It is way too much work to think back over this whole year and construct some kind of coherent narrative and write it all out for a serious, heavy-duty year-in-review. So instead I’m just gonna take the first and last Facebook status of every month of 2014 and post them in one spot, with minimal commentary in fancy schmancy italics. I’m excluding links and pictures and famous quotes and whatnot that aren’t just pure nuggets of wisdom straight from me. Enjoy?
So, Wolf of Wall Street? Basically makes me want to go and hug everybody I know and be like, “OH MY GOD I AM SO GLAD YOU ARE NOT JORDAN BELFORT.” Oh, and DiCaprio better win the Oscar.
lolololol oscar hahahaha
If I were to have a “What I Be” portrait done, I think I’d have “vampire” “acne” “makeup” and “smile lines” (with arrows) written on my face, with the caption: “I am not my skin.” And no, I’m not posting this for attention or validation. I’m posting this solely to annoy Rafi Skier.
Because *reasons.* Also, ha, remember that photography project? That happened.
Please keep my friend and radio mentor Philip Rosenberg in your prayers, because he suffered a medical emergency today and is a devout atheist, so being prayed for would probably piss him off enough to get better so that he could yell at me.
Phil is doing just fine, yay! Proof there is a god! Suck it, Phil! (Also no we are not related. Thanks for asking.)
Another year, another zero Oscars for Leonardo DiCaprio. Dude is probably going to get a lifetime achievement award before anyone will give him an Oscar.
Why SM will never be a relationship counselor, episode 4567:
Friend: “Stop getting all the men to fall in love with you! Sheesh”
Me: “I’m a heartbreaker. It’s what I do.”
Him: “Yea, I know.”
Me: “you are lucky enough to be immune to whatever it is about me that hooks these poor suckers”
Him: “I thank Jesus for it every day.
My immunity means that I’ve messaged approximately 5 profiles on two websites in the last year, because the rest are boring.”
Me: “move to mongolia or something. People seem more alluring if you can’t understand what they’re saying.”
See, what did I tell you? Nuggets of wisdom. EVERYWHERE.
Note to self: the axiom “Don’t believe everything you read on the internet” was invented for days like today. (Except for the outrage over the How I Met Your Mother finale. I think it’s safe to believe that.)
APRIL FOOLS DAY AMIRITE?? Still have not watched the last couple seasons of HIMYM. But I know I would hate the finale if I ever did. Because ewwwww.
Why SM Will Never Be a Supervillain, Episode 93:
Friend: “So-and-so thinks you hate her.”
Me: “What? Why would she think that?”
Him: “I have no idea. I went to great pains to explain to her that SM doesn’t muster the energy to hate anybody.”
Me: “Seriously. Way too much effort.”
This was later amended in the comments (after other motivations for being a supervillain were presented) to more specifically: “Why SM Will Never Be Slade Wilson, Aside From his Awesome Goatee and Accent, Obviously.”
Kid I babysit for: “I want you to join Minecraft. Because I want you to come live in this world with me, because I don’t like being the only person in this world.”
Me: “But couldn’t anyone else keep you company too?”
Him: “But I want YOU to live in it.”
Me: “Why me?”
Him: “Because I know you well and I really really want you to live in this world with me.”
I feel like I was just proposed to by a nine-year-old.
Winning ’em over while they’re young, that’s me.
Another Heights shabbos gone — big thanks to everyone who invited me for meals, hung out with me, said hi, and especially to Galit Wernick for hosting me, listening to me explain how engines work, asking me to read “Something Borrowed” out loud for a hour or two, and agreeing to watch “The Normal Heart” with me tonight. Shavua Tov!
Galiiiiiiiit ❤ ❤ ❤
The Normal Heart 😦 😦 😦
Things nobody tells you about the differences between automotive school and a liberal arts college: An abbreviated, commonly used form of the word “transmission” is “tranny.” I still get whiplash hearing people throw that word around in a completely inoffensive context.
Yup. Still. Every time.
