Friday, February 26, 2010

I Cut Off All My Hair To Look Like Anna Karina.



Can you blame me?








More specifically from 'Vivre Sa Vie', which is basically a retelling of the Emile Zola character Nana, who finds herself resorting to prostitution to make ends meet now and again, and eventually resorting to it full-time, dying tragically; there is irony in the description "My Life to Live" (or directly, 'to live one's life') in that Nana's life, though she'd like to think she's made the choices, has been an act of desperation, being the object of other's recreation, and certainly her death was not her own choice, but a random act, the killing of a prostitute, who had no value to anyone, really. It's fallacious to think that you really can "live your own life" in a vacuum. And of course, Godard says all kinds of amazing stuff about everything (fangirl).

And Karina, well, her look is amazing, as always.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Ennui.

The problem with me is that I get bored easily. I can't focus on any one thing for too long. I like fashion one week; the next I think it's stupid. I get into silent films, then I'm bored again. I have trouble finding a career I actually want; every time I think I know what I'm going to do with myself, some new distraction comes in and I want my life to be different in every way.


How can you know what you want when the whole world is out there?

Sunday, February 21, 2010

The Problem With Female Friends.

Today I had a female friend sort-of stand me up, again, and it's made me wonder about my relationship with women in friendships, and in general. I must begin by saying that I want to love women. I really want to. I want to snuggle up with them all and hold them tight and make them know that everything is all right and they deserve to be respected and loved. I want to fight tooth and nail for women to be treated as an equal, I want women to learn to love themselves, I want all that for them.


And yet I have hardly any female acquaintances that I get along with, nonetheless friends.


Why is it? There are a couple of reasons. One is that the majority of women don't see things like me. They aren't aware of the things that are influencing. They want to play dumb to get men's attention, talk about spending money on purses and the boob job they want, basically playing into every disgusting stereotype ever contrived of womankind. I don't exactly blame them for this; there are reasons women act like that, it's because it is rewarded in society. Women aren't supposed to be loud and have an opinion, women aren't supposed to question the status quo. Women are much easier to control when they talk bad about each other and preoccupy themselves with dieting and make-up. Defying this womanhood is to be a loud, demanding woman. To despise your body and to disown your sexuality is the only way women seem to know how to communicate with other women. In essence, most women talk about themselves like they'd talk about an object, completely internalizing the idea of a fetishized female form. Adornment and bragging seem the only way they can communicate themselves; they don't really seem to think in an organized fashion, they have trouble communicating. Theirs is the realm of playing dumb, for regarding their self-worth by the amount of male attention they get. Every day is a popularity contest and I can't stand it. It's not that I don't understand where they are coming from, but I am met with a hostile reaction towards my attitude. I am not flirtacious to get what I want, I demand it. I refuse to accept a lot in life that I find distasteful. I don't want to be a woman in its current manifestation. Other women don't agree with me on this point, and are downright hostile towards such an attitude. To demand satisfaction for yourself, to demand to be treated with respect is an affront when you have little self-esteem. It's easier in the end to criticize her as jealous of someone's looks or that she's cranky because she's not getting laid than to actually analyze your life and agree that it is in some degree lacking. At any rate, I don't know how to communicate with these people. I need something different, and even if I put myself out there, it's met with criticism. We are living in two different worlds, it seems.


