Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Brand New Riot Grrrl Online Forum
I created a brand new Riot Grrrl Online Forum located here. Feel free to join and post on it. If you want me to register you on the site, email me here: grrrlsvomitcandy@hotmail.com and subject: forum and in the email include your desired username, desired password, and your valid email address.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
I no longer use myspace, but I do use facebook now: http://ping.fm/53PWU Feel free to add me on facebook, just be sure to tell me where you know me from. Thanks!
Monday, September 14, 2009
DIY: How To Contribute Globally
How to Contribute Globally
from wikiHow - The How to Manual That You Can Edit
Have you ever wanted to make a change in the world? Now you can! You do not have to work in a charity group, an AIDS program, or even the United Nations (UN). You just have to learn about the world and its issues; it is not that difficult.
Steps
- Try watching the international news instead of the local or national news. This world is not that small.
- Go to BBC's website and find out stuff in Asia, Europe, Africa and South America.
- Persuade your buddies to help you by making signs, informing youcommunity about your beliefs, or even send a letter to the national capital of your nation.
- If you are making a small AIDS benefit, draw diagrams showing condoms, words such as "safe sex" or "protect yourself" or you can just talk about what YOU can do about AIDS.
- Try conducting research about the ailments and illnesses of the world and try to find potential products that can fight or even cure them.
- Learn about the world's past. You have to learn history to see how things in the present occurred and potential events in the future.
- Share. You learned this when you were three or four. Give a little money to UNICEF or something. That would be very appreciative.
Tips
- Have small meetings in your community about global issues.
- Try getting a small job if you are young (under 16), attempt to get a simple second job if you can manage it. Babysit on the weekdays and mow lawns on weekends. Then take a practical percentage of your profits and use it for charities.
- One person can make a difference, but it is good to get a third or fourth hand.
- If you have a National Geographic Atlas, read it and find Global Awareness topics. You can also get Google Global Awareness Map on Google Earth to see where global issues take place such as the Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV), destroyed villages in Darfur, etc.
Warnings
- Don't work too hard. If you are still in school do these things on the weekends or when you have free-time after you have done your homework.
- If you are going to make picket signs, don't strike or march in busy areas. This may lead to violence.
Things You'll Need
- Time
- Perseverance
- Support :)
Article provided by wikiHow, a wiki how-to manual. Please edit this article and find author credits at the original wikiHow article on How to Contribute Globally. All content on wikiHow can be shared under a Creative Commons license.
Monday, August 31, 2009
I love Papis, I mean, Paris
The article below was written by Colette Davidson. She has written articles for this blog before and this is the second article she has submitted to this blog. Her blog is located here.
I love Papis… I mean, Paris!
Written By: Colette Davidson
France loves to shake things up. After three years in this country, I don’t necessarily look for absurdity anymore. At first, I noticed it all around me. Like, why were all the men under five-foot-five with shaggy beards and John Lennon glasses? And why didn’t women give the courtesy smile when leaving the public bathroom stalls?
Still, I am not immune to bizarre experiences here and so, because I am apparently due, I had one. It was like giving birth, really. Scary and painful but joyful afterwards. At least this is what I assume child birth to be like. The closest I have come was when I crotched the beam on a straddle jump at gymnastics practice in the ninth grade, and then landed it perfectly, minutes later.
Well, my vagina didn’t exactly have to push a live, human head out of itself today, but I do think it was sufficiently traumatized, as was I. In any normal American setup, going to the gyno would just be mildly humiliating. But in France, it’s downright weird. No other fancy vocabulary to describe it. Just weird.
First, I have to say that the Paris doctors are really doing something right because ever since I got here, it’s one fancy waiting room after another. Whereas in smaller towns, the doctors actually put up copies of their medical diplomas on the walls, the Paris ones just sling a Monet up there or place a finely crafted piece of modern art in the corner.
Dr. Villeneuve was no exception. In order to disguise the fact that her office was in the middle of the French version of the projects, she filled her space with wicker chairs with white cushions, potted orchids and bamboo. I knew I was going to get along fine with this one. Until, until…
An unusually hoarse voice called my name and I wandered over to shake hands with not a woman… but a girl. A girl my age.
Now for some reason, I have more of a problem letting someone who I could share a beer with after work look at my hoo-ha than a mother figure. Maybe because in my head, moms are supposed to help you out in a bind. Like when you have a yeast infection? Okay fine, the logic doesn’t make sense, but I was really struggling to picture this girl who could be one of my friends seeing me naked after only knowing me for ten minutes.
Luckily, the doctor wasted plenty of time getting to know allll my family history, from A to Z, in classic bureaucratic French style. At one point she asked me, “when was your last ‘frotti.’” Having no idea what this meant, I did a quick mental French vocabulary check. So, “frotte” meant “to rub.” Surely she didn’t mean to ask me when the last time it was that I masturbated. How about sex, then? As I tried to remember the last time I had been “frottied” she said in a perfect English accent, “pap smear.” Ah ha! I answered a few more questions about my grandmother’s cancer and my asthma, and we were through. By the time I had to strip down, I felt like I had known the doctor for years.
Dr. Villeneuve told me to take my pants and underwear off and sit on the table. Where was my paper apron thingy they normally give you? Nothing doing. I just had to pants myself and sit. And then, to my horror, the doctor proceeded to take my blood pressure. Couldn’t she do that while I was fully clothed? Did my bush have to be exposed while she was checking my risk of heart attack?
Minutes later, though, I was pushing back into the usual position. There was a lovely photo of the Buddha above my head in classy black and white. Gosh, I love these Paris doctors, I thought.
When Dr. Villeneuve had taken her fingers out of me, I started readying myself to sit up. Not so fast. On to the breast exam! As I wondered how I was going to expose my breasts to the doctor without becoming suddenly fully naked, she instructed me lift my top and take my bra off. So, fine, I lost that battle. I suddenly flashed back to the period in high school when I wasn’t sure if I was straight because I couldn’t get a guy to talk to me, and realized then and there that getting felt up by a girl was definitely not my thing.
Sitting up, I said, half-blushing, “It’s so different here than in the States,” referring to the awkward t-shirt lifting, bra unclasping moments before. “It’s hard to know what to do.” The doctor chuckled at my description of the open-in-the-back-ass-crack, life-size paper napkin we are given in the U.S. “Here, it’s a lot more…naked,” I grimaced.
