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A Few Words on the First Lady's Gown

This image came up on my Instagram, and even though I rarely post on Tumblr, I felt that my opinions on this matter would be best worked-through here.

There are a few places my thoughts go after seeing this post. At first, I felt anger. There was anger first and foremost over what this act symbolizes. So far, this presidency has been at the very least a dark cloud over progress in this country, and at its most a very dangerous situation for the entire world. The Smithsonian receiving Melania Trump's dress is not only a painful reminder that the Hell we're living is real, but also a reminder that he's not going anywhere! Where is the actual impeachment!? Why are we continuously embarrassing ourselves in the eyes of the entire world!? Is this real life!?

I also felt anger at the Smithsonian, but as a national institution I know it has its obligations. I want to come back to my thoughts on this a little later.

So after anger over the presidency itself, I wondered a little about the exhibit. Yes, shocker, my mind went to the dangerous, evil place of feminism. I started to wonder why a dress holds so much power for arguably the most powerful woman in the world. Who cares what she wears, as long as she does great things? Then I remembered that even though I may have surrounded myself with people who aren't interested much in the societal expectations of the aesthetics of women, that's not the case in the rest of the world. The First Lady is considered a fashion icon. This fact is a part of history, and therefore important to highlight. Even though I can't remember this exhibit (though I must have seen it), I am sure it discusses the great deeds of our First Ladies outside of their impeccable fashion sense. It is also incredible that these dresses are being preserved. Conservation is awesome. So, while it's definitely true that this exhibit is symptomatic of our obsession with women as art or objects or anything but real, living, breathing, crying, aging, dying human beings, I am not trying to belittle people who study fashion history, or become empowered by an exhibit about powerful women, however displayed. The material culture is awesome, and the women who wore them were (and are - yes, Hillary, yes, Michelle!) very strong. I just wonder how amazing it would have been to throw an inaugural suit into the mix, whether by the First Man (is this what we'd call Bill?), or by a First Lady who prefers pant suits. Or better yet, the First Man could wear a gown if he so chose. That would be dope.

So I've talked about the presidency, and I've talked about feminism. What did I miss? Two more things: comments and museums.

I have not read any articles on this topic, but I did do some light reading of the Instagram comments on the Smithsonian's post. For the most part there appeared to be two camps. They were not Left and Right, black or white, though. There was first The Angry Liberal. This was obviously an opinionated bunch, not dissimilar from myself, who mostly just said things like, "unfollow," "disgraceful," "sham of a presidency," etc. For the most part I agreed with their sentiments; I am an angry liberal, after all. While I saw some smatterings of the Fake News Is Real News Conservatives thanking the Smithsonian, the second biggest camp was actually the moderate It's Just A Dress group. I can't categorize this group at all. They could be liberals accepting the fact that the presidency is real, so her dress belongs in the Smithsonian (which is true, but it's just REALLY hard to accept). They could be moderates who just consider this presidency another dichotomizing force in an already polarized nation (also true!). They could be conservatives or liberals or immigrants or students or parents, or any kind of person who would choose to follow the Smithsonian on Instagram. This was a fascinating group to me, and they made me feel guilty about feeling so many feelings over a dress. While occasionally the Angry Liberal would comment on their posts with truthful statements like, "It's not about the dress, it's about what the dress represents," I still couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear that we Angry Liberals are not doing the right thing. Is it possible to try for dialogue instead of trolling Instagram feeds? Can we be better than angry internet rants and the occasional march? We are desperate, as LGBTQ+, POC, immigrants, and women for our voices to be heard. We beg those who expect simple answers to complicated questions to consider the answers may be complicated as well. We beg them to realize that just because our history is ours, it doesn't mean it's right or good; but it is a learning tool. We ask so much and we try so hard, and I know you're exhausted. I am, too. I don't know what the right way to bridge the political gap is, but I'm going to keep trying. We have to continue the dialogue.

