Andi Zeisler

 

I’m not really sure where the term “vagina music” originated.  The first time I heard it was in Nicole Holofcener’s awesome film Walking and Talking, when a male character complained to his female car-trip cohorts, “Are we gonna listen to this vagina music the whole way there?” (“Yes!”) The second time was almost a decade later,  on an episode of Six Feet Under wherein one of Claire’s art-school friends demands , “You guys are gonna have to change this vagina music immediately.”

From these, we can infer that vagina music  = music that others feel subjected to and wish to avoid.

Nonfictionally, in my own life, it’s come up in less confrontational instances, usually in discussions of the famed Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival—which was originally founded to showcase what was specifically called women’s music—or the once-mighty Lilith Fair. I used the expression  just last weekend to  refer to a band playing Portland’s Pride festivities whose skinny jeans and self-conscious rattails screamed ’80s synth revival ,but whose amps bleated out something much more Indigo/DiFranco.

 The murder of Kansas physician George Tiller is a devastating and, unfortunately, perfect illustration of the stupid, hypocritical, blindered self-righteousness of the anti-choice movement. And just as painful as the news itself is seeing the variety of twists and dodges with which the mainstream media does—or doesn’t—cover it.

I almost don’t want to give the New York Times the pageviews it was obviously courting in publishing Ross Douthat’s stunningly underthought and journalistically sloppy column “Liberated and Unhappy.” But those of you who’ve read Beth Skwarecki’s article “Mad Science: Deconstructing Bunk Reporting in 5 Easy Steps” will immediately recognize the tricks Douthat uses in his “analysis” of the supposed link between the gains of feminism and the sad, benighted women it’s left in its wake.

The 2007 study on which Douthat hangs today's column is called  “The Paradox of Declining Female Happiness,” and was authored by two economists from The Wharton School of Business; reading it, it seems fair to say that, like many an interesting study, it makes a sweeping hypothesis — “By many objective measures the lives of women in the United States have improved over the past 35 years, yet we show that measures of subjective well-being indicate that women’s declining relative happiness has declined both absolutely and relative to men” — and then spends much of the following 44 pages explaining that it’s not actually that simple, and exploring the many variables that may contribute to this decline. For instance, the social pressure on women of the 1960s and ‘70s to put on a happy face (even one that was chemically induced) is very likely a factor in the study’s self-reporting; so is the probability that, as revealed in a study by another economist published around the same time as “The Paradox of Declining Female Happiness,” men have over the past several decades cut back on activities they don’t like and, as a result, have more true leisure time; women —whose leisure time, particularly if they have families, is not their own—have less.

 I recently went to a screening of the film Handmade Nation at Portland’s excellent Museum of Contemporary Craft. And while the movie was good, what really stayed with me was what I saw on my way to the screening room. Seattle artist Mandy Greer’s installation Dare alla Luce, which closes next week, manages to combine macro and micro in the most striking of ways: The installation comprises ropy tangles of fabric that hang from the ceiling like primordial chandeliers, shimmering with shells, beads, and buttons. Beaded orbs and stars hover between them, and a huge black pelican holds court in the corner, its mouth spilling streams of sparkling fabric onto the floor of the space. Getting up close to the different parts of the installation, it’s impossible not to marvel at the intricacy of each one — what look like random masses of fabric and yarn are carefully sewn, crocheted, beaded, and knotted.

 

Mother's Day is this Sunday, and while we're sure your mom can't wait to spend some quality time with you, one organization is hoping you'll do a little more than shell out for brunch and a movie with your own maternal unit. Bay Area microcharity Help a Mother Out was formed when two local mothers — one of whom is former Bitch editor and eternal Friend of Bitch Rachel Fudge — began hearing about the growing numbers of homeless women and children in the state, and the difficulty of women's centers and shelters in affording diapers and other hygiene necessities.