The People Behind Sex In The Media

Ladies, ladies, ladies.

Since Sunday, my social media outlets have been atwitter with people aghast at a number of performances (one in particular) that took place at a music awards show this past weekend. It seems like every third person I am connected to can't stop talking about how disgusting, distasteful, degenerate and deviant the behavior is.

But can I tell you something? The reason why that stuff gets on television is because whenever someone does something that is sexually explicit or obscene, whatever new sex video or scene or scandal happens, that's all anyone seems to be able to talk about. How disgusting it is, how wrong it is, how it degrades women. But if we didn't talk about this stuff, if we didn't reward people by clicking on their articles, buying the magazines with x-rated covers, by posting their names or watching--and sharing--the youtube clips; guess what? That kind of media would disappear.

The reason there is so much sex in the media is because of us.

So if you want to see wholesome media, consume it. Next time you see a story about something good, share it on twitter or facebook or your blog. Next time you respect something, share that. Because no matter how disgusted you are, sharing dirt just makes things dirty. Sharing light brightens things making them of value to advertisers and businesses.

On that note, here's a beautiful little video on perspective I found on upworthy from upthink.tv. While I don't directly visit the site too much, more often than not, the links I click on go there.

Vote with your clicks! Vote with your links! The media will follow what you do. The power is literally in your hands. 

Intercultured

^^^only your siblings know what parading around in matching star-spangled shirts feels like^^^

Last Diwali I mentioned that Premal and I were trying to figure out how we would navigate the blending of our customs--especially when it comes to festivals and celebrations. Well, we're back for round two of our little experiment, and it's a good one. Rakhi is the Hindu celebration of protective siblings. Traditionally, sisters give their brothers little bracelets to thank them for their guardianship, and receive sweets and gifts in return--because sisters are treasures, and should be treated as such. I'm all for being a treasure, but you can, of course, count on me to make things a bit more gender neutral. Because you have never seen a more protective mama bear than sweet Charity Sunshine up against a prospective beau (I'm pretty sure she once told Premal she would cut his hmm-hmm off if he ever hurt me). And there have definitely been times when I watched over Shiloh like he was a peony in full bloom.

So instead, we've chosen to celebrate by taking a few moments to reflect on how awesome our siblings are, and to thank them (by sending a little friendship bracelet in the mail) for all they do to ensure that we grow to meet our greatest potentials.

^^^ it gave me a great excuse to whip out my long dormant bracelet-making skillz^^^

So, here goes nothing.

Thanks for reading to me, and reading with me, and giving me great books to read to myself. Thanks for the sweet hand-me down t-shirts (and the not so sweet hand-me-down leggings). Thanks for teaching me how to cook and fight and whistle and fish. Thanks for driving me places, and driving me crazy. Thank you for the punches you've thrown (and taken) on my behalf. Thanks for teaching me about music and not freaking out (too much) when I dated your friends. Thanks for giving me a shoulder to cry on when I needed it, and a bop in the nose when I'd sobbed you soggy. Thanks for believing in me, and inspiring me to be more like each of you. I'm so lucky to have each of you in my life. I love you. Happy Rakhi.

xoxox,

Libby

^^^look at my dreamy model. look at him!^^^

Now I have to actually stick these buggers in the mail....

Perhaps the most blatantly discriminatory review on airbnb ever.

Some of Yoni and my new friends, clockwise from Top Left: actor Jim Carrey, food activist Haily Thomas, civil rights leader Terrence Roberts, historian Dr. Rita Roberts and quantum physicist and environmental activist Dr. Vandana Shiva, Ryan Beatty and his coolio guitarist, entertainment manager Josue Sejour, wordsmith and hip hop poet J. Ivy, Our resident urban yogis, The Nanny Fran Drescher, CEO of Special Olympics Tim Shriver, rapper Talib Kweli, Philanthropist and community activist Erica Ford, rock n' roll photographer Mick Rock, Magic Wands and Rathborn. Look how we all loving' one another and stuff...

