Monday, July 30, 2007

The next wave 新浪/新郎

Excellent article. I am still a few years away from having kids, but these are issues I already think about a lot. If not principle, not my own human dignity, I want to raise my hypothetical daughters and sons in an egalitarian, ungendered family. Not to mention that I love my job.

I do not want to get married. I want to spend the rest of my life in a monogamous relationship with a man I love madly who will be father to my hypothetical children, but I do not believe in marriage as a social institution. It was created to standardize and reinforce the patrimony. I will probably have to do so legally, though, given my propensity to date non-Americans. And I would like to through a big un-wedding party when I find my partner. But it will take a lobotomy before you will catch the Vixen in a froufy white dress in an aisle. And then the surname thing is downright creepy - unless you hate your own and are eager for an excuse to get rid of it.

I would never date a man who was not roughly on the same page. A lot of men never think much about these issues, what matters is how they respond once the do. I must say, Shanghainese men are among the best in the world that way: “What, I DON’T have to work like a dog to meet your every financial whim?! Neat!” Jifu rather did mind that I earned so much more than he did, but the gap did become pretty ludicrously dramatic by the end.
 

 

Homeward Bound
“Choice feminism” claims that staying home with the kids is just one more feminist option. Funny that most men rarely make the same “choice.” Exactly what kind of choice is that?
 

The American Prospect
http://www.prospect.org/cs/articles?article=homeward_bound

I. The Truth About Elite Women
Half the wealthiest, most-privileged, best-educated females in the country stay home with their babies rather than work in the market economy. When in September The New York Times featured an article exploring a piece of this story, “Many Women at Elite Colleges Set Career Path to Motherhood,” the blogosphere went ballistic, countering with anecdotes and sarcasm. Slate’s Jack Shafer accused the Times of “weasel-words” and of publishing the same story — essentially, “The Opt-Out Revolution” — every few years, and, recently, every few weeks. (A month after the flap, the Times‘ only female columnist, Maureen Dowd, invoked the elite-college article in her contribution to the Times‘ running soap, “What’s a Modern Girl to Do?” about how women must forgo feminism even to get laid.) The colleges article provoked such fury that the Times had to post an explanation of the then-student journalist’s methodology on its Web site.

There’s only one problem: There is important truth in the dropout story. Even though it appeared in The New York Times.

I stumbled across the news three years ago when researching a book on marriage after feminism. I found that among the educated elite, who are the logical heirs of the agenda of empowering women, feminism has largely failed in its goals. There are few women in the corridors of power, and marriage is essentially unchanged. The number of women at universities exceeds the number of men. But, more than a generation after feminism, the number of women in elite jobs doesn’t come close.

Why did this happen? The answer I discovered — an answer neither feminist leaders nor women themselves want to face — is that while the public world has changed, albeit imperfectly, to accommodate women among the elite, private lives have hardly budged. The real glass ceiling is at home.

Looking back, it seems obvious that the unreconstructed family was destined to re-emerge after the passage of feminism’s storm of social change. Following the original impulse to address everything in the lives of women, feminism turned its focus to cracking open the doors of the public power structure. This was no small task. At the beginning, there were male juries and male Ivy League schools, sex-segregated want ads, discriminatory employers, harassing colleagues. As a result of feminist efforts — and larger economic trends — the percentage of women, even of mothers in full- or part-time employment, rose robustly through the 1980s and early ’90s.

But then the pace slowed. The census numbers for all working mothers leveled off around 1990 and have fallen modestly since 1998. In interviews, women with enough money to quit work say they are “choosing” to opt out. Their words conceal a crucial reality: the belief that women are responsible for child-rearing and homemaking was largely untouched by decades of workplace feminism. Add to this the good evidence that the upper-class workplace has become more demanding and then mix in the successful conservative cultural campaign to reinforce traditional gender roles and you’ve got a perfect recipe for feminism’s stall.

People who don’t like the message attack the data. True, the Times based its college story on a survey of questionable reliability and a bunch of interviews. It is not necessary to give credence to Dowd’s book, from which her Times Magazine piece was taken and which seems to be mostly based on her lifetime of bad dates and some e-mails from fellow Times reporters, to wonder if all this noise doesn’t mean something important is going on in the politics of the sexes.

What evidence is good enough? Let’s start with you. Educated and affluent reader, if you are a 30- or 40-something woman with children, what are you doing? Husbands, what are your wives doing? Older readers, what are your married daughters with children doing? I have asked this question of scores of women and men. Among the affluent-educated-married population, women are letting their careers slide to tend the home fires. If my interviewees are working, they work largely part time, and their part-time careers are not putting them in the executive suite.

Here’s some more evidence: During the ’90s, I taught a course in sexual bargaining at a very good college. Each year, after the class reviewed the low rewards for child-care work, I asked how the students anticipated combining work with child-rearing. At least half the female students described lives of part-time or home-based work. Guys expected their female partners to care for the children. When I asked the young men how they reconciled that prospect with the manifest low regard the market has for child care, they were mystified. Turning to the women who had spoken before, they said, uniformly, But she chose it.

Even Ronald Coase, Nobel Prize-winner in economics in 1991, quotes the aphorism that “the plural of anecdote is data.” So how many anecdotes does it take to make data? I — a 1970s member of the National Organization for Women (NOW), a donor to EMILY’s List, and a professor of women’s studies — did not set out to find this. I stumbled across the story when, while planning a book, I happened to watch Sex and the City’s Charlotte agonize about getting her wedding announcement in the “Sunday Styles” section of The New York Times. What better sample, I thought, than the brilliantly educated and accomplished brides of the “Sunday Styles,” circa 1996? At marriage, they included a vice president of client communication, a gastroenterologist, a lawyer, an editor, and a marketing executive. In 2003 and 2004, I tracked them down and called them. I interviewed about 80 percent of the 41 women who announced their weddings over three Sundays in 1996. Around 40 years old, college graduates with careers: Who was more likely than they to be reaping feminism’s promise of opportunity? Imagine my shock when I found almost all the brides from the first Sunday at home with their children. Statistical anomaly? Nope. Same result for the next Sunday. And the one after that.

