So long

Hi friends. As you can probably tell, I have been very relaxed on my posting here for the last few years. My work as an actor and a playwright has really taken over (which is a great thing!) and so I am going to put this little blog of mine to bed. I will still post on feminism and pop culture over at my other blog, alixsobler.com, where I also post about the current happenings in my career and life.

Thanks to everyone who read and supported this endeavour over the years! I hope some engaged people still come by and check it out when working on their feminist weddings and marriages.

7 female playwrights have new plays being produced this year in Winnipeg. Here's why you should care.

I recently had the pleasure to be a part of a news cycle that acknowledged an incredible development. In the 2013/2014 season,  there are seven new plays written by female playwrights being produced in theatres throughout the city.

I wanted to take a moment to reflect on my personal, and our collective good fortune, and maybe write a note as to why this is such an important turn of events, not only for the seven women involved, but for the whole community.

1) Seven new plays in one season, is, in itself, a remarkable feat. These are not self-produced, festival attached, small productions (not that there would be any shame if they were). These are all Equity theatres. Anyone who works in the theatre can tell you that new plays are incredibly hard to get produced, so the number is impressive no matter who has written them.

2) Of the plays produced in theatres throughout North America, the number written by women ranges anywhere from 12% - 20% , depending on where you are. Even at the high end, this is a pitiful representation of the number of women who are writing plays which is, as you probably guessed, abut 50% (based on numbers of secondary and post-secondary grads). Individual artistic directors that I know are certainly doing their part to try to overturn that statistic, and this is a good example of that coming to fruition.

3) If you have a daughter, this is really important. As a kid, teen, and even as an adult, it is important to see women doing the things you are interested in doing. The truth is, women are more likely to tell stories that revolve around, or equally involve women. It is vitally important that women are not only seen as love interests, supporting characters, inspirational motivators or sexual conquests. Female protagonists will help girls and women feel more a part of the whole of person-kind, their stories as important, their struggles as legit.

4) If you have a son, this is equally important. I am sure you are raising your son to be a feminist ally, and to respect all people and see no difference between female and male artists, but unfortunately, you are not the only influence in your son's life. In fact, after a very short period of time, you are not even the strongest influence. The more women's stories are absorbed into popular culture, the healthier everyone's attitudes will be.

5) If you like any kind of entertainment at all, this is a big deal. Not a huge theatre person? Maybe you like movies or television or music or books....guess what? Gender bias is pervasive in all these arenas. The only thing that will change that bias is by all of us changing it. This kind of development is important to all art forms and all forms of expression. The more we see it one area, the more likely we are to see in on others.

There are lots of other reasons why this is an awesome turn of events, not the least of which is you are going to see some amazing theatre because of it. 

If you want to follow the happenings of these great lady playwrights, become a fan of the Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/Theatre.Winnipeg

Life as a Woman: My brush with street harassment

I usually use this space to reflect on pop-culture or my opinions on contemporary feminism. But today I am sharing a story of an experience that I had that directly affected me as a woman.

WARNING: The following post contains very graphic language and a very pissed off feminist.

I was standing on the street in the Exchange district with some friends this past Saturday night enjoying the Winnipeg Fringe Festival.  (If you don’t know of it, it’s awesome. Find out more here). Anyway, the square was packed with loads of people, live music was on the stage and a grand time was being had by all, for the most part.  I was chatting with a work friend, and some ladies she had come with to see a show and because of the loud music and huge crowd it was already a bit hard to hear each other.  After a few minutes of standing there we were approached by a group of four or five young men, I would guess mid to late twenties. One of them was wearing a chicken suit.  They immediately interrupted our conversation by bursting in with a boisterous, “Hello Ladies! Out on the town tonight?” trying to suddenly chat up the women I had been in conversation with up to that very second. Chicken Dude in the meantime,  made eye contact with me and gleefully said, “Want to see my little cock?”

I looked around at the interrupted group and responded with, “What the fuck is going on here? Can you go away?”

I don’t think it was the response they were expecting.

They were still amused by our presence there for some reason, but they seemed shocked that I would speak to them that way. And instead of apologize and walk away, instead of roll their eyes at me and walk away, instead of saying, “Fuck you lady” and walk away (all, including the latter, I would have preferred to what actually followed), they stuck it out.

Never mind that they came out of nowhere and demanded our attention, they seemed legitimately surprised when I a) didn’t feel like humouring them and b) wasn’t particularly polite about it. “Whoa! Whoa! Relax! You don’t have to be rude! What’s wrong with you?” And so on and so forth.

Clinging to his HILARIOUS bit, Chicken dude pulled out a tiny plastic rooster. His ‘LITTLE COCK’ I presume.

GIVE ME A SECOND WHILE I DIE LAUGHING.

 OK, I’m back. And just as irritated as I was before.

“OK, OK, ha ha. I get it. Can you seriously go now?”

But oh no, they were in it, to win it (the former “it” being my face, and the latter "it" being, what? My approval, I guess.) They explained to me that it was Chicken Dude’s bachelor party, and that they were celebrating his upcoming nuptials by getting drunk and harassing women on the street  out on the town and making him do silly things.

“You’re too grumpy,” the Leader of the Pack informed me. “Is that right?” I asked. “Yeah, you should chill out. Stop being grumpy.” 

“Well,” said I with a smile, “I’m standing here with my friends and I’ll be whatever the fuck I want to be.”

And here’s what’s weird: at this point, despite the exchange of words, the interaction had taken a turn from hostile, to neutral, and was teetering on friendly. It seemed like they were gearing up to walk away, and my spidey senses that had alerted me to their presence were wearing off. For a moment I thought, well, maybe it’s no big deal after all. Maybe they’re just out enjoying the fringe.

Which was the precise moment that one of them stuck his finger up my ass.

Just to paint the picture and so people don’t start calling the cops, I was wearing jeans, and it was an outside the clothes poke. No skin touched. But somehow, in the moment, that didn’t provide me with much comfort.

"WHAT. THE FUCK. DID YOU JUST DO?" A voice said. A rumbling, deep, fire laden, hell-cloaked voice that came from inside me.

"This guy just touched me! He stuck his finger up my ass! Do you understand that you just assaulted me on the street? Do you know that I could call the cops right now? This just went from barely cute, to majorly fucked up, and you had better WALK THE FUCK AWAY RIGHT NOW."

To which they all looked really scared and apologetic. One of them took the offender by the shoulders and pulled him away which the other said, "Oh my god, I am so sorry. He's really drunk. I am so sorry he did that. I hope the rest of your night is really nice."

Oh no wait. That's what happened a world called "Appropriate responses from decent dudes who occasionally cross a line but know how to be human beings about it." In the world known as "Downtown Winnipeg" this past Saturday night, here's what really happened after I lost my shit:

For a moment they all looked at me with dense eyes. "Whaa?

ME: You're friend just touched me.

LEADER OF THE PACK: So?

