Thoughts on the book Sleeping Beauties

15 02 2018

sleeping_beauties

Concepts from the book Sleeping Beauties reviewed

*Spoilers Ahead*
I spent the last ten days of my life reading Steven King and Owen King’s co-authored book Sleeping Beauties, all 700 pages. As someone who has read all 700 pages I’ll let you know right now that you could skip from about 530 to 650 and be just fine.

The premise of the book is pretty simple. Women fall asleep and as they sleep a cocoon wraps around them, if any dude tries to cut the cocoon off, the women violently attack them. Men freak out. Basically fuck up the planet even more. While the women sleep, they’re transported to a different world where they can start the whole thing over from scratch.

The men battle over the one woman who has all these magic powers and can wake back up after falling asleep. If they choose the right course of action, the women in the other world have the chance to vote on whether or not they want to come back to the world of men or start anew.

Okay, maybe the premise isn’t that simple.

But I must say I was quite disappointed by the end of the book.

*Spoilers Ahead*

Maybe because I have no husband or sons but I found it rather odd that every woman chose to go back to the land of men. There wasn’t one woman in the entire new world that wanted to argue to stay, wanted to make a new world that had less violence and pain in it. I get that the authors were trying to show that women as a whole have more empathy, patience, strength. I get that a child-less woman would understand why another woman would want to go back to a world where her male children were.

Yet, women are also known to make sacrifices for the greater good. One could argue that the greater good of the planet would be to start over fresh. It was strange that not one woman would at least bring up the option. It was almost as if the authors got tired by the end of it and gave up.

What if women had to start over without men?

Would new patterns of behavior emerge? Would old ones quickly return? Is this a nature v. nurture debate? This was almost a Herland in reverse, where there once was an island of only women, then men came along and ruined everything.

It’s mostly annoying though, that there is still so much of a divide. Like, do we really need to pit women against men? Can’t traits like empathy, confidence, assertiveness, be traits on their own without assuming they’re gendered? Can we imagine a future where people are generally decent regardless of their sex? I know that’s a hard one.

It was an interesting concept for these authors to take on, considering. Of course it’s a trendy topic, but at least it’s finally trending. It’s good to get people thinking about these ideas who maybe have never before, though admittedly, 700 pages was a bit much, particularly for such an anti-climatic ending.

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If I Was Born With a Penis

12 02 2018

buck

What would you look like as the opposite sex?….An app that seems to be the newest Facebook craze going around has got me thinking about not only what would I look like (which according to the app is closer to aging white trash serial killer with terrible facial hair and a possible meth problem than any man I’d want to look like) but what would I BE like if I had been born with a penis instead?

According to my parents my name would be Bryan Buck, which I believe would not have been the best start for a boy born in rural Kansas. Or maybe it would have been the best start, who can really know for sure.

I do know that when an asshole male classmate was cheating off of my math test in 5th grade that my teacher wouldn’t have said to me, “There’s no way he’d cheat off of a dumb girl like you.”

I know that I wouldn’t have been told by my English teacher in 9th grade that Shakespeare was “above my comprehension.”

Or in 7th grade algebra, I wouldn’t have been forced to sit in the corner with the girls so they could “chat,” while the boys learned math because girls were “too dumb to get it.” I would have at least been taught something, whether I did anything with it, who would know.

I know I wouldn’t have been forced to put on a shirt in the heat of summer when I was five years old because a group of my dad’s friends had pulled into the driveway… because boys can go around without shirts on whenever they want no matter how old they are, not just at Burning Man or nudist colonies or in the privacy of their own bedrooms.

I probably would have become a hunter, like my dad. Worked in the oil wells, like my dad. Or maybe a mechanic or a factory worker. I’d probably still be living in Kansas and have a wife and three kids. Or I would have become a pothead like my cousin. Ended up in jail. I most likely would know how to crush a 30 pack of natty light in one night, that’s pretty much a given.

I hope that I would not have been like most of the guys in my high school class who thought it was okay to grab women’s breasts during gym class, during lunch, in the hallways. Guys who would get blackout drunk and piss themselves at parties. Or puke in woods and then come back and try to make out with girls who were not quite as drunk. Or if the woman was quite drunk, I hope I wouldn’t have been one of those guys who thought it was okay to have sex with her while she was passed out. Or thought that a woman “owed” me because she was my girlfriend and had sex with her even though she said no. I hope I would not have been one of those guys who slut-shamed women who didn’t like me back. I hope I would not have been like a typical guy.

