You are. And that is enough.
From what I’ve read online about anniversary themes, this year is pottery and leather and it seemed like an interesting combination.
Why is that relevant? Because today is June 1st, 2014. The 9th anniversary of the television debut of Beauty and the Geek. Yikes almighty.
I read a bunch of friends’ status messages and comments with this hashtag on Facebook, so I was inspired to do a little research, read a few articles/blog posts and check out #YesAllWomen on Twitter for an hour or so. I think I need a shower.
Perhaps the strangest part about writing this is that I feel kind of awkward and almost guilty. It feels like this is women’s territory for sharing their feelings and experiences and a lot of guys using the hashtag #YesAllWomen sound like major assholes.
“Are all of you on the rag or something?”
“send nudes to me please all are accepted and appreciated”
“Because these bitches need to get off Twitter and back into the kitchen.”
“its mentally unstable women writing about their irrational fears of men because of what the media says.”
But the other almost guilty part is that I looked back through my blog archives and linking to this entry back in 2005 feels kinda like I’m bragging. I discovered firsthand how poorly guys can treat girls in social settings. I’m not going to speculate what anyone’s mindset was that night, but I just knew that the situation was bad. It felt wrong. I shouldn’t be patting myself on the back about that, but after spending a couple hours online tonight, it seems almost appropriate.
Years after that incident, I went to a fundraiser. It was kind of expensive for my budget, but the organizer was a friend of mine and she talked me into attending. It turned out to be mostly older people, but there was a Russian singer who was supposed to perform for a bit. (I don’t remember if it was because she had a sore throat, but they had to play a few of her songs off a CD instead.) Then they started playing regular dance music and I ended up joining her on the tiny dance floor.
It was just the two of us out there together and the only thing vaguely resembling “bumping and grinding” was when we were back to back with our shoulders together. It was lots of fun and she thanked me for dancing with her before she and the guy accompanying her took off. Now I’m thinking back at how innocent it seemed to me and how not innocent it might have seemed to her or anyone else who’s currently writing about #YesAllWomen.
The guy with her was a local newscaster who gave a brief speech before they played the singer’s CD. She asked him if it was okay for us to dance; he shrugged it off and said, “Sure.” At the time, I couldn’t imagine why she’d ask for permission. Now I think about how she might have been letting him know she’d be on the dance floor, she might have wanted to check if he thought it was safe… her question might have been worthy of shrugging off. But it might not have been.
I like to think I have good and pure intentions, but that’s what’s going through my head. What about a woman’s head? I have no idea. The more I’ve learned tonight, the more I’ve realized that I know even less than what I thought. I wave at passing strangers, I make eye contact, I smile when I talk to people. I have never, ever been afraid of doing these things. A lot of women have.
I’ll probably never be able to really appreciate that point of view, but what I can do is avoid perpetuating the problem, so I’m writing this blog post. Yes, it could be interpreted as bragging, but it could also be… if you’ll bear with this analogy, it could be like being a writer. When you first get started, you don’t know what you’re doing, you draw the basic framework of a story and barely scratch the surface. With more time and experience, you learn to dig deeper into implications and mindsets and make it more thorough, more complete.
And maybe that’s what this is. A story about how my viewpoint is becoming more complete. I’m learning more about what women experience on a regular basis and it’s kinda scary. I can’t exactly apologize for my gender, but I can be more cognizant on my own. I can keep pretend-drunkenly shoving guys away from girls who say “No.” I can remember that her not waving back at me doesn’t mean she’s not nice. I can avoid fighting with people who are developing a sense of mutual respect and support on Twitter. I can ignore hashtags that men are using to defend themselves and focus on the one that’s most important and deserves the most respect: #YesAllWomen.
This is something that’s been bothering me the last few days. Looking back at what I wrote, it just doesn’t flow very well. I like being able to create a smooth narrative that’s easy to follow and… it doesn’t. I think it’s because the more I thought about it, the more clear it became that I basically smooshed two blog posts together into one.
The message in the first part? It doesn’t really require me. What I want remembered about me are my relationships to family and friends. I’d like to have a positive impact on the world, but those are the people who are most important to me. As for the quote from Beauty and the Geek… I don’t matter. People don’t have to remember me, but I want the message to have an impact on people’s lives. “Aside from their appearance, they’re really not that much different than I am.” Attribute that to whomever you want—if it turns out that Abraham Lincoln said it first because everything you read on the Internet is true, that’s fine. I don’t care about my part in the equation. You don’t have to remember me, but try to remember that if you look past superficial details, we’re all a lot alike.
