I Must Bid Thee Adieu

“In my end is my beginning.” –T.S. Eliot

Goodness, how time has flown, no? It’s the ever clichéd, “it seemed like just yesterday” comment that always stands true. Seriously, how much time has gone by and with so little thought to it? The course in itself, if I’m being honest, wasn’t too difficult. I’ve never really struggled with English, though if you’d put me in a Science class of some sort, I’d be crying at the moment from stress. However, even if I wasn’t too stressed out about the class, the lessons I’ve learned and the people I’ve met I won’t ever forget. It appears extremely nostalgic and a little “junior high graduation”; the feeling I have as I type this out. This could, of course, be because I’m graduating from AVC on Friday, but that’s all semantics, right?

I’ve been privileged enough to know Jennifer Gross for almost three years. She’s taught me and mentored me. We’ve laughed together and cried together and grown together. She is simply an astounding woman and I’m a better person for knowing her. She’s taught me a great deal, not only about literature and English, but about who I am. Who I am as a writer and as a person. I’ve learned not to be too certain of myself, but to never doubt my qualities, either. I owe a great deal to her.

Now, of course, I owe a great deal to the literature we’ve read this semester, too. Animal Farm, as it was, I’ve read several times before (there’s something so precious about politics and talking pigs that gets me every time) and I love The Great Gatsby, but going on Azar Nafisi’s journey with her girls has forever changed me (I’m forcing my best friend to read the book over the summer). As the semester comes to a close and I think back on this class and the journey I’ve taken, I can say honestly that a lot has happened to me. And, I can say with utmost honesty and pride that, like Nafisi, I’ve got through it because of literature. What’s more, I’ve pulled through because of writing as well. I’ve learned that my penned thoughts don’t always have to be liked.

It still kills me, be aware, but I’ve realized it.

I’ve learned that to write is to be (well, if you’re me, anyway). I’ve learned that the people you thought knew you sometimes don’t and the people whom others deem as “wrong” are really the best people you know. I’ve learned this through my walk with Nafisi and the other novels we’ve been given to read. I’ve changed and adapted to my surroundings and in a funny way, I can say that I myself have been reinvented through writing and literature. It’s always a wonderful thing when one goes into something one way and transforms into something completely different by its mark end. I can say I’m a stronger writer and it’s because I took this class that I can say that. I plan on keeping up with jumping into other worlds until I just can’t anymore and every tale I read I shall mark down with ink to tell the world about; these journeys I’ve embarked upon. It’s a wonderful thing to be a reader.

This Is Personal

“There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.” 

-Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

I write a lot. It’s this thing I do to let my feelings out because I’ve never been super good with telling people how I feel. Well, my true feelings, because I’m crazy loud and I’ll give you my opinion if you ask for it (and sometimes if you don’t). So, I write. And, because I write, by definition it almost seems, I’m vulnerable to let anyone read what I’ve written. It’s almost like you’re opening yourself up for everyone to inspect; pick apart.

“I don’t like this part of you; change it.”

“Oh, wow. You really feel that about this situation? That seems rather stupid of you…”

“Your writing can really use some improvement.”

Starting out in the beginning of the semester, I honestly had no inclination that I’d be sharing my writing and personal thoughts with anyone but Jenn. And, because I’m rather good friends with Jenn and have worked with her during The Vagina Monologues, I figured, “how much closer could two women get?” so she didn’t altogether bother me. But, then she mentioned blogs and people reading my stuff and suddenly my heart dropped and I felt, for a moment, like I was going to get sick. And, then the Peer Draft Reviews, which were nightmares because people picking my writing apart nearly drove me to tears. I’m crazy passionate about my writing and very protective over it.

I often joke with my one of my friends who I swear will be published in the next couple of years (he’s brilliant; not even kidding you) and he had made an offhand comment to me a couple of days ago. “Melissa, you’d sooner protect your writing than your future children.” I’d like to say that he’s wrong, but the weight of this statement alone is what got me. How could I, surely, let people read my innermost thoughts? Even though they’re highly sarcastic and very scattered, how could I? Would I dare open myself up and let people ultimately see who I am? Because, let me tell you this, ladies and gentlemen. If you’re at all curious of who I am, read my writing. I’m all there; 100% of me.

