Feminist Fatale

I was not aware of being a girl for a long time.  In her book Bossypants, Tina Fey has a very funny story about the “when did you realize you were a woman?” question, which she uses to talk about victimization, and naturally forces the reader to ask that question of herself.  It took me days to settle on an answer, but I did, and here it is.

My second year of college, I was in a David Mamet play called Oleanna. In rehearsal the director was required to explain to me (repeatedly) why a young woman in college would falsify an accusation of attempted rape against a well-meaning professor.  This had never happened before, as an actor I mean, because I was an internalist and got along fine making my own character decisions.  But in this case my instincts were all wrong, and in the process of correcting my performance the director explained to me what being a woman is.  If I may project for a moment, I believe he was more baffled by this need to explain than I was.

The previous year I had played Benvolio in Romeo & Juliet without difficulty.  Apparently, at 20 it was more natural for me to play a young man of 16th century Italian gentry than a contemporary college girl.

This illustrates the heart of what makes the new feminism different from its previous incarnations, at least for women like me.  I had socially progressive parents who didn’t care about gender norms.  I had friends in the goth and theater communities who rejected them outright, in the 90s when androgyny and queerness were the lifeblood of alternative culture.  That’s how I made it all the way to 20 with the sensation that my gender had less impact on my identity than my hobbies, my intellect, or my politics.  Which is to say, none at all.  Aside from the question of hygiene and who would or would not kiss me, I might as well have been a boy.

Of course, I was aware that gender norms existed, it just didn’t occur that they applied to me.  Don’t want men to stare at your tits?  Then put them away, or better yet, hang out with different guys.  Don’t want to get raped?  Then don’t get drunk at a frat party, don’t date assholes, don’t act like a helpless kitten all the time.  Don’t don’t don’t.  But those girls were girls who I hated, because they treated me badly.  They treated me badly because shame is the weapons girls use to maintain those same gender norms I thought did not apply to me.  I was not like them, they knew it and I knew it, so screw those girls.  Clearly my decisions were better than theirs; men stared at my tits only when I wanted them to, and I never attended a party or dated a guy where there appeared even the slightest hint of rape.  It hurts now to think about how I thought then, as though there were things a woman could do which relinquish her human rights.

Today my work and my hobbies are all in fields dominated by men: IT, film, and nerd culture.  Sexism in these fields have a flavor not unlike the distaste I had for women before I realized I was one, and it is probably the case that my gravitation toward them was largely possible because I was immune to the general anti-feminine miasma in which they are engulfed.  Without intention, I obtained my emancipation from sexism by learning to eat my own.  

Now that I know better, my next step is not about reaching out to women, but to men.  Among young men I know, especially on the internet in nerd and skeptic communities, there seems to be consensus that feminism is an unnecessary vestige from a previous time.  It somehow escapes their notice that this consensus has been reached almost entirely among men.  The few women within the enclave are by-and-large outside the conversation or do not really identify as women, the way I did not when I was young.  Women outside the enclave are dismissed as crazy man-eating bitches.  This dynamic alone is sufficient evidence that the problem is real.

Feminism is not dead, but it is different than it was even 10 year ago.  It’s not about teaching little girls that they can grow up to be whatever they want, we’ve done that.  It’s not just about wage equity or rape statistics, either.  It’s about erasing the ideas we have about the way girls are.  And the way boys are, too, for that matter.

If I think of a way to do that, I’ll be sure to let you know.

Christopher Hitchens and the Passing of the Old Guard

Christopher Hitchens was infinitely quotable. This fact has slipped the authors of some of his media memorials, notably at NPR where their tepid-temperedness barely concealed - indeed, was likely the cause of - a distinct distaste for the man. But among his fans this fact was never lost, and now on news of his death he is quoted as warmly as Hitch himself quoted Wodehouse (though with somewhat less laughter). It's so very hard to choose a favorite, but today this is mine:

Never be a spectator of unfairness or stupidity... the grave will supply plenty of time for silence.

I had a brief-but-violent paroxysm of grief when I heard that he'd gone. I have a half-composed letter, expressing appreciation for his work, and posing a few questions I had never heard him answer. Only my own laziness prevented me from finishing that missive three months ago, and mailing it, though I suppose it might not have been opened in time. I understand he gets... got... no gets a lot of mail. No doubt it's still coming, even as he departs.

