Might you be a feminist?

The other day, my friend and I slipped into one of our recurring conversations about feminism. Prompted by a couple of recent incidents (oh hey I forgot this one), we got talking about the label, and whether it's positive or negative, and what the implications are.

It's one of the subjects I get passionate about. After getting into the swing of my argument for a minute or two, I had to rein myself in, and I think I ended our conversation with "er but if you don't identify as a feminist I should probably stop telling you that you are one."

My friend is very aware of the way the world is. He knows that sexism exists, that women experience the world differently than men, that some aspects of the systems we live within are unfair and / or oppressive. However he rejects the word "feminist" because, in his mind, it reads as "man-hating female supremacist." (He's had some bad experiences with feminists in the past; what can I say.)

My good friend Paul has just written a blog post about this subject. He didn't formerly identify as a feminist, but now he does. It's an interesting read, and highlights a very important point: that's it's ok, even good, to let your views evolve. To change your mind about what you are, and what words mean. Labelling oneself is a flawed system, no doubt, but it's how the world knows what you stand for. I stand alongside those who believe in equality. I am a feminist. And I think perhaps it's even possible to be a feminist and not know it.

These pictures are via the spectacular ohdeargodwhy.

Page 3 girls and Goldfish

I'm not a conspiracy theorist. I don't believe that the moon landings were faked, or that 9/11 was an inside job, or that Elvis is alive, or that the Royal Family are lizards.

However, I do believe that page 3 models in the Sun, in addition to degrading themselves by allying themselves with that publication, are being used to espouse views that reinforce those of the paper, of Murdoch, and of the government.

Sounds weird, right? How can a naked chick be a tool of political propaganda?

Well, this very funny video says it better than I could. There's more information at this Bloggerheads post, should you be interested.

I do feel guilty about dropping out of the sky to talk about serious business, so here's an amazingly geek-laden video that made me exceedingly happy:

Things what I have drawed

I was always a bit of a prodigy at drawing. As far as I can remember, I was the first person in my class to realise that faces don't consist of two blue dots and a smiley red line. I recall making a rather less-than-spectacular attempt at perspective at the tender age of 7 (prompting my friend to ask me why the bath in the picture was in the ground), and I distinctly remember someone once asked me to draw a well for them.

So with all this evidence of my artistic genius, it might be hard to imagine that there are some areas in which I struggle. I know! Doesn't make sense, does it! Me, Anna, being less than amazing at something!

No, actually, I want to be serious here because it's a great source of frustration for me. I can't draw men.

Women I can draw; I have a lot of fun drawing women, and I can see definite improvement when I practise a lot; but when it comes to the unfairer sex (sorry?), I just can't seem to get it right.

I blame my 'drawing manga' book. I bought it a few years back out of curiosity, and found out that it's actually astonishingly fun to draw girls! They have curves, in places! But when it comes to the strong, sexy, roughly triangular torso of an adult male, I have no helpful book, and I can't trace photos of myself. Rendering me helpless. And hopeless.







See? Look! WHAT is that about! The moment I decide to draw a man, I lose 30 IQ points and develop the drawing ability of an injured chimp. It's most upsetting. It's been this way for years now. Every now and then I'll pick up a pencil or plug in my wacom tablet, and produce something that I want to delete straight away for fear it might infect all my other pictures with The Crap.

Interesting thing of the day: UK types, you might have heard that Robert Webb (aka 'him off Peep Show') won Comic Relief's celebrity dance competition. This is the video of his winning performance, and I'm sure you'll agree that... uh... something.

I don't know if you can watch that video in America or elsewhere. Not that that matters, as you probably don't know who Robert Webb is. Or you might, I guess. I'm rambling.

REMINDER: Please vote me up again! The competition's hotting up!

EDIT: I'd also like to recommend ablog to you all: GavD's Wrestles with Life. He's a fantastic writer, and his latest post about the causes of ridicularity poses some interesting points.

Women being honest

"So last night, I totally overreacted to something my boyfriend said, cried completely irrationally, got angry at him for no reason and now I'm not talking to him until he apologises because I'm slightly embarrassed about how I was just being hormonal."

"Oh honey! I wish I could blame it on your boyfriend. That would provide a bonding experience and draw us closer together in our friendship. Instead you just seem slightly crazy, even though I've done the same thing. Well, I guess I'm slightly crazy too."

"Let us instead bond by shopping! The mindless act of consumerism provides relief from any serious introspection. It helps that there are so many so-called fashion 'experts' to tell us that all our perfectly serviceable clothes are no longer acceptable."

"Good idea! heaven forbid we stop buying shoes and makeup long enough to realise what the real problem is here!"

-fin-