We went back to her desk while she fiddled around with my, er, scrapings, when she asked me where I lived, down to my metro stop. Great, I thought, I was going to get asked out by my female gynecologist. Then I remembered how earlier I had confessed to having a regular boyfriend during the whole, “are you getting any” conversation and assured myself that I was in the clear.
“Now,” said my doctor, looking up. “I’m putting your pap smear in this envelope. It’s already stamped and addressed. All you have to do is fill out this form, enclose a check, and put it in the mail.” Was I getting this right? She wanted me to take my pap smear home with me? Sometimes the French were too much. First, no air conditioning or toilets in public places, and now this. Someone was going to get a nasty letter.
As I put the clear plastic case into my purse, I tried to keep the horror off my face while I thanked the doctor and wished her good day. After three years in France, this was definitely a new one.
Walking out of the office, I decided to look on the bright side. I wondered, what would my pap smear like to do for fun? I mean, it’s not everyday that she gets out and about. Perhaps I should show her a good time.
First, I ordered a Super Cookie from Mie Caline, the McDonald’s version of the French bakery. As I licked the chocolate from my lips, I considered offering her some. But then I remembered how too much sugar disturbs her flora and fauna and decided to just polish the thing off myself.
Next we rode on the metro. Whoa, did someone have motion sickness! I was surprised, considering all the vibration my pap smear is usually used to, considering I see my boyfriend a few times a week.
We got off at Hotel de Ville – one stop early – because I wanted my pap smear to see the Seine. If you’re going out for the first time in Paris, you really can’t miss it. We watched the boats go down the river and she even convinced me to take my sixth photo of the same scene. She can be pretty demanding, that little bitch.
Finally, we got to our destination. A Hungarian author was reading from his book in front of this great English bookshop near Notre Dame. My pap smear was all ears as the man spoke about book burning, poetry and Hungary before the war. At times, I started to drift off, but not my lil pap. Turns out she is quite the little history buff.
To polish off a great night, I treated her to a complimentary glass of rosé. I had sort of assumed she would be more of a red, Cotes-du-Rhone kind of girl, but she slurped her wine down in three gulps. Nobody ever said pap smears were classy.
On our way home, I gave pap a little pat through the cloth bag she was riding in. I felt that under such short notice, I had shown her a pretty decent time. We didn’t meet any men, but perhaps that would be for another time.
As I went to sleep, I felt comforted knowing pap was right next to me, just snoring away. I tried to keep the fan on her so she wouldn’t start disintegrating. Was I supposed to keep her in the fridge? The doctor hadn’t been too precise when handing her over.
The next morning was rough. Pap and I both knew we had to say goodbye; that we might never see each other again. But I promised her that her trip to the lab would be extremely exciting. And of course she believed me. Pap smears don’t get out that much.
On my way home from the post office, I looked in my day planner to see what the day had in store for me. To my horror, I saw that I had scheduled my first-ever appointment with a shrink. I guess we would have to talk about my troubled past during my second visit.
I love Papis… I mean, Paris!
Written By: Colette Davidson
France loves to shake things up. After three years in this country, I don’t necessarily look for absurdity anymore. At first, I noticed it all around me. Like, why were all the men under five-foot-five with shaggy beards and John Lennon glasses? And why didn’t women give the courtesy smile when leaving the public bathroom stalls?
Still, I am not immune to bizarre experiences here and so, because I am apparently due, I had one. It was like giving birth, really. Scary and painful but joyful afterwards. At least this is what I assume child birth to be like. The closest I have come was when I crotched the beam on a straddle jump at gymnastics practice in the ninth grade, and then landed it perfectly, minutes later.
Well, my vagina didn’t exactly have to push a live, human head out of itself today, but I do think it was sufficiently traumatized, as was I. In any normal American setup, going to the gyno would just be mildly humiliating. But in France, it’s downright weird. No other fancy vocabulary to describe it. Just weird.
First, I have to say that the Paris doctors are really doing something right because ever since I got here, it’s one fancy waiting room after another. Whereas in smaller towns, the doctors actually put up copies of their medical diplomas on the walls, the Paris ones just sling a Monet up there or place a finely crafted piece of modern art in the corner.
Dr. Villeneuve was no exception. In order to disguise the fact that her office was in the middle of the French version of the projects, she filled her space with wicker chairs with white cushions, potted orchids and bamboo. I knew I was going to get along fine with this one. Until, until…
An unusually hoarse voice called my name and I wandered over to shake hands with not a woman… but a girl. A girl my age.
Now for some reason, I have more of a problem letting someone who I could share a beer with after work look at my hoo-ha than a mother figure. Maybe because in my head, moms are supposed to help you out in a bind. Like when you have a yeast infection? Okay fine, the logic doesn’t make sense, but I was really struggling to picture this girl who could be one of my friends seeing me naked after only knowing me for ten minutes.
Luckily, the doctor wasted plenty of time getting to know allll my family history, from A to Z, in classic bureaucratic French style. At one point she asked me, “when was your last ‘frotti.’” Having no idea what this meant, I did a quick mental French vocabulary check. So, “frotte” meant “to rub.” Surely she didn’t mean to ask me when the last time it was that I masturbated. How about sex, then? As I tried to remember the last time I had been “frottied” she said in a perfect English accent, “pap smear.” Ah ha! I answered a few more questions about my grandmother’s cancer and my asthma, and we were through. By the time I had to strip down, I felt like I had known the doctor for years.
Dr. Villeneuve told me to take my pants and underwear off and sit on the table. Where was my paper apron thingy they normally give you? Nothing doing. I just had to pants myself and sit. And then, to my horror, the doctor proceeded to take my blood pressure. Couldn’t she do that while I was fully clothed? Did my bush have to be exposed while she was checking my risk of heart attack?
Minutes later, though, I was pushing back into the usual position. There was a lovely photo of the Buddha above my head in classy black and white. Gosh, I love these Paris doctors, I thought.