Yet, I was not born with a penis. And of course, like any curious person, I have wondered what it would be like to pee standing up, but I don’t necessarily have envy for one. Maybe white male-privilege envy but if that means being like a typical guy from my neck of the woods I’m very grateful I was born Krystal Fawn and not Bryan Buck.

Plus, I would not have been a very cute dude.

me_opposite_sex

(I really didn’t want to show this to anyone, but there you have it.)





I’m Too Sexy for My Yoga?

7 02 2018

The Rise of Vanity Yoga

vanity_yoga1
Though it’s a common occurrence amongst most people in the digital age to fall into what’s known as an ‘internet hole,’ generally the hole is something like cute animal videos or makeup tutorials, which sure, I’ve tripped over those holes a few times myself; I never thought I’d fall into a sexy-person-doing-yoga-at-home-in-a-leotard hole.

Yet, that’s exactly what happened to me the other day. I ended up on Instagram where I watched video after video of these model-looking women do all sorts of inversions: handstands, headstands, forearm stands, with their flexy legs going up and down and around, every single one with their butt hanging out of their outfit, all with this bronzy golden skin, long hair flowing like a waterfall, all seemingly having dancer-esque bodies.

And to be honest, I’ve been confused ever since.

Perhaps, the better word is conflicted.

On the one hand, these women have worked really hard to be strong and flexible. It’s probably been a challenge to become confident in their own bodies, confident in who they are as people, and it takes courage to reveal one’s nearly naked self on the internet. I also understand that many of them probably think it’s the best way to prove they are in proper form. And sure, when I see them I might feel a tinge of envy that they can do some of these power poses better than me.

They are indeed badass, and at times it can feel motivating in an “I want to do that someday” type of way.

But then, on the other hand, something feels icky about the whole thing. I’m going to call the whole scene Vanity Yoga. Because I don’t see how scissoring your legs back and forth while upside down wearing a shiny thong leotard has much in common with actual yoga besides the person’s ability to get in the pose. I mean, a person can make a basketball shot and not be a basketball player.

vanity_yoga2

Maybe I just don’t get it. I’m curious as to what the underlying motivation of this Vanity Yoga scene is all about. Is it to actually motivate other people? Is it to show off their butts? Is it to prove that they’re better than everyone else? Is it to try to get more people to do yoga because beautiful people clearly do yoga? Is it just for fun? Is it to prove to themselves and others that they can get into these poses? Is it to boost their self-esteem by getting a bunch of ‘likes’ from friends and strangers?

I’m sure it’s some sort of combination of the above (and other factors I haven’t thought of).

I mean, I myself put up a pic when I finally was able to get into full lotus after 20+ years of trying because I was excited (and maybe sort of stuck like that for longer than I wanted to be), so I get it, in a way.

Admittedly the issue might be the near nudity. I’m not puritanical, I like to think of myself as sex-positive and yet it’s weird to sexualize yoga. And maybe that’s not the intention, perhaps it’s just because they’re women and women are almost always automatically sexualized, yet, most women know they’re almost always automatically sexualized… so how can women reveal their progression or show off their accomplishments without objectifying themselves? Maybe they can’t? Maybe that’s what they want to do and who am I to judge?

Yet, the word yoga derives from the Sanskrit word ‘yuj’ which means to yoke or bind, and many practitioners interpret as ‘union.’ That union is the union of breath with the mind, body, and spirit.

So, does Vanity Yoga create this union?

Or is it really just vanity for vanity’s sake?

I’m still trying to figure it all out, but for now, I’ll return back to the internet and try to fall down a different hole.





Thoughts on Solitude Sundays Vol. 2

24 01 2018

Being Alone Doesn’t Mean You’re Lonely…

and other likeminded cliches on Solitude

solitude_sunday_3

January 21st marked my third Solitude Sunday of the year. Inspired by The Stranger in the Woods: The Extraordinary Tale of the Last True Hermit by Michael Finkel I’ve been attempting alone-time at least once a week since finishing the book.

The main point of the exercise in solitude is to turn off my phone and computer for an entire day and try to turn inward instead.

In other words, I am Krystal, unplugged.

I have yet to experience a true day of solitude though as I live with roommates and also have woken up to another person in my bed on more than one Sunday morning.

