Eat, Pray, Lesbian Love

Like usual, I'm late to the game commenting on Eat Pray Love. I finally saw the film about a week ago, thanks to Alex, who was nice enough to watch it again.

Actually, I'm glad I came to the film late, because I had already had time to process the imperialist, capitalist, sexist, and otherwise problematic aspects of the film--because I was ready for them thanks to the many online and in-person debates I'd heard, those things weren't as frustrating as they might have been. [Side note: that's a little unsettling--listening to reasoned critiques about these issues apparently desensitized me to them completely? It did make me feel like they were already "taken care of" even though obviously that makes no sense.]

But on to the film. So, as far as I can tell, Eat Pray Love can best be understood as part of the minor but significant tradition of Melancholic Lesbian Travel Writing. Major forerunners include Constance Fenimore Woolson's "Felipa" and Jane (Auer) Bowles's "Everything Is Nice," both of which can be found in Lillian Faderman's stellar anthology Chloe Plus Olivia. All three stories involve single women trying to find themselves through world travel, but ultimately finding themselves passionately falling into a relationship with another woman: a relationship that, for one reason or another, is doomed to be short-lived.

Fact: My girlfriend has that exact hat.

So Liz Gilbert (better known as Julia Roberts) goes through a mid-life divorce, briefly dates James Franco, but still hasn't found what she's looking for. Cf. the well-known O Magazine article on middle-aged women discovering bisexuality.

Fact: Dating James Franco is precisely between heterosexuality and lesbianism on the Kinsey Scale.

Enter Sofi. The short-haired Swedish power lesbian who helps Liz rediscover eroticism, thinly veiled in language of food-lust. Not too thinly veiled, though. I'm pretty sure that if you did a Wordle of their dialogue, "Eat" and "Muffin" would be the most common words.

Sofi flashes the international lesbian symbol for "Let's adopt a kitten together!"

The film's sole sex scene takes place between the two. After what the script describes as "pornographic" and "sensual" shots of the two eating pizza together and each woman talking about how hot the other one would look naked, they go jean shopping. Liz selects a particularly tight pair of jeans and invites Sofi into the dressing room to help her zip them up. You should really watch the scene yourself--I'd feel a little too awkward describing it, but the subtext is pretty clear. Actually, it barely even qualifies as subtext at all. The two go at it, Liz asking Sofi to, "Put some Swedish muscle into it!" [In an interview, Julia Roberts said this was her favorite scene to film. No doubt.]

I couldn't find an image of the scene online, but this one seems to work.

Ruffina, who I think is Liz's friend Giovanni's mother (or maybe Luca Spaghetti's mother? Who knows? And, yes, there really was a character named Luca Spaghetti in this movie), is the only one who seems to get what's going on. She listens to Liz's story and recognizes all the signs, asking Giovanni, "What's wrong with your friend? Is she a lesbian?" Liz and the others laugh it off, but there's no mistaking Sofi's gaze.

Their relationship soon ends as the women part ways to follow their individual paths of self-actualization [which is a pretty lesbian ending if you think about it]. But a key insight from Sofi continues to shape Liz's path. Sofi reflects, "Maybe you're a woman in search of a word." What word you might ask? That which inter christianos non nominandum? Nope, but you're close.

"Attraversiamo."

One of Liz and Sofi's first dates. Sofi is the one in the flannel, natch.

Liz's motto becomes one of the first Italian words she learned, "Attraversiamo," meaning "Let's cross over," a beautiful tagline for any story of a woman (or man, for that matter) experiencing a sexual and emotional reawakening, but one especially apt for this particular segment of the film. Actually, if I were going to remix this as a lesbian short film (or at least a fanvid), I'd call it "Attraversiamo." Somebody please make that happen.

Liz/Sofi ("Lofi"?) fanart courtesy of Gilla.

And if you think I'm reading too much into this--that the writers never intended this subtext, just remember: Ryan Murphy writes for Glee and Jennifer Salt went to Sarah Lawrence.