When Dr. Villeneuve had taken her fingers out of me, I started readying myself to sit up. Not so fast. On to the breast exam! As I wondered how I was going to expose my breasts to the doctor without becoming suddenly fully naked, she instructed me lift my top and take my bra off. So, fine, I lost that battle. I suddenly flashed back to the period in high school when I wasn’t sure if I was straight because I couldn’t get a guy to talk to me, and realized then and there that getting felt up by a girl was definitely not my thing.
Sitting up, I said, half-blushing, “It’s so different here than in the States,” referring to the awkward t-shirt lifting, bra unclasping moments before. “It’s hard to know what to do.” The doctor chuckled at my description of the open-in-the-back-ass-crack, life-size paper napkin we are given in the U.S. “Here, it’s a lot more…naked,” I grimaced.
We went back to her desk while she fiddled around with my, er, scrapings, when she asked me where I lived, down to my metro stop. Great, I thought, I was going to get asked out by my female gynecologist. Then I remembered how earlier I had confessed to having a regular boyfriend during the whole, “are you getting any” conversation and assured myself that I was in the clear.
“Now,” said my doctor, looking up. “I’m putting your pap smear in this envelope. It’s already stamped and addressed. All you have to do is fill out this form, enclose a check, and put it in the mail.” Was I getting this right? She wanted me to take my pap smear home with me? Sometimes the French were too much. First, no air conditioning or toilets in public places, and now this. Someone was going to get a nasty letter.
As I put the clear plastic case into my purse, I tried to keep the horror off my face while I thanked the doctor and wished her good day. After three years in France, this was definitely a new one.
Walking out of the office, I decided to look on the bright side. I wondered, what would my pap smear like to do for fun? I mean, it’s not everyday that she gets out and about. Perhaps I should show her a good time.
First, I ordered a Super Cookie from Mie Caline, the McDonald’s version of the French bakery. As I licked the chocolate from my lips, I considered offering her some. But then I remembered how too much sugar disturbs her flora and fauna and decided to just polish the thing off myself.
Next we rode on the metro. Whoa, did someone have motion sickness! I was surprised, considering all the vibration my pap smear is usually used to, considering I see my boyfriend a few times a week.
We got off at Hotel de Ville – one stop early – because I wanted my pap smear to see the Seine. If you’re going out for the first time in Paris, you really can’t miss it. We watched the boats go down the river and she even convinced me to take my sixth photo of the same scene. She can be pretty demanding, that little bitch.
Finally, we got to our destination. A Hungarian author was reading from his book in front of this great English bookshop near Notre Dame. My pap smear was all ears as the man spoke about book burning, poetry and Hungary before the war. At times, I started to drift off, but not my lil pap. Turns out she is quite the little history buff.
To polish off a great night, I treated her to a complimentary glass of rosé. I had sort of assumed she would be more of a red, Cotes-du-Rhone kind of girl, but she slurped her wine down in three gulps. Nobody ever said pap smears were classy.
On our way home, I gave pap a little pat through the cloth bag she was riding in. I felt that under such short notice, I had shown her a pretty decent time. We didn’t meet any men, but perhaps that would be for another time.
As I went to sleep, I felt comforted knowing pap was right next to me, just snoring away. I tried to keep the fan on her so she wouldn’t start disintegrating. Was I supposed to keep her in the fridge? The doctor hadn’t been too precise when handing her over.
The next morning was rough. Pap and I both knew we had to say goodbye; that we might never see each other again. But I promised her that her trip to the lab would be extremely exciting. And of course she believed me. Pap smears don’t get out that much.
On my way home from the post office, I looked in my day planner to see what the day had in store for me. To my horror, I saw that I had scheduled my first-ever appointment with a shrink. I guess we would have to talk about my troubled past during my second visit.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Forwrrrd Will Now Be Updated On A Monthly Basis
I guess alot of you are wondering... "Why hasn't this blog been updated since June?" or "This blog was being updated daily, What happened?"
My answer: I have decided to make the decision to post on this blog again and to do so on a MONTHLY basis only. This means it will be updated once a month. For those of you who like this blog or read it everyday, you can still read it on a monthly basis or you can read it daily. By reading it daily, you can look at all of the old posts in Forwrrrd. I hope this news doesn't surprise or disappoint you. It's hard to update a blog on a daily basis and a weekly basis.
The reasons for my decision:
1.) I'm on like a million other forums & websites, like facebook, last.fm, myspace, twitter, etc. It's hard to keep up with all of them, but I will ALWAYS use my facebook, last.fm, myspace, and twitter accounts.
2.) I have my own website (Riot Grrrl Online) that I have to constantly update.
3.) My grandma goes to the hospital on a monthly basis, due to her health problems, not to mention that she also has memory problems too.
The next post I make in this blog, will be a regular Forwrrrd post that I usually make and not one like this one. It will be totally Forwrrrd Blog focused.
My answer: I have decided to make the decision to post on this blog again and to do so on a MONTHLY basis only. This means it will be updated once a month. For those of you who like this blog or read it everyday, you can still read it on a monthly basis or you can read it daily. By reading it daily, you can look at all of the old posts in Forwrrrd. I hope this news doesn't surprise or disappoint you. It's hard to update a blog on a daily basis and a weekly basis.
The reasons for my decision:
1.) I'm on like a million other forums & websites, like facebook, last.fm, myspace, twitter, etc. It's hard to keep up with all of them, but I will ALWAYS use my facebook, last.fm, myspace, and twitter accounts.
2.) I have my own website (Riot Grrrl Online) that I have to constantly update.
3.) My grandma goes to the hospital on a monthly basis, due to her health problems, not to mention that she also has memory problems too.
The next post I make in this blog, will be a regular Forwrrrd post that I usually make and not one like this one. It will be totally Forwrrrd Blog focused.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Wendy O Williams-Rock's First Riot Grrrl
This story was taken from here.
Wendy O. Williams-Rock’s First Riot Grrrl
Mar 4, 2004
The Plasmatics championed rock ‘n roll chaos, gore and violence after Kiss and Alice Cooper but before Gwar and Marilyn Manson . However, they added another element to the fray. Their frontwoman, Wendy O. Williams, was a part-time porn actress with an outrageous Mohawk who wore nothing more than shaving cream or electrical tape onstage ,crashed cars, smashed TV sets and whatever stage prop was slated for demolition that evening.
