"Plato's caves are full of freaks..."

So I’m sitting out on my balcony with a glass of wine and the people in an apartment kitty corner from me are having a party. It’s actually a remarkably well-behaved group tonight. Precious. Few. Of those come along in my life. Last night a rather heinous car alarm went off at 5am and woke me from my perilous state of sleep. I almost killed someone: well I would have if I a) was able to get out of my bed b) find a gun c) found the owner of the offending vehicle. But people, listen. If I this car alarm can wake me at 5am, chances are you can hear your damn car too. Go out and shut the thing off so you can save me from hating the world one morning. Cynthia would appreciate it too.

I have to admit, that I don’t hold much hatred towards Miami at the moment, so it is making it remarkably hard to tell you anything remarkable. Although I got an email from Tony and he called me out on a little behavioral confirmation I’ve probably been guilty of. He really said it best: "To that I can only say: Dorothy, my dearest Dorothy, you are NOT in Kansas any more. Florida, literally considering its location on the map, is a queer place, one betwixt the Lower South of Georgia and the Carolinas and the Deep South of Alabama, Mississippi, etc... It is neither here or there. It is truly Nether land. But, then again, maybe the problem is not the people of the sunshine state. Perhaps you are not getting enough sleep which may make you appear to be grumpy or unpleasant. :) Possible? Regardless, if you keep trying, friends will come."
His prose makes me wanna be a better person and writer (in that order).

I saw an amazing pair of fake breasts on Thursday. They almost knocked me over and considering this chick was about 5’1” it would have been quite a feat. Listen, silicone is not sexy. They may look great in a t-shirt (but they really don’t), but when you take the t-shirt off, it just can’t be pretty. I re-considered making the “These are REAL” t-shirt. I’d be glad to show you if possess a y-chromosome and you’re on my list.

Speaking of bodies, Eve Ensler has come out with another play, this time she’s reclaiming her stomach. Warning: this next commentary is without thorough research; take my words for what you think they are worth. The premise of the play is a 3 year journal she wrote with her stomach, which is the part of her body she really hat(ed/s). Eve, thanks for reclaiming our vaginas for the entire female population. I think we needed that (and probably still do); thanks for opening a dialogue about female sexuality which needed to be screamed from the mountain tops, from the Blue Ridge to the Alps. Thanks for telling us that men don’t control our lives or our pleasure and that we don’t need to look any further than ourselves to love ourselves and who we are. Thanks, really.

But enough already. Now every imperfection we think of can be attributed to patriarchy and the consumer culture. Boring. Not liberating. Not empowering. Really, for women who are secure with themselves (their imperfections as well) and have come to terms with themselves, where do you leave us? I can’t be the only one who cries out and says “You don’t need to deliver me from this world!” I’m not saying that we all don’t wish things were different with our bodies and ourselves. But on some level, some of us are able to accept it. What good does it do to attribute the whole of our problems to culture and the men who dominate it? I use the term dominate loosely. And I’m also not considering anyone outside the United States. I’m really just talking about normal women and their normal lives. Like us. But why? I’ve lived among a group of beautiful self-actualized women; I really can’t recall ever having an in depth discussion of our bodies or our beauty. (is that our failure?) I remember our discussions on what marriage means, on the importance of community, on philosophy, and a special ham manifesto. So, can Ensler’s new play really speak to the young women like us? Is it meant to speak to women like us? And for her to give us something as special as the Vagina Monologues, is it fair to leave us high and dry with this new play? But then, I’ll play Socrates and say I know nothing. You tell me.

Just a side thought from this commentary. I’ve learned that sometimes its better to not figure out why we behave the way we do. We can have all sorts of causes on all sorts of levels: from our conscious to the subconscious to the unconscious (forgive the slightly Freudian nature of the discussion…it was not intended). From Ensler’s stance, I exercise because I want to look good and impress the men of the world. Maybe so. Maybe it’s to stay healthy. Maybe I think my curves are sexy. Maybe so. Does it really matter? And if so, why? What do I gain from that insight.? Can I even distinguish between my own differential reasoning? Do I want to? And why do you wanna know?

Fact from the FN this week. It’s been shown that men’s quality of life increases when they marry but that women’s qol decreases when they marry. Sigh. Thanks. That helps me a lot too. What good does this kind of scholarship do? I can see it on some level; but something about that statement gives me the heebie jeebies, to be technical about it. Am I the only one who feels like that? Tell me, where should the scholarship go from here? What kind of scholarship empowers women and men? WS is a field which tends to attract a certain type of woman; does that introduce a bias? Does the field account for that? Am I missing something?

Boy, for someone who started out with a lack of something to say, I either said a lot or I wrote a lot of shit that doesn’t say a lot. Either way, this is your blog for the weekend and you better like it. Or else.

I love you. I love my breasts. I love men. I might even love Miami.

Or else that’s the wine talking.