Now that I've recovered from my anger at the sexist canoeist, I thought I'd ponder a bit (as per Middlebrow's request) on what it means to be "assertively unhip."
To begin, I don't mean the self-conscious unhipness of trucker hats and re-sale shops. If you're trying that hard to be "unhip" you are definitely seeking the "hip" label. And you could say the same thing about me--that by asserting my unhipness I am hoping for hip. Instead of being counter-hegemonic against the pressures of hipness, I am just trying to fit in (which isn't really too hip, so I've made my point.) When I was a kid, I decided to give myself the middle name "crazy cat" which I'm pretty sure I intended as a derivative of hep cat. The truth is I've always just been a geeky girl trying to make peace with herself.
You could argue, as Clint did, that by mentioning both my love for American Idol and the Smiths in the same posting, I am asserting hipness (in that counter-hegemonic way). However, while in some circles my obsession with the Smiths earns me points, in others it makes me just as dorky as watching American Idol does. And oddly, the only folks I've seen in recent years wearing Smiths t-shirts are twenty-somethings wearing trucker hats. A couple of years ago, I went to a Johnny Marr concert. The crowd was divided between 20-something hipsters and 30-somethings like me. So, I guess I could be hip if I were still in my twenties, but it's just sort of sad that I'm still listening to the music I loved in high school. I'm like those middle-aged folks still hollering out for "Freebird."
Speaking of hipness (or the lack of) has anyone read Leland's Hip: A History? I've only heard a couple of interviews with him on NPR, so I don't know much about the book or its merits. Most of the reviews on Amazon are positive, but I love this bit: "But I can see Leland pitching this book to the suits at HarperCollins: 'See, the book is HIP. Instead of acknowledgments, it's got 'Shout-outs,' see? That's from rap. I may be 45 but I can Talk to the Young, a Target Market!'" If anyone has read it, I'd love to hear what you think.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Friday, May 27, 2005
Canoeing with the Sexist
This summer, I decided to volunteer for an outdoor rec. program that works with special populations (youth-at-risk, folks with cognitive and physical disabilities, etc.). Yesterday was volunteer canoe training. I've done a fair bit of canoeing (two summers teaching in the Boundary Waters, and I was looking forward to the training so I could understand more about adaptive canoeing and just so I could get out on the water (I haven't been out since last year's short trip to the BWCA).
We get to the reservoir, and after a few minutes of instruction, we group up (3 to a canoe) to practice. I asked the folks in my group (a woman and a man) if they wanted to paddle stern. No takers, so I volunteered. After two seconds on the water, it was clear that uptight man paddling in the middle of the canoe wanted to be in the stern. Let me just point out here that there is no real need for a paddler in the middle of a canoe. They don't really add anything to the process (except, perhaps, for a bit of speed). All one needs is a paddler in the bow for balance and forward power and a paddler in the stern to steer. So, the man (who because of a brief conversation on the shore knew that I'd paddled before) immediately started steering--from the center of the canoe! Duh--it doesn't even make sense in terms of the physics of the craft to steer from the center. And he was doing wild, agressive steering. It takes very little motion (unless you're paddling in windy conditions or rapids) to steer a canoe. So, I tell the guy to stop steering. But he doesn't. And I tell him again. No luck. He tells me, "You can't do it." Uh, yeah, I can if you would stop being a sexist ass. He tells me, "You're in charge, you've got to tell us what to do." (I guess he was expecting me to yell, "Hard right, hard left."--no agressive paddling was needed on the sleepy reservoir). I don't need you to do anything, I hollered back--just paddle forward. Apparently the man was not capable of doing such a thing--he kept doing D-strokes and prys and other wild flappings. I don't think he ever stopped to consider that the canoe might not have been going along smoothly because he was counter-acting my steering. I really, really wanted to wack him in the head with my paddle. I've been fuming about it since yesterday. Nothing pisses me off like a man who thinks a woman can't accomplish physical work.
