Spinster’s Beautiful Cover Design Draws More Interest Than Content

spinsterSpinster’s Beautiful Cover Design Draws More Interest Than Content

a book review by

Erica Tuggle

If we were judging Spinster by its book cover, this one would be a home run. The attractive, young looking woman on the front, proclaiming spinster-hood seems like a battle cry feminists can rally behind. Not to mention that this design is coupled with the well-written book blurb within the inside flap of the book, promising us insight into why over 100 million women (and growing) are electing to forgo marriage in favor of more freedom; ignoring the choice set before all females from the earliest playtime imaginings, who to marry and when?

With such a high bar to clear, a bar of such intrigue, it was highly disappointing to find that this book missed the mark. Spinster promised to include Kate Bolick’s story of electing to remain single and embrace all the opportunities it affords, but in actuality, the book leans heavily on the memoir aspect and lightly on pertinent interesting information.

Bolick, 45, (pictured on the cover, and looking all of about 28) details her life thus far through her relationships with men referred to in an alphabet soup of single letters, and also through her “awakeners”: Neith Boyce, Maeve Brennan, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and Edith Wharton. The factoids about the women who influenced Bolick’s decision to remain unattached are interesting, but not penetrating. Bolick’s own story of relationship interactions reads like a polished and fussy journal entry of hindsight revelations. I was desperately seeking interesting reasons why women would choose to buck tradition and go their own way, but Bolick’s window is small and extends no further than Victorian era ladies and her own privileged upbringing and opportunities.

Bolick failed to get an emotional or intellectual response from me with Spinster. The only moment I found myself wanting to hear her story was when she related her last days with her mother with the reader. Perhaps, like Bolick opines of other literary works, Spinster is akin to some books find you when you need them, and I’m not the demographic she was searching for. At least I can offer kudos to her for her choice in “spinsterhood” and for sharing her story.

I received a copy of “Spinster: Making a Life of One’s Own” through the site Blogging for Books.

Being a Good Scientist Prized Over Differentiation of Sexes in “Headstrong”

Headstrong

Headstrong 52 Women Who Changed Science–and the World 

by Rachel Swaby

The pivotal line of this book is delivered by Hertha Ayrton, who was a scientist, an author, a close friend of Marie Curie, and the inventor of a fan that dispersed noxious gas away from soldiers. She is quoted as saying: “Personally I do not agree with sex being brought into science at all. The idea of ‘women and science’ is entirely irrelevant. Either a woman is a good scientist or she is not; in any case she should be given opportunities, and her work should be studied from the scientific, not the sex, point of view.”

This is the standard of measure of all the women in the book Headstrong by Rachel Swaby. In this work, Swaby covers the lives and contributions of 52 women in varying branches of science including invention, physics, mathematics, biology, chemistry, and more. Why 52? Swaby reasons that there are 52 weeks in a year, and so in reading this book you can learn about a different female scientist each week.

Each selection is just a snapshot of their life and their lasting impact to human progress and innovation. Some of these portraits are only two pages long; the longest is only about 5 pages. Although each segment is brief, the value of having so many different contributions by women compiled together effectively drives home the point of the impact women have made to the umbrella of science area which they fall under and upon the larger world.

The work is fact-filled, interesting, full of trivia, and delivers strong evidence of the value of female scientists without harping on or getting lost in hot-button issues like male dominance in science and exclusion of women in the field. The book deals in facts, and these include the struggles women had to go to in obtaining education and standing in their passions within fields where they were the glaring minority.

My favorite profiles included those of Gerty Radnitz Cori, a Biochemistry scientist responsible for our understanding of glycogen; Virginia Apgar, who developed a test to establish newborn health standards; Marry Anning, a pioneer in paleontology and fossil discovery;  Tilly Edinger, a Jewish woman who encountered Nazi targeting in establishing paleoneurology; Rachel Carson, the voice behind environmental awareness and author of “Silent Spring”; Rosalind Franklin, whom developed a structure of DNA that was “borrowed” by Watson and Crick; Hedy Lamarr, an well-known actress who also worked in tandem to invent a system for coded radio waves to aid torpedo navigation during war-time; and household name Florence Nightingale, responsible among many other contributions for her statistics work and suggestions for improved hospital conditions like better lighting and quiet time for recuperation that are still being pursued today.

