Archive for June 30, 2007

Ethnic hair

I’ve been learning new ways of doing my hair, and it’s brought up all sorts of stuff. Stuff about ethnicity and whiteness and childhood. This isn’t the first time I’ve found politics in the small things of daily life and it probably won’t be the last. At least this time, we’re not showering.

I hit upon this hairdresser who gave me different advise than I normally get, and so I tried new things, and that opened the door to try more new things, and in short order I developed expertise in styling my very curly hair. I made the frizz go away. I made the handfuls of hair stop falling out daily. And I started changing my look.

I did big bouncy Shirley Temple curls. Small flirty Betty Boop curls. Center part with curls framing my face. Side part with wisps of curls over one eye. Combed straight back with a cascade of curls down my shoulders.

My Curly Girl sisters noticed and complimented me, which encouraged me to do more. And sometimes I’d get a compliment from a co-worker or a friend. But mostly, this was fun I was having with my mirror.

Until I tried blowing it straight.

I didn’t like what blowing it straight looked like. I never use a blow dryer, and letting hair dry naturally lends it a lot more shine and softness with no extra effort. So my hair looked straight, but also a little dry, a little hard.

But everyone flipped out. I mean flipped. “You look glamourous.” “You look like a movie star.” “It’s so 1940s.” And lots and lots, not just of compliments, but of noticing; “What did you do with your hair?” all day long. Which had never happened before.

Now Roberta, who is the one who taught me how to straighten it, told me people would respond to it. “When you have curly hair, they think you have great hair. When you have straight hair, they think you’re pretty.” Which totally I believed, but I was genuinely unprepared for the wave of accolades that accompanied a little blow-drying. Roberta said one more thing; “It’s an ethnic thing.”

She was right. The accolades I got; what I felt, was that I looked…white.

I am white. Grew up in white neighborhoods. Stared at the one table of black kids in the lunch room. But I also grew up very conscious of the difference between white white people and ethnic white people. Not just because of anti-Semitism. Not just because there was only one other Jewish kid in my grade. But because I wasn’t one of Them.

And I don’t actually know how to describe it without talking about hair. I don’t go through what black women go through, the burning and torture. Yet I know the mockery, and I know what it’s like to never see anyone like me in a magazine or shampoo commercial or TV show (except for comic relief).

I remember the women from the comics I read as a kid: Jean Grey, Sue Storm, Karen Page, Gwen Stacy, Mary Jane Watson: All blondes or redheads, all with straight or slightly wavy hair. I latched onto Wanda Maximoff with a passion; the ethnic background and the hair. She was the only one, and I loved her (and a witch too!).

Movies would have it be a class thing. Like Mystic Pizza, with working class, ethnic, curly-haired Julia Roberts and Lili Taylor, gazing towards the whiter, richer, more straightened other side of the tracks. But I grew up in about the mid-range economically and socially of the towns where I lived, and went to school with kids whose parents had about the same amount of money, and wore the same color collars, as my parents. But the curly-haired divide still existed.

You can walk through life, being as white as me, and never notice that you’re not white enough. Until one day, thanks to a blow dryer and waking up extra early, it comes to your attention.

Friday Catblogging: He has a curly tail

I suspect I was trying to snap his cute face when Mingo turned away, but the tail is cute too.

Curly

Persuant to Wicked

Two words I never thought I’d write in the same sentence:

Transvestite Munchkin.

As in, there was a transvestite Munchkin in the ensemble. Twirling a skirted woman while his skirt twirled. Very twirly.

Wicked

We saw Wicked yesterday. We had an amazing experience in pretty much the worst seats in the house. It was fun and funny and smart and touching and wonderfully written and full of surprises. All that.

But it turns out it’s also feminist.

The word “feminism” is never spoken. Indeed, neither is the word “women” except perhaps in passing. No one talks about women or sisterhood or empowerment. Not one bit.

But Wicked passes the Bechdel Movie Test (aka the Mo Movie Measure). The show is about two women (Glinda and the Wicked Witch of the West) and their relationship to each other. Secondarily, there are other relationships, including the Witch’s with her sister and her father, and both women’s relationships with male and female teachers and a romantic handsome prince. But primarily, it’s about the women.