We get to the reservoir, and after a few minutes of instruction, we group up (3 to a canoe) to practice. I asked the folks in my group (a woman and a man) if they wanted to paddle stern. No takers, so I volunteered. After two seconds on the water, it was clear that uptight man paddling in the middle of the canoe wanted to be in the stern. Let me just point out here that there is no real need for a paddler in the middle of a canoe. They don't really add anything to the process (except, perhaps, for a bit of speed). All one needs is a paddler in the bow for balance and forward power and a paddler in the stern to steer. So, the man (who because of a brief conversation on the shore knew that I'd paddled before) immediately started steering--from the center of the canoe! Duh--it doesn't even make sense in terms of the physics of the craft to steer from the center. And he was doing wild, agressive steering. It takes very little motion (unless you're paddling in windy conditions or rapids) to steer a canoe. So, I tell the guy to stop steering. But he doesn't. And I tell him again. No luck. He tells me, "You can't do it." Uh, yeah, I can if you would stop being a sexist ass. He tells me, "You're in charge, you've got to tell us what to do." (I guess he was expecting me to yell, "Hard right, hard left."--no agressive paddling was needed on the sleepy reservoir). I don't need you to do anything, I hollered back--just paddle forward. Apparently the man was not capable of doing such a thing--he kept doing D-strokes and prys and other wild flappings. I don't think he ever stopped to consider that the canoe might not have been going along smoothly because he was counter-acting my steering. I really, really wanted to wack him in the head with my paddle. I've been fuming about it since yesterday. Nothing pisses me off like a man who thinks a woman can't accomplish physical work.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Idol Mania
I will be watching a lot of American Idol this week--too much, really. It's the finale, so finally we will have our new prince/ princess of pop. This the week that I realize how much time I've wasted the past six months listening to amateurish bubblegum pop. *sigh* But it was worth it. I figure I'm just making up for not fawning over teen idols when it was age appropriate.
Now that the show is wrapping up, I can get back to the music I should be listening to:
The New York Dolls: I liked these guys in high school, but had sort of forgotten about them (shameful) until the recent Sundance documentary about bassist Arthur "Killer" Kane. I haven't seen the movie yet, but apparently a distributor has picked it up and it should be out in the Fall. So, here's the story (too bad VH-1 didn't jump on this one): Kane, after his brief glam rock glory became a Mormon. With his new found faith, he continuously prays to get back together with the band. Which, thanks to Morrissey (who, as a lad, was president of the Dolls' UK fan club), happened at the Meltdown Festival. They (reportedly) killed. I'm so charmed by the idea of a glam rocker turned Mormon whose only wish is to revisit the glam days. Sadly (but somehow fitting with the story) Kane died shortly after the reunion. Regardless of the great story, you must listen to this band. I will love them forever for bringing back the 3-minute pop song.
Kelly Joe Phelps: I'm still always amazed that he's white. He's too much for words, really. Great lyrics, mellow raspy voice, amazing slide guitar. If you ever get the chance to see him live, go. Even if you've never heard him, go. Even if you don't like Blues, go.
Now that the show is wrapping up, I can get back to the music I should be listening to:
The Smiths--and when I say the Smiths, I don't mean Morrissey. What can really beat that too-brief nirvana of Johnny Marr and Morrissey? I recently saw an interview with Morrissey. Commenting on the far too soon break-up of the band, he said (referring to Johnny Marr): "I don't know how he lives with himself." Honestly I don't know either.
The New York Dolls: I liked these guys in high school, but had sort of forgotten about them (shameful) until the recent Sundance documentary about bassist Arthur "Killer" Kane. I haven't seen the movie yet, but apparently a distributor has picked it up and it should be out in the Fall. So, here's the story (too bad VH-1 didn't jump on this one): Kane, after his brief glam rock glory became a Mormon. With his new found faith, he continuously prays to get back together with the band. Which, thanks to Morrissey (who, as a lad, was president of the Dolls' UK fan club), happened at the Meltdown Festival. They (reportedly) killed. I'm so charmed by the idea of a glam rocker turned Mormon whose only wish is to revisit the glam days. Sadly (but somehow fitting with the story) Kane died shortly after the reunion. Regardless of the great story, you must listen to this band. I will love them forever for bringing back the 3-minute pop song.
Kelly Joe Phelps: I'm still always amazed that he's white. He's too much for words, really. Great lyrics, mellow raspy voice, amazing slide guitar. If you ever get the chance to see him live, go. Even if you've never heard him, go. Even if you don't like Blues, go.
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