Feminism Is Not A Folly

I have noticed that Feminism is a sticky word to slide into conversation, and it strikes me as odd. Why shouldn’t young men and women identify as feminist? Someone suggested to me, that perhaps we are too far removed from the need for traditional feminist ideals. To this I say, fuck yourself with a cactus. The premise of feminism has and always will be equality. Equality across every aspect of our existence. And with one female in Tony Abbott’s new cabinet I think it can easily be seen that this is yet to be achieved.

 

I asked one of my friends if they identified as a feminist. She said she shaves her legs and so doesn’t really buy into that bullshit. Another friend told me to stop caring so much. Feminism means different things for different people.  This all just made me more confused about the perception of feminism and the role of women in our society. I didn’t realize the amount of hair we choose to harvest on our body, affects our support for women’s rights. Why can’t a clean shaven man be as supportive of equality for women as that of a lesbian with some righteous pubes?

Our media are stupid and we let them control a great deal of what we think about everything. A large portion of us still believe that a feminist is a bra-less man-hater who could braid the hair from her armpits to the floor while counting her collection of coupons for the local abortion clinic – because all feminist are pro-choice, right? The media have lead us to believe that feminism is about strength and ruthlessness (which to a certain extent is very accurate) but they have also stereotyped feminism into something ugly and brutal when it simply isn’t. 

During the first two years of her term as Australia’s first female Prime Minister, Julia Gillard stated I want to govern for all Australians. She refused to label herself as female because it was not something she identified as being relevant to the way in which she lead our nation as head of the Labor party.  I thought this was a really powerful statement, not just for women but for everyone. It extends beyond sexism to the wider issue of acceptance. And yet, one dumb ass in my year 11 Art class still said, Its like she isn’t proud of being a woman.

 

The same kind of Assholery exists in those who believe Tony Abbott can’t be a misogynist because he has a wife and children.  As a great friend of mine would put it, that is really cute. Do you also go around telling people that Hitler can’t have warranted the killing of millions of people because he was a vegetarian? Gillard’s speech regarding misogyny was made in the most political setting humanly possible, and yet it transcended any politics. The video went viral in a matter or minutes because it resonated with Australians who have been affected by sexism. Her public adherence to feminism towards the end of her Prime Minister- ship only made her message more powerful. Julia Gillard is a testament to feminism existing in a contemporary sense.  Gender does not need to be a boundary or a definition or an identity, because we are all human.

Being proud of your gender is important, but it isn’t everything. 70% of our population enter the world via vagina and 50% of us own one. The vagina is fabulous, and I love it as much as the next person, but the penis is also a fucking awesome appendage. Without each other, we are nothing. Men and their penises can play just as an important role in feminism as women and their vaginas. I think High School Musical was being very pro-feminism when they sang we are all in this together.

I think the point I am trying to make is that everyone should be feminist. Feminism is for those who own a vagina, penis, both and those who don't want to own their genitals. Feminism is for Christians, Hindus, Atheists or people who belong to cult. It is for the Chinese, Greeks, Italians and Native Americans. It is for those who are attracted to men, women, both or neither. Feminism is for cat lovers, dog lovers and my neighbours who decided to purchase a couple of ducks. It is for the rich, the poor, the blind, the bipolar and the healthy.  Feminism is for those who deal, do and hate drugs. Those who have children, want children or are barren. It is for the people who drive a Honda, and the person you sat next on the bus. Feminism is not about the hair on your body but the fact that the owners of vaginas are diminished to be lesser individuals.

Feminism is not a party exclusively for those who have a uterus. Feminism is simply about equality. Why not identify as a feminist?

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid Things I Have Done

I haven’t written for quite a while and I am sorry. I am struggling to handle any aspect of my life adequately; in consequence I am making a string of stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid decisions (please cue Bad Decisions, Bitch Prefect http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UjaA25yfhYY). I have been in a bit of a creative lull which has only been consoled by consumption of $8 bottles of Red Wine.  I am slightly jaundice, but I only assume it is because my liver loves me.



"Bad Decisions, bad life decisions, everyday."

In my absence I have done a lot of stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid things. I have watched too much Doctor Phil and written love letters to too many influential members of society (I will post my letter to Julia Gillard in the coming days). I have been offered payment in exchange for drifites with someone I have not seen for more than half a decade (I still don’t fully understand either). I become immersed in the world of ass-coinery-self-portraiture (they say curiosity killed the cat). I sat with heartbreak in a ute. I have gotten drunk with exes/ played boggle with exes/ slept with ex's brothers/ cut an ex’s hair (I think this is where people commonly try to apply the term “YOLO”).  Last night, after being drunk at a work function I salsa danced in the top of Queen Street Mall with a man old enough to be my father’s father (my grandfather).  He chewed Extra peppermint gum and let me wear his fedora, so I figured he was alright.

