With Christmas around the corner (and my birthday, then graduation, on the horizon), I've been thinking a lot about the way we bless each other, materially and relationally/spiritually, through giving gifts. I love it-- I love finding meaningful gifts for people, but it isn't always easy. I thought it might be a good idea to put out into the digital universe the types of things that would be meaningful to me at this point in my life (for those who might have been interested in figuring out 'what to get me' without having read this status, haha). This is not, by any means, an ask for more-- actually, it's an ask for less. I don't need a lot of things at this point, and my life's not permanent enough to be able to hold on to a lot anyway. So, here are some ideas of things that I will be able to hold onto:
1. Adventurous or quality time. This especially goes out to old friends and now-distant relatives. I miss you. I don't travel a lot, so if you could come visit me and count whatever travel costs as a material blessing to me (or help subsidize bus/train to come visit you!), I'd really love it.
2. Homemade cards, letters, papercrafts, etc. Like I said, I don't keep a lot, but I do have almost every piece of personal correspondence I've ever received in a series of notebooks on my bookshelf. I look through them when I'm feeling nostalgic or down on myself-- really, actually, I love them.
3. The relief of someone else's serious need. Serious. If you have $5 to spend on me, I'd love it if you'd consider donating it to your local homeless shelter, or better yet, make friends with a person on the street, ask 'em what they really need, and get it for 'em. You can sign the card for both of us.
4. Take a chink out of my student debt. If we're at that level where you're not-gonna-not do something extravagant, haha, this is literally the only material need I'm feeling right now. The totals are too terrifying to write here, haha, but I'm really close ($270 away!) from paying off my first, fastest-interest-gathering loan. Kind of exciting. Kind of proud of myself. Repeat: I do not need money, but that's somewhere real & meaningful it could go.
5. Pledge future support (time, talents, money, word-spreading) for the not-for-profit, radically inclusive, regional oral history program I'm designing right now. More info to come!
Hope these are helpful hints. I would love to hear where you're at in relation to needs and wants, material and relational, too.
~Ely
Monday, December 1, 2014
Thursday, September 25, 2014
A Guy's Guide To Not Being a Creeper
Part 1: When Making New LadyFriends
You're an honest guy with reasonably honorable intentions, but for some reason women occasionally look at you as if your yellowed fangs were showing while they back slowly away from you. You were just trying to introduce yourself, or flirt, or compliment her, but she looks as though she's a few steps away from calling the cops. Does that sound about right?
You're not alone. There are lots of guys who feel as though they are navigating a social minefield in which the slightest wrong gesture could, well, blow up in their face. But be comforted by the fact that you are not under attack, and these uncomfortable misunderstandings are generally not random or inevitable. In a world where women are still routinely made to feel inherently unsafe when we occupy public space, you need to know what seemingly innocuous behaviours might create a more hostile environment for women.
So, here a few tips from a real, actual woman, for real, actual men who would prefer not to accidentally creep on my co-genderists and I. It's only one perspective, but hopefully it's a halfway helpful one:
1) Show Yourself. Don't skulk about in the shadows or present closed-off postures such as crossed arms. Be open in conversation, too. If you're unwilling to tell people about yourself, don't expect others to feel safe telling you about themselves. In locations where violence is a real risk, such as a city street at night, make sure your unarmed hands are not concealed.
I also recommend avoiding face-obscuring gear, such as:
You're an honest guy with reasonably honorable intentions, but for some reason women occasionally look at you as if your yellowed fangs were showing while they back slowly away from you. You were just trying to introduce yourself, or flirt, or compliment her, but she looks as though she's a few steps away from calling the cops. Does that sound about right?
You're not alone. There are lots of guys who feel as though they are navigating a social minefield in which the slightest wrong gesture could, well, blow up in their face. But be comforted by the fact that you are not under attack, and these uncomfortable misunderstandings are generally not random or inevitable. In a world where women are still routinely made to feel inherently unsafe when we occupy public space, you need to know what seemingly innocuous behaviours might create a more hostile environment for women.
So, here a few tips from a real, actual woman, for real, actual men who would prefer not to accidentally creep on my co-genderists and I. It's only one perspective, but hopefully it's a halfway helpful one:
1) Show Yourself. Don't skulk about in the shadows or present closed-off postures such as crossed arms. Be open in conversation, too. If you're unwilling to tell people about yourself, don't expect others to feel safe telling you about themselves. In locations where violence is a real risk, such as a city street at night, make sure your unarmed hands are not concealed.