ME: So? So he fucking touched me! That's assault! You just assaulted a woman on the street!

FINGERER: (Sarcastically) Yeah. Yeah I assaulted a woman on the street.

ME: But...you did! You need to go away! Now! Leave.

(All the men stand there.)

ME: Why aren't you leaving?

(This goes on for several minutes. They play dumb. I angrily explain dropping many F bombs. Finally, from what seemed like boredom, the Fingerer and another guy wander away, in absolutely no rush,  leaving me with Chicken Dude and Leader of the Pack, the latter whom starts STOKING MY ARM)

LEADER OF THE PACK: (Trying to touch my arm) Why don't you just relax, baby?

ME: (Pulling away) What the fuck did you just say?

LEADER OF THE PACK:  You need to chill out.

ME: I need to chill out? You're friend just touched me on the ass!

LEADER OF THE PACK: I don't know that he did.

ME: Um, well, I am telling you that he did.

LEADER OF THE PACK: He was just kidding.

At which point my head exploded and angry feminist brains rained down on all.



No, to be totally honest, I was so fucking pissed off at this point, I am not even totally sure what happened. Eventually they sort of wandered away. I yelled after them to Chicken Dude: "I feel sorry for your fiancé!" To which he made a big show of being offended my and stepping up to me. But his chivalrous friends pulled him away. This is where they stepped in!

I would like to find his fiancé out there trying to enjoy an evening with friends and shove my finger up her unsuspecting ass. See what he has to say about that. Oh no wait, I wouldn't because a) ew and b) I'm a normal human being who doesn't treat other humane beings like (literal) puppets for my amusement no matter how drunk, rowdy or engaged I get.

And here's the thing that really, really, really bugged me about the whole event. It wasn't the obnoxious way they invaded our space immediately upon showing up. It wasn't the way they tried to make me feel like it was my fault that I didn't enjoy their playful little game that at no point had I opted to play, and it wasn't even some entitled, drunk, frankly gross douche bag violating my body on the street. It was how totally powerless I felt when, while standing up to him, I explained what he had done, I stood up for myself, and yet he and the "men" around him didn't fucking care. They didn't care that he had touched me without any consent. They didn't care that I was offended, hurt, enraged. They didn't care that I was screaming in their faces and threatening to call the cops. I didn't matter one fucking bit. It was irritating to them when I didn't laugh at their jokes. I possessed holes they found mildly amusing. I made noise when you pressed certain buttons. That was it. I had never felt so inconsequential and dehumanized in my entire life.

And if I can feel this way after one, tiny violation of my personal space that lasted three seconds, I can only have nightmares about what it must be like for sexual assault and rape survivors who have their stories questioned and ridiculed. What a fucked up fucking world.

Where my girls at?

When I got cast in Margaret Atwood's The Penelopiad,  I couldn't have been more thrilled. Atwood is one of my favourite writers and her work has always spoken to me on a feminist wave-length. Even better, I thought, was the fact that the cast was made up of 11 local women, playing all the parts from the maids, to ducks to flowers, to rapists. What an interesting concept and challenging work it would be.

So I found it interesting that whenever I would describe this upcoming project, people would cringe and look at me with pity. "11 women? That is gonna be hard." And stranger than that, looking back, was my reaction. "Yeah, I know." I would say with a shrug of my shoulders. "We'll see."

Did I think it would be a problem, really, in my heart of hearts? I'm not sure. I can barely remember now. I did go to an all-girls camp for 5 summers as a kid. And with a few exceptions (allowed for sharing living quarters and the follies of adolescence) it was an idyllic experience, untainted by the pressure of dating or the pain of unrequited love. I have such wonderful girlfriends all over the world, many of them in the theatre, why would I assume that this experience would be any different?

But I allowed myself to. Or I played along. I agreed with people's unfair assumption that a gaggle of women in the same room can only lead to fighting or pettiness or competition, or whatever it was that people were referring to. I bet they couldn't even tell you what they were expecting. It's a knee-jerk reaction. "Oy vey, a bunch of women? Look out!"

And with a cast of 11 and a creative and management staff of almost all women (one man, the lighting designer) it was an unusual situation. But as it turned out, it was a remarkable experience, unusual in all the best ways, and it makes me ashamed that I entertained the idea that it would likely be anything else.

A few Peleopiad-ers modeling our new MTC sweatshirts.

From the very first day the room was filled with humour, positivity, excitement and an unbelievable breadth of talent. We all got along because we were professionals there to do a job. But pretty quickly we realized we were more that just working together...we liked each other. It never dissolved into the competitive bitching I was warned of...not even close. These ladies were supportive and encouraging and humble.  There were no nervous breakdowns or freak-outs at rehearsal. We were led by a supremely confident, competent woman, replete with vision and creativity and a butt-load of hilarious stories. Everyone pulled their weight, and when someone needed carrying, we did that too. I formed friendships that I am confident will last, and I learned from my director and fellow actresses in an environment unfettered by male egos or male attention.

It's a lesson to remember. We can't let a preconceived notion of how females interact predispose us to cattiness. It's an idea designed to keep us down. To promote the concept that girls aren't cool. That we can't be friends with other girls. It's an idea that reinforces the image of women as children who need to be policed, or beings that exist only in relation to the men in their lives. And without those men, well look out!

I call bullshit. Who came up with this idea that women can't get along, and why do we let it persist? Perhaps it is derived from a time when a woman was expected to view all other women as competition for male attention. Perhaps it is reinforced by reality television and the portrayal of women as conniving backstabbing gold-diggers. Perhaps it is a male fantasy that such a situation can end no other way but cat fights and name calling (with either jello or mud involved.) Or perhaps it is a fallacy emerging from a very real fear of just what women might be capable of if we see each other as the powerful allies I know we can be. A fear that empowered and befriended, women united might just take over the world.

Well it's true. Without men, look out! Women can be more than you ever thought possible, male chauvinist world.

I have seen enough to know it can be done. And I say, let it be done.

I was a teenage "friend-zone" victim

There are a lot of fascinating things about the tumblr blog Nice Guys of OK Cupid. Whether you think it is a cruel, troll-driven exercise in schadenfreude, or a clever, simple take down exposing some dark strands of misogyny and narcissism, there's no denying it's just a really clever idea. Social media and dating sites have coaxed us (especially the younger generations who don't remember the time before) to post our pictures and intimate thoughts in the public domain. There is almost no editorializing and very little speculation. NGOOKC is simply taking people at their own word, and it is usually, enough. 

 

http://niceguysofokc.tumblr.com/image/39594094455

The whole "girls like assholes" and "nice-guys can't catch a break" sentiment is so enraging and blatantly ridiculous I can't even spend any time breaking that phenomenon down (not today anyway, no promises for the future) but the thing that really make me go "hmm" is the whole "friend-zone" lament.

