A Feminist Night
February 23rd, 2008My Friday evenings are spent eating cheese with graduate mathematicians. Yesterday we took our friendship out of the science and engineering laboratories, where they are more comfortable, to a celebration of feminism that doubled as a fundraiser for the University of Illinois at Chicago’s Vagina Monologues (March fourteenth and fifteenth), where I am more comfortable! And it was quite the night, as a joyous occasion for all who attended and women everywhere.
Before we made our way to the event, we had a quick little meal and then went rock climbing at the student recreation facility. They were handing out energy beans (lemon-lime jelly beans) at the entrance and we accepted. I love sour snacks, and these were so good that I returned for more at the desk where they were held, only to receive the most delightful rebuke of my life. They gave me the beans I requested, and then as I prepared to leave they handed me a titanium four razor (still in its original packaging!) and told me to make good use of it. It is true that I have allowed my beard to grow in these last few days, only out of sheer busyness, and I laughed when I told my friend of this playful indignation. It was bizarre, to be sure, but I love those nights that are out of the ordinary and I treasured the strangeness of the razor, even if I’ll never use that gift.
After my friend scaled the “rocks” (I didn’t participate because I recently sprained the shape out of my ankle, as you know), we headed over to Agapa Christian Ministries, whose facilities the Student Outreach Services’-sponsored Vagina Monologues crew rented, and entered the building, where I was scheduled to read two poems. I signed in, made my donation to the event and then was asked to confirm that I would be reading for the crowd. I noticed that the opening act was open and I thought it would be for the best if I started the festivities, because I prefer to go first and because I thought I could provide an energetic showing. I then proceeded to mingle with the crowd at the event, talking most lengthily with a woman in my International Relations course, and then we all ate. Once we were finished, and eight o clock arrived, the emcee of the event introduced me and I went up to read two poems by Lucille Clifton. I had realized earlier that I didn’t have enough material to fill five to ten minutes of time comfortably, so I asked the DJ to play the worst song he had in his arsenal on my cue. I went up on the stage and noted that I wanted to start the show with some pizzazz (not in those terms) and invited my two mathematicians on the stage with me. “Maestro, hit it!” I called to the DJ, another friend of mine, and Everybody Dance Now! was what he played.
After a few minutes of the worst dancing ever performed in front of an audience, I had the music cut, thanked my good friends and read the poems.
Homage to My Hips
these hips are big hips.
they need space to
move around in.
they don’t fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a topand
wishes for sons
i wish them cramps.
i wish them a strange town
and the last tampon.
I wish them no 7-11.i wish them one week early
and wearing a white skirt.
i wish them one week late.
later i wish them hot flashes
and clots like you
wouldn’t believe. let the
flashes come when they
meet someone special.
let the clots come
when they want to.let them think they have accepted
arrogance in the universe,
then bring them to gynecologists
not unlike themselves
I thanked the audience and sat back down to enjoy the show. The rest of the speakers at the event did a better job than me and moved me near tears throughout the night, and when it ended everyone mingled, danced and ate. I helped clear the facilities and left with a casual acquaintance and my two mathematicians. The fundraiser had raised over six hundred dollars, as well as the spirits of everyone in the room. It was great to participate in such a wonderful event, I was honored to be allowed the microphone (where I chose poems for body images and the problems faced by females in our society) and I’m glad we managed to raise money for the production of the performance as well as battered women’s shelters in the city.
I don’t like to call myself a Feminist, but I am, in my own Prattonian way, even if I don’t like the label or fit it (or any other stereotype) neatly.