the scariest thing about the Hunger Games films is when Caesar Flickerman legitimately makes you smile because he is the one that turns this twisted fight to the death into mindless entertainment for the masses and in that moment you realize that just for a second it worked on you.
I have one paper due on Monday trying to answer the question of what a belief in God actually does, as it relates to the amount of agency someone has in their life but also to their happiness and ability to cope with stress. I’m working on this one now, and it is destroying my soul.
Another due on Thursday about how fatness should be considered a queer issue on the basis that fatness transgresses social norms, and that coming out as fat bring visibility and positivity to an oppressed group. I have everything but the conclusion written.
One due on Friday which is an investigation on dianetics and auditing within the Church of Scientology. Which I’m finding to be difficult because so much of information regarding the church of Scientology is private. (meaning you have to pay big bucks to get it, and invest years of your time). I haven’t even started this one yet…
Another due on Friday which is an exegetical paper on the story of Jonathan and David from 1 and 2 Samuel, with an emphasis on the homoerotic reading of their relationship and how that isn’t a historically accurate interpretation. Interesting and fun to think about, but super duper anachronistic. I have about half of it done.
I think I can do this. I have 6 days to write around 30 pages.
Oh boy… So if I can manage to hash out around 5 pages a day I’ll be fine.
How come I thought I could do this until I actually wrote it all out. It would’ve been nice if any of my final papers were due, you know, during finals week. At least I get an extra week of vacation… so there’s that…
“[I]magine what would happen if, instead of centering our beliefs about heterosexual sex around the idea that the man “penetrates” the woman, we were to say that the woman’s vagina “consumes” the man’s penis. This would create a very different set of connotations, as the woman would become the active initiator and the man would be the passive and receptive party. One can easily see how this could lead to men and masculinity being seen as dependent on, and existing for the benefit of, femaleness and femininity. Similarly, if we thought about the feminine traits of being verbally effusive and emotive not as signs of insecurity or dependence, but as bold acts of self-expression, then the masculine ideal of the “strong and silent” type might suddenly seem timid and insecure by comparison.”—
Julia Serano, Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity (“Putting the Feminine Back into Feminism,” pg 329)
“Society, however, does not see all fat as being equal. A man can be much, much fatter than a woman and still be viewed as comfortably within the standard deviation; most department stores carry men’s pants up to a size 42, which is the rough equivalent of a women’s size 24—a size that a woman would have to visit a specialty big-girl store or “Women’s” department to find. Men are comfortable on beaches with their beach-ball bellies hanging over their swimsuit waistbands, bronzing their fat in the sun, whereas my fat women friends struggle to find swimwear that does not feature a skirt.
So me, I’m transgendered. It means that the gender I present in the world is not congruent with the sex that I was assigned at birth; in practical terms, I mostly look like a man but have a body that some would consider physiologically female. Even though I don’t identify as a man (I am a butch, which is its own gender), I am taken for a man about two-thirds of the time. And when I am taken for a man, I am not fat.
As a man, I’m a big dude, but not outside the norm for such things. I am just barely fat enough to shop at what I call The Big Fat Tall Guy Store, and can sometimes find my size in your usual boy-upholstery emporia. Major clothing labels, like Levi Strauss, make nice things in my size, and I am never forced to wear anything that appears to have been manufactured at Mendel the Tentmaker’s House o’ Fashion. (Although those things do exist for men, too. Those terrycloth shirts with the waistbands? Oy.) I can order extra salad dressing or ice cream or anything else in a restaurant and have it arrive without comment; I can eat it in public without anyone taking a bit of notice, even if I am shoving it into my mouth while walking down a crowded street and getting crumbs all over my chest in the process. I can run for a bus or train without anyone making a snide remark.
As a big guy, I’m big enough to make miscreants or troublemakers decide to take their hostility elsewhere. As a woman, I am revolting. I am not only unattractively mannish but also grossly fat. The clothes I can fit into at the local big-girl stores tend to fit around the neck and then get bigger as they go downward, which results in a festive butch-in-a-bag look—all the rage nowhere, ever. No matter how clearly I order a Coke in a restaurant I must be on a diet, and so I get a Diet Coke—usually with a lemon floating in it accusatorily, looking up at me as if to say, “This is as good as it’s going to get, lardass.” Wait staff develop selective amnesia about my side of fries or my request for butter, and G-d help me if I get caught eating (or even shopping) in public as a woman.”—S. Bear Bergman, “Part-Time Fatso” (via wretchedoftheearth)
It was a joy to hear him lecture and perform about how the Bible often has characters who transgress gender. Funny, informed, and poignant. I have so many ideas for papers, and not enough time to write them.
“Stonewall was colored folks, poor folks, transsexuals, femmes, butches… a little bit of everybody. But the narrative that gets sold to people is that it was all these “A-Gay” white normative people. That’s not who riots. Sorry.”—
If I was a famous author I would publish a book with ten different endings which all went to print with varying degrees of rarity, but not tell the fans about it so that I could watch their confusion as they disagree over how the story ended. Then when they figured it out I would ‘come clean’, telling them that I had released eleven alternate endings and watch them panic again as they all try to find the last ending.