Gender Soup

GENDER SOUP for boys, girls, and everyone in between

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an N-C I w S R a O no S d i T I R n n a g D O E T m Va A U e , i B d RS n an RI rraza Kat E T GN ode ON h Ba attel, I C S R an, t D C e m DE lsea N izab issa ch ey, A o e l H r S R ch, E , Ma Ch ie umisk , r O u l r IT La McC adler , n ED ack A Cabra a N um, n m Z rie m w h u e s Fi , Aut tth ingan ky, n a o Car n c ,M Re la dis Ma m Kap Faden Claire Zabre c n , Ada her M rotto , Kevi huck Est ael Pe Smith ike Sc h e M Mic phani Ryan, Ste Ean

Index: VOL. 1 April 2012

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Defiance

Review: Hanna Review: Silent House Memoir: An Evening With Mike Memoir: Well, Because You’re a Girl

Turn Down the Stereo...types 10

Memoir: A Gentlemen’s Game Research Paper: “Reality” Television Review: Welcome to Greendale, You’re Already Accepted Feature: Lesbians in Power

(ME)dia 16

Memoir: My Mother Refused to Get Stoned Memoir: Male Bonding, Courtesy of Nintendo Research Paper: You Aren’t Cool Unless You’re a Necrophile Feature: Top Five Lists Review: Vu and Nico

Gender Ender

Review: Why Is Ping Any Different?

Memoir: The Day I Went to the Beach Memoir: Jumbo Marshmallows Feature: Poems by Laurie Hochman

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Defiance Kevin Zabrecky, elizabeth barraza, stephanie smith, Ean Ryan

Editor: stephanie smith

It’s time to try defying that G word. No, not gravity, gender!

For the majority of recorded human history, “sex” and “gender” have been viewed as the Pink is for girls. Blue same thing, irrevocably is for boys. Girls are intertwined. Over recent emotional and like sappy years, the ties that bind love stories. Boys never these words together cry and like sports. have begun to fray; Whether we like it or not, people have begun to gender stereotypes such differentiate “sex” and as these permeate our “gender”. However, this culture in both blatant school of thought is still and subtle ways. It’s a young and society at subject of interest in art, large rarely makes such politics and even our distinction between the own lives. two; they are still often

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viewed as one in the same. This viewpoint furthers the difficulty of defying gender stereotypes. Stray too close to norms of the opposite gender and you’ll most likely be shoved back to where you “belong.”

But sometimes when society tells us where we are supposed to “belong”, we have to stand up and say “No.” Try as it might, the line society draws between

genders is bound to be crossed. Stay at home dads and powerful women challenge the ideal of the homemaker wife and breadwinning father. Kathryn Bigelow was the first female director to win an Oscar and the existence of the infamous drag queen, Ru Paul, is enough to make any believer of specific gender roles wince.

Then there are tomboy girls who revile dresses and flamboyant guys

who adore shopping.

As time passes, there is a burgeoning amount of people who toe, step over or bound across that line.

We’ve all personally had those moments when we defied the expectations of our assigned gender. Maybe it was something huge such as being the first female head of a company, or perhaps it was something small like being the only guy to

cry at the end of Titanic.

Regardless, we’ve all had to face the consequences of our questionable actions. Occasionally, we’re met with applause but all too often we’re met with harsh words or even fists. Though the praise of some may give a small boost of pride, the condemnation from those we consider close to us can be disappointing, discouraging and disheartening.

In this section, we present our own tales of defying gender stereotypes. We review those films that display characters that dare to disobey gender norms.

In this we hope to show that it’s okay to break the “rules”. And besides, everyone loves a rebel.

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Hanna: The Thinking Man’s Revenge Flick

by Ean Ryan

When we first meet Hanna, a teenage feral child played by Irish actress, Saoirse Ronan, she sprints through the white wilderness hunting a deer. In the usual Native American harmonious fashion, Hanna is killing this deer out of necessity, not sport. In the middle of the woods, she lives with her stern father, played by Eric Bana, who is training her for some mysterious event that seems likely to kill her.

Englishman Joe Wright, whose previous works include literary adaptations, Atonement and Pride and Prejudice, cleverly directs this artsy but fun action flick.

It’s a modern fairy tale revolving around the charmingly naïve Hanna and a sharp fanged government operative with a southern drawl.

Marisa, played by Cate Blanchett is one of those rare actors who completely can completely drop any possible remnants of her personality while in a role. When we watch Blanchett, all we see is Marisa, the cold slithery Texan as she tries to clean up her military screw up. To do so, she tracks Hanna all across Europe, although the locations in Hanna seem to be one big joke. In a mesmerizing chase scene, (kudos to cinematographer, Alwin H. Kudhler on the photography in general) at a military base somewhere in the tundra, a fleet of

soldiers storm after Hanna while the visceral Chemical Brothers soundtrack blares in the background.

She narrowly escapes through a sewer pipe to miraculously emerge in the middle of the desert.

Wright is winking at the audience and showboating his control as a director.

This is a movie; geography doesn’t need to make sense in his world.

The bewildered Hanna eventually finds society with the help of the hilarious pop cultured obsessed Sophie, a teenage British tourist, played by Jessica Barden.

She is lost in a world full of electricity, television, and social interactions. Her only knowledge derives from an encyclopedia; any societal conventions are completely foreign to her. The consistently superb Saiorse Ronan, the queen of naivety with her big eager eyes, is always type cast as the innocent archetype. In her first film Atonement, her ignorance to sexuality results in the end of her sister’s relationship, while in The Lovely Bones, she is horrifically raped.

Ronan this time around transcends her usual shtick and strikes an impressive layered performance that bridges the gap between angelic and badass. In one scene she may be breaking a Navy Seal’s arm like Jason Bourne, and in the next she could be mystified by the sheer sound of music.

However, the fact that she so lethal, so young, and such a woman is not used for comic effect like Hit Girl in Kick Ass. Hanna feels real and we empathize with her while she comes of age and kills anyone in her way.

The cultural guide, Sophie, introduces Hanna to her over the top Bohemian parents, played

by Olivia Williams and Jason Flemyng, who are so exaggerated they verge on the point of self-parody.

During one exchange, Sophie and her mother argue the ethics of lipstick and boob jobs. While bumming around Morocco with the family, Hanna experiences her first genuine social interactions.

She even gets her first kiss, from a young Spanish boy set to flamenco guitar.

Quite possibly for the first time in her life, she is enjoying herself. This is quickly interrupted when Marisa’s henchmen, led by the equally creepy and hysterical Tom Hollander, catch up to her. Hanna yet again narrowly escapes to Berlin and leaves behind any hope of normalcy.

After she is forced to flee, the film takes a very dark turn and never quite recovers.

The entertaining first two acts are almost overshadowed with a drawn out series of the usual action set pieces and final scene in a Grimm’s Fairy Tale theme park.

The location seems to be a bit much, since the

rest of the film is riddled with allusions to Fairy Tale folklore. While there are moments where Wright smacks the audience over the head with symbols, at times they are rewarding.

Wright’s art history knowledge is definitely prevalent throughout the film, with the excessive use of symbols and striking composition. The man knows style and cakes hefty spoonfuls of it into this revenge film.

At its core Hanna is a tale of womanhood. Like many adolescents Hanna is trying to find herself, but is also faced with the task of literally finding herself in a novel and confusing world. Hanna desperately tries to understand the complexities both within and outside of her, but at the same time has a clear directive. This is a black and white tale, a Fairy Tale.

She knows how to take down the blatantly evil Marisa.

With a well-written script, stylistic cinematography, electronic score, and great acting, Hanna is a bizarre action mash-up that even feminists can enjoy.

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Silent House

by Elizabeth Barraza

Originality is dead and American horror cinema is the murderer. At least, if one takes their clues from the recent release of the film Silent House.

Based off of the Uruguay, Spanish language original La Casa Muda (The Silent House), this American rendition plays out well until a certain pivotal scene that cheapened the entire movie. While the cinematography and acting are something to be remarked upon, the approach to the plot left something to be desired.

The film claims to be “based on true events”- an adaption of an occurrence that allegedly took place in Uruguay in the 1940’s.

Silent House follows the character Sarah, a late teens, early 20’s girl who is helping her uncle and father fix up their old, isolated vacation home in order to sell it. Windows are boarded up to keep out vandals, the doors have sturdy locks to keep out squatters, and none of the lights or phones work due to rats chewing through the wiring. Its isolated location denies cell phone service while mold permeates the walls. All in all it is a perfect set up for a horror film. After her aggravated (and creepily affectionate) uncle leaves, Sarah and her father continue working on fixing the house, but sounds from the upper floors soon prompts them to go investigating. So begins

the bulk of the movie with Sarah trying to first find her father and then escape the house to find help.

At first the plot seems intriguing with hints being dropped all the while as to the cause of the events.

What are the Polaroid pictures that Sarah’s father hastily hides from her? Is the girl she sees glimpses of real or a sign of a mental breakdown?

At first it appears that an underground child pornography ring is the explanation but one scene late in the movie makes it apparent that this is not the case. While the “plot twist” goes further, one could argue that it goes too far, cheapening the movie.

This so called “twist” makes the film seem cliché and trite, utilizing an overused plot device unsuccessfully.

For the majority of the film, one is sure that they will leave on all of their lights when they return home but after the revelation, most will sleep like a baby, nary a nightmare in sight.

To the screenwriter, Laura Lux, it is recommended to leave the cliché plot twists to films that can actually pull them off more effectively.

