Krista Ciminera

Don’t Be a Dick

admin — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Do-It-Yourself (DIY) culture has made an array of otherwise lofty topics accessible through the format of personal zines that aim to educate and inform—from bicycle maintenance to vegan cooking. In particular, the strong foothold that DIY culture has in radical politics and feminism has allowed for the creation of some radical, eye-opening work. Paul Brown’s zine, _Don’t Be a Dick, _is an archetypal DIY zine, complete with staples, a gray-washed Xeroxed background, hand-drawn pictures, and a curious layout. It looks as harmless as a playbill, but is unique to the DIY format in that it is a boldly personal account of a heterosexual male’s journey with consent.

Brown tackles a lot in the twenty-something pages that encompass his zine, such as constructions of masculinity, the United States as a rape culture, and definitions and approaches toward healthy consent. But Brown’s ambitious approach is also his major downfall. Don’t Be a Dick’s focus goes far beyond the limits of its pages, and while the topics Brown discusses are important and pertinent to comprehending consent and sexual assault as a whole, nothing more than a basic understanding is ultimately conveyed. This becomes a problem because, if Brown’s intention was to create a zine that is both informative and useful, neither goal is quite executed. He ends one section on the notion that men need to “wake up” and “hold each other accountable” but gives no clear indication as to how to accomplish either of these goals. Based on its ability to educate an array of people, I would be more recommend a zine like Cindy Crabb’s Learning Good Consent than I would this zine.

Brown’s zine is unique because of who he is—a man writing about male-to-female sexual assault. In the first few pages, the impetus for his zine is revealed—he once coerced an ex-partner into a non-consensual sex act and, after reading about consent, learned the true implications of his actions. Unfortunately, he went on to create a zine that is a digest of ideology found more thoroughly explored in zines like Learning Good Consent and Support rather than writing what he knows. My interest was most piqued by his perspective as a cisgendered man exploring the tricky landscape of consensual sex, such as the processing of the abovementioned story, or his deflated feelings towards pornography. I would like to see Brown adding his own voice into the discourse of radical consent instead of mimicking zines that already exist.

It is useful to have a heterosexual male narrative within the sphere of positive, responsible sexuality and refreshing, if not sobering, for a man to admit that he has committed an act of non-consensual sex. Stories like these are needed to aid in the awareness of consent, and Brown does a much better job than one of the only attempts I’ve read of a man taking accountability for his actions: zinester Rick Mackin’s column in Razorcake Magazine and subsequent zine that was far from the self-effacing, courteous, and sincere zine that Brown’s is.

Brown’s path to writing this zine is admirable and humble, and it is this path that I find to have the most potential for change and transformation within conversations about men’s role in consent and sexual assault. By taking the zines that inspired him and building from that, I believe Brown has a powerful jumping-off point for the hard and honest truths that will surface as consent and sexual assault continues to be discussed.

Written by: Krista Ciminera, February 25th 2010

The Nearest Exit May Be Behind You

admin — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By S. Bear Bergman

Arsenal Pulp Press

Gender, sex, and queer theory aren’t exactly what come to mind when I think of an easy read. I remember being duped into reading one of Anne Fausto-Sterling’s books, Sexing the Body, which begins with the story of a female athlete, Maria Patino, stripped of her medals when it was determined by doctors that she had been born with a condition known as androgen insensitivity. She was biologically male, but her body did not respond accordingly.

After this first anecdotal queer foray, Fausto-Sterling dives head first into the theory and science of it all. Although wildly interesting, theory is something that I can only take in small doses, and Sexing the Body took me some time to read. This is where S. Bear Bergman’s book enters at a seemingly oppositional point in style. The Nearest Exit May Be Behind You is a collection of essays on queer and transgender issues that begins like the story of Maria, and continues in this vein for the duration of the book while still getting the important, theoretical points across and engaging the reader in a way that almost no queer theory book has before.

This is not to say that Bergman’s book isn’t smart. It is. It’s full of big words and heady concepts, but ze delivers them in a way that is thoughtful to the reader, a kind of fireside chat of topics that are usually spoken about in academic settings. Bergman’s gift of storytelling illuminates the evolving nuances of queer and trans life, and one of the greatest elements of hir book is that ze has a way of making the personal not only political, but public and shared as well.

Most essays begin with a story from Bergman’s life, and then weave the details of the stories, which deal with queer life in practice, into queer life in theory. Some essays are on the cutting edge, like “Passing,” which deals with the use, or misuse, of a word that inflicts responsibility of understanding onto the person in question. Not only does Bergman discuss the problematic use of this word, ze offers a solution-reading-that assigns responsibility to the observer. Other essays, like “The Velveteen Tranny,” is an honest and heartfelt look at Bergman’s dissatisfaction with the sexes and genders that are culturally provided–even the non-normative ones-and ache that surrounds the desire to feel real.

The essays in The Nearest Exit May Be Behind You are at times hilarious, thought provoking, sad, and even painful. Few books discuss queer and trans topics in such a personal way, and this book does a great service to contributing to the growing canon of queer literature. By making hir experiences visible, Bergman provides yet another narrative within the LGBTQ discourse, and lengthens the spectrum of possibility even further, one essay at a time.

Written by: Krista Ciminera, January 14th 2010

Missing Bodies: The Politics of Visibility

admin — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 23:59:00 +0000

By Monica J. Casper, Lisa Jean Moore

New York University Press

It is hard to deny the creeping, theatrical aspect that seems to permeate every mode of information and method of exposure we are subjected to daily. While once relegated to advertisements, television, and movies, the careful craft of showcasing and presenting certain bodies is now seen in governments, military, and the health industry. Why some bodies are overexposed while others are seemingly non-existent is useful in determining the underpinnings of American society and agenda. Monica Casper and Lisa Jena Moore explore these politics behind the visibility of certain bodies in Missing Bodies: The Politics of Visibility.

