Songs for the Struggling Artist


To Sing Is to Survive

I thought I was going to die. I was clinging to the side of the boat, absolutely sure that this was it. We were on a ferry from Naples to Capri, in what could reasonably be called a tempest, because my friends and I had thought it would be romantic to spend Christmas on the island of Capri. And as I gripped the rail, as sea water washed over me, I sang. The storm was loud so I sang, loud, until we reached the shore.

When the sea gets rough, I sing. When times are at their toughest, I sing. I do lots of other creative things but it’s singing I turn to when it feels impossibly turbulent. And so, this past year, I found myself singing a lot. I had to. The waters have seemed so high, as if they would rise up over our boat and wash me and all my loved ones overboard.

I had not played my guitar much in recent years. There was dust on it when I pulled it out of its case. There’s no dust on it now. There hasn’t been any dust there for months. I’ve leaned on songs I loved decades ago and been comforted by songs I only learned this year.

I recorded them for the handful of people who listen to my podcast, just in case these songs might help them through these turbulent waters, too. I gave them to my patrons on Patreon, as a thank you for being a railing to which I’ve been clinging. And now, if you could use them, I offer them to you. I recorded them in my living room. They are not perfect recordings but they are the sound of an artist singing through a tempest.

This is the first batch, in honor of the Women’s March this weekend. They are songs of Resistance. Click here to hear them on Spotify.  Or if you’d like to help me recoup the cost, you can buy it directly from me here.

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You can help me through the turbulence

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Generation X – Part 8 – the Coda: We’re Not Gonna Take It

Y’all. You guys. I was done. I was totally done with this piece. I was not going to write another word about Generation X but I’ve just realized, in the midst of the current river of men being called to account for their years of harassment and abuse, that the majority of the women who kicked this off were Gen X women. Harvey Weinstein harassed, abused, raped or assaulted women in their twenties when they were young and no one cared what they thought then but those women are in their 40s and 50s now and I don’t think that’s insignificant. I would also like to point out that Meghan Twohey and Jodi Kantor, the two women who broke the Weinstein story that jumpstarted this moment, are both Gen X, as well.

Gen X women have stepped out of our victim years and are stepping into our power. We thought were the Only Ones but have woken up to the fact that we are not alone.
These aren’t our middle aged years – these are our power years – our witch years. We’re not going to take it. We are sisters who twisted ourselves into knots for too long and no, we’re not going to take it anymore.

Look at who is at the forefront of this movement – Tarana Burke, Alyssa Milano, Rose McGowan, Ashley Judd, Mira Sorvino, Salma Hayek, even Gwennyth Paltrow. These are all Generation X women. And now, with the Time’s Up initiative, Gen X-ers Shonda Rhimes, Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Aniston have picked up the baton.

This watershed moment was kicked off by Gen X women. But I have heard nary a peep about that. In fact, on the Brian Lehrer show, there was a segment called The Generational Divide in the #MeToo Movement. It was a conversation between a Baby Boomer and a Millennial – how differently those two generations see this moment. Gen X barely got a mention throughout the hour long discussion. That’s when I knew I had to come back to this Generation X opus.

I do not think it was an accident that there was a twenty year gap between the crime and the reckoning. In part, it’s the changing of the times, sure – but it is also that women stepping into our 40s and 50s are stepping into a new power. I suspect that young women are still dismissed when they make claims today. I suspect that young attractive women are still less likely to report harassment or abuse – not because there’s something “weak” about them as I’ve heard some people say (WTF?!) but because young women are in an incredibly awkward position. They have a whole lot more to lose – they have not much career behind them and a great deal to gain in the future. Predators prey on young women precisely because of that vulnerability of position. Young women have historically had no real authority and are judged almost exclusively on their ability to be pretty and compliant. Disrupt either of those and your currency as a young woman goes down dramatically.

As we’ve seen, even just rejecting advances causes tremendous consequences – Mira Sorvino was blacklisted and had her entire career derailed because she fought off Weinstein’s advances. Rose McGowan was called crazy for years because she said something at the time. Young women are believed less than older ones. And now that the majority of the actresses who were abused in their twenties are now in their 40s and 50s, there’s nothing to lose and no reason to hide the truth anymore.

That is, Gen X women are no longer really seen as bankable young women so are now in a key position to call people on their shit.