However, Silent House is a complete bust. Elizabeth Olsen’s performance is impressive to say the least. Considering her nominations for her work in Martha Marcy May Marlene, this does not come as a surprise. Her performance is natural,

never over or underdoneshe truly comes off as your average girl responding to a horrifying situation. At the beginning she appears laid back, cool but as events unfold she becomes blubbering, incoherent, panicked -- essentially how any normal person should react. Towards the end when the plot twist is revealed, her malleability in her character is near flawless. There is no doubt that this character is unhinged.

The acting by Adam Trese and Eric Sheffer Stevens who portray her father and uncle respectively is just as impressive. The dichotomy and transition of personality traits that the father displays is instantaneous and disturbing while the short fused turned repentant uncle garners some sympathy from the audience. The only other performance for which any evaluation can be made would be that of Sarah’s apparent childhood friend Sophia, played by unknown Julia Taylor Ross.

Though her scenes are few and brief, the eeriness that something is not quite right pervades the atmosphere surrounding her character. All of these supporting roles surmount into an overall feeling of unease from the audience until the cathartic climax and finale.

Silent House was shot in several long takes though

the editing cleverly hid any cuts so the entire film appears as one giant, 85 minute long, long take.

The camera is primarily trained on Olsen though at times its attention wanders to catch little items that Olsen’s character may have overlooked, thus allowing the audience to know a little bit more than she does. This impressive feat is further recognized by the issue of lighting. As the electricity in the house does not work, all light emanates from lamps and flashlights -- constantly moving light sources. In addition to capturing the right images at the right time, the cameraman had to ensure that his shadow was never cast to perpetuate the feeling of a silent and invisible observer who experiences events as Sarah does. A particularly interesting piece of conceptualization in the film would be the use of the Polaroid camera.

When the lights get cut off and Sarah loses her flashlight, she hastily grabs a Polaroid camera, using the flash to illuminate where she is going. The building of suspens at that point is nearly unbearable for the audience knows that though the initial shots may be harmless, they will soon see something that will startle and horrify them -- and so it happens.

A stoke of brilliance on the part of the director of photography. Applause should be given to the

(continued on pg. 32).

An evening with mike I looked up from my conversation and noticed a six-pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade sitting on a table. by kevin zabrecky

Entering college in September of last year was a very eventful time in my life and there was a lot going on as I moved away from home and into the city. All of a sudden, my life was filled with activity.

Whether I was unpacking my things, attending a school sponsored event or getting to know my new roommates, I always had something to do or a place to go. A week or two after my first day in Boston, I began to notice everyone’s excitement start to dwindle. My room was completely unpacked, Emerson stopped hosting activities for the new students, and my roommates had branched out into the rest of the school and were no longer hanging around the dorm room. I found myself left with nothing to do and a seemingly endless amount of time to do it in since classes had not yet started.

On one of my lonely nights, I was sitting in my dorm’s common room on my computer mindlessly surfing the Internet when my roommate, Josh, and his friend walked into the room. The two of them sat down near me and we began talking, not really

about anything particularly interesting, just about our days and stuff. They mentioned that they had plans to attend a party down the street later that night and invited me to come along with them.

Although I am not usually too interested in parties (I am not one for loud, crowded rooms filled with people who I do not know and will never see again), I decided to tag along as I was in desperate need of entertainment and I really wanted to make some new friends.

We left for the party at around 9:30 in the evening.

It was a fairly short walk, about 10 minutes, and we ended up at some senior’s apartment near China Town. Unfortunately, we were the first ones there and there was very little activity. More and more people began showing up, and that is when all of the alcohol was taken out.

Soon enough, everyone, including myself, began to feel the effects of the newly available beverages.

There was loud music playing, people were talking and everyone was having a lot of fun and I finally found myself with something interesting

to do. The lasted a few hours and at that point, I felt sufficiently inebriated.

But after another hour and a half, the effects of the alcohol that I had consumed started waning.

After I noticed this decline, I decided that it was time for another drink. I got up to pour myself a cocktail, but I could not bring myself to taste the vile flavor of hard liquor. I sadly walked back to my seat on the couch and restarted the conversation that I was having before I got up. A few minutes later, from across the room, I spotted something that was going to solve my alcohol problems.

I looked up from my conversation and noticed a six-pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade sitting on a table. This was a very exciting realization for me because it allowed me to get more intoxicated without forcing myself to taste much alcohol. I got up and grabbed one, but unfortunately, I was way too drunk to comprehend the terrible mistake that I was making. I popped the top off with a bottle opener and sat back down on the couch to enjoy my tasty drink. Almost immediately

I was berated by three other partygoers.

“What the fuck are you doing man? Do you want a tampon with that?

That shit’s a chaser man, not an actual drink.”

Exclaimed one of them.

At first I was kind of stunned by the fact that three complete strangers were yelling at me, and after a few seconds, it dawned on me what they were yelling about. I gave a brief chuckle but soon learned that they were completely serious.

Humiliated for making such a terrible mistake and in desperate need to regain my assailant’s respect, I poured myself a shot and used my “chaser” as a chaser. Solely because of my gender, I was not allowed to drink something that I wanted to drink. Why men are not allowed to drink good tasting alcoholic drinks is beyond me, but I know for a fact that Mike’s Hard Lemonade is not something that I am allowed to drink. In the minds of fellow partiers, I was doing something wrong and my actions needed to be corrected.

I know that it is a silly rule and that drinking something that tastes

(continued on pg. 32).

well, because you’re a girl She then told me that I couldn’t have that bag because it was for boys.

BY Stephanie Smith “Well, because you’re a girl.” It’s such a simple, obvious statement, yet it sounds so final and limiting. It sounds as if one could use this statement end an argument. You’re a girl, that’s it, that’s all. One is supposed to just know where he or she stands as a male or female. I can remember the first time this was said to me. I was very young, and I didn’t understand why it was being said to me; all I knew was that it didn’t sound or seem acceptable.

It occurred at my cousin’s birthday party.

I can’t quite remember which cousin’s party it was but I do know that I was five years old at the tine. The party was being thrown at my house. I ran around with my cousins, playing games and having a great time. When it was time to cut the cake all the kids scrambled to the table, trying to get a front row glimpse of the birthday girl/boy blowing out the candles. Back then it was such a marvelous site to watch, seeing the flame turn to smoke and wishing it were you who was the center of attention.

However, nothing was better than the anticipation of receiving a delicious

piece of cake.

The candles were blown out, there was applause, we all laughed and giggled, then finally we were chowing down ravenously on some cake. As I ate, I noticed that there was a little plastic bag in front of me. It was white with pink and glittery fairies in it. I hated pink then, and I hate it even today. I looked around and noticed that all of the girls had the same bag in front of them.

However, the boys had a different bag. They each had one that was white with “Happy Birthday” printed on it. The letters were bright, and each boy had a different color. There was blue, orange, green, yellow, and a few others.

I really liked them, and I wanted one too.

When we were all finished eating and laughing, the adults told us we could open the plastic bags. All the kids did, pulling out goodies like chocolate and lollipops.

However, my bag remained on the table, untouched.

My mother came to me and asked me why I didn’t open my bag. I can remember my exact statement. “I don’t like pink, and I don’t like fairies; can I have that bag?” I pointed

to one of my male cousins, whose bag had a bright green “Happy Birthday” on it. My mother gave me a strange look. It was like a mix between surprise and confusion. What she told me next really rattled my mind.

She said, “No, Stephanie, you can’t have that one.” I was confused, and a little frustrated. I asked her why I couldn’t have it. Then she said it, the statement that would boggle and irritate me forever: she replied, “Well, because you’re a girl.”

As young as I was, I still couldn’t believe what she had just said to me. In a way, she crushed my spirit.

I was so baffled as to why I couldn’t have something I wanted just because I was a girl. She must have thought that her statement was so obvious and final that she wasn’t really prepared for what I said next.

“So” I said, looking into her eyes intently. She let out a sort of exasperated laugh. She then told me that I couldn’t have that bag because it was for boys, and fairies were for girls. I wouldn’t accept this.

In that moment I, at the mere age of five years old, was adamant about not

letting my gender get in the way of what I wanted. I wouldn’t accept the gift bag full of fairies and glitter. I didn’t like it, I didn’t want it, and I wouldn’t take it. That was final.

This was the first day that I was faced with a gender boundary.

Although I was young and didn’t necessarily understand it, I knew that something didn’t quite fit; something about it didn’t make any sense. There was no real explanation for it, and because of that I didn’t accept that candy bag, although I did take the candy out of it. The bag just lay there, on the table, alone. I would have nothing to do with it.

Gender roles have become so imbedded in society that statements such as “Well, because you’re a girl,” or vice versa, have become acceptable and require no explanation. We aren’t supposed to question the “rules,” we are just supposed to follow them.

I guess I learned 14 years ago at that birthday party, but I also realized that day that some rules just have to be broken.

turn down the stereo ...types Carrie cabral, Marissa Cattel, Matthew Nadler, Michael Perotto Gender stereotypes are something that have been ingrained in our minds since birth. Everything, from clothing to behavior to marketing of children’s toys is at least mildly influenced by gender stereotypes.

It leaves us often in an unfortunate limbo between what we want, versus what we should want.

Our section explores these stereotypes and the negative effects they have on society. We hope our pieces inspire change in society and make people rethink these outdated stereotypes.

In this section, we discuss the idea of women being “sexual

manipulators” and bad athlete.

We tackle the social stigmas of lesbians in society today, and the characters men portray on television.

