Monday, October 16, 2006
I gotta say, for all my endless braying about free blah blah speech and individual blah blah agency and healthy sexual blah blah expression, I don't really march in the "fun feminist" army. Seriously, just look at my shoes! nary a high heel to be found in my closet. I'm dog ugly, sasquatch hairy, and statistically never bother with makeup.
some days I feel like neither fish nor fowl. too patriarchically-identified for the serious women, too slovenly for the fun gals.
But in all the years I called myself a feminist, I had plenty of fun.
Heckling the NOW speakers on the Mall in Washington in (oh, when was it?)1994? Fun.
Vandalizing the restrooms with red paint (and...things...) at the March for Life White Rose Banquet in 1995? Also fun. Pointless in retrospect, but fun.
Throwing condoms at the pope in 1996? Now that's fun. I defy you to come up with anything more fun than that.
oh, wait - big gay wedding in front of the Christian Coalition annual meeting, also in 1996. yep - more fun than pelting the popemobile with prophylactics, beyond a doubt.
those were the days...
then there was that day back in '95 that Lauren and I were so deeply involved in a conversation we were having that we totally crashed into this Women Against Pornography literature table, and the woman with the petition asked for our signatures, and we said "no, we weren't that into limiting the first amendment, even for disgusting human skidmarks like Larry Flynt," and the woman went berzerk at us, and Lauren went berzerk right back, and all I could do was stand there terrified that I was gonna have to bail my girl out of jail later that night.
Not so fun.
It's no fun standing strong for freedom of expression for assholes who don't deserve it. It's no fun supporting women's sexual choices (even those that seem less than noble to some of us) when it is dangerous for women to go around choosing things. It makes me look like a moron to some, a frivolous fun-bot, a heartless monster.
Well, so be it.
But one must remain true to herself, after all. I begrudge no one that.
cuz I know I was not the only one ever to have those big, wide-open, public-spectacle cathartic experiences.
it was fun.
we cut out little pope-heads and stuck them on the foil condom wrappers with scotch tape.
we were all night with the pope-heads and scotch tape.
1,000 condoms. 1,000 pope-heads.
such was my committment to the revolution... ;)
That.. that... is a) brilliant, and b) the best, workable idea for Papal Porn ever.
Seriously, if you could actually manufacture condoms with a pix of the Pope on 'em, you'd make a fortune...
Pontif Prophelactices....I see money here....
out of the mouths of babes...
It probably had a deeper effect on me than it ever did on Il Papa.
one time we smashed up a bathroom scale into tiny tiny pieces and threw the pieces into a plastic bag and with much noise and disruption dumped the contents of the bag on the receptionist's desk at Jenny Craig, in honor of National No-Diet Day.
Fun, but pointless.
showed up, chanting, "We're here! We're queer! and we don't need to be cured! A plague of locusts on you!..."
(something like that)
then dumped many sacks of grasshoppers all over the stunned receptionist's desk.
horrible, but...funny, shit.
esp. since receptionist calls the police with shaking fingers, and, supposedly, explains the situation:
"THERE ARE LESBIANS HERE WITH BUGS."
by the time people stopped laughing and came over, the LA were long gone, of course.