I also recommend avoiding face-obscuring gear, such as:
- Unnecessary sunglasses
- Mardi Gras or ski masks
- Sweaters or medieval cloaks with propped-up hoods
- Facial hair (sometimes ok)
In summary: if I feel like you're hiding, I'm going to have trouble trusting you, because...
2) Facial Expressions Are Key. Generally, the human face does a pretty good job of expressing itself, but men, too, can suffer from RBF. If you're a known scowler, for example, you might want to practice a relaxed and open expression. Don't force a smile-- it shows, and it's potentially unnerving. And as a reminder, eye contact is generally made when and only when someone is speaking or signaling their desire to speak-- at least in my California rendition of American culture.
3) Touch is Tricky-- Tread With Caution. While TIME magazine's psychologists are among those who hold that light touch (on the arm, for example) is the key to flirting (and it can be great for showing affection in well-established platonic friendships), it could make a girl who's just met you intensely uncomfortable if she isn't already signaling interest. If navigating boundaries is a struggle for you, better err on the side of limiting physical contact-- except for a requested dance, or in really successful conversations in distinctively `flirt-friendly' social settings such as parties or bars.
4) Your Car Might Amplify Creepiness. The power differential between someone who has a car and someone who doesn't is a little staggering. A great conversation with a girl probably doesn't mean that she is prepared to get in a car with you, and it's probably better not to offer rides to first-time acquaintances anyway. Never pressure or coerce a girl to get in, or stay in, a car with you. On that note, offering rides to girls at bus stops, for example, is not likely to be interpreted as a noble act of chivalry. And honking at or yelling to a woman you pass on the street is neither flattering, nor a good way to say hello to someone you recognize.
5) Special Attention Can Be Overwhelming. In many situations it might be appropriate to talk to a variety of people, rather than singling out one person to talk to. Regardless of the time balance, though, a barrage of compliments, or questions, from a stranger can be overwhelming. In general, look for signals of discomfort such as lack of eye contact and one-word answers, and excuse yourself with a confident `It was great to meet you!' if the person doesn't seem to be enjoying the exchange. If there was a signal misunderstanding, that person is perfectly capable of seeking you out again, but it's better not to press.
With all of these things in mind, it's still important to note that you aren't entitled to anyone's time or attention. You might reasonably expect certain courtesies from your grocery store clerk or guests to your family picnic, but a stranger you meet in a public or social setting isn't on the same footing with you. It's important to respect whatever boundaries she might draw, even if you don't understand them, because each woman is the expert and authority of her own personal and unique security needs.
To recap: if women are wary of you in public spaces, it may be because you are unintentionally taking postures that threaten our sense of safety. Be honest, open, and respectful of boundaries, and in time, some of us will come to understand your intentions as positive. Don't be a creeper-- even on accident!
4) Your Car Might Amplify Creepiness. The power differential between someone who has a car and someone who doesn't is a little staggering. A great conversation with a girl probably doesn't mean that she is prepared to get in a car with you, and it's probably better not to offer rides to first-time acquaintances anyway. Never pressure or coerce a girl to get in, or stay in, a car with you. On that note, offering rides to girls at bus stops, for example, is not likely to be interpreted as a noble act of chivalry. And honking at or yelling to a woman you pass on the street is neither flattering, nor a good way to say hello to someone you recognize.
5) Special Attention Can Be Overwhelming. In many situations it might be appropriate to talk to a variety of people, rather than singling out one person to talk to. Regardless of the time balance, though, a barrage of compliments, or questions, from a stranger can be overwhelming. In general, look for signals of discomfort such as lack of eye contact and one-word answers, and excuse yourself with a confident `It was great to meet you!' if the person doesn't seem to be enjoying the exchange. If there was a signal misunderstanding, that person is perfectly capable of seeking you out again, but it's better not to press.
With all of these things in mind, it's still important to note that you aren't entitled to anyone's time or attention. You might reasonably expect certain courtesies from your grocery store clerk or guests to your family picnic, but a stranger you meet in a public or social setting isn't on the same footing with you. It's important to respect whatever boundaries she might draw, even if you don't understand them, because each woman is the expert and authority of her own personal and unique security needs.
To recap: if women are wary of you in public spaces, it may be because you are unintentionally taking postures that threaten our sense of safety. Be honest, open, and respectful of boundaries, and in time, some of us will come to understand your intentions as positive. Don't be a creeper-- even on accident!