This section does not aim to state an extreme, ground breaking theory about how we can end stereotypes in order to be a part of a better world, mainly because we don’t have an answer. Nobody does. Instead, our section explores personal experiences and observations regarding gender stereotypes in hope of making people aware of the injustices that are an unfortunate byproduct of this societal tendency.

The positive and negative

experiences that people have associated with their gender builds the feelings surrounding this part of their identity.

No matter what, gender stereotypes will always be a big part of society. Whether we like it or not, some form of stereotypes will always come up, but it’s how we react to them that make a difference. Getting shocked at female athletes and defying typical gender character roles are a big step in coming to terms with and accepting gender.

Hopefully, our section accomplishes just that.

A Gentlemen’s Game By: Michael Perotto Taylor Coleman is one of the best golfers that I know.

With a handicap of eight Taylor consistently beat me throughout high school. Taylor broke eighty for the first time by making at forty foot putt for birdie one the last hole of one of the toughest, tightest courses in central Massachusetts. The swing that Taylor had developed over the years is comparable to some of the best golfers in the world. Taylor plays golf with poise, elegance, and grace; she continues to kick my butt till this day.

During the summer Taylor and I would try to play together once or twice a week and due to our regular work schedules we almost always played on Tuesdays at Green Hill Municipal Golf Course. I grew up playing at Green Hill and got to know many of the regular leagues and usually worked my tee time around them. On Tuesdays the Greendale League played nine holes, going off the front and the back. In order to play in this league there was only one rule, you had to be over the age of 75. These gentlemen also took over 3 hours to play nine holes when for most people it takes just over two hour on average. Not only were they slow they were also ignorant, misogynist, and rude.

Usually Taylor and I would avoid this league, but one fateful day we happened to be teeing off around the time they were. With this in mind Taylor and I wanted to make sure they we teed off before them because we did not want it to take us 6 hour to play, seeing as we usually finished in like than four. Luckily I had made friend with the rangers over the years and asked Bob, the nicest of all the rangers, if Taylor and I could tee off before the league because frankly we were faster. Bob agreed and told the league that we would be teeing off before them and should cause them no trouble.

The Greendale Leaguers would normally make a small fuss over someone going ahead of them, but this day they were quite zealous. Bob came up to Taylor and I and told us that they were quite agitated but he was still going to let us play ahead. As we walked up to the tee box it became rather apparent why the gentlemen were made. It was because Taylor was a woman. I think what made it worse for them was that she was a young, attractive woman who just happened to be a golfer.

To be fair, Taylor would usually play the men’s tees and I would play on back at the championship tees. We did this because she simply did not have the body mass to produce as fast of a swing speed as me, at 5’ 7” and 125lbs in comparison to my 6’ 2” 250lbs frame she would be 40 yards behind me on some holes and that would not be fair. Today however was very different. Taylor and I could sense the tension in the air, clearly coming from the pack of retirees staring us down as we got ready to tee off.

I could not help asking myself, ‘what is their problem?”

Taylor is just as good as any man I know, if not better than most. I could not imagine being so snide and rude. So as away to respond to this I crafted a plan that would shock their system.

After putting my bag down at the championship tees I motioned to Taylor to come chat with me for a second. I quietly mentioned my plan to her under my breath and we both gave a little smile.

Taylor with club in hand stood to the side as I hit my tee shot. It was the perfect right to left draw shape that split the fairway and left me in a nice position for my second shot. Normally after this we would walk up to Taylor’s tee and she would hit her first shot and be on our way. Today however Taylor walked up to the championship tee box, put her tee in the ground and took a few practice swings.

The look on the faces of the Greendale League was priceless. You could see them giving each other looks, chuckling and some just simply covering their eyes. Taylor lined up and made the most beautiful swing anyway could ask for. She started on the perfect line, down the right side with slight draw and with a good bounce she actually hit it just past me. Immediately following someone dropped a club they were holding and one man choked on his water.

Taylor went on to thoroughly kick my butt that day. As always loser bought lunch and I was feeling rather poor by the end of the day.

“Reality” Television, The stereotyping of men By: Matthew Nadler In today’s society reality television seems to be taking over the airwaves, with some channels such as Bravo, Lifetime and MTV seemingly devoted to mostly reality shows.

The question that follows this is how real are said shows? With stereotypes everywhere and scripted storylines everywhere, most of these shows are set to show the reality of the producer or channel’s view, but not the true unbiased reality. Shows such as MTV’s Jersey Shore stereotype the straight man, while the channel Bravo does so to gay men. Their genders and sexualities are exploited, mocked, and generalized turning these people into more of a created character than a real person. Shows like MTV’s The Hills, or Logo’s A List series further it by not only mocking and stereotyping the people, but scripting storylines so their interpersonal relationships

are also fake. Exploring the validity of reality television through the context of the male stereotypes goes on to show the hypocrisy in calling it “reality television”.

Gay men are perhaps one of the most heavily misrepresented and stereotyped of different types of men. Networks such as Bravo and Logo air their respective series’ The Real Housewives and A List, where all of the gay men featured happen to be very feminine and stereotypical.

In a show like the A List New York, which is focused on a group of well to do gay men living in New York, they are all the same type of man. Not one of them is masculine, not one of them is geeky, they are all flamboyant and over the top about their sexuality.

This misrepresentation drives the wrong impression into the heads of the people watching the show, and while it may be fun to watch, it is precisely the reason the gay crowd

draws so much negative attention from the media.

Shows like this are simply not “reality television”.

According to Dennis Ayers, an editor for the blog Afterelton.com, “Reality shows aren’t real. All of them are heavily edited, and many of them further stage and semi-script the events they “document” (Ayers, 1). By staging events and semi-scripting events the people producing shows such as A List New York are losing credibility, and fast.

Perhaps the most obvious of the male stereotypes in reality television is that of the straight, masculine male.

This is very common across shows such as MTV’s “Jersey Shore” where all of the straight male people happen to be very muscular, love working out, and are always chasing after the women.

According to Amanda Klein, “In order to be cast on the Jersey Shore, both

the men and women are expected to conform to the conservative gender roles implied by the controversial label, Guido: men must be tanned, muscular, sexually voracious, and quick to throw a punch” (Klein, 1).

The key here is that it is in order to be cast on the show that these people must act this way, however that is not to say that they don’t act like that when the cameras are turned off.

Has the American public fallen so low as to only cast people on shows based around shallow qualities and differences between people? One would also think MTV would want to reach out to different types of audience, which they are not doing as a result of typecasting every member of the show into the shallow, stereotyped role of a Guido. Had they stayed true to the term “reality television” they would have cast men of different sexualities,

personality types, etc.

An unfortunate fact of society is that when it comes to reality television, people get their impressions of gay men from it but “no one gets their impressions of straight people from TV” (Ayers 1). Straight men are surrounded by the generally positive outlook people have on them as normal, however gay men seem to have to work that much harder. While one misbehaved straight man on television, such as Jersey Shore’s Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino, one gay man with bad intentions will instill a much stronger image in the viewer’s head, seeing as there are far fewer open gay men that straight men. In this idea we see the social consciousness of “reality” television called into questions, where networks like Bravo and Logo show over the top bad behaved gay men all of the time. In The A List:

New York there is a scene “where Reichen Lehmkuhl is about to have sex with his boyfriend in a hot tub” (Ayers 1). Networks like this that claim to be friendly to the gay community show a lot of questionable scenes like this that don’t exactly paint gay men in the best image.

While it has been established that groups of males have been misrepresented and stereotyped through much of reality television thus far, the relationships between the different types of men have also been exploited and exaggerated. One of the best examples of this is the show Queer Eye For The Straight Guy, where a team of five gay men insert themselves into and attempt to makeover and fix many aspects of a straight mans life, such as fashion, hairstyle, and home décor. While humorous, the sexualities of the males involved are exploited and the

idea that gay men have better taste than straight men is generalized to include all gay and straight men. The following of the “makeover of what the casting notice calls a “crude and uncultured” straight guy into “a hip and happening Renaissance man at the hands of five fabulously trendy gay men” (Rutenberg 1) is simply a false advertisement of gender stereotypes that society should be working to dissociate itself from. While humorous, and making for good television, casting all of the straight men as “crude and uncultured” and all of the gay men as “fabulously trendy” could be seen as insulting and misrepresentative (Rutenberg 1). This goes to further exemplify how “reality” television, isn’t reality, but rather what the networks see as “reality”.

There are, however, shows that exhibit many different types of stereotypes, such

as MTV’s The Real World, “considered the first series to take ordinary, unknown people and focus cameras on them” (Tomashoff 1).

Each season seems to have the straight masculine one, the nerdy one, the gay one, and sometimes, another one. This type of show is more exemplary of a situation, showing lots of different stereotypes.

There are still some things lacking, like the types of people that fall in between stereotypes.

There should really be not as much of a mix of stereotypes among the groups of people, but a mix among each individual person, allowing people on the show who break the stereotypes and are still fun and amusing to watch.

That being said, The Real World has been described as the best example out there of reality in reality television, as the cameras truly follow the mix of people around, and don’t script anything.

WELCOME TO GREENDALE, YOU’RE ALREADY ACCEPTED Community breaks the conventions of typical sitcomes. it’s a product of pure love.

BY: Marissa Cattel Greendale Community College is home to the dysfunctional study group lead by former lawyer, Jeff Winger (Joel McHale, host of E!’s “The Soup”).

Very much inspired by creator Dan Harmon’s experience at Glendale Community College, the show Community follows Winger’s study group in and out of classes.