Headstrong was enlightening and kept my interest. I see this being a valuable tool for students in researching these scientists, and grasping the timeline of scientific discovery more fully through human interest stories such as these. For me, this would be a recommended reading for college freshman or AP high-schoolers. The work is well-researched and written, and with such a variety of topics of interest that spurred me to want to know more about each of these women.

I would highly-recommend this read to those who love science, history, feminism, and generally just a good read.

#4StarRead

Interested? Buy it from Random House

More info on this author at: Rachel Swaby

I received this book from Blogging for Books for this review.

“Your Starbucks Cup is Not a Name Tag” and other findings among my penance served in the world of serving

Mostly I write a lot of junk poetry. It’s sort of my daily thing to clear head space. For the past three days though, and really since I poured it all out in the last blog, I’ve felt none too poetical, instead turning the introspective gaze to more solid wondering having to do with what it is to be a young woman in this time in history and all the other trailing ribbons of whatever that means. To help me along in these thoughts has been my spirit guide, Lena Dunham.

Lena Dunham, star and writer of HBO hit Girls, wrote a book called, “Not that Kind of Girl.” Asked to describe this book to a co-worker in 5-words, I gave the smart ass reply, “Not that Kind of Girl,” but in a way it also fits what Lena’s work is all about. I started reading it (and I stopped my daily writing…coincidence?) on the 17th and finished it on the 21st. The book feels like a pleasant coffee date with your BFF: the caffeine consumption allowing you both to open up more than usual, making casual confessions of things you never thought another person would (or would want to) hear. But as you talk, you find catharsis and an understanding of your history in relation to your whole self that’s thrilling, but also a little sad. After your friend goes home, you feel a little depressed and prone to cry at stupid inspirational videos on Facebook that you had no intention on clicking on, but find yourself committing to. It’s like that.

It’s like, on my dates with Lena, I found she was giving the kind of advice I’d only come to give myself after a shattering amount of heartbreak. She went through the crisis for me, and came out the other side with self-deprecating quips I recognize all too well. My favorite and uncomfortably familiar chapter was her “Girls and Jerks.” Lena and I have a painful insanity to throw our lot in with men who fall into this spectrum. So much so that it’s a wonder her (and my) chapter on “girl crushes” is so short.

Women of our age range owe it to themselves to read her confessions in NTKOG, but I want to include a sample of the work as well that hit me hard with self-identification of where I have been for the past couple of years. Here’s to hoping this falls under the fair use of copyright.

She writes: “It wasn’t just that these crushes made the days pass quicker or satisfied some raging summer lust. On some deeper level, they made it all feel less adult. I’d been thrust into a world of obligations and responsibilities, budgets and scrutiny. My creative process had gone from being largely solitary to being witnessed by dozens of “adults” who I was sure were waiting to shout This, this is the reason we don’t hire 25 yr old girls! Romance was the best way I knew to forget my obligations, to obliterate the self and pretend to be someone else”

There’s not a lot else I know to say about the book. It wasn’t the best writing I’ve ever read, but it spoke to me. Sometimes that’s enough.

I’m trying to transition more gently in my blogs, but my topics are most times unrelated and so you may have to just accept the hard breaks in consciousness until I learn to think and write in better ways. Like just now…I had a yellow jacket land on my notebook. I patiently waited on him to leave and then I took a drink from my coffee, startled myself on a large piece of ice unexpectedly coming up the straw, and spit it all over my pants front in compensation. Only a couple of students saw it, so all is well.

Another hard break….and it’s a real hard break. Luther Masingill. If you live in Chattanooga, you are probably well acquainted with his name and legacy. Our whole town is mourning the passing of the 92-year old radio legend, who worked 72 years on-air in Chattanooga for the same station, on-air during both Pearl Harbor and 9/11.