Ninety percent of the brides I found had had babies. Of the 30 with babies, five were still working full time. Twenty-five, or 85 percent, were not working full time. Of those not working full time, 10 were working part time but often a long way from their prior career paths. And half the married women with children were not working at all.

And there is more. In 2000, Harvard Business School professor Myra Hart surveyed the women of the classes of 1981, 1986, and 1991 and found that only 38 percent of female Harvard MBAs were working full time. A 2004 survey by the Center for Work-Life Policy of 2,443 women with a graduate degree or very prestigious bachelor’s degree revealed that 43 percent of those women with children had taken a time out, primarily for family reasons. Richard Posner, federal appeals-court judge and occasional University of Chicago adjunct professor, reports that “the [Times] article confirms — what everyone associated with such institutions [elite law schools] has long known: that a vastly higher percentage of female than of male students will drop out of the workforce to take care of their children.

How many anecdotes to become data? The 2000 census showed a decline in the percentage of mothers of infants working full time, part time, or seeking employment. Starting at 31 percent in 1976, the percentage had gone up almost every year to 1992, hit a high of 58.7 percent in 1998, and then began to drop — to 55.2 percent in 2000, to 54.6 percent in 2002, to 53.7 percent in 2003. Statistics just released showed further decline to 52.9 percent in 2004. Even the percentage of working mothers with children who were not infants declined between 2000 and 2003, from 62.8 percent to 59.8 percent.

Although college-educated women work more than others, the 2002 census shows that graduate or professional degrees do not increase work-force participation much more than even one year of college. When their children are infants (under a year), 54 percent of females with graduate or professional degrees are not working full time (18 percent are working part time and 36 percent are not working at all). Even among those who have children who are not infants, 41 percent are not working full time (18 percent are working part time and 23 percent are not working at all).

Economists argue about the meaning of the data, even going so far as to contend that more mothers are working. They explain that the bureau changed the definition of work slightly in 2000, the economy went into recession, and the falloff in women without children was similar. However, even if there wasn’t a falloff but just a leveling off, this represents not a loss of present value but a loss of hope for the future — a loss of hope that the role of women in society will continue to increase.

The arguments still do not explain the absence of women in elite workplaces. If these women were sticking it out in the business, law, and academic worlds, now, 30 years after feminism started filling the selective schools with women, the elite workplaces should be proportionately female. They are not. Law schools have been graduating classes around 40-percent female for decades — decades during which both schools and firms experienced enormous growth. And, although the legal population will not be 40-percent female until 2010, in 2003, the major law firms had only 16-percent female partners, according to the American Bar Association. It’s important to note that elite workplaces like law firms grew in size during the very years that the percentage of female graduates was growing, leading you to expect a higher female employment than the pure graduation rate would indicate. The Harvard Business School has produced classes around 30-percent female. Yet only 10.6 percent of Wall Street’s corporate officers are women, and a mere nine are Fortune 500 CEOs. Harvard Business School’s dean, who extolled the virtues of interrupted careers on 60 Minutes, has a 20-percent female academic faculty.

It is possible that the workplace is discriminatory and hostile to family life. If firms had hired every childless woman lawyer available, that alone would have been enough to raise the percentage of female law partners above 16 percent in 30 years. It is also possible that women are voluntarily taking themselves out of the elite job competition for lower status and lower-paying jobs. Women must take responsibility for the consequences of their decisions. It defies reason to claim that the falloff from 40 percent of the class at law school to 16 percent of the partners at all the big law firms is unrelated to half the mothers with graduate and professional degrees leaving full-time work at childbirth and staying away for several years after that, or possibly bidding down.

This isn’t only about day care. Half my Times brides quit before the first baby came. In interviews, at least half of them expressed a hope never to work again. None had realistic plans to work. More importantly, when they quit, they were already alienated from their work or at least not committed to a life of work. One, a female MBA, said she could never figure out why the men at her workplace, which fired her, were so excited about making deals. “It’s only money,” she mused. Not surprisingly, even where employers offered them part-time work, they were not interested in taking it.

II. The Failure of Choice Feminism
What is going on? Most women hope to marry and have babies. If they resist the traditional female responsibilities of child-rearing and householding, what Arlie Hochschild called “The Second Shift,” they are fixing for a fight. But elite women aren’t resisting tradition. None of the stay-at-home brides I interviewed saw the second shift as unjust; they agree that the household is women’s work. As one lawyer-bride put it in explaining her decision to quit practicing law after four years, “I had a wedding to plan.” Another, an Ivy Leaguer with a master’s degree, described it in management terms: “He’s the CEO and I’m the CFO. He sees to it that the money rolls in and I decide how to spend it.” It’s their work, and they must do it perfectly. “We’re all in here making fresh apple pie,” said one, explaining her reluctance to leave her daughters in order to be interviewed. The family CFO described her activities at home: “I take my [3-year-old] daughter to all the major museums. We go to little movement classes.”

Conservatives contend that the dropouts prove that feminism “failed” because it was too radical, because women didn’t want what feminism had to offer. In fact, if half or more of feminism’s heirs (85 percent of the women in my Times sample), are not working seriously, it’s because feminism wasn’t radical enough: It changed the workplace but it didn’t change men, and, more importantly, it didn’t fundamentally change how women related to men.

The movement did start out radical. Betty Friedan’s original call to arms compared housework to animal life. In The Feminine Mystique she wrote, “[V]acuuming the living room floor — with or without makeup — is not work that takes enough thought or energy to challenge any woman’s full capacity. … Down through the ages man has known that he was set apart from other animals by his mind’s power to have an idea, a vision, and shape the future to it … when he discovers and creates and shapes a future different from his past, he is a man, a human being.”

