The ballet dancer performs a series of pirouettes which will end in the arms of another dancer who will emerge from the wings of stage right to catch her. (There may or may not be an audience.)
She performs the pirouettes. Her right leg in the air she expects it to land softly and with strength on the waiting dancer’s shoulder. As she finishes the series, she sees the other dancer … monstrous and pale. Her leg lands on its shoulder. A knife slices though the skin and muscle on her inner thigh. She falls.
The surrounding dancers manage the monster to the floor. The repeated dull stab of the twelve pairs of pointe shoes soon renders him unconscious, the bone in his face dismantled, his head pulpy. His ribs are cracked, and his arms and legs look loose. His feet seem to have escaped unscathed.
The blood climbs through the fibres of their beautiful ballet shoes, shading them red to pale pink, but they will continue to dance in them because they can’t afford more.
Hair. Most people have it (you can never quite be sure though). But it’s (mainly) disgusting.
I shall be upfront and admit that I *grill* (a proper Afrikaans word) for wet hair. Mock charging and nausea ensue. So washing my hair is a problem. Hair in a drain? *mocks … Other people’s wet, miff, balled-up hair in a drain? I can taste the vomit rising.
There is nothing so gross as wet hair tangled up with sifness and mildew and mould and all other disgusting manner of things that one finds in drains. Nothing. Not even Parktown Prawns.
I am currently struggling with this issue in my life (and many more but this is really getting me riled up). It hates me. Hair hates me. It follows me and grows on me in all these places. Like my head. Then it falls out and just lies on me, tickling and irritating and distracting me from life. And you can’t ever find it. You brush your head and somehow at least 423 strands come out and stick to you. They adhere to your very being and don’t let go. And you pluck and brush and wipe them off. To no avail. WHY ARE THEY SO CLINGY? It doesn’t make sense.
*expletive* they’re gross.
Why God? Why can we just not have hair? It’s hair that makes people go mad. This morning I contemplated shaving it off. Only mad people do that (and people that undergo chemo). And hairdressers. And I think hairdressers are quite mad, so it’s mostly just mad people that do drastic things with their hair. Britney Spears. Sharon Stone used to cut her own hair. On an Ellen deGeneres show she mentioned she used to cut it with a razor (I stand corrected) in the middle of the night. If ANYTHING, that is mad. And she didn’t even realise how mad it showed her to be. That statement was quite normal for her. Anyway, I don’t want to be mad. But my hair will drive me to it. And then I’ll be that mad person with no hair. Kinda like Boy George (incidentally Simon George made a doccie called The Madness of Boy George).
Sigh. I don’t quite know what to do … the options are that I either go mad invisibly inside my head, or visibly on the outside of my head. I believe this then is how people deal with things. With everything. We’re actually all just mad. We’re all pathological … we are pathology.
2) ANC at Luthuli house throwing away and stamping on a memorandum offered to them by Afriforum.
They are charged with killing four children. I don’t think they should get bail … and TEN k?. Nice one ‘judge’. Never mind that they were loaded. Great role model Jubs … learnt a few things from your mom hey?
So the ANC want respect as a ruling party (they don’t have it yet clearly). Behaving like a pack of banana-loving republicans is not going to do it sorry to burst your beautiful throw-it-down-and-stamp-on-it-and-it-will-go-away tactic. Almost as smart as chanting “Kill the Boer” Malema. It’s kinda your fault anyway … which I’m sure you love.
Don’t get me wrong I quite like Julius. He keeps things going, knows how to rattle a white liberal and an Afrikaner and keep misinformed gits thinking he’s the future of the ANC - a real ‘return to traditional ANC values’ like the pre-Mandela ballies. But he’s not going to stop saying stupid shit if you fine him R50 000 like the last time.
Awesome. Let’s really show the world we’re not idiots.
There I said it. Men like boobs. Women like boobs. Kids like boobs. I like boobs. They’re interesting. And squishy sometimes. Well, mine are. I don’t really know many other boobs, except for the occasional frank friend that doesn’t mind demonstrating the limitations and exaggerations of their bodies. I had particularly large breasts … I use the past tense because a week ago I had a breast reduction. And I am ecstatic! I’ve been wanting one for about six years (since I was about 19) and I feel incredible. But I didn’t really know anyone who’d had it done themselves – the only person I did know told me one thing: it will hurt. She lied. Ugh. So I thought you might like some first-hand information.
