We're Back!

Warmest greetings to you, the Ladies Jane!

Personal crises and health issues have kept the partner admins away -- Putting out fires, trying to survive, and generally tending our lives is all in a day's work for a Jane!

A spousal employment change, the birth of a child, a cross-country residential move, frequest (but necessary) road trips, plenty of overtime at work, extended-family drama, and other assorted items have conspired to distract us from our love, The Jane Project.

Those of you who have kept us on your RSS feed (bless you!) have already seen today's posts. We hope you enjoy them.

One admin will do the best she can until the other comes back online. Until then, please remember that this blog is all about all of us, so please contribute and please spread the word!

~Riot.Jane

Portrait of an Anxiety Attack

Personal emergency today, friends. Dropped my bank account down to almost nothing. Freaking the fuck out over it, I am.

Waaaay too much money has left my possession today. $1600 for this . . . almost $6000 balance on a credit card . . . I ain't broke yet, but I'm panicking. Welling from deep within my soul . . . The panic threatens to wash me away.

I can't catch my breath, for I am bordering on hyperventilation. My pulse is fast and weak. I am as fidgety as a Ritalin-withdrawn 8-year-old boy. I have an overwhelming sense that I should be ducking and looking over my left shoulder. I'm maintaining a low-grade sweat. My neck and shoulders are locked. I hear my own blood pressure in my ears, a tsunami of sound. I sense a large shadow approaching. I am running my hands through my hair spasmodically, alternating between grabbing and tugging handfuls trying to bring my mind back home and all but gouging my scalp with my fingernails because I've lost most tactile sensation. I am nervous, angsty, afraid. I want to arm myself. I want to back into a corner so that nothing can get me from behind, so that I can stop spinning around, flailing my arms, trying to locate the the invisible threat that I can sense is damn near upon me.

Something wicked this way comes.

THIS is what happens when I am poor. THIS is what happens when I know that I have no resources. THIS is what happens when I know good and well that I am not able take care of myself.

Not only had I thought I'd outgrown this, it's never come on this severely this quickly. This is anxiety in its purest, most cleanly distilled, most primeveal form. This is panic barely held in check by sheer force of will.

This is the lion at the mouth of the cave.

This is the howling winter wind drowning the cries of the starving child.

This is the Inquisitor's knock at my chamber door.

~Riot.Jane

Sex vs. Gender

Family is where I stem.
Mommy was exchanged-
a mother with babies is more important than her name.
Mommy plus daddy, then came brother and others, is that what family is?

I am one of their cultural artifacts, through time I pass through ideas
Of boy vs. girl
And
Girl vs. boy…

Like a game of pong or air hockey I jockey
Myself into position…

Sex…
Top!
Bottom!
Am I still woman?

Woman vs. man
And Man vs. woman.
Which is more appropriate?

If Gary loves Harry and Sue loves June?
How is that taboo!?
Have things come too far too soon?

Time and evolution, genes are key…
Does that a gender make, one for society to take

for granted it’s what I see in the world around me.
Different people, different views,
STOP!

It is not all about me, everyone must see it is about us as we, a Union of you and I
Man vs. woman
Woman vs. man
Is that gender or sex I spy?

Jaycee Dugard >shudder< Horror Film?

I was horrified to discover that a low-rent actor/writer/editor/producer by the name of Shane Ryan is planning to make a film about the capture and imprisonment of Jaycee Dugard.

That's right, Ladies, the wonder-boy of such low-class cinematography as:

• Sex Kids Party (a/k/a The More, the Better)
• Amateur Porn Star Killer 1, 2, & 3
• Big Boobs, Blonde Babes, Bad Blood
• So, We Killed Our Parents
  -and-
• Caged Lesbos A-Go-Go

Is hoping to release Abducted Girl: An American Sex Slave through Alter Ego Films, in Spring 2010, according to Sacramento television station CBS13. Even though Ryan's above-noted movies have been described by viewers as:

• "[W]hat a homemade snuff film might look like with a bit of what the director thinks is artistic" [1]
  
• "[B]ad blood feature that is sheer in-your-face violence with a comedic ingredient inserted for your perverse viewing" [2]
  
• "The girl is supposed to be 13 years old, who (in their right mind) would find the gratuitous kidnapping, rape and eventual beating of a 13 year old girl entertaining?" [3]

He's "trying to figure out a way to do that so it's not exploitative," he told a reporter from CBS13 in a telephone interview. He also told the reporter, "We want to capture how sad this story is, but also how interesting."

On the film's website, Ryan writes that "this film is not about Jaycee Dugard," that it was in pre-production prior to authorities rescuing Dugard, and he continues with "Instead of doing a movie about human trafficking they instead decided [because of the Dugard case] to focus on just one victim and her captor and explore the idea of what it would be like for an 11 year old to be kidnapped and live in captivity for the next 18 years." He clearly states, "This is a fictitious film we were planning on making with a few friends in hope to make an interesting story," and he also says that this is nothing but the media "cashing in on another Jaycee story."