Out of context quote of the day: “Joanna, don’t miss the orgy. I can tell you where it is.” ~ Tamar P
No, I will not tell you the context. YOU ARE CURSED TO WONDER.
omg I love ewoks they are best thing in all of cinematic history
Context and justification not required.
Today in “Questions Never Asked of Male Automotive Students” —
Instructor (apropos of nothing): “Do you know how to make apple pie?”
Him: “Do you know how to make cheesecake?”
Him: “Oh. See, I want to find out how to make them so that I can tell my wife how to make them.”
Me: “Google. Google knows everything.”
Unpack the sexism, people. Unpack. Go.
Also happy birthday Harry Potter!
It occurred to me this week that I am starting to become afraid to be a Jew in much the same way I am afraid to be a woman. I, as a woman, know that obviously not all men are rapists or misogynists, but I also know (from experience and from studies and history and well-documented events) that far too many are, and therefore I am instinctively cautious and apprehensive of most men I don’t know. And similarly, I, as a Jew, know that obviously not all people are anti-Semites, but I also know (from current events and experience and studies and history) that far too many are, and therefore am starting to become instinctively cautious and apprehensive of most people I don’t know. #persecutioncomplex
Oh god the Gaza war. Let’s not do that again. (Ha. As if.)
Dear body, you can sleep late on Sundays. Really. It’s okay. Sincerely, I DIDN’T GET TO SLEEP UNTIL 2 AM LAST NIGHT WHY AM I AWAKE
THE STRUGGLE IS REAL.
So Labor Day is about honoring the blue collar workers? Honor me, people. I expect groveling.
Ahem. Still waiting.
It will never not be creepy when guys I’ve never had class with and never spoken to call out to me by name when I walk by them in shop or in the hallways. Never. Ugh, so creepy.
*curls into fetal ball*
Signs you’re an auto mechanic student: You cringe every time you see a Chrysler Town and Country because the hood is too short so half the engine compartment extends under the dash and is a nightmare to work on. *shudders*
Baby brother: “You’re going to school today?”
Him: “You know, a wizard could probably fix cars REALLY EASILY.”
boston y u have such bad weather also y r u in boston. ugh boston. no me gusta. Awesome people though. Jacquie Chana Yocheved Wolpoe better come back to NYC soon or — or…I’ll just have to visit again, I guess.
but for real Boston sucks so much
These Black Friday taglines of “The more you spend, the more you save!” are shorting out my logic circuits. That is literally not true. Stop it, internet.
although thank goodness for Black Friday because who knows if I’d have a tool set without it
Things that frustrate me: the fact that we have the technology to land a probe on a comet but not to pack chips into a bag in such a way that the settling won’t result in 2/3 of a bag of air. #darncapitalists
And don’t tell me the bag is the technology keeping the chips from being crushed. If there was any financial incentive to fit more chips in a bag, they’d find a way.
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The High Holidays of Judaism always arrive at around this time of year: Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, followed quickly by the less High but still 8-day long Holiday of Sukkot (7 days if you live in Israel).
And I’ve noticed this year, maybe even more than any other year, just how much each of these is rife with symbolism. There are unusual fruits eaten with their own brief prayers relating their metaphoric significance or at least puns about them and how they relate to the blessings we hope to have this year. There is apple dipped in honey for a sweet new year. There is round challah bread to symbolize the circle of life. On Yom Kippur, it’s a common custom to wear white to signify a fresh start. And don’t even get me started on all the things a sukkah may or may not symbolize.
I’m not going to deny that symbolism can have great power, that seeing a physical manifestation or reminder of an emotional truth can be very effective. However, I think it’s largely true that the symbols that have the most power to us are not the ones that are passed down to us (not to say that there’s anything wrong them), but rather, the ones that we create for ourselves.
I am no stranger to making my own symbols. I’ve been choosing certain actions based on their metaphorical resonances since long before Augustus Waters made it cool.