I have an opinion and (surprise) it may not be the most popular. I respect Luther for his work and dedication to the field of communications and to the town of Chattanooga. I enjoyed hearing him describe the latest lost pet. I am touched by all the wonderful stories of his kindness to others from his role as a mentor and even stories of him paying for college tuition of several.

Personally, Luther wasn’t very kind to me. Granted, I encountered him briefly each week and always after a day of work at the radio station as he came into the grocery store where I worked. I say this not to besmirch a legacy, and I’m sure many will find my words petty, but I say them just with a reminders than being kind to those in the service industry is also a measure of character. It’s easy to be a personality on air and kind to those in so-called respectable positions, but taking time and effort to be caring to someone at society’s ground level is something more. I don’t really fault Luther for not being who I expected or respecting some chunky teen behind a cash register. I just wish that I didn’t have these memories of someone who is essentially beloved by all. I’m posting this on the date before Luther’s memorial service at Engel Stadium. By all means, I encourage all to go and hear the wonderful things that will be said about Luther. Many people I respect in turn respect Luther and his legacy, and my words are in no way designed to change the tide of opinion on him or his work. It’s a blanket generalization on our fumblings at human interaction, and we all know how well generalizations work.

Now that my name is on every Luther-lover’s head hunting list, I want to continue to talk about what the serving/food service industry means to me. As before mentioned, I’m leaving this industry, hopefully permanently or at least long-term, for the second time in my life.
I first left retail and barista work in 2009. Straight out of college, I got an assistant editor position at a weekly newspaper and worked there, had weekends off, the whole deal, for two years. I returned to server life when I was laid off and have been there since. Friday is my last shift as a server, and my feelings are mixed to say the least.

Mispy has graciously weathered the storm with me as I passively lament my freedom this week. His innocent comment that maybe I could return to barista work in January or later if ends weren’t meeting between teaching jobs, set off a firestorm in my brain that culminated in me curled on his bed, crying about missing my barista co-horts and stressing irrationally about how I would fill my weekends away from the cafe, while simultaneously wondering aloud how much I enjoy helping a student get proper synonym usage. Bless him for knowing that it’s sometimes best to just pat a girl on the back in the midst of conflicted brain clashes

Here I am reveling in my wingspan as I get positively beside myself explaining the Industrial Revolution to a student. All the while, I’m looking longingly at the automatic espresso machines and wondering if I can justify $8/hr for my time dedication in lieu of a weekend or off days of any kind. And why?

Well, it all comes back to the debate raised earlier by me (mainly as a sort of punch line): “Can Nihilists ever really experience job satisfaction?” Sure, there are varying levels of Nihilism, but it all seems to come around the belief that nothing we do has much, to any, effect on our surroundings, future course of events, or people’s fates. I subscribe, wearily (is there any other way?) that things are going to be what they are. People are going to do what they do, and my effect is minimal. I teach a student a concept, and maybe they take it further than the classroom. They use it to get to college, they get a job, the world turns, and nothing much shifts. We all still end up at the Cemetery Gates. It’s not so bleak unless you make it a central precept of existence, and even then there are concessions around it so you don’t end up offing yourself. So where’s the satisfaction in any of it? Why work if there’s no reason other than to keep the machine on and churning out the same copy of its inner cogs design?

Well, I think, for my part, the job satisfaction has always come not from the paycheck that usually just allows enough funds for you to continue working and living. Neither does it come from the job itself of delivering caffeine or education or whatever to your customers, patrons, etc. The satisfaction is what I got from my barista work that makes it hard to leave. It’s the beautiful, casually loving, camaraderie and shared experience of melodrama and human condition that interactions with co-workers (and less frequently) with customers/patrons/students. It applies to every job. For me, my angst at leaving the absolute tripe I have experience in serving, comes from a similar leaving of the laughter and connections and experience of living among the real and flawed and beautiful people I’ve had privilege to work with in my three years there.