I just got back from a conference hosted by Deepak Chopra. I met Catholics, Jews, Baptists, Muslims, Hindus, agnostics, spiritualists, atheists, Mormons, Nondenominational Christians and general humanists. It was a fun cross section. So imagine the comic irony of returning to find a review for my flat on airbnb.com stating the following:

" One thing that we found odd was seeing The Book of Mormon left out on the coffee table (probably not intentionally) but I'm an atheist and so I found that quite confronting and in poor taste...

In my profile I clearly state my religious views so people are aware. It might be good if you do the same. Our anti religious stance is very strong and is a factor in the places we choose." -- Valda R.

I would like Valda R. to know that my Mormon faith is similarly central to my life. I would also like her to know that it absolutely does not factor into the places I choose on airbnb or the people I allow to stay in my home. I love my faith and chances are, there are a lot of things about your faith that I love to. Whether that is a specific religion, faith in God, family, community or the potential for good in humanity. But people like this woman give atheists a bad name because most atheists I know aren't religious bigots.

While I'm at it, I want to clear something up. It's commonly quoted that more people have died in the name of religion than any other way. This statement is just untrue. The majority of conflicts that have taken place in the world are and have been political and/or ethnic conflicts.

Hitler: economic and ethnic Fascist, not religious though he almost killed off the Jewish people
Stalin: Marxist. Not religious.
The Crimean War: Territorial, not religious
WWI: Not a religious conflict
Pol Pot: Socialist, not religious though he killed a lot of religious people.
Darfur: Racial genocide -- both groups were generally the same religion.
The Civil War (US): Political/racial/economic
Armenians in Turkey: Ethnic genocide
The Rape of Nanking: Ethnic genocide
Mao: Political

I could go on, but it's gonna get too depressing. The short(er) version of the story is, hateful, self centered, opportunistic people are the reason why a lot of carnage happens. It's when we don't do business because someone is Jewish or gay or Mormon or atheist or Muslim or Catholic or evangelical. When we make others among us. That's when the problems begin. When we think it's acceptable to mark people with a star or a book of mormon against their will to warn others about their beliefs. Religion isn't the problem. Hateful, angry, people who are unable or unwilling to show love or tolerance to those who look different, go to a different church or believe different things are the problem. If you find yourself doing that, well shame on you. And if I find myself doing that shame on me. And if you find me doing it, please say something. Because to paraphrase Rabbi Jachim Prinz, the greatest sin we commit against humanity is silence in the face of injustice. So speak up. Sing out. And hopefully, one day we'll all get along.

Do you have any stories to share about discrimination in your life?

Update: Since writing this post, airbnb took down the final sentences of the review. Still not satisfied. But I feel better for having written this little note.

Just Grand

I can't think of a lovelier way to end the summer than a minitrip to Grand Lake. That's a lie. I can think of one lovelier way to end the summer: a minitrip to Grand Lake with the Pitcher-Davis family. No internet, unpaved roads, bad cell service. It was perfect. All you could do was read, talk, kayak, and yell at moos(e(es?(ii?))). . . sometimes I wish my whole life was like that. There are more lovely things to say about our little venture out west, but I'm too tired to write any of them out just now. All I can muster at the moment is gratitude for the opportunity to bask in the exuberant serenity which suffuses every niche in that beatific corner of earth. 

Fresh Air

It might be a wee understatement to say I haven't been quite myself recently. This move rocked me. I haven't known which way was up, and my body responded by mounting a revolt. My limbs were icicles, even though the weather's balmy. My brain was a mushball, no matter that I was feeding it a steady stream of fantastic writing. Meanwhile my tear ducts were in overdrive. And my heart, gosh, that little bugger has been a tempestuous prisoner if there ever was one. Ferociously slamming against the inside of my chest, and trying to crawl up my throat when I'm trying to sleep. But graciously, miraculously, a couple of days with Premal in my Dad's hometown have brought order to my carnal temple. For weeks I tried to exercise, shop, eat, talk, work, meditate and hibernate my stress away, all to no avail. But there's got to be something in that mountain air, because suddenly, finally, I feel like myself again. And it is so, so good to be back.