So, to recap, According to Ryan:

• This film is not about Dugard (even if a pre-production movie was re-drafted as the direct result of Dugard's recovery)
• Alter Ego Films is not a porn company (regardless of what they create and sell)
  -and-
• The "reporters" are the Dugard exploiters, not his film (while he's gabbing about the film's lack of exploitativeness with the CBS13 reporter and thereby co-opting as much publicity as possible).

Sorry, jackass, you just don't get to have it both ways: Either the flick is about Dugard or it isn't. You don't get to accuse the free-publicity pipeline of being vultures when you're planning to bring a film to market that you admit was significantly altered by the events of the Dugard case because that means your film feeds at that same trough of pain.

If the reporters are the vultures, I hereby call you out for catching a ride on the vulture's wing simply to save the time and effort of walking over to feast on the carcass yourself.

I have to say that I agree with the Dugard family's spokesperson Nancy Seltzer's statement that this project is "breathtakingly unkind."[4]

You, Sir, are a Very.Bad.Man.

~Riot.Jane

The Winds of Change Blow

Greetings to the Ladies Jane --

After an extended absence, rejoining you is a pleasure!

I'm a steadfast Third Wave feminist. I've spent my entire life proving to the world (and myself) that I am the equal of any man in anything that I choose to do. Beginning with schoolyard fisticuffs, I fell in love with high school Junior ROTC, refused to marry young, established a career in a (predominately male) technical field, and have vociferously insisted to anyone listening (and those not) that women have value that has nothing to do with creating new life

Adamantly, ferociously, with the crystal clarity that only true passion brings, I have practiced what I've preached. I refuse to cry outside of my own apartment. When I'm frightened, I snarl. When I'm weak, I attack. When I'm paralyzed, I bark orders at others. When I feel stupid, I boast. Full of bravado and vinegar, I dare anyone, everyone, to call my bluff. Intelligent women older than me have told me, "I'm so jealous! You're your own person: You never gave yourself away."

While battling a sleeping disorder that eradicates many useful hours, I've lived my life with what time I have as my own. My responsibilities are with my friends and parents, not with the husband or child/ren that my culture (and well-meaning individuals) say that I am missing.

The only time one of my girlfriends and I are ever catty is when we praise Glory for the fact that we are childless. We revel in the fact that we still have the luxuries of self-absorbtion and non-bowel-movement conversation. We are snotty towards and gossip about parent who don't control their children and parents who have nothing to talk about besides Johnny's ear infection or Janie's latest goo-goo-ga-ga babbling.

We know your little precious is the most amazingly wonderful thing in the multiverse to you, we do, I promise! Really, that's probably the way it should be, but please, dear God, would you just shut up about it?!

"That is just not going to be us, we actually have something to do with our lives," we snark, as if childrearing is relegated to those without the capacity to do anything else. I always felt a bit guilty for snarking about women whose choices have been different than mine, but not enough to actually stop the snarking. I'm positive that there's a portion of the human animal's social need that yearns for validation so much that even self-provided validation will suffice.

I've been proud to use the courtesy title of "Miss," although at the age of 38 people occasionally double-take when I do. My boss says I look 30. I refuse to change my name if I ever *do* marry. I'm not against the idea of marriage per se', but I am still not sure (while having discussed it with my boyfriend) that I am or ever will be ready for such a thing. I'm a fiercly independent, oddly particular, strongly-willed, and reliable overachieving only child who is used to having things her own way.

Let's say that the arts of negotiation and domestic order are not among my stronger points. :-)

I've been an apartment dweller my entire adult life, and I've found myself daydreaming for the last year or so of a permanent home, of putting down roots, of neighborhood block parties in the kind of place where Girl Scouts ring the doorbell to sell their boxes of yummy goodness every year. I've been daydreaming of older neighborhoods, with narrow driveways and old-growth trees, neighborhoods that have 50 years of architectural styles represented in the little houses lining the streets while the larger city sprawled around, creating little enclaves with their own little newletters and residents who know the family name of the house two blocks over who just bought that sweet new Mazda RX8 . . .

This picture never includes a husband or child/ren. I see the garden, I see the porch swing (and the kitty dozing in it), I see the cute white trim around the round accent-lighting windows, I see the kitchen with it's glorious chrome-trimmed appliances, and I see the window-box with custom cushions, begging me to wile away the sunny afternoon with my Kindle . . .

But I never see the other pieces of the house, of that life, and I've assumed that's because I'm not yet ready to see them. I'm not ready to get married, I'm not ready to be a parent, so those pieces are not yet visible to me.