I am going to tread very lightly on this final portion of my post. I work in museums, and seeming to attack the world's largest is not a great career move for a young professional. Therefore, I'll be brief. I once did a presentation to a retired exhibit designer/curator/director (to be honest, I forget his exact position or title) of the Smithsonian. We were to present three or five objects that highlighted significant cultural aspects of America. (This is when I learned that Budweiser is actually owned by Brazil.) Against my partner's wishes, I chose to present a woman's religious headdress. What better way to represent our melting pot than by celebrating different religions, cultures, fashions, and women in America!? ... I was shut down. I was shut down so hard. Of course, this was by the same person who wondered why another group wanted to display a glass ceiling, because "women have already broken through the glass ceiling," so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. While not digging too deep into the politics of the museum world (especially the politics of government funded and administered museums), I just wanted to say that every museum tells you a story. It is a story crafted by many people over many years (or decades, or centuries). Some places that call themselves museums *cough* Creation *cough* Bible *cough* do not provide factual information. But for the most part, museums permanently display 2-10% of their collection, of which the documentation and material culture reveal knowledge about the past and present. But 2-10% is such a small amount! There is so much you may never get to see, even with the occasional special exhibit. Museums are amazing hubs of knowledge. They are here for you, they listen to you, and they try to teach you. But they do play the political game. Take that as you will.

[insertarchaeologistinnuendohere]

Applying to the Department of WTF

"I'll never get in," I think, as IV leagues roll past my screen. They'll prick me, but they won't make me healthy. IV leagues are non-committal men. But my commitment is equally in question. One man isn't good enough, and neither is one passion.

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This is a poem

"You look so sad," she giggled as I write in my Darvocet coma I've spent the past couple days in bed reading horror stories producing salt and rejecting vitamins A-Z. I feel crazy. Assault reigns differently for everyone. today I'd rather be its jester than its Brutus. Is that allowed ?

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I work in a museum

I work in a museum. It's an archaeology museum, where the useless junk of people's past sits in tiny cases on display, where useless people of junk's past sits as well. I get to touch those objects and their people. I get to feel the mundane (and the special) of ancient lives (and deaths). And I can't help but think about my toilet bowl, can opener, and my least favorite sweater. And wonder if they will define me one day. And wonder if they define me today.

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Brain Shit

"Why do artists have to suffer, but STEM kids just need to solve equations?" She asked. "It's that left/right brain shit," he commented.

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Solutions: Text to a Friend

Sorry I know it seems like I'm contradicting myself, but I'm not. And I'm not angry at you or insulting you in any way. I just feel like some people like to push solutions onto others. There must always be solutions. To me, life isn't like that. I ride the waves, wherever they may take me. Sometimes I'm pulled into the undercurrent, but other times I'm having the ride of my life. And I'm okay with that. I just need loved ones for the moments I'm drowning. Just like I try to pull my friends up to the high point when I'm graced with that moment. If I squashed all the bad stuff, if I chose not to feel that anymore, then I'd lose my appreciation for the good. I'd also lose my ability to empathize with that pain. That empathy is what helps me write and create.

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Priorities

I realized this winter where my priorities currently lie.  Everyone holds different expectations for themselves, expectations that develop or even change over time.  My mother wanted to get away from Scranton.  She wanted to escape in more ways than merely physical.  She got a B.S. in nursing, moved to Philadelphia, and met my dad, the med student.  No longer would she share one bathroom with five other people.  She lost her accent and her attachment, except for her love of a good old Scranton tray (pizza).  Besides beautiful women and money, I am not sure where my father’s priorities were.  He’s too complicated to only be motivated by sex and dough, but maybe I’m wrong.

Priorities are things you make sacrifices for, and I see the differences among my friends.  Darcy chose to move back to Delaware for the comfort.  Now she has a boyfriend and a dog.  Becca stayed in Denver after grad school.  Her boyfriend moved in with her, and besides lacking a dream job, I think she is content.  Some people will pay extra to live alone or live in an expensive area.  Nicecars.Concerts.Drugs.Etc. 

