Author Archives: dogpossum

hairy feminist signing in

I’ve had hairy legs and armpits for so long I tend to forget that there’s anything unusual happening down/under there. But every now and then someone else’ll notice, and I’ll get a suprise. Look at that! Who’d have thought!
I’m always impressed when I see other Ladies with hairy armpits – that’s awesome. And I see them so rarely. It seems the most radical people on campus these days are academics – if I see someone with hairy armpits (international symbol of radical inattention to grooming) I think “YEAH!”
But every now and then someone else’ll notice and I’ll remember. Usually, their gaze gets caught. And they keep having to look. And they look away. And they have to look back. It’s kind of odd – I mean, it’s so ordinary to me, I simply don’t notice it. But for most people, a Lady with hairy pits or legs is so unusual it gets a stare. I mean, people can’t even really See homeless people on the street, or a guy asking for a dollar. But they can’t look away from a bit of delicate insulation.
I’ve always been a bit disappointed I don’t have really hairy legs, but since giving up shaving as a bad job in 1990 (grade 10, thanks) and forgetting to shave my armpits at about the same time, what little hair I do have has gotten a lot less fierce. It’s kind of soft and delicate. It lacks angry feminstah passion.
I’m not much into ‘beauty products’ either. Sorbelene, shampoo and conditioner, herbal toothpaste, blistex for my chapped lips and some no-chemical soap. That’s all I need. Oh, and a bit of hair colour for when I’ve forgotten to get a haircut. Because I figure it’s not worth being scruffy if you don’t make the most of it. It takes me 15 minutes to get ready to leave the house.
Something that’s brought home to me whenever I spend any amount of time with another woman who isn’t as into minimal grooming (and, well, that seems to be most women), is just how much time all that grooming takes up. I really can’t believe people waste good reading time shaving their legs. Or good bullshit-story-telling time in front of the mirror. I rarely look in the mirror (puberty’s over – the good stuff has happened and I doubt anything much is going to change for the next twenty years). I’m not about to tell people to get over that grooming stuff – that’s their business. But it really does stun me.
The bit that really bothers me is the fact that most men don’t bother with this stuff either. Sure, there’re stories about metrosexuals (and I do have a few in my acquaintance), but for the most part, all this attention to physical appearance is something that clutters up women’s time. Would it be wrong for me to point out that all that grooming really is part of a grand plan to keep you from Looking Up and noticing that there’s more important shit going down? I mean, how could we possibly get on with fighting The Man (or kicking arse with righteous fury) if we had to stop and spend two hours every day fixing our hair? I mean, how much fun are we if we’re always worrying about what we eat or how our trousers fit us? If my arse is inside my pants, I figure it’s a win. If I’m clean, then we’re all laughing.
So what I’m saying is: grooming. It’s ok – it’s not bad in itself. But when it’s only the ladies who ‘have’ to do it, then there is something wrong. That’s not cool.
I have plenty of more important things to think about. Who’s going to relearn all those historic jazz dance routines? Who’s going to sew all those amazing new clothes? Who’s going to teach those darling little chundergrads about essay structure? And the internet’s not going to fill itself full of shit, is it?
I’m also a little concerned by the emphasis on pain and self-punishment in grooming. Don’t eat that, even if you want it: deny! Pluck that hair out – handle the pain! Put that hot wax on yourself, then pull it off (but don’t you dare get turned on)! Stick that chemical-tested-on-bunnies right up in your delicate eye ball. Wash your vag out with that stuff. Wear that incredibly constraining waistband – you won’t want to do any dancing or stunts or have any fun. And no one will want to see your fabulous physical comedy.
I mean, really, am I alone here? Is it just me that thinks all this shit is just plain nuts?
[btw this rant is in part inspired by a fabulous collection of Germaine Greer’s letters to newspaper editors and small publications. I want it.]

the 9am start was especially difficult today

…but one of my students was wearing this: wwjd.jpg so it was a little easier. It made me giggle a whole lot.
I am really tired. I haven’t had a full, proper night’s sleep in a very, very long time. It’s funny how you get used to broken sleep. I don’t like it, I’m not a nice person, but I’m used to it.
Did I mention that I didn’t like it?
Thank god the tutes are only an hour. I honestly can’t figure out how I’m managing to teach when I’m this tired.
I’m going to blog the SLX soon. I promise. But, really, there’s not much to say beyond ‘I danced a lot’ and ‘I did some DJing’ and ‘I stayed up all night a lot’. This year I didn’t do any stunts, but I did go in a dance competition. Ten years lindy hopping, first comp.
Meh.
Basically, competition nights are terribly, tediously boring, even when you’re in them. Social dancing is better.
But getting to the finals of a Jack and Jill as a lead where I was expected to lead >240bpm was a bit much.