Then there was the story at the gas station, which was an interesting experience. A woman in the car had gone into the gas station first (the model’s friend who’d been driving, maybe?) and prompted the guy behind the counter to announce that donuts were on sale. That’s right, it wasn’t cookies, it was donuts. Either way, I’m sure it was still a nice change from egg whites. But I was still talking about how you never know when you might need donuts without looking around and had no idea who belonged to the voice on the other side of the gas pump.
When she appeared around the corner and said she’d been in the fitness competition, she flexed her arm with no prompting from me. I didn’t want to embarrass myself by trying to return the favor. I have wussy-looking arms in comparison. But as she talked about how it was a Miss Minnesota competition and how she placed fifth, I told her that was cool because it was.
The fact that she was in front of the counter when I got in the station was probably a good thing: I wanted to make sure I said “Congratulations” instead of just “That’s cool” (plus cheer about her buying donuts), so I didn’t have time to wander to the back of the station and grab something to eat or drink. A thing that wasn’t good is that because she was an attractive model, a part of my brain said that I shouldn’t pay too much attention to her because I didn’t want to seem like I was fawning over her or something. Thus, when I was in line and heard her say she achieved her goal, I didn’t turn to ask what it was. Top ten? Top five? I don’t know and I feel kinda bad about that.
After all, it was a conversation. She wasn’t preening or puffing out her chest… hmmm… perhaps that’s not the best analogy to use for a fitness model. But it wasn’t like she was saying, “Yeah, screw the other competitors, I’m fucking awesome!” She was proud about placing really high in a Miss Minnesota competition and wanted to tell me about it, but I was trying to be all non-sexist and ignore the fact that she was really attractive, thus completely forgetting about what I said on TV. I didn’t put her on a pedestal and marvel like I might have in the past, but I also didn’t react like I’d want someone else to if I told a story like hers.
Miss Minnesota. Fifth place. She achieved her goal. That’s HUGE. I’d want to talk about it, too, but I stopped listening at the end. I’m proud of myself because I didn’t stare or drool or anything like that, but bailing on the conversation before it was over? Not as proud.
So like I said, two separate blog posts with two different conclusions: I want people to remember the message more than they remember me, but I need to remember the message myself as well.
I was surfing through YouTube and clicked on a video of a small panel discussion for The Fault In Our Stars with a couple of the actors and the book’s author, John Green. (Incidentally, John graduated from Kenyon the year after me and the movie is coming out sometime in June.) They were talking about the book and the movie and what not, but then someone asked the question, “How do you want to be remembered?”
That question kept bouncing around inside my head and I kind of have two answers. I know that I want to be a good person and have caring relationships with friends and family. I want to have that close network of people around me who will remember me for what I’ve tried to be, not what I oftentimes am. (It sucks to be flawed, but such is life.)
Then there’s the other part of me who has been in front of a bunch of TV cameras for a worldwide audience and the most important part thing I can remember that appeared onscreen is something I said during my exit interview: “Aside from [the beauties’] appearance, they’re really not that much different than I am.”
That struck me a few days ago when I was at the gas station. I was filling up on Pump 7 and cleaning the windows on my car when a car pulled up on the other side (which I later discovered was Pump 11). After a moment, a voice over the loudspeaker said, “Pump 11, cookies are on sale.” I didn’t know where that was, but I said, “Yay, cookies!” I heard another voice say, “They’re probably stale!” “Hey, you never know when you might need them!” “Exactly!” Then the person belonging to the other voice started walking toward the building and I stopped cleaning the windows to look at her.
She had just been in a fitness competition for Miss Minnesota and came in fifth. Very tan, very shapely and she flexed for me—her biceps were very toned compared to mine. She also revealed that she hadn’t had a cookie in a long time, but now that the competition was over… NOM NOM NOM. (Apparently, cookies seem really appetizing when you’ve spent the last few months eating large quantities of egg whites.)
I saw her again when I went inside to pay and saw that yes, she had purchased a container of cookies. “Yay, cookies!” I congratulated her again on placing fifth, then… yeah. That was it.
I won’t lie, I’m proud of not staring at her like an object. She was just in a fitness modeling competition; I imagine she’d had dozens of people analyzing her appearance for hours already that day. She may have wanted to talk about the competition and I missed the chance to have a conversation, but the likelihood of developing a long-term friendship within the span of a minute or two at a gas station isn’t likely, so I prefer what I did: light banter without staring too much. After all, aside from her appearance, she’s really not that much different than I am. Well, plus her really strong biceps, too.
Devon Hensel is an old friend of mine from school (since 2nd grade, I think, though I’m not sure if she’d want to admit knowing me that long). She’s currently a professor at Indiana University and occasionally gets frustrated with her students. As a way to vent those frustrations, she would write “Dear Wayward Student” status messages on Facebook such as the following:
_____________________________________
Dear Wayward Student: thank you for the email.