Thereafter, however, liberal feminists abandoned the judgmental starting point of the movement in favor of offering women “choices.” The choice talk spilled over from people trying to avoid saying “abortion,” and it provided an irresistible solution to feminists trying to duck the mommy wars. A woman could work, stay home, have 10 children or one, marry or stay single. It all counted as “feminist” as long as she chose it. (So dominant has the concept of choice become that when Charlotte, with a push from her insufferable first husband, quits her job, the writers at Sex and the City have her screaming, I choose my choice! I choose my choice!)

Only the most radical fringes of feminism took on the issue of gender relations at home, and they put forth fruitless solutions like socialism and separatism. We know the story about socialism. Separatism ran right into heterosexuality and reproduction, to say nothing of the need to earn a living other than at a feminist bookstore. As feminist historian Alice Echols put it, “Rather than challenging their subordination in domestic life, the feminists of NOW committed themselves to fighting for women’s integration into public life.”

Great as liberal feminism was, once it retreated to choice the movement had no language to use on the gendered ideology of the family. Feminists could not say, “Housekeeping and child-rearing in the nuclear family is not interesting and not socially validated. Justice requires that it not be assigned to women on the basis of their gender and at the sacrifice of their access to money, power, and honor.”

The 50 percent of census answerers and the 62 percent of Harvard MBAs and the 85 percent of my brides of the Times all think they are “choosing” their gendered lives. They don’t know that feminism, in collusion with traditional society, just passed the gendered family on to them to choose. Even with all the day care in the world, the personal is still political. Much of the rest is the opt-out revolution.

III. What Is to Be Done?
Here’s the feminist moral analysis that choice avoided: The family — with its repetitious, socially invisible, physical tasks — is a necessary part of life, but it allows fewer opportunities for full human flourishing than public spheres like the market or the government. This less-flourishing sphere is not the natural or moral responsibility only of women. Therefore, assigning it to women is unjust. Women assigning it to themselves is equally unjust. To paraphrase, as Mark Twain said, “A man who chooses not to read is just as ignorant as a man who cannot read.”

The critics are right about one thing: Dopey New York Times stories do nothing to change the situation. Dowd, who is many things but not a political philosopher, concludes by wondering if the situation will change by 2030. Lefties keep hoping the Republicans will enact child-care legislation, which probably puts us well beyond 2030. In either case, we can’t wait that long. If women’s flourishing does matter, feminists must acknowledge that the family is to 2005 what the workplace was to 1964 and the vote to 1920. Like the right to work and the right to vote, the right to have a flourishing life that includes but is not limited to family cannot be addressed with language of choice.

Women who want to have sex and children with men as well as good work in interesting jobs where they may occasionally wield real social power need guidance, and they need it early. Step one is simply to begin talking about flourishing. In so doing, feminism will be returning to its early, judgmental roots. This may anger some, but it should sound the alarm before the next generation winds up in the same situation. Next, feminists will have to start offering young women not choices and not utopian dreams but solutions they can enact on their own. Prying women out of their traditional roles is not going to be easy. It will require rules — rules like those in the widely derided book The Rules, which was never about dating but about behavior modification.

There are three rules: Prepare yourself to qualify for good work, treat work seriously, and don’t put yourself in a position of unequal resources when you marry.

The preparation stage begins with college. It is shocking to think that girls cut off their options for a public life of work as early as college. But they do. The first pitfall is the liberal-arts curriculum, which women are good at, graduating in higher numbers than men. Although many really successful people start out studying liberal arts, the purpose of a liberal education is not, with the exception of a miniscule number of academic positions, job preparation.

So the first rule is to use your college education with an eye to career goals. Feminist organizations should produce each year a survey of the most common job opportunities for people with college degrees, along with the average lifetime earnings from each job category and the characteristics such jobs require. The point here is to help women see that yes, you can study art history, but only with the realistic understanding that one day soon you will need to use your arts education to support yourself and your family. The survey would ask young women to select what they are best suited for and give guidance on the appropriate course of study. Like the rule about accepting no dates for Saturday after Wednesday night, the survey would set realistic courses for women, helping would-be curators who are not artistic geniuses avoid career frustration and avoid solving their job problems with marriage.

After college comes on-the-job training or further education. Many of my Times brides — and grooms — did work when they finished their educations. Here’s an anecdote about the difference: One couple, both lawyers, met at a firm. After a few years, the man moved from international business law into international business. The woman quit working altogether. “They told me law school could train you for anything,” she told me. “But it doesn’t prepare you to go into business. I should have gone to business school.” Or rolled over and watched her husband the lawyer using his first few years of work to prepare to go into a related business. Every Times groom assumed he had to succeed in business, and was really trying. By contrast, a common thread among the women I interviewed was a self-important idealism about the kinds of intellectual, prestigious, socially meaningful, politics-free jobs worth their incalculably valuable presence. So the second rule is that women must treat the first few years after college as an opportunity to lose their capitalism virginity and prepare for good work, which they will then treat seriously.

The best way to treat work seriously is to find the money. Money is the marker of success in a market economy; it usually accompanies power, and it enables the bearer to wield power, including within the family. Almost without exception, the brides who opted out graduated with roughly the same degrees as their husbands. Yet somewhere along the way the women made decisions in the direction of less money. Part of the problem was idealism; idealism on the career trail usually leads to volunteer work, or indentured servitude in social-service jobs, which is nice but doesn’t get you to money. Another big mistake involved changing jobs excessively. Without exception, the brides who eventually went home had much more job turnover than the grooms did. There’s no such thing as a perfect job. Condoleezza Rice actually wanted to be a pianist, and Gary Graffman didn’t want to give concerts.