So, I’ve had to redefine these Sundays of Solitude since I am not be able to be truly alone unless some rich person asked me to house-sit for them while they’re away for a weekend or I went out and camped in the middle of nowhere by myself (which I won’t do until the spring due to the fact that I enjoy feeling warmth in my fingers and toes).

What I’ve learned though is that the addiction is real.

Separating myself from my phone has been painful.

I can’t count the times I have looked for it while in one room or the other only to remember I had shut it off and hid it in a drawer.

I haven’t lost track of time during any of these Sundays of Solitude, but instead I often have had no idea what time it was at all.  It turns out that most homes, including ours, have a lot less working clocks in them these days.

I tell time by looking out my window. It gets dark and I think “finally I can go to bed,” then I walk into the kitchen and the one working clock that’s on our oven informs me it’s only 5.30 p.m. Could this be right? I have often found myself saying outloud to no one. This oven clock was accurate yesterday, so why wouldn’t it be today? It’s at that moment that I experience the crushing realization that I have an entire night ahead of entertaining myself.

I believe that was the biggest revelation this last Sunday.

When you disconnect from the outside world and have to focus instead of what’s around you, it feels as though you gain time.

Of course that’s not necessarily how time works; we don’t gain or lose it, time just is. Though I will say that without constantly scrolling through newsfeeds or texting friends all day, it often feels like I’m getting time back; I can recognize it moving at a pace that seems reasonable, seems like it used to seem back in the days of my youth when I lived out in the country in the middle of nowhere Kansas, prior to having access to the internet (it still barely works out there to this day).

Of course, this can feel boring at the same time that it feels refreshing. It can feel lonely at the same time as it feels liberating. It’s not for everyone. I’m not sure if I’d even recommend it.

What it’s done for me though is force me to slow down.

It’s allowed me to catch up.

Solitude Sunday has reminded me that interesting things are happening within just as much as they’re happening without. It’s made my return to technology feel less important. That scrolling through Instagram and Facebook aren’t necessarily wastes of time, but that I could do it less and it still mean just as much.

solitude_sunday_4

I’d like to explore something that could be equally interesting in the future, that is, I’d like to unplug with another person. I know that there’s still plenty to understand and dive into deeper with my own internal landscape, but I also am liking the idea of two people disconnecting from everyone else and instead taking the time to get to know each other without the distraction of our individual networks–because there is more to us than who we follow.

If you’re down to unplug with me some upcoming Sunday (and in Denver), send me a message (I get the humor in using technology to disconnect from technology in the future, but sometimes it’s the best way to get where we need to be).





Has feminism gotten too trendy for its own good?

22 01 2018

Thoughts on the latest Women’s March.

Here’s the deal. As a feminist I feel like no matter what I do or what I say, someone somewhere will always be there to tell me how I’m wrong; they will be there to inform me that I don’t do enough for the cause. And you know what, fine.

I am wrong.

I don’t do enough.

The other night I fell asleep on my friend’s couch in Cap Hill, in the morning I awoke to the sounds of shouting and stomping and cowbells. I knew right away it was the Denver Women’s March. I thought, ‘good for them’ as I tried to go back to sleep. The noise continued. I realized the only way to get back to sleep was to make my way home, which meant I had to step into the noise.

womens_march
People who fight oppression all have different individual approaches, which I appreciate. When we know our own strengths we can utilize those skills to make a more lasting impact. Mad props for the 200,000+ people who showed up at the Women’s Marches across the country.

As someone whose strength lies in critically analyzing situations, people, things, media, and events, I have to admit that for over a year now I’ve been confused as to what the point of the Women’s March actually is.

According to their website:
The mission of Women’s March is to harness the political power of diverse women and their communities to create transformative social change.”

Huh?

So, the women’s march is an ‘umbrella march’ for people to come and walk around yelling about whatever thing bothers them the most?

Cool.

Now what though?

When I left my friend’s place I only had to walk one block before being thrown into the thick of it. There were indeed thousands of people; they were energetic, their pink pussy hats perky with the possibilities of change; you could see the excitement on their faces as they screamed words that were only barely understandable; their well-made witty signs glistened waving hello to me in the morning breeze.

Because I’m still trying to understand the point of the Women’s March here’s what I hope happened.

I hope the women’s march left people feeling inspired, motivated, ready to go back at it and work to make the changes we need to live in a more well-balanced culture.