There are about two and a half million Google results for ‘breast reduction’, and about 800 000 for blogs on the issue. But YOU have to go find THEM. Admin. Plus you have to look for ages before you find a blog that’s not written by a weirdo. So many weirdos have computers. It’s not right. That aside, I thought I’d bring you a quick, comprehensive boob job run-down.
1)If you’re thinking about it you likely have a reason to have it done. Just make the initial appointment!
2)Get referrals!
3)Try to get your doctor to motivate for your medial aid to pay for it!
4)You’ll be in theatre and under anaesthetic for approximately two hours.
5)It’s only a little sore post-op: I feel like I have a steel rod around the base of my boobs (where you measure for bra-size) and a sort of dull throbbing occasionally. You’ll get pain meds prescribed … take them.
6)Initially your mobility will be compromised, so try to make sure you have someone to look after you, to wash you, and to hang things up for you.
7)You’ll take about six weeks to heal properly, and then you need to take care of your scars – don’t start crazy exercise too soon (about three months).
I look amazing (I would say that even if I wasn’t a narcissistic writer)!
Depending on how much tissue they remove, your swelling can be marginal. I‘ve gone from a 34F to a 34C which is quite a big difference, so I had a little more swelling than is typical. I was also in theatre for three hours which is slightly longer than normal. Everything is variable so you need to make sure that you and your doctor are on the same page, and that you understand all the risks and complications. Each body is different and reacts differently. It’s best if you’re physically at your healthiest at the time of your operation. Smoking and unhealthy lifestyle trends reduce the chances of hassle-free recovery. It’s also advised to try lose weight/mass before your surgery (both to reduce the size of your breasts initially, and secondly to prevent stress on your scars post-op).
I feel like the me I used to be and was always meant to be. I feel as gorgeous as I was in high school. The only problem is that I’m so friggin’ impatient because all I want to do is go and buy hot new lingerie (which have never been made in my size) and a bikini that doesn’t cost R1000 and actually fits. I am so excited!
Feel free to email me if you’d like more information, or if you’d like to talk with me about boobs … I have exciting things planned for 2010!
So when bloggers start writing lists it’s because they can’t think of anything else to say. I really want to assure you that I have been planning this list for some time now … but that’s just untrue. I actually don’t have anything else to blog about.
Well, actually I do, I just don’t have the time right now so this’ll have to make do.
Mostly cause it ends in ‘hor’ which is not only the second pharaoh of the first dynasty of Ancient Egypt, or an abbreviation for horizon and lots (LOTS) of other stuff, but ALSO means a woman of easy virtue. And in speaking the word, there is no way to get around emphasising the ‘HOR’ bit. If you’re using the word you likely feel quite strongly about the subject, and there’s usually emotion in your voice, as in, “I abHOR the word ‘gubernatorial’”. But when I say it something comes across that looks like distaste for easy women, or that I enjoy saying the word “whore“, and that, combined with the fact that I don’t look like ANYONE who even says “whore“ overshadow the message of complete aberration I have for whatever it is I’m hating at that moment.
Don’t we ALL hate two-handled drinking cups? Why Scotland? Why?
Hahahahaha. I hope you lazy bastards reading this looked up the link to the first quiach I’ve changed my mind about this word now though It’s now top ten best words ever!
How much more awkward can you get? Why are there so many ‘b’ sounds? So awkward it’s so upsetting. Like ‘Cuba‘. Sort of. Not really. But who calls their kid ‘Cuba’? That’s friggin’ weird.
Because it sounds like ’snore’ and that sounds sleepy and potentially boring (not that sleep is boring). ‘S’more’ is like a cross between bore and snore and gore and lore. Yucky. And completely opposite to what s’mores are: om yom yommy. It’s also Americans being lazy and not enunciating.
Because it sounds like lingo for another word referring to idiom or jargon that means lingo. But it isn’t. Which brings me relief (so much relief), but it doesn’t change what ‘lingo’ connotes. It’s a conundrum.
In addition all French words that are Anglicised, such as argot and fillet (yum!) … because you sound like a retard saying them Frenchly when you’re speaking English. And if you pride yourself on your pronunciation (as I might) … you really want to say [’fiy-ei] rather than [’fhilit] (please forgive my IPA) but you end up sounding like a moron.