I also don’t think the fact that many of these women are now mothers is insignificant. Every woman I know who became a mom became more fierce and stronger and determined to fight for their children to grow up in a better world. I know that that’s a  part of why my Baby Boomer mother is out resisting every day – to make the world a better place for me. And Gen X moms are fighting, not so much for themselves, as for their children. Many Gen X women waited a while to have children and are now not only entering their power years, but are entering their power years with the ferocity of young children to defend.

I think the moment that this movement will really soar is when all the Dads join in, too. Some are already on it. But, at the moment, men are mostly still leaving the heavy lifting of social change to the women. While women addressed #MeToo and #TimesUp at the Golden Globes, the extent of participation from men at that ceremony was to wear a button.

Gen X women kicked this off and while I don’t want to see us left out of the conversation, it is my hope that the cause gets lifted up by all genders from all generations so that Gen X won’t have to keep this movement afloat by ourselves. We’re good at going it alone but change works better with everyone involved.

In part, I think Gen X women are leading this movement because, at our age, we are suddenly confronted with, not only the sexism we’ve endured for decades, but also ageism. The culture wants to put us out to pasture and Gen X is just not having it. We won’t accept invisibility. We won’t accept things the way they’ve always been. Suddenly our ability to call bullshit is coming in very handy.We’re not going to take it anymore. Time’s Up.

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How I Learned to Be a Savvier Voter
December 3, 2017, 1:31 am
Filed under: resistance, Social Media | Tags: , , , , ,

The first thing I heard about the Constitutional Convention Proposal in New York State was this:

New York friends, please be aware that on Election Day(11/7), the back of the ballot will have a referendum to vote on a NY Constitutional Conference, or, “Con Con.” It’s a raw deal! It’s very expensive, your legislature and representatives would be paid double their current salary, and all public employees (teachers, police officers, firemen, librarians ,city and state, etc) stand to lose a great deal.
You have to turn the ballot OVER to vote. If you don’t vote, it won’t cancel the yes votes and would cost taxpayers a crapload of money$$$$$.
If you love public service employees, city and state, please vote NO!!!! And copy and paste to pass this on.
This vote is Cuomo’ s attempt to takeaway parts of your pension whether you are working or retired. He refused to put it on the front. So turn it over and vote no.

It sounded terrible. And it lined up exactly with my views – yes! Those corrupt guys in Albany WOULD do something sneaky and we could lose all our rights! It’s exactly what I feared would come next – like the precursor of the Gestapo’s boots. But I’ve heard about the fake news situation and I know Bad Actors are out there trying to spin things – so I did due diligence, folks. I clicked on the link and watched the video from the coalition for No and it featured a lot of groups I like – the New York Teachers Union, for example. So I thought, “Yeah, seems legit.” And then I shared the post on Facebook, pretty proud of myself for having clicked around a little bit before kneejerk sharing.

Then, the next day, my friend mentioned the segment he’d heard about this proposal on the Brian Lehrer show and it made him ask, “Who’s FOR it? If the unions are all against, who is advocating for it?” And the answer seemed to be no one, really. The argument seemed to be between progressives – and no one was paying to trigger a yes vote. This was a question I had not thought to ask. I just assumed what I’d read was true and the proposal was sponsored by the bad guys. But the further we dug, the more those kinds of answers were illusive.

Then I learned about the history of the New York constitutional convention and how it works. It’s built into the state’s system that every twenty years, New Yorkers can vote on whether or not to have a constitutional convention. The proposal on the ballot was happening because it had been twenty years since the last vote. No shady back door dealings. It wasn’t being hidden on the back of the ballot to trick us. It’s just a thing that happens every twenty years. Like – a china/platinum 20th anniversary party. There’s nothing particularly nefarious about it. It’s just a question, a way to take our legislative temperature that Thomas Jefferson suggested. That’s it. And I was mad that something so procedural had been sold to me as an attempt to trick me. I’d been tricked about being tricked. And I will tell you that I do not like to be tricked. That kind of thing makes me mad. And I realized that they’d gotten away with this trick by capitalizing on my (and many people’s) tendency to reduce things to the simplest answer.

This year I’ve had to pay attention to politics in a way that I never have before. I’d really rather not. I’d rather make my art and never read the news – but I don’t have that luxury anymore. I have to pay attention. And I HAVE been. But I realize now that I am still vulnerable to misinformation – so through this – I’ve learned some things to look for.

This isn’t really about the Constitutional Convention; I’m sure this same lesson might have been learned on another issue or candidate. But I want to take you through my experience so you can avoid the traps that I fell into.

