Feminism on street corners

I was bicycling home from the Hollywood Fringe Festival the other day and I stopped at a red light. There were a guy and a gal pedestrian waiting at the crosswalk. They appeared to be together. The light turned green and as I was taking off, the man looked at me and said "See you, baby."

A torrent of profanity-laced thoughts shouted through my lead, the gist being: Why the fuck are you talking to me? Am I your fucking baby? And if that woman with you is someone you whisper "baby" to in the middle of the night, then why the fuck are you looking at/talking to me? And just, why? Who do you think you are and who do you think I am?

I wanted to shout those things in his face. I would probably never actually do that. But what if I did? I imagine the response would be something like what happened to Jinan Younis when she responded to a group of men sexually harassing her and her friends. The men got pissed. As she says, "For those men we were just legs, breasts and pretty faces. Speaking up shattered their fantasy, and they responded violently to my voice."

How is a feminist to respond to the passing "hey baby"? Is there a way to respond that would promote healthy dialogue with the perpetrator? Usually I'm tempted to flip off the offending party and I don't do even that, but instead just ignore them and continue along my way. I don't feel it's my job to educate every jackass on the street, and I don't want to be met with violence. 

But I do want to teach the masses that it's not okay to objectify women. 

What a bold statement. Really, if I'm honest, I want the masses to be taught, and I'd like to lend my voice...but I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing. I'm afraid I'll sound stupid. I'm afraid I won't have an adequate response if I meet with opposition. I'm afraid of offending people or making them feel bad. 

That last one is huge for me. I'm "nice." I get told how nice I am all the time. And I court that opinion by always being helpful, always listening, never offending. And a big part of me is happy to be this way. I like making people feel good. I feel like it's a small way I help make the world a better place. (Aren't I sanctimonious? Of course it strokes my ego to be told I'm nice. Whatever. I'm human.) But sometimes the person on the receiving end of my listening ear says something like, "Well of course we women expect men to treat to us to fancy dinners--do they know how much effort it takes to look like this?"

Too often I let it slide. I don't know exactly how to respond, so I just offer a "huh." In my head, "huh" means "I disagree with what you're saying but don't know how to phrase it or am afraid of offending you or making you feel bad for what you just said." I think in other people's heads "huh" is taken as affirmation of whatever they're saying. So I should probably work on that if I want to be a part of this dialogue. 

I guess that's why I'm writing this. 

I want to promote open and healthy dialogue about all the shit women face. I want to talk about body image and being a minimum wage worker and armpit hair and how to respond to undesired compliments and all kinds of fucked up and wonderful shit. 

So let's do this.

A few things I love about Los Angeles...

...as told through a mini photo diary entry. 

Dear Diary,

You know what's super cool? We live in a city where there are things most people consider "destinations." Like The Ellen DeGeneres show, and Universal Studios. We bought a day and got year passes, and that actually makes sense for us!

There's this cool thing called CicLAvia, where miles of streets are closed to vehicle traffic and open to pedestrian and bicycle traffic. Brendan and I rode Venice Boulevard all the way to the ocean, along with all these other bicyclists! 

The ocean.

Sometimes I see people I recognize and I'm like, where do I know that person from? Then I'm like, BECAUSE THEY'RE FAMOUS. Like Stephnie Weir, who was performing an improv set at the same time Brendan was performing an improv set during the LA Improv Comedy Festival at iO West.  

I've been watching the flower grow out of this plant for the past, oh, six months or so. It finally started blooming about a month ago, and it just continues its slow roll. How neat is that?

Love,
Stina

Auto Vs Bicycle

I got hit by a car when riding my bike home from work Thursday night. And what with the way the planets collide, or align, or whatever, it just so happened that I got hit by a car shortly after losing my helmet. And that happened because I accepted a ride from a friend one night when I really should have just ridden my bike home. Ah, choices.

That scary sounding fracture is just my cheekbone, which will heal on its own. Now that a few days have passed since the accident, the broken cheekbone is probably the most annoying of my injuries, because it means I can't chew as thoroughly as I like to. And if there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I like to chew (Interesting Stina Fact #1).

I went for a little bike ride today, the first one since I got hit. At first I was going to walk to the store, then I realized part of the reason I was going to walk was because I was a little bit askeered to ride my bike. So I decided to ride my bike. Brendan and I both got new helmets yesterday, so my tender noggin was protected, have no fear.

As I was riding, I thought about how accidents really suck. You can be doing everything right, riding safely, with headlight and taillight flashing, not running a single red light like all those other bicyclists you see, and out of the blue you get hit. And you can't even remember anything about it to know whether or not you could have done anything to avoid it.

I don't know who called 911. I don't know if someone had to pull me off the road or if I was able to move myself. The first thing I remember is a state of semi-consciousness in the ambulance. I was totally disoriented. Had no idea what day it was or what I had been doing or what was happening. An EMT asked me if I'd been drinking. (I hadn't. Remember? I was on my way home from work.)

By the time I was in the hospital, I remembered it was Thursday night/Friday morning and that I had been on my way home from work and that I had better call Brendan ASAP because he was probably freaking out. They scanned my head and X-rayed my arm (it's not broken) and I puked and worried about my glasses (they came through unscathed!). And then I got to go home and I spent the next two days sleeping. And now I'm mostly okay. I'm even picking at my scabs, that's how okay I am (okay, was picking at my scabs--I'm a good girl and I stopped because Brendan got really grossed out).

Moral of the story: Auto wins, but in a totally jerky way, so I'll still vote bicycle every time.