If you are good at work you are in a position to address the third undertaking: the reproductive household. The rule here is to avoid taking on more than a fair share of the second shift. If this seems coldhearted, consider the survey by the Center for Work-Life Policy. Fully 40 percent of highly qualified women with spouses felt that their husbands create more work around the house than they perform. According to Phyllis Moen and Patricia Roehling’s Career Mystique, “When couples marry, the amount of time that a woman spends doing housework increases by approximately 17 percent, while a man’s decreases by 33 percent.” Not a single Times groom was a stay-at-home dad. Several of them could hardly wait for Monday morning to come. None of my Times grooms took even brief paternity leave when his children were born.

How to avoid this kind of rut? You can either find a spouse with less social power than you or find one with an ideological commitment to gender equality. Taking the easier path first, marry down. Don’t think of this as brutally strategic. If you are devoted to your career goals and would like a man who will support that, you’re just doing what men throughout the ages have done: placing a safe bet.

In her 1995 book, Kidding Ourselves: Babies, Breadwinning and Bargaining Power, Rhona Mahoney recommended finding a sharing spouse by marrying younger or poorer, or someone in a dependent status, like a starving artist. Because money is such a marker of status and power, it’s hard to persuade women to marry poorer. So here’s an easier rule: Marry young or marry much older. Younger men are potential high-status companions. Much older men are sufficiently established so that they don’t have to work so hard, and they often have enough money to provide unlimited household help. By contrast, slightly older men with bigger incomes are the most dangerous, but even a pure counterpart is risky. If you both are going through the elite-job hazing rituals simultaneously while having children, someone is going to have to give. Even the most devoted lawyers with the hardest-working nannies are going to have weeks when no one can get home other than to sleep. The odds are that when this happens, the woman is going to give up her ambitions and professional potential.

It is possible that marrying a liberal might be the better course. After all, conservatives justified the unequal family in two modes: “God ordained it” and “biology is destiny.” Most men (and most women), including the liberals, think women are responsible for the home. But at least the liberal men should feel squeamish about it.

If you have carefully positioned yourself either by marrying down or finding someone untainted by gender ideology, you will be in a position to resist bearing an unfair share of the family. Even then you must be vigilant. Bad deals come in two forms: economics and home economics. The economic temptation is to assign the cost of child care to the woman’s income. If a woman making $50,000 per year whose husband makes $100,000 decides to have a baby, and the cost of a full-time nanny is $30,000, the couple reason that, after paying 40 percent in taxes, she makes $30,000, just enough to pay the nanny. So she might as well stay home. This totally ignores that both adults are in the enterprise together and the demonstrable future loss of income, power, and security for the woman who quits. Instead, calculate that all parents make a total of $150,000 and take home $90,000. After paying a full-time nanny, they have $60,000 left to live on.

The home-economics trap involves superior female knowledge and superior female sanitation. The solutions are ignorance and dust. Never figure out where the butter is. “Where’s the butter?” Nora Ephron’s legendary riff on marriage begins. In it, a man asks the question when looking directly at the butter container in the refrigerator. “Where’s the butter?” actually means butter my toast, buy the butter, remember when we’re out of butter. Next thing you know you’re quitting your job at the law firm because you’re so busy managing the butter. If women never start playing the household-manager role, the house will be dirty, but the realities of the physical world will trump the pull of gender ideology. Either the other adult in the family will take a hand or the children will grow up with robust immune systems.

If these prescriptions sound less than family-friendly, here’s the last rule: Have a baby. Just don’t have two. Mothers’ Movement Online’s Judith Statdman Tucker reports that women who opt out for child-care reasons act only after the second child arrives. A second kid pressures the mother’s organizational skills, doubles the demands for appointments, wildly raises the cost of education and housing, and drives the family to the suburbs. But cities, with their Chinese carryouts and all, are better for working mothers. It is true that if you follow this rule, your society will not reproduce itself. But if things get bad enough, who knows what social consequences will ensue? After all, the vaunted French child-care regime was actually only a response to the superior German birth rate.

IV. Why Do We Care?
The privileged brides of the Times — and their husbands — seem happy. Why do we care what they do? After all, most people aren’t rich and white and heterosexual, and they couldn’t quit working if they wanted to.

We care because what they do is bad for them, is certainly bad for society, and is widely imitated, even by people who never get their weddings in the Times. This last is called the “regime effect,” and it means that even if women don’t quit their jobs for their families, they think they should and feel guilty about not doing it. That regime effect created the mystique around The Feminine Mystique, too.

As for society, elites supply the labor for the decision-making classes — the senators, the newspaper editors, the research scientists, the entrepreneurs, the policy-makers, and the policy wonks. If the ruling class is overwhelmingly male, the rulers will make mistakes that benefit males, whether from ignorance or from indifference. Media surveys reveal that if only one member of a television show’s creative staff is female, the percentage of women on-screen goes up from 36 percent to 42 percent. A world of 84-percent male lawyers and 84-percent female assistants is a different place than one with women in positions of social authority. Think of a big American city with an 86-percent white police force. If role models don’t matter, why care about Sandra Day O’Connor? Even if the falloff from peak numbers is small, the leveling off of women in power is a loss of hope for more change. Will there never again be more than one woman on the Supreme Court?

Worse, the behavior tarnishes every female with the knowledge that she is almost never going to be a ruler. Princeton President Shirley Tilghman described the elite colleges’ self-image perfectly when she told her freshmen last year that they would be the nation’s leaders, and she clearly did not have trophy wives in mind. Why should society spend resources educating women with only a 50-percent return rate on their stated goals? The American Conservative Union carried a column in 2004 recommending that employers stay away from such women or risk going out of business. Good psychological data show that the more women are treated with respect, the more ambition they have. And vice versa. The opt-out revolution is really a downward spiral.

