Four on 3/5/2007

I’ve been meaning to do some kind of media entry for awhile, but I’ve been spending most of my time and energy being antsy, scrambling around at work, and of course, dutch oven-ing myself. (That’s for Stacey). 1) is really long-winded, I know, so you may want to wait until you’re at work to read it.

1. Though it must have always been in me, like a forever dormant appendix that suddenly throbs and painfully contorts in one day, it really began to manifest itself my junior year of college. I was an RA and lived where I worked, a precarious arrangement. I’m not normally a confrontational person, but I’m not laid back, either. I felt divided between the obligation to address every little indiscretion, even when I was tired and running to class, and the desire to mind my own business.

I started to miss staff meetings, dorm programs, and social gatherings with co-workers. I pretended to be disappointed when a class conflicted with staff meetings, but really, I was ecstatic.

On top of this aversion to socialization at work, which is somewhat understandable, I pulled away from other peer groups. One summer, I was part of a Shakespeare program that took me and ten other girls to a bed and breakfast for three day stretches. There we immersed ourselves in The Bard and screechy summer nights and whatever alcohol we smuggled onto the premises.

Well, they did. I’d just turned 21 and hadn’t any alcoholic palate. That and I was anti-social. I’d stay in my room at night, working on my scene from “The Tempest” and reading feminist non-fiction. Peals of laughter swam under the bottom crack of the door, rendering my bookmark a failure. I plugged my ears with a clotty down pillow and tossed about restlessly.

As stereotypically “lonely” as this sounds, I never felt ashamed of myself. Not usually. I definitely never felt lonely. I really enjoy alone time - and have ever since I was a kid - whether it’s taking long walks down crowded streets or curling up with a book in bed. From ages five to fourteen, I’d swing for hours on a swingset in my backyard almost every day. This was my time to think, talk to myself, and sing.

This weekend, Cade’s going to Pennsylvania and I’m really excited about not joining him. I’m definitely going to ask some girlfriends at work if they want to hang out, but the majority of the time will be in solitude. Eating what I want, going where I want, staying up as late as I want. As much as I love time with Cade, I don’t get to call all the shots when we’re together. I like doing that and getting to miss him sometimes.

I’ve always known I was different, and knew some people would think I should feel ashamed maybe or abnormal. But I can’t apologize for preferring my own company over hanging out with most people. Of course, there are some people I feel comfortable around and enjoy so much that I seek them out. But I’d never want to spend all my time with someone else. It’s funny that I never thought much about it until recently.

The books that have prompted my recent reflection are Quirkyalone: A Manifesto for Uncompromising Romantics and Party of One: A Loner’s Manifesto. (I’m a quirkytogether). Who knew people were writing about - even celebrating - loners today and in antiquity? Not me. It makes me feel that I’m in good company.

2. I fancy myself a very suspicious person, though I know I look like a Girl Scout. I also fancy myself a woman with a “dyke vibe.” That’s the term I use, and I don’t mean “dyke” in a pejorative way. Rather, a reclaimed way. Maybe it’s because the word was hurled at me by a lot of close-minded, ignorant people when I was growing up. I’m not sure why. Probably because I was gawkward - another of my linguistic creations that is sadly, too apt - and didn’t like the boys or act much like the other girls. Or maybe the vibe really is there. I know numerous people have suspected that I might play for the other team; some have even tried to recruit me.

Whatever the case, I was reading one of Alison Bechdel’s collections of the comic strip, Dykes To Watch Out For one day on the subway. (After reading the amazing Fun Home, I decided I love Bechdel and desperately want her to be my friend. She can hang out with David Sedaris and me). Any book with the word “DYKES” on the cover is bound to get attention, but I usually have books on my lap or handbag. On this particular day, I had to stand on a crowded weekend train and endure all the gossip and speculation at my book title. In English and Spanish. There was blatant pointing and sizing up of my outfit.

I was standing in front of these teenage girls who were craning their necks and trying to read the comics inside. Up to this point, I was cool. “I’m progressive, I’m open-minded and in the know,” I thought. “I pity the fools who don’t know Alison Bechdel.”

Then I opened the book to a page in which a character gives herself a monthly breast exam. The girls totally lost it, and I felt a teensy bit embarrassed. Not because there’s any shame in lesbians or breast exams, but because I was reading what some dumb teenagers perceived to be a dirty comic book. I’m too young to be branded a pervert!

In the end, I sucked it up, and gave them a look as if I’m a dyke to watch out for. I don’t think they bought it, but they did ask if I had some Thin Mints.

The book recommendation part: Alison Bechdel’s work is great. D.T.W.O.F. is good, but Fun Home makes for easier reading on public transportation and is amazing.

3. I meant to only write about books, but I’ve seen three films in recent history that I really enjoyed.

a. Shut Up And Sing - It’s the Dixie Chicks documentary! I met someone who edited the film my first summer in NYC. I love Natalie Maines’s voice and the sheer girl power of the group, but never knew just how much backlash they faced when Maines made that famous comment about being ashamed Bush is from Texas.

My response: Bush is not even FROM Texas.

The documentary really shows the Chicks as people, and I’ve since invited them all to be best friends with me, David Sedaris, and Alison Bechdel.

b. The Boys of Baraka - This documentary follows some inner-city Baltimore boys who get selected to attend a school program in Africa. It’s poignant, and the film commentary is really thought-provoking. I highly recommend it.

c. Love and Basketball - How did I get through a minor in Women’s Studies, taking such courses as Gender, Class, and Ethnicity in American Literature and Film and not see this? The protagonist is a strong, determined, female athlete. The soundtrack is groovy. The love story is dynamic. I cried, laughed, and listened to the commentary. Then I listened to songs from the movie all the next day like a sucker.

4. I’ve just started reading Garbage Land, a nonfiction work written by a Brooklyn conservationist who decides to follow her trash and see where it ends up. She tags along with sanitation workers, studies trash with waste experts, and even canoes in the Gowanus Canal. Ewww! Fascinating, grimy stuff. And yes, the word “anus” does seem to represent the quality of that body of water.

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2. Because it’s always okay to jump into bed with a book
3. A Box of Matches
4. Four on 9/24/2008
5. When I love teaching
6. Not a mirror
7. ‘Til life do us part, or What I thought of Revolutionary Road