FIRST QUESTION I have now about something like this proposal: Who is paying for the campaign?

In this case, unions paid millions of dollars to encourage people to vote no. No real bad guys here. But what about the Yes Campaign? Um. There wasn’t one, per se. There were a few progressive groups that got behind it as well as the New York State Bar Association. The League of Women Voters was in support. But no one was funding a campaign. I didn’t see a single Yes flyer in all of NYC in the weeks before the election. Not one. I saw some sweet homemade videos and some super geeky academic analysis but no one was funding a yes campaign. Meanwhile, there was a giant “No” magnet stuck on the mailboxes of our apartment building.

SECOND QUESTION to ask: Where did this proposal/bill/petition originate?
This one was an automatic ballot proposal triggered by time.
A separate proposal about the Adirondacks came from the small towns who were unable to repair their bridges without going ten feet into protected land. Every environmental group in the state supported it but it almost doesn’t pass just because no one was out there educating folks about it.

THIRD QUESTION: Who has the information?
You know who wasn’t explaining how the “Con-Con” would work? Everyone advocating “No.” I saw a lot of “protect our pensions” and “Don’t risk it!” but I didn’t see any – “It works like this – so vote no.”

The only people really explaining were journalists and every single “yes” advocate.

There was a huge imbalance of information.

FOURTH QUESTION: What is the campaign trying to make me feel?
The No campaign suggested I feel afraid – unwilling to risk our current system. The folks I watched and listened to on the “yes” side were aiming for a “yes we can.” One advocate was ebullient about the possibilities of addressing systemic racism. One article I read suggested deciding how to vote based on your personality. Willing to take risks? Yes. Needing security? No.

I learned from my experience with this ballot proposal that I need to be a savvier voter than I have been. I have become aware of my own desire for easy answers. (Oh, the Unions are for it? Then so am I!) I learned how few people really took the time to look at this question. And also how once people have taken a side they can kind of be jerks. The day after the election when the constitutional convention failed with more than 80% voting no – someone responded to my tweet from the previous day in support of the convention with a dismissive comment. The election was over. “Yes” had lost, soundly, and yet someone had taken the time to respond, like a jerk, to the losing opinion.

Now – I want to just pause here and say, I fully understand why a person would have wanted to vote no to this question. There is, built into the question, a level of re-examination of our democracy that not everyone is into. If you weren’t feeling it, I totally get it. It’s a hard time to have faith in voters. I get it 100%.

But I am disappointed in the knee jerk jerkiness that paints every yes voter as an agent of the corruption in Albany. That’s not the case. Everyone I know who voted “Yes” are advocates for democracy. They were incredibly well informed and they ranged from law experts to activists for women, people of color, LGBTQ folks, people with disabilities and economic justice. The video of these two women answering questions about the convention was the highlight of the election season for me.

But no one paid for a Yes campaign and so most New Yorkers voted No. Which would have been fine with me if it had been a fair fight. But since it wasn’t it made me a little sad. (Not nearly as sad as the situation in Washington right now, obviously, but still sad.)

I emerged from the experience, especially when the news was so good in so many places on the same election day, wiser and more vigilant with a set of questions to ask. And if I’m still here in twenty years when the convention question comes up again, I’ll be curious to see what happens, to see if we’ll have found more complex ways to look at complex questions. At the very least, I am more aware of my own impulse to go with the herd, to accept easy answers and not do my own investigating. I will be a better voter for having had this experience and so I am grateful for it.

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You Had One Job, Man

I will preface what I am about to tell you with the fact that I spent much of the evening before this day wading in the mucky pool of the aftermath of the news about Louis CK. While stand-up comedy is not technically my field, it is a sister field and therefore painfully close. So I began my day still marinating in both the horrors and the hope of this world laid bare and I felt pretty ready to tear it all down. But that’s not what I want to talk about. Just read Laurie Penny or KatyKatiKate or Laurie Kilmartin if you want to talk about it amongst yourselves.

What I want to talk about is this incredibly weird moment in an incredibly weird alumni lunch I was a part of. In the middle of the lunch, a tall middle-aged man stood up at the mic and proclaimed that he did not have his glasses and was going to mispronounce everyone’s names. His job was to point out the various alumni volunteers so that students could find us. This job should have taken two minutes. He had maybe 17 names to read. And this reading of the names took, what with the hemming and hawing and the “oh, you see I need my glasses” and the repetition of needless instructions, probably ten minutes. The man had ONE VERY EASY JOB and he was appallingly bad at it.

