Ok white Australians, NO MORE CRICKET FOR YOU. Goddammit ENOUGH with the racism.
Rain interrupts play.
Soccer update: dog will only allow kicks if she is carried by kickers, and thus out of the danger zone. 7.7kg of added weight = 7.7kg of added strength for the Matildas.
Soccer update: got told off for kicking a ball in the house.
Took my new soccer ball to the park. Dance’s made me awesome at ambi-kicking. Cracked a sweat. Scared the dog. Got scouted for the Matildas.
Women, and particularly women of colour, are less likely to have their health concerns addressed by medical professionals. Doctors and health care workers are more likely to emphasise weight loss as a ‘cure’ for various ailments than any other therapy.
This interesting article discusses how medical discourse pathologises fat or unskinny bodies, and works to control the appearance of women. If we go a step further and think about how this ‘ideal’ female body is marked by race and presented as ‘healthy’, we can also see how Black women’s bodies are therefore positioned as unhealthy. And of course, a woman who doesn’t fit this skinny white ideal is also branded lazy, weak-willed, even amoral.
If we think about Grey’s brilliant piece about vintage wear in the jazz dance world, we can see how an emphasis on ‘vintage aesthetics’ (which aren’t vintage at all, but contemporary bodily values mapped onto an imaginary past) not only penalises Black women’s bodies, but punishes Black women’s pride and joy in their embodies Blackness. In other words, a Black woman who feels happy and good when she’s dancing is punished for this joy by modern lindy hop culture. Her ‘weight’ is seen as a moral failing, and her body shape literally doesn’t fit into the ‘acceptable’ costumes (and choreography) of ‘popular’ white lindy hop.
Most importantly, she’s taught to mistrust her own joy and pride. She is told that her body is proof of a moral failing. That pleasure she finds in her body is misplaced. She is encouraged to doubt herself and her body, and to punish herself with starvation.
You can see, of course, how a person in this state of mind, doubting her thoughts, mistrusting her body’s feedback, is perfectly positioned for sexual and physical abuse.
This article is good for the way it discusses Dr Metz’ respect for and centering of her patients’ thoughts and feelings, rather than arbitrary medical rules.
They talk a little more about Towne’s diet as Metz thoughtfully frames the conversation, asking, “Does your body give you feedback after you eat that?” instead of offering prescriptive advice about what to eat or avoid, as a different doctor might have. (source)
I’m going to go a step further, and ask you to think about how the way lindy hop is taught repeats these patterns. Are we given arbitrary rules about how to hold our partner’s hand, or are we asked to experiment with what feels good, and trust our own bodies and feelings?
And then I’m wondering: how can we truly decolonise lindy hop, and other popularised Black dance, when we are pathologising the Black bodies and Black ways of being in the world that created them?
I’ve written more about the issue of ‘vintage wear’ and dance in Vintage fashion and lindy hop: let’s add race, 14 February 2018.
Virginia Sole-Smith, What if Doctors Stopped Prescribing Weight Loss?, Scientific American, July 2020.
Grey Armstrong, Dance Communities and Time Travel, February 2018.
If you like jazz and adrenaline, then you might like my new project, Run With Sam. It’s free, it’s easy, and you don’t need any special gear.
Want to start running?
Run with me!
I’m full of good intentions, but I don’t always follow through. So I wouldn’t mind a bit of company.
I’m using interval training to get from zero to being able to run for 30 minutes.
– We don’t run events in January and February as it’s too physically hot, and December is on the way out.
This means that we’ll lose a quarter of the calendar year for big weekend events;
– Musicians can’t make gigs because they’ve lost their homes in bushfires.
This means that our world standard jazz scene is losing talent and experience, and dancers are losing potential bands and musicians;
– Bushfire smoke reduces air quality to the point where it’s dangerous to dance in unfiltered air.
This means that regular classes are cancelled, and dancers must reduce practice schedules and venues;
– Classes are cancelled during heat waves.
This means that interruptions to the class program loses students, and reduces the number (and diversity) of people in the scene;
– Public transport (ferries) is cancelled due to smoke haze.
This means that people need to drive to class, or find other modes of transport;
– We can no longer use spaces that don’t have air conditioning.
This means that we have to move into more expensive venues, often ones working within Clubs Australia with gambling and precarious hire arrangements, and we lose our smaller local venue relationships.
– Flights are cancelled because of extreme storms or reduced visibility.
This means that dancers and musicians have their flights rescheduled so they miss events. This in turn reduces numbers at events, band cancellations, and costs attendees in lost registration fees and missed competitions.
– Bushfires and dust storms decrease the lifespan of sound equipment.
This means that gear needs to be stored in safer (more expensive) storage, and needs to be replaced more often, draining the coffers of organisers and societies.
I’ve been a little sceptical of claims that Sanders is more feminist than Clinton because of that one time he was down for equal rights. I’m sure he’s a great bloke, but Clinton’s got feminist cred. Long term feminist cred.
