Thursday Short Poem: Wallach’s “When You Come…”

Yona Wallach is a controversial and challenging Israeli poet; many of her poems have a strongly sexual theme. This is one of her more restrained pieces.

When you come to sleep with me come like my father

When you come to sleep with me
come like my father
come in darkness

speak in his voice
so I won’t know
I’ll crawl on all fours
and I’ll speak about what I don’t have
and you’ll scold me:
“my material”
separate from me
at the gate
say goodbye
a thousand times
with all the yearnings
that are
until God says:
“enough”
and I’ll let go
I won’t sleep
not with God
not with my father
suddenly you’ll be revealed
as the one in charge of
the restraints
my father will be an angel
minister of hosts
and the two of you will try to make
something of me
I will feel
like nothing
and I will do everything
you tell me to do.
On the one hand you will be God
and I’ll wait for afterwards
you won’t be the authority
and I just down and out
trying to be polite
I’ll divide you in two
and also myself
part soul
part body
you will appear like two
and so will I
like two sea lions
one wounded dragging a fin
or two women
one always limping
and you one face
and the other hardly seen.

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The most elegant egghead: of Obama’s new masculine paradigm

One of my former students, knowing that I’m once again teaching my “Men, Masculinity, and the American Tradition” course this semester, asked me if I had any thoughts on Barack Obama as masculine archetype/role model. I replied that I’d have a lot more to say in a couple of years, but would offer at least some preliminary thoughts now. After all, the president has been in the public spotlight for several years, and for the past eighteen months or so, has been perhaps the most visible man in America — and indeed the world. I followed his campaign, read his wonderful first book (but not the follow-up), so I ought to be able to write something. Indeed, the very nature of his extraordinary celebrity has made me reluctant to do so until now, perhaps fearing that I’d be treading on too popular a path.

Michael Kimmel, our pre-eminent historian of American masculinity, points out that “manhood” has been a defining issue for presidents since at least 1828, when the hyper-macho war hero Andrew Jackson posited himself as the “one who could fight” against the effete incumbent, John Quincy Adams, the “one who could write.” That dynamic would show up again and again in American history, even as recently as 2004 with the Bush and Kerry campaigns. It’s worth pointing out again that from the beginning, these campaigns have always been about perception: the real war heroes tend to lose to those candidates who had less military service, perhaps because those who didn’t actually fight tend to over-compensate with bellicosity. (Think of McGovern, a war hero, being beaten by Nixon, who was anything but; or Kerry and Bush).

Andrew Jackson scornfully called John Quincy Adams a “professor”, and called himself a “plowman.” Invoking the so-called heroic artisan ideal, Jackson introduced into the American discourse a contempt for intellectual sophistication that has survived, lamentably, for nearly two centuries. Think of the anti-intellectual derision directed at Adlai Stevenson, a so-called “egghead”, or at the cerebral Michael Dukakis, who refused to abandon his thoughtfulness when asked how he would respond to the murder of his wife. Think even of this most recent campaign, when in the minds of some of her strongest defenders, Sarah Palin’s lack of intellectual sophistication was seen as an asset rather than a defect. “It took her six years to get through the University of Idaho? Well, that shows she was well-rounded rather than just a grade-grubbing grind.” (A conservative friend of mine actually said that. My jaw hit my breastbone.)

Often, men who have run for high office have gone to great lengths to appear more as “one who can fight”, hoping to be seen as a Jackson rather than a Quincy Adams. Think of Michael Dukakis’ unfortunate decision to be seen driving a tank. Or, more sinisterly, think of Bill Clinton making a special trip home to Arkansas during the 1992 campaign in order to sign the death warrant for a mentally disabled man; the draft-dodger needed to bump up his “tough guy” credentials, and signing an execution order was the next best thing to pulling a trigger. Of course, one might think of George W. Bush mysteriously reinventing himself with a West Texas accent, deliberately losing the clipped cadences of his privileged heritage. Rather than deny that he had been a mediocre student, Bush celebrated it as evidence that he was a “regular guy”, rough-and-tumble and full of hearty masculine fun rather than a thoughtful, reflective, intellectually curious person.

And into this rather depressing American legacy comes one Barack Hussein Obama, he of the unusual name, the unusual heritage, and the absolute absence of fear of being labelled the smartest guy in the room. I am thrilled that America has a black president, of course. But I am even more thrilled that we have a man who not only has extraordinary intellectual gifts, but who is utterly unafraid to display them. Barack Obama was not only a community organizer, he was the chief of the Harvard Law Review and a professor at the University of Chicago. While Democratic candidates before him would have felt compelled to downplay their erudition, Obama bravely and rightly used his considerable academic credentials as part of his resume for the presidency. Though he didn’t say “Elect me because I’m better educated than my opponent”, he never betrayed even the slightest hint of embarrassment about his intellectual background. Continue reading

A little ER visit

First off, I’m feeling fine this morning.

But I didn’t feel so fine yesterday afternoon, when I fainted — twice, in rapid succession — in our bedroom at home. I was standing at my dresser, pulling out my running gear, when I felt woozy; the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, listening to my wife’s worried voice call my name. Not wanting to make her overly anxious, I bounced back up too quickly, and tumbled down again.