And you know, in some contexts, I could be very forgiving of such incompetence. If we were at a senior center, for example, I’d not have given it a second thought. But it’s 2017 and the world is run by incompetent men who have gotten away with terrible things and stupid things and I have zero patience with any old white man who has power over women. There was, at this event, a staff of incredibly capable women standing to the side, watching this moment and wanting (I imagined) to jump in and help the car wreck in front of them but unable to because this guy has a fancy title. He’s the President of the Alumni Association. So a room full of people just quietly sat there (well, truthfully I didn’t sit quietly – I cracked jokes to the student next to me) while a buffoon rambled on. ONE JOB, man. YOU HAD ONE JOB.

Listen, I sympathize with missing glasses (I need them too) but I can come up with six ways to solve this problem that would not have involved putting a room full of (mostly) women through that terrible show. And anyone who has had to fight their way into a room would do the same. And I know that my fury about this is out of proportion with the offense. I spent a day trying to unpack why this event made me, at dinner that night, want to disembowel the air with my chopsticks. And I don’t yet have an easy answer.

Here are some factors that seemed to be driving my violent chopstick impulses:
1) I’m furious in general. I have been enraged for over a year now and it only gets worse the longer this political disaster goes on.
2) This particular mediocre white man has pushed my buttons before when he advocated for the Board of the College in cutting my beloved Florence program. (More about that here.) That corporate sucking up is antithetical to what I valued about my college experience. So yeah. I’m not inclined to think of him favorably. Also I saw a little clip of him speaking at graduation wherein he said something like, “Either Key or Peele went here, I can never remember which.” – a comment I found so shockingly racist, I gasped and had to stop the video. I mean…so yeah. He pushes my buttons.
3) That a mediocre white man is representing a college that is mostly women is not an insignificant factor. And I am suddenly aware that there may have been elections for this alumni board that I have likely ignored and here is yet another area of my world where not paying attention has led to circumstances not to my liking. This guy is the President (of the alumni board) because he wanted to be and believed he could do it and because most of us have other things to worry about. So now, I’m pissed because I’m thinking, “Do I have to run for the alumni board now? My god, I do not want to. All I really want to do is make art. I don’t want to tweet and make calls to congress. I don’t want to sign petitions and campaign for people and write postcards. And I don’t want to be President of the Alumni Board of my alma mater nor do I have the resources to do such a thing. Because here’s the thing – I’m an artist, a struggling one, in case you hadn’t worked that out by the name of the blog, and you know, it cost me $16.50 to go up to the college and a whole day to try and be helpful and I really don’t have $16.50 to spare and a decent lunch might have made it feel worth it but a sandwich and a bag of potato chips ain’t really doing the trick. So it’s like, the people who volunteer for these sorts of positions like president or board member have something to get out of them and resources to spare. And they’re the sorts of people who make their forgetting of their glasses the problem of a whole room of people.”
4) I am not feeling logical or temperate anymore. I am having an Unforgiving Minute, as Laurie Penny beautifully put it. I have made excuses for, apologized to and made space for men to be right for too damn long and I will rage about the smallest infraction. I was nice and accommodating for forty years but time’s up and I’m done.
5) Sorry. No, I’m not sorry. But you know probably this guy is perfectly nice and pleasant to talk to at parties but I’m sorry – no, I’m not sorry, I don’t want this guy’s head on a platter, I just want the career I don’t have because incompetent overly confident mediocre white dudes blustered their way into gigs that more qualified people should have had. And this guy is now just a symbol of the ego-inflated oversize mediocre white dude balloon hanging over the world and all I want to do is stick a pin in it anywhere I can. So, I’m sorry. No, I’m not sorry. I’m done being sorry.

6) Like Rebecca Traister talked about in her article about the current moment – I’m also waiting for the backlash. As a woman who was writing about sexual harassment and sexism before it was trending, I know the backlash is coming and I’m bracing for it even while half hoping that this article in Time about women having reached a critical mass in all these fields is right and maybe no backlash is coming but really I’m still bracing for the terrible ugly backlash just in case and I think that makes me a bit tense, you know – so one incompetent asshole who could have just turned over the reading to someone who had their glasses or bothered to ask how people pronounced their names ahead of time or written names in a size he could read just gets right under my skin. It’s like a small scale diversary/diversity moment happening right in front of me.