Intellectually I know that the "friend-zoned" concept is problematic, and not only in the case of our "rape ambivalent" friend above. (You guys, he's such a hopeless romantic!) The "friend-zone" implies for men every relationship with a woman is a journey toward sex, that getting "stuck in the friend-zone" means that their ultimate goal was thwarted. Not only are they disappointed that this friend doesn't want to have sex with them, but they are angry, in some cases, really angry that they have somehow been "duped" into being friends with a woman, "conned" into being there for her, with absolutely no sexual reward! Bum-mer!

Yeah, yeah I know that none of that is cool. But here's the thing...I kind of feel like I spent some time being "friend-zoned" myself, and this NGOOKC thing has sent me on a soul search of how my experience in the "friend-zone" is different from the sad, misguided Misogynists Nice Guys of OK Cupid.

Me, freshman year. That's a Stussy cap by my feet.

In high school,  I wasn't what you would call an instant hit with the fellas. I mean, I had a sense that I had a lot to offer...I was funny, smart, there was even a pretty face beneath some of the baby chub (that still hung on until I was about 17) and I had an active sexual imagination. (yep, girls have those too!) But I found myself stuck in the "friend-zone" pretty often. For me, that meant I was often "in love" with my male best friend. Keep in mind, we were not already best friends like Keith and Watts. I didn't wake up one day and I realize I was in love. We became best friends because I thought I was in love and it was the only way I knew how to get close to someone. I spent a lot of time pining away over these boys, cultivating a weird, drama-fraught friendship because some attention was better than none.  They weren't way out of my league or anything (I'm not sure I even really believe in "leagues" to be honest, but for the sake of clarity I will use the trope), they were mostly nerdy like me. But they usually had girlfriends throughout, and THEY KNEW I was in love with them most of the time. They completely played into it, as I imagine it was pretty flattering, and on some level they did like me. So if I was friends with them in the hopes of getting into their pants, and they were "leading me on" in some way even though they had no intention of dating me and were involved with other people, how am I different from the poor saps of NGOOKC?

Well, maybe I'm not. Maybe I was just as angry and bitter and the time but didn't have a public forum in the same way to air my grievances. But I don't think so. Here are a few important differences between my experience in the "friend-zone" and what it seems like these guys are experiencing.

1) I wasn't angry with the objects of my affection.  Frustrated sometimes, confused at others, but I don't remember feeling angry at them, because I understood they didn't owe me anything. They liked me as a friend, that's all. It made me sad, and resulted in some pathetic poetry, but I didn't blame them for ruining anything because I understood that it wasn't all about me, but the result of many circumstances beyond my control.

2) I didn't think the girls they chose were bitches, or assholes, or that I was better than them. Did it bug me when they like thinner, prettier, quieter girls instead of me? You're damn right it did. But it didn't make me angry at them, or the other girls for that matter. If anything, it was a pain I internalized and turned on myself. Of course they liked girls who were prettier, thinner, more popular. Who wouldn't?  What bothered me was not that they chose them over me, but that I wasn't more like the girls they chose (btw, I am not saying this is a good option, merely pointing out how it was different that how NGOOKC process this experience.) Often it was the girlfriends who hated me, because even though she was supposed to be #1, for some reason their man kept me hanging around, confided in me, enjoyed my company. I imagine this was confusing and annoying to them.

3) I was still grateful and enjoyed their friendship. While there were peaks and valleys in those relationships, ultimately we were friends, and on the day to day, I had fun in those friendships.

4) I was a kid. We are talking experiences I had in High School and early college. By the time I hit 20, I was over it. I either moved on, or got over my sexual attractions where they weren't reciprocated to let a platonic friendship grow. To allow this shit to go on into your 20s and 30s is just indulgent. 

 As an adult looking back, I might have advised myself to branch out a bit. Spending a lot of time with someone who is never going to reciprocate your feelings is not a good idea. Not because you are never going to get laid and that is the ultimate goal, but because it might be distracting you from other possible friends and relationships. There may have been other boys that might have been interested in me that I didn't even notice because I was so focused on the drama of those friendships. But whatever. I was a kid, and I learned a lot and in the end we had a lot of good times together.

And maybe, just maybe, being "friend-zoned" might have actually been the best thing for me. I learned that friendships come in many forms, and that I could be close with a boy without any pressure of sex. I never felt insecure in terms of "hanging with the guys" because that is what I was used to. I learned a lot about what guys were looking for in relationships by being on that end of things, and if I meet a man who doesn't want to sleep with me, it doesn't wreck my self esteem or make him a write-off.

Maybe me and the NGOOKC aren't so alike after all. And yes, the differences in our experience in the friend-zone is going to be inherently different and men and women. But I know a lot of men who have been in the friend-zone and came out the other side of it as normal, non-psychopaths, so I am sure it can be done. And for this reason it is important to examine, expose and even ridicule the guys on this site, because its not OK to take a basic human experience and turn it into a personal tragedy.

An Open Letter to Ben Stein, et al

Another year, another version of that obnoxious Frankenstein quote that people are so fond of posting. I hadn't thought about it since last December, but there it was in my Facebook feed again yesterday. Normally I would ignore the whole thing and move on with my life, but this year I am particularly offended by so much of what is in there. I had to pause, and pick a fight. 

Is it a feminist issue? Not explicitly. But I am a feminist and I have issues with it. So there you go.

Here'e the thing, it's not enough that the current posting of stupid Ben Stein's stupid face is predicated on the  myth that Obama decided the call the Christmas Trees in the White House "Holiday Trees" (spoiler alert: he didn't). Nor is it the point that this statement is not even really from Ben Stein but is actually a conglomeration of statements,  including elements from Anne Graham Lotz, daughter of Billy Graham. Forgetting then that this is built on a mountain of falsity (because hey, I am a fan of fiction) let us examine the content of this odious post.

BEN STEIN: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejewelled trees, Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are, Christmas trees.

Come on. Is this really a thing? Because you know what? I am with you on this. But really? Who is walking around threatened that people call Christmas Trees by their name? Who feels discriminated against because they're not called Holiday trees? I mean, listen I'm a Jew too. And every single one of my ancestors was Jewish too (I think anyway. Actually, now that I think of it, this is a ridiculous and un-provable claim to make, but whatevs.) And let me tell you, having grown up around Jews, nobody over the age of 11 cares all that much about being included in the whole tree thing. A lot people think its kind of stupid. And those that have trees in their house might call them holiday trees in their own home. What the fuck do you care?

It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, 'Merry Christmas' to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year.

Um...what? Actually, this shows that people assume that you celebrate the same holiday as they do. It shows that in fact, they have no interest or sensitivity to the fact that not only aren't you brothers and sisters, but that you come from a whole other line of people (all of your ancestors are JEWISH Ben!) and you DON'T celebrate Christmas. And gee, golly, gosh, shouldn't that be OK too?