[Side note: I recall reading a review of The Fault in Our Stars movie and the reviewer scoffed at Augustus’s cigarette metaphor, saying that it barely worked in the book and certainly doesn’t work on screen, and to that I say, “BAH. There’s nothing to ‘work’ or ‘not work’ about it. Either you acknowledge that there are people who create symbols for themselves or you don’t. And if you don’t, well, you’re wrong.” We may be unbearably pretentious but that doesn’t mean we don’t exist!]
For instance, a while back I took to wearing a fake engagement ring, first as a social experiment and then, as explained here, as a symbol to myself of all the times I have felt most wanted, chosen, or loved, by classmates, coworkers, friends, acquaintances, family, etc.
Lately, I’ve taken to wearing another kind of ring for symbolic purposes.
The ring is a clamp from the inner tie rod of a car that we worked on in class. (Tie rods are what connect the tires to the car’s rack-and-pinion, which is attached to the steering gear and moves to the right and to the left to steer the car. Not important! Well, no, very important, but not in regard to this post.) Point is, it’s a piece of a car and I turned it into a ring. I even coated the outside with clear nail polish so that it would be shiny.
The symbol has a couple of major layers, which I was very conscious of while choosing it:
It takes something stereotypically masculine (car part) and turns it into something stereotypically feminine (shiny ring). This is important to me because it helps me fight my internalized misogynistic thinking that anything feminine or girly or pretty is inherently inferior or weak or useless. These are constructs that are pushed onto us constantly and — while this may surprise you, given my affinities for bright clothes and makeup — I am still deprogramming myself from my aversion to anything girly.
I made a very conscious choice to wear it on my left ring finger, where it is customary to wear an engagement and/or wedding ring. I did this even though occasionally my fingers swell up a bit and it might make more sense for me to wear it on a pinky finger or even the ring finger of my right hand, which may be slightly narrower. But I didn’t want to, because I absolutely want that symbol of commitment for myself. That this is what I am dedicating my life to right now. That even when it’s overwhelming, or I’ve had a bad day full of sexism and frustration, or when it’s a long weekend and school feels far away and it may feel easier to slip backward into a more conventional career, this nail-polished piece of metal around my finger provides a physical, tangible reminder for why I won’t do that.
I lost it a couple weeks ago, and I felt naked without it; kept tightening my fingers or reaching my thumb over to my ring finger to feel the ring but it wasn’t there, and I felt unsettled and anxious, like I’d lost an anchor, like I was loosing my grip on my commitment. It’s irrational, but that’s how much power symbols can have. I totally understood why Augustus would risk his life to get another pack of cigarettes to replenish his anchoring metaphor and regain his equilibrium.
What was worse than losing it, though, was the way I lost it: I took it off to wash my hands before eating bread, as per the Jewish custom, and I forgot it by the water fountain where I washed. This was because the water fountain is in a fairly small, semi-isolated nook of the school and I don’t like being in that nook for any longer than necessary, because I can’t help but be aware of the fact that out of anyplace in the school building, that is the easiest one in which to overpower a girl. It’s not like it’s ideal for that — if I screamed they’d totally hear me in the shop — but it’s definitely not the most comfortable place to linger. So I get jumpy when I’m there, and as a result, forgot to put my ring back on and by the next day, it had been cleared away.
And I hated the symbolic significance of how I’d lost it — letting sexism and fear push me around to the point where my behavior was affected and I lost something valuable to me — I hated that even more than I hated losing it, and so I desperately wanted to replace it, to erase that negative energy and make sure it never happened again. Luckily, I take home lots of spare odds and ends from shop, and I found another inner tie rod clamp in my small collection, and that’s the one I currently wear.
So the symbolism on this one is three-fold. Better not lose it.
He spent half an hour lying on the floor, whimpering into silence.
No, it wasn’t some horrific accident like the kind my parents worry about happening to me — no hands were caught between engine pulleys or transmission gears and ground into a bloody pulp.
The guy fell out of the trunk of a car.