I think that my writing hasn’t much changed in this semester. I think that I have. I’ve learned that people are going to be who they are. And they can love me or hate me, but through my writing, they learn who I am. Do I still feel horribly vulnerable whenever I click “Publish Post”? Unbelievably so. I think I’ll always be just on the “crazy side” when it comes to my writing. But, I’ve learned to accept that about myself. I’ve learned that I’m a better formal writer than I thought I was, too. I’m happy that my writing hasn’t changed because it’s such a huge part of me. But, I’d like to believe that as I mature and change, so my writing does as well. I’d like to look back fifteen or twenty years from now and weep over the writer I used to be and the writer I’m going to be then. Because if there’s one thing I’m absolutely certain of the future, it’s that I’ll always be writing. If I’m living, I’m writing.

Let's Not And Say I Did

So, I haven’t started the paper at all?

I know I know, I’m a bad person who procrastinates, but not really. Well, sometimes. But, here’s my problem. I have this horrible tendency of having every single pure intention of doing homework and research and papers, but then time just goes by and I’m stuck two days before the assignment’s due with having to do the entire thing. Here’s how it happens: I’ll tell myself, “I’m so going to get ahead on this project. Seven pages? That’s it?” and then time will go by and I’ll think, “I’ve got time. I can watch an episode of Doctor Who”. Well, one episode turns into an entire series and, okay sure, I’m up-to-date with the Doctor (which is always a treasure), but it’s literally three days before the paper’s due and I haven’t done anything for it. Well, no. I’m lying. I’ve read both books for the prompt, but that’s where my grand efforts end.

The good thing about the research paper is that I’ve read The Great Gatsby at least seven times before this, so I already had a sort-of idea for the paper when I read the prompts. I was torn between Fitzgerald and Austen, but I don’t have the patience to sit through something she’s written for a research paper. I’ve discovered that I absolutely detest Jane Austen when she’s required for a school project or paper. Other than that; if I’ve got weeks to get through Pride & Prejudice, then she’s not that bad. But, I digress, which is sort of the entire problem with the research paper for me.

If anyone’s curious, I’m absolutely planning on doing the paper today. Because here’s the thing with me: I may be science-phobic and struggle with math. I may run kind of funny, but I write a damn good paper. It normally doesn’t take me long at all to get my thoughts all lined up and put together the paper. So, the five pages that are due on Sunday don’t worry me too much, simply because I’ve written a ten-paged paper for Jenn before (Women’s Lit, anyone?). Am I bragging? I hate bragging…for the most part. But, okay, so moving away from the bragging because I’m supposed to be venting.

But, I find that I don’t much desire to vent. Well, about the paper. I can vent about the rest of my classes. It’s rather amazing how terribly fed up with school I get at the end of the semester. However, the paper is genuinely the least of my worries. I figure that after I get the six pages written, all I have to worry about it studying for my other classes. This, as you can imagine, will be a big stress-reliever. Also, I just realized how truly scatterbrained I sound in this blog. I’m all over the place. Can I say that it’s because I’m struggling with the paper even though I’m not and my being scatterbrained is just me in general and mostly without sleep? I totally just wrote a run-on sentence. There I go with rambling again.

The Overabuse Of Commas

I like commas. I like commas a lot. I tend to write long-winded sentences that really shouldn’t be placed together, but are, because I really like to use commas and sometimes semi-colons. But, really. Commas are my friend and I use them so often in writing, which subsequently turns into online communication style, right? I’ve also been told that I’m not brief nor to the point. This, naturally, was told to me by my person (aka the best friend), but I knew this before. I use tons of detail and I’m a rambler. Both in real-life and in virtual-life. Let’s have an example, shall we? I think we shall.

I just got into Doctor Who recently and I’m slightly obsessive when it comes to things I really like and I really like the show, so it’s mostly been on my mind all the time lately. So, I’m watching it (I love the 10^th Doctor if anyone’s curious; David Tennant is the best Doctor there is) and it’s then I realize: I’m so much like the Doctor when it comes to his ramblings. (Sidenote: I’m mostly, really, like Rose Tyler. My friends even call me by the name.) During David Tennant’s first episode as the Doctor, I remember thinking that I’m very much like him in how he communicates; both online and in real-life.