The thing is, I really, truly, honestly don't care if people wish me Merry Christmas either, but not for this stupid, broke-ass reason. Life is hectic and busy, and maybe you don't know I'm a Jew from looking at me, and whatever, it's not like my skin melts when you wish me Merry Christmas. But it sure as hell doesn't make me feel closer to anyone. And thanks for speaking for all us Jews Ben! (Oh, but not. And like, not ever.) Because like you, I too never felt left out. I was lucky to grow up with a strong cultural identity, ties to the Jewish community and a family that surrounded me with holiday cheer about our own holiday (which you fail to mention once. It's called Hannukah. Here, I looked it up for you!) and an appreciation for other's holidays too. We went to see the Macy's windows. Then we went for chinese food. We went to the movies. Bam. Perfect. Jewish. Christmas.

But you know what? Not every Jew feels that way! (I bet not EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR ANCESTORS even felt that way.) Some Jews really struggle to feel a part of American culture, and for them, this time of year and its constant reminders of their "otherness" can be kind of a bummer.

And also, Ben, I don't want to upset you, but Christians and Jews are not the only people in America. There are people of many other religions and cultures who don't celebrate Christmas. People who might like to feel included in the holiday that dominates television, radio, the newspaper, the shopping mall, our work schedules, and everything else in our society for the entire month of December. 

And does wishing someone Happy Holidays or calling something a Holiday Tree really put someone out so much that they can't bear to do it? Does it really dillute your holiday experience so much. Because if so... that's just...pathetic. As John Stewart illustrated perfectly on the Daily Show Christmas is doing JUST FINE, so relax. I make room in my life (and my waistline) for endless Christmas parties, packed mall shopping, obligatory holiday gifts because I am living in America, and I partake in elements of popular culture, and it is often enjoyable. Is this tiny gesture to make room for me and others like me (or nothing like me) in our society really such a terrible sacrifice? Or is it in fact, the least you can do? LITERALLY?

Phew. Let's pause for a minute here to catch our breath.

OK, still with me? Because here is where (in this most recent version anyway) Billy Graham's daughter kicks into the conversation (although it is not clearly stated that way in the Facebook post). And I will state that if you thought I seemed pissed before....

In light of recent events... terrorist attacks, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found a few years ago) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK. Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school. The Bible says thou shalt not kill; thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.

What? I can't even...this is so...wow. There is so much here I am not sure where to begin. It's so obvious that the line "In light of recent events...terrorist attacks, school shootings etc." was tagged on either in this or a previous go around, considering that it is not even a sentence. But, that said, IN LIGHT OF RECENT EVENTS, HOLY SHIT, KEEP IT TO YOURSELF.

And then there's the dig at Madeleine Murray O'Hare and mentioning causally that she was murdered, as though one thing has anything to do with the other. And if you do think being an atheist will lead to your death (um, I don't remember hearing a lot about that from the Christians by the way. I mean, where you go after you die maybe, but actually hastening one's death?) what about all those atheists who live to 100? Or young Christians who die at 40 from cancer? What were they doing wrong in your estimation? Do I really have to point out this incredibly simplistic hypocrisy to you, you sanctimonious pricks?

Also I love this idea that because we're not reading the bible we don't know not to kill, steal etc. This is so absurd. If you fail to mention these basic rules to your kid because there is no bible reading going on, you are kind of shitty parent. Sorry (not sorry).

Also, that whole argument, "How can you be moral without God?" Ugh. I think the better question is, "Why do you need God to be moral?" Doesn't your stomach flip at the report of a murder? Doesn't your heart break when a child or animal is abused? Doesn't a bell go off in your head when you are doing something that will harm another person. Whether you believe in God or not, do you NEED him to tell you what you are doing is wrong? If so, check yourself. You might be a sociopath. 

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave, because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said okay.

WHAT. THE FUCK. DOES THIS HAVE TO DO. WITH CHRISTMAS TREES.  Also, as though it was Dr. Spock and him alone who decided spanking was bad, and not all of society and countless studies and years of proof that corporal punishment is a disaster. 

And by the way, his son did NOT commit suicide. Sensitive in bringing that up though. Maybe you want to go hang out with these guys. They too are all about sensitivity, appropriate responses, and loving thy neighbor.

OK, there's more but I think you get the point. This whole thing is just exhausting. And ironically, it is posts like this that make me, actually hate Christmas, when I wasn't feeling so angry about it before.

I might piss some people off with this one. But that's what I'm here to do, no?

Allow myself to (re)introduce myself

Hey friends and folks!

I have been gone so long. Did you miss me?

Don't answer that.

A couple of things have happened in the past couple of years. Some of them were really good! Some of them, not so good.

Anyway, allow me to take this opportunity to declare an early New Year's resolution: More blogging for this feminista!

I have decided to stop letting real life get in the way of my virtual life. Start spending more  time online, and stop letting quality time with loved ones stop me from having arguments with anonymous strangers. So back to the blogosphere!

I am thinking about changing  the name of my blog. Now that I am an old married lady, and will only be posting about feminist weddings along with myriad other feminist (and occasionally leftist agenda propoganda not directly related to feminism) is it unfair/unwise to keep the name Feminist Wedding?

Looking forward to your thoughts.

"Bridezilla" is an anti-feminist concept

In my many travels as a feminist bride, and in the several interviews I have done with reporters, it is inevitable to come across the notion of whether or not I consider myself better than those "Bridezillas" out there. You know, as a feminist, who has basically completely rejected the notion that my wedding was going to be about me as a bride, people assumed I would have a natural aversion to these monsterish, spoiled demanding brides with their faux tans, brazillian waxes and diamond studded veils, standing at the door of the chapel foaming at the mouth because the hydrangeas are the wrong shade of puce.

But while you might think my journey of self discovery would have put an even wider wedge between my and my tiara donning counterparts, that is not exactly what happened.

Look, its easy for me to make the case that my wedding day is not all about me, and not the most important day of my life (although I will say, it was one of the most FUN days of my life), but that is because I was raised to believe I would have many important successes and that finding a partner, while incredibly important, would not be defined by the day we made it official.

And even I, to whom getting married was not a main focus of my life, felt immense pressure when in the thick of it. When you have so many people coming to an event, when you know everyone is going to be looking at you, when you have some significant money invested (and lets be honest, its almost impossible to do it without that unless you are having a picnic in the woods, which sounds really nice, but comes with its own challenges I imagine)...basically, unless you are eloping, there is a lot of stress involved. And its hard to get help. Because a wedding is perceived as female territory (a designation both imposed on women, and by women), many men feel uninterested or uninvited to take part in the planning. Wedding planners and merchants make "once in a lifetime events" everyday of their lives, and a lot of them are terrible at making you feel like yours in anything special. Often there is strife between in-laws and parents and siblings and couples regarding the details and then there is the subtle, corrosive societal pressures that very few among us can ignore completely.