I am learning today how many in my immediate circle were fond of Hitch, to some degree or other, and it surprises me to learn this now. Why on earth didn't we talk about the man while he lived, when we might have gone together to see him chew on some unsuspecting pundit or clergyman?

There are two dominant tropes about his passing. They are:

• 1. (MILD) I didn't agree with the man, and he sure was a jerk, but I respect his writing/ brain/ taste in whisky.
• 2. (HOT) I am distraught, for we shall never see his kind again!

My response to both of these is the same: WHY THE HELL NOT? I've listened to all, or at least most, of his recorded debates and several of his Sunday talkshow appearances, and I never heard him lose an argument to anyone. Doubtless it has happened, for it seems that he argued all the time, but to Hitch a defeat is an opportunity to refine not just his argument, but his thinking. His opinions were subject to revision in the light of new evidence, his thinking precise, his logic sound, his moral stance unshakable. Resolute. Chemically inert. I find it difficult to disagree with Hitch and still be thinking at all - upon reflection I usually discover that I must agree.

The second expression caused me first to sagely nod and then mournfully agree, but I've gotten over that now. True, there is no figure in the public dialogue today with his intelligence, his easy wit, his glittery-eyed viciousness, but I see no reason to think this is a permanent state. Do it yourself. This has been my personal project of late, to think critically and to say what I think. I'm finding it difficult, especially in Minnesota, especially as a woman, but I'm unwilling to allow myself excuses. And the more I say, the more I find I have to say.

After all, that was what I was trying to say to Hitch in the letter I tried to write. To thank him for teaching me the importance of criticism, that the fight is worthwhile, that being likable is not as important as being right. I can't ask him those questions anymore, but I stand a much better chance of answering them myself.

Administrative Change

Hey all.

I have disabled Anonymous commenting on this blog. It was a tough choice, as I don't like hurdles to speaking one's mind.

But, as the comment string in the last post demonstrates, it becomes very difficult to have an intelligible conversation between multiple people who are all named "Anonymous."

If you would prefer to remain Anonymous, in the sense that you don't what to reveal your real world identity, then I suggest you give Google a dummy ID. It's not hard to do. I promise not to accuse anyone of cowardice if you choose to do that; ideas are more important than identity.

That is all. Carry on.

Tough

I have more essays in progress, but for now, a quick update.

Much of my support for the Occupy Movement comes from our personal difficulties in May -- the tornado and my layoff. The layoff was cruel and hurt more, at the time, but the tornado has proven to be much more persistent in its tragedy. We were lucky, because our house was insured. The insurance company, while sluggish to come evaluate our situation, finally paid out more-or-less fair. Sadly, the story does not end there. Recently we've experienced the following revelations.

- Property values have been cut in half. That's a 50% drop in one afternoon.
- Our Homeowners insurance rate has trebled, and is now equal to a little more than 50% of our mortgage.
- Empty homes where families fled or were evicted are valued so low that banks have begun knocking them down rather than repair them. This isn't flood or fire damage; we're not talking irreperable damage. We're talking new shingles and window panes and the cost of clean-up. $15-20k, less than your average bathroom remodel. But the bank won't do it, so now there's a hole where a house used to be.

In short, we're paying twice what our home is worth, three times more for the same insurance, in a neighborhood that is dying all around us. So don't tell me how the invisible hand of the market will make everything right. This how the private sector treats people who have suffered a tragedy.

OccupyMN, Day One

Observations I made the first day of the movement.  I posted this essay on 10/14/2011 on Facebook, but this is where it really should have gone.

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I was sitting at lunch today, in my 99 shirt, when Mark says to me, “So what is it you want out of this movement, when it’s all over.” It’s an excellent question. I had no answer.

A lot of hay has been made of the Occupy [ ] demonstrations (which I will now refer to as the “99 Movement,” because I like it better) having no direction. I can testify to that. There is one subject on which all voices seem to agree -- large corporations are getting rich on the backs of the rest of us and that has to stop -- and all other concerns seem fairly one-off. Today, the first day of the Minneapolis demonstration, I saw signs for 9/11 Truthers, marriage equality, human rights, anti-war activism, Unions, and some non-specific “love is the answer, man” fuzziness.

There’s one sign that sticks in my head, perhaps because it does play to (what appears to be) the movement’s core message:

They say “Let Them Eat Cake”? How About “Off With Their Heads!”

Held aloft by a very motherly-looking person, the sort of gal you expect to see at the Hallmark Store picking up a ceramic teddybear in a graduation cap for her youngest daughter. Not that it matters, except to illustrate that this was not the appearance of a radical or a stoner, just someone who feels strongly and is badly in need of a history lesson.