For real. That’s what happened.
You see, our shop assignment that day [CAR SPEAK ALERT] was to remove a component of the car’s rear suspension, a part called the strut (a spring combined with a shock absorber), to be exact. Struts are positioned vertically behind the wheels of cars. They go up in a fairly straight line from behind the wheel right up to the bottom of the car body.
This means that while the bottom bolts of the strut are accessible by reaching underneath the car, the top of the strut is bolted to the car itself, and therefore the bolts are generally INSIDE the car, fastening it there. We dug around and eventually found the top bolts inside the trunk, underneath the carpet in the shadowy inner corner.
Some groups got access to the bolts by going through the rear passenger seats. But the best angles for ratcheting and unscrewing the bolts could only be achieved by climbing into the trunk and working in there.
So that’s what this guy had been doing. Since other teams were also working on the bottom parts of their struts at the same time, all the cars we were using were on lifts, elevated a few feet off the ground. Not sure how high exactly; maybe 3 feet? Not exactly Mt. Everest, but requiring moderate levels of coordination for ascent and descent.
And this guy botched it. Twisted his knee and wound up on the floor, drawing the attention and curiosity of the entire shop.
Full disclosure: I had been doing this exact same job. In fact, I was the one in the class who realized that going into the trunk was the best option, and since I am one of the few in class small enough and agile enough to comfortably fit in a trunk (put that on the ole resume), I jumped right in. And out. Several times over the course of the afternoon, to loosen this bolt and that bolt and “oh can you get this one too” and “what the hell, just take ‘em all out, you’re already in there” and then of course tightening all the bolts back up when we put the strut back on.
And not once did I injure myself hopping in and out of the trunk, because I am a ~graceful swan~ oh yes.
But this guy, either through clumsiness or sheer bad luck, managed to get himself hurt. There was a flurry of activity and sympathy at first: clustering around where he lay half-curled on the floor; fetching him an ice pack; fetching him a chair; helping him get into it — but by the fifteen-minute mark, after he’d abandoned the chair in favor of lying unmoving on the floor again, sympathy began to ebb among some of my classmates.
I heard one of my friends laughing around the toolbox with some of the other guys.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing, just laughing at what a terrible person I am.”
“Oh really? Why?”
He lowered his voice a jot. “Look, he’s in pain. I get it. I’ve been there.” (For reference, this friend was awarded five — count ‘em, FIVE — Purple Hearts before being medically discharged from the Army after 15 years, and takes daily prescription painkillers for the injuries that still haven’t quite healed. He specializes in getting shot and blown up.) “But it’s like, come on, man, you don’t have to lie down on the floor; that’s a bit dramatic.”
I told him I was inclined to agree, because if I got hurt in class, no matter how bad it was, you know what I’d do? Hide it. Why? Because I’m a girl. And the minute anyone sees me show weakness in that kind of public way, that’s the last time anyone’s gonna take me seriously. I don’t care if that means I have to hole up in the bathroom until an ambulance gets there — there’s just too much credibility at stake for me to risk anyone seeing me in that sort of state. Lots of people already think I am weaker or less competent because I’m female; I can’t afford to give them anything that might reinforce their stereotyping.
This guy, on the other hand, could lie on the floor for an hour if he wanted and people are still going to think he’s better suited for this profession than I am.
The next day, I overheard him talking to his friends and it turns out he had pre-existing problems with his ACL, but like most guys in school, he can’t take the necessary time off to get surgery, even if he can afford to pay for it. So yeah, his injury and behavior make a bit more sense. But still.
Why does this matter so much to me? Well, I’m not especially physically strong. I’m not especially athletic. I have a family history of arthritis and a personal history of back problems, and I live in constant fear that they will rear their party-pooping heads and derail my fledgling career. Or that I will otherwise destroy myself physically. (The night before I started school, I had freakout to a friend which basically consisted of me going, “BUT WHAT IF I GET HURT?!” and her going, “You’re not going to get hurt,” and me going, “YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” A barrel of laughs I was that night, yup yup.)