I want a dog.  I want a dream job, and I want a life partner, I think.  I even want a nice apartment for once.  But it took me several years to really evaluate myself and my priorities.  This is important.  The things you have, the choices you’ve made, they define you.  What you have right now, those things are directly related to your basest desires.  So at the age of twenty-five, what would I sacrifice anything for?  The answer seems to be travel.  After I graduated from undergrad, I spent six months waiting tables so I could go to Israel and excavate that summer.  Instead of working or interning last summer, I again went to Israel and studied Arabic in Morocco.  Now, I have my Master’s degree, work two jobs, and am drowning in student loans.  One job is at a museum, and I really love it. I also wait tables, which gets me by.  So what have I recently spent all my savings (which was minimal to begin with) to do?  Go to Israel again, and even visit a friend in England and another in Cyprus.  I know this sounds amazing and romantic, but it is a priority just like any other.  I am spending two months away from work, my apartment, and my city to slice up the monotony.  Because, you see, my priority is not travel.  It is misleading to think so.  My number one priority, the thing that guides every choice I make, the thing that keeps me from pets and relationships and my family and my career, is change.  That big C.  I can’t do the same thing every day for a year if my life depended on it (and it sort of does).  And what does this mean about me?  At least the me I’ve known?  It means I’ll never be satisfied standing still.  It means that the same city, the same lover, the same job will all become boring eventually.  And not just boring, but life-threatening.  I am constantly motivated by the goal of something new, and when I’m not?  My thoughts set in.  Those insidious thoughts that eat away at me.  I lose all hope.  I’d call it the big D, but I think that holds a different connotation.  

Anyway, my plea here is to recognize what your priorities are.  Once you know them, then you’ll know why other parts of your life won’t fall into place.  It’s comforting and therapeutic, if not a little bit terrifying.  Just one more step toward all the nitty-gritty “you” that you don’t often see.

[insertarchaeologistinnuendohere]

It’s Time

I think it’s time for me to come back to writing.  The few poems I have posted on this forum are not the only I have written, and I think I need to start channeling my thoughts into this productive outlet.  I plan to post a poem, short story, or blog at least once a week.  Let’s shoot for Sundays.  I have very few followers on Tumblr, but maybe if I continue to post and share, people will be able to see and *fingers crossed* relate to my words.

Cheers, 

Kate

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Do you think if James and Sirius would have lived longer they would have apologized to Severus for their bullying?

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We should make a new global tradition. Anytime someone dies, we put a pair of shoes on them and tie the laces together. That way if there was a zombie apocalypse, it might be a lot easier to manage.

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Time heals broken hearts. Time doesn't heal a lot of other shit.

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Eeon Rate?

I just realised where Kylo got his name from:

Ky = sKYwalker

Lo = soLO

Ren = literally just his birth name with an R

which means that when he was choosing his super scary Dark Lord name, he just mashed up the surnames of the most positive figures in his life. poor sod can’t even evil right

[insertarchaeologistinnuendohere]

The Cliche Thing

When I think about love

I don’t cringe. Some of you think I do, but I know the rest know what I feel. It’s fear.

I’ve met those busy, indifferent. I’ve met the dreamers, the expectant, And the happy. I’ve seen the range, I’ve Felt The range, Yet I want no part of It. Not now, but Maybe Someday?

I have never been opposed to love For him, her, them, you. I love my family, my friends. And sometimes I think I would love to share my heart Again. It’s not remembering the pain that Deters me. It’s the fear, but not of the known, I know how to get my heart broken, you See.  It’s happened before. I fear the wasted time. I fear forgetting who I am, and What I Stand For. I fear the change I never wanted, But all of a sudden, I need. If love is passion, count me out. If love is compromise, count me out. If love is the future, count me out. When love is me.happy.com, (s)he.happy.com, Count. Me. In.

