all that's past is prologue...

Yes, the patriarchic myth that women are not "supposed" to like sex (or at least the "good girls" don't) — that you need to convince us to submit, and that us granting you access to our bodies is somehow supposed to be some kind of reward for your amazing masculine powers — yes, that's incredibly problematic, and confusing, and dangerous. We hate it too. ( But sometimes, she whispers, we have no choice but to use that myth to protect ourselves when you spread rabid rumors that a girl is a slut, or "wants it," and is thus the kind of woman you can hurt and attack because she's "asking for it." ) But really, come on here. You're not stupid. You know that when a woman says "no," or starts crying during sex, or if you have to put your hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming , that this is no coy social game. You KNOW, at that point, that it's rape, and that you are crossing a boundary. And you know damn well th...

So, over fifteen years ago, my dad started volunteering at the Bakken Museum  because he thought they should do more eon the history of the house. They said he was certainly welcome to look into it, but hey, they needed someone to run their Frankenstein exhibit and would he do that? So thus began his fascination with Frankenstein. So I had really wanted to take him to Frankenstein: Playing with Fire that opened at the Guthrie last night. It's a remount of the production they premiered in 1988. I can only remember seeing on Guthrie show with my dad, but I replay thought he would like this one. And of course, he died before he could see it. So Patrick and I went last night for the opening, while Beatrix was at a birthday party. Some thoughts (certainly NOT a review): I remember the 1988 production being more sensational. But that may have been my mindset at the time, not the actual production. I was very young then. But this production felt far more intellectual. We were...

I had noticed a post for this show pop up in my feed, and then my friend Krista, whose taste in theatre I trust implicitly, suggested I see it. So, last night instead of sorting through papers or choosing photos for the memorial, we headed over to the Minnesota Trapeze Center to see it. The Center is devised as a circus class space, not a theatre, and so there were just a few chairs set up in the (very hot, remember it was 90 degrees yesterday) room. This suited the intimate sense of the show well, though. The set was simple — two static traps, and then marley and a few mats on the floor; a few other pieces of apparatus including a cyr wheel and a silk that was also briefly used for projection. The piece itself was a mix between aerial work that was evocative without being overly flashy, two ground-based dancers who added a sense of tragic-clown levity (not overtly funny, but adding humor), and a sort of in-between character who added a bit of magic (especially in a bubble moment w...

It's like the universe was trying to tell me something. First I read Present Over Perfect , and then I head a Ted talk, both on the same topic, how the first part of your life is all about building things up, and the second half is all about trimming them back. This depressed me greatly. Not only do I not even want to be thinking about moving towards the end of my life, but I certainly don't want to be cutting back. I want to be trying new things, exploring places I have not gone yet, and pushing my own boundaries. I reject cutting back. So, recently, I've been pushing myself to try new things. My friend Bethany noticed that last year at the Fair, there were very few scrapbook entries, and the topics were reasonable vague ("Heritage," "Vacation," and "Special Occasion"). So she hosted several of us to get together for "Subversive Scrapbooking," the idea being that we would "scrapbook up some State Fair entries that will m...

Other people get a mani-pedi when they need self-care (which actually does not sound like a half-bad idea....) Me? I headed to Alexis Bailly Vineyard  to see Nan and Sam and to enjoy an incredible performance of Dr. Falstaff and the Working Wives of Lake County by Mixed Precipitation , and I'm very glad for both. Mixed Precipitation performances are fun shows, but even more than that, they are events. This particular one is a mash-up of Nicolai's opera The Merry Wives of Windsor , plus Springsteen, and delicious farm-to-table food tidbits. It's an incredibly enjoyable afternoon, with fantastic performances — the whole cast was great, but particular standouts to me were Naomi Karstad and Anna Hashizume as the wives, and Joni Griffith as a particularly operatic ranger/barmaid (with a turn on the violin as well). The band also was exceptionally strong this year, with some pre-show tributes to the Queen of Soul. I'm still thinking, though, about the well-researche...

I'm still reeling from losing my dad. I didn't expect to quite so much. I was not a "daddy's girl." I have friends who have recently lost their fathers, women who were incredibly close to them, and my heart breaks in a thousand pieces for them. My parents divorced when I was two. I saw my dad every Saturday, he always had Christmas Day because my family celebrated Christmas Eve, and went on trips with him (when he would go to conferences or the like) once or twice a year. Very occasionally I would stay over at his place.  That's not very much compared to divorced parents today, but actually pretty good for the 1970s. We still have a platform rocker around here somewhere that I can't get rid of because my mom told me that when I came home Saturday afternoons she would have to rock me for hours. My dad was fiercely, stubbornly independent. He was so guarded, even with me. This has been made even more clear to me since he became ill and I stepped in to ...