to express their opinions and useless knowledge, declare their love for their favorite artists, and start flame wars with each other over whose opinion is correct or incorrect). This is mostly because the song was performed with musical accompaniment, and had Tori, in character, using props--a knife, which she rubbed on herself at different intervals, and a gun, which she pointed to her head and then towards the audience at the end of the song.

Now, let's take a look at some fan reactions from a popular Tori fansite:

after the show, particularly after pip’s set, i felt completely castrated, as a man. the fact that she wore the album cover black tight leather pants was one thing. that she bent over backwards to the audience for an extended amount of time was another. but people, then she played “me and a gun”... with a band. and pulled out a knife. and kept rubbing it all over herself. and then brought out a gun. and pointed it at the audience.

Would anyone like to take a stab (no pun intended!) at deconstructing or commenting upon the bizarre psychoanalytic content or subtext of the above passage?

I didn't think so.

Next, we have a comment from "Jason":

Pip slithered out bad-ass and went into the most intense and aggravated version of Cruel I have ever seen. I first I (sic) thought this was good fun, like the rest of the dolls, but then when she started yelling “you can fuck me, but I’ll rip your cock off,” I knew this was for real. She made me feel really uncomfortable, but there was something exhilarating about it. I had this image of her swinging my dick in her hand laughing, and I was kinda scared.

Dude, do you really want the entire internet to know that? I seriously do not understand the castration anxiety here.

This comment, written by "Sarah," didn't make me roll my eyes like the first two did:

The crowd reaction is telling of how very uncomfortable Rape makes our society. The laughs, often interpreted as a sign of anxiety/discomfort by those working with trauma survivors, from people in the audience only backs up the assertion that MAAG (performed in this way) is very effective and disturbing. Tori made her point, and I have never seen performance art effect an audience in such a visceral way. The very literal, sexual, angry way she chose to portray the act of rape and residual effect startled me. The image of knife as penis and stabbing penetration was so shocking that I first felt assaulted/insulted. The gun and the sense of rage turned on herself and then the audience. Channeling rage into performance art.

Here's a comment from "Noah," who, thankfully, does not bring up castration anxieties/fantasies like a few of those who commented before him:

Me and a Gun recontextualized as Pip killing the rapist was so freaking brilliant; I think what people were freaked out about was the performance had not a hint of irony behind it. She was in the moment and fully committed to the character. It was a brilliant and weird moment of pop/performance art that I’m so honored to have seen live.

Perhaps this performance was meant as a commentary on the eroticization of domination and pain--something that particular media forms in our culture (ie: mainstream pornography) seem to be, for the most part, predicated upon. With that in mind (and I'm just guessing, so my interpretation may be totally false), I do not understand the audience's screaming and catcalling and wooohooo-ing. As "Sarah" commented, maybe they didn't know how to react. In my view, that is a problem.

Blogulars!

I know I haven't posted for more than a month. I have to think about what to post.

Until then, enjoy Mattilda's amazing post on "feminism and faggotry."

Words cannot describe how much I love Mattilda's blog, seriously.

It *IS* That Serious: Notes on a Fibro Attack

Note: This is my first post since one of my dogs, Frank, died last week, so if I seem less articulate (or possibly angrier) than usual, that is why. RIP, Frank.

Right now, I am weighing the pros and cons of a.) going back to bed; or, b.) attempting to take a bath, which may make me more exhausted than I already am, though it may also bring a few minutes of relief from physical pain.

Most people do not have to make this sort of choice. Some, when confronted with the fact that a friend, or acquaintance, or relative has an "invisible" disease or disability, may think or say something to the effect of, "Oh, it can't be *that* serious. All she/he has to do is get out of bed/think positively/lose weight/stop consuming dairy products/et cetera." To someone who has never experienced having a chronic health condition, it sometimes doesn't look that bad. The average person may think, Well, if I had that, I would do x, y and z differently, and then I would get better. Why Jane or John isn't doing x, y or z is beyond me! The average person may think they know the key to "getting better."

What I am about to say is harsh, but, as noted scholar Robert Jensen says, the truth can be very painful.

If you think you know how to "beat" chronic illness and you do not have a chronic illness or medical training in the field, you do not know shit.