Salsa finished, the final chorus of Hip Don’t Lie faded away and the group of strangers who had been united through the swaying of hips dispersed; and I felt incredibly lonely. I noticed an old woman lying on a bench. I use the term “notice” rather deliberately, because I know she is always there. But last night, at 9pm was the first time I allowed myself to notice her. I sat next to her, and offered her the piece of gum I had managed to wrestle off my old, perverted salsa partner. She took it. I bond with a lot of people (with the exception of my orthodontist) through chewing gum. The actual exercise of chewing gum is pointless; it literally achieves nothing (other than, perhaps some fresh breath). Someone could live their entire life, not chew a single piece of gum and be no better or worse for it. We spoke briefly, about her son and about the dicks that exist in our society. She spoke about everything with such detail, which seemed to make her increasingly hopeless. Her face was incredibly gaunt, and her mouth was drawn firmly. It almost looked as though the cigarette dangling from her mouth was a mere intension of her face rather than a foreign body. We exchanged adoration for each other’s taste in cardigans. And as I got up to leave her, she just held out her hands; one was palm up and the other palm down. And she said “These hands used to create. But now I fucking won’t even let them beg, because I am too fucking proud” Cackling she pulled out another cigarette and we parted ways.  

I slowly migrated against the crowd across the bridge to Southbank. I feel like my life is a struggle against the crowd. Suddenly I found myself standing in front of my favourite busker. I think buskers have this incredible power to influence people momentarily without them realizing it. When in a crowd, music is the only thing that makes me feel less alone. It was 9.55 pm, and the man who I had come to see was packing up. I just stood and watched; had I been older and more intimidating and perhaps male he, may have thought I wanted to be his non-consensual bum buddy, or something.

And when I involuntarily started weeping, he started playing.

Dirty old river must you keep rolling, flowing into the night.
…. As long as they gaze on waterloo sunset, they are in paradise.

I don’t remember when I first started listening to Waterloo Sunset. But there was a period of at least one month where I felt like it never ended. Last night, felt like it never ended. My initially reluctant tears rapidly morphed into involuntary sobbing and the busker continued to play the song I had wanted to hear all night. He finished, and then naturally started to make inquires about my wellbeing; because I literally must have seemed like a mentally unhinged human being (…well). I offered him gum; and we bonded.
I play because I like connection. Connection of the people who say I suck, who try to take my money (yes, that happens) connection of the people who smile because it reminds them of a better time. Or people like you who come and stare at me and cry. Because I know someone more than myself is getting something out of it.

He then packed up, wished me both caution and luck with my public drinking endeavors and fled into the night.

It’s funny, as I write this it has just struck me as peculiar that I don’t know the names of either of the people I met last night. I don't think knowing there names would change anything. I connected intimately with these individuals last night. Initially it was about the gum; because gum changes nothing. Nothing changed last night, the lady in the olive jumper is still homeless and busker's dog still died two days ago.  I claim I hate people. But I don’t think that is entirely true. People are fucking fascinating, if you let them be. People who have known passion and known affection are delicate and broken and I like that.

Everything in my life is so acutely unusual at the moment; I don’t know how to make sense of anything that is occurring. I don’t know why I choose to drink, or get offered some drifty payment or why I choose to become very emotionally invested about things that don’t mater. But the bizarre-ness and unknown of everything is almost making it normal. I feel so strongly that my life is a little like chewing gum, whilst it may not change anything or impact anyone there are moments of goodness. And if that is as good as it gets, if this minty flavoured misery amounts to nothing more than the stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid things I do. I'm ok with that; at least it gives me something to write about.

waterloo sunsets fine

Gays Pay Their Taxes Too

Today, purely by chance I found myself caught up in a Same Sex Marriage protest. It is almost magical the way the universe can make certain moments collide for seemingly no reason. This week I have been a wreck, for no reason at all. Today, I met an elderly couple who wake up everyday knowing that in their lifetime it is unlikely the law will ever legally validate their love. Today, I saw a couple homophobic bigots being homophobic bigots. Today, I suddenly felt part of something; today I wasn't a total wreck. 

I easily get worked up about a lot of things (see posts about Sultanas, Dolphin Rape and Jodi Picoult).... but the fact that the same sex marriage debate is actually a legitimate issue in 2013 really, really, really, really shits me (emphasis on the really).  

One couple in the wave of protest caught my eye. Not because of their flamboyant gettup or luscious, rainbow hair.... but their walkers. They dragged behind the hundred people in a painfully slow gait. Before the protest veered up another street they decided to take some time out on a bench. Because my parents and school taught me absolutely nothing about stranger danger, I gave into my compulsion to go and talk to these women. We spoke about nothing, and everything....

