A little touch-up and a little paint

Fabulous post today from Annalee Newitz at AlterNet (via blackfeminism.org), about a real jaw-dropper of a ruling from the ostensibly liberal 9th Circuit Court of Appeals.

The gist of the ruling? It's OK for an employer to fire a female employee for refusing to wear makeup on the job.

As Dave Barry says, I am not making this up. Read the ruling for yourself, here.

Then, as a gesture of solidarity, vow to never again wear makeup to work unless you bloody well feel like it.

What's the life of a woman worth?

In Fort Worth, Texas, apparently, it's 14 years and 6 months less than the life of a man.

Y'know, it's a good thing I've lined my skull with chicken wire so there's less mess when my brain explodes.

And you just know Scott Peterson is thinking, "Drat ... I should've offed Laci in Fort Worth."

The late, great Shirley Chisholm

It occurs to me that in my post-holiday stupor, I (unforgivably) neglected to note the passing of Shirley Chisholm. Anything that can be said about this brave, awe-inspiring, and entirely splendid woman has most likely been said already... but I'll add my two cents.

Ms. Chisholm was a force of nature - spirited, unyielding, groundbreaking. She was outspoken when women and blacks were openly reviled for being so, and she neither suffered fools gladly nor meekly acceded to the limitations others tried to foist upon her. Those limitations came not only from her political enemies, but sometimes from her own adherents:

During her failed presidential bid, Chisholm went to the hospital to visit George Wallace, her rival candidate and ideological opposite, after he had been shot -- an act that appalled her followers.

"He said, 'What are your people going to say?' I said: 'I know what they're going to say. But I wouldn't want what happened to you to happen to anyone.'"

Her Congressional campaign was inspired by her belief that "Our representative democracy is not working because the Congress that is supposed to represent the voters does not respond to their needs. I believe the chief reason for this is that it is ruled by a small group of old men."

What's shocking is that 36 years later, her description is still accurate.

Shirley Chisholm fought for the underdog - the poor, the underprivileged, women, African Americans. An activist, a rabblerouser, and - as the title of her book aptly noted - "unbought and unbossed," she was, in the words of Shakespeare, an "unruly woman." He didn't mean it as a compliment - but I do.

Once, when asked about her legacy, she said, "I'd like them to say that Shirley Chisholm had guts. That's how I'd like to be remembered."

Consider it done.

The Name Game

I went a couple of rounds with my aunt the other day over her insistence on addressing mail to me and my husband as "Mr. and Mrs. HisName." After she sent us a Christmas card thus addressed, I politely asked her to please not do that anymore - and was shocked when she protested. Vociferously.

"No, no, no!" she said. "Why?"

"Because that's not my name, that's why."

"Well, that's just silly. If you're going to be that way, I won't send you any more mail."

I laughed, but wasn't much inclined to back down. "That's fine with me - if you're going to address it that way, I'd just as soon not get it. And anything I do get from you that's addressed to Mr. and Mrs. HisName, I'm sending back!"

Much exasperated huffing. "So what am I supposed to call you?"

"The same thing you've always called me," I replied. "You were at my wedding - you know I didn't change my name."

After some more tussling she finally agreed to honor my request, then said, "But on Christmas cards, you'll still be Mr. and Mrs. HisName." When I loudly objected, she grumbled, "All right, all right!" I think it's entirely likely she was just saying that to shut me up.

I have to admit, I was pretty floored by her reaction. I knew she was somewhat old-fashioned, but this I hadn't expected. For one thing, we've always been very close; it hadn't occurred to me that she would be so dismissive about something that's so important to me. For another, it's not like I asked her to call me Princess Swapneshwari or some out-of-left-field moniker. It's the same name I've had since I was born.

But convenience really isn't the issue. This is about society's enduring expectation that a woman is duty-bound to surrender her name when she marries. I've had variations on this conversation many times over the years, and I'm constantly amazed at the disrespect I'm shown simply because I don't want to be known as an accessory to my husband. The fact that I want to be called by my own name doesn't mean I adore him any less. And for the record, I deeply resent being told I'm "silly" about this subject. There's nothing silly about asking to be treated as an equal, even if it's on the front of an envelope.

I don't know, maybe I'm the proverbial salmon swimming upstream here. But it's maddening to find that, more than 30 years after the women's movement crashed through barriers, the decision to get hitched still relegates us to a bizarre sort of anonymity. It's as though we cease to exist as individuals the day we take our marriage vows - and so, stripped of our names and identities, we're ultimately reduced to one word:

"Mrs."

I just can't wrap my brain around it

More than 150,000 dead in South Asia, with disease expected to claim thousands more. Children torn from their families ... sisters in search of missing brothers ... lives shattered, entire towns flattened...

And here I sit, in a comfortable chair in a comfortable house, in a nice, comfortable neighborhood.

Am I crazy to feel guilty?