“Well…you could do that. Yeah, you could do that. Of course you could! But, why? Look at these people; these human beings. Consider their potential! From the day they arrive on the planet, blinking, step into the sun, there is more to see than can ever be seen, more to do than – no, hold on. Sorry, that’s The Lion King.” Let me pause here for a moment to explain that this is me. Well, not literally because I’m not the Doctor, but I have this tendency of getting off on tangents and becoming passionate and I think that this style of communication says a lot about me. Mostly because it exhibits my ADHD tendencies. I think my communication style says a lot about my personality.

I hardly deviate from who I am, regardless of whether I’m typing my thoughts or speaking them directly. I’m long-winded and highly dramatic and this is all in how I communicate. I’d like to think that it communicates that I’m not really any different over the Internet than I am if I were speaking directly to you. Granted, if I’m writing a formal paper, then I’ll be a bit more refined; but that makes me sound like I’m unrefined and in a way I am, but not in a bad way. Basically, I guess I’m different only when I’m writing formally. Other than that, my communication style is the same as how I communicate if we were having a conversation face-to-face.

It’s interesting, how often I use commas. It really never occurred to me how often I use them until my best friend (my person, if you remember correctly) pointed it out, but I’m fairly partial to them, so it’s not really that big of a deal to me. At least I use them correctly. But, yes. There’s my online communication style. Allons-y.

Reading Lolita in Lancaster

“If I turned towards books, it was because they were the only sanctuary I knew, one I needed in order to survive, to protect some aspect of myself that was now in constant retreat.” –Azar Nafisi

Reading has always been my sanctuary of sorts. When I read, I escape. Such was the life of Azar Nafisi. Going into reading this novel, I honestly didn’t think I’d be all that interested in it. I’m not a big non-fiction girl, so I thought the novel would be dry and uninteresting. How wrong I was. My favorite thing about this book is her ability to romanticize Tehran and the struggles the city goes through in the novel. I know that sounds weird and slightly inappropriate to say and, trust me, I’ve struggled with accepting it, too. But, think about it. Nafisi works through fiction to bring us this picture of Tehran and her world she lived in with her girls. It was frightening, but it was so beautiful at the same time.

She showed us that literature can free you. Literature can literally help you to survive. If we think about her group of girls, they were kept together emotionally and mentally through the novels they read through; the novels they lived. They went to trial with Gatsby and sympathized with Lolita. Throughout the bombings and the discrimination, the deaths and decay, they lived through it. They lived through it because they had words to keep them alive; to keep going. If I took anything away from Reading Lolita in Tehran, it was this. It’s this drive to live through anything the world throws at you simply because words motivate you to do so.

There’s a part in the novel that I will never forget; where the quote I chose comes from. Tehran is going through her share of bombings and every night it happens. Nafisi shares her fear of the bombs reaching her and her family. And, her way of dealing with it was to sit in front of her children’s bedroom every night with a book in her hand. She would read as bombs went off, sitting guard to protect her children. What I remember most from that passage was the impression I got of her truly protecting herself in that moment as well. She did what she needed to protect her kids, but her books truly protected her. How much we as a civilization that doesn’t have to worry about such things take this for granted.

Some, like me, take refuge in books. So many heroes and heroines to relate to; to cheer on. We can submerse ourselves in literature and fight the fight with them. We can fall for the boy in the novel who screams out the word “underdog”. We can conquer evil, but really, we’re living through our own struggles by escaping. Nafisi shows such a great example of just this. She showed her girls not only the wonderful world of literature, but what you could take away from it. Her girls got her message and so did I.

Your Right To Die

Stage-four brain cancer. There’s really no hope at all. Words and phrases like “terminal” and “expected chance of living” are thrown around in a casual way. Pain; excruciating pain twenty-four hours a day. All you want is peace. Peace from the pain and the situation you’ve been stuck in for several months. The medication stopped working long ago. Now you’re just waiting for the inevitable end to come. Your only request is to die in the way you desire. Request denied.

Physician-assisted suicide, more commonly known as euthanasia, is a controversial issue for many reasons. Only four out of fifty states in America (Montana, Oregon, Texas and Washington) have passed bills in favor of physician-assisted suicide, or PAS. All of the bills in these states were passed in the last ten years, titling the initiatives the “Death for Dignity Acts”. The subject of physician-assisted suicide has always been incredibly fascinating to me because of its large controversy and the statements we hear concerning it on the news.

Words like “rights” and “suicide” have always and probably will continue to have a powerful affect on the American people. When we hear news broadcasts or read articles, you’d be hard-pressed to find a story that doesn’t include those two words. It’s the wordplay that’s important in controversial issues such as this one. Because physician-assisted suicide is such an incredibly touchy subject, it’s not so surprising to hear extremes on either standpoint.