Then, even when I find a woman I find intellectually appealing, one I admire and think has potential, she still seems in an irreconcilable way damaged. I see often a manifestation of the worst traits, often seen as "womanly": being conniving and desperate for attention, or being unable to disagree with others and assert her place in the world, or some other cliche of womankind. Hysteria, it seems, is common as well. I've suffered with depression my fair lot and I've had my down periods, but I don't feel I ever totally lost my voice because of it. But the women I meet, it's as though they're drowning and lost. They require so much time, so much of putting myself out there, only to reject or ignore me. I try to offer my unconditional love and support, I try to be there for them, but I feel like it's not reciprocal. I put myself out there, and I'm turned down. And then it seems like my "friends" are taking and taking, and my well of resources runs dry. I can put myself out there, again and again, at first 90%, but if they'll never meet even a quarter of the way, well what can I do? I can't give indefinitely, I can't let them rob me of my time and effort. I get the sense at times that I'm trying to save a drowning victim, but they're pulling me down with them. I want to be their friends, but sometimes it seems as if they're incapable of friendship. I understand where it's coming from, but it does make it much more difficult. It seems that with men, I at least get a straight answer; I know what's going on and how they really feel. I get a response to my queries, things aren't so complex. We hang out. We communicate. Things aren't up in the air so much. Yes, there can be a romance to a tortured personality, but there's little romance to a corpse. I want female friends, but it's just so much damned work, so much pain from being ignored and abused, I'm not sure how I can make it work.


It makes me feel almost misogynistic to say it. I don't know what it is. Do I consider myself man-like in my efficient and unemotional candor, and still feel that women are subpar? Or do I just refuse to accept women who seem to accept the stereotypical behaviors that propagate the idea that women aren't capable of certain things? I'd like to think the latter, but some traits much more common in women than men are off-putting to me. It's just still so hard for me to relate to most people in general, but especially with women, it seems. I wish it didn't have to be that way, though.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Memory Lane. . .

So an old ex-friend of mine is getting married this week, and it had me wondering how we grew apart. I went through some of our old letters and things, and yes, I did get nostalgic, even though our friendship is beyond forgiveness. The girl I was five years ago is hardly recognizable. Yet it's sad that those who enter your life often must leave sooner than you'd imagined. Yes, she was witty, and fun to be around, but she had a manipulative, almost evil side to her. She would coo and coerce people with false compliments, and could worm her way into jobs, but they often found her personality eventually off-putting and would quietly get rid of her. In a way, I see in her untempered femininity, not normal woman behavior, but the socially constructed variety, the manipulative, sweet-talking, flirtacious, conniving way in which females sometimes behave. In a way, I wanted her power, her ability to befriend those she actually disliked to get what she wanted. But ultimately, it just seemed icky to me, to feign and coo, to build mock friendships with people you didn't actually like at all. . . I was never one for dishonesty. What began as friendship eventually went too far- she had insinuated herself into my family, she would begrudge things about me, she would be somewhat demanding.


Then a boy liked me, and I liked him. And she got jealous and he got jealous and they didn't get along. There was hostility. She gave me an ultimatum. I chose him. Who knows if it was the right choice. I was young, I was naive. We, of course, are no longer together. But a choice had to be made, and I needed to grow up.


The misunderstanding may have been forgivable, until she decided to destroy my life, or at least that's what I imagine her intentions must have been. She tried to stay really close with my parents, and I would find her over at my house at random times, sometimes by herself. She befriended my Grandmother. Everywhere I went, she was there. And then she got a job at my job, and somehow usurped my hours and started acting like she was the boss. I had to quit; it became intolerable. Finally, my parents got wise to her manipulations, and realized that if she was going to be hanging around our house, then I wouldn't be there. They would have to sacrifice their own daughter for this replacement, and fortunately, they preferred the original. But she was at my Grandfather's funeral, which I resented. And she still talks to my grandmother on a regular basis.


We went to the same school, but we didn't talk again. One time, she sent me an e-mail asking for all to be forgiven, but I couldn't respond. There was no forgiving the insanity it had all become. Once I knew what she was capable of, there was no way I'd play with fire again. I had moved on. I had a class with her once; she missed it often. She seemed to make a few friends. She eventually got a boyfriend. He seemed dull, and her life seemed a lot less interesting looking from the outside in. She worked at the school cafeteria, and was friends with the dorky, jock types. From overhearing my Grandma, she was really desperate for the boyfriend to propose. He seemed like the malleable sort, probably just her type. I wondered if I had been her type too, just someone to dupe, or if our friendship was genuine. I'd like to think that I was one of the few on the inside. It's a hard place to be, when you realize the source of the manipulations, but no one will believe you.