And in the middle of it, is a bride. A woman who is told that this is the most important day of her life, that she has to look perfect, be fit, have her makeup and hair just right. She has to have planned the perfect event, having thought of everyone, foreseen all details, and wear white no less! Can you imagine the pressure cooker situation this is for the average person who has never planned an event before, has no experience in public speaking or even posing for pictures? And when there are cracks, when a bride has an explosion, or makes demands, or get extra frustrated with uninvested parties, we turn around with shock and awe. "What a bitch!" We think. "A total Bridezilla."

Now, I am not above this gawking. I have seen the shows and looked at the pictures with disgust. But going through the wedding myself, and having a few borderline moments, I have a different feeling for these stressed out brides: Pity.

I just think as a society, its really unfair to teach a girl from the time she is born that her wedding day is the crowning acheivement, that it is a reflection of who she is and how well she has done in life, set up IMPOSSIBLE standards for her to reach economically, physically and emotionally, and then turn around and point and laugh in horror in what she becomes.

Not that some of them aren't horrible women, and would be detestable in any situation. But then why are we focusing on them on what might be one of the most stressful days of their life? "Peoplezillas" maybe. "Bridezillas"...I say no more.

A Prairie Chic Love Story

There was a sweet little article about our wedding in the most recent issue of Winnipeg Weddings.  You can find the spread with a whole bunch of pictures here:

weddingsinwinnipeg.ca/winnipeg

It's mostly the simple story of how we chose our clothes for the wedding and who made the centre pieces, and other really important things. But I was very pleased to see that they highlighted my quote, which I had written as advice to future brides:

“Plan your wedding together as a bride and groom. It’s so much fun to see a shared vision come to life.”

Looking back, I wish I had said, "Plan your wedding together as a couple", not "a bride and groom", because, obviously not everyone getting married is male and female. But aside from that, I think that despite the fact that I am still searching, discovering and on some level, still making peace with weddings and marriage in general, I can say honestly that this is the best lesson I have learned, and the most important tenet of the feminist wedding as far as I am concerned.

When a wedding (and by virtue, a marriage) is planned by the couple getting married, its a major step toward a true feminist wedding. It takes the pressure off of the bride, off of the idea that the day is somehow more about her. When a couple enters into a wedding and a marriage together, having planned and worked toward a common vision, it makes the day incredibly special, and true representation of two people's commitment to each other.

Somehow, in this day and age, this is still a novel idea to a lot of people. So I am glad I got to say it, especially in a mainstream wedding mag like Winnipeg Weddings.

A Sobler by any other name...just isn't a Sobler

Yo, I totally got married.

I can hardly believe it myself, but the husband and I had the weekend of our lives and I have a whole lot to write about regarding the successes and failures of my feminist wedding. Ironically, I expect to write more now on this subject than I did while planning the wedding, mostly because I will have more time, but also because I feel like I have gained some valuable perspective.

And if I was ever wondering whether I was going to keep this blog up after getting married (I didn't really, but still...) I opened up my Alumni Magazine to an enraging article about one woman's under-examined choice to take on her fiance's name.

I was meaning to write about the name change thing for a while, and so I am most excited to have this inspiration, negative as it may be.

You can find the article here, it's very short, and worth reading to gain context on what I am about to say.

I don't know Ms. Grose personally, and she is an editor at Slate, which is a well known site, so I would be interested at some point in engaging in an actual conversation an maybe even a debate on this subject...maybe give her an opportunity to further explore her decision to take her husband's name. Because from the content of this article one would have to assume she hasn't actually put much thought into it.

Look, people do it... a lot of friends of mine have done it, and despite my aversion to making that choice personally, I recognize that people have their reasons. Some people hate the idea of having family members with different names, like their kids and husband won't be readily tied to them. Maybe their life is now about being a wife and mother and so it only makes sense to adopt that identity. And I have spoken to some women who just like the tradition. Choosing which traditions to keep is obviously a woman's right, so far be it for me to judge that choice.

Blah, blah, blah. I can give an argument against all of the above reasons, but the bottom line is people have the right to make their own choice.

That said...

This article really rubbed me the wrong way. First of all, according to the writer, the ultimate reason she has chosen to take her husband's last name is it is "sweet decision". Wow. How thoughtful. I only take issue with this because she herself admits that she had never even considered changing her name. She claims her fiance was "upset" by this, but couldn't really articulate why. So rather than truly ask him to examine his motives and desires for her to give up a large part of her identity, they both shrug their shoulders at the question and decide to go with tradition. Ain't that sweet?

One of her friends, who had a most "un-traditional upbringing", whatever that means, made her case by...get this...surprising her.

"I think you should take his name." she said. "You didn't think I would say that, did you?" I didn't.

Well I don't know about you, but I'm convinced. This un-traditionally brought up friend goes on.

"I hate having a hyphenated name," she added. "And besides, I think it's sweet to take his name."

And that was what did it for our author. It was a "sweet" decision. Never mind that the history of the practice is steeped in property laws and ownership of women. And while the practice may no longer translate to complete submission and the forfeiting of your identity, the fact that it is no longer legally necessary makes one wonder...why is it so expected? When women full expect to maintain their identity after marriage, why is changing our last names such a given practice? And why is it that for someone that is not a given is so easily persuaded by the argument of "sweetness"? And sorry, but does that even mean?

In her essay, Ms. Grose touches upon two points that are almost passable, and would have certainly been a much more satisfying catalyst for a name change, at least for me. The most practical reason is that she has never liked her own last name. I have to concede, it's not the best one, and I am sure she took some abuse growing up. Her fiance's last name is a wonderfully WASPy Winton...a vanilla dream for someone who grew up with the last name pronounced "Gross".

The other argument that borders on intelligent in this article is one made by her friend. For many of us, our current last names are the names of our father's, not our mothers. And so maintaining that name is maintaining the patriarchy we were raised with. OK...

However, I do take issue with the idea she (through a "friend") asserts that "Technically, taking your husband's name is just as patriarchal as keeping your father's." We don't choose our given last names. Our parents choose for us. We re swept along in the patriarchy of our childhoods and upbringings whether we like it or not. But going on being who you are, and choosing to change your name to be the same as your husband's are simply not "the same" as the writer asserts. And anyway, you would hope that by the time you are getting married, you had established enough identity of your own that you are not merely going from someone's daughter to someone's wife.

I won't even get into the fact that at one point in her article someone questions "Is it really such a contentious issue anymore?" and she goes onto matter-of-factly state that it is not. As if now, as women, we've made our point with this whole hyphenating mess, and we can revert back to the way things were, because it doesn't matter what we do...everyone knows what we mean.

I really struggle with this issue because a lot of strong, smart, independent women I know have chosen to change their name, and so I know there is validity in it. But the masquerading of this article as an examination of this decision really irritated me. Not because she changed her name, but because I still don't understand why.