scarily productive

We’d watched an episode of the WW, eaten some pizza and some of the Moblerone (more on that later). I decided it was probably time for bed, what with the wailing and grizzling and lack of fine motor skills.
I was disappointed to see it was only 7.30.
I have been going to bed early and getting up early. I have made two blouses (collar, sleeves with gathers, buttons) and a skirt and have marked a lot of essays. I’ve been up since 7am. This is all new and scarily productive stuff. I have also developed a whole lot of mad tranky doo skills.
The pizza was good. Calzone, filled with panchetta, ricotta, tomato, garlic and yum.

goodness me

This past week I was teaching psychoanalysis. Or more specifically, a bit of Freud and then a bit of other people using and abusing Freud. This may entertain a few of you who know my feelings about psychoanalysis and Freud. We’re not friends. But the reading for the subject was from this neat text by Cranny Francis et al and I liked it – I’ve even bought the book because it gave such a useful overview of this stuff, especially in reference to gender, and I’m collecting useful resources. For The Future.
Any how, we ended up saying p3nis, vag1na, shit, poo and a few other things quite a lot of times. I was all ‘blah blah blah’ and ‘let’s see what the difference between the phallus and the p3nis is’ and forgot to remember that firsties are afraid of naked body words. I mean, each semester I realise they’re also afraid of body hair on women (not having seen any, ever), and get a bit freaked out when I wear a sleeveless shirt as we move into summer. Any how, it took them a while, but eventually they eased up and could manage to use The Words. Not with much comfort, but use them they did. Eventually.
This is actually a more complicated issue than you might realise, especially in the context of teaching a class that’s 80% international or first gen Australian students, many of whom come from families or cultures where it’s totally not on to talk about this stuff in public, especially not in mixed-sex settings, across generations and across heirarchies. Part of me was all ‘oh come on, when I was a lass and doing gender studies we had to use the c word in my feministah classes’. And sure, we were bad ass (though I have to say, it was a bit rough on some of the private school kiddies who hadn’t gone to a rough outer suburbs public high school), but it was a bit challenging at first. I remember being amazed by the thought of ‘reclaiming’ the word. I was used to it being yelled at me out of bus windows as I rode my bike home. I didn’t much care for it, personally, and wasn’t really ready to use it, let alone reclaim it.
But I was surprised by the shyness of my stoods. I guess it’s an age thing – when you’re a teenager sex is all new and weird and freaky. You’re busy testing out your preferences (in terms of gender and relationships and what you do in bed and what you wear and … hell, everything) and you’re a bit unsure of most things, and, well, you didn’t make it to the end of the reading, so you’re not actually sure what everyone’s talking about anyway.
And there were moments when I thought ‘ok, am I demonstrating sufficient cultural sensitivity?’ I can be a blunt object, but I think that this stuff needs to be dealt with just as we would any other topic – clearly, in detail, with discussion and – if possible – looking at google maps. Well, not so much with the google maps. But I was careful to be ‘appropriate’ in my approach. And I was. Except for that one moment when I noticed that my usually-very-big hand gestures had suddenly taken a turn for the explicit when we discussed the difference between p3nis and phallus. But that was just funny. And, as I said at the time “a little ambitious, even for Freud’s neuroses.”
So anyway, this bunch of relatively outspoken Young People were quite shy and at first reluctant to talk. But then they relaxed and really got into it. I couldn’t believe how many people’d done the reading – numbers’d jumped massively from the week before. And it was a long reading with some quite challenging bits. I mean, Lacan + Freud + Saussere + Cixous and lots of other people, all in one reading? I know it took me a while to get through it all, and I’ve read this stuff before.
But they were all really into this, they were just interested and excited about the ideas. Freud always polarises students, and it was neat to see them get in their 3-people groups and hack into the Oedipal complex. Who would’ve thought?

Fats Waller’s A Good Man Is Hard to Find: The Middle Years, Part 2

I love Fats. It’s no secret. This love is becoming an obsession. But A Good Man Is Hard to Find: The Middle Years, Part 2 is another in an excellent series of collections from Bluebird/RCA. I’ve been happy with every Bluebird purchase I’ve made – they seem to have recorded my favourite artists and to have produced some lovely albums.
I also have ‘the Last Years’ and ‘the Middle Years part 1’. There’re three ‘Early Years’ sets in this series.
I don’t recommend them to new Fats fans – it’s pretty samey, and if you don’t like one Fats song, there’s a good chance you won’t like the others. But if you do… well. These are the best collections I’ve seen around (which are also easily accessible/purchased), the quality is pretty decent and the liner notes are interesting.