And now, finally, the boy is marrying her, in my childhood church. She is apparently the darling of the old church ladies. I wonder what gossip she's been spreading about me; probably telling them about my whoring around, like that one time she'd showed a blog entry to my Grandma. That was around the time she made soup for Grandma a day I had come out, caught at unawares. I was polite. She told me the soup had no meat in it, as I'm a vegetarian. Apparently, it was made with beef broth. I wonder if she's changed. She seems to have, at least superficially. She rarely wears make-up, and was often in sweats while we were in college. She lives in Olympia and works at a bank. She goes hiking with her boyfriend, doing really "outdoorsy" things, a far cry from her attempts at skiing with me, or in gym class. She has no social networking sites on the internet; her life is basically a mystery.


What a different world we now occupy. I couldn't dream of marriage for a long time. I'm too much of an intellectual, with a bohemian demeanor, to settle down in a small house in Yelm indefinitely, with the first boy I'd known. Perhaps I've just had to grow sager, and she could remain a bit of a child. Perhaps she grew out of her manipulative ways, or else she's just become more discreet. But our friendship could never recover. There are places you can't go back. The friendships of a fifteen year old are perhaps meant to stay in the past. For a long time, I couldn't even think about her, I found her so vile. Now, I see only a stranger, a vitriolic girl who I suspect wanted to make my life so miserable that I'd fold. But that always backfires. I didn't want to be controlled. And look at me now. I've escaped.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Una.


(Romaine Brooks)

I love images of early 20th century "inversion" among lesbian intellectuals, especially in Paris. It has an air of chic about it, even though it was a socially ostracizing deathknoll before the garconne look came into fashion.


I want to be extremely lithe+wear a monocle+dress in boy tuxedos.



Though in a way, reading my book "Women of the Left Bank", I feel as though I'm a "sell-out" by being straight. I guess I won't be subverting the patriarchy anytime soon, at least in a way that considers any heterosexual act as anti-woman. It's hard, because determining what you believe is impossible to separate from culture and social pressures and personal psychology. What is a belief? Can I ever be held responsible for my own? Is it all just a difference in circumstances? Is it just the roll of a dice that I didn't become a fundie christian who would already be married and having her second child, to raise for "God's purposes"? Could a random event have made me a completely different person? What an awful thing to think, that each action (or non-action) is setting a chain of events in motion. Yet, what else has life ever been?


Tonight we watched "The Scarlet Empress", Josef der Sternberg, Marlene Dietrich, about Catherine the Great's Russian reign. Of course I enjoyed the opulence, the odd German Expressionistic set design, the story of a naive girl turning into a powerful, seductive, cunning Tsarina. But I think my fascination with films from this time have severely hindered my comprehension of reality. Women, I learned, who ooze sexuality and who are "beautiful" may easily exploit others and loot the world of all its luxuries at a whim. But is that ever really the case? Why must the story always revolve around power, and cruelty, entwined with female sexuality? Yes, it's fun, but it is damaging to women, to associate sexuality with sin, vice, and "evil" behavior. There is a power through it, yes, but I have rarely seen it occur in real life.


It could be a class thing, though. In all the old movies, the beautiful woman is always an heiress, a performer, spoiled, or in some extremely lucrative profession, or generally has no occupation besides being object of admiration. She is always adorned in furs and decadent evening gowns. I always wonder what comes first: the beautiful woman who deserves money for adornments, or money and adornments making the woman appear beautiful.


Being a woman is complicated. If you haven't read "The Second Sex", you should be reading it. DeBeauvoir is probably my favorite author who addresses the subject, which she explores from every angle imaginable. In it, she describes the power of the hetaira being ultimately superficial, and I'd have to agree with her.