I’ve introduced a co-worker to feminism from the basic definition and worked on building a foundation of knowledge there. I’ve shared relationship woe with every sympathetic ear in the building. I’ve had romantic relationships with these people. I’ve formed best friendships with some. I’ve ribbed an employee until they have become an inside joke that even they are fond of. And yes, I’ve learned that many customers consider their cup to be a nametag of some kind whose alternate spelling thereupon will shake the ego in such a way that they can’t help spelling aloud to the poised Sharpie, “B-A-I-L-E-Y.” They’ve all produced a strange shared life within our team. And I’ll miss this. I guess that’s enough of a reason to do any job, even write a blog…just hoping for a shared experience, a social interaction that delivers an imagined impression of meaning. That’s the satisfaction of a job well done. Even if it’s all a beautiful meaningless mess of paint on some abstract unknowable canvas.

In parting I want to toss out the ideas for what you will be seeing here in the next month as I prepare to participate in National Novel Writing Month (National Blog Writing Month as well).I am debating between posting a thread on Facebook to ask for 30 topics for the thirty days in November and write on one of these thirty each day. Or I thought I could ask for a topic each day via Facebook and the first person to comment or message would be the one whose topic I would write about. Both are designed to be more interactive with my audience, thus continuing this shared experience I desire from my blog space. The third option is I just shower you all with the junk poetry and novel writing scraps…1,666 words of that each day. How’s about ya’ll leave me some feedback on this so that we don’t all suffer with some rhyme about caffeine consumption or lack thereof.

-Anna R Kotopple

This blog is dedicated lovingly to my fellow baristas of past, present, and perhaps future. Once a barista, forever a barista.

Women’s Studies Victims

I take the title of this blog from an Of Montreal song of the same name, and while the song lyrics from it have nothing much to do with this blog, the sentiment is within the same vein. It’s the idea that got me started thinking about things, and has inspired enough material to form a lengthy blog post. Here’s the question I got stuck on last night: can someone be a victim of a women’s studies student? I think so. As much as the feminist needs to be heard and the issues addressed that they speak to, I think we can alienate and drive away would-be supporters with an offering of a  fist where an open hand would suffice. 

Consider this scenario…I was killing a few hours in the bookstore last night, and found myself in the women’s studies section. Haunting the bookstore on an almost daily basis for the past three years, I honestly had never run across this section. And why is this? Am I just the pretentious sort that thinks I’ve got a firm enough grasp on the issues within to not need any more source material? Perhaps, but I’m going to cite some other reasons why I think I haven’t found this section, and why others are probably not bothering to waste the effort on this category. I’ll also get to the bit on the “victim” part of my title, so hang with me. 

So…here’s the Women’s Studies section…

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It’s five shelves and, due to the limited number of titles (I guess), one of these shelves is used to display a couple of titles that may be of interest to readers of this section. It’s located in between the “Sports” section and the “African American” literature section. This is probably why I didn’t find the section for so long. And it’s my first gripe about the section. There’s four five shelf fixtures devoted to sports and only one to women’s studies and African American titles. It’s not even really subtle that the minority reads have been pushed back into this corner to die.

Further embarassment for this section comes from only a cursory inspection of the titles. Two of the four shelves that are “full” are actually the subsection of Gay Studies titles that have been lumped into the overall heading of Women’s Studies. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a full supporter of gay rights, and well…rights in general for everyone. But the connection between the LGBT community and femminism is something that sometimes backfires in the campaign for both issues. I can’t tell you how many times that mentioning feminism has led to the discussion of preference of sexuality or outright questioning if I am a lesbian. Putting the titles on women’s rights and gay rights under this heading is convenient perhaps, but irksome all the same. Even more frustrating for all involved in this scenario is that 75% of the titles under gay studies are erotica. It’s hard to be taken seriously in a cause when under the section’s literature it’s all titles of this sort. Those looking for factual information on the issues facing these minorities are not neccessarily going to be willing to wade through these titles to find something that gets to the struggle beyond the bedroom. (Sorry, puns…eh) But these are the titles that sell, because that is how the stock of bookstores works.   