Ah...the French Revolution. It sounded so good in 1789. The oppressed majority throws off the shackles of servitude, with every intention of creating a glorious new society where all men (and women, briefly) were equal, looking after each other as brothers (and sisters, briefly), marching forward into a future of democracy, peace, and stability. And that is exactly what didn’t happen. It didn’t happen again Russia a hundred years later. Why? Because* they starting cutting off heads.
*and some other stuff too, revolutions are profoundly complex, blah blah blah

In fact, Thomas Paine was sent to be executed for suggesting, in 1793, that they not shorten the King. He wasn’t the King anymore, after all, why not just deport him to America? How Tom, probably the most articulate revolutionary in history, survived that death sentence is a super interesting story, you should ask the internet about it later.

I don’t have any proof that the bloodthirst of the wronged what makes the difference between a revolution that ends in greater social justice, and one that ends in totalitarian nightmare. It’s just this feeling I have. After all, in the greatest democratic revolution the world has ever seen (ours) the offending bourgeoisie were an ocean away, a good safe distance from any American revolutionaries who felt like drafting designs for a mass-murder device.

So I’m standing in the middle of the “People’s Plaza” looking at this Marie Antoinette/Queen of Hearts sign, and weighing the message against the admittedly amusing nature of the language. Hey, at least she’s quoting two women. And I don’t believe for an instant that this middle-aged Minnesotan has it in her heart to pull the cord that drops the blade, no matter whose head is dangling over the basket. But...y’know...that’s today. It feels so good today, to be out on the street with other people who have known for years, or even decades, that something is wrong with our democracy. I don’t have a list of demands (yet), but there is something that I want. I want the demonstrations to work without turning ugly. And the more of us there are of controlled passion, rational conviction, and courage -- in other words, the more democratic the movement -- the more likely that is.

Fogo Your Weight in Meat

Apologizing for the lack of content on this blog seems silly, since no one really reads it.  This time I have a really good excuse though.  A tornado hit my house.  Then I got laid off.  Then I did a bunch of art, and now I work somewhere else.  I thought for a long time what I would write about the big personal tragedies of 2011, and right now you should be super sad that I never got around to it because it would have been epic and insightful and awesome -- all assertions I cannot support, because I forgot what it was I had to say.  I'll try to record it if I ever remember.

Why am I here now?  Because I alone in the office of my new employer after a ridiculously long day, I'm fried, I'm starving, and in 20 minutes I'm walking to 3 blocks to Fogo de Chão and probably eating twice my weight in meat and men in gaucho pants.   I just wanted to let you know that, so if tomorrow I'm found unconscious and amnesiatic (amnesious?) in the middle of Hennepin Avenue, one of you will put 2 and 2 together and come bust me out of lock up.  That is all.

RECIPE: Fish Stew

It's Lent!  I'm not catholic or anything, but Lent means cheap fish at the grocery store.  In Minnesota, in winter, all of our fish started frozen so I buy it frozen (except for the mussels, of course, which are still alive) and don't even fully defrost it before it goes in the pan.  You can't do that with everything, but it doesn't hurt fish a bit.

Fish Stew

Software:
Frozen shrimp (pre-cooked) - 10 per person
Walleye fillet (skin on) - 1 per person
Mussels - .25 lb per person
Canned Tomatoes (whole, no salt) - 2 cans
Leek (large) - 1
White wine - 1 cup
Garlic, Ancho powder, oregano, thyme, salt and pepper

ANCHO is a heat-less pepper, it adds a richness and chili flavor without making the dish spicy.  Paprika works well for this too, or you could use hot chili powder but be careful - there's not a lot of fat in this dish to anchor the heat.

Hardware:
Large mixing bowl, strainer, large skillet (at least 8", 10" is better, an inch deep or more)

Prep:
- Leave the mussels in the fridge on ice until the last possible minute.
- Put a large mixing bowl in the kitchen sink, and fill it with hot water.  Drop the walleye fillets and shrimp in there to melt.
- Chop the top off the leek, halve it, and wash dirt out of top of the outside layers.  Quarter and dice.
- Mince garlic, however much you want


Cook:
- Once the walleye is thawed enough to be floppy, pull it out of the bath to drain.  Then put your largest skillet on medium heat with 2 T of oil.
- Season walleye with salt and ancho powder on the flesh side, then drop it in the pan flesh side down.  Cover for 5-7 minutes, flipping when you see the skin start to pull up.
- Meanwhile, pull the shrimp out of the bath and remove all the tails.  Set them aside for now.
- Remove the walleye when it's a little undercooked - it should be flakey on the outside but still a little jelly-like in the thickest part.