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Thoughts From A Day in the Mouse Trap
1. Creating experiences is an art form. And Disneyland is to that art form what sky scrapers are to architecture. Disney pulls out all the big guns-- of art AND of technology-- in order to make it happen for its clients. Animatronic EVERYTHING, projections on smoke screens, pristine streets and surreally maintained buildings, makeup and costume, silhouettes and light tricks, every conceivable way of replicating an explosion, and the ingenious engineering of staff members' perfectly-in-character presence (see 2). It's damned impressive, that's what it is.
2. Disneyland has at least half of the characteristics of a cult. (Here I refer to the employer/industry, rather than the exchange between staff and customers.) This isn't a criminal accusation by any means-- if you've ever worked at a summer camp, for example, you understand that the imaginary line between 'cult' and 'culture' is completely meaningless. And cult-ure has valid logistical necessity for large-group management. At any point, Disneyland is coordinating THOUSANDS of 'cast members' in order to maintain the Mouse's microcosm. (Though I'm hardly Princess Popular, about a dozen of my friends and acquaintances have done time at Disney over the years-- and as far as I understand, my cultic references echo popular dressing room humor). Of this list, I'd personally defend numbers one, four, and five, and at least the last three, and add the notion of controlled/coded language which is often so vital in creating culture from the top down.
3. I might be an inductive platonist. This is not a thing; I threw the term together in an attempt to explain my philosophical reaction to Mickey Mice today. See, to entertain the folks waiting to get 'Mickey's autograph', they played a film reel in the lobby of 'his house' which showed all the versions of Mickey-- moving smoothly back and forth from new to old, from original to 3Dish ToonTown and back, with complete irreverence for chronology. And nobody winced. Nobody was bothered because it worked. It was valid. Even though original Mickey probably would not have recognized his modern manifestation, all of the artists were dancing around an essential Mickey-- not by imitating it, but by CREATING it. Who knows how Mickey will manifest by the time I'm taking (or not taking) my own kids to Disneyland... but every new version adds to the compiled picture, the constructed essence of Mickey.
The Latest Manifestation of the Mickey Form
4. If you so much as suggest that ANY attraction at Disneyland is even VAGUELY comparable to Space Mountain in awesomeness, I will punch you in the jaw. Nobutsurious. Why were those other rides even invented? (Ok, I'll give Indiana Jones the credit it's due here too-- if only to have a second-best to keep the supreme best-ness of Space Mountain in perspective.)
Had your own strange and maybe even slightly existential experiences at Disneyland lately? Do tell! Comments are open!
~Ely
Friday, August 8, 2014
I'm not a 'Feminist' (But I need Feminism!)
`Isms' are slippery things. Besides the fact they're constantly being formed and re-formed by the cultural contexts in which they live, just about every member of that culture associates with and defines them differently. That's why I'm wary of attaching my name to any `ism'-- especially any one that I've spent as little time exploring and attempting to understand as Feminism. I don't have the audacity-- or the trust-- that would be required to call myself a Feminist.
But Feminism as a historical and contemporary movement is the ground I stand on. It's the air I breathe. It's the reason why I'm on track to graduate with my my Master's degree a few months after my 23rd birthday; it's the reason why I know that I too am created in God's image; it's the reason why I can participate in acts of intellectual generosity such as poetic perfomance and blogging. That's why I'm a little confused to see so many women proudly denouncing Feminism on the Internet. It feels like watching someone slap her mother. In public.
But Feminism as a historical and contemporary movement is the ground I stand on. It's the air I breathe. It's the reason why I'm on track to graduate with my my Master's degree a few months after my 23rd birthday; it's the reason why I know that I too am created in God's image; it's the reason why I can participate in acts of intellectual generosity such as poetic perfomance and blogging. That's why I'm a little confused to see so many women proudly denouncing Feminism on the Internet. It feels like watching someone slap her mother. In public.
Now, don't get me wrong. A few years ago, I was right there with them. Feminism had been related to me as the battle cry of a bunch of man-hating power-hungry bra-burning megabitches, and it wasn't something I wanted to be associated with either. As a strong daughter of a family full of strong women, I didn't see what everyone was so upset about, either. I knew what Feminism was, and I knew that I didn't need it. But then, during college, I noticed that all was not right in the world of gender relations-- either in my own context or abroad. In one of those beautiful coincidences of timing, I soon read, and then met, a few real-life feminists (female and male). And I realized that I'd allowed a rich, significant, and incredibly NECESSARY global paradigm shift to be charicatured into an irrational bogeywoman in my mind.