My mother-in-law drove me to Huntington Hospital, where I spent six hours in the Emergency Room, awaiting and then receiving treatment. I was dehydrated with low blood sugar, and though my pulse was where a runner’s should be (hovering around 40), my pressure was much higher than normal. The doctor considered me to be afflicted with stress, lack of sleep, and too much caffeine (and not enough water). I was pumped full of a litre of fluid, patted on the head, and sent home.

With a newborn and other obligations, getting uninterrrupted sleep is not realistic now. With my teaching duties, caffeine is essential. But I can follow the general rule of drinking more water than I drink caffeine –for each ounce of the latter, two ounces of the former. I’ve got a roomy bladder, thank goodness. And I’ll try and eat more regularly. To be honest, my anxiety about gaining weight (as a result of not being able to work out nearly as much thanks to the coming of the blessed baby girl) has left me cutting my calories.

Lots of lessons in here, chief among them the paramount importance of self-care. In so many areas, I’m good at matching my language and my life. But that addictive personality, tinged even now with the neurotic desire to always be in motion, always connected, means that I can run myself ragged to the detriment not only of myself but also of my growing little family. For someone who wants to see an awakening of healthy masculinity in this country, my own penchant for workaholism is hardly an encouraging character trait.

So, more water, more rest, less multi-tasking. Continue reading

More on Facebook and social influence

As I wrote a few days ago, I’m easing into the Twitter thing, though with little of the enthusiasm so far I have for Facebook. The latter site has been a surprising joy, not least because it has reconnected me with so many friends from my high school and college days. It’s nice to see how others have turned out, and frankly, nice for me to show some of my old friends that I turned out okay. A lot of those folks who knew me in the ’80s and ’90s weren’t sure I’d make it to forty, much less be alive and happy and settled and a Dad. I’m glad to be able to let them know that by grace and therapy and stubbornness, I pulled right on through.

In any case, I have something like 1300 friends on Facebook these days. Perhaps 500 or so are students (current and former) at PCC, the rest are friends and relatives acquaintances from other walks of life. Perhaps 150 or so are people whom I’ve never met — but whom I “know” through blogging or through animal rights activism.

In addition to the chance to reconnect and stay connected (something my ENFP self likes very much), I appreciate the platform Facebook gives its users. When I post a link (such as the Heather Corinna piece on older boyfriends two posts belows this one), it shows up in the newsfeeds of all my friends. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of my friends then click on the link. Many of my Facebook friends don’t read my blog regularly, as visiting blog sites is too taxing. Popping my links and status updates in their “news feeds” on Facebook enables me to share content and ideas in a way that allows my friends to see what I’m up to (and what I think they should read) without requiring them to be active followers of my writing. They then have a chance to repost the link, and as the kids say these days “the content goes viral.”

From an activist standpoint (and I consider myself an activist), modern technology (Twitter, Facebook, etcetera) offers new platforms for reaching large numbers of people. Those of us who have a higher profile (in my case, because I’ve been blogging for so long and teaching for far longer) can thus leverage our “friends” and “followers” in the hopes of driving the discussion in the direction we’d like to see it go.

One goal of social networking is to stay in touch. Another, for some people, is to find job, relationship, or hook-up opportunities. And for me, one particularly happy goal of using social networking is nudging friends and associates towards certain sites, possibilities, ideas that I think valuable. After all, in this world we “buy” into other people first and foremost. And once we’ve bought into someone (to the extent that we are curious about their passions and interests,) we can be encouraged to follow them down at least some of the paths they choose to take.

I make no secret of my veganism, my social liberalism, my passion for fashion, my strong Christian faith, and above all else but the last of these, my feminism. Few if any of my friends and acquaintances will share each of those interests — but if I leverage my standing as a teacher and a blogger and a minor public figure through Facebook and Twitter to carry out the Great Commission of bringing folks towards these passions, then I think I’m doing something valuable.

(Many new ideas have come to me from my Facebook friends as well — the teacher can be taught, as it should be.)

And besides, it’s fun.

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More linkage: Magical thinking and unplanned pregnancy, a new report

Since I’m in a linky mode today, let me direct readers to a PDF file (cap tap to Kate D.) from the good people at the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy. Entitled Magical Thinking: Young Adults’ Attitudes and Beliefs about Sex, Contraception, and Unplanned Pregnancy, it takes a detailed look at some of the issues that came up in these two posts last year.

The study looks at young adults, whom the National Campaign defines as 18-29 year olds. These aren’t minors, and yet the fatalistic attitude towards pregnancy which we often associated with younger folks is all-too-prevalent among those who surely ought to fall into the “old enough to know better” category.

A note on the National Campaign: its chair is Thomas Kean, the Republican politician who served on the 9/11 commission. Yes, Virginia, there are pro-choice Republicans who are passionately committed to women’s rights and environmental causes. Tom Kean is a good lad, and he’s a fine ally on at least some issues. Would that more in his party were of his caliber and of his views.

