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Beads,
Cake And Foam: Liberation Or Bondage?
by Phyllis Freeman
Competing for
beads in true Mardi Gras style; visiting Club Cake in New
York City, an edgy nightspot for women who are interested
in having uncensored "fun"; being covered in foam from head
to toe - what is the real deal behind these trendy fads sweeping
the national college scene?
According to their
mission statement, Club Cake "is about getting women and men
together in stimulating environments and documenting these
experiences as entertainment, education, information and pleasure."
Sounds good to us, and at first glance, it is hard to contest
the right to express yourself. On the other hand, there may
be more than meets the eye here - no pun intended. A climate
that encourages alcohol consumption and varying degrees of
nudity might be another ploy to exploit women for commercial
purposes.
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MYTH:
Rape is sex.
FACT: Rape is not sex. It is a crime motivated by a
need to control, humiliate and harm. Rapists use sexual
violence as a weapon to hurt and dominate others.
MYTH:
Women ask to be raped.
FACT: The way people look, act or dress does not invite
assault. Victims are selected because they appear vulnerable.
Sexual assault is an act of violence.
MYTH:
Women secretly want to be raped. FACT: Women may fantasize
about aggressive sex, but this is not the same as rape.
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Reactions to this
issue from students on the Towson University campus are a
mixed bag - almost 50/50. Some female students feel that they
are only young once and need to be carefree and uninhibited.
Personal choice is emphasized in this outlook and any attempt
to present a counter argument is met with civil, yet firm,
resistance. On the other side of the fence are female students
who see beads, cake and foam as yet another example of viewing
women as sexual objects for sport and conquest. Associations
are made between atmospheres that blur personal boundaries
and invite the possibility of inappropriate touching and projected
fantasies.
Male students follow
suit and voice opinions very similar to those made by female
students. Both males and females agree that if one participates
in these activities an individual should be ready to deal
with intended and unintended consequences of a 'swinging'
scene.
For those who
are concerned that these trends are part of a larger pattern
of devaluing women, compelling statistics fuel the fire. Persistent
myths about women, sexuality, sexual assault, and abuse are
rampant.
On college campuses,
1 in 4 women are victims of rape. 84%
of those women knew their assailant. 57% of those rapes happened
on a date.
More than 75% of
college students who experience unwanted intercourse are under
the influence of alcohol or drugs at the time of the incident.
75% of men involved
in date rape had been drinking or using drugs.
More info
Men are more likely
than women to assume that a woman who drinks alcohol on a
date is a willing sex partner.
Alcohol use at
the time of the attack was found to be one of the four strongest
predictors of a college woman being raped.
One out of twelve
college men surveyed had committed acts that met the legal
definition of rape; 84% of these men said what they did was
DEFINITELY not rape.
1in 5 men will
be raped or sexually assaulted in their lives. Most of these
will be heterosexual male-on-heterosexual male assaults.
More info
About three percent
of American men - a total of 2.78 million men - have experienced
an attempted or completed rape in their lifetime.
More info
Men Can Stop Rape
is an organization committed to teaching men how to stop the
cycle of rape in our society. For more information in their
programs and publications, visit www.mencanstoprape.org
While a direct
correlation cannot be made between beads, cake, and foam parties
and sexual assault and rape, the information provided above
gives sufficient reason to pause and reflect. Whenever women
are in social situations, there is a need to be alert in order
to remain safe. A cautionary note might be - don't let having
fun diminish either one's sense of self or self-respect. Liberation
and bondage may be in the eyes of the beholder but they are
also embodied in the way women see themselves, define themselves,
and behave - both publicly and privately.
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Breaking
the Glass Slipper
By Anna Marie Sell
I always wanted
a fairy godmother. Cinderella had one, and since she was my
favorite fairy-tale heroine, I wanted one too. After all,
who couldn't use a nice, granny-type lady to wave a magic
wand and make the world perfect? When my wish for a fairy
helper started, however, I was too young to articulate why
I believed so strongly in the possibility of such a fantastic
guardian angel. I just wanted to be Cinderella. The fairy
was part of the package.
Everything about
Cinderella's story pleased me. She was good-natured, beautiful,
kind - everything that I thought a girl was supposed to be.
She also gets additional points for the fact that she didn't
necessarily have to be younger than her stepsisters. As an
older sister, I was always painfully aware that most fairy-tales
cast the youngest daughter in the leading role, leaving the
older one to be shrewish, greedy, and just generally unhappy-ever-after.