The brainchild of porn producer Rod Swenson, the band consisted of sledgehammer wielding vocalist Wendy O Williams (WOW for short), guitarists Richie Stotts and Wes Beech and bassist Jean Beauvoir. The group initially played chaotic live gigs at notorious New York punk haunts like CBGBs in the late ’70s. It wasn’t long before the Plasmatics recorded their first album “New Hope For The Wretched.” In 1980 Hard to believe the quasi-metal noise of “Butcher Baby” and “Tight Black Pants” was produced by Jimmy Miller, who previously helmed albums by the Stones and Traffic. A more successful effort “Beyond The Valley of 1984″ was released the next year. Featuring “Sex Junkie” and “A Pig Is A Pig”, “1984″ is definitely a very heavy metal album, and the band’s best release. Even the futuristic Mad Max in the desert cover photograph and the accompanying video (Wendy crashing a car through a wall of TV sets) are shock-rock classics.
The band played live shows at small hole in the wall clubs where they could get away with their XXX antics. Although audiences were appreciative (one Plasmatics fans seems thrilled to have an antenna from a smashed TV set rip his hand, according to a message board posting), police in the Midwest weren’t impressed. At a show in Milwaukee, police arrested Wendy on “public indecency” charges and severely beat her and manager Swenson. 1982’s “Coup D’Etat” signaled the Plasmatics last gasp as a media-fueled metal-punk spectacle. Plasmatics material continues to be released and re-released to this day. Proving that the group had a sensitive side, the Plasmatics website released an album of the band’s collected “love” songs in 2002 “Love Songs For The Apocalypse” contained titles such as “Fuck That Booty,” “Jailbait,” and “I Love Sex.” Perfect background music for an evening at Mistress Wendy’s House of Domination. Williams released two solo albums-the Gene Simmons produced “WOW” released in 1984 and 1986’s “Kommander of Kaos.” She also recorded “No Class” and “Stand By Your Man” with Motorhead’s Lemmy. As the 1980s ended, so did Williams’ career as a punk/metal priestess and she appeared in a few films and television shows. She also promoted her interest in macrobiotic and vegetarian food, teaching a class in macrobiotic cooking at NYC’s Learning Annex in the early ’90s.
Wendy O. Williams-Rock’s First Riot Grrrl
Mar 4, 2004
The Plasmatics championed rock ‘n roll chaos, gore and violence after Kiss and Alice Cooper but before Gwar and Marilyn Manson . However, they added another element to the fray. Their frontwoman, Wendy O. Williams, was a part-time porn actress with an outrageous Mohawk who wore nothing more than shaving cream or electrical tape onstage ,crashed cars, smashed TV sets and whatever stage prop was slated for demolition that evening.
The brainchild of porn producer Rod Swenson, the band consisted of sledgehammer wielding vocalist Wendy O Williams (WOW for short), guitarists Richie Stotts and Wes Beech and bassist Jean Beauvoir. The group initially played chaotic live gigs at notorious New York punk haunts like CBGBs in the late ’70s. It wasn’t long before the Plasmatics recorded their first album “New Hope For The Wretched.” In 1980 Hard to believe the quasi-metal noise of “Butcher Baby” and “Tight Black Pants” was produced by Jimmy Miller, who previously helmed albums by the Stones and Traffic. A more successful effort “Beyond The Valley of 1984″ was released the next year. Featuring “Sex Junkie” and “A Pig Is A Pig”, “1984″ is definitely a very heavy metal album, and the band’s best release. Even the futuristic Mad Max in the desert cover photograph and the accompanying video (Wendy crashing a car through a wall of TV sets) are shock-rock classics.
The band played live shows at small hole in the wall clubs where they could get away with their XXX antics. Although audiences were appreciative (one Plasmatics fans seems thrilled to have an antenna from a smashed TV set rip his hand, according to a message board posting), police in the Midwest weren’t impressed. At a show in Milwaukee, police arrested Wendy on “public indecency” charges and severely beat her and manager Swenson. 1982’s “Coup D’Etat” signaled the Plasmatics last gasp as a media-fueled metal-punk spectacle. Plasmatics material continues to be released and re-released to this day. Proving that the group had a sensitive side, the Plasmatics website released an album of the band’s collected “love” songs in 2002 “Love Songs For The Apocalypse” contained titles such as “Fuck That Booty,” “Jailbait,” and “I Love Sex.” Perfect background music for an evening at Mistress Wendy’s House of Domination. Williams released two solo albums-the Gene Simmons produced “WOW” released in 1984 and 1986’s “Kommander of Kaos.” She also recorded “No Class” and “Stand By Your Man” with Motorhead’s Lemmy. As the 1980s ended, so did Williams’ career as a punk/metal priestess and she appeared in a few films and television shows. She also promoted her interest in macrobiotic and vegetarian food, teaching a class in macrobiotic cooking at NYC’s Learning Annex in the early ’90s.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
From Riot Grrrl To Alt-Mom
This article was taken from LA Times.
From Riot Grrrl to alt-mom
By Erika Schickel
February 12, 2007 in print edition E-14
SHE was there for the postfeminist revolution, marching down Fifth Avenue topless with “slut” painted on her belly. She was hanging out in clubs, interviewing Kristin Hersh and Patti Smith, rocking with the Riot Grrrls, staring down yuppies in the East Village, publishing a ‘zine, getting hitched in a gorilla mask. Her alt credentials are flawless. “Mamarama: A Memoir of Sex, Kids, & Rock ‘n’ Roll” is Evelyn McDonnell’s account of a life lived on the cultural and then maternal cutting edge.
McDonnell started out a Midwestern pop-music addict (crushing on the cartoon version of Michael Jackson in the 1970s, while her older brother swooned over Speed Racer’s limpid eyes.) She knew who she was from the get-go – “Some people are born musicians. I was born a listener” – and began her rock ‘n’ roll apprenticeship at an early age, following bands and deejaying in clubs.
“Punk rock saved my bored, zit-faced teenage life
McDonnell spent her 20s and 30s in the mosh pit of alt-pop culture, meeting her icons and helping to forge a new kind of feminism for her generation.