That’s eight. Well seven. Sevenish. If I gave it some more time … but I think sevenish’s enough
I mean really? C’mon now … Give it to someone that’s done something already … Tsvangirai deserved it more I believe. Give him some money, some respect; he could do with a bit more clout. I bet the committee’d do something ridiculous like award it to him and Bob jointly (like the Mandela/De Klerk award in 1993).
(And I know this happened a while ago - I tweeted and FB’d my view … but came across this cartoon and it brought up all those old feelings of can-you-really-be-that-easily-manipulated-slash-are-you-really-that-retarded-slash-let’s-not-do-the-most-right-thing.)
Morgan I’ve got your back … call me we’ll organise a braai or something.
My dad is a Zimbabwean man. One of my best friends in the entire world is a Zimbabwean man. I thought Zim men were great. Sadly, they are not (yes generalising I know). But I feel justified in doing so. I found and read an article headlined: BYO man beats up bikini wife. (What’s a bikini wife? Is there a one-piece wife too? And a tankini wife?). The responses are predominantly patriarchally misogynistic. That description has far too many syllables but I meant every one.
This is the run down to the article in case you’re too lazy to read it: Wife wears bikini. Wife wanders outside into her own yard complete with one ”very tall brick wall” and lies down. Useless parents’ boys climb trees and walls to look at her. Her husband (Vincent Shoko) returns and beats her for “basking in the glory of being a spectacle” - for showing off her body to anyone other than himself. Woman relocates to her parents’ house.
What the ‘H’ (Brenda Hoskinson I miss you.)? This is horrible. Nevermind the story, it’s the responses that I’m even more concerned about. Comments ranged from “well done Vincent Shoko” (Chingumbe [Kuno]), to “This woman is crazy beyond measure and imagination!!!Why any1 want would to flaunt thier dust filled ass in a high density surburb is beyond me!!Mr Shoko well done…. ” (Khandelibi [Khalanyoni]). And he can’t spell either, sis. How does he know her ass had dust in (IN?) it? Was he one of the lascivious teenage miscreants sneaking a peak? And why did her ass have dust in it? I think Khandelibi must have some strange ideas about how to make a poo. Try a toilet next time Sir.
Ok, so there are a handful of vincent-you’re-acting-like-a-neanderthal comments (which I think are completely spot on) and I laud Fafidho (England), Frank K (Cape Town) and Xolani (Brighton, UK).
Ha. And look. Point (mine) proven. I know all the locations of all three anti-neanderthilia authors: England, Brighton, and Cape Town. And know neither Kuno nor Khalanyoni (I now know they’re both Zim towns). Therefore it must be a Zimbabwean thing. The neanderthals live in Zim and beat woman who have had their privacy invaded.
Ok - I’m generalising. But I chose those five comments based on content, and look at the corresponding geographical correlation. For many things’ sakes, she was in her own yard - not naked (which should be her choice in her own yard anyway), and boys were spying on her. She didn’t tempt them, call them over, or post an advertisement. A parent of one of the boys had this to say, “Boys will be boys and Mrs Shoko should have been more careful“. That parent sanctions their teenage son being a perverted, peeping Tom. Bad parenting. Bad attitude. Female attitude - the parent was a mother - even women participate in their own oppression. Don’t women deserve more than this? “Boys will be boys” - what crap; does that mean in order for Zim boys to be ‘real’ boys they have to conform to the patriarchal standards of misogyny valued by their fathers (and some mothers)? I’m glad I’m in SA where I can tan in my yard and no-one beats me up.
Yes. I’m South African. I’m middle class. I have an education. Maybe I know only what these things afford me. But Vincent resides in sub-Saharan Africa just like I do. He lives in a lovely neighbourhood (save for the boys) so he’s middle class like I am, and it doesn’t say whether he’s educated or not, but it appears he’s articulate and not shy to talk from the articles I read. We both live in big towns, in nice suburbs - why doesn’t he know it’s quite indecent to beat his wife? Why doesn’t he know that she should be able to tan in her own yard? Why do so many Zimbabwean men (still) agree with him?
Now because I’m not a techie (is that even correct?) … I still haven’t figured out how to embed links etc … so you’ll just have to deal with the fact that I don’t have the right to use this image but it can be found here: Tip of the iceberg :: The News in Photos :: Mail & Guardian Online.