Finally, these choices are bad for women individually. A good life for humans includes the classical standard of using one’s capacities for speech and reason in a prudent way, the liberal requirement of having enough autonomy to direct one’s own life, and the utilitarian test of doing more good than harm in the world. Measured against these time-tested standards, the expensively educated upper-class moms will be leading lesser lives. At feminism’s dawning, two theorists compared gender ideology to a caste system. To borrow their insight, these daughters of the upper classes will be bearing most of the burden of the work always associated with the lowest caste: sweeping and cleaning bodily waste. Not two weeks after the Yalie flap, the Times ran a story of moms who were toilet training in infancy by vigilantly watching their babies for signs of excretion 24-7. They have voluntarily become untouchables.

When she sounded the blast that revived the feminist movement 40 years after women received the vote, Betty Friedan spoke of lives of purpose and meaning, better lives and worse lives, and feminism went a long way toward shattering the glass ceilings that limited their prospects outside the home. Now the glass ceiling begins at home. Although it is harder to shatter a ceiling that is also the roof over your head, there is no other choice.

Posted by Shanghai Vixen at 18:21:28 | Permalink | Comments (1) »

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Ouch.

I think I broke my cunt.

Correction: I think he broke my cunt.

There is the inevitable irritation and inexplicable embarassment when menstration pulls a “Hello, kids!” during coitus. But this “Shit, you’re bleeding!” followed by sudden pain at the wrong time of month is highly disconcerting.

Gym Boy is intense and skillful and untiring, and sometimes it is rather overkill for clumsy lazy me, and our liaisons always leaves me a little wobbly. I surmise, after a fairly nunnish few years, my cunt has grown shy and unaccustomed to attention. Thus receiving it, she panicked and got a nosebleed.

I am also more accustomed to medium height, skinny reedy men; tall, chunky hunkies are quite nice though. Gym Boy is so large and sturdy, down to the, um, details. I feel like I’m fucking an oak tree.

“Do you like it?” he asked while I was down.

“I like it,” assuming he meant the action, not the recipient. “You?”

He had meant the recipient. “If I like my own penis, that would be gay! I’m not gay, so I like vaginas!”

That so cracked me up. Almost every man I know, and sadly almost every man I’ve dated, has been very obsessed with his own penis. At least I have never dated a man who named his dick - at least to my knowledge - but certainly it seems a lot of men invest so much of their identity and self-esteem into their minor appendages.

So much of hetero-sex is so penile-centric. Hence my singular appreciation for the cunt-loving Gym Boy. I don’t think he realizes how much of a precious rarity he is in that regard. And in many others.

He feels very badly about breaking my cunt, although selfishly as it means it’s out of commission for the time being. He really is very sweet, and I wrestle so with my mixed feelings towards him. I like having him around, could have a very nice and comfortable life with him…but when he kisses my nose and calls me “baby”, I feel miserable.

Posted by Shanghai Vixen at 17:41:00 | Permalink | No Comments »

Thursday, July 26, 2007

China not “Chinese” enough for foreign tourists

Gah. Trust a Harvard-bound ABC girl to self-righteously pronounce that China isn’t “Chinesey” enough. Why doesn’t she just take it the next step and rail against the wearing jeans and t-shirts, Chinese people should embrace their tradition and wear Mao suits and Qipaos!

Not to mention that Beijing Opera is not part of traditional Eastern Chinese culture; rather Kunju, which Jingju is derived from, and which is actually quite popular still in Shanghai. In the West as well, most people are more interested in contemporary culture that reflects their lives and emotions, while art forms like Western opera, Chinese opera, classical music, even jazz that do not evolve and continuously renew end up marginalized.

Not that it surprises me that the tourists keep saying stupid shit like this.

Promote Peking Opera as much as ‘Super Girl’

By Joan Fang 2007-7-26
http://www.shanghaidaily.com/sp/article/2007/200707/20070726/article_324760.htm

WHEN I came to Shanghai, it didn’t feel like I had come to China. It felt like I had sat on a 22-hour flight only to circle the world once and land back in New York City.

The whole city was lit up in neon lights and there was nothing clearly Chinese about it.

Yes, everyone spoke Chinese but they spent hundreds of dollars on clothes from Guess and Armani Exchange.

In one store, I watched as a little boy, about eight, bought a pair of 1,000 yuan (US$132) shoes. I spent 20 yuan the other night, to watch a Peking Opera performance at the Yifu Theater.

I was one of perhaps 50 people under the age of 30 there. Everyone else’s hair matched the white clogs the actors wore.

The young’uns watching an out-of-date show were of two camps. Some were like me, tourists eager to take in as many traditionally Chinese events as possible.

The others were friends of the actors on stage. No one was watching because they were fans of Peking Opera.

I don’t understand why because it was breathtaking. Even though my Chinese is not the best, that didn’t mar my enjoyment. The opera addresses the universal themes.

There’s no reason for anyone who’s ever read a book to not understand the plots.

The show’s producers tried to make it as entertaining as possible with mini comedy skits and a gymnastics performance full of cartwheeling and sword-throwing. I loved it.

However, sitting in the audience, I had the eerie feeling that this was all part of a world past and that in 20 years, when I come back to Shanghai with my children, they won’t be able to find a performance like this.

Everywhere I looked, people were bored.

Some were reading text messages on their cell phones. One man had his laptop open and was slowly scrolling through the day’s stock prices.

Why have Chinese students not been taught to venerate Peking Opera and other such examples of ancient Chinese culture as living arts of the past?

These are the icons that other countries only wished they had.

I know that in America little kids grow up with stories of Buffalo Bill and revel in the idea of being cowboys even though that was mostly a myth even in the past.

Yet little Chinese children don’t embrace the much more imaginative world of being princesses and emperors. They want to make money and buy the most name brand heavy products they can find.

It’s because on TV, many children are told to buy and to venerate the West. Many are fans of “Super Girl.” They are seldom taught to take an interest in the arts.

In school, there are almost no classes to push the arts either because students are too busy prepping for more tests in math and science.

How are middle school students supposed to appreciate such relics without a teacher’s guidance? They can’t.

