Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Dress Shoes

I really like dress shoes.  They are sleek, sometimes a little glamorous, and they make me feel especially assertive with the sharp click, click, click of my stride.  There’s something uplifting about swaying my hips over a pair of satin stilettos.

Of course, I didn‘t always have these sentiments.  As a child, I was an absolute sneaker fan -with a closet empty of anything else.  On the rare occasion I did encounter dress shoes, usually for adult events like cocktail parties or weddings, they weren’t the real thing, but just a safe imitation.  There were times I wondered about the real ones out of curiosity, and I would secretly stumble a few steps in some pumps even though they never fit.

Dress shoes eluded me until high school, when I got my first pair of heels.  They were modestly attractive: dark grey leather and lined with blue silk.  I slipped them on over stockings and enjoyed them for short trips here and there.  There was something very exciting and mature about wearing those shoes for the quick walk to class or to the dining hall for Formal Dinner.

Until something unplanned happened.

At that time I went to boarding school, and one day I decided to walk from my campus to the nearby town.  My heels hadn’t bothered me during class, so I thought nothing of them when I started my little excursion.  Three miles later, standing on the bridge between my dormitory and the town, I had to peel the shoes from my swollen, bloody feet.

That’s thing with dress shoes -sometimes, unexpectedly, they give you blisters.

I did not know better at that age.  I did not think to wear moleskin instead of stockings, did not think to avoid heels altogether.  So I got blisters.  Minor ones, initially, so I rinsed them out, went to bed with bare feet, and then continued my daily grind.

There was some trouble with the fact that my feet could not tolerate any of my shoes.  A bandage and some Neosporin did little to relieve the worsening sores, and eventually the pain was so bad I couldn’t even pull on jeans without hissing through clenched teeth.  I went to see the school physician.

A stranger in a white coat told me that my blisters had developed little inside blisters and that I would need to have the skin cut open to allow the infected area to drain.  I would also need some antibiotics.  A simple, same-day procedure that was as unsurprisingly expensive as any other medical treatment.

My medical insurance, oddly enough, would not cover my blister problem.  Even though I could barely get to class and had to take leave from work (as I could no longer adhere to certain requirements), I would have to pay for everything out of pocket.  Frustratingly enough, as a student without a job, I did not have the money.

Since I thought the store was partly responsible for my blisters, as they had sold me the dress shoes, I looked for help on their part.  The sales associate informed me the surgery was my business and that he only felt obligated to offer store credit.  Maybe I could survive for the time being in some tennis shoes, he suggested.  But I did not want to hobble around in tennis shoes and wait for the blisters to scar over, I wanted the blisters gone.  I wanted to get back to class comfortably, I wanted to go back to my job.

How could my insurance cover seasonal allergy medication, a mild annoyance, but not something so completely debilitating?

I called my mother for some support.  She was only partially sympathetic.  As a woman who was equally prone to blisters as myself, she had some experience with the same troubles.  In her day, however, she had chosen to enjoy the time off required to let the blisters heal naturally, nursing the wounds with careful attention day after day.  She had been able to see something rewarding in the situation.  But my mother was a different person from myself, and I could not discern anything suitable for me in this situation.

My feet got worse.  They became so swollen and unfamiliar to me that I had to sacrifice more daily activities.  I said goodbye to my swim team and the winter production of Pippin.  I felt a bit blue, then a little ill, and finally pretty sick.  Just a little desperate, I called the doctor’s office in town and asked for an appointment.  It was a free clinic and I needed their help.

Another white coat examined my enlarged and tender feet.  We talked a little.

“Must be exciting to have an excuse to miss class, right?” the doctor prompted, a little amused but trying to reassure me.

“No,” I answered honestly.  Missing class only seemed alright until I tried to jump back into the material and did not understand any of it.  The reply was an unconvincing, congratulatory, “We’ve got a smart one here!” 
I wanted to ask, if I was so smart, then why didn’t anyone seem inclined to help me pay for the treatment?  It was medically uncomplicated and could prevent a lot of hassle and future expenses, so why was it so difficult to finance?