So it’s obviously all really simple and stuff and I guess chopstick air evisceration is logical given the swirl of feelings. And for me that rage is relatively new. I will confess that my socialization as a feminine creature was so intense that I literally thought I could not feel anger until I was in my mid-twenties. In my early years of acting, I got nervous when I had to play characters who got angry because I worried that I had no capacity for rage. Those years are over and perhaps I’m just making up for lost time. I’m angry now about all those things I pushed away and smiled about instead of kicking over – so now I will rage about the littlest things. From a stupid speech to a shitty radio show, I know how to rage now and I can feel how much more productive it can be than pushing things aside or making excuses for stupid behavior. Not that there won’t be consequence for my rage and I’m worried about those, too because – come on, man. Just…I don’t know…bring your glasses next time and get on with it. Also, I’d like to know when the alumni board elections are. I’m paying attention now and I use my power to vote at every chance I get. And I rage.

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Why I Am Indebted to Charmed (Yes, the TV Show)

Whenever I hear The Smiths’ “How Soon Is Now” I go back in time. Not to when I used to listen to The Smiths in college but to the song’s time as the theme song for Charmed, my favorite guilty pleasure TV show of the late 90s and early 2000s. I was embarrassed by how much I loved Charmed. The women’s outfits were ridiculously classic WB silliness (really? You’re going to fight evil in those shoes, in that dress?!) and the plots tended to get pretty soapy but damned if I didn’t love watching three witchy sisters (the Charmed Ones) fighting dark forces while also trying to maintain businesses and appearances of normality.

And I soon discovered that two of my dearest friends were also charmed by Charmed. Those two friends and I started watching the show together and (I think, not incidentally) we also started a theatre company together. We were a three woman team and I think we got a lot of strength from regularly watching a three woman team of witches. The Power of Three was real for us. Charmed helped us feel charmed even if we didn’t have a magical Book of Shadows. I think our company’s existence is wrapped up in the Charmed Ones.

I wanted to tell you about this now because it feels to me as though witches in general are having a bit of a moment and two of the actors who played the witches on Charmed have become powerful voices in the movement for justice for women. I don’t think this is an accident, actually. I think that embodying powerful women, even if that power is fictional, helps show you that you do have power, even if it isn’t actual magic. I think the feeling of pushing back “evil spirits” teaches you how to push back on more pedestrian evil, the kind of evil most of us run into every day.

Once you know what it feels like to shoot magic fire from your hands, I think it is hard to go back into hiding. I’m not saying Alyssa Milano and Rose McGowan are activists for women because they once played witches on TV. I mean maybe they are but I think they probably had that strength in them in the first place, which helped them get those parts as Charmed Ones. (Also, to my knowledge, Tarana Burke never played a witch and she is the originator of the #MeToo campaign and is so badass.)

Of course witches are not the only way to access feminine power – but it does seem like witches are the primary way we culturally will allow women power. This goes way back, of course. And the impulse to burn witches is directly related to the impulse to limit women’s power. The sign at the Women’s March that made me cry the hardest was the “We are the Granddaughters of the Witches You Failed to Burn.”

Witchcraft is growing like hotcakes right about now. Like, there are hexes and spells and gatherings to push back the patriarchal horrors growing around us all the time. That’s a thing that people are actually doing. I love it. I don’t really BELIEVE in it – but anything that makes women feel powerful in a world that tells us we are not is A-OKAY with me.

Back in January, I was invited to a participate in a photo shoot and asked to say when I felt powerful and it took me forever to find an answer. I could not think of a single instance in which I had the thought “I feel powerful.” I could think of a dozen other sort of empowering things I have felt but I couldn’t think of when I felt actually powerful. It felt entirely out of my wheelhouse.

But it occurs to me now that I felt powerful in my Charmed years. That I felt powerful with two sisters by my side, practicing theatre magic, believing I was casting spells of art. It felt good to feel witchy, to feel like Charmed ones. Just recently, I cackled with glee, like full witchy cackled, when I read Lindy West’s article about Weinstein and Allen, et al and she said, “Yes this is a witch hunt. I’m a witch and I’m hunting you.”

In real life, we watch our powerful women get attacked in a multitude of ways. We watch women lose so often. Our victories are small – Rep. Maxine Waters’ “Reclaiming My Time” is about the top of what we can dream of. We watch the Women’s March organizers bring together a record breaking group of women in January but then we watch them get arrested at Trump Tower in NYC. We watched Hillary Rodham Clinton get the historic nomination but then had to watch her eviscerated by the media and painfully lose to a ridiculous man.