Instead, they are being taught through popular media that the most important thing is to strive for wealth and pretty clothes.

That is how any child would react. But they shouldn’t be allowed to forget the past in order to chase the future.

In order to encourage children to watch these performances, venues like the Yifu Theater should advertise themselves.

They should be the ones leading Chinese youngsters to the theaters. There is no reason why, if children used to enjoy these performances thousands of years ago, they can’t anymore.

One of the biggest obstacles to widespread appeal of classical opera performances is their lack of presence in the market.

Guess and Diesel do so well because they push themselves. Their ads flash everywhere on big screens. Their products are prominently displayed in fashionable magazines.

Next time I come to Shanghai, I hope to walk off the plane and be bombarded in the airport with ads screaming, “The Next Peking Opera Idol!”

(The author is a Chinese American from New York. She has just been admitted to Harvard College.)

Posted by Shanghai Vixen at 04:32:46 | Permalink | Comments (1) »

Thursday, July 12, 2007

(s)ex

I came clean to Gym Boy: I don’t quite reciprocate his ardor, and it makes me feel quite pressured and uncomfortable. I am willing to give it a try, but I frankly don’t feel he’s “it” for me, the chemistry just doesn’t quite click. I don’t want to lead him on.

“That’s fine, I understand,” he nodded. “Can we get naked now?”

Indeed. Lived up to the memories! God, he’s good. And so gorgeous, the sort of body any woman would want to wrap herself around.

Although he continues to make the marriage and babies cracks. I appreciate his straighforwardness about his intentions, but it also kinda annoys me about him.

Posted by Shanghai Vixen at 05:18:52 | Permalink | No Comments »

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Ex-cited

“Western men eventually get over that excitement. But Chinese men, they just stay that excited about you.”

Thus advised Cloudy, last night on IM. She would know, she’s dated her fair share of both. She shares my appreciation for hunky Shanghainese men, and has a very nice and suitable for her one now. They rank quite high among my favorite couples, the “that’s what I want” dynamic of fitting and complimenting each other.

I have been mulling my absolutely inept discretion when it comes to men, ever since the Yaya epiphany. Then, at the RockIt festival, I had the displeasure of hanging out with Jifu, and watching him with his apparent new girlfriend. Yes, he is married. I’m just glad I’m no longer the one he’s cheating on.

I have been mulling calling up my ex, Gym Boy, for booty/another attempt. He’s hunky, he’s really sweet, he was the best sex of my life (Vixen, meet your g-spot). He had the conversational skills of a house plant.

So I texted him on his birthday, and he called me immediately, very very eager to see me. We had dinner Wednesday at Richard’s on Guangyuan Lu, a Shanghainese “Western” restaurant. He grew up in my neighborhood, went to the primary school next to my house, and his Catholic and westernized grandfather used to take him to Richard’s as a kid. (He was amused that I remembered these things.) He looks good, and his conversation has improved. He was very upfront that he wants to get back together. He has tried twice to do so since we broke up; I then declined.

We did not have the most…intense…of relationships. Hot and educational sex aside, he was a reboundy blip between installations of Jifu, and I dumped him the way Biteable dumped me, by avoiding him. I am baffled by his continued ardor for me.

After dinner, he walked me to get groceries, insisted on paying for them, insisted on carrying them home for me. And then thanked me for allowing him to do so! Ah, Shanghainese men! Gotta love them. “I never cooked for you before,” he recalled. “I still owe you that.” We snogged before I shooed him out, and during that he declared, “I want to be your last boyfriend. And you to be my last girlfriend.” Eeek! Um.

I was amused that he immediately made a grab for my butt. Oh, I know what my Chinese boyfriends appreciate in me! Ample ass-ets are immensely rare these parts.

He wanted to go to Nanjing with me; I refused as was staying at Iski’s house. He texted me often, cutesy but annoying things like, “Did you sleep well?” and “Dearest, come back to Shanghai soon! I represent all of the residents of Shanghai in missing you!” Um.

I am equal parts flattered and freaked out. It’s just, he is really sweet and considerate, and the charismatic assholes like Jifu and Yaya have not worked out so well for me. My ego and body alike can use the strokage. I like him, I just don’t love him. But, perhaps I can try to?

Posted by Shanghai Vixen at 07:17:05 | Permalink | No Comments »

Monday, July 9, 2007

This cracks me up: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqOHquOkpaU. Also, sad but true. Bill Richardson para los Estados Unidenses! Siempre!

I think Hillary is great. The first thing I ever had published was a letter to the editor in my small town paper, when I was in high school, defending her cookie comment. (Vixen don’t bake no cookies either!) But I think she has become rather a DC tool, and while she never was that charismatic, she has become quite…a tool.

I so want to see the US have a female president. I think the country is much more sexist than it is racist - but I have the biases of a white woman. I base this on that one can get away with saying horribly sexist things, and people frequently do, but racist comments rightfully attract trouble.

I do root for Obama, he’s a multi-culti global brat and thus I relate to him more than the stiff American WASP of Clinton. I also think a man of any race, sadly, is more electable than a woman of any race. We’ll have both, though, before we have a gay president. And we’ll have jews and muslims, even buddhists, galore before we get an agnostic or athiest.

Posted by Shanghai Vixen at 11:16:41 | Permalink | No Comments »

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

Ooooh. Myyyyy.

Great date, hot neckage with ex-man.

Problem: he remains madly in love with me, and wants to marry me.

Here I was looking for a fuck buddy!

What! is a Vixen to do la?

Posted by Shanghai Vixen at 16:46:44 | Permalink | No Comments »

Monday, July 2, 2007

Playlists 一: Yayas

Processing the whole, what? Heart-fart? Melodrama? Emotional manic-depression? Protracted tease? What? regarding Yaya spawned its own heavy rotation on my heavy rotation tunage.