If I made the statement, "I am going to be Alix Sobler until I die," and my fiance looked upset by this, expressed that he expected me to take his name, and then couldn't articulate one reason why, I wouldn't be thinking so hard about whether I could change my name and still be myself. I would be taking a good look at the man I was about to marry, and asking "who the hell are you?"

The Bride's Big Day

I have always been strongly opposed to the idea that the day I get married will somehow be MY DAY. I don't believe a wedding should be all about a bride, for so many obvious reasons, and for a few not so obvious reasons as well. It's not as though the commitment of one's life is bigger for a bride than a groom. They are also dressed to kill and have a lot riding on the success and failures of the day. Not to mention the rest of the family, parents and in-laws and siblings...and very dear friends who (in our case) will be traveling from all over the world to share this experience. I have always believed that if anything, it is a shared day, one that is a collective effort and a collective experience.

But I have gotten into a bit of trouble with that way of thinking. When you start taking everyone's feelings and importance into consideration, you tend to have a whole lot of cooks in the kitchen. And you may be marrying into someone's family, but it doesn't mean you will have have the same taste, or sensibility, and sometimes those decisions get really hard to make when you start "sharing" your day with all the lunatics in your family.

Lately I have found myself feeling a little jealous of the brides who feel like this day is all about them. It would give me free reign to do what I want, plan the wedding I would love and say F you to all the demanders out there. Wow it would be so much easier!

Just a little mainstream dream from a feminist bride.

This Just In...

So my friend Lisa is getting married to my friend Andrew in February, and for Christmas A gave L the "reluctant bride" cake topper. In light of the horrifying cake toppers I have come across in my wedding research, I get a real kick out this. I won't be using it on my cake. But still. Awesome.

Dress to kill

True or false? I have purchased two wedding dresses.
True or false? Combined they cost under $1,000.
True or false? I have been feeling self-righteous and satisfied about that.
True or false? When I found out someone I knew bought a Claire Pettibone dress for her wedding, I went positively GREEN with jealousy.

TRUE.

I have been struggling over the whole wedding dress thing in one way or another since I decided to get married. Granted, I am a shopper, so the obsession over the dress was a predictable turn of events, but it goes beyond wanting to look nice at this point. I can't help but feel like I have succumbed to that ridiculous concept of what I will be wearing on the "most important day of my life."

Bullshit, the most important day of my life. An important day, and one when everyone will be looking at me sure, but I have never bought into the concept of the $5,000 wedding dress because somehow it's MY special day and I need to mark it by going into debt. I was determined to keep it to a decent price, and while I can't seem to pick one of the two I have (the loser will be on ebay, by the way) I think I have narrowed it down to two very lovely, sensibly priced, simple, white (a whole other story) dress.

So how come my eyes well up when I look at the Pettibone coutures?

Is it my socialization that forces me to dream of dressing myself like a fairy princess? Is it the romanticism of the designs that draw me in? They have the vintage appeal I have always wanted and was never able to really find. I am not sure what it is. But when I look at these dresses, and then think of the simple one I went with, I sometimes worry about how I will look wearing my principles, literally.

Not that my dress(es) is not lovely, and I am very lucky to have it (them). I know that.

Just having a realistic bridezilla moment. I am sure it will pass. Also, help me decide on shoes people. Heels or flats. (Keep in mind, the finace is 6'3").

BTW...Wedding plans have been majorly stalled as of late...due to an increasingly taxing schedule of work and rehearsal...I am currently directing feminist icon Carly Churchill's The Skriker. If you are in Winnipeg, come check it out.

The Invention of Lying...(and my Convention of Geschrei-ing)

For those of you who don't know, in Yiddish, a geschrei is a bellow or scream.

So here I am, complaining in a loud voice. As per use...

I am not intending to turn this blog into purely pop-culture commentary, but allow me to view a few things through the feminist wedding goggles. The fiance and I went to see The Invention of Lying, and interesting conversations ensued. Both of us are huge Ricky Gervais fans, and I truly believe that he is one of the great undiscovered acting talents of our time...everybody loves his comedy, but my man can actually act. Most great comedians can, but again, not widely recognized.

We really liked the movie, and it totally spoke to the moral atheist in both of us, as in "while I might not believe in god, I believe in the potential of people to be good and connected to something larger than themselves." So hooray.

BUT,

(as always I have a big but)

It must be at least noted that even in this world where short, pug-nosed, fatties manage to get the girl despite a scathing honesty that would have most of us curled in the fetal position for the duration of our lives, the fact remains that short, fat, pug-nosed ladies not only DON'T get to win, but they in fact DON'T EVEN EXIST.

Ricky Gervais and Louis C.K. and (for god's sake, really?) Jonah Freakin' Hill manage to find meaning in life, despite their slovenly appearances and dimwitted natures. And by the way, shame on you for your unwarranted sighs and dirty looks aimed at the chubby guys on the elevator (The whole movie reeked of "Well, you are thinking it, even if you're saying it. And really, isn't that just as bad?"). But look around this alternate truth telling Hollywood world; fat ugly chicks are nowhere to be found.

Imagine this movie with Rosie O'Donnel as the lead? Never happen. Even our funny ladies are the Cameron Diaz's and Jennifer Aniston's of the world. Its seems that unless you win the DNA lottery, YOU CAN'T TELL YOUR STORY. Not even as the funny girl. With the exception of Hairspray (1988), you never see the fat girl get the guy in a movie. And the only movie since Hairspray that went out on such a limb? The remake of Hairspray (2007). Think about it. Can you name another one? ONE MORE?! (OK, I can name one more: Babycakes, 1989, but I don't really count it because it was hardly a huge hit, and it was Ricki Lake again, and she is not the only fat girl in the world!)

There are exceptions, but let's face it, for the most part, average women are relegated to the cashiers and nurses and the occasional sidekick. It's not a cake walk for average men, but its not even close to what women face.

Maybe the Invention of Lying people were making an even larger statement that the odds are so stacked against the less "attractive" females, that in a world with no pleasantries or falsities, the less appealing of the gender would have died off generations ago. Somehow, I doubt it. I am sure upon a second viewing I would find some less-than-gorgeous-by-Hollywood-standards women in the background, filling up the bit parts. But my point is the same.

And consider this: for the overweight and/or far less than perfect women of the world, (and the truth is, most of us have been one at some point in our lives) we don't have to imagine an openly hostile world where people's disgust is, if not verbally expressed, than apparent on their face; we live there.

Julie and Julia- Enraging for reasons I can't quite exlplain

I think it is safe to say that I am a pretty terrible blogger. Not that my writing is bad, but I have no staying power...I am so not used this format of writing. So bear with me anyone out there actually reading. In the meantime, may I reccomend A Mouse Bouche? Here are two ladies who are good bloggers; consistent, funny, and delish...at least what they are writing about is delish. So check them out when I am being terribly delinquent, which I promise will never happen again! (Its soooo happening again...)