I had great plans for today. I was planning to wake up early, take my little Yorkshire Terrier for a nice long walk so that he could spread individual droplets of pee on as many trees as possible, and then I would spend the rest of the day writing, but only one of those things happened. I took Winston on an abridged walk and then returned to my apartment, exhausted.

I then slept for most of the day. This was not what I had planned. I was feeling bad yesterday--fatigue and back spasms--so I had a bit of warning, but I was completely unprepared for the backache-that-somehow-got-worse-and-turned-into-a-sinus-headache extravaganza. Some of the time, I have "warning" signs that come before an attack: intense joint and muscle pain, fatigue that affects nearly everything I do, pain in odd places such as my temples, foot arches, or heels. Some of the time, I do not have these signs and, as a result, am promptly knocked upon my startled ass for yet another round.

So today, here is where I am: I cannot finish anything--be it a cartoon drawing about having an attack, lunch, or making an iTunes playlist. Indeed, writing this post has taken over an hour and a half (I can usually crank one out in less than 45 minutes). My head feels like it's been stuffed with that material used to make copper dish-scrubbing sponges, and Sudafed has yet to make a pill with codeine in it, so I'm stuck. My feet are both sore and restless, and I don't know whether I should soak them to get rid of the first symptom, or dance around like a maniac to get rid of the second.

To employ additional metaphor at this point in order to describe the fatigue, hand, arm and back pain would be a good strategy, but how does one describe incredible pain?

I suppose, then, that it would be best to draw a comparison by invoking one of the great classics of modern film, and that film is Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. The final twenty or so minutes of that film are what I think of whenever I say the words "Fibro attack." In the film, the astronaut, Bowman, travels across time and space, where, finally, he witnesses his own process of aging and eventual death. Though the final frames of the film (where he is reborn) seem full of hope, there are certain words that come to my mind when I think of this sequence. Alienation. Loneliness. Bowman is literally trapped--he must go through the process of wandering time and space alone, until he witnesses his own pain and decay. Someone who has a chronic illness must go through something similar; while we may not transcend the boundaries and rules of space and time, illness is a solitary thing. Unless you have a parasitic twin attached, it is unlikely that anyone will be able to intimately know what your experience is like--both in the physical and emotional sense.

That is precisely what can be so frustrating about illness: it is solitary, it is painful, and there is no polite way to explain to well-meaning, non-ill people that it really can be that serious.

The Dreaded Co-Mingling of LJ and This Blog

MY THOUGHTS ON FAT, LET ME SHOW YOU THEM.

And if you feel the need to apologize for your not-that-clever post title in order to save your own ass, chances are that you perhaps shouldn't title your post "Listen up lardbutts" (sic).

I thought part of the purpose of higher education was to help people develop critical thinking skills so that they could, in addition to other things, question their own assumptions [including all those assumptions about fat people!], but maybe not. Also: Fat March is not exactly representative of the health state of, like, every single fat person in America [and yes, I have watched the show].

The afforementioned post demonstrates exactly why I agree with Kate Harding when she points out that "shaming teh fatties for being “unhealthy” doesn’t fucking help" [source]. That is what this person, though they may have good intentions, is doing in the afforementioned Livejournal post.

Don't Forget: We Still Haven't Found Osama!

Here is a list of 9/11-related things that I would prefer to never see again:

--People insisting that 9/11 affected all Americans "equally"
--Miniature American flags being waved by "patriotic" Americans
--Right-wingers politicizing 9/11, while accusing the left of doing the same
--Any speech that contains the phrase, "September 11th was a day that united us all as Americans..."
--George W. Bush grandstanding and pulling yet another rationale out of his ass for why we need to remain in Iraq
--Loose Change or whatever that damn conspiracy theory documentary was called
--9/11-related t-shirts, commemorative plates, or tattoos. Because wearing a "patriotic reminder" of a national tragedy and/or displaying such a thing in your home or on your skin is fucking tacky, especially if you're from some podunk town somewhere and did not lose a friend or family member on 9/11, and is pretty insulting to, y'know, people who actually lost someone or were actually there.

More Recommended Reading!

Magniloquence at Feline Formal Shorts has a fantastic series of posts entitled Race Relations 101. Go read 'em, seriously, especially if you, like myself, fall under the "somewhat clueless white person" category**.

**NOT reverse racism. I don't even want to hear that shit, so any comments that accuse me of being racist or whatever will be deleted, or posted here and mercilessly mocked.