Denim Day

A little while ago I was outside, after dark, and a man I did not know started to walk behind me. Instantly all the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I started fingering my keys and thinking of how I could cause the most damage if he tried anything. I started paying attention to where the lights were. I wondered if anyone would here my scream. My eyes kept drifting to the forested area next to me, calculating how quickly I could be dragged behind a bush. Wondering that if anything happened and someone walked by, would they even help?

You know what he was probably thinking? How it was so cold outside, and he couldn't wait to get home. How his professor assigned way to much reading. Something normal, something safe.

This isn't the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last. I don't think this is even an example of me being neurotic. This is normal. Worse than that, this is what responsible women are supposed to do. Because rape is just a women's issue, a women's problem.

I hate that I feel like I'm supposed to obey all these rules to be safe. If I just don't wear anything sexy, or go out alone at night, or a thousand other things, then I'll be safe. If I break one of them, just one, then I deserve anything that happens to me, I'm somehow complicit in the acts of another. I hate that most of the rules don't matter. They're comforting lies we tell, because so want to believe that we can somehow control the actions of others, and thereby stay safe. We want that so much we are willing to blame people when someone chooses to do something horrible to them. Even the way we say it, "she got raped" (like she caught a cold or something) instead of "a man raped her" takes the focus away from the person that actually caused rape. Mistakes were made, but not by him.


Part of the reason we focus on the woman who is raped and not the man who rapes, is that we don't want to acknowledge that rapists are not just scary men in the bushes. The fact is, I probably know someone who is a rapist, and so do you. It's a terrifying thing to acknowledge that rapists are ordinary people. Its easier to blame someone for not playing by the rules than to face up to that reality.

Unfortunately, none of that actually fixes anything. It may make us feel safe, but if anything believing those lies makes us less safe because it takes our focus away from the actual problem. If we actually want to stop rape, we need to start focusing on the people who rape, and the culture that allows them to.

Walking alone does not cause rape. Clothing does not cause rape. Rapists cause rape.

What if instead of teaching women how not to be raped, we taught men not to rape? What if men had even a portion of the fear of raping someone as most women do of being raped? People talk about how so many women cry rape. (It does happen, and it's wrong when it does. It's also very rare.) I wonder what would happen if men were afraid of doing something because it would make them seem rapey?  What if we stopped assuming that women were sexually available so long as they didn't make it crystal clear that they weren't? What if we didn't teach that no means no, but that yes means yes?

I hate that being scared is the normal and responsible norm for so many women. I hate knowing that someone could do something to me, and I would get blamed for it. I hate that as a society we support rape with our silence and our willingness to willfully ignore it just because perversely it makes us feel safer. I hate that we look at the victim and not the perpetrator because it makes us more comfortable. I hate that all of this just supports rape. Most of all I hate that because I have a vagina, stepping outside can be like entering a war zone. There is no reason I shouldn't be able to go outside at night.

Today is Denim Day, when denim is worn to raise awareness about sexual assault, inspired by a woman who was raped while wearing tight jeans, whose rapist was acquitted because a judge felt that because she was wearing tight jeans she must have helped to take them off, so it couldn't have been rape. It's a good way of expressing solidarity and raising awareness. Good goals, but honestly I think that so long as rape is seen as a women's issue, focused on what we can do to not be raped rather than changing what actually causes and supports rape, not much will change.

Beware the water (and the lawyers)

Earlier today I was flooded with e-mails and text messages keeping me apprised of the terrifying menace threatening the law school.We warned under no circumstances to drink, touch, smell or being in vicinity of the oh so dangerous water, which had accidentally received slightly higher than advisable levels of chlorine at the treatment plant and was now rampaging through our pipes, eager to inflict untold pain and suffering on those of us with sensitive skin who might experience slight irritation. In addition to the flurry of electronic communication, giant, scary warning signs were hung over every drinking fountain, sink or an other possible place the water could be lurking. At about 4 we received another flurry of communication, triumphantly heralding that the danger was gone, the ban was lifted. Mostly because they found there had never been much danger to begin with, but they still seemed very excited to get the news out.

When I got home I asked Zach how they had dealt with the chlorine catastrophe on main campus and received a blank stare. He vaguely remembered some little sign, but that was it. Mind you, the water and the "danger" was essentially the same in each location. The only difference is that one of us was in a building teaming with lawyers, and the other got to be around normal people.

You know all the supposedly frivolous lawsuits that you hear so much about? I'm starting to think that's just because lawyers slowly go insane, seeing hallucinations of law suits around every corner. Something about the long nights in the library or the endless case reading, or maybe even the unnatural exposure to suits warps us, forever keeping our brains in a state of permanent paranoia. It's not our fault. It's just in the water.

So, I just finished giving a presentation where I was supposedly defending my policy proposal paper. The only problem being, I never really knew what the policy I was proposing was. I started the assignment with a fuzzy idea, and just assumed that as I went on doing the research I would eventually figure out something coherent. I never really did. Trying to persuade people to support an idea that doesn't exactly exist is a little awkward. Still, I managed to use my powers of vague platitudes, important sounding words and general misdirection at least somewhat effectively. A few people complimented me afterward, which either means I did well or that they're just nice. I figure one way I regain my confidence in myself and the other affirms me faith in humanity, so either way, it's a win.