“It was the early ’90s, when direct activism, identity politics, hip-hop, and grunge were driving forces of the dawn of the Clinton era. We were a new breed of woman whom pundits, including some in our own ranks, struggled to name: postfeminists, womanists, Riot Grrrls, pro-sex feminists, do-me feminists (a name obviously thought up by a men’s magazine), third-wave feminists, lipstick lesbians, bitches with attitudes.”
For someone who grew up in New York and is McDonnell’s virtual contemporary, “Mamarama” is frequently a fun trip down memory lane. She captures the excitement of the East Village and the post-punk music scene in loving detail. But her rebellion, as reported here, grows to be somewhat formulaic. We know what’s coming next, and her story gets bogged down in its chronology as she tells it beat by beat, from beginning to end.
“Mamarama” sometimes reads like an incredibly long Village Voice profile. McDonnell is not without agenda and presents the facts of her life with hefty editorializing. While that often leads to insight, her prose can sometimes be as rhythmic and predictable as a fist pump – one wishes she would unclench that fist and massage the material a little more. Inject some humor and poetry, mix up the chronology, make her life story more of a mix tape than an LP.
After 179 pages of “rama,” we finally get to the “mama,” with the birth of her son, Cole. By this time, McDonnell is living in Miami (where she is currently an award-winning culture critic for the Miami Herald) with her husband and his two teenage daughters. Her son’s birth shifts her out of reminiscence and into the more immediate (and interesting) present-tense concerns of the book – reconciling a liberal, liberated lifestyle with the more conventional and traditional responsibilities and routines of parenthood.
From Riot Grrrl to alt-mom
By Erika Schickel
February 12, 2007 in print edition E-14
SHE was there for the postfeminist revolution, marching down Fifth Avenue topless with “slut” painted on her belly. She was hanging out in clubs, interviewing Kristin Hersh and Patti Smith, rocking with the Riot Grrrls, staring down yuppies in the East Village, publishing a ‘zine, getting hitched in a gorilla mask. Her alt credentials are flawless. “Mamarama: A Memoir of Sex, Kids, & Rock ‘n’ Roll” is Evelyn McDonnell’s account of a life lived on the cultural and then maternal cutting edge.
McDonnell started out a Midwestern pop-music addict (crushing on the cartoon version of Michael Jackson in the 1970s, while her older brother swooned over Speed Racer’s limpid eyes.) She knew who she was from the get-go – “Some people are born musicians. I was born a listener” – and began her rock ‘n’ roll apprenticeship at an early age, following bands and deejaying in clubs.
“Punk rock saved my bored, zit-faced teenage life
McDonnell spent her 20s and 30s in the mosh pit of alt-pop culture, meeting her icons and helping to forge a new kind of feminism for her generation.
“It was the early ’90s, when direct activism, identity politics, hip-hop, and grunge were driving forces of the dawn of the Clinton era. We were a new breed of woman whom pundits, including some in our own ranks, struggled to name: postfeminists, womanists, Riot Grrrls, pro-sex feminists, do-me feminists (a name obviously thought up by a men’s magazine), third-wave feminists, lipstick lesbians, bitches with attitudes.”
For someone who grew up in New York and is McDonnell’s virtual contemporary, “Mamarama” is frequently a fun trip down memory lane. She captures the excitement of the East Village and the post-punk music scene in loving detail. But her rebellion, as reported here, grows to be somewhat formulaic. We know what’s coming next, and her story gets bogged down in its chronology as she tells it beat by beat, from beginning to end.
“Mamarama” sometimes reads like an incredibly long Village Voice profile. McDonnell is not without agenda and presents the facts of her life with hefty editorializing. While that often leads to insight, her prose can sometimes be as rhythmic and predictable as a fist pump – one wishes she would unclench that fist and massage the material a little more. Inject some humor and poetry, mix up the chronology, make her life story more of a mix tape than an LP.
After 179 pages of “rama,” we finally get to the “mama,” with the birth of her son, Cole. By this time, McDonnell is living in Miami (where she is currently an award-winning culture critic for the Miami Herald) with her husband and his two teenage daughters. Her son’s birth shifts her out of reminiscence and into the more immediate (and interesting) present-tense concerns of the book – reconciling a liberal, liberated lifestyle with the more conventional and traditional responsibilities and routines of parenthood.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Stalking Information
I thought this might be interesting to read about. It is a women’s issue and it seems to be a problem. I got the information below from here.
Stalking Facts and Information
10 Things You Need to Know About Stalking
1. Stalking is a crime.
Stalking is a course of conduct directed at a specific person that places a reasonable person in fear for her or his safety. It is against the law in every state. Stalking across state lines or in federal territories is illegal under federal law.
2. Many people are stalked.
1 in 12 twelve women and 1 in 45 men will be stalked in their lifetimes. 1.4 million people are stalked every year in the United States.
3. Stalking can be very dangerous.
76 percent of women killed by their intimate partners were stalked by these partners before they were killed. All stalkers should be considered unpredictable and very dangerous.
4. Stalking is harmful and intrusive.
Stalking victims often lose time from work or never return to work, and some even relocate to regain a sense of safety. Many suffer from anxiety, insomnia, and severe depression as a result of being stalked.
5. Anyone can be stalked— not just celebrities.
The vast majority of stalking victims are ordinary people. Furthermore, most stalkers are not strangers, but are known by their victim.
6. Stalking can occur during a relationship, after a relationship, or in the absence of a relationship.
Stalking often begins during a relationship. Stalkers may keep the victim under surveillance or threaten her or him. Others begin stalking after the victim has ended the relationship, and the stalker feels desperate to maintain or regain control. Still others become fixated on a victim without ever having had any relationship with the person. All forms of stalking are unpredictable, and all should be considered dangerous.
7. Technology can be used to stalk.
Although newly-developed technology enhances our lives, it can also empower criminals. Cell phones, computers, and surveillance equipment are just some of the technologies stalkers now use.
8. An effective response to stalking includes the entire community.
Police, prosecutors, advocates, educators, reporters, neighbors … everyone can and should play a part in stopping stalking. Working together, we can make victims safer.
9. You can make a difference.
Visit www.ncvc.org/src to learn more about stalking and how to fight it.