So we need our witches. We need to see women who can win. Every time. We need to pretend to be them and know what it feels like to win so we can keep winning. We need our Charmed, even if it might be a little silly.

Some of the lyrics from “How Soon Is Now?” that were in the titles of Charmed were “I am the sun and the air” and “I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does.” And now that I think about it, it’s actually one of the sweetly potent parts about Charmed. It was three exceptionally powerful witches (the sun and air) but they got to be human (just like everybody else does.) They dated or got married, or slept around and just generally had a fun human time while fighting the forces of evil with their magic. The charm of Charmed was being both witch and human, both powerful and woman.

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And a little coda to this post: As many of you know, I record an audio version of this blog via my podcast. At the end of (almost) every post, I include a song. For this one, it was obvious that I needed to do “How Soon Is Now?” so I looked up the lyrics/chords to start learning it and had a funny revelation. The lyric is not “I am the sun and the air;” it is “I am the son and the heir.”  All these years, I was sure it was the sun and air and it’s the son and heir. What I thought was a sort of pagan animistic declaration is, in fact, a lineage of male-ness. Hilarious.

But I think the show’s title sequence is edited in such a way to suggest the more pagan reading of those words. For example, on the word, “sun/son” a much brighter shot appears in the titles, like a light turning on and moments before “air/heir” a candle is lit. So, on a show about the witchy power of women, the theme song takes on a different meaning. That is, Morrissey may be the son and heir but the Charmed Ones are the sun and air.

You can help me access my power

by becoming my patron on Patreon.

Click HERE to Check out my Patreon Page

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This blog is also a Podcast. You can find it on iTunes. If you’d like to listen to me read a previous blog on Soundcloud, click here.screen-shot-2017-01-10-at-1-33-28-am

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Writing on the internet is a little bit like busking on the street. This is the part where I pass the hat. If you liked the blog and would like to give a dollar (or more!) put it in the PayPal digital hat. https://www.paypal.me/strugglingartist

 



I mean, Me too, of course. But this is it, right?
October 16, 2017, 7:07 pm
Filed under: feminism, resistance | Tags: , , , , ,

Sunday evening, after an intensive weekend of teaching – a weekend of showing up in one of my professional guises and remembering – “Oh yeah! I’m pretty accomplished actually. It is gratifying to be able to pass on my expertise!” – I came home, opened up my social media and fell into a river of “Me, too.” My sense of professional accomplishment faded away and suddenly, again, I was in the midst of a conversation about sexual harassment and assault. And I saw women I love who had just opened shows, or just had babies, or just gotten married or were celebrating their honeymoons and in the midst of their celebration, they found themselves, too, in that river. Wedding photos and “Me, too” sit side by side in their profile. That’s going to be forever. And that sucks forever.

And I’m of so many minds about all this. On one hand, I felt a little glimmer of hope. I thought, maybe THIS TIME, maybe this wave will finally topple the patriarchy! Maybe all we needed was for thousands upon thousands of women to come forward and share that it’s all of us. That would be super great. And if that’s what’s about to happen – I am HERE FOR THAT. I will “Me, too” up and down all over the town if I knew for a fact that this was the tidal wave that changed the world.

But I am skeptical, y’all. See, we’ve done this before. Recently. Just about a year ago. In the wake of the shitty audio of Billy Bush laughing along to reality show star, D. Trump, tons of women shared their stories of when some jerk assaulted them. And what happened? Some of those ladies voted for him for President anyway. Previously, we went down this road with #YesAllWomen. Remember this? We laid out the shitty ways women negotiate with the rape culture, the harassment, the unsafe conditions for us out in the world. Anyway – we dug into our past, we thought it might help, that maybe, just maybe the numbers would convince the fish that there was water and we were all wet. But you know, #NotAllMen…so…

So I’m not counting my Me Too chickens here. Because what happens when we do this – for a lot of us – is that we go through our past to find these moments and sometimes that means re-living them. And I find myself returning to things and thinking, “Yes, but was that assault? Does that count?” Or “Would I define that as harassment?” I didn’t at the time but now….I know better. And then suddenly I’m feeling lucky to have escaped being raped, to have been driven home instead of getting assaulted but then I feel bad because My God, I was in such vulnerable situations so often and so many of my friends didn’t escape those same kinds of situations. How I dodged so many bullets and only got grazed when I was in that war zone. And I’m trying to remember the first time someone touched me without my consent but it’s hazy and how I have blessedly forgotten so many things that are in this territory and how much it does not help me to remember them. It takes me off track. This Me Too parade has taken most of us off track. And I don’t know, y’all. I think it’s important, if it works, but at the same time – it has completely destabilized most of the women who are all that is standing between us and the harassment stew that is boiling over in the White House. The Resistance is (mostly) Female and this is a river of awful that touches all of us, of all genders – whether we say Me Too or not.