Meanwhile, I have some terrible excuses for why I have been absent for so long, and I will not waste your time on them. However, I have just gone to see Julie & Julia, a movie about another terrific food blogger, and it inspired me to post again. But not for the reasons you might expect.

So if you haven't see the movie, you might want to stop reading, because I am about the divulge the only conflict there is. OK, everyone with me either already seen it, or don't care? Good.

Here's the deal; Julie Powell is like, so totally bummed about life and her career and stuff, so she takes it upon herself to start a blog and cook her way through Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. She has set herself up with quite the challenge, wanting to complete 524 recipes in 365 days. Its a cute concept and I am sure the blog and subsequent book were adorable, blah, blah, blah, but it is a movie and so they had to insert some conflict. Enter the somewhat schmucky husband. The movie begins with a much resisted move (on her part) to a dump in Queens, which he sort of reminds her they decided to do for the space, and she sort of reminds him in return that it was mostly so he could be closer to work. So, right off the bat, not loving him. Then, he encourages her to start this blog, and sort of rolls with the punches as she gets more and more absorbed in the task at hand. Then I guess, hubby-wubby is feeling a bit neglected and (BIG F-ING SURPISE) feels that he isn't getting laid enough (read: Hollywood short hand for neglected in his relationship.) So when Julie is finally feeling like she is accomplishing something with her life for the first time in years, I guess he just can't handle her new found self-absorption, and chooses the night of her biggest dissapointment to berate her for how she is all about herself, and only cares about her blog, and he's like really, really mad, dammit! (Did I mention he's not getting any at this point?) He storms out like a junior high cheerleader, and Julie embarks on a shame spiral of how terrible she is, and how she is so mean to her husband. There was even a scene when her and a friend discuss how she is really a bitch, that was so unfounded in anything we had previously seen, I was floored.

Anyway, he comes back and without so much as a "told you so" generously forgives her and sees her through the end of her project, although she is presumably, much easier to live with post-big fight.

Am I taking this Hollywood schlock a little too personally? Maybe. But what was interesting was the conversation I had with the man I went to see it with after it was over. (Not my fiance, by the way, but close...his brother.) The difference was, while I felt, yes her character was self-absorbed and maybe a bit of a drama queen, this was a timed project with an end in sight, and he could have sucked it up for a bit longer, or at least not chosen to dress her down on the night of her huge dissapointment. He felt that the husband had been a good sport up until that point, and that she had pushed it too far, and that this guy was a good guy and has the right to be angry because she was being so self-involved.

Which leads me to my final point, which is based on a gross generalization I am happy to make. Women get a bad rap for being self absorbed a lot of the time. Especially in the case of these characters, who I think are a good representation of many couples out there. She finally finds something she enjoys, that she might have a future in, she finally focuses on something outside of him and their relationship for for like five minutes, and he throws a hissy fit because she's being self-absorbed. Is it possible that some men don't realize that they themselves are self-absorbed, that they themselves think in terms of "I" before "we" because their mothers, and girlfriends and wives and society have made their life the priority? Because we buy lipstick and talk on the phone a lot we are self absorbed, but the entire culture is formed around football season, and they aren't? I don't know, I have just dealt with enough guys in my life who don't even realize that earning a living and taking out the garbage doesn't automatically make them a team player. Future husband not included in that group, of course.

Am I crazy? Over sensitive? Not articulating this fully? Totally full of shit?

Would love to hear the thoughts of the feminists and pro-feminists among you.

(PS. I have no idea if the same conflict appeared in the blog or the book, but either way, its weak in the movie.)

Happily Ever After

Emerging from Fringe world to write this post...apologies to anyone who is looking at the blog and asking, "WTF?"

So I had this very weird experience at the gym yesterday. I was on the elliptical, listening to my iPod and watching the little TV with closed captioning (this is my way, and I am very particular about it!) Since American Justice, Fashion Files, Seinfeld or any other of my standards were not on I was flipping and came across the last ten minutes of 'Dirty Dancing'.

Did you just gasp? So did I. (If you are a woman born between 1970 and 1980, you probably did.) I haven't seen it a long time, and I was thrilled to see Johnny declare to Jerry Orbach 'Nobody puts Baby in a corner,' and sweep an adorable, pre-plastic surgery Jennifer Grey onto the dance floor. And making the lift? Forget it, I was welling up right in the middle of the downtown Y.

And here's the thing I realized, watching the end of this movie again, they sort of end up together. Like, there they are dancing, in the middle of the floor, making out a bit, gazing into each others eyes, and...credits roll. So its a happy ending...a Hollywood Happily Ever After if you will.

Did you know that was how the movie ended? Because I sure didn't. I must have seen it twenty times before the 80's were over, and yet, I always "understood" that in the end, although Johnny is absolved as not the "one who got Penny in trouble" and Baby is redeemed to her father after "looking wonderful up there", in the end they part good friends. I just knew that after the credits, Baby goes off to college, realizes all that the world really has to offer a young woman with her brains and means, and she goes on to meet someone in law school, or medical school, or some other nice Jewish profession. Johnny, with a new sense of self, goes back to school, or maybe enrolls in learning a trade, and makes a respectable living for himself. He probably met a nice lady, more in his economic class, closer to his age, but never forgot what Baby did for him.

And there I am, sweating my patootie off on the elliptical at the gym going, "Hold up, wait minute," realizing for the first time that that is not how the movie ends at all. At the end of the movie, we are led to believe they may in fact live happily ever after.

How did I get so confused? I was only 9 when the movie came out, it's unlikely I came up with the whole "Baby-goes-off-to-college" alternative ending myself. It all clicked suddenly. My mother must have put the idea in my head. There I was romanticizing the idea of Johnny in his leather jacket and dancing pants, and she stepped in and put an end to that right away. And sent Baby off to college, no less. A nice touch.

Sure. She was no fool. She didn't want me growing up and looking at the Johnnys of the world in spite of the Neils. She didn't want me to fetishize the shcutzim (non-Jewish men) and end up with some poor, artistic good looking guy just out of LOVE.

OK, so that last part may have backfired on her. And no, its not that my mom didn't want me to find love, it's just that she didn't see love and financial stability and mutually exclusive. And she wasn't wrong. In fact, she was pretty smart, because she had me fooled until this past weekend that the end of Dirty Dancing is a bitter sweet goodbye where everything works out for the best.

And her little white lie had a secondary outcome, one she could not have foreseen, but that may have been the most valuable part of all. Imagining that Baby and Johnny didn't end up together, that she went on to college and that he was just the first of a lifetime of experiences and lovers, sort of gave me the freedom to imagine that getting the guy, and ending up hitched isn't the sum of a lifetime. And that relationships are worth having even if they are not forever; there is always something to be learned, to be cherished. In the end, it was really quite a feminist ideal. Happily ever after doesn't always depend on finding the right man, it depends on you, and making you own Hollywood ending.

So thanks Mom. But I wonder what else she was lying about?

