The OC

Why do people insist on attempting to glamorize the cultural black hole that is Orange County? Orange County is characterized most by gross wealth inequity, complete apathy to the ever-growing problem of overcrowded and dilapidated public schools, and monotonous gated communities that infringe on national wildlife reserves and create so much waste the city councils have to dump it in the same oceans that attract their minor hoards of tourists and short-term residents. Five years ago a good chunk of the Orange County coastline was shut down because it was too toxic to handle; funny enough, they were "cleaned" and opened for the tourist-heavy Labor Day weekend, then "oops we found more slime!" shut down again the day after. Thousands of tourists were frolicking in waters that made them physically ill while parking meters and beach-front hotels slowly sucked away their money, and that's exactly what the respective city councils wanted. Lovely, isn't it? I doubt we'll see that as a topic for this terrible TV show.

"The" OC. Bitch please.

OC is BS and the people aren't that off to it. The people that are moving to OC in droves do so only to buy an 800,000 dollar "starter home" in the gated communities of Huntington Beach and Irvine so that they may SELL it in ten years, make a little bit of dough, and move to some other county where they and their children may know something outside the quickly-yawn-inducing act of consuming or tanning -- unless daddy's corporate job simply relocates them, little pawns. Those families that do stay are often the few that are lucky enough to afford a home in the nichey downtown regions of Seal, Sunset, Huntington, Laguna, and Newport Beach -- most everyone else can't afford the rare cluster of some semblance of class -- whatever that is -- and are long gone in less than a decade.

Lucky them.

Orange County the Movie was a dud (and was about escaping the drudgery of Orange County, no less). I'd put money down for the failure of this show, too, but I said that about Britney Spears, so.

When other readers comment that Wurtzel is spoiled, I really want to shake them-- the aforementioned "do not do the dishes" portion is is the only part of the book I can find that would (mistakenly) lead one to that conclusion. In any case, I'd hope that the chapters about being self-sufficient and not dumping your problems on friends & family neutralize any misconceptions about Wurtzel being a spoiled brat. To me, advising people never to do something unpleasant that they can pay someone else to do does NOT make one spoiled, but smart. Ditto for spending $$ on good hairstylists. I mean, if you're smart enough to make more than the money it takes to hire a maid, why would you be dumb enough to do such work yourself?? Work an extra hour and use the $ to pay the maid for 2 hrs, rather than cleaning your own apt for 4 hrs (unless, of course, you dislike efficiency enough to sew your own clothes & grow your own food, circa 2000 B.C.!) And is walking around with orange hair really worth the money you saved by doing it yourself?

All of the above are reasons why this book is titled "Common advice..."-- the thing about common advice is that it's not at all common, as the college educated, house-cleaning, man-worshiping Miss Clairol victims show us everyday. This book is a public service! -- via a review of Radical Sanity: Commonsense Advice for Uncommon Women.

I have a few thoughts on this.

While Wurtzel's book attempts to be a direly needed kick in the rear for the hoards of young woman who have no identity or hope outside their Prozac prescriptions or pot-bingeing habits, it's nothing but a poorly written suburbanite piece of fluff that does as much harm as "good." That girls read this book &decide to join the ranks of feminism while denouncing dishes as "too beneath them" &"something other people should be hired to do" proves only how shallow, thoughtless, racist, &classist this book really is. Wurtzel's readers claim women &girls everywhere should embrace feminism &end the oppression of women everywhere &then define success as how many maids you can hire to do your dirty work for you. Yeah, it certainly is easy to be a liberated female when you have all those faceless Mexicans/blacks/poor women doing your basic household chores, right? It's really liberating womankind, right? Wrong! Gender-defined liberation cannot be had at the expense of the poorer versions of your own gender...and gender roles (esp. that archaic &gross "women belong in the kitchen" adage) can't change so long as we continue to assign working class WOMEN to clean our [mess].

There are millions of women out there who have harder things to deal with than "should I get my hair professionally dyed pink or purple?" -- there are women out there who HAVE to cook, &clean, &work, &then decide whether or not their minimum wage paycheck should be spent on a doctor's visit for their kid, food, or bus fare. This book has absolutely no qualms telling girls that liberation is had by making these poor usually non-white women clean your house/earn no respect/receive no benefits/experience no choice while you go have your feet pedicured, &it's gross. Radical Sanity is another lame &VERY unfeminist piece of trash directed at bored suburbanites everywhere who are tired of choosing between Contempo Casuals &Hot Topic &should be skipped. Read some bell hooks instead.