I could go and pick up some random boy at the Gold Coast after a 48 hour bender and then drag him drunken to alter and still have more right to wed then the two women (with their walkers) who have been in a monogamous relationship for more than 3 decades. These two women have raised two children, own an apparently well mannered beagle and have always paid their taxes (because, yes....gays pay taxes too). And after three decades they are together facing Diane's terminal illness; they have supported each other in sickness and health. 

3 days ago Tony Abbott, the leader of the opposition party in Australia and an (arguably) influential voice in our nation told a Sydney broadcaster that he is not someone who wants to see radical change based on the fashion on the moment on the issue of gay marriage. I'm sorry, but last time I checked being a raging homosexual wasn't the new black of this spring's line in vogue. The two women who I met today,  have shared 30 years of their life together. I assume, that it is a little more than a mere fad Mr. Abbott why should who you love make you less of a person in the eyes of the law? 

Today I actually legitimately witnessed an elderly onlooker at the protest glance at a gay couple who were holding a baby and remark,

"Poor kid being raised by a couple of fags; it will only end up like them" 

To me, the baby already had an advantage on this man. Being raised in a same sex household means that the child won't become a homophobic asshole. Just as the sexual orientation does not affect the ability of human being to hold a job, pay a mortgage, eat it does not affect their ability to raise a child. 

The same elderly onlooker who was giving the gay couple and the baby they were holding the stink eye, then spotted a flyer about Transgenders which had fallen into the gutter. What he chose to do next, I still only reflect on in utter disbelief. He spat on the flyer. An actual wad of saliva actually exited his mouth and landed onto the block letters Being Transgender in Australia. 

I would just like to take a moment to point out that all this happened today, on August 17 2013. The quotes were authentic, and homophobic shitheads suck.  Last time I checked Jesus didn't say... Love your neighbor unless they are gay or a transgender because they are inferior and deserve less rights. 

If we bring each other happiness, why does it fucking matter who we love. I think that is what Jesus would say.

10 Things I Wish I Had Known Last Year

A few weeks ago, fellow blogging extraordinaire, Sarah posted about things she has learnt in the past few months. You should read about it here (<<SEE HOW TECHNOLOGICAL I AM BEING (but that is another story)). I was feeling particularly lonely and nostalgic today so I took a trip down memory lane and read through the heinously unedited posts of 2012. It is incredible how much is the same. I'm still left handed and shameless anit-dolphin rape- enthusiast, I still hate Jodi Picoult and applaud people with nice cinema etiquette. But in equal part there is a lot that has changed. These days, I'm not so hostile towards crying  I am about as spontaneous as nun during lent. (That was a  unnecessary introduction; here is a list of things I wish I had known last year)....

1. School is literally irrelevant. OPs means nothing and QCS is as important as keeping up with the shenanigans of the Summer Bay kids. I have no regrets in never doing homework.

2. Whilst school may be irrelevant; it is also incredibly easy. At school your life is mapped out for you in a neat six-period-2-lunch-break-5-days-a-week-plus-homework-timetable. It's like a gift-wrapped life from God. There is literally nothing bad about school; it fills in the hours.

3. Crying is important. Last year I wrote that "Crying is a low point in humanity". Dear readers, please consider this a retraction. Crying is important. Crying for no reason is important. Crying at absolutely nothing is important. This year I have traced my infant roots; and now I weep like a baby on a weekly basis.

4. Friends are like Aids. The good thing is once you leave school they become someone else's Aids.

5. I honestly used to believe that getting drunk was overrated. Let's just obliterate that thought. If you don't drink you must be stupid or dead; how else do you live in this world?

6. I genuinely like comic sans. Please feel free to read about my sudden relisation here

7. Last year, I wish I had known that I wasn't destined to be a Journalism and Mass Communications graduate. It's not that I particularly regret quitting uni, or the process of uncovering what it is I really want; but I would have loved to not have come in contact with the careers councilor at QUT. Apparently due to a severe case of intelligence I shouldn't be studying art; just what the fuck (see point 5).

8. People diagnosed with mental illnesses have more fun.

9. Cockroaches are just the coolest mother fuckers out. I wish I had wasted more of my life obsessing over their moist bodies.

10. Life is too short to edit blog posts.

Thanks for making it to the end of 10 Things I Wish I Had Known Last Year. It's a shame I couldn't have posted it last year really...
These days I just bring all the literate and well read boys to the yard with excellent taste in cardigans, glasses (the men on e-harmony are lining up).
CIAO readerz.

King George Square Mime Hate

There is a man who positions himself just outside King George Square Bus Station and paints himself entirely silver. His tie is permanently erect, so that if you were partially blind or intoxicated he would look windswept. My friend informs me that these people (who act like statues) are called models (Stickler, 2013).