I read the 18th century writings of Mary Wollstonecraft, who wanted girls to learn their worth and capabilities as well as math and critical thinking, and I was thankful that I grew up knowing myself as a whole and complete person. I met a male Feminist classmate who was nauseated to watch the male third of our class take three-fourths of the floor time in discussion, and I realized how normal it still feels to be underrepresented. I thought about how my mother and my grandmother raised my sister and I while my father was in prison, and I feel their quiet strength pulsing in my veins and reminding me that I can handle anything. These are the faces of Feminism.
Of course, they aren't the only faces. Here I must plead ignorance on specifics, but I imagine that Feminists, being human beings, sometimes hold onto resentments which aren't productive or life-giving. Some may be reactionary; some may be more emotional than logical; some may be terrible scholars or writers or persuaders. Some may simply be wrong. But if associating with ______ism means agreeing with everything that every _______ist has ever said or written, well, then I quit Christianity.* But in both cases I've been comforted by the fact that we don't simply get absorbed by every notion that we stand too close to. There's little risk of me slipping into agreement with all Christians even when I count myself among them, and there's even less risk of being completely defined by Feminism simply because I refuse to uproot myself from the soil in which myself and the feminists (and the anti-feminists) are together planted.
So as far as I can tell, no matter how you choose to associate with Feminism-- as a Feminist, as a gender-egalitarian, as an antifeminist-- the movement is already associated with you. You can take the woman out of the movement, but you can't take the movement out of the woman. Or the man.
~ ~ ~
*I'm not going to lie; I've considered that option. I constantly have to ask myself if I've let it become another 'ism'-- if I'm a Christian or a Christianist.
Friday, February 14, 2014
Today's Our Day, Singles!
It's recently occurred to me that as a third-century church father, St. Valentine was probably celibate. Celibate, as in voluntarily, perpetually single.
That and the lack of evidence that Valentine even cared about other peoples' romance made me wonder how the hell this day got hijacked by our happily paired-off friends. It's really quite properly our day, as far as I can tell. (Not that we won't share-- especially cause we know how it feels to not be shared with!)
As unhealthy and self-pitying as they often are, I understand the complaints about singleness underrepresentation on Valentine's feast day. Even as a very happily single person, each Valentine's for the past several years has been a time marker for me, an 'Oh, I am not looking at this day from the other side of the divide yet. And I might not, ever."
And I don't mean that to be cynical. I just don't believe the modern narrative that singleness is a curse to be gotten rid of as quickly as possible. In my work at a retirement community, I've met many amazing, fulfilled life champions who have never been married, and a good handful who met and married their first loves in the retirement community after age 60. And I think that's beautiful. I wouldn't mind it in the slightest.
There's a very vivid happiness in this space of not-needing, of being free to invest in community in so many multi-faceted ways, of living and making decisions exclusively by God's beckonings. As a culture, we don't celebrate that enough. So let's start. The reason this is a day of Couple's cheeze and Single's griping is that we haven't joined the celebration.
Today's our day, single people. We're only as alone as we decide to be. Let's choose community. Let's choose connection. Let's choose love.
That and the lack of evidence that Valentine even cared about other peoples' romance made me wonder how the hell this day got hijacked by our happily paired-off friends. It's really quite properly our day, as far as I can tell. (Not that we won't share-- especially cause we know how it feels to not be shared with!)
As unhealthy and self-pitying as they often are, I understand the complaints about singleness underrepresentation on Valentine's feast day. Even as a very happily single person, each Valentine's for the past several years has been a time marker for me, an 'Oh, I am not looking at this day from the other side of the divide yet. And I might not, ever."
And I don't mean that to be cynical. I just don't believe the modern narrative that singleness is a curse to be gotten rid of as quickly as possible. In my work at a retirement community, I've met many amazing, fulfilled life champions who have never been married, and a good handful who met and married their first loves in the retirement community after age 60. And I think that's beautiful. I wouldn't mind it in the slightest.
There's a very vivid happiness in this space of not-needing, of being free to invest in community in so many multi-faceted ways, of living and making decisions exclusively by God's beckonings. As a culture, we don't celebrate that enough. So let's start. The reason this is a day of Couple's cheeze and Single's griping is that we haven't joined the celebration.