So I have to admit that it eats at me to know that there are guys in this industry who are just as physically damaged as I am, if not much more so, who are probably much more of a liability than I am, and yet people are going to look at that guy and infer “strong” but look at me and infer “weak.” Because, again, in case you forgot, I am a girl.
It’s frustrating, to say the least.
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Well, this is way overdue and I feel like I should apologize to the internet. Sorry, internet.
This review was commissioned by an anonymous donor known only as the “Funder of Dreams.” Thanks, Funder! (Commissioned post #4 out of 10 so far!)
While I did not fund the famed Veronica Mars Movie Kickstarter, there’s no way to talk about this movie without talking about some history, because practically everyone who saw the movie has some kind of history leading into it. Mine was that I watched the Veronica Mars show years ago, sometime after it went off the air, and thought it was a pretty good show but not OMG AMAZEBALLS like most of its fans seemed to think. And then more recently, my favorite blogger Mark Oshiro of www.markwatches.net began blogging it episode by episode, and I picked it up again, intending to watch along with his posting schedule (as I am doing with Supernatural right now) . . . aaaaaand that didn’t work out so well. The show has so much momentum that I zipped through all three seasons in like a month.
But I was amazed at how much more there was to the show than I’d given it credit for during my first watch. I’m assuming that in the intervening years I’ve become so much more aware of and invested in social constructs and societal conventions, and that’s why I could finally appreciate how daring the show was, and how direct it was in tackling issues of racism, classism, sexism, and just about every other ism. And it doesn’t do it in a preachy way; it just weaves the threads into the lives of the characters and the mysteries that the titular Veronica has to solve week in and week out.
So it’s like, some people go into JJ Abrams’s Star Trek movies hoping for morality plays and social commentary because that’s what Star Trek is about (and they are disappointed because JJ Abrams? Philosophy? HA) — but Veronica Mars isn’t really about that and I don’t really expect commentary from it; I mostly just expect to see the world presented to me as it is and being left to make the final judgment call myself. No impassioned monologues delivered by major characters at the movie climax about right and wrong or about how things should be; just people living messy lives and making messy decisions. Of course, there are true villains and evilness and that’s fun to root against, and we have our plucky heroes that we can root for, but no one’s perfect and I don’t have to like everything they do, and most characters fall somewhere in between.
So in that vein, I liked a lot of the choices that the writers made for this movie, such as where they decided to place the characters in this Ten Years Later installment. Funder of Dreams expressed disappointment to me that Wallace, Veronica’s adorable sidekick, became a high school teacher/basketball coach instead of the engineer he’d dreamed of being when we last saw him on the show. We saw how dedicated Wallace was in college to the math and science work he had to do, even though it wasn’t easy for him, and Funder may have a thing for engineers and felt let down to see that Wallace’s work hadn’t paid off long-term in the form of an engineering career. And I’m sure some people were annoyed that Veronica herself went off and became a lawyer instead of a hotshot FBI agent, and I’m absolutely certain no one expected Weevil, the leader of the PCH motorcycle gang, to settle down and have a wife and baby.
But I like that. I like when movies and TV and books acknowledge that life is not linear. Life paths do not follow a set trajectory just because that’s logical or because you want them to. I actually saw the movie, I realize now, with someone who originally thought he’d be an engineer, but life happened and now he feels that his true calling is to be a high school teacher. He is basically Wallace. This stuff really happens. I’m aware that there’s a tacit requirement of fiction that it has to make more sense than reality, but career paths changing is such a normal thing that I don’t believe it really requires an explanation. I mean, if someone made a TV show out of my high school life, it would be unbelievable boring, but aside from that, it would be about a teenage girl who wrote novels. And if there was fanfiction written about my Unbelievably Boring High School Life show (because such things have been known to happen), I’m sure all the fanfic writers would project that grown-up SM would be a novelist or the next JK Rowling, depending on the degree of wish fulfillment the writer subscribed to. None of them would have put me in automotive school, but guess what? That’s where I am right now, and that’s where I want to be. Life is not linear.