How superb is this? I am floored by its technical prowess and, well, other stuff. It’s kind of got this Burning Man (except icy) feel - the whole idea of transcient art, of the temporality of creativity.
What a great day - sun and food and awesome friends (some new and some old ) and some music too Rocking the Gardens was truly lovely. And I rediscovered an awesomeness I haven’t seen live in years; I had forgotten what an incredible musical outfit Just Jinjer was.
AND I can’t dance to it. You generally get people rocking back and forth or jumping up and down. Which looks retarded mostly and has nothing to do with skill or the music. I want to feel the music coursing my arteries … I want to feel the bass in my spine.
So back to Just Jinger (Just Jinger) … last on the lineup I had to suffer through (just kidding: AKing and the others were great background noise) the other bands, excepting Freshly Ground who were incredible. Made my portapotty experience sufferable Eventually however JJ truly rocked the garden - they were unbelievable. The best version I’ve ever heard of Sugarman … I wanted to PVR it in my mind. Sigh. The limitations of technology. On the other hand, only I will have that experience … it’s everything I remember.
I don’t really consider JJ’s stuff to be rock though; it transcends rock and it’s more than music - in my mind, their music means to me so many things about myself, the lyrics have relevance in my life - they’ve made me understand things I feel, they’ve expressed things I’ve understood. They - more than any other group - have consistently and beautifully crafted a soundtrack to my life.
Matthews is always lovely - forgot he played the harmonica (frisson frisson frisson) … he’s fun and interactive and interesting
340ml, Tumi and the Volume (bands I watched ages ago in Melville and who still haven’t improved) and AKing were, well, there. I actually don’t mind AKing - but it’s still rock. Bed on Bricks though: seriously? Anyway they were the only group that made me slightly nauseous … I had an awesome day and the others were quite nice. Gang of Instrumentals were pretty cool as well as being fun!
As it got dark it got colder - sleeping bags and a candle would’ve been the perfect accompaniment to the audio-visual pleasure of music and pretty lights and stars that enveloped us … I wanna go again! Wish I was in CT this wend!!
Speaking of: Just Jinjer’s going to be at Rocking the Daisies this coming wend in Cape Town so I suggest you go cause they’re awesome! And it’ll be fun and stuff … take shorts so you get a tan and a sleepybag for when it’s cold
I LOVE animated films. They’re resplendent with fun, with imagination, and with emotion too. On Saturday I watched UP (I’ve been waiting for it to come out for EVER) … and it was all of those pretty things I just mentioned. And loads more http://disney.go.com/disneypictures/up.
It’s a Pixar creation; cute, endearing, funny. And suPOSEDly made for children. I say supposedly because a friend and I went to watch it and it was one of the most touching, emotional texts I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
As we waited outside the door to be let in, throngs of children (accompanied by throngs of parents) milled about, eating popcorn and drinking coke and just generally being busy. My friend and I were two out of very few adults there that didn’t have children.
At the end of the film all the kids evacuated. Maybe someone farted I dunno, but they just vanished. The only people left were ourselves, and at least 8 old people (I mean grey-haired AND wrinkled AND living in retirement villages AND the type that may be dependent upon things like canes, and tea. And biscuits). We couldn’t leave because our red eyes and snotty noses would’ve been at the very least quite offensive to the general public. The oldies couldn’t leave ’cause they were in the same emotional state as us, or they were really old and needed a lot of time to remember where they were and reassemble themselves. And stand up. Hehe
We (us and the oldies) were also the ones left behind because of the intense emotional journey we’d just been through. It was not a mere witnessing of profound life experiences such as the death of the person you’ve been in love with for the past kabillion years, or a reminder of dreams delayed, or a child, emotionally abandoned by his parents. It was a complex and moving piece of cinema that I firmly believe all adults should see. It was distressingly similar to a future conception of my own life … I saw myself; my marriage, my dreams, my adventures, my wastedness, my sadness, my intention, my end, my life, my values. I saw them taken away, I saw them rejuvenated, I saw them disappear and materialise. there were old people and dogs and children and family and there was a Snipe. I cried more than I did in Wall-E ….
It really struck me that that Pixar films are created for both child and adult, something I’ve noticed before in films (e.g. Shrek), but not as overt. The older you are when you watch these animated masterpieces, the more you get from them. I cannot wait to (have and) take my kids to see such movies.