Not to make a point, not to Say Something About Women, but because these are two complex and fascinating characters that carry the show, as complex and fascinating characters can do. And what’s remarkable, what’s practically bizarre, is that a relationship between two fully-fleshed women is so rare that it strikes me as feminist to even see it. (Which is the point of Bechdel’s test.) I mean, I watch these two women on-stage, singing to each other, about each other, and I’m suddenly struck by what an odd thing I’m seeing.

It shouldn’t be odd. It should be human. But there you are.

Answers to Death & Sex Trivia

All solved. Only one hint needed this week, and it was a murderously (hee) hard question. In the Kisses category, Roberta held a coupe.

» Read more..

I’m back!

The site has been down most of the day. Sorry. I’ll get a hint up for our last remaining trivia question in the next few minutes.

UPDATE: Hint is now hinted.

The Glee of Misogyny

So I watched Olberman tonight. I don’t always watch, and I usually love him, but I have noted a certain misogynous tinge to the show, and geez Pete did I notice it tonight.

Olberman closed the show with a snide story on Paris Hilton’s release from prison and the papparazi frenzy that surrounded it. Which, let’s face it, deserved a snide story. His guest on the topic was Michael Musto. Who quipped “As Martin Luther King said, ‘Free at last, Hallelujah, I’m free at last!'” (Yes, he got the quote wrong, but it was mildly amusing.) He then said,

“He also said, ‘Bimbos belong behind bars.'”

Thud.

Why? Because the media frenzy surrounding a meaningless socialite isn’t funny enough unless it’s misogynist? Because we can’t really poke fun at a woman unless we call her a slut? Because bimbos really do belong behind bars and white men on TV get to be the arbiters of bimbohood?

It’s just not funny if we’re not putting women in their place and insulting their sexuality. It’s just not.

Later, Musto said that such-and-such was as unlikely as “Heidi Fleiss opening a soup kitchen. Or opening her legs for free sex.”

Because sluts are funny.

The thing is, with the Paris news, these guys are delighted because they don’t have to hide it. They have the perfect excuse to trot out all their hatred for the bitchez and the pussy and how dare bitchez have pussy? It’s safe to hate Paris.

But we should recognize that it’s not Paris they hate. It’s women. She’s just a convenient example.

Tuesday Trivia: 3 Murder Weapons, 4 Kisses

Murder

1. A pen someone gave him at the party.
Solved by TehipiteTom (comment #3).

2. A hyper-inflating gas pellet.
Solved by norbizness (comment #11).

3. Webley-Fosbery semi-automatic revolver.
HINT: This rare gun belonged to a character much talked about, but never seen on-screen in this classic film noir.
Solved by Melville (comment #18).

Kisses

4. Holding the phone together while listening to a call from an out-of-town friend.
Solved by Roberta (comment #1).

5. Over a dog named Brinkley.
Solved by Roberta (comment #1).

6. In an ice fortress.
Solved by Roberta (comment #1).

7. First they coat themselves in paint, then they kiss in the shower while washing it off.
Solved by TehipiteTom (comment #3).

Monday Movie Review: The Mighty

The Mighty (1998) 8/10
Max Kane (Elden Hensen) is in the seventh grade and “looks like Godzilla.” He is silent, fearful, and enormous. Then “Freak” (Kieran Culkin) moves in next door. Freak has a rare bone disorder, walks using crutches, and has a hunchback. He is also extremely bright and well-read. The two form a friendship that carries them through the threat of street gangs, Freak’s illness, and Max’s haunted past.

My friend sent me a note on Netflix saying I simply must watch this movie with my son. And so I put it on the top of my queue and it came and we kept not watching it. Travel, his home tutoring, everything ate up our movie-watching time. So finally I called Netflix and asked them if they had a way of suspending the account for the summer. Turns out they do, even though it’s nowhere on the website. So the woman said “You have The Mighty at home.” And I said “Oh, I’ll return that.” And she said “Have you watched it?” And I said no and she said “Oh, you HAVE to! You should watch it with your son. It’s so wonderful. I think I’ll watch it tonight now that you’ve reminded me.” So I watched it.