I hope that people learned more about how inequality, discrimination, intersectionality actually works etc. and what we can do to dismantle it.

I hope that the women’s march and everything that surrounds it isn’t just a liberal trend that helps feed capitalism in a different way (anyone else remember the 90s “Girls Rule, Boys Drool’ campaign?). Tired of these old white dudes? Support these women and people of color with your hard-earned money instead (as we still feed the same system that has always been in place).

I hope that we realize that sexual assault/harassment is bigger than Hollywood, that it infiltrates all the way to the lowly bottom of society and is taught in the homes and in the education system either consciously, subconsciously, or both and it will take the collective to overcome, that a new way of understanding has to be written.

I hope that the Women’s March and all the latest feminist discussion isn’t just about getting more Democrats elected into office, but that we all pay closer attention to the viewpoints and action-plans of ALL people running for politics and that those people understand that we are indeed ready for a positive paradigm shift and that we choose those who are willing to do the hard work to make this shift happen.

I hope that we learn how to dismantle the patriarchy in order to have a system in place where all people feel empowered, where all people have agency, and this isn’t just about flipping the roles of power.

I hope that one day there will no longer be marches at 10 in the morning on a Saturday when people could be sleeping in instead because there will be no need for such things.

I hope.

Which, is more than I was doing last year when I was more or less depressed and apathetic about everything.

womens_march_2
I escaped the throng of the pink pussy hat crowd and had made it several blocks away by this point; the white dude lit up on the street sign and I started to cross the next block. I made it about halfway when a large red SUV started to turn into me oblivious to the fact that a pedestrian not only has the right away but that a pedestrian happened to be walking across the street at all.

The vehicle’s window was down.

“Hey, yeah! I still exist,” I yelled.

The car stopped inches away from my body, I noticed a basic white bro in the driver’s seat.

I gave him my classic side eye.

“Sorry,” he mouthed.

I’m not sure if I believe him, but I, like the rest of the world, want it to be true.





The Day The Universe and I Have a Little Heart to Heart

17 01 2018

Over the weekend I was over at this lawyer’s apartment and I was intoxicated. I had met him for dinner a week prior, we had matched on Tinder months ago, we hadn’t not hit it off, though, we barely knew each other. I was there trying to get to know him. Let’s just say that I had somehow consumed a rare exotic mushroom and his bathroom wall became something more interesting to look at than pretty much anything else in his apartment, including him.

mushrooms

The thing is, if you slow down and pay attention, the universe will start communicating with you. In fact, the universe is always trying to communicate, it’s just most of the time we’re too busy to pay attention and we miss the signs.

In any event, we were watching music videos on Youtube from the 2000s. I had become restless. I had become slightly paranoid in that I no longer wanted to be there. I wanted to be with my friends. I wanted to be in bed. I wanted to be in bed with my friend who lived two blocks down the street, but I couldn’t be because it was 2 in the morning and I knew he was asleep and that his phone was off. I wanted to be pretty much anywhere else and I definitely didn’t want to be in my head anymore.

The Tracy Chapman song “Fast Car,” came on. The lyrics go something like,

“You got a fast car
Is it fast enough so we can fly away
We gotta make a decision
Leave tonight or live and die this way…”

And it seemingly kept repeating those lines, “leave tonight or live and die this way.”

I started yelling back at the TV (in my head, not out loud). I was like, “Tracy, yo, I totally get what you’re trying to say, but if I leave tonight in my fast car I am more likely to die THAT WAY.” She nodded like she understood and the song ended.

I thought the universe was done talking to me, and yet it had only just begun.
To really drive the issue home, “A Simple Man,” by Lynyrd Skynyrd came on next. I looked into the reflection of the window, as I did I saw the man I was hanging out with, he was eating and in his intoxicated state dropped his food on the floor. He seemed rather goofy in that moment. Bumbling. Derpy. I knew I couldn’t be with him forever. In fact, I didn’t know if I wanted to really be with him for another minute. The song continued, basically informing me that if I stayed with this derpy guy I would have a calm, simple, (potentially beautiful) life. I contemplated the message because I was just sitting there doing nothing anyway.

It seemed too serene, it seemed such a dull way to go. Combined with Tracy’s message from earlier, I would have a simple life and then I would die that way.

No, I said. That is not what I want.

In any event, I freaked out.