And as a bonus, the Snipe (Kevin; mother to three perfect baby Snipes) looks nothing like the boring Snipe that occurs in ‘real’ life … Kevin is splendid and adorable without being a sappy dog. Even the dog, Doug (don’t you love this movie?!) is completely irresistable. And I’m a cat person (thanks Sarah). Anyway I just think that all people everywhere should watch this film
Last week - in three days - I came across an astounding number of news articles describing gender inequality. These range from Caster Semenya’s testing to virginity/purity myths to Julius Malema’s quips (the following are only a few of those I read):
Why are we still writing about women’s rights, arab terrorism, and black injustice? Why, I wondered, are we still going through so many liberation issues?
The logical conclusion is that these issues are still affecting minorities in a lasting and material way. This is because the way we conceive of these groups still allows for discrimination. And so we talk about it - we talk about heroes and people of strength and children dying, all of them struggling tn order to live their lives without oppression. By revealing these stories we simultaneously a) wish to have them heard and listened to, dealt with, helped out, and b) we recreate these groups as pockets of people that struggle, that suffer, that are sick, that are weak, that are marginalised. We, as writers and reporters and journalists and activists, reinstate these people as people that are a specific way - marginalised, and we normalise that conception by our extensive coverage of these issues of inequality.
We represent these marginalised people as marginalised people. And that’s difficult to escape. I understand that talking about these issues is far superior to not discussing them. However we need to recognise that we are reinstating stereotypes of certain people as weak, less than, reliant upon. The way we represent people (especially in a factual, news-based medium like a newspaper) becomes the way we (and readers) think people (Hall, Foucault, bell hooks, Richard Dyer, Mohanty-Collins) . And thinking informs how we act toward people.
It’s difficult to write an article about a woman suffering and not to show her suffering. Her suffering is the pivotal point of that article: it must be for the article to have any effect as an item of social journalism, in order for it to be the vehicle through which her suffering is eased.
So what is the answer? I believe it lies in talking about the group that we don’t talk about; white, heterosexual men. Surely there are some of them experiencing legitimate suffering and oppression? I’m not suggesting we saturate our social media with their stories … I merely wish to allow those stories space among the many whose focus is women, homosexual people, and children - allow all of us to see that white, heterosexual men are also fallible, breakable, that they don’t always rule the world. By allowing us to recognise that this untouchable group are just as touchable as the rest of the world, we will make space for the idea that this group is not necessarily as strong as we assume, we will allow for white men, and the power they do assert over people’s lives, to be able to be conceived of as erodable.
Richard Dyer in White (1997) “http://books.google.com/books?id=ncIbd-Uch28C&lpg=PP1&dq=richard%20dyer%20white&pg=PP1&output=embed” speaks of the invisibility of the white person (not just male but for this discussion we speak of white males primarily) … how they are practically absent but always there. They are not ever named as the white male, they just are; and they constitute normality. Everyone that does not fit into that category is called Other and are defined in relation to the norm. Because the white male is the norm and calls, he has the power to define what the Other is. He speaks everyone into existence, he has a form of power and control over the Other; he calls and defines woman as weaker, black as lesser, Arab as terrorist. And we come to think the world in those ways - in those terms provided for us. And it’s easy to think those things because men are invisible, we don’t see them and those ideas appear to have no source for us - those understandings are naturalised, dehistoricised, and prescribed.
To illustrate this point, yesterday I DID find an article about a white man. A poor, refugeed, white man from South Africa … http://www.mg.co.za/article/2009-09-07-take2-the-mark-shuttleworth-of-con-men … the article itself is very strange; it tries to comment on how cowardly this man is - claiming refugee status because he’s been the victim of so much black crime because he’s white. It ends up describing a white man who blames black people for his problems. This is the story not of a strong white man facing continued, lived horrors - this journalist (whose name is not included in the byline) attempts to provide a satire of what this white man has done- claiming refugee status in a foreign country because he’s a whitey persecuted by darkies.
The point being that the only article about a white man that I can remember coming across recently is this one. About a silly, racist, freeloading, white man. The article others him as a racist, and shows that only silly white men are racists, not the rest of them invisibly floating out there in White Hetero Male Land (wherever it doesn’t exist).