Now it was always my highly unqualified opinion that these models had the express purpose of resembling a statue.   So, you must be able to vaguely understand my confusion when every time I see the windswept ironman of King George Square he is moving as freely as any other individual in the square.

 Please feel free to leap at me with corrections but, models have the express purpose of resembling a statue.  You are suppose share a beautiful moment of bonding as you waft pass them and donate your ten cents to stop them starring at your crotch. If they move they are supposed to be incredibly stiff; as though they are recovering from a lifetime of being a cement monument. 

The windswept man in King George Square has it all wrong. Every time I see him he appears to be doing the robot or scratching himself, even shaking children's hands. I used to give him the benefit of the doubt; perhaps I just caught him at a moment where his nose was particularly itchy or his bladder particularly full, or even his urges to shake hands with little children particularly overwhelming. I mean as Miley once said, Everybody has those days. But alas, I feel as though windswept ironman is having one of those years. 

I think the bottom line is, if I was a (for lack of better term) a professional model (like the lady painted white in the middle of the mall; kudos) I would be really shitted off at someone who feels he has a right to the model gettup but not the etiquette. I mean it is a little like dressing up as a guard outside Buckingham palace, only to salute passers with a strip tease. 

I know it shouldn't bother me how this poor excuse for ironman builds his modelling career, but come on mate; if you want to act like a statue who has exceeded their Valium prescription dress up in a freaking clown costume. 

Dear Leonardo Dicaprio,

I totally understand that you may not remember me and that is fine. Let's just reacquaint ourselves with the basics here. I'm Kobi, you may remember me from being my wallpaper in 08, helping me understand Shakespeare in 2010, my art collage with evolved around your facial features? No? That's okay.

I have one of those catchy, hard to forget faces. Ringing any bells?
No? That's fairly ok. I understand you must come in contact with a lot
of mediocre models etc.

Now Leo (can I call you that? Fuck it, I will call you that), hope life has been treatin' you okay.
I just want to get one thing straight, you are a lucky man that ole' Baz cast you as a star crossed lover when he did. Because, (now I am only being honest here) to me your creased brow makes you look a little like the men that sit in vans parked outside playgrounds and schools. Nothing personal Leo, just calling it how it is.

I should probably thank you for helping me understand Shakespeare. Without your kind of blonde pixie cut, on-land snorkeling skills and gang antics, I would probably not fully understand the underage love story of R & J. I would probably also think that a sword was weapon consisting of a long, straight or slightly curved blade, with one end pointed and the other fixed in a hilt or handle. When silly me, it is just brand of pistol; duh.

Anyway Leo, I realize you have a totally heckers sched, so I won't keep you long. I just wanted give you a good pat on da back man. You seem to be an immortal 25 year old man who is rollin'. Kudos.

Warm Regards always,

firm fan and anti-dolphin rape enthusiast,

Kobi Blake-Craig

XOXO

ps. It would be great to get you on board as the face of my Dolphin Rape Happens campaign; but look I know it isn't your typical filthy rich type of character (so I will lovingly forgive your rejection).

Re: The Great Gatsby

Luhrmann dropz dem modern beats in the latest his 2013 film adaptation of The Great Gatsby. He seems to update the coolness of 1920's jazz with a frenzy of ghetto hip-hop. I love Luhrmann as much as the scent of peppermint chewing bum; but something just seemed profoundly amiss in his latest box office hit.

 

The 1925 American novel is in my mind one of the greatest love stories of all time. Can love be as possessive and as corruptive as Gatsby proves  it to be? Is love the most motivating force in man? Is love always our ultimate demise? I would like to think F. Scott was onto something here; just find a man who ghettos it up to build a mansion on love and dreams and you have yourself a believer.

In all seriousness, Gatsby is to me more of a novel about hope. Yes, it demands hope in love. But I find Gatsby as an individual the most hopelessly hopeful character of all time; and I like that. I really am starting to ramble here, but my love for this hunk of literature is too much.

 

I think that is think that is the point. To me when seeing a film adaption of slices of literature which are tastier than cake you have to disconnect yourself from the story line. I think you must view it as an independent. I think if you fair to recongise them as two independent art forms you end up loathing a perfectly good film which is an utter shame.

 

When it comes to Luhrmann's Gatsby adaption I adore it as a Luhrmann fan. As a F.Scott fan however I must crease my brow and throw a tanty. I think there was something missed. The passion between Daisy and Gatsby seems week (despite Leo's incredible Gatsby performance) and I think the film is more about the aesthetic than the story. This is a shame because Gatsby is one of those timeless tales more riddled with themes than parliament question time. I think he turned a true and honest story into a bit of a show; and it made me sad.

 

As The Standard's, Matt Neal put so eloquently....

Like Gatsby himself, it comes so close to achieving its dream, only to fall agonisingly and frustratingly short.