February 25, 2005

LIKE A BOY IN THE CHINA SHOP

My dearest dear lady pal, Britt Barton-Lindsay, she of the funtime blog Hookers on Stilts, her and I were sitting on the couch the other night, in a haze after watching Frontline, and as our talks oft do, the topic turned to a baffled what the eff in ref to the patriarchy. She says "Do girls ever write you beefing with your semantics?" she asks frustrated, rhetorically. Oh, of course not - No. Only dudes. Only dudes write telling me what I should and should not do, how I should or should not write. Girls say "I hope you write a book" and encourage you to keep up the good work. Boys do not suggest, nor do they politely wish. They tell you how and what you should write the book on, what you should leave out, or perhaps if you fix your grammar, your gaze, or whatever they think your problem is, then perhaps in a few years you could be book ripe. I think of Tim Kinsella's singed song "Ignorance is/ My privaledge right" casual like a nursery rhyme. It is hard to ignore what is in your face daily, making it easier to ignore people who insist yr making a big deal out of nothing. Do you boys tell other boys what to do in forceful manners, maestro-voice booming suggestion without solicitation?

I was talking late on the phone to a friend, about why some other friends of ours, they can ignore certain things in the music we all luv, they can ignore who it beats down because, in part, because they are still served and ascended as male listeners. They have the luxury of not having to unpack the contents of the mixtapes and the crunk top 10-ers, call it "hot to death" and not sweat the mute mami/stick it in your mouth bitch/rape innuendo - because it's just a song, and hey, rape ain't something they are worried about everytime they come out of the subway late at night. You do not want to think writers and cultural critics cavemen because they do not care about anything 'sides the metronomic desplosion of a beat and the dick swingin' more-cheesmo that has hotties screaming ouch on the dancefloor. We do not die when we unpack the entire contents of the songs and what they imply, yes, perhaps we do sound uncool like C Dolores Tucker, or Tipper, even, but is that not our duty as cultural critics, should we not show how wide a swath of understanding we can cut by rubics cubing the whole thing? To take in the entire sharp dicotomy, does not mean we still cannot love it. We just have to reckon with it. Things we love deserve that attention, no?

Posted by Jessica at February 25, 2005 06:30 PM | TrackBack