But why look for it? It’s biologically written: make le babies. Procreate. Love was only subtly in the equation, yet We feed on it.

My career is not more important. My finances are not set. My life Is Not simple.

But I’ll keep hitting snooze On that Bio-logic-al Clock. Fuck you.  Let me be.

I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy. Don’t ever forget that. I don’t pass judgment on your choice to love. Don’t pass judgment on my choice to not.

Here’s my two cents: We never lived in a world as connected as this. People cheated before the internet existed. People Moved on Before the internet.

Monogamy is a social construct, right? Biologically, it makes no sense for a male to Take one partner. Right?

Porn, right? Sex, right? Online dating, right? Him.her.you.

I am not a cynic, and I want you to be happy.

Maybe I will find love, Maybe you’ll lose it.

But I hope you know you’re more than that arm you cling to.  (everyone thinks I’m wrong) But you were never more you than when You were at it Alone.

(everyone thinks I’m wrong) Because romantic love changes you.

At first it’s amazing. Sex. Fireworks. Where do we both begin? Maybe it’s comfortable.  Hold me. Trust me.  Binge watch with me. Maybe it’s like that until You die.

Lucky you?

But do I choose the helpless, sexless nerd, The comfortable goofball, Or The dangerous, break-my- Heart at any moment Depressant?

Is everything that simple?

I can barely keep friends.  I move (on), But I miss them. I walk through a new city and think I can replace them. Humans are beautifully unique. So ask yourself, does The one Really exist? If you said ‘yes,’ the Fantasy world must be treating you well. …no? In this kind of world, What does it mean to be monogamous?

I am not a cynic.  This world is not built on parental expectations and Societal download.

A life partner?  Pretty sure we can pay for that now-a-days.   Sex?  Free. (or paid, do what you want With Your body).

All of this is a construct. Career.house.two-car-fucking-garage, And kids.

Love.

So ask yourself: am I capable of choosing?

[insertarchaeologistinnuendohere]

The only adult swinging we do

[insertarchaeologistinnuendohere]

MCS is more than just a band to me

I have the urge to write about my music, and what it has done for me over the years.  I think I may want to write this, because I am simply tired of being judged.  I know that sounds silly.  Why do I care what these dopes think of me?  Well, it’s more complicated than that... 

I am a graduate student at the University of Chicago, getting my Master’s in Middle Eastern Studies.  Even though I have wanted to be an archaeologist for fifteen years, this place has discouraged me from wanting to pursue my PhD.  There were men in my program that took my voice by telling me what I had to say wasn’t worth hearing.  To this day we still argue over the interpretation of a rape scene in a novel we read (every single man argues it was irrelevant to the theme and plot of the novel, whereas many of the women believe it is an important scene to highlight since the rapist was supposed to be the champion or hero [Memed, My Hawk is the title]).  Besides the blatant sexism, there are people so engulfed in what they study that all other pursuits seemed somehow childish.  I was and still am scoffed at for having many interests.  How can I like Harry Potter and Star Trek, and still be a graduate student in Islamic archaeology?  I read fiction? I watch cartoons?  Where do I find the time to binge watch horror movies? Fall Out Boy? 

This has actually been a struggle for very practical reasons; it is difficult to find friends who want to go to concerts, events, etc.  However, I have built my wonderful group of some really amazing people.

My problem with judgments like these is that I used to utilize them once.  I have never truly been known to be ‘nice,’ but I think many of my acquaintances would say that about me today.  I have been really happy with my progress to become more accepting and appreciative of everyone.  Call me crazy, but I believe everyone is awesome in their own way.  That idea has most significantly helped me love myself.  And you know what, it’s freeing!  Not being angry or upset about silly things is - amazing!  Hate is much more exhausting than love.