You don’t tell them to fuck off. You let them test you to see if you’re an angry feminist, and you pass the test by letting them insult you to your face and not getting angry. Because after everything you’ve done, everything you’ve fought for, that’s still what most men want to know. They want to know they can insult you and get away with it. They won’t work with you if they can’t….
….I know this is true, not just in politics, but everywhere in the world. That women can never be seen as “the most qualified person,” even when they’re more qualified than men, because people keep asking us these fucking questions, the ones they don’t ask men, about whether our gender would prevent us from doing the work (source.)
More importantly, I’ve stopped just smiling and ignoring those sorts of provocative questions. On the weekend a particularly sexist musician tried to get a rise out of me with a deliberately provocative line. I said, with an iron fierceness, “We don’t make those sorts of jokes here.” And when he tried to pass the ball to his bloke mates to get a laugh from them, I intercepted and repeated my point: “We don’t make those jokes. We do NOT make those jokes here. I’m getting hard on this shit. Understand, bros?” and I raised my eyebrows and looked them all in they eye. I was the ultimate feminist killjoy. And then later on, when he tried it again, I pulled him up on his shit. And
I’ll be making I’ve made a complaint about him.
And those younger musicians who like to get on the drink at gigs and can’t do their job because they’re too pissed? Yes, I did give them a telling off. Yes, I am a bloody sour, humourless killjoy bitch. And they’re lazy, drunken fools, while I’m a fully fit, seriously healthy arse kicker. And I am not afraid to give them a telling off or kick them out. I don’t give a fuck how good a musician they are.
I am that angry femmostroppo. And I still do twice as good a job as a man who does half as much work as I do in the same job. Because women have to. And I know there are a couple of hundred dancers standing behind me, ready to get my back.
Scared the pants off me at first, to do this. But now I just figure yolo. Bitches get shit done. And I’ve had all those years experience in academia, where the highest profile people in my profession were arsehole headkickers. I’m prepared to kick heads for the sisterhood. And I don’t think those men realise just how deep the rage goes. I’ve got a lifetime of harassment and impediments to fuel this rage. And they should thank their lucky stars they get away with some sharp wit and a cold, fierce line in Aussie humour.
Because I could burn them where they stand.
I’m reading through Kyra D. Gaunt’s book ‘Games Black Girls Play’ again (!!) and there’s a fun bit about double dutch, or skip rope with two ropes.
There’s a section where Gaunt goes to jump with the Double Dutch Divas (or Shout Sister Shout). She talks about two things that were really interesting: a) call and response, or crowd participation, and b) how to get into the ropes.
One thing I’ve always disliked about predominantly white, middle-class, or mainstream staged performances (of any kind), is the lack of support the audience gives, or can sustain, when someone is singing or performing. Even when invited, they don’t seem to understand that clapping encourages a better performance – it gives life to the moment – which gives positive feedback to the performers during the performance. All those in the room who were not turning ropes or jumping have their eyes turned to the center action, while their bodies are vibing to the beat. Our mouths generously shout alrights, umphs, andyeahs though not to distract her focus or detract her from the moment (p 172 Games Black Girls Play.)
I’ve written about call and response and audiences in Live music: listening or doing, and about call and response one million times before. But I like the way Gaunt talks about this group of older women using call and response to encourage each other, and to include everyone.
At last, it was my turn. I was thirty-seven years old and there was no question that I was a black girl, with our without knowing how to double-dutch. Since I knew I would be entering the ropes sooner or later, I had been watching how Lady Di, Faith, and Spirit entered them. When I was a kid, entering the ropes was always my stumbling block….
Lady Di got into the ropes effortlessly. It seemed she and the others didn’t even think about it. But there had to be a ‘rhythm method’ that protected them from getting hit by the oscillating ropes. I watched Di put her hand out in front of her body as she moved up to the perimeter of the ropes and felt the gaps between them. Her whole body moved with the action – reminding me of the young girls rocking back and forth toward the ropes before they entered (p 174 Games Black Girls Play.)
This section really caught my attention, because I’ve always felt like going into a jam is like getting into a skipping rope. You have to find the rhythm, put it in your body, before you get in there. And I’m always pretty strict about when I go in – I need the general vibe of the jam to be right. I don’t want to cut someone else’s lunch, especially if they’ve been getting ready to get in for a while. I want to match the feel of what I do with what’s happening in the song (I don’t just mash my favourite steps on top of any old part of the song). It really feels like getting into a skipping rope.
I always think it’s a shame that so many lindy hoppers today don’t use the jockey step before they get into a jam.
Watch the couple behind and a little to the right of the dancers in the jam (the man is wearing a pale hat and pale trousers and a dark shirt) from about 0.44. They’re doing a sort of step-tap rhythm, which is a sort of jockey:
The ‘jockey’ is named for that idea of ‘jockeying’ in place – “…probably relates to the behaviour of jockeys manoeuvring for an advantageous position during a race…” (from my computer’s dictionary).
This gets your body and brain ready to dance – it puts the rhythm in your body. It also signals to everyone around you that you are getting ready to dance – you are literally jockeying with the people around you, looking for a good position (musically and physically) to get into the jam.
Any old how, just thought I’d plop this all in here while I’m thinking about it.