I’m a huge comics/sci-fi nerd, and one of the things that always brings me to tears is when the gadgeteers trust their science. When Tony steps out of the window of Stark Tower, he trusts his math, his calculations, his process to save him from Loki, to save him from the NYC sidewalk, to save the world. In the end, it’s his science—his Work, his Self—that gets him though the aftermath of New York, through betrayal, and back to a headspace where he can go home and be a good partner, a good Avenger, and better to himself.

Today, I’m trying to needle around where that surety has gone. Since my job dried up, I feel like I’ve become a bit of a employment-centric dancing bear. I have to work very hard to shove past the tedium, and to manage my expectations when I find a job worth pursuing.

Amidst all of this rudderlessness, I am eating my fears. A month ago, I sucked it up and took my road test. Twenty-five years after I could have had a driver’s license, I finally did it. No one has died. I have not died. It is good, and I am proud.

Deirdra‏@birdofparadox

#YesAllWomen does not mean Yes, All Men. Thank you to the men who get that, and are standing in witness to women’s experiences.

I’ve been cooking down my feelings, and plain and simple, it goes like this. When confronted with unspeakable violence toward women (and a subsequent outpouring of women’s similar experiences), I wish our bros were more prone to think about how they would confront the next friend who started down a degrading path, rather than telling a woman they’re crazy/stupid/absurd for feeling threatened in their lives.

FEMINIST HULK‏@feministhulk

IF YOU AN ALLY, PROVE IT BY TRUSTING THAT #YesAllWomen ARE NOT ATTACKING YOU, FOCUS INSTEAD ON MAN WHO GAVE EXPLICIT REASONS FOR HATING US.

It is far easier to say, HEY, I’M NOT THAT GUY, than to look around and think, Jesus, this was terrible. How can I make my corner of the world less tolerant of this societal cancer?

A dear friend observed that he can’t do anything about what happened at Isla Vista, but he could intervene when his clientele called women “bitches.”

I just wish I saw more “I really hope I’ve never done anything to wind up on #YesAllWomen, but if I have, I want to understand/fix it.”

Dear Mississippi, how should I begin?

Water: In heavy rain, cats yowling, the lightning in the sky giving me a glimpse of the Chunky River’s churning. A sudden doom fell upon my shoulders: I was moving somewhere they would name a river Chunky without a trace of irony. Hot on the heels of a life-altering breakup, storm season in Mississippi was the perfect accompaniment to my unraveling. I moved here for love, a love lost 19 days before my entry to the state. I would stand in the rain or at the edge of the Reservoir howling, crying big fat tears, not yet realizing that I had freed myself.

A year later, the rains rolled in, and I was a different person: worn like riverstone, I stood in the deluge, trading kisses. While we adamantly told everyone we weren’t dating, we were slowly building a marriage.

Fire: I lived in Miami, where I would burn through long sleeve tee-shirts, I lived in the Dutch Oven of pollution that encapsulates Atlanta. Nothing prepared me for Mississippi’s summer swelter. I suddenly understood the concept of braising on a whole new level. I was able to truly appreciate my newfound friends’ investments in deep, covered porches. Fire: do any mosquitos burn quite like Mississippi?

Mississippi is where I took my anger and turned it into passion. I have always been outspoken, but Mississippi helped me to hone my candor into a useful tool. I have always been opinionated, but Mississippi made an advocate out of me. I had aways written, but Mississippi made a writer out of me.

I had carried so much anger within me, that proverbial hot stone, and in Mississippi,  the hottest part of the forge for so very many social struggles, I shaped that anger into an instrument for activism and growth.

Air: As a child, I would spread my arms wide and let the wind catch my whole body like a sail. I still do this. Everyone notices the wind in Mississippi: I think everyone holds deep gratitude for the breeze that slices through soupy August, just as we steel ourselves for the icy barrage that whips through January.

The lightning in Mississippi is superior to any other place I have seen: the way it splits the sky, that primal beauty, laden with wonder, awe, and fear. Unburdened by decades of old habits and reputations, I let the lightning split me, let the air move me, spiraling me deeper into my own self. I came to an accord with my intellect, embraced my nerdiness, and allowed the air to bear away the tatters of an old life long outlived.