As a result, I've been thinking that I've just been wanting to put down roots, that I'm finally looking for an adult level of security, stability, and serenity. That my kitty and my project house are what I'm yearning for, what I need. I'd come to the conclusion that this was just a larger, albeit more gentle, form of the insistent nesting urge I experience every time that I have PMS.

I realized just last night that I've been wrong. All at once, a thought leapt up from my subconscious brain and burst into my conscious mind with the stopping power of a close thunderclap:

I want a baby.

What the hell happened to me? Who am I to become?

~Riot.Jane

Loss and Life

My friend, Sandra died on October 20th, 2009. I received this news at 12:45 pm via text message. It simply said “Sandra has passed”.

I didn’t know Sandra long. I didn’t know Sandra from childhood. I knew of Sandra’s feelings about her childhood. She shared with me her inward experiences of the pain as well as the sad, terrible and lonely stories from those days. I believe that this makes the child in her more real to me than if I was with her then.

I know Sandra, the brave and tattered little girl who fought injustice, because she placed her in my heart.

I did not know Sandra when she married nor did I know her during her many attempts at being loved by a man......but I knew of her marriages, her lost loves and her experiences of constant abuse, abandonment, disappointment and heartbreak. I know Sandra, the broken, abused young woman who never gave up on love, because she placed her in my heart.

I did not know her oldest son but knew about his life. She allowed me entrance into their world of abandonment and sorrow. She told me of her inability to be the mother she desired to be. I know Sandra the desperate, abandoned lost, young mother who bravely continued to try because she placed her in my heart.

I know from our daily life together, firsthand, the son of her heart, Michael, and learned through careful observation and with admiration of their great love for one another. She blessed me with entrance into her inner world, Into her inner self.....her holy of holies.

I know from her who she was in the past, I knew from her actions who she was in the present and who she was becoming So although I did not know her long, I know her well. She shared with me who and what she desired to be. And I think we will all agree: Sandra desired, above all, to be loved.

Sandra has passed....

Looking back I think how strange it is that three little words represent so much in both the past, now and our future. An entire life has come and gone. My friend, my sister, her existence just...gone.... I am not sure I believe that!

Sandra. Sandra Myles. Sandra Lane. To me, friend and teacher. To me utterly beautiful. I can honestly say when I think of Sandra one word comes to my mind that describes her perfectly:

Love

“Sandra has passed” flies before me.....

Sandra lived her Love Spirit naturally and gracefully. She gave me this love freely as only one who has learned the one of the greatest lesson in life can give. That great lesson is What we desire the most in life is what we are required to give to others. That we give love even when it is not returned. That we give it because we know, often through our own lack of receiving, the importance of love. We give what we desire the most to others.

Her very vibration was that of love. She asked for it and extended it with every breath. She was acutely aware that she, that all of us, require love the same way we require air. That without it life was just that. Life. She knew, instinctively, that in order to be ALIVE, to truly feel ALIVE, we must learn the power of giving and receiving love. It is what are all designed to do. She pursued love and her ideals of it with a passion. Always talking and encouraging her version of the “Sisterhood,” always striving to be there for me and for others, always letting me know she loved me, appreciated me and valued our time together. Sandra was the great giver of this pure water and holy water. It poured forth from her and I eagerly, thirstily drank of it.

Through her I learned to speak words of love. To not be shy in saying I love you, to hug warmly without reserve, to give, without fear that which I myself require the most.....Love.

How beautiful it is to me to know that I was blessed by the short time I was allowed to walk in the warm light of Sandra’s life. That I was blessed by her intimate sharing of her spirit. That I was given such grace through knowing the heartbreak and joy of her life. I learned valuable lessons of courage, humility and of life beyond survival. Her example showed me that I could and should ask questions, learn about and change my inner-self. Her ways taught me to listen, embrace new thoughts and ways of being. She showed me how beautiful it was to admit when and where I went wrong, where others had wronged me, and to embrace the truth of my life with courage. I learned, through her private “sisterhood,” to stand in the light of truth and experience joy and not to selfishly hold this knowledge and joy for myself...but to pass it freely forward to all that I meet.

How blessed I am that God brought us together, that we spent part of our journey together. No, Sandra has NOT PASSED. The dust that is her body has passed, but the true Sandra, the everlasting Sandra, the spirit that animated the clay that housed her, is alive and always will be. She lives in me and you, she lives between us, every time we extend or receive love. She is alive and here right now in and around all of us and she is laughing and she is dancing... And she is telling us “I am loved and so are you.”

Ralph Lauren Ad: Wrong on So Many Levels

Greetings to the Ladies Jane!

Today I've stubled upon an odd intersection of feminism and digital rights to share with all of you. My two favorite subjects, rolled into an unlikely bitter pill. This doesn't happen often, so I'm going to enjoy it!