Unfortunately, the NBC show doesn’t receive the best ratings, due to its competitive time slot against “American Idol” and “The Big Bang Theory.”

But the innovativeness of the writers draws in fans around the world.

The shows TV ratings may not be the best, but its passionate fans have started dominating the web, fighting for the life of the show.

The writers on the show aren’t afraid to take chances. They don’t confine themselves to traditional plot lines or character roles. Jace Lacob of The Daily Beast did an interview with the women of Community about many things including race and

women in comedy. In that interview, Yvette Nicole Brown, who plays Shirely, said, “That’s what’s great about the show in general.

Around [the study-room] table, you have a racist, a feminist, a black chick.

There are all different types of people here, but we all keep coming back to the table.” Megan Ganz, writer for the show, added, “The same thing that drives Dan [Harmon] away from your typical sitcom storylines is the same thing that drives him away from making any one character a stereotype, because it’s just too easy.” They push the boundaries of a normal sitcom and give each character a well-rounded, unique personality.

The characters aren’t confined to the average, run-of-the-mill sitcom stereotypes. Gillian Jacobs, who plays Britta, recalled that most of the roles of young women she auditioned for before Community showed the women as “sexual manipulators.” What’s great about Community is that it takes what you know

and parodies it, poking fun at its ridiculousness.

It incorporates that manipulating idea, but displays it in way that makes the viewers see just how laughable the topic is. In the latest episode “Regional Holiday Music,” an episode that parodies the show “Glee,” the glee club leader tries to get the study group to fill in for the glee club by playing to their weaknesses. To get Jeff on board, he has the much younger Annie, whom Jeff has a strange relationship with, try to seduce him.

Annie dances in a short dress to a song similar to the likes of Santa Baby. She sings in a baby voice and accentuates the stupidity of women acting like incompetent children and men finding it attractive.

The song even gets to the point where she’s not saying words anymore and ends with her singing, “Boop-be-doop-be-doopboop sex.” I’m sure I wasn’t while alone while watching this when I thought, “well clearly there’s no way he’d fall for that. Look at how dumb she’s being!” And the

Amanda: I like to think lesbians fall under three categories: Butches, Lipstick Lesbians, and Everything in Between. The first group is often categorized by boyishly short haircuts, mens clothing, and dildos; a butch is often seen as the ‘boy’ in a lesbian relationship. On the other hand, a Lipstick Lesbian wears dresses and make up and acts as the ‘girl’ in a lesbian relationship. But because they follow the rules of what a girl should wear/act, Lipstick Lesbians are often mistaken as a heterosexual female. Finally, lesbians in the Everythingin-Between category usually own a lot of flannel, sometimes wear make-up, and identify as neither the ‘boy’ nor ‘girl’ in a lesbian relationship. Everything-inBetween lesbians simply fall in-between; in their search to be un-labeled, they end up labeled.

I fall into the ‘Everythingin-Between’. But preferably, I would just like to identify as simply a ‘Lesbian’.

I’ve been called a butch lesbian by some which I find it extremely offensive. I like my long hair, and I like being a girl, and not in hell will you find me in men’s boxers -- however, I do like men’s graphic tees.

I find these stereotypes hinder the lesbian community. Individuals who choose to discriminate, I have found, look to the stereotypes as backing for their bullshit arguments.

Chelsea: Lesbian stereotypes are solely performative acts based on the construction of classifications made by those outside of the lesbian community.

There are, most simply put, two main stereotypes: most commonly known as femme and butch. This division is based on heteronormative values; a girl that kind of looks like a guy fills the “masculine” role

Article

and the girl that is more prone to wearing dresses fills the “feminine” role.

People tend to identify me as a femme, mostly because people rarely suspect my homosexuality.

Most people can pick out a homosexual male from a crowd, but unless a lesbian is wearing a polo and cargo pants or if her hair is chopped off - very few would guess correctly who she was attracted to. To the untrained eye, my mannerisms and my appearance make me look rather straight. In the community I guess I’d be referred to as a “lipstick lesbian” because of my appearance.

I don’t really identify with a stereotype. “Gay” is big label for me and has enough of a shock value as it is. I haven’t really dove into the details. Admittedly, I think I would look ridiculous in “stereotypical lesbian attire.” But just look around Emerson, there are so many gay females and you probably wouldn’t guess it on onsight. In this way, these stereotypes tend to not really affect the community itself. They affect how everyone else views us.

I think the only time these before-mentioned stereotypes hinder the lesbian community is when the heteronormative values get thrown in.

There is this idea that a femme should date someone a little more butch; fulfilling this idea of man and woman social norms. However, some lesbians don’t personally feel attracted to their “opposite” type. For example, even though I’m probably femme enough to almost be straight, I can’t imagine dating someone that lies more on the butch end of the spectrum. I have a type, yes. But it’s not a stereotype.

Lesbians in Power?

By: Carrie Cabral Often, women in power get labeled as one of two things; a bitch, or a lesbian. We know how women in power feel about this misconception, but what about women who identify as lesbian? We asked our wonderful classmates, Amanda Swan and Chelsea Roden what these stereotypes meant to them as women and as members of the LGBT community.

Community kicker is, he does! Jeff joins the glee club because of Annie’s performance, which pretty much just grabs you by the face and screams, “This is what people actually do! See how crazy it is?”

Even though that one episode does show a woman manipulating a man with sex, the other episodes show that there are so much more to all the female characters. The character of Britta is a feminist with commitment issues, who happens to have a very active sex life, and always tries to do the right thing and help everyone. She’ll advocate for things she knows nothing about because she wants to do good. She’s constantly called “the worst” by all of the other characters, but it’s not for her sex life or for being a strong woman, it’s because she’s always trying make a cause out of anything and everything.

In any other show she would be looked as somewhat of a “slut,” but the writers strive to show that if men can have sex without being called a “slut,” so can women.

There’s also the narcissistic, racist, sexist, mean character of Pierce played by the legendary Chevy Chase. He constantly makes fun of people and says things it’s not politically correct to say. The writers play up the fact that he’s from a different generation where the things he says were more acceptable, showing how the times have changed. One of the things he picks on, is the “bromance” between Abed (Danny Pudi) and Troy (Donald Glover). The two have probably the closest relationship on the show, so close that they ask out a girl together, go on the date together and let her decide.

When she picks Troy, he ultimately picks his friendship with Abed over the girl. They end up moving into an apartment together and sleeping in a bunk bed blanket fort. Their friendship is somewhat childish and could be seen as a romance on another show, but is only seen as a friendly love on Community.

It shatters the idea that two men can’t be extremely close and just be friends or still be manly.

It doesn’t dwell of the closeness

of their friendship, but instead takes us on wild adventures with them.

Community breaks the conventions of typical sitcoms.

It’s a product of pure love. The writers stay up until all hours of the night, enjoying every minute. The actors start some days at nine at night and do their scenes until six in the morning because it’s what they love. The show inspires people around the globe, and when it went on hiatus, the fans reacted with flash mobs, petitions, dozens of twitter hashtags, fan videos, fan art.

I think NBC finally sees how important the show is to the fans. Community returns tonight, Thursday, March 15th to finish season three. No word yet on a fourth season, but with Comedy Central picking it up for syndication, the future is looking brighter for this clever comedy.

: (ME)dia

Madison fishman, michael schuck, adam Kaplan, claire reinganum

Dear Reader, Hundreds of television channels. Thousands of video games. Literally millions of songs and websites. It’s both overwhelming and fantastic to think about.

And within it all, there is an opportunity for each person to create something new in order to express him or herself. It’s a complex age of blindingly bright lights that are difficult to escape, and some don’t

even want to escape.

As each individual is sent spinning into this strange whirlwind of creative product, it is far too easy to ignore the darker shades that lie underneath the sparkling surface. One of those darker shades is that confusing, amorphous, and culturally-sensitive thing called gender.

Media, with its many forms of expression, has for many years pointed its influential finger at

gender, telling it what to be and how to be it.

Movies and television programming outlined “male” and “female” in excruciating detail. Music painted the portrait of the perfect woman, who was subjected to the near-tyrannical rule of her male counterpart.

The internet, at least at first, simply reflected the current situation, bearing the scars of years of gender restriction for all to see.

And yet, at the same time, all along, there was a quiet voice that stood in defiance to the way things were. There have always been those who have recognized these mediums for what they truly are: tools for expression and communication. These are the voices that have come forward to say that gender can change, that it isn’t a static list of strict, non-human laws.

They could see that

media influencing gender wasn’t a one-way street, that gender is perfectly capable of affecting media. These voices have grown in number in recent years, and these are the voices that need to be listened to.

With all of that said, welcome to (ME)dia, where four Gen Y-ers duck into the past, their own or otherwise, to further explore the fascinating love-hate relationship between

: media and gender. We have music. We have video games. We have TV. We have dance.

Chances are you’ve experienced at least one of those mediums thus far, so why not stop by and learn something new? Perhaps you’ll even come to realize that you have the power to positively affect future creations, because you do.

We sincerely hope that you will enjoy this

carefully assembled collection of stories and critiques.

With all due respect, The (ME)dia team

My mother refused to get stoned: not I’m not talking about drugs Madison Fishman My childhood has been forever immortalized by Lifetime’s original television series “Dance Moms.” The show features a crazy, controlling dance studio director, Abbey Lee, and her squad of pre-teen, talented, overworked competitive dance girls.

Although that sounds like a good enough show on its own, the main focus of the show is the mothers of the dancing children.

The mothers whine, complain and scream until they get what they want.