First I made him change the music. We listened to Jim Croce. We put on “Time in a Bottle,” which I have decided is officially my favorite song. He tried to dance with me. I was like, I CAN’T! Then, I went and hid in his bedroom and pretended to sleep.

While I was in there, my brain unfolded many things about time, the universe, infinity, the meaning of life etc.

Here’s what came to me.

Breath is a drug more powerful than any other drug. We keep coming back for it,
not just moment after moment, but through infinite time and space.

The meaning is indeed 42 (Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy).

Life is a fart in the wind.. aka a joke.. aka a long-ass joke. If you’re not laughing, you don’t get the punchline.

There is no need to waste moments on derps, if you do, so be it, but it’s better to allow people to come into your folds that make you want to sing “Time in a Bottle.” to them and truly mean it.

“I’ve looked around enough to know
That you’re the one I want to go
Through time with”

It doesn’t matter if you die. We die every day when we go to sleep. We die every time we take a breath. The end is never the end, it’s only the beginning to something else. And yes, we can indeed choose who we want to go through time with both here and later, but there’s no need to be so serious about it all. The punchline is always the same, it’s the jokes along the way that make the difference.





If a computer could determine the love of your life, would you want to know?

15 01 2018

In 2009, an underrated rom-com called TiMER was released. In this film, people elect to be implanted with a timing device that counts down to the second when they will meet their soulmate. The marketing tagline for the service was “Take the guesswork out of love.” At one point the main character Emma Caulfield Ford (of Buffy fame), says to her boyfriend of one month outside the TiMER offices, “What’s the point in continuing without a guarantee?” Then of course, she’s implanted and her timer is blank, which means her soulmate has yet to be implanted or could possibly not exist.

This year in the 4th season of Black Mirror, Episode 4, “Hang the DJ,” we meet Frank and Amy, two people who have signed up for an immersive experience to find “the one;” a program that has a 99.8% success rate. In this alternative universe, a computer uses its algorithm to collect data consistently in order to determine who belongs with each other by analyzing their every thought, action, experience, feelings. They’re set up with one person at a time, each date gets exactly that, a date in which the relationship will end. They are required to only spend that length of time together, 36 hours, 9 months, 1 year, etc. whether they like that person or not (because everything happens for a reason).

black_mirror_hang_the_DJ

In both of these storylines, people know in advance whether they are with the love of their lives or not. Not to give it all away, but it seems like only through the rebellion of not-knowing do any of them find what they think they’ve been looking for.

Is that what love takes? Rebellion against society’s norms? Could it even be considered “society’s norms,” when really it’s just that no one likes being told what to do, particularly when it comes to who they’re going to love (see pretty much every work of literature, poetry, film that exists).

Which is partly why the Okcupid algorithm doesn’t really work (and was supposedly all arbitrary anyway) but anyone who is supposedly a 99% match is not going to match well, because we couldn’t possibly believe that a computer could tell us what’s real more so than our own minds and hearts–so we all look for signs that the computer is wrong, and find them because humans are naturally all flawed in some shape or form.

While watching the Black Mirror episode I couldn’t help but think that having a time-stamp on the relationship would actually be rather refreshing. Of course, I have done these types of relationships before, gotten into things I knew would end because the other person was moving or what have you. It was never heartbreaking because the terms were clear from the start.

Most relationships do end; so is it so wrong to know when that end will happen? How does it change your mindset knowing? Could it not potentially allow you the opportunity to make the most of your time together, whether it’s a day or 5 years? Would you want to know if you could?

black_mirror_match_hang_the_dj

What about when it comes to your “soulmate”? Could a computer ever have the capability to actually determine that? At some point, someone somewhere would have to confirm that the concept of the ‘soulmate’ indeed is true and exists and not only that, but it can be found essentially through math , and the finding can be easily done to make a profit.

Yet, by knowing, do we put up a wall, do we not put our whole hearts into relationships when we know that it doesn’t matter, that it will not last? And is that why people who are in love have to rebel because if they don’t, it’s not truly love?

As Tom Robbins says:
“Love is the ultimate outlaw. It just won’t adhere to any rules. The most any of us can do is to sign on as its accomplice. Instead of vowing to honor and obey, maybe we should swear to aid and abet. That would mean that security is out of the question. The words “make” and “stay” become inappropriate. My love for you has no strings attached. I love you for free.”

In the end, the security of love never exists, knowing that a computer thinks you’re right for each other doesn’t make it right, only you know, and only time can tell.