.

I really wish I'd rented this book before I bought it for Kim -- I could've sent that money to the desperate and good-intentioned Green Party, or something, rather Elizabeth Wurtzel's big vapid gold-lined PO Box. Live and learn, I guess.

Yesterday I was quietly reading bell hooks' feminist theory: from margin to centerin the corner of the break room, not bothering anyone, when my boss plunked down next to me and asked what I was doing. I didn't especially feel like telling him I was reading feminist theory, as I have yet to meet any boy in Southern California who doesn't visibly bristle at the word/start laying a bunch of brainwashed braindead sexist homophobic stereotypical hogwash all over me, so I told him I was jerking off to porn and would he mind letting me complete said jerking off in peace? Of course he didn't: he laughed, ha ha, grabbed the book from my hand, and examined the title.

FEMINIST THEORY, he sees; HOW TO HATE ALL MEN AND BECOME A BIG BUTCH DYKE WHO STEALS ALL THE MEN'S JOBS AND SUES ALL THE MEN FOR SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND CASTRATES ALL THE MEN WHO CROSS HER PATH IN 30 DAYS FLAT.

When he asks me why I am reading a book that hates men (I didn't know books hated men?) I informed him I was reading a book that critiqued problems within the feminist movement and was in fact making a conscious effort to not hate men, as men are oppressed and exploited via racism and classism just as much as women are exploited by sexism and racism and classism and we should be taking over the world together, not hating on each other like fools. He scowls at me and reads a page that says "Many black women refused to participate in feminist movement because they felt the anti-male stance was not a sound basis for action. They were convinced that virulent expressions of these sentiments intensify sexism by adding to the antagonism which already exists between women and men. For years black women (and some black men) had been struggling to overcome the tensions and antagonisms between black females and males that is generated by internalized racism (i.e. when the white patriarchy suggests one group has caused the oppression of the other). Black women were saying to black men, "we are not one another's enemy," "we must resist the socialization that teaches us to hate ourselves and one another." This affirmation of bonding was between black women and men was part of anti-racist struggle had white women's liberationists stressed the need for women and men to resist the sexist socialization that teaches us to hate and fear one another. They chose instead to emphasize hate...."

He grunts about the author being stupid for saying "black" so much, shuts the book, and walks away.

Next day I walk into work and am greeted with something akin to "THE MAN HATER!" Someone complains that working so early sucks, and he looks at me, sneers, and shouts "because THE MAN is trying to KEEP YOU DOWN!" I pick up a box full of clothes and move it to the other side of the room; "WHY DIDN'T YOU HELP HER, JOSE? YOU CAN'T LET GIRRRRRLS DO THE HARD WORK FOR YOU." "How's it going, she-girl? Need a little help, girl? Don't talk like that in front of the girl." I'm not quoting verbatim, because every time he opened his mouth blood rushed to my ears and I could only vaguely make out what he was saying, but it was this type of shit ALL. DAY. LONG.

It really took a lot for me to resist throwing my hot coffee on him and quitting. A LOT. The effort I exerted holding myself back left me as wiped out as an hour-long sob session. I can't even imagine how red my face was, especially considering I don't wear makeup on shipment days.

The way he's acting is seriously tearing me apart, because he is not kidding. He does not say these things with a smile on his face, and no one at work receives things with a smile on their face either. There is no humorous infection in his tone whatsoever -- I know him, I know "how" he jokes around, and these are not said lightly, and these are not meant to be taken lightly. I know am not merely being an oversensitive, whiny little girl, because the guys we work with weren't' laughing at his "jokes," either; for the first half of our shift no one said a fucking word to the other -- and I work with a bunch of hyperactive jokesters, and dead fucking silence never ever ever ever ever happens. The discomfort and tension didn't break until our boss left for a meeting with the manager -- the weary sideways glances toward one another, the meek and distant "where should I put these extra hangers?" didn't let up until the boss took his threatened and unnecessary and seriously unamusing bullshit out the fucking door.

I would like to go to our manager and say something about how uncomfortable he is making us with his remarks, but if I do it will completely justify his hatred for feminism -- I will embody the whiny little girl who likes to get men fired for harassment because he does not advocate feminism the way I do. I will prove his point. It won't matter that NO ONE thought he was funny, it will matter that I turned my supposed sniveling feminism-induced hatred for him into a pink slip. It won't be his fault because he is a big boy and he can handle political differences without antagonizing me every chance he gets, it will be my fault because I supposedly instigated this by reading my feminist book, which in and of itself seems to equate to spreading anti-male Nazi-esque propaganda and warrants all the loud condescending shit he gave me all fucking day,

I am seriously considering printing out some of this and giving it to my manager. This shit better not continue. This guy is our boss, our leader; he is supposed to be our inspiration and our guide. He is neither and needs to grow the fuck up.