Heather Corinna on “your older boyfriend”

The splendid sex educator Heather Corinna put up a terrific post at Scarleteen on Saturday: Why I Deeply Dislike Your Older Boyfriend. It dovetails very nicely with the ongoing discussion here about older men and younger women relationships, and Corinna writes from the particularly vital perspective of someone who works as closely — if not more so — with young people as I do. She also acknowledges that though rare, healthy age-disparate relationships can and do exist. Here’s my favorite bit of raw truth:

Some of why he’s choosing to be with someone who is not closer to his same age, nearer to his same place in life is so that he doesn’t have to change. The way he acts and the things he does might hurt you, and your age difference and the dynamics being played out in all that may well be doing you real harm. But, the thing is, in order for him to change he’d have to want to do that work, and to want to do that work, he’d have to care at least as much about you as he cares about himself. And chances are good that he just plain doesn’t. I know that hurts like hell, but I also know that so much of why it hurts is because you’re still trying to get blood from a stone rather than kicking the empty rock that he is aside and saving your love for the care of someone who earnestly wants to care for it. They’re out there, I promise: but they are not this guy. Changing this can’t rest on him, because he’s just not going to do it.

Ties in a bit with what I wrote here.

Read the whole thing, and consider contributing to Scarleteen’s fundraising campaign. There are few worthier causes than giving young people accurate, affirming, sensible information about sexuality. And no site on the web does that better than Scarleteen. Join me in supporting their invaluable work.

Of food and sex, and how Mary Eberstadt gets both history and ethics quite wrong

Lots of folks in the right-wing blogosphere are excited about this lengthy piece by Mary Eberstadt: Is Food the New Sex? It appears on the Hoover Institution’s website as part of their “Policy Review” series, and it seems an unlikely fit for a center more associated with promoting a staunchly conservative perspective on foreign affairs than on issues like, well, food and sex. The piece got a boost in attention after George Will made it the subject of his column last week.

Eberstadt’s piece is long, and perhaps convincing to those who don’t know their history a bit better. Her basic thesis: as recently as the 1950s, Americans were resolutely non-judgmental about what they ate, and deeply conservative about with whom they had sex. In the last half-century, Eberstadt opines, that moral calculus has been reversed. We now, to be vulgar, care more about what we put in our mouths than whom. Eberstadt offers us a hypothetical “Betty”, a thirty year-old housewife from the Eisenhower era, and “Jennifer”, a thirty year-old single woman from our own time. She summarizes their views thus: Betty thinks food is a matter of taste, whereas sex is governed by universal moral law; and Jennifer thinks exactly the reverse.

Eberstadt thinks that this isn’t a good thing, and is perhaps evidence of a deep inconsistency on the part of modern men and women, at least those modern folks with the sufficient resources to be discriminating about what it is that they eat. (If you are fond of snarky remarks about vegans, the slow food movement, and others who practice ethical consumption, you’ll love this piece. Otherwise, be warned, our Mary is rather tediously middle-brow in her evident contempt for those who are deeply concerned with what we eat.)

There’s a lot wrong with Eberstadt’s piece. First of all, her history is off. She imagines the 1950s as an age blissfully unconcerned with calories and weight, and writes as if dieting emerged sometime during the Sexual Revolution of the subsequent decade. As any student of the discipline known as “body history” knows, she’s off by decades. The first diet books hit the American market at the end of the First World War, in response both to the dramatic fashion changes emerging from France (the new, slim, sleek designs of Paul Poiret, the grandfather in a convoluted way of the flapper dress) and the sudden uptick in the availability of excess food for the majority of Americans (thanks to various technological changes, refrigeration not the least important.) Eberstadt would do well to read Joan Brumberg, our pre-eminent historian of the flesh; see her Fasting Girls and The Body Project.

One of the things about the 1920s is the emergence of what we might call the “moral language of food.” For the first time, as Brumberg’s exhaustive study of girls’ diaries has shown, young women begin to use words like “good” and “bad” to describe their eating habits. It’s in the 1920s, and no later, that we see the emergence of phrases like “I was so bad today” (to refer to an experience of eating something fattening) or “I’ve been good all week” (to refer to having adhered to a strict diet for several days.) Of course, to be entirely fair, it’s in the 1920s that we first see a secular moral language for eating. Any medievalist knows that centuries ago, rich and flavorful foods were given up as acts of penance, and a willingness to subsist on as little as possible (Catherine of Siena is a fine example) was seen as a mark of virtue, particularly for women. For medieval Christians, a disdain for the pleasures of the table was a sign of holiness. This wasn’t just a rejection of gluttony, but of carnal joy itself. (And surely Eberstadt recognizes the double meaning of carnal, which is an ancient one.)

Eberstadt thus makes the mistake that conservatives have been making since at least the Reagan Administration: looking back fondly at the 1950s with the stunningly false assumption that that genuinely anomalous decade represented America as it had always been previously. There may indeed have been women like Eberstadt’s “Betty” running around in 1959. But there weren’t many Bettys in 1929, or 1729, or 1329. Continue reading