Today's our day, single people. We're only as alone as we decide to be. Let's choose community. Let's choose connection. Let's choose love.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Registering to Vote
Though I don't want to bore you with my praises of the magical information network known as the Internet, I really can't help it this time. At 3:30 this afternoon, I wasn't even sure if I was registered to vote. In the last 20 minutes, though, I looked up whether I was registered (I wasn't), registered, and wrote this blog article about it. Now I shall move from slacktivist to activist-- with chutzpa! (And, since I checked the 'always mail my ballot' box, I STILL don't have to leave my house! Hooray!)
I really wish I knew more about party affiliations, though-- the application listed seven options, none of which 'belong' to me, so I registered as unaffiliated. Here's a list that I want to do some research about later:
-American Independent Party
-American Elect Party
-Democratic Party
-Green Party
-Libertarian Party
-Peace & Freedom Party
-Republican Party
Maybe a project for another week. But which do you claim, and what's your reasoning?
~Ely
I really wish I knew more about party affiliations, though-- the application listed seven options, none of which 'belong' to me, so I registered as unaffiliated. Here's a list that I want to do some research about later:
-American Independent Party
-American Elect Party
-Democratic Party
-Green Party
-Libertarian Party
-Peace & Freedom Party
-Republican Party
Maybe a project for another week. But which do you claim, and what's your reasoning?
~Ely
Monday, January 27, 2014
A Brief Defense of Irreverence
I've sometimes earned the criticism and concern of my fellow Christians for my perceived irreverence-- my preference for the companionship of honest heathens over that of most professing believers, my inability to settle down into one church community, my propensity for asking difficult questions.
When I inevitably respond that I learned these naughty habits from Jesus, I'm often promptly reminded of the obvious fact that I'm not Jesus, that I'm vulnerable to drift and contamination, to walking away.
The last part, in my current mood, makes me giggle. This isn't conceit-- I'm so very aware that my love for Jesus is broken, selfish, and sometimes downright bratty. It's just that the things that alarm me about my walk and the things that alarm others are so rarely even remotely similar. My spiritual 'safety' hasn't made it on my list yet.
I'm not speaking with the pride of someone who imagines herself infallible, but the gleeful desperation of one who's drifted, been contaminated, walked away, more times than I can count, only to find myself re-quipping Brother Peter's timeless question... where else would I go?
My my memory is too sharp and my imagination too small to picture life outside of this divine moment, this eternal 'now' with God. Because now, in the embrace of my Creator, I lay my head on His chest, listen to His heartbeat, and sigh, 'how You love us...'. I stand on His feet as He dances me, a dance of extravagantly messy and dangerously sincere love for all people, of celebrating Home in every space and moment and community of worship, of clear and simple steps set to a beautiful symphony of uncertainty. This is how He dances me, covering over my lack of Grace with the abundance of His.
Is it any wonder that reverence to an irreverent God would look like this?
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Writing My Representative
A few weeks ago, when I wrote a blog article on the Trans-Pacific Partnership trade deal, I ended by
imploring my audience to 'join me' in contacting our congressional
representatives to express our disapproval of the bill. This was, quite honestly, a pretty dishonest way to end the article.
I had no idea who my representative
was, not to mention how to contact him/her. I've later reflected that it's a
total crime that I graduated high school, let alone college, without
this information. Shouldn't there have been a civic engagement class
(or one-hour lecture, at least) somewhere in my sixteen years of
education? But no. I was clueless.
And there may be a lot of structural
reasons for my cluelessness, but remaining there even as I asked
people to advocate 'with me' was a choice made out of laziness and
lack of dedication to this issue. And that kind of hypocrisy can
really weigh on a person.
So today, I overcame 21 years of
ignorance with a 15-second google search. Don't you love the modern
world? You don't know who your congressional representative is, so
you type, “Who's my congressional representative?” into a little
digital illusion of a box, and voila! A House.Gov zip code search page pops up, hooking up with the webpage of your man (or woman) just
as fast as you can think about it.
As a resident of Riverside County, CA,
my representative is Ken Calvert. He's a Republican with a
giggle-ably outdated picture of himself across the banner of his
website. From the mini-snippets I've read so far, I probably wouldn't
agree with his stances on a lot of things, but he seems like a decent
guy. I'm glad I looked him up.
In the spirit of honesty, though, I'm
really not a phone person. I'm not super articulate 'on the fly'. So
instead of calling him about the TPP, I wrote him a letter. I tried
to talk about the issue just as one person talking to another--
letting all personality show through, from my
kindergarten-teacher-looking handwriting and vintage daisy stationary
to the vocabulary and conversational pace of my writing.
Just one person who cares talking to
another person who cares. This is how I signed it:
From an average ordinary everyday
supercitizen,
~Ely
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