I can’t exactly pinpoint the beginning of when it all started, of what caused it and what led to my collapse nor can I tell you what finally made me stand up, tear my skin off, leave the room and lock the door forever. I can tell you, very vaguely, about it though. Continue reading
Biases
Motorcycle Clubs, Gangs, Tribes and Tattoos
After concise and careful thought, we can call this show one of the greatest shows to ever grace cable television. Sons Of Anarchy, a show praised (by yours truly) for its barbaric violence and a shakespearian plot reminded me of some of our discussions in class. With hopes that my clear publicizing will coax some of you into watching the show I will try not to spoil the plot while trying to link it to our class discussion. You see the man above with the “reaper” tattoo on his back, and his motorcycle club above and the charter location below? That is a type of identification for the people in that show and in reality for many people in motorcycle clubs, gangs etc. Whenever there was a gang retaliation to an event in that show, the current leader would ask to “Check the ink”. The “ink” is so serious to them in this show that once a person leaves the club, they have to either cut the skin with the tattoos of the club off or blacken it out with a blow torch.
Culturally, paradigms about the body fluctuate. In some tribes in Africa, people get tribal marks in forms of tattoos and scars on their face, their arms, legs and other body parts and to this tells where they are from. The body is used as a sort of identification card. The spectrum that body art is viewed is amazing. A woman struck a conversation with me in a cafe a couple of weeks ago and she had 3 very tiny tattoos on her left hand. I asked “What are those about?” She said “I got them because I was just feeling a little crazy, they don’t really mean anything but I have to hide them when I visit my parents”. I realized she viewed her body differently than the Sons Of Anarchy. They were overly proud and obnoxious of their identity through their body (which is not a bad thing), not only did they have the “reaper” tattoos they got jackets, baby clothing, furniture and all sorts of “reaper” paraphernalia. They made it a whole thing! It was something they sported proudly because it proved who they were and proved they belong to something. Similar to some other cultures that having body art. No one gets 3 deep permanent cuts on their cheek if they do not want people to see it.
We can see how body art is juxtaposed in cultures some are really proud and must show it off while other cultures it is “not a thing meant for everyone to see”
Things We’re All Too Young to Know
I read a lot of fanfiction. (Like, a lot.) I even write some. For those who aren’t familiar with the phenomenon, it can seem a strange and alien landscape. Some authors and actors welcome it, others revile it, but most would rather not know what their characters get up to in their readers’ and viewers’ heads. There’s even fanfiction written about real people—even if they’re in an alternate universe where magic works and the boys in that one band are firefighters or werewolves instead.
One fanfic trope that fascinates me and is particularly relevant to this class is that of mpreg, or male pregnancy. Continue reading
“Deformity” or Nah?
Despite the fact that I usually hate it when complete strangers continuously hassle me on the bus, I guess I should be appreciative of the fact that I’m able to use this experience for a blog post!
Before I get into what happened on the bus, let me give you a little backstory. For a long time now, people have been really…curious about my fingers. You see, I wasn’t taught how to hold my writing utensils “properly”. By the time my fifth grade art teacher came along and tried to force me to do so by smacking my hands with a ruler (YEAH, I DIDN’T FORGET, HUMBERT!), it was too late. Her excruciatingly public displays of discipline frequently gained an audience. My peers would watch me like a hawk just to catch a glimpse of my unorthodox writing style. Well, turns out the way I hold my pencils wasn’t the only thing they caught wind of…
My New Body
My friend and ex co-worker moved to Georgia a couple of years ago. She began dating a guy I’d never met, but he seemed charasmatic and energetic enough to keep up with her. He was the best person to get to know through photos- bald with a beard down to his belt buckle, tattooed everywhere, and toured all the time with my friend and his metal band- they seemed to always be having a good time.
A month ago yesterday, they were in a motorcycle accident while he was driving. She’s still in the hospital with a few broken bones, but will make a full recovery. After being in a coma overnight, he passed away from his injuries the day after.