From a very young age I was on a competitive dance team in the Georgia suburbs at Rhythm Dance Center Studio. The caddy mothers on “Dance Moms” are an exact replica of what I was surrounded with as a child. Lifetime stole my life: where’s my money? Although I grew up surrounded by these mothers, one did not raise me. While the bitchy suburban housewives played tennis and ate at the country club my mother worked hard to pay for what we had. She refused to become a dance mom and I love her everyday for it.

Growing up in Georgia where old gender roles rule most activities you do as children or adults, my only options were dance or ice-skating. Since I was not very coordinated, my parents thought being on ice surrounded by razor sharp blades was a little too much for me.

So, dance it was. I started dance lessons at the age of three and continued for ten more years. When I say dance lessons I’m not talking about once a week tap classes and a recital at the end of the year. No, I’m talking about lessons six days a week, at least four hours every day and about 7 competitions every year.

Without watching Dance Moms or being directly involved in competitive dancing, not many know or understand it. To put it in perspective, I spent more time in the dance studio than my own home.

I accidently inhaled more glitter hairspray in those years than probably medically okay. Schoolwork and dinner were both done in between classes at the studio. My mother is a strong believer in sit-down family dinners every night.

Dance nights were rough on her.

Large parts of competitive dancing were the outfits. In fact, a portion of your overall score in competition was how well your costume coordinated with the song and overall theme. Not sure what that means?

In the minds of all dance studio directors this score was synonymous with glitter. Rhinestones were directly correlated with your score. More rhinestones, higher score.

The skimpy and incredibly inappropriate outfits would arrive to the studio devoid of any glitter at

all though. This meant “volunteers” would have to painstakingly glue on about 100 rhinestones to over 300 costumes. That’s a lot of time and effort.

Since the studio directors were already doing so much for the children, the mothers of all the children were chosen to do this wonderful and fulfilling task. During classes the mothers would all gather in the break room and slowly “stone” all of the costumes.

Where was my mother during this task? Not there.

She was busy working and earning a living. As you may imagine that did not please the dance moms.

The dance moms prided themselves on the fact that they were all the same.

They believed in the same things, raised their children the same, and stoned their costumes the same. My mother refusing to help did not make them happy.

Without knowing what to do about the situation, the dance moms did what they do best: they gossiped.

Gossip between the dance moms eventually trickled down to their kids who then questioned me about it. They didn’t understand why my mommy wasn’t helpful and good like their mommies. I always explained that it was because she was busy. She was working because she loved me. I grew up in a double income home. Both of my parents worked.

My mom did not have to work to help us survive

or make ends meet. She worked because she not only wanted to provide her children with a comfy lifestyle, but she also loved her job. In the endless amount of good advice my mother has taught me over the years that might be one of my favorites: it’s not a job if you love what you’re doing. If you don’t love it, what’s the point?

Dancing lost it’s shiny allure to me quickly after the stoning scandal. It wasn’t because the moms were mean or their children were nosy. No, it was because I just didn’t love it anymore. My mom never forced me to leave. No matter how much she hated the politics of it, she never asked me to quit. I moved onto other hobbies and new activities and soon my dancing past was a blur. When the lifetime show aired, my mother called me while I was away at school, “Madison, did you see? They’re stoning!

The moms are stoning the costumes! Nothing’s changed!” She was right.

Nothing has changed. The moms were still bitchy and the score was still about the glitter. There will always be people in your life trying to make you conform.

You just have to do what you love no matter what people think. Worst case, if you can’t think of anything new to try, Rhythm Dance Center is always looking for new volunteers to stone their costumes. They’ve not only grown in size, but also

Mike schuck

Male bonding, courtesy of nintendo At age 12, it was an unfortunate fact of life that I would not be a real teenage boy until I had mastered at least one video game. This presented a particularly difficult situation because my family, at the time, did not have video games.

Indirect peer pressure was closing in on me every day.

I needed to play. I needed to be like everyone else.

What I didn’t know was that just having video games around would endanger my sisters’ femininity.

In an attempt to make up for my technologically deprived state, I spent many of my Saturdays with friends. They, of course, all had video games. It was strange to visit a friend and not end up playing Halo or Madden for a few hours.

Conversely, my older brother, Chris, couldn’t stand not having the games in his own home.

He started looking at Best Buy advertisements from the Sunday newspaper in order to mention the varying prices of gaming systems as well as the titles of the most popular games. After a few instances of the ritual, my younger brother, John, started taking up the cause as well.

The two became gradually bolder about their request. Whenever a conversation would steer toward video games, I would bow my head in embarrassment of the shameless nature of my brothers’ arguments. I didn’t think it was exactly polite to ask for such an

expensive gift, even though the holiday season was steadily approaching. What I didn’t notice, initially, was that neither of my sisters, Elle and Mary, showed an interest. No one thought that was strange.

The big day came: Christmas. My five siblings and I tore into the pile of packages. One of the first presents I opened was Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit 2 for Gamecube.

I showed Chris and said, “Why would we get a Gamecube game unless we got a …” Chris and John and I screamed. We started looking for the system itself and found it a few minutes later. We also found two other games: Mariokart Double Dash and Madden NFL 2004. Chris spent the rest of the morning reading the Gamecube instruction manual and attempting to connect the Gamecube to the television. John and I gathered our other gifts and watched Chris. It seemed the only thing to do.

That afternoon, my aunt and uncle stopped by to give us our gifts, which turned out to be a trio of j-shaped chairs, labeled specifically as “gaming chairs.” There were two red and one black. They sat close to the ground and rocked back and forth with ease. A few hours later, Chris finally had the Gamecube up and running.

The whole family gathered around to see what it was like. Mom didn’t like it at all.

She said it gave her vertigo.

Dad was interested, but only because he liked

technology. It really was incredible.

When night came around, the boys, Chris, John, and I, asked our mom and dad if we could sleep in the basement, as we did sometimes. The motivation was that we could stay up late playing Gamecube and not have to trudge upstairs at some ungodly hour and wake everyone up. My parents knew this, and still they said yes.

The three of us broke out our sleeping bags and arranged them in front of the television. The game of choice for the night was Need for Speed. In a way, it was a blatantly masculine game. After choosing an attractive sports car, you would race through the streets of some fictional locale while outrunning the cops. We even established a seating system: whoever was playing at the moment (we only had one controller at this point) would sit in the black gaming chair, a sort of driver’s seat, and the other two would sit in the red chairs. We played until one in the morning.

We repeated this little habit for the remainder of our school break. Besides the resulting fatigue, every part of the experience was enjoyable. It was one of the very few times when my brothers and I were able to get along because of a common interest. I also felt accomplished as I became slowly more skilled at playing the three games. There was a sense of credibility to it.

During those several nights, a question popped

up in my head: What did Elle and Mary think of the whole thing? I wanted to assume that they were happily distracted by their own Christmas gifts, but what was really keeping them from joining us? They hadn’t asked to join us. My brothers and I didn’t invite them. My parents certainly weren’t trying to exclude them. All three factors contributed, but, unknown to me, there was also the invisible force of societal gender roles.

Video games, even today, are generally seen as maledominated. The most popular games are bought and played by boys and men. Female characters in those games are often highly sexualized. Of the three games we had received for Christmas, two of them were obviously aimed toward a male audience. The third, Mariokart: Double Dash, was only gender neutral because it was cartoonish. Elle and Mary probably would have felt tomboyish to play those first two games.

As our family got used to having video games around, we bought different games to suit our different tastes. I seemed to enjoy almost all of them, even if they were obviously feminine games.

The bottom line is that nobody got hurt. We didn’t think indefinitely that the system was only for boys, or that the games were only for boys. It probably helped that the experience became about sibling rivalry more than anything else. Even so, at the start, it was clear that society wanted us to behave a certain way, and that realization was vital to my development.

YOU AREN’T cool unless you’re A necrophile Television creators are aware of an obsession with death for pleasure that arouse niche audiences, and use them to create successful series. by claire reinganum We all have our own sexual fantasies.

Although we often keep them private, the media plays off of these fantasies to make money. Lately, what seems to be the most publicly sexualized fantasy are vampires.

Why do vampires spark such an interest in young women? Well, the answer is simple: necrophilia. The idea of being with a vampire whose purpose is to feed on what keeps humans alive is frightening. Purely fantasizing about it is

scary. That’s what makes it so hot. The reasoning behind this may be the unconscious “death wish” that people seem to have. People desire what is dangerous for them because it gives them pleasure and excitement, even if they aren’t aware of it (Kline 378). Television shows like The Vampire Diaries and True Blood exploit erotic tendencies by playing off of our fascination with death, and sadomasochism, the sexual arousal or pleasure gained through

receiving or inflicting pain.

While understanding sadomasochism, it’s important to realize the attraction to necrophilia.

This is exhibited in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Buffy has two vampire lovers, Angel and Spike.

The sadomasochism for Buffy came with Spike, especially after she was brought back from the dead. Spike and her relationship became violent and overly sexual. Their connection was death. By taking part in violent, sexual

encounters with Spike, Buffy symbolically returns to death, which for her was restful and peaceful.

Spike and Buffy’s relationship is erotic and sadomasochistic because they both knew that at any time they could actually kill one another (Spaise 751).

Buffy the Vampire Slayer set a standard for how the romantic story lines in vampire shows could be portrayed. It all started in the pilot episodes of The Vampire Diaries and True Blood.