Earth: I had grown plants, but never had a garden. I am still in no hurry: the trees in Mississippi are incredible. Jackson is an anomaly: after years of asphalt, limestone and pure red clay, to be able to have wild animals afoot, and sensory reassurance of happenstance nature around me in the middle of a city was overwhelming. During a nasty storm, a wild goose took refuge on my apartment porch: we weathered the storm together, he on one side of the glass, me on the other. I sighted a deer across the street from the mall. I have seen a living armadillo trundling alongside Pear Orchard Road.  In Fondren, there is a tomato plant that crawls out of a crack in the sidewalk each year, bearing fruit against all odds. I have seen a red-tailed hawk snatch a jay out of the sky, and a community of bluejays rise up to exact vengeance. All my life, I would listen to Stevie Nicks and sway: she made me feel like a gypsy, a stray cat. I wanted to be untethered, easy to transplant. I put down wide but shallow roots.

Suddenly, I had a home. When my love and I bought a house, we knew it was ours because of the massive grove of trees… the trees that bent nearly to the ground, but did not break in Katrina… but played dervishes in a tornado and dropped most of their branches in a large, interlocking spiral. We thought we had lost them, but in the end, their deep roots saved them. They taught me that we must be willing to root deeply and reach out to one another to have security; that others will shelter your broken, tender body with their own limbs.

Mother Mississippi is no doting mother. She exacts a hefty toll from each of us. The rivers… they go where they want. Tornadoes rake our land like animal claws. The sun is brutal, and Yazoo clay is a trickster spirit of its own. Let’s say Mother Mississippi challenges the concept of your ownership.

I have an elevator speech for the many people who ask me, “WHY MISSISSIPPI?”

I tell them i live on a dead volcano beside a living serpent of a river. I stay because of the black earth streaked with red clay and the blood of civil rights heroes; the impossible green of sweet potato vine; the fossilized epic log jam just outside the city; and the Ragnarok-levels of lightning breaking through the storm outside. Jackson, my slice of earth, is an elemental convergence.

But there is more. Mississippi is a great teacher. I stay because the heat reminds me to kindle my own blazing courage; I stay because the air reminds me to use my breath as fuel for the body and lasting change; I stay because the water reminds me that we ourselves are ever-changing, capable of changing course; and I stay because the earth reminds me that we who choose to stay are interwoven, inextricable… sovereign unto ourselves, but supported by so many.

Today is not Earth Day, but we celebrate it anyway. We can choose to celebrate it daily, to remind us we can make tiny changes in our lives to live more gently; that we can revel in the beauty even as we mourn the injustices done to our habitat and the souls of our neighbors; and that we can fall in love with a place that is prickly, harsh, and perhaps difficult to love…

It is a complicated relationship, and I cherish it.

I feel like black clothing is often the institution built by designers as a place for fat girls to go to die. Or buy exercise wear. So, both. (I jest: I love a well constructed black dress, and also enjoy exercising.) So I’m enjoying the first Lane Bryant designer collection by Isabel Toledo. I’m loving the embroidered, foil and eyelet sets: so much gorgeous, body-conscious, timeless beauty going on here. And… the layered cocktail  and the cowl neck dresses are so elegant and shapely. It’s a great time to be a big girl!

That’s really where this post could end, but allow me to continue. Every 15 seconds, a woman is beaten. 4.8 million intimate partner-related acts of violence annually, and less than 20% of them receive medical care post-assault. A recent social experiment showed that many people still consider a certain amount of violence as acceptable when dealing with a perceived lower class of people.

From an early age, we’re taught not to stare, not to make a fuss, to mind our own damn business. We want to believe the best of the people we encounter in our day to day lives. We want our friends and relatives to be happy, so we believe them when they say they’re “Fine.”

I’ve been that person, who politely looked away, didn’t notice my friend’s injuries, believed flimsy excuses.  Society makes it easy for us to look away from violence, even when it’s happening under our noses. Much later, she showed me the body-sized hole in her drywall, and it made my stomach turn. I wanted to put my fist through the wall alongside the spot where she’d landed, to go to the hardware store and patch over the place where love and trust had failed her, to do anything except stand mutely in front of the hole.

I was so angry for my friend. I was so deeply ashamed of myself for not recognizing abuse, for being so ill-equipped to help her.

This is my fourth year volunteering with the Chick Ball. I have a lot of reasons why I volunteer, but the most important reason is because I have seen too many wonderful people beaten and emotionally decimated by loved ones. I’ve heard too many excuses from strong, brilliant people about why their parent, sibling or partner is justified in treating them abominably.