Music is salve for the soul, just as time is the super-glue of the heart. There was a time when I could not listen to “Time After Time” without crying over my first love. And I think the all-time best summary goes to my first favorite Paul Simon, “And sometimes Even music Cannot substitute for tears.” (Preceded by “Hard times? I’m used to it. This stinking planet burns? I’m used to it. I’m so common I disappear.”) It is equal parts the music and the lyrics, they are inseparable.

I have a great disdain for what I in high school dubbed “whiney women’s music” - but sometimes even snarky, strong I succomb to its siren call.

I am not listening to most of these much now; the disappointment with the boy and disgust with myself that has my going bald from over-washing my hair also has them at arm’s length. But, recently, they were my fodder. Okay, some still continue to pump that resiliancy back into my spine.

This one is how I thought Yaya should feel about me. But he doesn’t.

“Sway” - The Perishers
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tgx81jIXh78

I talk to you as to a friend
I hope that’s what you’ve come to be
It feels as though we’ve made amends
Like we found a way eventually

It was you who picked the pieces up
When I was a broken soul
And then glued me back together
Returned to me what others stole

I don’t wanna hurt you
I don’t wanna make you sway
Like I know I’ve done before
I will not do it anymore
I’ve always been a dreamer
I’ve had my head among the clouds
Now that I’m coming down
Won’t you be my solid ground?

I look at you and see a friend
I hope that’s what you wanna be
Are we back now where it all began
Have you finally forgiven me?

You gathered my dreams in
When they all blew away
And then tricked them back into me
You saved me I was almost dead

One that is more general angst/joy/zen, and always makes me smile, about all my loves loved, lost.

“On the Radio” - Regina Spector
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BSJQ1St1OnQ
This is how it works
It feels a little worse
Than when we drove our hearse
Right through that screaming crowd
While laughing up a storm
Until we were just bone
Until it got so warm
That none of us could sleep
And all the styrofoam
Began to melt away
We tried to find some words
To aid in the decay
But none of them were home
Inside their catacomb
A million ancient bees
Began to sting our knees
While we were on our knees
Praying that disease
Would leave the ones we love
And never come again

On the radio
We heard November Rain
That solo’s really long
But it’s a pretty song
We listened to it twice
‘Cause the DJ was asleep

This is how it works
You’re young until you’re not
You love until you don’t
You try until you can’t
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath

No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else’s heart
Pumping someone else’s blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don’t get harmed
But even if it does
You’ll just do it all again

And on the radio
You hear November Rain
That solo’s awful long
But it’s a good refrain
You listen to it twice
‘Cause the DJ is asleep
On the radio

The lady is so the next Tori Amos - but better in my book, but it may be generational. I love, the simple obviousness: “This is how it works You’re young until you’re not You love until you don’t You try until you can’t You laugh until you cry You cry until you laugh And everyone must breathe Until their dying breath”.

Spektor will always be associated in my mind with Yaya,I first heard her seeing the following video (which is very, very *me*) in flight from SD to DC, the visit when I met him, trying to not fall after the fact. For extra measure, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGTDRztaCCw: but, I have loved many people fully, including this latest silly boy. For all I give, I am richer for it. I may be a fool, and love foolishly, but I do love.

Two more VM soundtrack favs that snowballed into Yaya associations:

Optimism!
“Long Time Coming” - Delays
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pSyi62WylGc
Tore it up and walked away
Why’d you wanna go do that for?
Threw your Lego in
The lake
Why’d you wanna go do that for?

And you’re a long time coming
A long time
Coming home
Do you see me reeling off the lines
I’ve seen your, I’ve seen your
Eyes

How can you grow old
You were my triumph?
How can you grow old
You were my
Triumph?

Turned your face into the squall
Why’d you wanna go do that for?
You carved
Your name into the wall
Why’d you wanna go do that for?

And you’re a long time
Coming
A long time coming home
Do you see me reeling off the lines
I’ve seen your, I’ve
Seen your eyes

How can you grow old
You were my triumph?
How can you grow old
You were
My triumph?

Pessimism!
“Lost and Found” - Adrienne Pierce
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhl-f9-FxP0
eyes like flowers, i love the way you see
you see, you see you’re the best thing that’s happened to me
maybe i should fight harder for you
but I said I’d let you go when you wanted me to

have no power, I see the way you run
you run you run as soon as we start to have fun
maybe I will feel better alone
or just feel something, my heart is turning to stone

so, so slow
can you feel me letting go
I, I know that we turn away when the cracks begin to show

and now we’re
sleeping with the television and all the lights on
one of us is leaving soon but we’re both already gone
stuck at the lost and found, watch things disappear
looking for the missing piece but it was never here

every hour, I find a way a way
a way, a way to convince myself to stay
back and forth, I can’t juggle
lying here need to stand up and struggle

ivory tower, I know the way you think you think
you think it’s making my heart sink
unamused, tired of the antics
sick of arguing over semantics

so, so slow
can you feel me letting go
I, I know that we turn away when the cracks begin to show

and now we’re
sleeping with the television and all the lights on
one of us is leaving soon but we’re both already gone
stuck at the lost and found, watch things disappear
looking for the missing piece but it was never here

A sad, beautiful tune, which sums up how I have felt the past year about Yaya:

“Waiting in Vain” - Annie Lennox
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i74Y-5WKFsA
From the very first time I rest my eyes on you, boy
My heart said follow through.
But I know now that I’m way down on your line
But the waiting feeling’s fine

So don’t treat me like a puppet on a string
‘Cause I know how to do my thing
Don’t talk to me as if you think I’m dumb
I wanna know when you’re gonna come

See-
*I don’t wanna wait in vain for your love
I don’t wanna wait in vain for your love
I don’t wanna wait in vain for your love
‘Cause summer is here
And I’m still waiting there
Winter is here
I’m still waiting there

Like I said-
It’s been three years since I’m knocking on your door
And still I can knock some more
Ooh, boy, ooh, boy, is it crazy? Look, I wanna know now
For I to knock some more