I also identified with Cinderella's before-the-ball anonymity.
No one ever seemed to think that she was a beauty worthy of
the prince. Yet, she completely swept the prince off his feet,
once given the chance. The biggest disappointment during my
freshman year of high school (which, for some reason, I expected
to be my big chance to make boys notice me) was that the "Cinderella
effect" of sudden and amazing recognition never happened.
I was still the academic, arts-inclined, quiet girl who didn't
get much attention.
Perhaps out of
frustration, I began to identify with Cinderella's stepsisters.
Why were they so vilified and derided for being their mother's
favorites? Was it really their fault that they were awkward
and vain rather than beautiful and modest? After all, they
were only reacting to the lessons that their mother taught
them. I couldn't help feeling sorry that the prince barely
glanced at them during the ball - and when he did notice them,
it was with contempt and disgust. They were only trying their
best to look beautiful, without the benefit of magic. Similarly,
it seems unfair that they spent hours at music lessons and
sounded terrible, while Cinderella had a naturally lovely
voice without any professional help.
Perhaps, they were
aware of their shortcomings. Their fear and envy of Cinderella's
birthright of perfection prompted them to rip her homemade
(or mouse-made, in the Disney version) party dress. Nasty,
yes, but understandable adolescent jealousy just the same.
They were only human, and that wasn't good enough. I wonder
what would have happened if a fairy godmother had visited
them. A pumpkin and a few mice can work wonders.
The Cinderella
story speaks directly to the dream of becoming something you
aren't, something no one ever expects you to be. Getting married
to the prince is a nice bonus, but the real appeal is in the
chance to change. Several of my friends have come giggling
to me to tell me that they just ran into someone they knew
years ago who did not recognize them at all. And that is often
a good thing. Being unrecognized means that you have changed
- grown up, lost weight, dyed your hair - you are different
from your awkward, adolescent self. Part of the appeal of
Cinderella is that it epitomizes the fruition of that dream
- she gets to become someone new, in only a matter of hours!
Her story is based on the longing for change, which also explains
why it ends at "happily ever after", presumably palace life
becomes stagnant and simple - perhaps our blissfully wedded
Cinderella gives her fairy godmother a call just to create
some magical excitement once in a while!
The realization
that Cinderella is more about the dream of being something
you aren't than the actual achievement of that dream came
to me when I performed the role of Cinderella in a children's
theatre production. Our director had decided that the traditional
story made Cinderella seem "simple", only interested in finding
a husband. Looking back on it now, that may or may not be
true. She wanted to meet the prince, but marriage was not
necessarily the ultimate goal. Perhaps she just wanted a change
of scene, or a chance to practice the dancing lessons her
father had given her before her stepmother moved in. Anyway,
the director altered the script, so that in addition to wishing
to go dancing, Cinderella wanted to see the world and start
her own business. She also wrote in a similar dream for the
prince - palatial wealth just wasn't enough for him. He had
an entrepreneurial sense of his own and wanted to travel.
Working on the
show was a lot of fun, as were little girls' reaction to meeting
me (still in costume) afterwards. They had completely believed
in the stage tricks that let me go from rags to riches in
front of their very eyes. They thought that my four-inch heels
were part of the costume, not just a desperate attempt to
avoid being dwarfed by a very tall prince. I think they forgot
that as soon as they left, I would pin up my hair and take
off the dress and go back to being my everyday, human, stepsister-like
self. I was not anymore beautiful or kind or successful simply
because I pretended to be Cinderella for a few hours, And
although I occasionally miss the ball dress and the moment
of (pretend) love at first sight, I have to admit that getting
out of costume and returning to my "normal" life was a bit
of relief. The prince and I got dizzy dancing during the ballroom
scene, and I was definitely sick of some of the saccharine
lines I had to deliver sincerely. Besides, one she moved to
the palace and settled in for happily ever after, Cinderella
was set for life and had no more struggles to face. I'd rather
put away the pretty dress and really live.
Actually, my favorite
moment of playing Cinderella was not attending the ball, but
running away from it. I remember stepping out of one shoe
and hobbling down the isle of the theatre, skirts bundled
up in my hands. As soon as I got past the last row, I pulled
the other shoe off and kept running, my long dress billowing
behind me, as I rushed to change my costume before the next
scene. that mad dash was so invigorating, so romantic-feeling
that perhaps because it was the first moment in the show when
I had complete control of the situation and complete responsibility.