1) “Hhhhhheeeeyyyy there prof, I’m not it class cuz imma kickin’ it on beak on Paaaadrrreee.” I was not aware that the University had started “beak” four days early, but this clearly explains your five week sabbatical from the course.
2) “Like, here’s my paper. I wanna be sure to turn it in on time.” Class is from 6-8:40 pm on Wednesdays. It is now 3am….on Friday.
3) “It was aweeeeesome writing on my first relationship….I hope I get full credit for this paper.” Unfortunately, this paper was actually due three weeks ago….You know, the same day you missed the exam.
_____________________________________
I admit, I sometimes feel the same urge to stab myself in the brain when I read stuff like that. What goes through some of her students’ heads is just… wow. But there are always likes and comments whenever she writes a new one (it’s probably related to the “rubbernecking” phenomena when people really need to see the results of a car crash).
I don’t remember exactly what inspired me to do it, but I consulted with Devon briefly, then created a very basic “Dear Wayward Student” page on Facebook. It sat there, cold and alone, begging for some attention, but alas, nothing. Until Devon wrote a new Dear Wayward Student status message recently, at which point I reminded her about the page and BOOM! People get to start reading stories without having to surf through her timeline.
As a bonus, other teachers have been adding comments to the page that go through their heads, but they’re polite enough to not say anything out loud. Comments like “If you have to introduce yourself to me at the end of the semester, chances are your bid for higher participation points won’t work.”
So if you want to indulge in a little bit of Interwebs-based rubbernecking, Dear Wayward Student has a Facebook page and a Twitter account. One caveat: if you stab yourself in the brain, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
If you’re following my Twitter account or see my blog entries appear on your Facebook News Feed, you’re about to receive an onslaught of posts in the next day or two. My apologies, but there’s a good reason for it.
It started when I found out that Television Without Pity will be shutting down on April 4th. It’ll be keeping the old forums online until May 31st, but after that, no more TWoP. It’s kind of a bummer because the website earned a special place in my heart many, many years ago. And by “many years ago”, I mean “the summer of 2005 when Beauty and the Geek was on the air.”
My older brother Brent told me about the site since he’d created an account, started following what was going on and occasionally posted little tidbits of information about me. (There was never any concern about spoilers because I never told him anything before it appeared on the TV screen, so he found out how thoroughly I tanked the outdoor challenge at the same time as all of the other home viewers.) But when he told me about some of what people were writing, I was intrigued and started lurking on the forum.
Brent eventually revealed that we were brothers and people occasionally tried to milk him for information and/or insight. Not a big deal—he could write more than I felt comfortable doing because I didn’t want to breach my contract with the WB. However, that let to a really awkward exchange for one person on the forum.
First, I’d like to declare that it’s a major ego boost to read that someone had a sex dream about you and “it was nice.” Second, I’d like to declare that it’s probably really, really embarrassing to find out that the object of said sex dream read what you wrote. I can’t say for sure, but after someone pointed out that Brent was my brother and I was probably lurking, her next post was “oh fuck.”
But reading about how people saw and interpreted the show (versus what actually happened) was usually pretty interesting. There were some pretty insightful and intelligent people there, many of whom had my back when things were going in the toilet with gathering phone numbers and Scarlet chewing me out for a majority of our final episode on the show.
When I read that TWoP was going to be shutting its proverbial doors soon, I decided to go read through what people wrote oh so many years ago. Ah, nostalgia… And ah, sex dreams… I spent way too many hours last night reading the first fifty or so pages of the forum (that’s when they started writing about later seasons and who cares about those?).
Brent had referred them to my blog at various times, particularly after the 4th and 5th episode when I was ranting about what happened, what appeared on the screen, what didn’t appear on the screen, etc. Since people were discussing that, I decided to pile up some more nostalgia by going to the blog and reading those entries as well.
There was just one problem: they weren’t there.
I thought I transferred all of the posts that I’d saved on my hard drive. As I wrote them in the past, I’d copy and save them in a Word file, then add the date and title to a “Blog entry dates” file to keep everything in order. When I compared that list to what was on the website, there were two dozen missing.
If it was just a long string of entries, I’d understand. I was reposting everything on the new blog, got sloppy and missed a big chunk. In this case, though, there were maybe five scattered here and there within a span of about two months. I’m not sure what happened, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I’m going to fix the problem. I’m going to post everything that’s currently missing, change the publishing dates to their original dates and everything will be back to the way it should be. Order will be restored!
Thus, I’m going to be busy for a day or two and you may end up reading a whole lot of outdated stuff, but who knows? Maybe some of you will get the same sense of nostalgia. But you probably won’t have the same sex dreams.