Last year, the Chick Ball raised nearly $16,000 to help the CVP found a batterer’s  intervention program (the first of its kind in Jackson) to work with abusers who want to make good on their promises of “never again.” Studies have shown 15 percent of those who completed an abuse intervention program were rearrested for domestic violence, compared with 37 percent of those who dropped out of the program.

2010′s efforts will provide seed money for a Victim’s Legal Fund. Justice may be blind, but toll is steep. When victims leave their abusers, their resources are stretched thin. Victims often don’t have the money necessary to take their abusers to court:  to fight for full custody of their children.

All seriousness aside, the Chick Ball is hugely fun without diminishing the gravity of the issue at hand.  We need volunteers in all aspects of planning and execution of the event (JULY 24), and you meet amazing, motivated, formidable women. If you can’t volunteer, please consider donating artwork or goods for door prizes and silent auction pieces, or even sponsorship ($50 is our base level of sponsorship.) Above all, just come and enjoy the fruits of our labor.

I’m not big on posting lots of videos, but this one has made my week. It reminds me of all the best about Buffy Summers, and why even a passing glance at Twilight is all, y’know, like GAG ME. Contrasted with Whedon’s Buffy, Edward’s creepiness outshines even his sparkliness.

Buffy’s not perfect (one of Whedon’s strengths), but when it comes to fictitious role models, I wish my sister had more Buffy Summers and less Bella Swans.

It’s an easy thing to say, “The first time a man hits me, I’m out the door.” It’s an automatic, brainless and rational reaction to the idea of violence, but it does not encompass all the factors that can influence a situation: children, pets, finances, vows, shame, pride, fear and love.  It doesn’t take into account the gradual whittling away of self-worth that usually precludes a violent act. The hard-and-fast rule we’re taught doesn’t account for an abuser’s remorse, apologies or promises.

We often focus on the families and aftermath of abuse. This year, the Chick Ball is raising money to help fund an intervention program (the first of its kind in Jackson) to work with abusers who want to make good on their promises of “never again.” Personal change and growth is rough, but it’s doable, especially with help. Studies have shown 15 percent of those who completed an abuse intervention program were rearrested for domestic violence, compared with 37 percent of those who dropped out of the program.

All seriousness aside, the Chick Ball is hugely fun without diminishing the gravity of the issue at hand.  We need volunteers in all aspects of planning and execution of the event, and you meet amazing, motivated, formidable women. If you can’t volunteer, please consider donating artwork or goods for door prizes and silent auction pieces, or even sponsorship ($50 is our base level of sponsorship.) Above all, just come and enjoy the fruits of our hard work.

2009 Chick Ball Poster (please print and distribute!)

2009 Chick Ball Sponsorship Sheet

And feel free to repost this little press release anywhere you like!

SATURDAY, July 25, 2009

6 p.m. to 1 a.m.

Hal & Mal’s Red Room

WHAT:

The Jackson Free Press will present its 5th Annual JFP Chick Ball, an affordable night of music, art, spoken word and performance that has raised thousands of dollars in the last two years to honor the Center for Violence Prevention. All proceeds from the door, art auction and direct donations will be presented to the center following the event. Sign up for our Twitter feed @jfpchickball so you don’t miss anything.

This year, the event will be bigger than ever, with dozens of businesses and artists in and around Jackson donating door prizes and artwork for the art auction. Our cause is more ambitious as well: instead of concentrating on the aftermath, we’re going for the root of the problem. We’re looking to raise some of the initial funding for a program to help abusers stop being abusers. This will be the only domestic abuse intervention program of its kind in and around Jackson.

Specifics: Learn more about the Duluth Model, the most replicated woman abuse intervention model in the country.

WHO:

The line-up of female musical, visual and performance artists is headlined every year by a diverse group of women. We’ll be sure to make a big announcement when the lineup is finalized.

WHEN:

Saturday, July 25th, 6 p.m. Admission is only $5 – and only $10 to get your chance at a door prize.

WHERE:

Hal and Mal’s Red Room

WHY:

Because we want to help the CVP works for their important cause – putting a stop to domestic violence in our community.

Sponsorships Available:

• Diva – $2,500+
• Goddess – $1,000
• Queen – $500
• Princess – $250
• Chick/Rooster – $50

Call 601.362.6121 ext. 2, or e-mail chickball@jacksonfreepress.com with questions about volunteering, sponsorships and donations for silent auction.

Anything else I say will detract from my main message, which is that there’s a way for you to voice your disappointment/rage/frustration in a constructive way.