Paranoia and the Pat-Down

After reading adornofangirl's post this morning detailing her sister's objections to TSA screening procedures, I did a little more research online and decided to opt-out. Besides the health risks which initially motivated this decision, reading the official TSA blog post on this issue cemented the decision.

The post used obviously misrepresented data, illogical arguments, and straight-up bullying (e.g. calling reports of negative experiences with screening procedures "unfounded" and "outlandish claims") to persuade readers to cooperate. The commenters all saw through it, of course, and are worth reading (especially because they contain helpful links). My favorite comment was from "Chris Bray":

Blogger Bob, you have a bureaucrat's gift for changing the substance of a criticism as you pretend to respond to it. You seem to be unable to notice what you're saying as you say it. Compare the format:

1.) Is the new pat-down invasive? No, it's only for people who set off a metal detector alarm or refuse AIT. (yours)

2.) Are you going to punch me in the face? No, blueberry pancakes. (my example)

Only you don't notice that your non sequiturs are non sequiturs.

Lol. Anyway, I wanted to contribute what I could to the work these commenters were doing in sharing what they know in order to help people make informed decisions about their privacy, bodies, safety, etc. So I'm recording what the experience of opting-out today was like.

While I was standing in line, I asked a nearby TSA official what I would have to do if I was going to opt out (she explained politely--everyone was very polite). Another official overheard me and asked (kindly, though a little condescendingly) what I was afraid of. I gave the best explanation I could of what I'd read that morning, which she and the people around me in line laughed off: "If it was dangerous, they wouldn't let us operate the machines!" etc. I said, "Well, maybe I'm paranoid" (more about that later).

When I got to the scanners, I was directed towards a big blue hallway-looking thing, which I thought might just be a partition I had to walk through to get to the patdown area (it was between two of the old-style scanners that I'm used to). As soon as I approached it, though, I realized it was buzzing loudly and smelled funny (like a lightning storm sort of?). I backed out and asked if it was "the scanner thing" (it was). About three officials sort of pounced over to me and said "not to run away" and directed me to a waiting area.

While I was waiting, I accidentally leaned against (something?) and alarms started going off, which made me feel even more vaguely guilty/nervous than I was already feeling. I also noticed that the pat-downs would take a lot of time and personnel--even at a small airport like this, they wouldn't be able to handle the volume if everyone opted out. In other words, the majority of people have to opt for the scanners in order for the system to work.

The woman who did the pat-down had what I'd describe as a great "bedside manner"--she explained everything she was doing, was friendly, etc. But it is extremely invasive. They touch everything. And pull out the waistband of your pants and look down them. Apparently there's no way to get through airport security without someone seeing your underwear.

Afterwards, when I was getting my things together, I had this sudden rush of emotion like I was about to cry. Even though the whole process went probably as smoothly as possible, and I felt rationally good about it, my body still responded to it as a stressful and upsetting experience.

Anyway, shifting to the subject of paranoia: I watched a lot of X-Files growing up and I'm sure that's shaped how I relate to the world. One of the main things I liked about it was that Mulder and Scully never just accepted what they were told but always delved deeper to come up with more accurate (and, importantly, more interesting) explanations. They were always trying to organize their knowledge and experiences in order to develop complex theories of the truths (out there). Here's their (self-reflexive) analysis of paranoia:

Mulder: "There's something inherently American about paranoia. Given the increasing scarcity of rational things to fear in 20th century American society, we dream up theories whose inevitable result is the chaotic disruption of our comfortable, orderly life--usually with dastardly consequences. I think we get a perverse thrill that comes from it."

Scully: "Mulder, are you suggesting that we somehow create our own quirky focal points of paranoia, as a result of the lack of things that are worth fearing in our day-to-day lives? That we're not whole as beings without something to worry about, something to keep our eye on?"

Does my opting out really have nothing to do with anything rational (being scientifically informed) or politically motivated (advocating for the right to privacy) but actually just my attempt to construct a rational sphere of existence in which I can make informed decisions and assert some semblance of agency? Uncomfortable with the feeling that I don't know anything and no amount of research can lead me to a stable truth with which to guide my decision making, I randomly and subconsciously select a "quirky focal point" that I decide to have a definite opinion on? Some people choose local-vore diets, college basketball, religion, or rocking the vote; I choose airport security--and though we all have our reasonings, maybe at the core we're really just picking our personal brand of paranoia.