Looking closer at the two shelves that are truly the women’s studies section, there’s some pretty raw farce at play here too. Three titles jumped out at me right off the bat. These are pictured below…

 

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The first  picture shows, side by side, two of the titles that first envoked my ire and set me in motion to blog. The one of the left is titled “Mistress,” and is a history of “the other woman” throughout the ages. Awesome. When I send someone to the Women’s Studies section, the first thing I want them seeing is NOT a book on how a  few bold broads commandeered other women’s husbands. Not even touching on the fact that these women probably were not fully at fault in their extramarital endeavors, it’s just not really something that screams empowerment and women’s rights. Quite frankly, it’s the opposite, and it’s almost catty to have it in this section. When I think about being a strong and independent woman, I don’t feel the need to look at another woman’s man. Being a mistress or a cuckold is not something to really get enthralled with. 

And then there’s the book beside “Mistresses,” and here’s where I’m on a bit of ground less firm. This title is called “Sexy Feminism.” I’m all for the adjective “sexy.” When someone tells me I look sexy, I take it as a great compliment, and it makes me feel pretty badass. Because “sexy” is a charged word, and it’s something that women are seeking (sometimes shamelessly I’ll admit) to add to their definition. I also identify with the title of feminist. I take exception though when I see a book called “sexy feminism” because it implies that there is such a thing as “Unsexy feminism.” I’m not trying to be overly sensitive here, but my thought is that feminism CAN be sexy and it CAN be about feeling appealing in your own skin, but it doesn’t HAVE to be that way. If you want to be a feminist and do something decidedly “unsexy” like…I dunno, eat four or five cookies in one sitting, then you should be able to do that. I’m just thinking this title was a “how-to” guide on how to get to being a sexy feminist. It’s like you don’t have to work to get to this. If you say you are a feminist, I’m not going to question your sexiness. The two are separate entities, and coupling them works to damage both terms.

This being said, I think I may have been guilty of creating a “women’s studies victim.” I was having a discussion via text, which was my first mistake on expressing anything like this without running the risk of misrepressenting and not expressing ideas in a tidy fashion. And to the friend I was having the banter with on my thoughts about this women’s studies section, I felt later that I was being a bit of a “bra burner.” That is to say, I think my effort to represent feminism and be proud of the ideas I think compose it, turned into a tirade with what I think is wrong with it’s perception and limits. I’m frustrated when feminism falls short, and things like rape happen or a woman’s choice to make decisions about her body and her mind are blocked. I think this is why I get a little preachy when I see the roadblocks, and thereby I ignore that support or good elements that may underlie these. This friend of mine is a supporter of women’s rights (and that’s pretty sexy too, by the way), and I was not helping the cause by nitpicking on a statement he made that asserted that he thought feminists were sexy. So, I acknowlede his support and say that I don’t take back what I said, but I do agree feminism is sexy.

Even this feels badly articulated, and thus I admit my limits on explanation are sometimes reached. So I leave the question and topic open…how do we make the message of feminism heard, and not ostracize the supporters? How do we have rational discussion on the topic and not lapse into the complaining of what is wrong with the movement? I really would like to find out, because I enjoy talking about feminism, but I don’t want to be the person who can’t have a talk with someone about something unrelated to feminism and end up coming back to feminism faults. I’m trying to say, feminism is not my life, but it is my life. I’m hoping my co-blogger on this topic can flush this out a bit more, along with her throughts on the women’s studies section. I’m sure she can also speak more to the “Suicide Girls” featured title in this section, and why this gets us all riled up as well. Look for her upcoming rebuttal and such at brandidrown.wordpress.com    

And then there’s the last title from this section that really made me do an eye roll.