The Ralph Lauren Blue Label ad to the right was originally posted (and commented upon) at the PhotoShop Disasters blog. Apparently, Ralph Lauren objected to said activities and issued a bogus DMCA takedown notice ("bogus" because Fair Use includes criticism).

Since Blogger's policies include automatic removal of content subject to any in/valid DMCA takedown notice, the PhotoShop Disasters post disappeared.

The Streisand Effect immediately came into play, and that's how the outraged feminist in me stumbled upon this advertisement glorifying a soul-crushingly unobtainable female body shape. Thank God for the Streisand Effect, otherwise I would have missed my weekly dose of self-righteous indignation! >only slight hyperbole<
Yes, Blogger also happens to host TJP. As a result, the picture you see to the right is actually residing on a TechDirt server. In fact, because of Blogger's policy to remove any subject of an in/valid DMCA takedown request, all pictures in this post are actually links to files residing on servers that in no way belong to me. I hope those server owners will forgive my poor digital manners because I'm doing this to both prove a point and keep this post alive, not to suck their bandwith.

As for the myriad issues with the advertisement itself, suffice it to say that this is a knuckle-dragging step backwards from the news of recent years that indicates a glacially changing (but changing!) international perspective among swimwear designers, magazine editors, runway model organizers, clothing designers, and a portion of the French fashion industry in the unconscionably thin body types displayed by these industries during the entirety of my lifetime.

Of particular interest is the case of Crystal Renn. In her book Hungry: A Young Model's Story of Appetite, Ambition, and The Ultimate Embrace of Curves, she discusses the experience of having lost 70 lbs to land a $250K modeling contract while still in high school. Suffice it to say that while she had that $250K contract, she looked like this:

Eventually, surviving on "lettuce with a side of batshit" caused a break. One day, "something snapped," leading her to quit her agency and move to the Plus Size division of Ford Models. She now shoots fashion campaigns for the likes of Jean Paul Gaultier, Dolce & Gabbana, and UK clothing chain Evans. This is what Renn looks like today -- Healthy, happy, and the most successful American plus-sized model:

You can read more about Renn's experience and book here and here.

Posting this recent picture of Renn brings into focus the sharp contrast between it and the monstrous Ralph Lauren ad above. I've studied design at an undergrad level, so I can usually figure out what ads that fail were trying to accomplish, who their target market was, even if they missed that target. This ad that someone intentionally altered to glorify an impossible-to-achieve crack-whore/cancer-patient silhouette simply baffles me from a design perspective. I can't figure out their target market except to know with utter conviction that I was not part of it. Because of this atrocious ad, I will never, ever purchase anything from the label, even as a gift.

Note to Ralph Lauren: When your model's head appears larger than her pelvis, you have created a side-show freak, not an attractive living mannequin for your clothes, so you might want to reconsider the message your freak is sending about your product.

Renn is a realistically-shaped, realistically beautiful woman. She looks like someone that I might befriend, someone that high school girls who aspire to be models (like she once was) might one day become. The fact that this woman is considered "plus size" (just look at her!) astounds me.

Renn is the archetypal beautiful, healthy woman. She is what we need to be portraying as beautiful and glamorous to not only our girls but to the never-good-enough half of the adult population that is female. If we're to ever win the fight for the hearts, minds, and souls of our females, we have to practice what we preach, live what we speak, and further what we write.

That we cannot discuss an advertisement (with legal digital supporting material) that doesn't further a corporation's monetary aims without legal bullying (I am looking at you, Ralph Lauren) and without the recourse the law provides (I'm looking at you, Blogger) is a powerful statement about who has the power in this country.

I, for one, do not generally believe that just because Big Money always has the power that it is always right. I, in fact, believe that in the vast majority of cases, the power that Big Money wields is morally (if not legally) wrong. In this case, it is both. Releasing that ad was morally wrong, and submitting a bogus DMCA takedown notice was legally wrong. Since Blogger is complicit in the injustice, PhotoShopDisasters cannot fight back.

We can. Just a little, but we can.

Comment on this post. Tell us how you feel. Drive traffic to this post. E-mail it to everyone you know. Post about it in other blogs that have audiences that care either about women's issues or digital rights, or both. Write a letter to Ralph Lauren, include a copy of the ad. Write about how their ad affects you, personally; women, as a group; and us, as a culture. Write about how their ad is a throwback to an earlier time, and how shamed they should feel. Talk to people: About Crystal Renn, about the small changes we've been seeing in the perspective in the fasion world, about the importance of actual humans as the people we see, not painted stick figures that couldn't possibly be alive. Demand that companies that sell the products you buy use advertising that features people who look like people who could actually exist.

Read. Write. Talk. Demand. Change begins with us.

~Riot.Jane

Ralph Lauren ad: TechDirt
Crystal Renn then: The Sun
Crystal Renn now: The Sun