*

update:

I talked to my manager and he said talk to my boss and I'm sort of not very excited to do that. What my boss was doing doesn't fit the description of harassment, but because it was of a political nature and because it upset me so much, my feelings of "whoa wait a minute" are "valid" and it does deserve me talking to the boss, demanding he calm down, and taking further action if he doesn't comply.

I guess this is nice.

It would be nicer if I had the spine to talk to my boss.

So now that I've gone through my website and deleted any images of me smoking cigarettes I best commence to deleting any images of ME in case any of my "impressionable 15-year-old" fans decide my thin thighs are license to start over-dieting, over-exercising, or otherwise harming themselves in want to be me. Best delete any and all images of my dreadlocks in case any conservative children decide to risk disownment by adopting my oh-so-radical-left-winger 'do. Best re-enroll in college and rack up another several thousand dollars in loans and interest payments in case anyone decides to do like I did and drop out of college when emotions and debts threatened to overwhelm. Best be sure my life meets every non-threatening super-PC standard there is in case some moron whose life it is not my job to be responsible for decides to be me, or more accurately some lost and forgotten and completely misconstrued teenaged version of me.

I have never labeled myself perfect -- I have only strived to be a thoughtful, concientious, and aware citizen of the planet. My life is just as trial and error as everyone else's and to expect me to be some kind of blueprint who is allowed to have no faults is absolutely ridiculous, and to discredit every single good thing I do or say because one or two or three years ago I did something contradictory is totally unfair, and whoever thinks this way needs to stop. You have issues with things I did way back when? Then you have issues.

My journal: safe haven become soapbox become babysitter?

Fuck that!

Someone sent me a gift:




How sweet!
This deserves a thank you letter.

*

Dear anonymous scumbag:

This photo was taken in May of 2002. In May of 2002 I was not anti-corporate or anti-"cool." In May of 2002 I was not widely read by "impressionable fifteen year olds." In May of 2002 I was just another narcissistic college student who smoked cigarettes and drank beer and shopped at Safeway sans heed, and this self-portrait well encompassed that.

It is April of 2003. I think corporations are bad, I think serving corporations is bad; I preach this often and I practice this as well as I can on a SCANT 75 dollar a week salary. How? I do not smoke, and when I do smoke I smoke hand-rolled organic cigarettes. I no longer purchase alcohol; when I do it is always a microbrew, and on top of that it is often organic. I no longer eat meat, because I do not want to support the meat industry. Unfortunately I am not so elite as to be able to buy groceries strictly at costly co-ops or farmer's markets, but what I do buy I buy in bulk, and fully conscious of which company or corporation I am supporting. Considering this decision to be conscious of where my money and my "vote" is going is one I made only 6 months ago, I have to say I have done a pretty swell job. I've changed my life and my habits in effort to avoid being "a big fucking hypocrite" quite a bit -- not 100%, but QUITE A BIT -- and I'd love to say the same for you, but you weren't so kind as to leave any sort of name or face to back up your big bad testament against me and those who read my journal.

Even half-attentive readers of my life, not trolling passerby such as yourself, know that my years of cigarette, alcohol, and hallucinogen consumption are a thing of my past, and that mention of them is not to glorify or advertise them, but to simply recognize their place in my life. Peruse a few of the comment pages belonging to these "impressionable" girls whose lives seem to be series of events strung together by bong-hits and bad sexual encounters -- I am not at all quiet about my absolute disgust for their habits, and I will use my own experiences as proof that it is possible to get past the idea that you can't survive without clamping your lips around/sucking desperately from this or that smokable substance. The utter stupidity of drugs as escapism and how one should and can get over it has been a subject of many journal entries; in fact, you can find two or three simply by accessing my journal, going back ONE PAGE, and scrolling down. I suggest you do this and try to put my life into a little context before you dismiss it so spinelessly.

I'm taking that image down now adding a link to this thread as sort of a disclaimer to future viewers, because I see how easy it is for stupid people to take it all the wrong way, or to think what efforts I have made to not be the girl in that image are arbitrary so long as they are not totally and completely faultless. Thank you so much for being so kind in your request I do so.

Regards,
Sarah Jeanne Lombardo