I don’t know how to negotiate with this continual re-triggering, re-visiting of our painful moments or atmosphere or memories. I’m proud that so many women are adding their voices to the chorus and mad as hell that they feel like they have to. But damn it, damn it, damn it.

Back when I was in college making feminist theatre like “Roar, the Women’s Thing!” we talked a lot about the statistic that one in three women would be raped in her lifetime. That was scary and also, very few people outside of our circle seemed to care about it at the time. That statistic has not changed. And also this likely means that one in three men will do some raping or assaulting or harassing in their lifetime. It would be nice if we could just blame the serial predators that come out in the news for all the assaults but I gotta tell ya, Weinstein, Trump and O’Reilly didn’t commit every one of those one in three. I know we’d all prefer to believe that that was the case, that we caught the one serial predator after twenty years and now he’s in rehab so we’re all safe now. But all the Me, Toos in your Timeline know that that’s not true.

I am so pissed to be writing this right now. I had so many other plans for things I was going to do today. But the river is flowing and I cannot ignore it. I peer in at it, feel the horrors and the waves of yuck and then I step back out again. I mean, me, too, of course. But I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want a like or a heart or a wow face on it. I’m not interested in having that conversation. But for my friends who do want to have that conversation, who need support, who need resources for helping, or someone to punch pillows with, I am here for you for that.

I wasn’t shocked by the Weinstein stuff. I wasn’t shocked by the Access Hollywood tape. I am not shocked by a single Me, too. I think most of us who have been paying attention to systemic sexism over the years are pretty much only shocked that suddenly people seem to care about it when it has been dismissed for so long. I keep thinking about Soraya Chemaly’s incredible article from a few years ago about how we teach kids that women are liars. If you are shocked by this stuff and you need something to do about it, that article is a great place to start. Also, this list.

And, of course, Me, Too, you know – that is, if this is really and truly the last time we do this. Once we’ve dismantled the patriarchy, let’s never do this again.

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Feeling American

Never do I feel more American than when I travel abroad. At home, my identity tends to be more specific – the city I was born in, the state I’m from, the city I live in or the borough in that city or even the neighborhood in that borough. I don’t feel American in America – partly because I have always felt so countercultural. Americans are like THIS and I am like THAT. I have tended to identify more with other cultures. I have even (unsuccessfully) tried to emigrate in order to be in places that align more closely with my interests and values. If European countries had looser immigration policies, I would have moved there long ago. But…I am American. And going abroad always helps me appreciate the good side of that, in times I’m mostly seeing the bad. I have enjoyed those moments when my Americanism becomes obvious – when my friends abroad tease me for my optimism or my accent.

During my recent trip abroad, I found myself in a new position with my European friends. American politics are in the news everywhere there. As one friend told me, the first story of every news broadcast is whatever crazy thing Trump did that day. Before any news of their own country, they get news of ours. My friend was understandably frustrated by that. Trump is happening to everyone in the world, not just to us Americans. My friends felt the need to vent about him, to imitate his speech or his mannerisms. They are laughing about the horrors they’re seeing and they want to laugh with me, their American friend.

The thing is, though, I’m not finding the current political situation funny. It is not amusing to hear imitation after imitation of the man who makes my skin crawl, to hear his faults listed and marveled at and analyzed – as if he were just a character in a play. To me, it feels as though 45 or Lil Donnie T or He Who Must Not Be Named (see why here…) is an arsonist who has set fire to my house and is blithely watching it burn. Every time someone imitates his speech or his gestures, it’s like looking at another face of the person who traumatized me. Objectively, I understand that he’s funny (or maybe more precisely – buffoonish and ridiculous) but emotionally, it’s horrifying.