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The book is called “The End of Men,” subtitled “The Rise of Women.” UGH. NO. The “rise of women”will not happen when the supposed reign of men ends. It happens when you stand up for yourself and you make your own choices and are not only allowed but respected as well. And my brand of feminism at least is not about dethroning anyone, certainly not about “ending” men. I love men. (Shocker? Were we not paying attention back in the gay studies parsing part of this article? ha) I think having a book like this in the section is the most disturbing thing I encountered. I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: men are our greatest ally in attaining equal rights. The rights of one group should not come at the expense of singling out, destroying, or working against another group. Besides that, it’s just idiotic to think that women would be better off in a world of no men. A loving, supportive male partner to assist in your goal attainment and as someone you can support in their endeavors is a wonderful thing indeed. I look forward to the day that I can not insult a male ego by taking a guy out for valentine’s day or in some way put some role reversal on the “female privlidge” of the code of paying for a lady’s date and it not be something unheard of. 

 

I conclude this with the disclaimer of sorts that this is not in any way, shape or form meant to rail against the bookstore in question. The bookstore did not choose the selection of books within. The title list is dictated by sales. Sex sells. Ergo why there are several of these titles in-section. If customers would order-in other books and the demand for titles of more weight was called for, then I think the section would improve. This is where the consumer voice should come into play. If you go into a bookstore and do not see what you want, request they order it in. The people who read Duck Dynasty, Heaven is Real, and Glenn Beck sure do make their literary muscle known through buying power, and so should the other half.  

Well, this was enjoyable. Look for my co-blogger’s response at brandidrown.wordpress.com and please share your thoughts. I say with absolutely certainty that the only thing I know is that I don’t know. Meaning, I’m not the authority on this or any other subject and would love for someone to challenge me and change my mind. With only the slightest trace of sarcasm, I say: enlighten me. 

-Anna R. Kotopple

Dreaming of Male Oppression

Writing isn’t working today. I feel so unexplainably agitted. Is it because I’d like to clean my car up, but it’s cold outside? Is it because I’m tired and drained? Is this music too loud in thie coffee shop, and my thoughts frozen because I’m essentially drinking hot water instead of lovely hot brew? And then there’s that guy on the other end of the coffee shop, whose eyes are darting across me and every person in the room because he’s got that inspiration and that caffiene buzz and it’s working for him. I can tell that whatever he’s got on that screen is working for him. He stops and takes a sip of coffee, adjusts his headphones and delves back in. Maybe the block comes from the regular in my coffee shop who is now in this one. It’s a free country but I’m having a time concentrating when I think about him being over there with lady who is the ex of a friend. Oh my drama. 

I think my next read will have to be Freud’s “Interpretation of Dreams.” Campbell has referenced it and the importance of dreams as a means of information about your spiritual (non-religious) self. He says that dreams are important to record and write down what the ideas in them remind you of or how you view them because it may not neccessarily have to do with the thing you are dreaming about but it can be a thought of interest on an issue you are unconciously needing to find some solution or thought to. He suggests writing down the dream and then taking a fraction of that or one or two images or ideas and write down what comes to your mind in relation to these images. Because these are things that are influencing you even if you don’t know they are. 

So here’s last night’s dream. I have a co-worker who is very obviously into me. I’m not trying to make myself feel good with this. It just is. And I’m his boss, and furthermore, I’m don’t find him attractive. But last night, I dreamed he was at my house and we were having a sleep over of some kind. He looked inside my fridge and commented on my food in there, saying it smelled. Now, I’d just bought groceries and so I was offended, but I lifted up a plastic bag in the crisper drawer and out came a roach, scuttling along the fridge, out, up the wall and disappearing.

It’s always disturbing to see a roach. They are dirty and unclean, and are attracted to to similar circumstances. Nobody wants that. Perhaps I feel that something close to me or inside me is dirty or unclean? I needed to take a shower this morning and I thought about that as I laid down, so that may be your simple answer. But, why would this co-worker be exposing this “dirty little secret,” residing on a supposedly fresh tomato, to me? Earlier that day a friend had posted a status about not liking tomatoes or onions. 