I had to run fast enough to keep the show running smoothly.
Cinderella had to run to avoid revealing her secret - she
actually got to choose whether to stay and see what the prince
would do, or run and escape his unpredictable reaction. She
made a decision and acted on it, instead of crying and waiting
for her fairy godmother to appear to spirit her away.
The greatest shortcoming
of this beloved fairy tale is precisely that the heroine has
so little active responsibility in her own story. She is the
title character, and yet, she does not make any of the major
events happen. Cinderella is a victim in her own house of
her stepmother's nastiness, of course, but also of her own
passivity.
Victimization is
a co-dependant relationship that involves both the abuser
and the abused. Cinderella's meek acceptance of her miserable
home life signifies that on some level, she is willing to
give up responsibility for her place in the world and be dictated
to and taken advantage of. Even the appearance of her fairy
godmother does not give her anymore power or responsibility.
Rather, it suggests that if one stays meek, sweet, and accepting
under any circumstances, no matter how unfair. Eventually,
outside help will arrive and everything will work out in the
end. As we all know, life isn't like that - which is why I
realize that Cinderella doesn't pretend to be real life. It
is fantasy, make believe, the stuff that millions of little
girls base their dreams on, only to realize that no fairy
godmother will arrive unless you call her, or create her yourself.
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The
Adventures of Homer
by Andrew Rabinovici
Reborn
The Sun was bright
and the air was cool. It was definitely a good day. Nothing
great had happened, it was just one of those days when your
soul feels lighter and your mind a little clearer. Since it
was so nice out, I decided to take a walk on the boardwalk
and pick up some Russian food. The boardwalk was in Brighten
Beach, the Russian section of Brooklyn. There is a nice little
restaurant there called the Berta Cafe. They have the best
perogies in town.
After wolfing down
a plate of perogies and drinking a few beers, I decided to
go down to the beach and stare at the ocean for a while. The
boardwalk was busy with people. If you want to see life in
it's many forms, then the beach is the place to come. A gang
of young punks smoking cigarettes was catching dirty looks
from an old man feeding birds. A couple that came to spend
the day together were kissing on the beach. My attention went
from the people, to the sea.
As I gazed into
the salty green waters, my mind began to tumble back into
the past. On a time when life was as hollow and used up as
an empty beer can. As my eyes looked down toward the sand,
an empty bottle of Jim Beam caught my attention. I picked
up the bottle and all of a sudden I was hurled into the past.
It was as if my mind had found some way to make me believe
that I was reliving the most important night of my life. The
night I was reborn.
It was 12 years
ago since I changed my name. I was dead inside and there was
nothing driving me to keep breathing. Death was really the
only thing on my mind at the time, but I lacked the strength
to bring it upon myself. I was cold and I was very woods up
north. My only friend was a man named Jim Beam. It was cold
and I was very drunk. Maybe I would run into a bear who was
in the mood for a snack. No such luck.
Finally, I came
to a fence with a huge hole in it. I remember thinking why
anyone would put a fence in the middle of nowhere. Through
the hole I went, hoping to find some sort of mythical beast
that would gobble me up. No monster, just old railroad tracks.
If only there was a train I thought. I raised the bottle to
my lips and then suddenly the lights of a huge train blinded
me. I went looking for death, and death had found me. I took
another swig of the Beam. My arms were open wide to meet the
train. The light was covering me now and the train was just
a few feet from me. My eyes were locked staring directly into
the blinding light. "Come on," I yelled at the train, its
whistle answered me back and echoed through my brain. A moment
later the train crashed into me. I went flying through the
air and crashed back into the earth. The world went black.
My eyes opened
and the world stood before me. Rain was falling on my face
and the air was flowing through my body. With doubt in my
mind, I stared up at the sky with wonder. I was alive! The
only explanation for this that I could come up with was that
the force of the train knocked me off the tracks before it
actually hit me. But that really did not matter because I
was alive! Life had given me a second chance. My body felt
reborn and my spirit was stronger than ever. Everything seemed
different, I was a new person. I was now "Homer Pot."
Standing there
on the beach thinking back to that day, I felt as if my life
was actually going somewhere.
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