Moving.

I have decided to follow others in moving my blog over to Wordpress instead of Blogger, due to several reasons (downtime, spam, general boredom). All posts and comments have been imported to Wordpress and organised into rather nifty categories. So, if you've linked to me, then please change your links to http://msviolet.wordpress.com/ instead!

Time For A Change

I have decided that, in an attempt to make me blog more, I will open this place up to be about all sorts of issues and not just primarily feminist ones. This does not mean that this isn't a feminist blog anymore, I just want to feel I can include posts on a variety of topics. One day I will also change the layout here. I am fed up of this bloody pink.

A poem.

Housewife - Anne Sexton Some women marry houses. It's another kind of skin; it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements. The walls are permanent and pink. See how she sits on her knees all day, faithfully washing herself down. Men enter by force, drawn back like Jonah into their fleshy mothers. A woman is her mother. That's the main thing.

Attack.

The topic of rape has cropped up in many blogs of late, with most attacking the idea that "some women just ask for it". I just found this, from a male perspective, and felt it was right on the money.

But most importantly, I am not my cock. Period. I am not my balls. I am not my hormones, my sex drive, or my lust. I am not my cock. I am a man, capable of making decisions, capable of self control, capable of thought, of reason, of love and hate and lust and boredom and choice. My cock obeys my commands, and not the other way around. Guys, you are not your cock either. You have total control and you are not a slave. Don't fall into the trap of believing otherwise.

And, while I'm blog-dropping, Vociferate has a post urging people to not give in to the 'trolls' currently attacking feminist blogs. I've not really suffered from troll-attacks yet (probably because I'm lazy and don't post very often...) but I know that the blogs I love reading are repeatedly bombarded with childish "you're just saying that 'cos you need a good dicking!" comments. Constructive criticism, healthy debate, deconstruction... this is what feminism is based on and is essential for keeping the movement alive. But such irrelevant and empty attacks and insults should have been confined to the previous century. Feminism is not about US versus THEM - and that sort of mentality is harmful to everyone concerned. Attacking feminism and feminists is beyond my comprehension. It just does not seem to MAKE SENSE AT ALL. It merely comes down to, as Andrea puts it, this:

These men troll because they imagine by sending us offensive emails, misspelled comments and linking to our pages encouraging other men to abuse us too they are bringing us down, putting us in our place. These men imagine that by doing this the dominance of their phallus is restored, they abuse and threaten because it gives them a sexual kick to believe they're dominating uppity women.

Rude Bits

I love this site. I love how utterly frank the writer is in regarding the ups and downs, the trials and tribulations and the milestones that her and her vagina have encountered. For the majority, women still seem to distance themselves from discussing anything related to their down-there/private-parts/lady-bits/etc (the site's author rather amusingly refers to her own as her "unit"). Adverts tell us that the most important thing about a tampon is that it is discreet and that if - heaven forbid! - it should fall out of your bag, then nobody should realise that it is in fact a tampon. (The question remains: why would you be more embarrassed if twenty sanitary towels fell out of your bag, than if a load of toilet paper fell out instead?). We don't mention periods in public. We are frightened of the social implications of having pubic hair. The list goes on. But why? Why are we filled with shame and disgust regarding our own bodies? Women, girls - let's take back our vaginas! Reclaim what rightly lives between your legs! For too long they have been percieved to be solely for male gratification - but WHY?! Okay, so I don't go in for the whole "ladybits are like a beautiful flower" sort of thing, but I would just like to be able to say "Okay, I have genitalia! Sometimes it has hair, sometimes it does not! Sometimes it is for male sexual gratification, sometimes it is not! Sometimes it is for my own gratification, sometimes it is not! Sometimes it bleeds! Sometimes not! Sometimes it hurts, sometimes I love it and sometimes I hate it! But it is mine and I refuse to feel shameful towards it any longer!"

Silly Old Bints

There's a great piece over on the Beeb regarding the representation of older women in modern society, which also happens to have been penned by none other than my A-Level Eng Lit teacher from last year. She raises a good point, as - in the media especially - there is widespread discrimination against older women (men also, though perhaps not as much). From just one sitting of television commercials (if I can manage that, as adverts make me famously nauseous) we are showered with images of young women freaking out at the sight of a wrinkle, as though they've heard a whisper that it's the first sign of the apocalypse. Then, said women informing us of "so-and-so" lotion to "banish those unsightly signs of aging!". My goodness! Because the very THOUGHT that we may be aging is horrific! In fact, I think I must GAIN a wrinkle everytime I see one of these frustratingly pathetic adverts.

The only time we ever see older women advertising products is when it is especially for them - for example stairlifts, over 60s life insurance, baths for the elderly, toffee, etc. But that is still a rarity, as how many times do you see pensioners on the covers of magazines aimed at that exact target group? In awful newspaper supplements which have adverts for thermal undies, elderly women's nightgowns, etc - how many are actually modelled by women who look over 45? Not many.

If it wasn't for the fact that I know that over 65s in the UK make up a whopping 16% of the population, then - judging by what the media tells us - I'd think we'd all gone a bit Logan's Run.

One Of Those Days

Every now and then I find myself in one of those days where it seems there is no hope left. On Saturday I went into one of my beloved Oxfam bookshops in Shrewsbury and found a book entitled What's Right With Feminism by Elaine Storkey. I'm broke, but it was only a pound so I thought I'd "treat myself". I then looked inside at the book's title on the first page to see that someone had scrawled "NOT MUCH." underneath "What's Right With Feminism". It was in the same handwriting and pencil as the price above, so I can only assume it was doings of one of the staff (predominately middle-aged women). I fumed! Not only had I been insulted regarding my choice of book and beliefs, but I had been insulted by someone trying to sell me the bloody item! So it wasn’t just rude, but incredibly unprofessional and not at all business-like. I felt like pointing out that if it hadn't have been for feminism then these women would not even have jobs! Fool that I am, I didn't complain. Mainly because the queue for paying was taking forever and my patience was waning. Following that, I then went into a BHS branch to be aggravated further. In the gift section I found a "joke" device (some sort of mirror to attach to a man's shoe) for use in order to look up the skirts of passing women. Yes, because sexual harassment is incredibly comical! If I ever want a good laugh then the first thing I always think of is how funny those guys are who leer at women, harass them in the street, make lewd suggestions and rape them! Nothing funnier! My boyfriend pointed out that they may as well be selling sets advertised as "The Handy Travel Rape Kit". I just can't understand how it would be an entertaining and witty gift and - moreover - I can't comprehend how BHS would even consider selling such an item. But then, after WHSmith and the Playboy kid’s stationary, perhaps nothing should surprise me. We then went back to my boyfriend's house to find the girlfriend of one of his housemates ironing two huge piles of his t-shirts. I could understand if the girl was doing him a favour due to him being ill or busy, but he was just dicking about upstairs with friends. All she did was slave away and sigh. Sometimes you just feel as though you are the only one who actually sees the injustices in life.