The pilot episode of The

Vampire Diaries starts after the parents of the protagonist, Elena Gilbert, have died. She is drawn to a mysterious new boy in town, who just happens to be a vampire. It is apparent from the beginning that Elena is damaged, she has experienced trauma; her parents drove off a bridge with her in the car and she was the only survivor from the accident. On the other hand, in True Blood, Sookie is a 20-something year old virgin who is naïve, innocent, and

damaged. This sets up the necessities to have an erotically arousing show by being able to watch the corruption and devirginization of Sookie.

These shows employ Bram Stoker’s idea that in order for a woman to be truly good she must be powerless and weak.

Elena is like Buffy in that both brush death often.

Due to Elena’s touch of death, she’s changed to be more morose and more of an outsider, just like Buffy.

Throughout the series, it is always referenced back that before the death of Elena’s parents she was the popular, party animal girl, full of life. After the death of her parents, it was like she died a bit too.

It’s not until Stefan, the vampire, enters her life that she actually begins living again, showing her and the audience that death and life coincided together. This emphasizes that people strive for death to feel life more intensely (Kline 377).

Elena tries to return to her former self, making it impossible for her to move forward. Her inability to forgo the death that she was so near to when her parents died corrupted the way she is able to live her life. This also defines what she looks for in a man. This stunts her ability to move forward. This look towards the past goes to prove Jessica Benjamin’s belief that death is becoming one with nature and trying to return to the safe confines of a mother’s womb.

This is what she desires, because “in the end we resolutely desire that which imperils our life!...the thing we desire … ruin us… we seek out the greatest loses and the greatest dangers” (Kline, 378).

This is exactly what Elena does; she craves what will destroy her and does almost anything to achieve

such destruction. Elena craves the necrophilia relationship, because the vampires provide her the merge she needs between life and death.

This merge between life and death, and violation is seen in True Blood.

The fact that violence overpowers reason during passion to the point of destruction is seen with Sookie (Kline 378). The eroticism of the show is because of the “violation expresses the fundamental passion” within women (Benjamin 154). This violation brings Sookie closer to death; the erotic nature of penetrating the skin, violently and dangerously is sexually arousing. As Stephen Moyer, who plays Vampire Bill explains, vampires are considered sexy because a “vampire creates a hole in the neck where there wasn’t one before. It’s a devirginization … creating blood and drinking the virginal blood” (Grigoriadis, 54). This violent penetration is an intrusion of her boundary by having her life drained out seen as sexual. Vanessa Grigoriadis, writer for the Rolling Stones, remarks, “sex isn’t anything without violence.” For sex to be truly erotic, violence must come into play.

In The Vampire Diaries, at first Elena was merely an object to Stefan but most to his brother, Damon.

Despite her individuality eventually coming out, she was originally just an object for the brothers’ curiosity.

That set up the potential of a sexual dominating relationship; Elena is set up to have boundaries violated, since she is the object of affection.

Sadomasochism enters the picture with Damon.

The relationship that Elena and Damon have is painful; not physically abusive but mentally abusive.

They both like to hurt one another, yet both want to protect one another; she hurts him through her ability to manipulate his emotions, while he hurts her with his ability to cause physical pain to others.

They are both cruel to each other, but it is clear that they both care for one another; on countless occasions they risk their life’s to save each other.

Television creators are aware of an obsession with death for pleasure that arouse niche audiences, and use them to create successful series. These shows work towards women, because they aim at their feelings of not belonging. Women want to be lusted after and objectified because when they are, they are being recognized for what they have to offer.

Women become weak and powerless while the men become the strong and powerful ones ready to control and command.

Women crave to be swept up into an erotic pleasure.

They want to be violently dominated, because the only way to truly experience life is through the realization of death arrival, and living the twists and turns in the road towards death intensely and passionately.

People, primarily young women, don’t just crave death, but the danger and pain associated with it. Young women aren’t looking to cause pains to others, but for someone to hurt them, and violate them.

top five lists VU and Nico By adam Kaplan

The Velvet Underground didn’t originally want to work with European model and starlet Nico. When Andy Warhol brought it up with Lou Reed, the lead singer, he was vehemently opposed to the idea. But, given that VU was in part Warhol’s project as well (he was instrumental in promoting them), he eventually got his way. It’s a good thing that he did; the face of music was shaped by “Velvet Underground and Nico”, the subsequent album. Though retroactive predictions are by their very nature hypothetical, it’s safe to say music would be very different had the album been entitled merely “The Velvet Underground”.

One thing is for certain; the record would be much less engaging. All of the pieces

of VU and Nico (including Nico) make it a classic both sonically and in the sense that it brought novel ideas involving gender, sexuality, and primal urges to the forefront via pop music for one of the first times.

The first track on VU and Nico (“Sunday Morning”), is at first difficult to understand in the context of the rest of the album, in that it mashes up all of the themes and tones used in the rest of the album, as opposed to representing one of them.

It’s a soft, chime laden ditty about a melancholy (you guessed it) Sunday morning. Reed speak sings the audience into an uncomfortable sleep with lines like “Sunday Morning, praise the dawnin’/It’s just a restless feeling by my side”. The amazing thing about “Sunday Morning” is its ability to be simultaneously comforting and altogether disquieting.

All at once, feelings of lackadaisical contentment and unhealthy apathy wash over the listener.

“Gender Bender” films: 1. Tootsie 2. Some like it hot 3. Shakespeare in love 4. Mrs. Doubtfire 5. Ed Wood

“Watch out, the worlds behind you” we’re told, reminding us all that life is passing us by, in one way or another. The depth of themes in “Velvent Underground and Nico”, an album which engages in emotions ranging from sadism (“Venus in Furs) to pure affection (“I’ll Be Your Mirror”), manifests itself obviously in “Sunday Morning”.

The third and fourth tracks are two of the most important songs in this collection. “Femme Fatale” and “Venus in Furs”, both in their sound and in their establishment of interesting ideas revolving around gender and sexuality. On “Femme Fatale”, we get our first taste of Nico the chanteuse. The song doesn’t pop out immediately, at least to the casual listener. Sonically, it is a relatively simply structured pop song.

However, when dissected, some very intriguing ideas can be unearthed. When Nico’s voice is contrasted

with the subject matter of the song, a sense of, in my estimation, intentional confusion is produced.

Nico is unique as a female singer in that she’s very baritone; it’s almost difficult to distinguish her as a female. Due to the content of the song, lyrically speaking, said baritone creates an unusual effect.

“Here she comes/You better watch your step/ She’ll lift you up to just put you down/What a clown….

Cause everybody knows/ She’s a Femme Fatale”, she croons. Now, this set of lyrics is obviously about the classic archetype of a seductress; a woman who will draw you in and throw you right back out with no concern for your emotional investment. This in itself isn’t revolutionary; it’s Nico’s presence that makes it so. First of all, it’s difficult to tell if she is singing about herself, or another woman. She uses the word “she” to refer to this temptress, so it initially seems as though the subject of

“Gender Switch” films: 1. Tootsie 2. Albert Nobbs 3. the crying game 4. transamerica 5. rocky

the song is a different woman. That notion, however, presents some problems. Why is Nico, a female, lamenting over her woeful experiences with a Femme Fatale? Is this a commentary on sexuality; is she making claims about her own orientation? Or, as I alluded to before, is she referring to herself in a removed and disassociated manner? It would make sense, given her status as a high society bohemian romantic, a lifestyle that connotes nihilistic and emotionally detached attitudes about the act of coitus (AKA seductress, Femme Fatale, what have you). Added to this already noticeable sense of confusion, is the fact that it’s difficult to tell, based on the baritone-ness of her singing voice, whether or not Nico possesses a pair of testicles. The sheer confusion, and strange lack of complexity in “Femme Fatale” is contrasted highly on the album’s next track.

As soon as “Venus in Furs” blasts over the

speakers, it immediately evokes an indefinable sense of darkness, maybe even fear. The first guitar notes ring out with a “Wa wa wa wa” sound that is alien, mysterious, and altogether discomforting.

This kind of noise is fitting, given the subject matter that the song covers.

Namely, it deals with sadomasochism, sexual submission, and bondage.

“Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather/Whiplash girlchild in the dark/Comes in bells, your servant, don’t forsake him/Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart” mumbles Reed, to the slow drum beats and harsh guitar licks. Now, these lyrics are obviously referring to a dominatrix, a type of woman whose sexual lifestyle is the epitome of breaking the societal rules. A dominatrix takes control of the situation; she does not allow the man to be the dominant one, as is typical.

Rather, she garbs herself in intimidating leather clothes, whip in hand, and

“Good message” films: 1. Monsters Inc. 2. Whale rider 3. Toy Story 4. Wall-e 5. Finding Nemo

shows men who’s boss.

The remainder of the songs on the album are also important, but not, in my mind, as groundbreaking as the few that I’ve just been over. There are, of course, exceptions. Specifically, “Heroin” is a watershed moment kind of tune. It is comparable to “Venus in Furs” in that it brings up subject matter that was considered taboo at the time. “Heroin” is a little ditty about Reed’s Heroin addiction. Not only that, but the song seems to treat the drug with almost a sort of reverence, with lines like “When I’m rushing on my run/Y’know I feel just like Jesus’ son”. This complete, and joyful, at that, admission on Reed’s part of addiction to the world’s most powerful opiate was not only a sign of the changing times, but a sign that they were going to be changing even more in the future.

In listening to all of VU’s music, but most notably “Venus in Furs”, it is

important to remember the historical context in which VU and Nico came out. Sexuality was at the forefront of the movement for change, and pop songs were starting to reflect this.