There is an online grassroots movement (GO COMMUNITY ORGANIZERS!!) urging people to donate to Planned Parenthood “in honor of” Sarah Palin.

Craig Newmark (yes, Craigslist Craig) writes on The HuffPo:

When you make a donation to PP in her name, they’ll send her a card telling her that the donation has been made in her honor.  Here’s the link to the Planned Parenthood website:

https://secure.ga0.org/02/pp10000_inhonor

You’ll need to fill in the address to let PP know where to send the “in Sarah Palin’s honor” card. I suggest you use the address for the McCain campaign headquarters, which is:

McCain for President
1235 S. Clark Street
1st Floor
Arlington , VA 22202

P.S. Make sure you use that link above or choose the pulldown of Donate–Honorary or Memorial Donations, not the regular “Donate Online”

In my opinion, this is using the full snark of the Internet for the highest good.  I would be thrilled if it came to be that Sarah Palin was responsible for the largest online fundraiser for Planned Parenthood.

I’m always stunned when something like this happens. I know I live in the deep south, and I know that I work with folks whose entire careers immerse them in the near- to distant-past. However, this is just crazy.

I got stopped my two people having an animated conversation, evidently engrossed in the subtleties of female honorifics. They were particularly confounded by the pronunciation of Ms. I offered my input (It’s a hardish z sound, like Mizz) and started to leave when one said something about me being a Mrs.

I said, “I actually don’t go by Mrs., I prefer Ms.”

“But you’re married! Only divorced women use Ms.”

I rambled awkwardly about how it most certainly was not a construct for divorcees, but it didn’t seem like any of it sunk in. I’m just so stunned and baffled by such a ridiculous and narrow statement.

For the record:

Many of us think of Ms. or Ms as a fairly recent invention of the women’s movement, but in fact the term was first suggested as a convenience to writers of business letters by such publications as the Bulletin of the American Business Writing Association (1951) and The Simplified Letter, issued by the National Office Management Association (1952). Ms. is now widely used in both professional and social contexts. As a courtesy title Ms. serves exactly the same function that Mr. does for men, and like it may be used with a last name alone or with a full name. Furthermore, Ms. is correct regardless of a woman’s marital status, thus relegating that information to the realm of private life, where many feel it belongs anyway. Some women prefer Miss or Mrs., however, and courtesy requires that their wishes be respected.

Last week, we defeated the Child Protection Act (which was really a teen endangerment act) in the House, and now the Senate has put the language from that bill in as an amendment on another bill – HB 520.

HB 520 punishes parents for having trusting relationships with their teens and pits family members against each other. The possibility of family members suing each other because one tried to help a teen relative access safe health care could tear Mississippi families apart.

HB 520 creates an unconstitutional burden on teens. Minors without parental involvement may well have to go to court to obtain judicial waivers of two states’ laws: Mississippi’s and the state’s where they are obtaining an abortion, requiring the minor to go through two legal procedures in two states’ courts. This will delay minors’ abortions, creating unconstitutional burdens on their right to privacy and their right to travel interstate to seek medical care.

HB 520 infringes on First Amendment rights. The bill could inhibit the provision of factual information to minors about the services provided by out of state health centers as providing such information potentially could be viewed as “assisting” or “aiding” a minor to obtain an out of state abortion.

By traveling to a neighboring state, Mississippi teens are not evading parental consent requirements. In fact, every state surrounding Mississippi already has a parental consent law with which women seeking an abortion must comply.

HB 520 completely ignores geographic and economic realities. Out of state travel is often the simplest and least financially burdensome way for women to obtain needed medical services.

The mandatory reporting requirements of HB 520 expands reporting to include instances where teens are involved in normal sexual activity with other teens.

HB 520 removes the ability of health professionals, clergy members, teachers and childcare providers to make judgments as to whether teens are engaging in normal sexual activity and instead mandates that they report a wide range of sexual behaviors.

Please send emails or call:

Rep. Willie Bailey, Judiciary B Committee Chairman, phone: 601-359-1541
Speaker of the House William McCoy, phone: 601-359-3300, and
Your own legislator

Ask them to oppose the mandatory reporting requirements and abortion restrictions in the amendment to HB 520 because they are a threat to the health of Mississippi teens.

Please send your emails or make your calls immediately to help defeat this bill. It could receive a final vote as early as Friday morning (tomorrow) and could be on the Governor’s desk tomorrow if we don’t act now!

Distribute far and wide, please.