The clinic doctor finished with my feet and quietly informed me that the blisters were past a simple repair.  They had grown so infected that the blisters on my blisters now had blisters and that I was risking blood poisoning without serious attention.  Blood poisoning would not stop at my feet, but rather affect my entire body.  It was a life-threatening condition, so I had to confront it.

A large bill was unavoidable and I was out of options, so I turned to my parents for help.  There was a lot of fuss and questioning: why didn’t I protect my feet better? Why wear those heels at all?
Well, I thought my protection was enough, and how was avoiding dress heels completely, realistically valid any way?

I wanted someone to answer my questions.  Why wasn’t I able to get financial help for my emergency?  My blisters did not start as fully developed blood poisoning, why couldn’t I get the simple treatment for them when they were still solitary, elementary things?  How was I, a cerebral and fully functioning being, manipulated into submitting to mindlessly infected blisters?

My education, my work, my body, my finances all changed and I hadn’t been able to get any help to prevent such from happening.

Thankfully, I was born into a privileged life, and so this little episode did not derail my life.  I was able to recover and advance as I had always hoped.  The thing is, not every girl is so lucky, though every one should be.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

"Blond" is a Politically Correct Insult

For the current, “cultured” American society, there are quite a few words that are considered inappropriate; ranging from the innocuous “fart”, to “sugar tits”, to “dickbreath”, to...yeah, this list could actually become my entire blog... You get my point, Reader. 

There are also words that are not used –and rightly so– because they target specific groups of people for uncontrollable characteristics, like skin colour or “ethnic” features. If these words are vocalised, then it is in a negative light and, in a fictional setting, usually by the detestable character or antagonist. (In the case of the anti-hero, using these terms is one of his/her less than favourable traits.)

Perfectly understandable.

Some could make the argument that politeness is censorship, sure, but in general, I am of the opinion that it is beneficial for society to acknowledge derogatory terms and as such to use them carefully. Words used as labels can foster detrimental stigmas, and those stigmas can inhibit society's growth by limiting perfectly capable groups of people. Within my life time, there has been a sweeping movement to curtail the “acceptable” prevalence of these terms. What was once widely said with little regard is now publicly shamed; for the ablest there's “retarded”, “spazz” (from spastic), or “lame”. And gendered terms like “bitch” or the C-word have received similar argument against usage. “Gay” has probably the most publicised debate against its usage as a derogatory term. So savvy parents are now encouraging kids to say “asshole” and “shithead” instead, because these apply to the population at large and do not single out – oh wait...sorry, children are not supposed to name call. I forget that we only want them to be like adults in some ways.

Anyhow, aside from children (for some reason), it is commonly expected that in certain situations, from time to time, people will use insults. “Good guys” do call names – just as long as the “bad guy” really deserves it. Even elitists have their high-brow insults, like “asinine”, “biased”, and "public school".  Like I said, “asshole”, too, though not for polite conversation, also remains a free-for-all term. It does not offend any particular group, therefore it's insulting, but universally so. Everyone wins!

Except for the person being insulted (like Sauron or Hitler. Assholes!).

Bad guys deserve to be insulted. For instance, this UCLA student deserves to be confronted for being a condescending, ignorant, hateful person. Wallace complains that Asian students (somewhat specifically those who speak Chinese, given her terrible imitation) are incredibly rude and disruptive because, unbelievably, they keep company in groups and use cell phones. Rather crassly, she also spews the disclaimer that she is “not racist” and does not mean to “offend” anyone, especially her apparently 'dignified' Asian friends. I will say that Wallace has a right to her opinion, because she is a citizen of the United States, and this country (at least superficially) still allows individuals to think for themselves. However, by recording her opinion on a public forum, she has inherently invited an audience to either applaud or (vehemently) pan her statements. She opened herself up for criticism, and shockingly, some of it is rather harsh. She qualifies as a total buttwart. She is a xenophobic, inarticulate, egotistical, blond windbag!