10. Help is available.
If you or someone you know is being stalked, call 1-800-FYI-CALL for assistance.000 M Street, NW Suite 480, Washington, DC 20036, Tel. 202-467-8700, 1-800-FYI-CALL / TTY: 1-800-211-7996, www.ncvc.org,
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2002 by the National Center for Victims of Crime. This information may be freely distributed, provided that it is distributed free of charge, in its entirety and includes this copyright notice.
If Your Or Someone You Know Is Being Stalked
If You Are Stalked
These are common reactions to being stalked. You are not to blame for a stalker’s behavior. If you are in immediate danger, call 911. These are common reactions to being stalked. Stalking is a crime.
These are common reactions to being stalked. You might:
• Feel fear of what the stalker will do.
• Feel vulnerable, unsafe, and not know who to trust.
• Feel nervous, irritable, impatient, or on edge.
• Feel depressed, hopeless, overwhelmed, tearful, or angry.
• Feel stressed, including having trouble concentrating, sleeping, or remembering things.
• Have eating problems, such as appetite loss, forgetting to eat, or overeating.
• Have flashbacks, disturbing thoughts, feelings, or memories.
• Feel confused, frustrated, or isolated because other people don’t understand why you are afraid.
If Someone You Know is Being Stalked, You Can Help
Listen. Show support. Don’t blame the victim for the crime. Remember that every situation is different, and allow the person being stalked to make choices about how to handle it. Find someone you can talk to about the situation. Take steps to ensure your own safety. For more ideas on how you can help, call 1-800-FYI-CALL.
Stalking is unpredictable and dangerous. No two stalking situations are alike. There are no guarantees that what works for one person will work for another, yet you can take steps to increase your safety.
If you are in immediate danger, call 911.
Trust your instincts. Don’t downplay the danger. If you feel you are unsafe, you probably are. Take threats seriously. Danger generally is higher when the stalker talks about suicide or murder, or when a victim tries to leave or end the relationship.
Contact a crisis hotline, victim services agency, or a domestic violence or rape crisis program. They can help you devise a safety plan, give you information about local laws, refer you to other services, and weigh options such as seeking a protection order. Develop a safety plan, including things like changing your routine, arranging a place to stay, and having a friend or relative go places with you. Also, decide in advance what to do if the stalker shows up at your home, work, school, or somewhere else. Tell people how they can help you.
Don’t communicate with the stalker or respond to attempts to contact you. Keep evidence of the stalking. When the stalker follows you or contacts you, write down the time, date, and place. Keep e-mails, phone messages, letters, or notes. Photograph anything of yours the stalker damages and any injuries the stalker causes.
Ask witnesses to write down what they saw. Contact the police. Every state has stalking laws. The stalker may also have broken other laws by doing things like assaulting you or stealing or destroying your property. Consider getting a court order that tells the stalker to stay away from you.
Tell family, friends, roommates, and co-workers about the stalking and seek their support. Tell security staff at your job or school. Ask them to help watch out for your safety. Stalking is a series of actions that make you feel afraid or in danger. Stalking is serious, often violent, and can
escalate over time.
A stalker can be someone you know well or not at all. Most have dated or been involved with the people they stalk. About 75 percent of stalking cases are men stalking women, but men do stalk men, women do stalk women, and women do stalk men.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2002 by the National Center for Victims of Crime. This information may be freely distributed, provided that it is distributed free of charge, in its entirety and includes this copyright notice.
Stalking Facts and Information
10 Things You Need to Know About Stalking
1. Stalking is a crime.
Stalking is a course of conduct directed at a specific person that places a reasonable person in fear for her or his safety. It is against the law in every state. Stalking across state lines or in federal territories is illegal under federal law.
2. Many people are stalked.
1 in 12 twelve women and 1 in 45 men will be stalked in their lifetimes. 1.4 million people are stalked every year in the United States.
3. Stalking can be very dangerous.
76 percent of women killed by their intimate partners were stalked by these partners before they were killed. All stalkers should be considered unpredictable and very dangerous.
4. Stalking is harmful and intrusive.
Stalking victims often lose time from work or never return to work, and some even relocate to regain a sense of safety. Many suffer from anxiety, insomnia, and severe depression as a result of being stalked.
5. Anyone can be stalked— not just celebrities.
The vast majority of stalking victims are ordinary people. Furthermore, most stalkers are not strangers, but are known by their victim.
6. Stalking can occur during a relationship, after a relationship, or in the absence of a relationship.
Stalking often begins during a relationship. Stalkers may keep the victim under surveillance or threaten her or him. Others begin stalking after the victim has ended the relationship, and the stalker feels desperate to maintain or regain control. Still others become fixated on a victim without ever having had any relationship with the person. All forms of stalking are unpredictable, and all should be considered dangerous.
7. Technology can be used to stalk.
Although newly-developed technology enhances our lives, it can also empower criminals. Cell phones, computers, and surveillance equipment are just some of the technologies stalkers now use.
8. An effective response to stalking includes the entire community.
Police, prosecutors, advocates, educators, reporters, neighbors … everyone can and should play a part in stopping stalking. Working together, we can make victims safer.
9. You can make a difference.
Visit www.ncvc.org/src to learn more about stalking and how to fight it.
10. Help is available.
If you or someone you know is being stalked, call 1-800-FYI-CALL for assistance.000 M Street, NW Suite 480, Washington, DC 20036, Tel. 202-467-8700, 1-800-FYI-CALL / TTY: 1-800-211-7996, www.ncvc.org,
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2002 by the National Center for Victims of Crime. This information may be freely distributed, provided that it is distributed free of charge, in its entirety and includes this copyright notice.
If Your Or Someone You Know Is Being Stalked
If You Are Stalked
These are common reactions to being stalked. You are not to blame for a stalker’s behavior. If you are in immediate danger, call 911. These are common reactions to being stalked. Stalking is a crime.
These are common reactions to being stalked. You might:
• Feel fear of what the stalker will do.
• Feel vulnerable, unsafe, and not know who to trust.
• Feel nervous, irritable, impatient, or on edge.
• Feel depressed, hopeless, overwhelmed, tearful, or angry.
• Feel stressed, including having trouble concentrating, sleeping, or remembering things.
• Have eating problems, such as appetite loss, forgetting to eat, or overeating.