Also, in this dream, I was in my pajamas. But the pajamas I wear when I’m alone…which is an oversized t-shirt and panties. So, this person who is attracted to me and openly says things about how “amazing” he finds me, was running around my house, calling me out on roaches while I was embarassed about my dirty fridge, standing almost naked in front of him. 

Nakedness is insecurity about an issue, I think. I know there is a sense of that every time I have to be scantily clad at the beach or whatnot. Or maybe there’s a part of me that wants to be exposed in front of someone who seems to value the package I’m putting out there. 

Also, in the dream, the co-worker said an insult to me, but it was obviously from the movie Anchorman. I’m able to quote this movie pretty much on demand. So I fired back the next insult line at him from Veronica Corningstone’s dialogue. Apparently, I slightly stumbled on the last word of saying, “You look like a blueberry.” And co-worker called me on it and embarrassed me agian.

Now, here is the embarassment thing again. Three times in one dream. It’s starting to seem like I’m worried about being embarrassed in front of someone who admires or is attracted to me. That’s pretty legitimate. I do want to seem intelligent and well…flawless in front of a potential love interest. As long as my brain isn’t trying to tell me that going for this co-worker is a good idea. Because it’s not. Abort. No matter how nice and personable he may be, dating a co-worker is not my bag, baby. And again, he is not attractive to me. He’s also not very educated. I’m gonna need someone who can carry a conversation with me, and if I can be a little conceited (go ahead Anna) I’m at a level of intelligence that requires a bit of work to impress. 

Anyway, that was the dream. Today was just kind of bland and I can’t get the words to co-operate at the moment. The only other thing to say is to comment on Ken’s love life. I hope Ken doesn’t mind. 

Ken is single. And Ken laments this fact. Usually I lament right alongside Ken, but today I offered another perspective…the one I’d gained yesterday. I told Ken the best advice I could give when it comes to dating is to give up. Love and relationships come best when unbidden. You’ll more than likely fall into it when you’re headed for some other destination. I suggested getting wrapped up in life as much as possible so that love and relationships are almost an afterthought. There’s so much more to know and discover than a person’s phone number is what I’m trying to say. I’ve had a lot of fun with Lanks, but when I’m honest about it, what we have is not really a relationship and it’s going to get more terminally causual from this point. And it’s fine…it’s all fine. Zen, baby, zen. There’s someone out there who is coming for me and I’ve only got to open myself to that when it comes. Or perhaps there’s not someone, and I’m just destined to watch and write it all down. I’m good with that too. All I’m saying is that really and truly, I give up. Next time I think about making the first move, I’m going to hold back and accept the freefall of what happens, happens. Because people are so wrapped up in themselves that when they notice you first, it truly is a miracle, I think. 

Furthermore, perhaps the reason Ken can’t find a Steady is that many people think we are dating. Perhaps because we are always sharing space, as friends are wont to do, I’m told. I’m here to anonymously clear this all up. Ken and I are friends. The best of friends. But we would literally kill one another if we were to relationship. We are there in a friend capacity and are very greatful for each other, I’m sure, but yeah, no dice. 

Final note. I never really imagined I’d be that “crazy feminist” type that everyone seems to fear so much, but I reached a new level today. I am working on naming my car, because such things are done. I took a few suggestions for names from the Facebook and they were all feminine names. The feminist in me wants to post a status about how I won’t be naming my car a feminine name because it always seems like objects are always given feminine names, thus perpetuating in small part the cycle of associating women with things to be objectified. Therefore, I will be naming my car something masculine to go spread the objectification around. Plus, my car is a dude. That’s how I roll. 

I won’t rant on FB, but just so everyone knows, the opportunity was there. My efforts to change the mentality of people towards feminists prohibits me from going all uber-strict on something that I’m going to classify as trivial. It’s just interesting to note that when an object needed to be named, it was all lady names. That’s why you can’t tell me that feminism is unneccessary. 

Well, enough jaw exercise for today. I’m out!

-Anna R. Kotopple