Makin' Love in the Afternoon with Aemilia

AJ suggested I think about starting to post again. She's just started her own blog, btw, where she is working through her dissertation research (will be especially interesting to lovers of Adorno, (aca-)fandom, trans-media studies, N+1, gay and lesbian culture, comics--basically anything awesome).

I've been thinking about Aemilia Lanyer lately. It's the 400th yr. anniversary (the text was likely printed in 1610, though the title page reads "1611") of the printing of Salve Deus Rex Judaeorum, which combines elements of Biblical commentary, the "defense of women," and "tear poetry" traditions in a meditation on Christ's passion. Some thoughts:

1.) We were reading Lanyer a few days ago in my "Biblical Allusion in the Renaissance Class," and the professor, Hannibal Hamlin, suggested a possible explanation for the title-page-date-weirdness. The King James Version was first printed in 1611, and probably was already being "hyped" while Lanyer was getting her manuscript ready for print. Maybe putting 1611 instead of 1610 on the cover was an attempt to make a connection between them.

2.) Jesus with breasts? See line 1341. Also, interesting refusal to compose a blazon of the Countess's physical body (193-200) contrasting with extended Petrarchan/Song-of-Solomonesque erotic description of Christ's body (1305-1320). And gender-bending galore!

3.) What's up with the title? Obviously a reference to the sign Pilate posted over the cross, except Lanyer adds "Deus" into the quotation--why? She says it came to her in a dream... also, is she implying that her poem belongs in this position--as the sign on top of the cross commenting on Christ's body?

4.) The work includes 11 dedicatory poems to a variety of women: royalty, patrons, friends, and women readers "in generall." Is she attempting to preserve a coterie/intended audience despite the move from manuscript to print? What exactly does printing signify about a woman's writing during this period (besides that male printers considered it marketable)?

5.) Smart work has already been done on homoeroticism in Lanyer's text. People often focus this analysis on "The Description of Cooke-ham," an additional poem in the volume, describing Lanyer's patron the Countess of Cumberland's estate (and likely the first English language country house poem). Anyway, there's this whole scene where the Countess kisses a tree (what) as she leaves the estate, and Lanyer's like "That kiss should be mine!" so she kisses the tree to steal the kiss away. And throughout the poem she's meditating on how class structures get in the way of her relationship with the Countess. Homoerotic?

I wasn't totally convinced until I noticed a passage toward the end of Salve Deus, in which Lanyer describes the Countess: "Even as the constant Lawrell, alwayes greene ... So you (deere Ladie) still remaine as Queene, / Subduing all affections that are base" (1553-1558). Obviously, there's a Daphne and Apollo reference here... making the Countess the untouchable Daphne and Lanyer the poet Apollo who desires but can never touch her. Again, their relationship is mediated through a tree/laurel/poetry. Yet the gender difference between pursuer/poet and pursued/object of poetry in the Ovidean story are recast as socioeconomic distinctions--the Countess is described by the classed terms "Ladie" and "Queene." She subdues "base" affections--the more obvious sense here would be "lewd," but given the context it isn't hard to see the "of lower social standing" definition cropping up here.

Just a few ideas. Lanyer's become so "canonical" that I'd forgotten how much remains to be said/explained/theorized about her.

TV-Inspired Cooking

Here's a recipe I came up with, hoping to impress my gf (her parents are British so she knows her cheese). The idea came from foods mentioned on a couple of tv shows.

On The L Word, Kit Porter (Pam Grier!), operator of the lesbian cafe "The Planet" mentions that their best selling menu item is the pear polenta tart.

Pushing Daisies's Charlotte "Chuck" Charles (Anna Friel) devises a way to get her cheese aficionado aunts out of their depression and back into their synchronized swimming routines by baking homeopathic mood enhancers into a pie: pear with gruyere baked into the crust.