Upon first thought, this book might appear to be a critique of the media, a poignant peek into the ways in which the use of stereotype highlights certain bodies at the expense of others—but that topic is one that is otherwise understood, and largely written about. Casper and Moore delve deeper than that. They are concerned with the bodies that appear and disappear in much less talked about fields, such as female soldiers, people living and dying with HIV/AIDS, and infant mortality. With almost the same tools the media use to derive entertainment from everyday life, political institutions are doing the same to real lives and human suffering—and with graver consequences. The bodies of dead infants, those stricken with AIDS, and female soldiers are masked by numbers, lies, and underreporting. So how do real care, understanding, healing, and prevention begin when those bodies are erased in the first place?

At the root of the analysis is the preservation of Western ideals and agendas. By switching the concern of HIV/AIDS from a public health crisis to statistical, epidemiological data that helps manage government and secure the status of the state, there is a displacement of pain, suffering and death. The public has a harder time envisioning real people living with this disease amidst the quantitative numbers than they do erroneously understanding that HIV/AIDS is more of a disease that plagues other nations. Similarly, framing the release story of Jessica Lynch, a female prisoner of war in Iraq, as one of feminine passivity and rescue bolsters America’s dependency on gender dichotomies which fuels wars. While Lynch’s story is ultimately lost and retold as untrue, Lynch herself, and other female soldiers that suffer sexual discrimination are rendered invisible.

Lyrical, engaging, and encompassing, this book raises important and timely questions about the construction of identity and visibility in a post-9/11 landscape. In this fast-paced, technological world, others will readily construct our stories before us for benefits that are not our own. This book urges readers to question the sources, framing, methods, and presentation of information and tragedy so that we may recover the truth behind missing bodies.

Written by: Krista Ciminera, October 30th 2009

Secret Cog

admin — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 09:40:00 +0000

By Talk Normal

Talk Normal’s Secret Cog, a five song EP, begins with a noise sample that is not quickly placed—a curious noise that immediately demands attention and perks the listener’s ear. This theme lasts throughout the album as the Brooklyn duo plays dissonant and provocative songs that defy any one genre.

At times they are clearly noisy with Sarah Register’s distorted and wandering guitar; at other times they border on a mathematical sound with Andrya Ambro’s drumming and the call and response timing of the guitar and bass in the song “33,” and they ultimately fit into the no-wave category, which is a description they receive often. The guitar playing is reminiscent of early Erase Errata and even a bit of Fugazi, like the bright lead riff in “Lemonade.”

The five songs weave into each other so that the album becomes something of a larger whole. True, the songs can most definitely be enjoyed by themselves, but it is a different experience to listen to the album in its entirety. Talk Normal are successful at simultaneously creating songs that can hold a careful ear but also allow the listener to unfocus and feel the effects that the songs generate.

I always appreciate a lyrics sheet, but one is not supplied with the album. I suspect it is because the words are not as important of a contribution to the record as are the sounds that the singing makes, which adds to the music like its own instrument. The singing waxes and wanes much like the music, and the drums are carefully aligned to build the crescendos of the songs. While listening to Secret Cog I imagine that these songs would have yet another powerful effect while played live, which is something I’m very curious to see. Being able to pull off a variety of effects with five songs is quite admirable, and these women do it well.

Written by: Krista Ciminera, June 23rd 2009

Things I’ve Learned From Women Who’ve Dumped Me

admin — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 17:04:00 +0000

Edited by Ben Karlin

Grand Central Publishing

I have a love/hate relationship with liberal publications, like the New York Times, that discuss progressive issues and at the same time print articles that seem to use stone age mentality to “prove” the differences between women and men. I am forever intrigued by science’s never-ending love affair with sexual dimorphism, and articles with the headlines “What Do Women Want?” and “Varying Sweat Scents Noted By Women” seem to fill the pages of publications every day.

I have a similar love/hate relationship with Ben Karlin’s collection of essays, Things I’ve Learned From Women Who’ve Dumped Me, which expounds on gender differences for the sake of humor and, at times, offers a bit of insight. I am not alone in my intrigue because, unsurprisingly, this book is a national bestseller.

It also comes as no surprise that the “I” in the title refers exclusively to men, as heteronormativity runs rampant in this book. With the exception of one essay, written by Dan Savage, most of the essays detail the faults and failures of previous relationships and how those relationships prepared the dumped ones for marriage. Marriage is a reoccurring theme in these essays, and it is depicted as the final, succeeding goal for most of the men. Not much seems to be learned in these essays, as the men just realize ways to finagle their way into a less demanding, more comfortable relationship.

While the matters mentioned above encompass the latter part of the love/hate relationship, there is the part of me that loves to read a book like this. As it is a humor book, I release the hold of my feminist lens a bit, and relax into what is otherwise an engaging book. Part of me is curious what the average, mainstream male thinks today of their relationships with women. This book is not so much a birds-eye-view into the hearts and minds of men, but more of a carefully crafted, one-sided story of woe, and nonetheless an honest exposure of feelings.

While many of the essays rest on age-old stereotypes, some essays reveal insights that are often overlooked in the discussion of men and sexuality. In the opening essay, Dan Vebber discusses his lack of sexual drive and utter fear of intercourse, Andy Richter writes about coping with male body issues, and Rodney Rothman tells a tale of teenage heartbreak. It is essays like this that make this book unique and unlike the common portrayal of gender dynamics that is present in contemporary media.

This book offers readers more to think about than the average easy read, while still maintaining its funniness and fluidity. You might not learn much from this book but it is at least a fun way to further your love/hate relationship with indulgent gender commentary.

Written by: Krista Ciminera, April 14th 2009