- Wipe out any skin bits that stuck to the pan, add 3 more T of oil and toss in the fresh garlic and leeks, + pinch salt.  Reduce heat to med-low, stirring occasionally.
- Meanwhile, examine the cooked walleye fillets and carefully remove any bones you can find, then scrape off the skin.  Flake it apart into spoonful-size pieces and set those aside with the shrimp.
- When the leeks are starting to pick up a little color, add a cup of white wine.  Stir up all the little bits off the pan and let simmer. 

- Open up both cans of tomatoes, drain the liquid into the pan, and then gently crush the tomatoes, just in your hand one at a time, into the pan as well.  You can also chop them ahead of time if you prefer, but I find this is faster.  Add ancho powder, oregano, thyme, salt and pepper.  Bring the heat back up to medium and simmer.

WASHING MUSSELS
Eating dead mussels can make you very sick.  That's why it's so critical to keep them cold -- a living mussel will close up tight in the cold but open when they warm up.  So, dump the water out of that mixing bowl, and then drop your mussels into it, ice and all.  Run a little cold water, but OUTSIDE the bowl, not inside - being marine creatures they will die if submerged in tap water.  Wash each mussel with a vegetable scrubber under the running water, check that the beards are removed, that none of the shells are seriously damaged, and that they are all closed.  Discard any that have busted shells (a small crack is okay) or aren't closed.  Or at least very close to closed, I swear some of them are just curious and have to peek.

Okay, now that your mussels are washed and inspected, and your soup is simmering, put the mussels in the soup.  Spread them out in a single layer, just resting them on top.  Stick a lid on and don't touch it for 5 minutes.  Now is a good time to put in toast or set out bowls or whatever.
When four minutes have passed have a look.  You know a mussel is done when it has opened wide and (often) the meat had detached from one half of the shell, but not all of them will be done at the same time.  Remove the lid and pick up the mussel with tongs and pull out the meat with a fork.  Set the shells aside.  Add the fish and shrimp back to the pan, stir it all up, and replace the lid for another 5 minutes.  Repeat the mussel procedure, any that have not opened 15 minutes after going in the pot should be discarded.

Give it one more good stir, then kill the heat and serve it.

About Cooking, and Cooking Blogs

I cook a lot.  I have decided to start recording what I cook, so I can look things up again later.  The kitchen notebook is handy for resolving "what do you want for dinner - I don't know - I don't know too" situations (roll a D20!) but hey, it's the internet, where all the knowledge goes.

I hate places like AllRecipes.  There are fifty-billion recipes for everything, and most of them are trying to be clever but are really the same, and nearly all of them rely (heavily) on packaged food.  I can't pretend to be a from-scratch diva - I don't make my own corn chips or my own cheese (yet) - but I do believe that the closer to Food your meal starts the better your meal will be.

I don't diet.  After many years of various nutritional experiments, I've finally joined the Fat Acceptance movement.  I'm not going to say anything more about it, except that there are no calorie counts here and never will be.

The upshot, really, is that I like to share, I want to document the food that I make at home, and I think there will someday be people on the internet who Google "fish stew" and use my recipe.  That's pretty cool, so I'm gonna do it.

Some things worth knowing about the way  I cook:
- I never measure anything, so the seasonings and oil and such are my best estimates.  When you're seasoning, taste it until you get it right.  When you're cooking with oil, just put enough in the pan to cover what you're going to cook in it.

- "Done" means crispy/golden brown on the outside and hot all the way through.  "Done" is a tricky science, and you may like your's more Done than I like mine.  It's not a crime to serve something (like, say, chicken thighs those sneaky bastards) discover that it isn't done, and then put it back in the pan (oven, whatever).  Even when you have company.  Serve the drinks, cover the plates if you have to, and get on with it.

- I never cook with cooking wine, but I do cook with cheap wine.  If the final dish actually tastes like the wine you used, you're doing it wrong.

- I cook with really beat up old non-stick because that's what I have.  It shouldn't matter all that much, but if you're cooking on cast iron or stainless steel you might want to keep that in mind.

Okay.  First recipe, coming right up.