Ah. Hold up. One of those things is not like the other... Blond. I get that she does have blond hair, but how is this fitting with the insults? I will mention she also receives an outstanding amount of hatred directed towards her as a woman, because she is clearly -read not a legitimately substantiated fact at all- a slut, but there's already a substantive movement against sexism. Blond though, remains popularly uncontested.

Blond is a naturally occurring hair colour. It has no correlation between IQ, skills, habits, or opinions.... but somehow, there is a widely accepted, unfavourable relationship with blond. There has been some attribution to Marilyn Monroe as the matron of the quintessential “dumb blond”, but how has this term survived the political correctness movement when so many others have not?

Stop right there, Reader! If you are thinking only bleached blond hair qualifies a person as a frowned-upon-blond because it represents something “fake” and effectively shallow or materialistic about said person, then...how? How does bleached blond hair somehow signify vanity more than cosmetics, acne-treatment, trendy gadgets, luxury brands, zip codes, dog breeds! Ah, another unending list.... What makes being blond so distinct and worthy of vilification? (Should I cite Hitler again?? That asshole.)

Blonds are targeted for a purely physical trait, but I am not aware of any popular movement against the stereotype. To be fair (pun intended), there are plenty of examples that refute (Hillary Clinton, Beatrix Kiddo) or subvert (Luna Lovegood) the “dumb blond” image, so it is not like Blonds are without hope. It's just that the media seems quite comfortable with reiterating the negative (see Play Boy, Legally Blond, or post-Fox News Gretchen Carlson) and no one is bothered enough to demand an end to this unjust practice. Blonds have feelings ok, they do. Deep inside – under the dried out scalp and shrivelled brain.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

My Introduction as a Mythical Creature

There really are too many labels and stereotypes crowding today's political and social discourse.  To bridge the gap between these groups is often thought impossible.  (A Republican feminist?! Nay, I say! Nay!)

I am eager to defy this overwhelming tendency to categorize and restrict beliefs to some spot on an identity spectrum.  By having read the title of my blog alone, Reader, I am sure this comes as no surprise to you.  And I like to think that right now you are following my words with sincere curiosity as to how I plan on defining myself.   Getting it out of the way:
  •  21 year old, female university student
  • Middle-class, Christian, Army brat of two veterans
  • Born and raised in New York
 These little facts all say "something" of me -maybe that I am not so sure about comma usage, or that my religious and military backgrounds color me conservative.  For the moment, I am choosing to focus on the latter.

Now it could be true that I am moderately conservative because of those things, but there is a problem with this common assumption.  The institutions that propagate the belief that "military" and "Christian" go along with conservative would also have you -a general "you" in this sense, Reader- think that I am also certainly pro-this and anti-that.

Even more defining than religion or background is my sex: a young woman.  That says a lot about me.  Beyond the gendered things (such as being addicted to a cell phone, apparently mandatory), being a woman says that I have a strict biological purpose, and that all of my actions inherently revolve around that impetus.  Any noticeable accomplishment -whether applauded or abhorred- to go against this goal is picked at and analyzed and questioned to the nth degree.

When I say "questioned" here, I am referring to the reporting done on any given topic.  How the media, from news to marketing, presents and responds to events and trends, and what existing presumptions are used as contrast.

It is not just the media that draws lines so readily.  Politicians do the same and, even more egregiously, use the lines as a sort of unifying banner.  The Republican Party is the patriotic party!  The Democratic Party fights for women!

Well, they are not, and they -shhhhh- don't actually care that much.  

My blog as my digital soapbox, I will explain my own label and confront those already established for me. Occasionally I will prove to be extremely typical, I am unsurprisingly young and progressive, I suppose, but there are a few I would like to dispute.  The point of argument might fall under political, economic, social, and religious spheres, or touch upon all and more.


--Wait, nah. Just kidding.  I'm too busy texting for this sh*t.


:)