And sometimes, as the movie shows, you may get sucked back into that original trajectory, and that may not be “destiny” or “meant to be” or any of those positively connoted things — it may in fact be a regression, the path of least resistance, an addiction; it may not be a good thing. And I liked that too.
And again, nobody in the movie really gave any speeches outlining this and analyzing whether it is right or wrong — it’s just there. For you to notice or not, just like the other things I didn’t notice when I first watched the show.
Leaving aside all this baggage I’ve now projected into the movie, was it a good movie?
I think so. I saw it with someone who’d never seen the show, and aside from my squealing every time a character came onscreen (“MAC! WEEVIL! GIA! LEO! DEPUTY SACKS!”), I don’t think he found anything too confusing, which is a big plus for a movie with so much background info. There were some incredibly suspenseful moments, and because the movie was low budget and couldn’t possibly be “action-packed,” the few incidents of violence were shocking and effective. As far as I could tell, this was a good little thriller. (I don’t know how qualified I am to judge such things, because I tend to watch dramas and comedies and sci fi and family movies and hardly any straight-up thrillers at all, but most of the critics seem to agree with me, as did my movie-going companion.) And I was of course extremely nostalgic and just so happy to see all the familiar faces playing all the familiar characters ( ❤ Vinnie Van Lowe, you scumbag).
It was too bad that they couldn’t get Leighton Meester to reprise her role as Carrie Bishop, because every time they showed pictures of what was supposed to be her character, it was super distracting because THAT’S NOT LEIGHTON MEESTER YOU CAN’T FOOL ME. Looked nothing like her. They could have said she’d had plastic surgery, and given the character, I’d have been totally fine with that, but nada.
I thought it was interesting that they chose to make the villain an unfamiliar character invented for the movie, and not one we already knew (although the movie distractingly pretended that he had gone to high school with them to explain why he was at the reunion), but I suppose that would have been too risky and would have outraged too many people. This is a fanservice movie, after all, and while they may not have gone the Wallace-the-engineer/Veronica-the-FBI-agent wish fulfillment route, there were some lines they still didn’t want to cross.
Such as having Veronica end up with anyone other than Logan. Le sigh.
I came into the movie assuming that they’d wind up together and that I’d be fine with it, because I never thought Piz, Veronica’s other love interest in this movie, was a viable option for Veronica. (At heart, I still liked Veronica’s first boyfriend Duncan best but Teddy Dunn was not going to be in the movie so I accepted that the LoVe ship would be sailing.)
I’m not that tough a sell when it comes to romance, honestly. Show me characters who genuinely connect and care and get along and support and respect each other as equals and I’ll probably be fine with whoever you throw together.
And the movie gives us that with Piz but not with Logan. We see that Piz and Veronica have a well-functioning relationship of equals and that Piz no longer that pathetic puppy dog just following Veronica around. Good for him! They work really well together in the movie! But it is not to be, alas. And we’re left to assume all of that important stuff with Logan; the movie doesn’t give us enough Veronica/Logan talky time for them to hash things out and deal with their issues — it shows us Logan in his Air Force uniform, Logan being broody, Logan being violent, Logan being heroic . . . but none of that actually addresses the central issues of the Veronica/Logan relationship, such as poor communication, distrust, and oh yeah, ten YEARS without speaking to each other. But he means well and they smooch by the end so it’s all good. Not.
On the other hand, there’s all sorts of class warfare and douchey police abuse and Logan being angsty and Keith Mars being the best dad ever and Mac being the only one to have a linear life where she’s now a hotshot software developer, and that’s pretty yummy.