• Have flashbacks, disturbing thoughts, feelings, or memories.
• Feel confused, frustrated, or isolated because other people don’t understand why you are afraid.
If Someone You Know is Being Stalked, You Can Help
Listen. Show support. Don’t blame the victim for the crime. Remember that every situation is different, and allow the person being stalked to make choices about how to handle it. Find someone you can talk to about the situation. Take steps to ensure your own safety. For more ideas on how you can help, call 1-800-FYI-CALL.
Stalking is unpredictable and dangerous. No two stalking situations are alike. There are no guarantees that what works for one person will work for another, yet you can take steps to increase your safety.
If you are in immediate danger, call 911.
Trust your instincts. Don’t downplay the danger. If you feel you are unsafe, you probably are. Take threats seriously. Danger generally is higher when the stalker talks about suicide or murder, or when a victim tries to leave or end the relationship.
Contact a crisis hotline, victim services agency, or a domestic violence or rape crisis program. They can help you devise a safety plan, give you information about local laws, refer you to other services, and weigh options such as seeking a protection order. Develop a safety plan, including things like changing your routine, arranging a place to stay, and having a friend or relative go places with you. Also, decide in advance what to do if the stalker shows up at your home, work, school, or somewhere else. Tell people how they can help you.
Don’t communicate with the stalker or respond to attempts to contact you. Keep evidence of the stalking. When the stalker follows you or contacts you, write down the time, date, and place. Keep e-mails, phone messages, letters, or notes. Photograph anything of yours the stalker damages and any injuries the stalker causes.
Ask witnesses to write down what they saw. Contact the police. Every state has stalking laws. The stalker may also have broken other laws by doing things like assaulting you or stealing or destroying your property. Consider getting a court order that tells the stalker to stay away from you.
Tell family, friends, roommates, and co-workers about the stalking and seek their support. Tell security staff at your job or school. Ask them to help watch out for your safety. Stalking is a series of actions that make you feel afraid or in danger. Stalking is serious, often violent, and can
escalate over time.
A stalker can be someone you know well or not at all. Most have dated or been involved with the people they stalk. About 75 percent of stalking cases are men stalking women, but men do stalk men, women do stalk women, and women do stalk men.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2002 by the National Center for Victims of Crime. This information may be freely distributed, provided that it is distributed free of charge, in its entirety and includes this copyright notice.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
On Being A Punk Woman
The article below was written by Jeannie Gynarchy and can be found here.
On Being A Punk Woman
It sucks to be a punk woman. Yeah I’m sure you’ve heard that one before. But for reals, it fucking blows. Most, if not all, record stores are male-oriented. They only have a limited selection of female punk bands. Not that male punk is bad at all, but there are so many good female bands that are hard to get a hold of. It becomes virtually impossible to buy girl punk unless we want to hassle with mailorder labels and distros, which is a pain in the ass.
It’s also hard to find clothes that fit right because we have to wear men’s pants (that is if we want to) and men’s shirts unless we want to wear baby tees and dresses. Not too long ago I bought a handmade bondage skirt and when I put it on the shape was so odd, come to find out a guy made the skirt and obviously didn’t have a woman around to try it on. It was so awkward I had to cut it to fit my body. Look at t-shirts, most are made of 100% cotton, which means they don’t stretch like baby tees do. Regular t-shirts look odd on women with large breasts because the front is considerably higher than the back. Not like baby tees which stretch to fit the woman’s breasts. Even if we try to ignore it, women’s bodies are made completely different than men’s. Take a look at Dogpile bondage pants. The waist and hip is the same size, the legs are straight and thin. Now take for example, my body, having a smaller waist and larger hips, larger thighs and smaller calfs. Some parts of my pants are too big, some are too small. I just look retarded wearing them. Granted it’s my choice to shove my ass into these plaid pants. But, after deciding I really liked them and I really wanted them, I couldn’t pick the woman’s version made for my shape. Being a woman of the ‘90s and a lazy fuck I never learned to sew my own clothes so I guess I should learn to make my own clothes and quit bitching right? Yeah fuck you, make clothes that fit us.
Like many other punks, I write a zine. But we don’t interview the band of the day or call out posers and smash the state all at once. We write about women’s issues from a punk perspective. Sounds rad if you are a woman : feminazi dyke shit. If you’re a guy perhaps, but think of it this way, you might actually learn something. It’s hard for us to get our zine out because we are women and we deal with women’s issues so men are scared away like they might catch something from it. The only thing they will catch is a better understanding of women. But I guess that’s a bad thing. Printing, writing, interviewing, etc. is no problem for us, it’s just getting the zine out to people who are afraid of the content. If you don’t think it deals with you and yourself, think again. You might figure out that your girlfriend is tired of being the wind beneath your wings and wants to be a part of the scene directly, whether it’s a zine or a band or opening a shop or label, whatever. Maybe your girl is sick of being shoved back at shows, expected to sit on the sidelines while the boys act like boys. Here’s a little secret, she wants in the pit right along side you.
Along with my zine and a billion other wastes of time, I am a photographer. That means I go to shows for free and take a bunch of pictures so that bands coming through town can have their pretty little faces in the newspaper. You know how many times I’ve been asked for someort of background, like some previous band, actual pictures, what classes I’ve taken, who I even work for? Not once. All I do is flash a smile and I’m in. Pathetic isn’t it? Yeah maybe it’s easier for me now but fuck, I want to earn my photo pass and paycheck, not just smile at the tour manager and have my pass handed to me on a silver platter.
So I’ve spent all this time bitching about how my life as a punk rock girl sucks (boo hoo poor me) So how do we go about changing things so it doesn’t suck? Well there are a million and a half ways... There probably aren’t many female bands around unless you live in D.C. or Washington State. Simple solution : start your own band. We need more girl bands! Pick up a guitar or a set of drum sticks and knock out some good ol’ punk rock. If you have no musical talent, that doesn’t really matter because that’s what punk is all about. But seriously, if you puke in front of large crowds or you can’t sing to save your life, write a zine. Just what we all need, a new zine, eh? But fuck it, go ahead and do it anyways. Write about shit that pisses you off. Take action. Don’t let people knock you down cause you’re a woman, fight back! If you failed freshman English or you dropped out before that, you can always pick up a silkscreener or button maker. Make patches. Make clothes. Make pins. Make shirts for some local bands. Even though your name won’t be on every piece of work you do, you still made it. You get the benefit of seeing someone in a shirt you made and screaming “I MADE THAT!”. Get a job at the local record store and order some good girl bands to sell. You’d be amazed at how quickly it all sells. If you can’t get a job at a record shop, bug the hell out of the people that work there until they start carrying some girl punk records.