The article itself is average, it doesn’t even try hard enough to show this white man (Huntley) up. So little effort was put into it, that it’s almost a farce. When you do find an article on a white man, the author can’t even be bothered to devote sufficient time to it. Moreover the goal was to laugh at the man, to discredit him, rather than berate him for taking chances with important affairs that have severe political consequence for a number of people (claiming refugee status is not something to be joking around with, unless its scathing, a la David Bullard).
We have a responsibility to help change the ways in which people think. We write stories, and we represent people. It is on us to make that representation fair and accurate, balanced and researched. We need to speak not just about the things no-one speaks about, we need to speak about everything.
Most people I chat to don’t really know about Burning Man, how *awesome* it is or what it really involves. How did this community evolve from a small 20-person gathering on a on a beach in San Francisco in 1986 - burning the first man (8 feet high) to celebrate the Summer Solstice - into the huge 50 000 strong event it is today in the Black Rock Desert?
I don’t really know but it’s pretty cool. The basic rundown is: freedom. Of yourself, of expression, of movement and art and stuff. It’s pretty anti-capitalism (except for the high entrance/ticket fee) … no money changes hands - you swap and gift and exchange. Which is pretty awesome! There’s a LNT (Leave No Trace) policy: all signs that anyone was there are eradicated - no trace of 50 000 people?! That’s incredible and commendable. That aside I think it’s just a pretty big party with a kiff theme and a gigantic burning man (and has nothing to do with Guy Fawkes).
I don’t mean to oversimplify the idea however and the ten main principles are: radical inclusion (everyone’s welcome), gifting [!], decommodification, radical self-reliance and expressionism, community, civic and environmental responsibility, immediacy & participation - go see http://www.burningman.com/whatisburningman/about_burningman/principles.html
Last year I wanted to go to Afrika Burn … sort of the African version of Burning Man … but Laird and I couldn’t make the trip. So I suggested having our own … (haha the start of all great ideas/parties I think are limitations imposed on people).
Which turned out pretty awesome! and made us and the Grahamstown SPCA some cash (RAG hangover; I can’t throw a party without there being some philanthropic interest :).
So we’re doing it again! 18 September is our date (we couldn’t entirely match Burning Man [August 31 - September 7] http://www.burningman.com/ or AfrikaBurn (9-13 September) http://www.afrikaburns.com/ because students are going to be writing exams, have holidays, and there’s Trivar and Boat Races to consider in the little town of G. So we’ve opted for a lovely late party with trance and D&B dance floor and a )’( outside where all the hippy types can relax and poi and drum
The venue is awesome! We really have a deep-seated love (I don’t use the term ‘love’ flippantly) for Fort Selwyn. It sits (for those who haven’t been to Grahamstown) atop a wonderful hill overlooking the entirety of Grahamstown, next to the 1820 Settler’s Monument. The view is outstanding - rivers of houses and puddles of shacks and a myriad streets and church spires make Grahamstown one of the most aesthetically interesting towns in SA. And at night the lights are mesmerising. Spots of incandecence create magical pockets of wonder. At the Fort the stars and the lights and the burning man (wait for 12:01!) create the most intoxicating atmosphere … last year the people were awesome … there were no Rat-type fights, no this-is-my-piece-of-grass-find-your-own, no messing about. People were amazing! My friend Jenna transformed (it didn’t take much) into the most amazing hippy ever! I found her wondering around barefoot: she’d accumulated a leather jacket, a posy of fresh (ish) flowers to match the ones plaited into her hair, and some beads. (Jen I miss you!)
We’d like to invite anyone in the entire multiverse to come to Gtown for the weekend and come play! It’s too much fun and hopefully serves as a small ode to all that is Burning Man.
A fellow Blatter posted the above, titled: Gender Bender. Soulfood101 you make interesting remarks and I feel similarly to you that being subjected to gender testing would likely be humiliating and shameful.
This is NOT a gender issue. It’s a sex issue (and shouldn’t be that even).
I’d like to focus on the world’s understanding of gender though: the idea of biological determinism and ‘natural’ difference. The world ‘knows’ that human beings are automatically divided into ‘men’ and ‘women’. It makes so much sense because they’re so different (catching the sarcasm?). Men and women are genetically almost entirely similar. There are MINOR differences in hormone levels (yes we share hormones too) and physical ability. But sometimes, a person with FEMALE DNA is just quicker than a person with MALE DNA. Are men so threatened by Semenya/a woman’s assault on their turf, their superiority that they have to prove without doubt that she doesn’t belong to the group called ‘women’?