However, the free love movement certainly wasn’t going as far as Velvet Underground with their overstepping of societal taboos. A pop song about a woman dressed in all leather who beats the men she sleeps with? No way, Jose; the American public was not used to that. In this respect, many songs on VU and Nico were revolutionary, in the sense that they helped changed the zeitgeist in American in regards to what was acceptable to talk about. This paved the way for artists like David Bowie and his Ziggy Stardust character, The Replacements, and Iggy Pop, who carried on the tradition that Reed started of pushing the envelope in regards to what’s acceptable to say.

gender Ender ender ender ender ender

zack arch, Autumn McCumiskey, Esther mcfaden, Laurie Hochman Everyone growing up

kids forever—carefree,

like. We provide

actuality based

experiences something

innocent, naïve—but

a seldom seen

on personal

that alerts them to the

that’s not the case. We

perspective that

experiences, a

accepted roles each

grow and we learn, for

allows people to see

dash of social

person plays in society.

better or for worse.

beyond the confines

observation and

Gifts are dead giveaways. As we grow up, we realize of gender to the

critique, and pinch of

Cars, superheroes,

that we cannot escape to person and abilities

philosophizing and

trucks, and the like are

our Neverland whenever within an individual.

humor (to give it that

given to boys, and dolls,

situations seem out of

We demonstrate

extra kick of flavor).

jewelry, and clothes are

control. Whether we

that minimizing

So sit back, taste, and

given to girls. There is

like it or not, there are

gender can be

enjoy the feast of

always a separation, a

certain stipulations that

achieved, and that

information provided

chasm that we are told

dictate our lives. What

gender itself is not

for you. It is a feast

should not be crossed.

is left, then, to do? How

a limiting factor. But

not of idealism or

To cross that chasm is

do you solve something

we do this in a very

ridiculous hope, but

inappropriate, unusual,

that cannot be solved?

real way—no sugar

a feast of possibility

and will bring only

In “Gender Ender,” we

added, no artificial

and true life.

strife. It causes more

provide a glimpse into

preservatives.

trouble than it’s worth.

what a world without

Our ingredients

We wish we could stay

such stipulations looks

include a dose of

Why is ping any different?

Esther McFaden In 1998, Disney

behaviors, their demeanor,

and a chorus of excited

before act[ing]” prevent

released an animated

and so on. With such

answers will greet the ear.

her from being accepted

musical movie to add to its

a blatant portrayal of

Each of them contains, in

even among her family,

queue of others similar to

women, is Mulan really the

its most basic form, the

where she is expected to

it. That movie was Mulan,

revolutionary movie people

clashing of familial and/

bring honor to her family

the story of a Chinese

think it is?

or societal dicta, character

by being a good wife and

growth, love, memorable

bearing sons. She does

maiden masquerading as

There is no doubt

a man to save her father

that Mulan has a certain

characters, and, of course,

not want to be the girl who

from the certain death

catchiness, a certain

magical songs that linger

“bring[s ] her family great

he would suffer when he

attraction that seems to

in the mind long after

honor […] by striking a

followed the Emperor’s

overpower nearly all who

they are finished. Mulan

good match”—she wants

mandate and reported for

watch it. There is also no

has all that—the struggle

to do something. Every

training to fight invaders.

doubt that this is most

to find a place in family

bit the outsider, Mulan

The movie then follows

likely due to Disney’s

and to follow the rules of

seeks an escape. She finds

Mulan as she infiltrates the

meticulously crafted

society, the love interest,

that escape in the form

army, battles Huns, and

formula for producing

Shang, the ever-popular

of the army. When she is

ultimately saves China.

animated musical movies

dragon, Mushu, the

reprimanded for speaking

The story has captivated

nearly all enjoy. Directors

villains, the Huns—and

her supplication to save

audiences, catapulting it to

Barry Cook and Tony

more with addition of a

her father, told to “do

the top of must-see films,

Bancroft have worked

rebellious, independent

well to hold her tongue

but why? While it provides

at Disney for years, and

woman. Mulan represents

in a man’s presence,” she

entertainment, the movie

are thus well acquainted

a different kind of Disney

decides to take action,

contains numerous

with how to make this

“princess” character.

defying social codes by

stereotypes that would

type of movie. Both have

taking her father’s place.

offend viewers were it

worked on movies such

beginning that Disney’s

Mulan risks death upon

not a Disney film. The

as The Lion King, Aladdin,

Mulan is not the “quiet,

discovery to save her

Emperor himself believes

Hercules, Beauty and the

demure, graceful, polite,

father and find herself. She

that only “one man could

Beast, and The Hunchback

punctual” woman of

literally risks everything

be the difference” between

of Notre Dame, which also

China. Her tardiness

to escape her world of

success and failure. Among

skyrocketed in popularity.

and failure to commit to

torturous duty and save

these stereotypes is that

These movies exist on

the Final Admonition to

the life of a loved one.

of women in China—

another level: mention

“fulfill duties calmly and

their expectations, their

watching any one of them,

respectfully,” and to “reflect

It is clear from the

Mulan’s rebellious behavior is simply unheard

of and quixotically brave,

they do their job and strive

instilling both inspiration

to do it well.

and worry in viewers as

Their gender means

they wait to see what

nothing.

happens next. At the camp,

This idea was not

Mulan does her best to

original. The woman on

fit in with the men, their

whom Disney’s movie is

habits and their abilities.

based was also brave,

She battles learning how

defying social codes and

to pitch a tent and fighting,

entering the army at

while attempting to

eighteen years of age and

impress her stern superior,

fighting in war for twelve

the captain (Shang). The

years. Her tale is recorded

men occasionally mock

in the sixth century poem

and ostracize her, but

“The Ballad of Hua Mulan,”

Mulan ultimately earns

which quickly became a

their respect by proving

folk legend. The story’s

herself worthy in training

popularity was due in part

and in the battlefield, just

to its mention of gender

as anyone else would. Her

equality—much like that of

creativity and ingenuity

Mulan. The Mulan of the

are what earn her a place

ballad, however, is a fierce

in the army, not her

warrior, rising to the level

appearance, a fact that

of a general and becoming

is quickly forgotten by

known as one of ancient

the soldiers when they

China’s greatest women

discover that their pal

with swords. Though there

Ping is actually the woman

are multiple endings to the

Mulan. In a moment of raw

story, like the Disney film

truth toward the end of the

the warrior declines the

movie, Mushu tells Mulan

honor so she can return

that people won’t listen to

home, having fulfilled her

her as Mulan because she’s

mission. Her duty done,

“a girl again,” something

she faces the reality of the

Mulan refuses to accept

situation and moves on

as a proper answer. She

with her life.

challenges Shang on this

Disney created an

very notion, demanding

entertaining, beloved film

that if he “trusted Ping, why

with Mulan. It’s brave title

is Mulan any different?”

character goes to great

Her argument is a fair one

lengths in order to prove

and one worth considering:

that what she knows all

that gender doesn’t define

along is true, that it is not

a person’s capabilities

only conceivable, but also

or place in society. She

possible to reduce the

demonstrates that it

traditional roles of gender

doesn’t matter whether

within society. So why is

someone is male or female

Ping any different? He

or anything else, as long as

shouldn’t be.

The day i went to the beach Zack Arch It was 2:15 in the morning and I was naked.

“So this is what it feels like to be water-birthed,” I thought to myself as Lisa, Mihir and Kiera silently joined me in the Delgoleto’s pool next door. As we all dipped and spun around in the warm, summer chlorine-water, I could not believe that this moment was actually happening. We should’ve done this earlier. We made sure to self-consciously keep our distance from each other while silently creating a whirlpool in the aboveground pool. Even though we consisted of two boys and two girls, we all felt the same way. There were no males or females in the pool, only bodies.

We were all soaking together as one. This was too great a moment to be concerned with each other’s sex. As we felt the water’s momentum propel us and our teenage genitalia around the pool like chocolate syrup at the bottom of a glass of milk, the adrenaline distracted us from the activated motion sensor light that had been on for the entirety of our swimming escapade. We were

enjoying the feeling of total suspension. However, even with our muffled giggles and muted splashes, Lisa noticed a light come on upstairs.

We froze.

The water continued to circulate the pool, but ceased to take us with it. I stared up, challenging the curtains to open while I could feel the regret ooze out of the girls behind me.

The light went out, and again, adrenaline helped us forget the possibility of getting caught. We kept circling the pool, spreading our legs, stretching our appendages. The moonlight and motion censor light kissed the water’s surface and our backs. We were just silhouettes bobbing and soaking in the water.

Everything felt right. Then, Lisa saw something else. A black figure disappeared behind some trees towards the front of the house.

“Wait.”

I have no idea who said it. It could have been me.

Again, we froze. The water didn’t seem as warm and forgiving as it did before.

Another figure appeared in

the same place.

“Fuck.”

That was me. I was inside my soaked comfortsofts just as a flashlight appeared on the side of the pool. As the light blinded my pupils, my hand went up as a reflex. Mihir, Lisa and Kiera were all behind me. It was the first time since we entered the water that we were boys and girls. For some reason, the oneness snapped and I felt a moral obligation as the older boy to take responsibility. I knew I was going to have to do the talking.

“What are you all doing here?”

“We’re just going for a swim.”

I’m an asshole.

“You all know this isn’t your pool, right?”

“Yeah, it’s yours.”

“It’s not mine either, kid.”

I don’t live in a natural disaster-prone area, so I should have known normal civilians don’t possess such high-caliber flashlights. It was the police. During my delightful chat with the officer, I hadn’t noticed that

not only had my friends’ luckily clothed themselves, but also two more cops shown up to fully surround the pool and the intruders inside it. Over the following five minutes, we proceeded to have awkwardly polite conversation with the police and Mr. Delgoleto.