Negative and Positive

Positive: After a decent heatwave, my building finally switched over from heat to air conditioning.

Negative: To switch over, the maintenance people have to come into the apartments. Which they do, in the morning, on days when I was planning on sleeping in. Which means I was barely conscious when they knocked once, and then started to unlock the door which is about three feet away from my bed, where I've been sleeping in attire that is appropriate for the heat, but not to be seen by other people.

Positive: I managed to get my bra-less, indecent self into the kitchen and behind closed doors before they could get the door open. (Leaving poor Zach to fumble for his robe and be the polite person.)

Negative: A tiny, in need of a good cleaning, kitchen is not the best place to hang out bleary eyed while strangers bang around in the habitable part of the apartment.

Positive: I got a bright and early start to my day.

Negative: I got a bright and early start to my day.

New Moon. Meh.

So Zach and I finally got around to watching an online, pirated version of New Moon tonight. I have to say, I'm very disappointed. No, it wasn't my inner feminist dying a little. Sure, the series deserves almost every criticism about over-controlling boyfriends, severe low self-esteem and general creepiness that it gets. But, truth be told, I kind of like the books, so long as I can avoid thinking about them. My disappointment didn't even stem from Edwards painted on abs after a movie of hot, half-naked, underaged flesh.

No, I'm just disappointed that it wasn't nearly as outrageously, hilariously, emotionally overwrought as the first one. Oh, the drama and extreme statements of undying love and general teenage inanity was just delicious. I had such a fun time laughing and mocking at the first one, I was expecting similar joys from this installment. Sure, there were a few good lines, and mist/halucination Edward was kind of amusing. But overall, it was just dull. Honestly, I don't know how they managed. I've read the book a few more times than I'm willing to admit, they had so much material that they wouldn't have to make any effort to camp it up. Instead I'm stuck with a few wooden, "oh I'm so dangerous and bad" and "but I can't live without you" and that was pretty much it.

Come on guys, the whole point of the movie is the teenage drama. Honestly, I can remember being a teenager (because at 22 it was so long ago...) and I was much more entertainingly, dramatically emotional. She stumbled around a forest and laid down for a bit after her boyfriend dumped her? Come on, I got in some very loud sobs, maybe even a foot stamp or two and some ripped up photographs over my teenage heartbreak, and he wasn't even that hot, not to mention utterly lacking any superpowers. Of course, he never hinted at killing me or killing himself, so that was nice.

Oh Twilight, if you can't even give me good, teenage melodrama, you really don't have anything to offer.

My (imaginary and hypothetical) puppy

I have no idea how all the city folk around us manage to stuff them into their itsy-bitsy apartments, but especially in the Spring our neighborhood abounds with dogs happily meandering around, pulling their people on leashes. Little corgies with their goofy grins, big dogs with their giant tongues flopping out, over excited Golden Retrievers looking up with their big eyes, silently pleading to be let free to chase the mocking squirrels. I'm an unabashed dog person, I always light up when I see one, and every time I come across a particularly friendly job who trots over and tries to jump up, I like to think that maybe they like me too.

Someday, the happy little puppy dragging me out into the sunshine will be a little Nordic Spitz like this one, with its perky fox ears and perfectly curled tail. They're just the right size - small enough to be indoors, curling up with me in a cozy chair, but still big enough to romp and play with. I'll name the puppy something from Norse mythology, so that saying his/her name would be as much fun as being at Ikea. When I come home, Thor/Freya will be ecstatic to see me, barking and jumping excitedly, glued to my side for the next 20 minutes. When we go to the park, we'll play until I slump exhausted, with a little puppy nose nudging me up for one more toss of the ball.

I'm sure I'm over romanticizing the life of a dog owner, ignoring all the chewed up pillows and sleepless nights with a dog that will not stop whining. But then I remember that for now, the only Dog I have is imaginary, and by golly, if it can't be real, you better believe I'm going to bask in the unrealistic perfection.

Getting reacquainted with reading

Just as I was starting to get the hang of things, this semester has started to wind down. One more week of classes, a week of reading days, two weeks of finals and then it is officially summer. Just knowing how close it is almost makes all the stress of finals and papers melt away. Even if I (hopefully) get a job and stay busy, summer just feels so freeing.

I think the first thing I am going to do is read. I never thought it would happen to me, the girl who used to stay up until the wee hours of the morning trying to read just a little longer by the dim glow of a nightlight, who lived across the street from a library and made full use of it, who always had a paperback in her purse. I can look at every book on my shelf and remember when I first picked them up and made them a part of me. But somehow, I've stopped reading real books. I still pick one up every now and again, but usually after a day of text books and even my beloved blog habit, I'm read out.

I miss reading. Earlier one of my favorite books caught my eye and drew me over to the bookshelf. As my hands flipped through the soft well worn pages, old book smell wafting in the air, I remembered just how good it felt to loose myself in its pages, happily living in another world for that beautiful moment. I love television, movies and whatnot, but books have such a great active quality, your forced to become a part of them. Some people find that exercising, camping or what not cleanses their soul. That's what reading is for me. I come out of a good book completely refreshed. I'm genuinely, noticeably happier when books are an active part of my life. I'm looking forward to getting reacquainted with reading this summer.

I'll probably go for an old literary friend for my re-introduction to the written word, but I'm also looking forward to some new reads. Any great recommendations?