The four states to have passed these “Death with Dignity Acts” (and other citizens in the other states) claim that terminally ill patients have the right to die in the way they wish. In fact, there was a study done by Harris Interactive in 2005 that showed the results that 70% of adults were in favor of  passing a law that allows doctors to comply with the patient, if he or she is in terminal distress, to have their life ended. They argue that if the patient is terminal, with no chance of survival, they should have the choice of how their “chapter of life” closes.

The other side of this states that it’s suicide, regardless of how you put it. They state that keeping them alive with “competent care” is more humane than physician-assisted suicide. Another argument claims that if PAS is legalized, it will result in society undermining the respect for the sanctity of life; giving someone the chance in how they will end their life is inhumane and goes against what we strive for in life.

Clearly, you all didn’t think you’d escape a blog of mine without hearing my opinion on this, did you? Didn’t think so. Here’s my take on it: I think that many people who are against PAS think that what these terminally-ill patients are doing is committing suicide because of whatever reason they’re claiming. Terminally-ill has a very specific meaning. It means you’re not going to live. And, if you’re not going to live, then I think that the right for your decision on how to die should be up to you. The other side claims that it’s inhumane and that it’s disrespecting the sanctity of life. However, granting these human beings the right to pass on in a way they wish seems to me to be truly humane and is respect in the highest regard. Granted, these are just one girl’s musings. A loud-mouth’s musings, but musings nonetheless.

Works Cited

Boer, Theo A. "Recurring Themes in the Debate About Euthanasia and Assisted Suicide." Journal of Religious Ethics 35.3 (2007): 529-555. Religion and Philosophy Collection. EBSCO. Web. 17 May 2010.

Gill, Michael B. "Is the Legalization of Physician-Assisted Suicide Compatible with Good End-of-Life Care?." Journal of Applied Philosophy 26.1 (2009): 27-45. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 17 May 2010.

Harris Interactive. "Physician-Assisted Suicide: Compassionate Liberation or Murder?." MEDSURG Nursing 19.2 (2010): 121-125. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 17 May 2010.

"Son of a BITCH!"

It’s this world they live in; this horrible, dreadful world they live in. Though, this isn’t to say why foul language is thrown around the way it is, but it’s important for us to understand where they come from. They live in a world where things that go “bump in the night” are real. Where Lucifer has risen and people they love have died. Hell, they’ve watched the people they love die. Sometimes by their own hands; naturally against their will. That’s what they’ve been told. It’s all for the good of the world. An angel told them that. An angel in a trench coat tells them what to do, though these two brothers don’t always follow his orders. One of the brothers (the older one) constantly speaks in a manner that would make the generations before them cringe with anxiety.

Welcome to the world of Supernatural.

Or, more appropriately, the language that exists on the show.

For those of us who are familiar with the show (and, if you aren’t, get into it strictly for Jensen Ackles), maybe you can agree with me on the development of the language on the show. Now, I’ve never been naïve enough to believe that the two boys speak with eloquence and avoid all types of vulgar language (however that’s defined), but it’s seemed to me that, over the last couple of seasons in particular, they’ve become a bit riskier with the level of bad language on the show. Television shows in the past decade have kept to the guidelines given to them, but it seems that more and more often, we’re getting these television shows that are pushing the metaphorical envelope.

It first started on Supernatural (or, when I first noticed it, rather) when Dean (the older brother) called Castiel (the angel) a dick. Naturally, they’ve got a unique relationship because most of the angels, as Dean so maturely calls them, are dicks. But, I remember watching the episode for the first time and doing a double-take. It wasn’t familiar to hear the word on the show. And I would know; I’ve seen the show from the beginning. Fast-forward a couple of weeks later and, again from Dean’s mouth do you hear the word “douche”. Now, if you are a fan of the show, you know the language almost always comes from Dean (not that I mind), but up until then, I hadn’t thought that the language would be challenged into “dangerous territory”, I guess you could call it.

After that point, it seems to me that the show just kind of took off the filter for language (however, they do keep away from the “taboo” words). Dean has always had his famous catchphrase: “Son of a bitch!”, but it began to be used far more often. Phrases that followed were remarks like, “We’ll look into Sam and Dean’s homoerotic dependency”, “Eat it, Twilight”, and “I’ve been rehymenated”. All of these phrases stray to the more sexual side of language, however many people would call it bad, so I’m throwing it in there.