There you have it for the introduction.  I haven’t even gotten to the part where I talk about my music.  But now you know why I feel the pressure in my head to explain this intense love for these songs.  It is not fun or funny to devalue someone because of their musical interests, especially when you have no idea why she listens to that music.  Of course, music, books, movies, shows, etc.- it’s all subjective!  It is simply amazing that some people have managed to make me feel ashamed of things I love.  I always wonder how they got this far in life.  I just want to scream, “GROW THE FUCK UP, and show some respect!”

In my freshman year of college, I was put on ‘happy pills.’  I was depressed and suicidal, and what snapped me out of it was the conveniently inconvenient suicide of my uncle the spring of that year.  Since then, I have not taken the pills.  I had ambition for my life, and though I may have had my downs, I was moving forward.

Something caused me to snap a few weeks ago.  I don’t know what it was, but I’m currently trapped in the vortex of sadness.  It’s really not that bad.  I get really mean, with little patience for the pettiness of life.  I want to sleep and do a lot of weird drugs.  I want to write and I want to be alone.  I think a lot, and that makes me angry - at him, at her, at you, at the world. Nothing matters.  I skip my Arabic and Hebrew classes, I don’t do homework, and everything seems futile.

Motion City Soundtrack is my favorite band.  They have been there for me through all of it, and like I promised at the beginning of this post, I want to explain how they directly relate to me.  I think they have been able to document my depression in art form, and I am indebted to them for that.  None of this matters.  No one cares how this or that song makes me feel, but I also don’t care what you think right now.  I think I am just going to name the song, post a video to it, and explain what it means to me.  They will not be in album order, just an order that makes sense to me:

 1. “@!#?@!” from My Dinosaur Life

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AIbtuUWdxYU

I decided to start off light.  This song epitomizes my feelings for those aforementioned dopes.  MCS did in three minutes what this entire post will probably still fail to do: get toxic people out of awesome people’s lives.  It is especially powerful, because I am very protective of my friends.  Bullying them is a ticket to Crazy Kate Town.

2. “Her Words Destroyed My Planet” from My Dinosaur Life 

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RC_HwM5nSYU

When I had my first break up, this song did not yet exist.  However, the second I played it on my “My Dinosaur Life” album, I was taken aback by how true to my life it actually was.  I believed he was the one.  I was also the emotionally dysfunctional one who spent her weekends crying because of an unseen illness, and he loved me despite this.  But he broke up with me.  He “couldn’t do it anymore.”  His words destroyed my planet.  None of my subsequent break ups were as heart-wrenching as this first, because he was my planet.  “I guess anything is better than the time you spent hoping I’d get it sorted out.”  It felt too real.  My first boyfriend was also Lebanese, and I conveniently started taking Arabic after our break up; “I’m learning to speak Japanese” seemed oddly relevant.

3. “Hello, Helicopter” from Even If It Kills Me

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8TAQehYa0hU

This song is about the over-consumption of humans, our destruction of the planet, and our total indifference toward it.  When I am enraged at the convenience-driven lifestyle of Americans, usually specifically annoyed with a singular person who just does not want to know or care about any of it, I find solace in this song.  It is good to know I am not the only one looking around wondering how we can all be wearing such heavy blinders all the time.  Don’t those things start to weigh on us? Believe it or not, this song also speaks to the problems someone with a mental illness struggles with, like perpetual big picture thinking, feeling alien, and not understanding the motivations of others.

4. “Where I Belong” from Even If It Kills Me

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pISPVfRQiOo

This song is me.  For years, you could find quotes from this piece of art written in every one of my notebooks, and on all my surfaces.  It’s quirky and awkward, conversational, and even alludes to the life of a divorced child (at least that is always how I have applied it to my life - “there’s chaos in the courthouse...”).  At the same time, it is somehow more playful in its fear and pain.  Unlike some of the songs to follow, Justin seems okay with the fact that he is like this.  This is how I spend most of my life.