What is ‘gender verification’ anyway? You can’t verify gender. You can verify whether someone was born with certain chromosomes. But just because you read my chromosomes as XX, doesn’t make me ‘act’ like a girl. What if I choose to ‘act’ like a boy? Choose to wear clothing that allows me to be more active? Choose to cut my hair in a way that is stereotypically male? Treat other people as a male person might? That makes my effect on the social world male or masculine. By embodying the male, I become male, and have material effects on the world as a male. Gender is a choice - ask R.W. Connell, Judith Butler, Simone de Beauvoir. Semenya has chosen to be a woman and so she is.
As a society we are still too far away from accepting that ‘men’ and ‘women’ can compete in the same race, that more than two genders are a possibility - I struggle with saying that men and women should compete as equals in sporting events. Why? Because it challenges my understanding and place within the world. But Semenya, even if of mixed DNA, or XX or XY or XYXYYX, has become a woman. How dare we attempt to ‘verify’ something that has become a part of Semenya’s identity?
I too am gendered, despite my understanding that my gender (and gender itself) is a social construction based on the ‘common-sense’ understanding that as humans we ‘need’ to be classed as ‘boy’ or ‘girl’. I grew up in a social world that was already gendered, and gendered me from the time I was born. To fit into that social world, to gain its acceptance and sanction, I participated with everyone around me in that gendering, of myself and of the people around me. It is something upon which I base my sense of identity, my sense of who I am. And I can only imagine what it feels like to have that threatened - Semenya’s very being is threatened. And I think that’s crappy.
Again: this should not be called a gender issue when it’s really about sex. And secondly, it should be ok for mulitple genders (e.g. drag, or intersexism) to exist without social disapproval. Some people are born with different DNA (to the XY or XX), and so it is clear that some people are not even male, or female, so there cannot be only two categories to choose from - that is biologically and historically inaccurate.
Maybe Semenya pumps roids, does actually possess male DNA, or just works out a lot. It doesn’t matter: what does is the humiliating process Caster is undergoing to make white hetero men feel more secure about their position in the world. Semenya is a human being before anything else, I think respect is what’s required, not preservation of pride.
I would LOVE … right this instant … to be drunk and covered in glitter*. This is a post about ten of the awesomest things I want to do when I’m older. Retired-old. I definately want to get fat (old-fat not unhealthy-fat). My grandkids must be able to snuggle into me. And I want to make them vetkoek and fudge. And eat it with them.
3) I have also thought previously, that I would like to take a bath in cake flour. How delicious would that be?! No water though, just lovely, soft, heavy-although-deceptively light, arenaceous** decadence.
4) I have also entertained the idea of melting. Like a marshmallow. Wouldn’t it be incredible to be like a marshmallow*** that was put in a microwave? You’d go all balloony and poofy and big. And squishy. See ***. And then you’d be warm and gooey. How wonderful!
five) I want to wake up with funfetti in my underwear.
6) Imagine what it would be like to have no breasts or testicles. To have them cut off would be a profound experience. I think I would realise just how much I identify with mine****. I wonder what that would do to my sense of self. Maybe I’d just enjoy the freedom of easier hygiene, clothes, and lightness
VII) I would like to lie in a field of grass that does not make me itch.
I want a bed in a forest sans bugs. Ooh - or a bed on water … like the bed in one of those Matthew Mcconaughey/Kate Hudson movies. So much fun! Just a bed somewhere outdoorsy and spectacular*****!
nine) I want to be a Ninja Turtle. Definately. I haven’t decided which one though. Any thoughts?
X) It’s always been a dream of mine to (on a trampoline) annihilate someone with an elbow drop (Macho Man Elbow Drop). Why? I know not. I’m not even a wrestling fan******.
So that’s TEN things … do I want to be any more? … Sure. But that’s for another post :) I’d like to hear what YOU want to be when you’re old … er ;) [Karl??]
*This is not a likely scenario: I don’t drink and I would rather NOT be covered in glitter than clean up glitter. Glitter is like superglue. Or Communism in China. Or sand. It’s always there you can’t get rid of it.
** Yes I looked that up. But at least I bovvered.
***’Marshmallow’ should seriously be spelled: ‘marshmEllow’. It’s more suitable. Marshmallows are mellow; squishy and poofy.