A Feminist Wedding has gone global

Check it out!

Recently I had a long chat with a Houston Chronicle reporter about feminist weddings. Lo and behold she decided to being the article with the very loaded statement:

"Alix Sobler is getting married."

No joke. That is how it begins. The very first sentence.

Holy shit!

The article goes on to talk to many interesting women, self-designated feminists, (and non) about their experience getting married and planning a feminist wedding. I thought the article was great, but because of space requirements and other interest interviews there were many points I had made to the reporter that were not included. I think I will make some of them now.

*One of the most "feminist" things about my wedding, is that in a way, it came after my marriage. Jason and I have been together 7 (!) years. We arrived at the decision to have a wedding after we lived together, after our finances were combined, after we had all the big talks regarding family and religion, after we had shared equity, after we adopted two children of the feline persuasion...neither of us felt pressured by the other one to hurry up and commit. We truly had a marriage before a wedding, and that made the decision an easy one.

*In some ways our wedding will seem very traditional on the surface. White dress, walks down the aisle, etc. There are many hard core feminist couples who got married in hiking boots on the top of the mountain that scoff at the very notion of me calling my very Jewy, somewhat traditional wedding feminist at all. But here's the thing: In an effort NOT to make this day all about my (read: the bride's) experience, to include family and friends and relatives to whom this is an important event, (not to mention the groom,) I have had to make some concessions as well. (I was forbidden, FORBIDDEN to have an outside wedding, even with a tent by some senior members of my family. Could I have gone ahead and done it? Probably, but because this is not THE MOST IMPORTANT DAY OF MY LIFE as a woman, I realized that we should take other people's feelings into consideration. Within reason.)

* The bottom line in this. A lot of hard core feminists believe that marriage is an outdated, patriarchal institution that has no place for feminists. If that is true, then why not just say, "F it, I am already engaging in an anti-feminist ideal, why not go all the way with the veil and the doves and the whole shebang?" And I have struggled with this. But I think there needs to be room to reassign the meaning of marriage. In my experience my marriage has already been one of equality and mutual respect. We share everything from money and housekeeping to our frustrations and hopes. There is nothing "inherently patriarchal" about my marriage, and maybe that is a new option within in the last 100 years, but its true. So if we can reassign the meaning of marriage, maybe its not such a stretch to reassign the meaning behind weddings. And here is my first reassignment:

THE WHITE DRESS: For generations it has symbolized the virginity and therefore value of the bride. I love a white dress, but it was not enough for me to say, "Well, it makes me stand out." So here is my new meaning, at least partially. On the day of my wedding, my partner and I start a new. The white of my dress will signify a clean slate, a blank page, a new chance for us to write our story. Its not that all that has come before is forgotten, but lets say we are getting our chance for another fresh start, the next chapter, this time as an officially married couple.

Who's with me?

Check out the full article in The Houston Chronicle.

A Very Long Engagement

Its true, in some ways, Jason and I getting married is redundant. We share a home, custody of two cats, a bank account...our blood and money is mixed, so to speak, and as far as the government is concerned we've been married for ages. After seven years, and at my age (early 30's) I have to admit there is a part of me that feels ridiculous shopping around for white dresses, and posing for engagement shots. The whole thing feels a bit not me, and if me, then perhaps a decade over due.

And then there is the fact that from the time we got engaged (or more accurately, decided to just do it already,) to the time we actually have our wedding, a year and a half will have passed, adding even more time to our already established life together. I keep thinking, "Is it silly to be bothering with all of this now? Shouldn't have we done this when we were 23, and still infatuated with each other and just dying to be together every second? Isn't a wedding something that is supposed to make you count down the seconds? I see young brides who can't wait six months to get married. I was like,'If we can't get that wedding band I want, I am willing to wait another six years.'" Considering all my issues with how this whole thing reflects on me as a feminist anyway, why are we doing it at all?

Not to make it look like I am just doing things because my man tells me to, I did get some good sound reasoning from Jason as to why it makes sense for us. (He's my best friend, of course I am going to look to him for advice). The truth is, a wedding like this one, a chance to get together all of our friends and family and declare our love for each other is a nice kick in the pants after seven years. We are examining our love for each other, we are looking at our future together, and reaffirming, "yeah, this thing is forever. At least that is the plan."

Ditto on the engagement. For the next year, we have the luxury of little positive shocks to the nervous system of our relationship. We are planning this big milestone together. Whenever we find ourselves falling into the same old routine there is some decision to be made or thing to plan related to our wedding that brings us together. And instead of rushing through it, we're milking it for all its worth.

In a way we are doing it backwards. I don't think of us as 'getting married' because in my mind we are already married. We are having a wedding, and whether its to make it official to everyone else, or to celebrate that milestone to remind ourselves, I think it is only fitting to stop and question the whole thing every once in a while. Especially for a feminist.

White Wedding? Um...

Sorry I've been away so long friends! Off in radioland...

OK, so I am getting ready for a trip home to NY, and while there I will go on my first sojourn into wedding dress territory. I know I want to keep it cheap, I am leaning towards a JCrew dress (haven't you heard, JCrew does wedding dresses now...), and I am thinking very simple...no lace, no sparklies, and no veil.

But there is one traditional thing I just can't seem to let go of...I really want to wear white. Doesn't have to be pure white, very comfortable with ivory, or even champagne coloured, but I can't seem to get away from the standard image of "bridal".

And I am not even sure why. I am a total slob and will probably have wine down the front of my dress within the first 20 minutes. Also, have I earned the white in the 'traditional sense'..um, no. But I can't picture it any other way, now that I am allowing myself picture it, and I am not sure why. I have been going with the excuse of "when else do you get to wear a white dress?" But I am not sure that is really why. Is it totally hypocritical to stick with that weird standard?

Making a list, checking it twice

It's more than a year away and this wedding is already taking up a huge chunk of my time. And the drama has already begun. Granted, its a slight drama, more at a "very special episode of a sitcom" level of drama than say, an "Ibsen" or "Chekhov" level of drama, but it is all just right around the corner. I can feel it.

Who to invite? This is the question. Do we invite 150 people assuming only 100 will come (since its a big trip for about half the potential guests), or do we invite 100 people, and end up with 75? Or can we do a second round of invitations once we get the initial RSVPs based on room? Or is that totally rude? And how many of our parents friends/cousins we barely know are we really obliged to invite?

This is not really a feminist dilemma, I am just consumed with thinking about this at the moment, and had to share.

Also, (and this is a tiny bit more along the lines of feminist issues) are we allowed to tell our friends to leave their kids at home? There will be some children there who are family members, and some infants who can't be away from moms, and some out-of-towners who will have a harder time finding a sitter in Winnipeg. But what about our local friends who think its cool to just bring their kids everywhere with them (and some of them are not the most under control kids, or the most hands on parents)? How do you say to some one, "you're invited, but leave little Johnny at home please?"