There are simpler ways of letting those silly punk boys know they aren’t the only big shots. Take a stab (metaphorically only, please) at the pit. Instead of hiding behind that hunk o’ burning love of yours, dive in and smash some skulls. It really doesn’t hurt after a while. Shove your way up front. Do it by yourself. Hang out with the other yummy yummy punk rock girls around. Form groups like Women for Direct Action or a riot grrrl chapter or a feminist discussion group if you want, some place where all you ladies can get together without the guys and have a good time.
OK so this didn’t go as well as I had hoped for, but I think I somewhat made my point. I know there are a lot of punk women who do all this shit and I am way down with that, but we need more of them. Everywhere. We can’t keep fighting along side the boys if we can’t even find a pair of pants that fit right.
On Being A Punk Woman
It sucks to be a punk woman. Yeah I’m sure you’ve heard that one before. But for reals, it fucking blows. Most, if not all, record stores are male-oriented. They only have a limited selection of female punk bands. Not that male punk is bad at all, but there are so many good female bands that are hard to get a hold of. It becomes virtually impossible to buy girl punk unless we want to hassle with mailorder labels and distros, which is a pain in the ass.
It’s also hard to find clothes that fit right because we have to wear men’s pants (that is if we want to) and men’s shirts unless we want to wear baby tees and dresses. Not too long ago I bought a handmade bondage skirt and when I put it on the shape was so odd, come to find out a guy made the skirt and obviously didn’t have a woman around to try it on. It was so awkward I had to cut it to fit my body. Look at t-shirts, most are made of 100% cotton, which means they don’t stretch like baby tees do. Regular t-shirts look odd on women with large breasts because the front is considerably higher than the back. Not like baby tees which stretch to fit the woman’s breasts. Even if we try to ignore it, women’s bodies are made completely different than men’s. Take a look at Dogpile bondage pants. The waist and hip is the same size, the legs are straight and thin. Now take for example, my body, having a smaller waist and larger hips, larger thighs and smaller calfs. Some parts of my pants are too big, some are too small. I just look retarded wearing them. Granted it’s my choice to shove my ass into these plaid pants. But, after deciding I really liked them and I really wanted them, I couldn’t pick the woman’s version made for my shape. Being a woman of the ‘90s and a lazy fuck I never learned to sew my own clothes so I guess I should learn to make my own clothes and quit bitching right? Yeah fuck you, make clothes that fit us.
Like many other punks, I write a zine. But we don’t interview the band of the day or call out posers and smash the state all at once. We write about women’s issues from a punk perspective. Sounds rad if you are a woman : feminazi dyke shit. If you’re a guy perhaps, but think of it this way, you might actually learn something. It’s hard for us to get our zine out because we are women and we deal with women’s issues so men are scared away like they might catch something from it. The only thing they will catch is a better understanding of women. But I guess that’s a bad thing. Printing, writing, interviewing, etc. is no problem for us, it’s just getting the zine out to people who are afraid of the content. If you don’t think it deals with you and yourself, think again. You might figure out that your girlfriend is tired of being the wind beneath your wings and wants to be a part of the scene directly, whether it’s a zine or a band or opening a shop or label, whatever. Maybe your girl is sick of being shoved back at shows, expected to sit on the sidelines while the boys act like boys. Here’s a little secret, she wants in the pit right along side you.
Along with my zine and a billion other wastes of time, I am a photographer. That means I go to shows for free and take a bunch of pictures so that bands coming through town can have their pretty little faces in the newspaper. You know how many times I’ve been asked for someort of background, like some previous band, actual pictures, what classes I’ve taken, who I even work for? Not once. All I do is flash a smile and I’m in. Pathetic isn’t it? Yeah maybe it’s easier for me now but fuck, I want to earn my photo pass and paycheck, not just smile at the tour manager and have my pass handed to me on a silver platter.
So I’ve spent all this time bitching about how my life as a punk rock girl sucks (boo hoo poor me) So how do we go about changing things so it doesn’t suck? Well there are a million and a half ways... There probably aren’t many female bands around unless you live in D.C. or Washington State. Simple solution : start your own band. We need more girl bands! Pick up a guitar or a set of drum sticks and knock out some good ol’ punk rock. If you have no musical talent, that doesn’t really matter because that’s what punk is all about. But seriously, if you puke in front of large crowds or you can’t sing to save your life, write a zine. Just what we all need, a new zine, eh? But fuck it, go ahead and do it anyways. Write about shit that pisses you off. Take action. Don’t let people knock you down cause you’re a woman, fight back! If you failed freshman English or you dropped out before that, you can always pick up a silkscreener or button maker. Make patches. Make clothes. Make pins. Make shirts for some local bands. Even though your name won’t be on every piece of work you do, you still made it. You get the benefit of seeing someone in a shirt you made and screaming “I MADE THAT!”. Get a job at the local record store and order some good girl bands to sell. You’d be amazed at how quickly it all sells. If you can’t get a job at a record shop, bug the hell out of the people that work there until they start carrying some girl punk records.
There are simpler ways of letting those silly punk boys know they aren’t the only big shots. Take a stab (metaphorically only, please) at the pit. Instead of hiding behind that hunk o’ burning love of yours, dive in and smash some skulls. It really doesn’t hurt after a while. Shove your way up front. Do it by yourself. Hang out with the other yummy yummy punk rock girls around. Form groups like Women for Direct Action or a riot grrrl chapter or a feminist discussion group if you want, some place where all you ladies can get together without the guys and have a good time.
OK so this didn’t go as well as I had hoped for, but I think I somewhat made my point. I know there are a lot of punk women who do all this shit and I am way down with that, but we need more of them. Everywhere. We can’t keep fighting along side the boys if we can’t even find a pair of pants that fit right.
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