I’m from here. I live here. My house, my America, however embarrassing it can sometimes be, is mine. Having this house, this America, was something that I could always rely on in the past. I had a certain amount of privilege in that house and others could not rely on it as much – but there were certain things we expected to remain. I grew up with a relatively stable government and a kind of classic American optimism that justice would prevail, even when all evidence pointed to the contrary. It wasn’t a perfect house but it was mine and now it is on fire. Every day I do something that I hope will help put out the fire but I fully expect the place to be a pile of ash before too long. I throw a thimble full of water on the fire, next to dozens of others, all of us, hoping to put it out…but knowing that it might take much more than our water to do it.

On election night last November – I fully expected us to be in the middle of the new Third Reich by now. I was emotionally preparing for concentration camps and firing squads. I am not convinced we are free of that threat. Our issues may seem funny from a distance but here inside, we are watching a man with the ability to push a button and start a global nuclear war pick fights with everyone from kids on Twitter to world leaders who have similar access to weapons and who might be very glad to see Imperial America get its comeuppance. And if you believe that our famous checks and balances would prevent a nuclear holocaust, I would point you to this terrifying episode of Radio Lab.

We are watching what we thought was an increasingly tolerant and progressive nation become entrenched in increasing white supremacy. My seemingly peaceful hometown has become a site that white supremacist groups are targeting for their parades and rallies and celebrations. (And I would like to point out that I wrote the previous sentence back in July, before the Nazis showed up.) Even NYC, which, we who live here think of as a bastion of tolerance and diversity, has seen a disturbing trend of hate crimes. SPLC reports that hate groups have risen dramatically.

From where I’m standing, America is on fire and it will be ashes before too long if we can’t stop it. “Is there any hope?” my European friends ask. Sure. Yes. I guess. Every day a new batch of amazing people throw water on the fire. The resistance is persistent and powerful and fighting like hell. If you want to watch some extraordinary fire fighters in the middle of the government, follow Representative Maxine Waters, Representative Ted Liu, Senator Kamala Harris, Senator Elizabeth Warren. There is perhaps some hope that our Checks and Balances will find a way to check this fire. The on-going Russian investigation, the increasing calls for Impeachment, the way one Republican Congressman described how he could not go anywhere without women getting up in his grill…there are drops of hope and maybe all the drops will eventually put on the fire.

But meanwhile, please remember that our house is on fire and most of us are just barely keeping it together.

We need your help. Especially those of you who have lived through repressive regimes, through corrupt governments. You could be forgiven for just wanting to laugh at us, for just wanting to enjoy the schadenfreude of watching a nation that has been acting a bit too big for its britches finally get a comeuppance. America was probably due a reckoning given the way our governments have tended to go about the world like we owned the place – but remember that you have friends who were as dismayed by that, then, as you were. Perhaps more. It may be pleasurable to watch some madman set fire to the gaudy mansion on the hill – but remember that there are people inside, burning. People are dying now. Literally. We need the wisdom of the past so we do not end up repeating it. As Americans we have enjoyed an incredible amount of freedom and privilege before now and some of us were not prepared for the revocations of any of those things.

I learned, not long ago, about David Goodhart’s idea that culture is dividing into two worldviews – people from anywhere and people from somewhere. He defines Anywheres as mobile, educated, autonomous, open and fluid. Somewheres are more rooted, less well educated and value group attachments, familiarity and security. It is his explanation for Brexit in the UK. It also makes sense for our American situation. And I am very much an Anywhere. One thing that this burning-house-feeling has done for me, as an American Anywhere, is to make me feel my American-ness as acutely as I do when I’m abroad. I feel simultaneously more American than I have ever felt before and also deeply alienated from it. In the chaos, my sense of my Anywhere-ness has led me to become more of a Somewhere. When my hometown was attacked, I felt more from there. As my country struggles, I feel more from here. This year has made me feel as American as I feel when I’m away. It is a curious shift from being so firmly in the Anywhere camp to suddenly identifying with my Somewheres.

I am American, for good and ill. But I am from somewhere. And it’s here. While there is still a here to be from, I am from here.

You can help this American

Becoming my patron on Patreon.

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This blog is also a Podcast. You can find it on iTunes. If you’d like to listen to me read a previous blog on Soundcloud, click here. And I usually sing at the end, if you want to hear that.screen-shot-2017-01-10-at-1-33-28-am

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Writing on the internet is a little bit like busking on the street. If you liked the blog and want to support it but aren’t quite ready for patronage on Patreon, You can tip me a dollar (or more!) put it in the PayPal digital hat. https://www.paypal.me/strugglingartist




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