The history of inappropriate language on television has changed so much just in the last decade, however I can’t really be bothered by it. I think that if it’s not just there to be there (all of those Rob Zombie movies, if you’re looking for an example), and it’s mixed well into the scene and plot of the show, then the language is fine. Personally speaking, Dean’s language is part of what makes Dean who he is. He’s the major bad-ass with an impossible task assigned to him. If he lets off steam every now and then with language, then I say let the writers do so. For me, at least, his “Son of a bitch!” makes me laugh every time.

I Belong WHERE?

“The only thing that I have ever successfully made in the kitchen is a mess. And several little fires.” –Sarah Jessica Parker, Sex in the City

I’d known this guy almost my entire life. There had been that one, tragically strange moment where I almost dated his brother, but that’s all hearsay. He (the other guy; not the almost-boyfriend) was kind and wonderful and sweet. He was the kind of guy that you thought, “Okay, they don’t altogether exist in real-life, but I’m lucky enough to know someone like him”. The entire family has enlisted in the military. It’s kind of been their thing and I’ve always been incredibly impressed and proud to say that I know them. First it was the almost-boyfriend that enlisted in the Navy and then it was him. He enlisted in the Marines. This sweet, charming, amazing guy who I had known forever enlisted in the Marines. Pride isn’t a word that fits for what I felt for him.

Fast-forward eight months.

He had left for training and then come back for visits. Who came back was not who left. He’d completely changed. And, not in the good way. I remember one specific example with stark clarity. I was at church (we had met at church, you see) and I was reading (because I’m literally always reading something). I had gotten there early, so when he walked in I was all smiles and hugs and “How are you; I missed you!”. It was all very nice, I remember thinking. So, I resumed reading and that had led to questions about what I was reading. Now, at the time, it was a Nicholas Sparks book of some kind. Let me pause here to explain that I’m not a “love at first sight” kind of girl, but damn that man can write love in a way that is borderline cheesy and cliché that makes me cry every time. So, anyway, he’s telling me how he finished all of the books he had during training and I’m telling him to come over and get any of my books he wants and then he says it: “I’m not reading anything that has a woman who’s not in the kitchen”.

My face closely resembled those emoticon faces; this one – O_O.

This was not the boy I had known my entire life. He was different and I sat there, my eyes wide and my mouth open from shock for a few seconds. Because, he knew I was a feminist at heart (and in action, really), but he decided to say what he had anyway. It had shocked me because I had people in my life who had enlisted in the Marines and they hadn’t changed that way at all. But, this guy that was just so sweet and kind had transformed into Megatron or something of the sort. Almost immediately after he’d made the comment, he’d turned his attention to the other people in the room, effectively ending the conversation; or so he’d thought. Naturally, I don’t settle for nonsense like that, so I spoke up.

“I’m sorry, it sounds like you just insulted women in front of me. You wanna retract your statement before I say something that you’re not gonna like?” I’m fairly certain, mostly because of the surprised look on his face, that he hadn’t expected me to say anything back. Which, is sort of completely ridiculous because he’d known who I was before he went off to Marine training. I remember sitting there, looking at him with expectant eyes. However, he just continued to look at me, half-confused, half-indignant. Now, because I’m hugely mature, I took the high road and rose off of the couch and left the room. Though, not before I looked over my shoulder and left with a biting remark. “Just because you’re in the Marines, doesn’t give you the excuse to speak to me in that way. Oh, and by the way, I burn things whenever I cook.”

Find Out What It Means To Me

“If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?” –RuPaul Charles

It’s all about respect, isn’t it? How many times have we heard that in our lives? “Respect your elders” or “respect your mother and father”. These, of course, are true. But what about respect for yourself? And is it more important than happiness in life? Or rather, is happiness the most important thing, self-respect be damned? You’d think I would wrestle with this question, but in all actuality, it took me point-five seconds to come up with a clear answer. Happiness, for me, isn’t nearly as important as having self-respect. Let me explain, ladies and gentleladies.