Altogether far too many pictures after the jump...

^^^travel tip: have awesome physicist relatives that let you crash with them on their brainy retreat^^^

^^^mountain street-fruit is somehow simultaneously more and less exciting than its city-slicker cousins^^^

^^^Premal taking the lyrics "climb every mountain" a bit literally^^^

^^^BEE!!^^^

Let's Talk Underwire

Pink striped wallpaper and pictures of breasts, butts and bodies that look more Barbie than human are plastered on every surface, figuratively slapping my face with reminders of the body I don't have. A woman in a tight, short black dress with breasts cascading out of her top comes into fit me. Tape in hand, she measures the widest part of my chest. I feel like I'm being sized up for a cheap escort service. I leave feeling somewhat dirty, trying to hide my pink, striped bag from view.

This has been my experience shopping at Victoria's Secret. And it's no surprise. Victoria's Secret was made by a man for men who were uncomfortable shopping for women's lingerie in department stores. Ray Raymond wanted a place men could go to get something sexy for their love interest and feel comfortable.

Les Wexler bought the store later and decided to gear it towards women. As he was nearing 70, he thought up the Pink brand, wanting girls to have more fun with their underwear. To quote The Sound of Music, when contemplating this, "why don't I feel any better." Maybe because it's totally disconcerting and kind of gross that the largest specialty store for women's underwear is masterminded by a bunch of old men.

This past weekend, I finally decided to do something about it. Kimber told me I needed to get fitted at Nordstrom. And I did. And I think it might have just changed my life. It felt so much less awkward going to the same place I buy shoes or dresses to find a good bra. The woman who fit me was friendly and not trying to look like a Victoria's Secret angel. There were mom's taking their daughters for their first bras, sisters picking out things for weddings. The woman who helped me brought me no fewer than 25 bras to try on. The result was positively ... uplifting. For the first time since I was 13, I didn't feel ashamed to buy underwear. I felt happy and pretty and I don't think I'll ever return to the pink walk of shame.  Shopping for body basics shouldn't lead to anyone feeling worse about their body. It shouldn't lead to women feeling fat. It should leave us feeling happy and supported (pun intended).

What are your most traumatic underwire stories?  

Just maybe the best worst first date story ever ... ... ...

I was jet lagged. I'd arrived from Tel Aviv that morning and I was on a date with this really nice guy but I knew nothing would come of it.

We went to dinner and I was ready to go home. I told him this, but he insisted we go out for dessert. It was good. I actually recommend the place. After a few bites, I had to stop. A combination of temperamental medications and sleep deprivation had done a number on my little tummy. I asked for a top and I put in in a bag with the rest of my left overs.

I was really ready to leave, so we went in search of a metro. I thought it was a little cheap of him not to grab a cab, but whatever. We walked and walked and walked. Soon, it seemed like we were going in circles ... ... ... because we were. I realized while very nice, this guy was from the suburbs and had no idea where he was going. If we were going to take the subway, I was going to be the one to find it.

He promised me again he knew where it was and at this point, I'd had enough. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and explained that he was a great guy, I liked him a lot but we were different religions, we had different priorities and different ideas of what life was about. I knew he would be very successful and happy, but I was certain there was no future for him and me. Which for some reason, inspired him to kiss me. And it was amazing... ... ...

Until I realized I was going to throw up ... ... ...

Which I did ... ... ...

Into my little doggie bag... ... ...

And I was certain I would never see him again, but it made for a great story.

This week is the 5th anniversary of that date and now, we're happily married.

Just goes to show, sometimes going in with no expectations is the best way to build something -- vomit and all.