The Giant Eagle was out of pears, so I used peaches, but I think it would work with either.

"Kit and Chuck's Peach Polenta Tarts"

Ingredients (all measurements are approximate):
-1 tsp. olive oil
-1 1/3 c. water
-1/3 c. cornmeal
-1/2 c. gruyere, grated
-3 tbsp. butter
-cinnamon and sugar
-1 peach
-1/4 c. gruyere, sliced

1.) Grease 8x8 casserole dish with olive oil

2.) In a small saucepan, bring water to a boil. Whisk in cornmeal in a thin stream. Simmer on low heat (it should be just barely bubbling) for twenty to twenty-five minutes, stirring constantly.

3.) When cornmeal mixture is sticky, pulling away from the sides of saucepan, pour into casserole dish. Mix grated gruyere into polenta. Pat down mixture flat. Bake at 350 degrees for approximately ten minutes, until gruyere begins to melt. Press down again so polenta is flat and chill in refrigerator.

4.) Melt butter in microwave. Cut peach into thin slices, about 1/4 in. thick, and brush with butter. Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar.

5.) Turn polenta out onto a cookie sheet (it should just slide out when you turn the casserole dish upside down). Cut into 2 in. squares. Place a few peach slices on each. Top with one slice of gruyere per tart. Bake at 350 degrees until cheese melts. Serve hot!

Renaissance Fanboys

a.k.a. The Humanist Circle

Thomas More. Peter Giles. Jerome Busleiden. Guillaume Bude.

In Early Modern Europe, these were the guys too scared to talk to girls and always picked last for the falconry team. They spent most of their time indoors conjugating Latin verbs. And, like many other historical nerds, their obsessive, bookish tendencies made them powerful figures for social change and the advancement of human thought.

On the other hand, the closest they got to any action was the vicarious thrills of reading about Aeneas' voyages or Catullus' bath house shenanigans. Nerdy types, because they don't fit in in the real world, invest a lot of their time and emotion into fictional worlds. So it's really no surprise that one of the seminal texts produced by the humanist circle, Thomas More's Utopia essentially amounts to an early sci fi fanfic.

Think about it. Utopia is written in Latin--the language of scholars, a.k.a. nerds. Latin was useful for 16th century scholars because it was the international language--they could use it to communicate with people around the continent who shared their interests. Prior to its publication, More circulated Utopia among the humanist circle, getting feedback from people from Germany, Luxembourg, the Netherlands and other distant locales, which was only possible because of their shared language.

This mode of exchanging ideas is not too different from an internet forum. These guys even came up with "usernames" fitting their personae in this scholarly circle. But instead of going by "spockluvr84" they made up wacky Latin pseudonyms such as humanist superstar Gerrit Gerritszoon's avatar "Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus." Way sexier, no?

Anyway, for this bunch, "the final frontier" was a lot closer than outer space. The new exciting territory was just across the ocean. Amerigo Vespucci et al. were sending back all kinds of reports of unknown civilizations and alternative ways of life--always attractive to nerds because, "hey, maybe I'll fit in there" (you know, like the reason modern day fanboys always want to move to Japan).

So, Sir Saint Thomas More made up a fake travelogue about the cool stuff that might be out there and, like (good) sci-fi today, it was complete with deft social commentary. Utopia adheres to the sci-fi trope of taking certain aspects of what is and stretching them to consider what may be if society continues in the same direction. In other words, Utopia is to capitalism (new-fangled in the 1510s) what The Matrix is to our contemporary dependence on computers. Add to that the fact that More's buddies mapped out his imaginary island, made up a language for it, and even wrote some poetry in "Utopian" and you have, unavoidably, the forerunners of the Buffyverse, Star Trek conventions, and Veritaserum.

More even does some pioneering into Mary Sue territory, later writing to his friends about his fantasy of himself as ruler over the Utopians. Really the only thing lacking in sci fi terms is gratuitous sexy times with unrealistically-proportioned ladies. But I'm pretty sure Thomas never got over his fear of girls to the point that he'd be into that kind of thing.