It’s easy to live with happiness in your life. If we’re lucky, we grow up with good parents and a good home with good friends. These things make us happy. We then find things like good music and good books and good hobbies. More happiness. But, what happens if you don’t have any place in your “happy” life for self-respect? Now, I had the good  parents, good home, and good friends, which were then followed by good music, good books and good hobbies. But, these things weren’t what made me happy. Well, okay. They made me happy because good things generally make people happy (who doesn’t like good music?), but they weren’t at the core of my happiness. What made me most happy was that I knew who I was. However, if you’re familiar with my blogs by now, you’ll know that this isn’t all of what my life was about. No, I was not always happy with who I was; no self-respect and all that.

Now, it wasn’t any kind of overly dramatic (I know; strange, right?) moment where I realized that I sucked in general and my entire life was fail. It was just one of those moments where I realized that I was living my life for others and not for myself. Simply because I didn’t think enough of myself to worry about that specific “wrong” in my life. I cared more for the people around me; thought more of the people around me. However, it occurred to me then (in high school, if you were wondering) that I wasn’t less. No, I happened to be worth something. It was then, in a very dramatic unveiling, that I realized how much I didn’t suck and how I didn’t fail in general. It was, as you can imagine, a pretty nice feeling.

So, I took stock of my life (in as big a way as I could, being fifteen) and realized that I enjoyed all of the “good” things, but they didn’t bring me true happiness. Having a constant respect for who I was made me truly happy. I didn’t need the “good” things because they weren’t who I was, if that makes any sense. It’s way more important for me to respect who I am rather than have happiness. Because, in its truest form, if you have self-respect, you’ll find happiness.  

Mr. Driesdale...Is Everything Okay, Sir?

The scene opens upon two beautiful women, sitting in the front of a high-business office. They’re clearly secretaries and, if you listen close enough, you can hear a man complaining in the main office; complaining about not being able to pitch coffee as sexy. The camera pans back to the two women who are clearly dressed in a style reminiscent of the 1950s. They smirk at one another, stand up and move over to the coffee pot near the businessman. The camera closes in one of the secretaries; the brunette one, as she takes a drink of coffee, moans and says in a smoky voice, “Mmm…isn’t Fierce Roast Coffee delicious?” The camera then swings around to close in on the other secretary; the blonde one, as she says something equally loaded in sexual innuendo. The scene snaps to the businessman, who’s looking extremely flustered, as the two female secretaries move over to his desk. The brunette female has a container of coffee beans that she’s running the tip of her pointer finger around, very slowly. This is happening at the same time as the blonde female is leaning closer to the businessman, whispering low, “Mr. Driesdale…is everything okay, Sir?”

Welcome to the world of nonverbal communication concerning women and media.

This opening scene was an actual commercial filmed for an episode of America’s Next Top Model, filmed on March 16. In it, the women were supposed to try and “sell” the idea of Fierce Roast Coffee to Mr. Driesdale; to make coffee sexy. Now, I love Tyra Banks just as much as the next person, but I remember watching this episode thinking, “What the flaming HELL is she trying to say about women?”

Whether it’s blatant sexual innuendo or a portrayal of a weakened woman, these are, in the majority, the ways we see women in the media. They’re either pushing their breasts out or shrinking into the background; lowering their eyes in submission. Women are either retreating flowers or ravenous sex kittens. Or, rather; almost all of them are. We occasionally will have the powerful women like those exhibited in Nikita, but it’s truly amazing to think about how often women are portrayed as inferior, particularly in nonverbal language, in the media.

What’s most interesting is that research shows that women tend to interpret nonverbal language better than men. Though, you hardly see anything of the sort in the media. In some ways, I do agree that women are better at interpreting nonverbal language. If only because women are known as the “nurturers” and that just means that you’ve got to be a bit better at perception, now doesn’t it? But, again, there’s the question hanging in the air that if everyone’s so aware of women being better at interpreting nonverbal language, why are they always shown in media as either unable to handle even the simplest of body signals or sending out particular signals with their bodies that doesn’t necessarily show how perceptive they are? Well, aside from that one category.

For the second year in a row, I’ve participated in being part of AVC’s production of The Vagina Monologues. It’s with a group of truly fantastic people that we talk about women’s issues and rights and how they’re portrayed. We spend time identifying with the women Eve Ensler wrote about in several of her books. We laugh and cry and it’s these things that should be shown in media; these nonverbal cues that women truly pick up on. One cast member’s monologue sticks out to me. Or rather, one particular line from the show over the weekend: “When she gets over that, and over all of us, she will finally, perhaps even triumphantly, belong to herself.”