Conscientiously Objectified
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So I’m a Roller Girl Now
I’ve joined the local roller derby league. Lady Scientist, self-proclaimed klutz, and hopeful terror of the rink. I couldn’t find the end of the movie Dick, which is what I was going for, so I’ll settle for some Abba, which, I’m pretty sure, we’ve never played at a practice. It isn’t exactly intimidating, unless I’m the one accidentally crashing into you.
I’m in my mid-forties and I’m playing roller derby. I need to say that a few times so that I actually believe I’m doing this. And it is the most empowering thing I’ve done in the last 10 or so years.
By the way. That last post? I’m all over that shit now.
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I’ve felt this way this week, maybe longer. I listen to my worst instincts, fall prey to my own insecurities.
And my socks are never clean.
I’m good at self sabotage, self doubt, and self destruction. That’d be one thing, but when it spills out to other people, well, I can’t live with myself, some days. I don’t want pity; nobody is reading anyway, hopefully. I just need to shout this into the ground. I have moments of brutal clarity, both good and bad. I need to listen more to my good qualities, and let go of my bad ones.
I can be as bad as the things I complain about, and never as good as I mean to be. The only time I feel clarity and quiet peace is when I’m concentrating so hard on not breaking my neck when I’m exerting myself. That’s great, until I run out of vertebrae, and friends.Guh. I know I feel the need to write this, but it is the worst piece of passive aggressive crap I’ve indulged in since my divorce. And that didn’t work out so well, either, did it Ms. Lady Scientist. Fuck it.
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In Appleton, Wisconsin, someone related to Greta Van Susterererereren is running for city council. He’s a jolly old elf who enjoys pictures of torture, especially the torture of women politicians.
Now, I get that this is political humor, loosely defined. But you do have to wonder at the lack of judgment and underlying discomfort with both political foes and women to have posted this on a public website, TWICE.
Look, I can hardly fault someone for using provocative language. And I tend to find humor in a lot of things. But when you are running on a platform that essentially consists of—and I shit you not—Less Taxes, More Tennis Courts and Traditional Family Values—then you really do need to rise above torture comedy in public discourse. You also have to wonder if the Beav is gonna be grounded for playing hookey at the swimmin hole.
On the other hand, perhaps Tom vS has found an untapped wedge issue. Misogynist Tea Party Tennis Players of the World, Unite! Especially against icky liberal girls.
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Brevity is the soul of lingerie. — Dorothy Parker
(Image: Elizabeth Taylor- “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof)
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Take a Good Look at the Fucking Picture, Meathead
I’m trying, honestly, to age gracefully. This, good people, is just not fair. Take a good god damn look at the last picture I posted. Archie and Edith, at the piano, for some reason yodeling about the good times they had when Herbert Hoover was in charge and whatever car they drove had a name that sounded like someone was having a stroke.
This year I will be the same age Carol O’Connor was when All in the Family premiered. Next year, I’ll be the same age as Jean Stapleton in 1971.
Fuck you father time, fuck you right in the neck.
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During a discussion of how things ought to be, and were, one of my precambrian male colleagues told me that all was right with the world when the faculty were faculty and their wives held dinner parties.
It’s moments like these that I feel the need to remind my respected colleague that it wasn’t my generation that threw their keys into a bowl. Happily, my younger colleagues are nothing like him. For one thing, they all can cook. Way better than me.
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“One of these days we should have you tell me to shut the fuck up.”
In my dreams, this is how the conversation transpires.
On planet Bobby Riggs, my colleague really is very interested in me defending what I do professionally. “One of these days we should talk about whether studying gender is really something that belongs on a campus as a serious field of study,” he’s said.
Usually, though not always, this is followed by the question, “So how many times do you think the president has her photo airbrushed?”
The answer to this question is, of course, contained in the first statement. But then I’m just a lady scientist. What the fuck do I know?