You see-
In life I know
That there is lots of grief
But your love is my relief
Tears in my eyes burn
Tears in my eyes burn
While I’m waitin’
While I’m waitin’ for my turn

You see-
(*Repeat)

Like I said-
I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna
I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna
I don’t wanna wait in vain
I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna
I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna
I don’t wanna wait in vain

It’s been three years since I’m knocking on your door
And still I can knock some more
Ooh, boy, ooh, boy, is it crazy? Look, I wanna know now
Like I said-
Tears in my eyes burn
Tears in my eyes burn
While I’m waiting
While I’m waiting for my turn

You see-
Ooh, boy, ooh, boy, is it crazy? Look, I wanna know now
For I to knock some more
In life I know there is lots of grief
But your love is my relief

Manila Moxie will always rank among my best friends, although we have always seen each other so rarely. I stayed with her that decending November when I doubled back for a last siege with dear Bjoston. She had a number of wonderful von Goethe quotes tacked up above her sparsely populated cabinet - reminder that: she went to Harvard, and she is smarter than me. Among them - or did I find this from him later? - “If I love you, what business is it of yours?”

I always feel that telling a man or woman I am in love with him or her is a great imposition, and a great impropriety. Of course, I do not balk at impropriety! Anyhow, when I first heard this song, especially the opening lines, just after Yaya came, it quickly insinuated itself like an aspirational mould.

“Marlene on the Wall” - Suzanne Vega 
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Fq5J1lJTjs
Even if I am in love with you
All this to say, what’s it to you?
Observe the blood, the rose tattoo
Of the fingerprints on me from you

Other evidence has shown
That you and I are still alone
We skirt around the danger zone
And don’t talk about it later

Marlene watches from the wall
Her mocking smile says it all
As the records the rise and fall
Of every soldier passing

But the only soldier now is me
I’m fighting things I cannot see
I think it’s called my destiny
That I am changing

Marlene on the wall

I walk to your house in the afternoon
By the butcher shot with the sawdust strewn
“Don’t give away the goods too soon”
Is what she might have told me

And I tried so hard to resist
When you held me in your handsome fist
And reminded me of the night we kissed
And of why I should be leaving

Marlene watches from the wall
Her mocking smile says it all
As the records the rise and fall
Of every man who’s been here

But the only one here now is me
I’m fighting things I cannot see
I think it’s called my destiny
That I am changing

I have no Marlene, just the gold and green Mother of Buddha that Ahmulin brought me from Burma. The Mother of Buddha is an ample, amiable taitai, I think her smile is more sad and sympathetic than anything.

Then, the song that sprung to mind after the April night when I sent Yaya the stagnated letter about how I felt about him. The next morning, I awoke: Totally. Freaked. Out. Knowing what I now know, it sums up the etire situational. Apart from the whole, you know, I still really love the man lo.

Erase and Rewind
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ex2E4vyGem0
Hey..
What did you hear me say?
You know the difference it makes
What did you hear me say?
Yes,I said it’s fine before
But I don’t think so no more
I said it’s fine before

I’ve changed my mind
I take it back
Erase and rewind
‘Cause I’ve been changing my mind
Erase and rewind
‘Cause I’ve been changing my mind
I’ve changed my mind

So…
Where did you see me go?
It’s not the right way, you know
Where did you see me go?
No…
It’s not the light, oh no
I just don’t want it to grow
It’s not the light, oh no

I’ve changed my mind
I take it back
Erase and rewind
‘Cause I’ve been changing my mind
Erase and rewind
‘Cause I’ve been changing my mind
I’ve changed my mind

Erase and rewind
‘Cause I’ve been changing my mind
Erase and rewind
‘Cause I’ve been changing my mind
Erase and rewind
I’ve changed my mind…

I’ve changed my mind…
I’ve changed my mind…
I’ve changed my mind…
I’ve changed my mind…
I’ve changed my mind…

I’ve changed my mind…

Then, then. This song I can’t hear enough, and yet it always makes me cry. Stars, “The Face” (how Chinese..)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55FMOJMhV9s
“I’m not sorry I met you. I’m not sorry it’s over. I’m not sorry there’s nothing to say.”

“The Face” - Stars

Forget all that I said and just drive
We’ll be on the coastline by five
The sky is turning black to blue
I’m never gonna make it without out you

Have my coat if you’re cold I feel fine
Just keep your hands of my communion wine
You the cling to the things you deserve
You can’t love me, you don’t have the nerve

Forget everything up until now
See my face for the first time for the first time somehow
My hopes fade with the heat of the day
So I gotta pull over to pray

The sky’s so high that I can’t see
The face that god put there for me
And I’m so high that I can’t see
The face that god put there for me

Six times in the back of a Benz
Six strangers becoming my best friends
You were there I remember your face
I recall that you seemed out of place

You kept putting your head through the skylight
You kept saying ‘No’ to the phone lines
You kept you making me look at myself
You kept making making me see that I have no reflection

The sky’s so high etc

The worst part of losing a friend
Is knowing that it’s not the end
There’s always one more time you meet
In a crowded shop or a darkened street

You quickly catch each other’s eye
You drop your head and walk on by
And you know in that moment or two
You might have lost someone who really loves you
You might have lost someone who really loves you
Have you ever lost someone who really, really loves you?

Have you ever? Lost someone? Who really, loves you?

Shit. I have to regroup and move on. A default setting re-presents himself. I suspect I will always love more than I am loved. Which is pretty 他爸的 unfair. But I feel awful when I date people who love me more. I still do love and miss Yaya. I think he is so amazing a person, or could be. He has broken my heart, and I know he’s an insecure little loser, but I still love him. Because, as a friend and potential lover, he does “fit” so well. But, I must move along, shark-like.

Posted by Shanghai Vixen at 16:24:33 | Permalink | No Comments »