The Mighty does lovely and moving things. It shows the drama in an ordinary life. Max’s life has, perhaps, not been ordinary at all. He’s famous in his neighborhood, although the reasons for that fame are revealed slowly. What we know is that his father is a convicted murderer, and he lives with his grandparents. But for Max it’s not really about murder and newspaper headlines, it’s more about fear, and hiding under the bed, and being afraid to be looked at, and living inside a placid shell that hides the turmoil.

Freak can’t live inside a shell, because his shell doesn’t work very well for him. But he can live inside a glorious imagination and an intelligence that fuels it. He explores the world, invents toys, and believes himself to be a Knight of the Round Table. With Max’s help, he can do heroic deeds and live up to a chivalrous code, a code that begins the work of healing Max’s self-image.

There’s a lot of clever editing in which knights in armor are interspersed with Freak and Max’s adventures; it’s not overdone, instead it’s touching and fun. Despite the fantasy imagery, the movie remains pretty grounded until the end. There’s a mid-point coincidence that is very “movie” and annoyed me a little, but only in the final fifteen minutes did I feel like my chain was being yanked, and then not hard.

The cast is overloaded. Gena Rolands, Harry Dean Stanton, and Sharon Stone have almost nothing to do; there’s a little more going on with Meat Loaf, Gillian Anderson, and James Gandolfini, but the real work is done by the two “boys” (both actors were actually adults, but that’s not really apparent).

Overall, I really do recommend this movie. It was charming and gritty in odd places. My only complaint is that it is “bookbound.” That’s probably not a word, but just as a stage-to-screen adaptation can feel “stagebound,” and not “opened up” for film, I feel that some novel-to-screen adaptations are trapped inside the confines of their source material. It felt very literal, very page-by-page. I don’t know if that’s true—I haven’t read the book—but the fact that it feels that way is enough.

By the way, Hollywood just sucks at titles. The source novel was called Freak the Mighty, which is a much better title; more distinctive, more memorable, more oddball. By contrast, “The Mighty” is an utterly forgettable title for a distinctive and oddball film.

Sunday Meditation: I Love Myself

Last night, my friend Nancy led us in a wonderful grounding meditation that was full of self love and playfulness. I’m going to attempt to recreate it here.

Stand and find your sense of balance. Allow yourself to feel sturdy on your feet. Shift your weight around, stretch, wiggle, reach for the sky, touch the ground, and come back to a centered position.

Take three or four deep, cleansing breaths. Deep inhale, hold, exhale. Then deep inhale, hold, exhale. Deep inhale, hold, and exhale with a big WHOOSH.

Form your hands into the shape of a claw and gently pat your face all over with your claw hand. Then pat your neck, then your head.

And again, deep inhale, hold, exhale.

Now place one hand flat on your head and with the other hand forming a fist, tap tap tap tap the top of your head. As you do this, be aware of your crown chakra. Be aware of your feet firmly on the ground. And be aware of your body filling the continuum between them. Take another deep breath and let it go, and as you let it go, know that you have a grounded and crowned body.

Now form your hand into a cupped shape, and tap your shoulders and heart.

With your right hand, tap down your left arm to the hand, turn the arm over, and tap back up. Now use your left hand to tap your right arm the same way.

Tap the left side of your belly, where your stomach is, and say out loud “I love my stomach!” And tap some more.

Tap the right side of your belly, where your liver is, and say out loud “I love my liver!” And tap some more.

Around the back, and tap the left side, saying “I love my kidneys!” And then go lower, and tap your behind, and say out loud “I love my sexy behind!” And tap and tap.

Tap down your legs and up. Gently tap your groin and say “I love my groin!” and then come up and say “I love my belly!” and come up and say “I love my chest!”

Now shout “I love my body!”

Take three deep, cleansing breaths. Say calmly, “I love my body.”

And believe it.