Like I said, I’ve never met him, but I’ve been so torn up about her loss, and have witnessed the journey of her mourning process since he passed. I have a very small family and have been fortunate to have never suffered tragic loss, so maybe her story seems bigger to me than it does to others, but it’s affecting me in real ways.
I’ve been questioning my mortality daily. Maybe because he was so young and so like me. Maybe because of how I’d feel if my boyfriend passed. He justified his literally hundreds of tattoos by saying he wanted to copy his grandfather’s dumb tattoos, and implying that it is merely flesh, and flesh is not permanent.
My goal is to remember that nothing is permanent. I’ve never even met him, and I got a tattoo for him. I hope it reminds me every day that soon enough I’ll be gone too, and to truly live happily and be kind to others because all of it only matters up until this moment.
*Inserts Witty Title Here*
I’ve typed out this final blog post about 6 times already and deleted it each time because I just wasn’t sure what to write about. Actually, I knew exactly what I wanted to write about but couldn’t because it felt a tad bit too personal. If anyone remembers from me saying in class, I hate sharing anything remotely personal online but after 6 attempts of trying to write about other less relevant things, I found myself stumped because I couldn’t go anywhere with it. Although this isn’t as deep as some of the other posts so far on the blog, I figured that since everyone else has been so open, I might as well. Here goes nothing…
Well, there is this problem that has been plaguing me for the past couple months. I am constantly at war with myself on how to portray myself professionally, so that I can be respected in the “industry” as a woman. And by this, I mean not as a slut. So that this will make more sense, I’ll say that I do a bunch of various “artistic” shit, but mainly, I’m a photographer and a clothing stylist, and a handful of my clients are Grammy-nominated musicians. I won’t name drop, but I had this incident not too long ago with one of my all-time, hands downnnnn second-to-favorite music artist…
“No you can’t be gay, you just haven’t found the right guy yet.”
My sister is a proud lesbian. As proud as they come. She’s the Teddy Roosevelt of gays, waving a rainbow flag as a bald eagle glides around her…and I love her for it. We talk about it frequently like it’s nothing (because it shouldn’t be a big deal), so when we encounter someone who actually doesn’t love her for it, it’s always a huge shock.
My sister threw a holiday party last week and we met someone new. Once we mentioned in the conversation that she was gay, you would have thought we said she was previously Harrison Ford:
“What? That’s a joke right? You’re not actually gay?”
Once she said she was he responded:
“Oh no. No no no. You’re not gay. No. you can’t be gay, you just haven’t found the right guy yet.”
How do you respond to something like that? Who gets to be the judge of whether or not my sister is gay? She went through another time when a guy really liked her, and when she continuously reiterated she was gay his response was, “It’s just a phase! You’ll grow out of it!” I’m sorry, it’s not a cyst on the side of her arm, it’s who she is.
I know our country is making a lot progress towards legalizing gay marriage throughout the United States, but I am constantly reminded that the country needs far more than that for the LGBT community to be fully accepted. There was just a news report last week of a young boy killing himself after being bullied for being on a cheerleading squad. Where do we even start to not only gain support from the country, but also show the opposition that literally nothing is wrong with being a LGBT.
What do you call rape?
content warning: rape, sexual assault, trauma, scary thoughts
This is one of those posts that I didn’t really want or intend to write, but I guess I needed to. I’m shaking a little. Continue reading
Masculinity, Disability, and Aging
In one of our readings (Coming to Terms by Gerschick) we focused on the intersection of masculinity and disability and this started me thinking how this reading can be applied to men I know in my own life. In the reading Gerschick outlined that most men approach their own disabilities in three ways one of which is called reformation. In this approach the hegemonic masculinity is still the main focus, but it is reformed so the man’s abilities can fit the masculine ideal. Continue reading
Embodiment through time
My 26th birthday was a week and a half ago. It was quiet and I spent most of my time with my mother. I know, I had quite the raging party with my mom. We cleaned the house and laughed at the memories of us throughout the years. Yep, real party animal over here! We started to look at my baby pictures and I became fixated on this one picture, my very first baby picture hours after my birth at George Washington Hospital in D.C. Continue reading