5. “Circuits And Wires” from Go

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZ9_b5K2mVU 

If the last song was me, this song is us on a much more literal level.  We are all machines, organic machines.  Of course, like me, it is about awkward human-to-human interactions.  Especially when I am depressed, the thought of being with a large number of people laughing and carrying on is overwhelming.  I mostly just want to be left alone.  There are also times I so desperately wished I had said something, but instead kept my mouth shut.  It has been happening more and more since I came to the University of Chicago, because I have lost my confidence (aka my voice).  It also begs the question, which I struggle with a lot: Am I a faulty machine?

6. “Better Open the Door” from Commit This To Memory

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeMLp1fIBDg

This is possibly one of my favorite songs ever.  Like “Where I Belong,” (and frankly many MCS songs - which is why I relate to them so much!) it takes a quirky spin on a real problem.  If we can’t make light of our pain, we may never crawl back out.  “Our hell ends every weekend But it’s all I have to believe in.” The implication here is that we have more time to listen to the screaming of misery when we are not in the routine weekdays provide. It is becoming less socially acceptable (and less physically possible) for me to get trashed every weekend the way I did in college, so it is very possible I have substance abuse problems.  If I replaced the names in the song, it could potentially be about my weekends.  It also may speak a little to my wariness of getting into a relationship: “I cannot let you inside myself for fear I’ll sink the ship and drag us both down.”  I think that’s fairly self-explanatory.  I should mention that I also like it because my name is in it (Kate!).

7. “Floating Down The River” from  Go

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t57uQykroLE

I sometimes forget about this song, honestly.  This album is the second to last to come out (I don’t even have any songs on this list from their most recent album), and I just don’t know the music quite as well as the old stuff.  Like “Where I Belong,” this song is also conversational.  I really like the idea that I am shouting my thoughts and feelings into the void that is you.  This song is very real about anxiety and depression, but it is also really hopeful.  “I’m still stupid, awkward, anxious, and a terrible bore” is magical.  For some reason, self-deprecating humor has always spoken to me, even though I don’t prescribe to it.  I guess, in truth, it’s how I used to feel.  I also know a depressed person who is always referring to himself in this manner.  It may be a common custom.

8. “Modern Chemistry” from I Am The Movie

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4MPrDNiuOI

Obviously, this song is very directly about a mental illness.  It is quite short and very to the point.  This is not one of my favorites, but I listen to it when I feel alone in my struggles; it reminds me that, though no one can really know what is going on in my head, someone gets it.

9. “Together We’ll Ring In the New Year” from Commit This To Memory

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QcrD0xio4hE

The anger and annoyance I feel with other humans when I’m depressed is epitomized in this song.  Not only do they make me angry, but they bore me.  Anything that normally would have interested me about other awesome fleshy robots is frustratingly dull.  “These humans all suck; I’d rather be home feeling violent and lonely.”  Sometimes I play this song in public, secretly spiting all of the dopes.  Sometimes social situations are just so hard!

10. “Even If It Kills Me” from Even If It Kills Me 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bk2PKvkCruw

Another song of hope, sort of.  Every day people have a choice: Do the thing or don’t do the thing. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.  Most everyone chooses to do the thing.  It is not that simple for people with mental illnesses.  Yes, we all want to stay in bed sometimes, but then there are those of us who are “too tired to go to sleep” and “too weak to follow dreams tonight.”  The motivation to do anything is non-existent, because it doesn’t matter anymore.  “I’m not saying that I’ve given up; I’m just trying not to think as much as I used to” is also really powerful to me.  When I am depressed, I think A. LOT.  That is why I write when I am struggling; it’s almost like I need to expel all the “thoughts just floating through my brain” (that quote is from “Where I Belong”).  “’I’m really not as stubborn as I seem,’ said the knuckle to the concrete” is also one of my favorite song lines ever.  For me things you do everyday are concrete; we do our best.

11. “Antonia” from Even If It Kills Me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3pZNE3a2_A

I ended with this song, because I have always loved it.  She seems so wonderful, and I hope I can find someone strange and real who will choose to love me unconditionally and indefinitely.  I guess I am trying to end on a positive note.