It only made it worse that I despise his little shit of a son and he knew it. We were both embarrassed.

Not only was I putting on a show with Mr. Delgoleto to appear to the cops as loving neighbors, but I was also acting with my fellow skinny dippers to prove we were somehow better than the average naked kids that inhabit neighboring pools on early Tuesday mornings. Thank God we all had good shit-eating grins. We “would never do anything like this again and were just curious. Sorry.”

No charges were pressed. The girls and cops were somewhat defused.

As we all climbed down the cold metal ladder, dripping on the cool grass, I felt goose bumps on my chest, my arms tucked to harvest any sort of body heat I could. I hardly remember looking at my associate dippers besides when exchanging nervous faked laughs. While we were walking back towards the Arch household, heads down to avoid pebbles and stones, I could smell the chlorine in my hair. It made me run my prunes through it. I exhaled and coughed out a smile. My fingers ran from my damp hair to my chin, cleansing my face and wiping away the feeling

(continued on pg. 32).

Jumbo Marshmallows Autumn Mccumiskey Sugar and spice and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of. That’s what I was always made of. My parents separated when I was three and every other weekend my brother and I visited my father in the neighboring town. For years we followed him from apartment to apartment, from woman to woman, until he finally settled down in a little house with my mother’s best friend, Annie. Even at the young age of nine, I knew this was wrong. Though I knew my mother’s feelings were hurt, knew she felt betrayed, she would never have discussed this with me. My father wasn’t so kind, he would never hesitate to talk about my mother. To laugh with Annie about things my mother said, or jeer at how successfully her business was coming along. I would get so angry when I heard their sarcastic remarks, and they made no attempt to hide them from me. But I was a good girl, made with sugar and spice, and until one particularly cold December night, I would never have dreamed of standing up to him.

My older brother,

Ashton, and I had gone to my father’s house for dinner. We were much older now and this had become a rarity. We were no longer obligated to visit him every other weekend, and honestly, we didn’t want to. But, this had been a strangely pleasant visit.

We had a nice dinner and out of the blue he asked if we wanted to make sundaes. He had picked up all the ingredients the day before in hopes of surprising us. Ashton was eighteen and I was a year younger, we could have very easily scooped for ourselves, but Dad insisted on helping us. He topped our simple vanilla ice cream with his favorites, jumbo marshmallows, maple syrup and globs of peanut butter. The usually dreaded dinner trip had somehow turned out wonderfully nice. We were sitting on the couch eating our sundaes and laughing when Ashton’s cell phone rang. I’d soon come to find that this sweet evening was, in fact, too good to be true.

It was my mother calling.

Ashton had brought home all his laundry from school and somehow managed to screw up the washing

machine. My mother was stressed out because my little sister had wet the bed and now she had no way to wash the bedding. The last thing she said was, “You better be on your way to fix this machine.”

Ashton disconnected and proceeded to clean up his ice cream bowl and complain that Mom was overreacting. It was the slightest comment, but it sent my father into a rage. He was saying crazy things like, “You don’t have to go home at all! You can just stay here!” “That crazy bitch, she can’t tell you to fix the washer! You don’t even know how!” and my personal favorite, “I’ll just call her back. I’ll tell that lunatic you’re staying here.” I was stunned. If anyone was acting crazy, it wasn’t my mother. I couldn’t believe he was this angry. And I couldn’t stand the way he was talking about my mother, again! This time I dropped the nice little girl act and confronted him.

“Who do you think you are?” I said. “Someday Autumn. Someday you’ll know how things were.” He responded. What? What does that have to do with anything? How is anything

in the past going to fix the washer? I was confused.

I said, “Dad, I don’t care about how things were.

I care about what’s happening right....” And that’s where he cut me off.

The left side of my face was overcome with an intense stinging sensation. Did he seriously just hit me? I was stunned into stillness. I remember him telling me to shut up and sit down. I protested and got another open palmed blow to my other cheek. He’s started yelling, but my adrenaline is pumping now and I can’t quite remember what he was saying. Between my breathless sobs I managed to squeeze out a crazed “You don’t get to touch me! You don’t get to talk about my mom! You don’t get to talk to me!” And he managed to squeeze in one more step stumbling slap before I was out the door.

On my way to the car I made sure he knew that I hated him. Made sure he knew that he was “dead to me”, that he “wasn’t my dad anymore.” Wishing him good luck in the raising of all his other daughters, by which he had none.

I walked done the icy, winding driveway to my

(continued on pg. 32).

A Day in the Life of Mary Anne Evans

S m e o P URIE

BY LA MAN HOCH

I wake from a nightmare to find my bed in disarray, my nightgown tangled, yarn wound in cats paws after violent play.

I never sleep well when George is gone.

Today my tea is liquid anxiety, my appetite replaced by loneliness.

Girls are taught many things, from literacy to homemaking.

We were not educated on how to drink our tea without husbands at our sides.

We were not instructed in how to wield instruments of destruction when breaking down walls that surround our gender.

When I was six I learned how to hold a pencil.

When I was sixteen I learned how to hold hands with a man.

I learned that both of these things are indecent for a woman to do in public.

I learned that being is not what being a woman is for.

The only man I am allowed to touch is my husband, and the only woman he is allowed to touch is his wife.

I am not married to my husband though we are bound.

He is married to his other wife, his half-companion in a sometimes home.

The only writing I am expected to produce is simple correspondence with simple ink on simple paper.

My words are meant for pleasantries, not profit.

I am only to read the Bible and letters sent directly to me, of which there are none.

I sit at my desk and draft a letter to a writer who was published in the Westminster Review some time ago.

He was very fond of my opinions then, and even now he keeps in touch.

As I conclude I dip my pen and lower it to the bottom of the page.

I sign, Sincerely yours, George Eliot

In Defense of the Man-Skirt Fact: Real men wear nothing under their kilts but their birthday suits.

Fact: A woman’s naked body is also referred to as her birthday suit.

Observation 1: It is not socially acceptable for men to wear skirts and dresses.

Observation 2: It is perfectly acceptable for women to wear pants and vests.

Women are women and men are men.

This is chromosome-proven again and again.

But what makes us diff’rent, XY and XX, in regard to gender, not biological sex?

Gender’s a costume that everyone sees when they pass a person like a summer day’s breeze.

They might not notice what’s under the clothes, but if she’s wearing a dress then everyone knows

that it’s prob’ly a girl with boobs and no penis who’s putting on a show, a display of her “she-ness.”

But what about all of the Scotsmen and monks?

They wear kilts and robes, not khakis or trunks.

Do we call them girly because they don’t wear pants?

No, we do not, but still there are rants when Marc Jacobs decides that he’ll wear a skirt to a fashion event, because who could it hurt?

People say he’s not manly and they call him names but those people are just playing Internet games.

No one makes comments when Ellen sports menswear because it’s not disgraceful for women to go there.

It’s not shameful to look like a man in society, especially for a woman in Variety.

It’s not just clothing this statement describes.

It’s also quite plain in working lives.

Some titles have changed to handle this fervor, like stewardess to flight attendant and waitress to server.

But Heaven forbid a man wear a dress, he gets called “faggot,” no more and no less.

Double standards like this should be left in the past so we can have gender neutrality at last.

Perhaps “no genders” is too big a request, but to minimize stereotypes could be what is best.

Women are allowed to wear dresses or slacks, so if men want the same choice, we should all have their backs.

JUMP PAGE

(cont. from Silent House on pg. 7).

(cont. from Jumbo Marshmallows on pg. 29).

cinematographer Igor Martinovic for a job well done.

The music in the film is just like the camera work -well done and nonintrusive.

A majority of the film lacks musical scoring, most emanating from a radio when the characters turn it on.

When there is scoring, the subtlety of string instruments adds to the building and frightening release of tension.

Overall, the approach to the music in the film was well executed.

Overall, the film is worth the watch despite its plot pitfalls. The cinematography and acting alone are worth the ticket price. Up until the previously mentioned pivotal scene, the audience will remain intrigued and even the most cynical horror enthusiast will experience a few jumps.

brother’s hand-me down Buick. I got in and slammed the door. It was freezing in there but I knew Ashton would be right behind me to turn the car on and take his beyond upset baby sister home.

The snowflakes hitting the windshield were as big as the marshmallows on my sundae.

If I wasn’t so upset I would be worrying about Ashton driving us home.

(cont. from The Day I Went to the Beach pg. 28). of shame. I was proud. I was proud of us as a group.

We had all gotten naked on a night we would always remember. And nothing sexual was ever part of it. Aside from me taking responsibility, we were all equals and one in that warm, gentle water. We were just forty toes, eight arms, and four heads sharing one moment in a Pennsylvanian aboveground pool. I turned and joined Lisa and Kiera in the basement. We all made eye contact.

“This is going to be a good story.”

The next day, I went to the beach.

This sugar and spice routine was exhausting and it couldn’t last forever. It’s been a year since the incident and I can count the times I’ve spoken to my father since then on my hands. He hasn’t apologized but, in an obscure way, I’m fine. I don’t forgive him for a second, but I’ve let it go, and I’m almost glad it happened. I’m thankful I had a way out of that silly gender role. I don’t have to pretend with him anymore.

(cont. from An Evening With Mike on page 8). horrible does not make anyone more of a man.

However, girl drinks are for girls, and societal rules that are ingrained in our minds as much as this one are not to be questioned, they are meant to be obeyed (at least, that is what society wants me to think).

Boy

Girl