So overall, I think enjoyment of this movie depended largely on expectations. I don’t think critics expected much from it and were pleasantly surprised. I think I expected certain things from it, as outlined above, and for the most part my expectations were met, so I was happy. I think that if people expected it to be the best movie of the year, the decade, the century, they were probably disappointed, and that if they disliked Logan, they were probably disappointed, and if they expected linear progression of the characters and of some of the plot loose ends left by the show, they were probably disappointed, and I can’t argue with that.
But I think it was a solid little movie, and if by some miracle there’s a sequel, I’d totally go see it.
There were some things I didn’t cover in my last piece about my school experience so far. (For those who are curious about the academic front, I’m writing this on the day I took my first final and tomorrow I start a new class, and I don’t actually have a clue what subject it will be because the way things are done is that the class lists are pinned up on the bulletin board the DAY OF the new class, and that’s when you find out what subject it is and what classroom it’s in. Bizarro. In other news, I am a spoiled college kid.)
[UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE: My new class is Electronic Fundamentals or something to that effect, and we have shop in the morning with one instructor and classroom/theory in the afternoon with a different instructor, which makes zero sense from a student perspective, because the practical stuff we’re learning may or may not line up with what we’ll be tested on, since there’s no way to communicate exactly what each instructor is covering to the other and they don’t really coordinate. Oh well. I’m a smart cookie; I’ll figure it out.]
I don’t intend for this piece to be a huge essay, just some quick notes on what wasn’t covered last time, broken down into sections for your convenience!
There is one girls’ bathroom and one men’s bathroom for students. The girls’ bathroom has one toilet, one sink, one motion-sensing paper towel dispenser, and deliciously mango-scented air freshener. It is always locked, so girls have to go get a key from Student Services every day in order to open it. You can keep the key all day and return it after dismissal, but I forgot to do that on my first day, and now I just “forget” to do it, so I basically have my own key that I take to school every day so that I don’t have to constantly ask them for one. (Don’t worry; they have enough keys for the few girls in the program.) And the hassle of having to remember if I transferred the key from one uniform shirt to the other every day is so worth the peace of mind that comes with knowing that that bathroom is a heavenly slice of privacy.
It’s no secret that I love my solitude. The few minutes I spend in that bathroom each day are kind of my favorites. It can suck having to come out of it and promptly coming face to face with a dude who’s like, “Hey, beautiful,” which totally kills that wonderful bubble of comfort and privacy, but it’s also a place where I’ve run into some of the other girls in the program who needed to use the bathroom, and that’s great, because sisterhood, yo.
We get button-down uniform shirts. Two of them for $46. With iron-on patches that can display our academic achievements.
The sizes on the paper that I could choose from at orientation were: Small, Medium, Large, XL, 2X, 3X, 4X, 5X, and 6X. So, unsurprisingly, the admissions guy’s immediate reaction to me was, “I can see if they can order you an extra small?” Which I shot down and tried on the small. It’s ginormous and fits my body in exactly no places, but I knew that extra small wouldn’t be any better because in point of fact, no one has yet invented a button-down shirt that fits a body that is as hourglassish as mine. Take your pick: Boobs or waist — you get to pick a shirt that fits one, not both. This one fit neither, being too baggy at the waist and too small at the chest. None of this is a complaint, by the way; by not fitting in any way, shape, or form, my shirt basically serves as a reminder to me about how tiny and curvy I am, which I cannot find a way to spin into being a bad thing. And anyhow, I ain’t going to automotive school to be a fashionista so whatEVER.
Everyone wears shirts or tank tops under their uniform shirts (except one guy who our instructor has dubbed “The Phantom” because of his habit of just disappearing during the school day for hours at a time but that’s another story) so it’s not a big deal that my shirt doesn’t close over my chest and I wear t-shirts underneath every day. It puts my t-shirt collection to good use, that’s for sure.
We don’t get uniform pants. This is only a thing of importance to me because I don’t own a single pair of jeans. I have like one pair of sweatpants and a few pairs of leggings, and mostly any other pants I have are pajama pants. Hashtag Orthodox Jewish Girl Problems. I asked at registration and was told that for safety reasons, as I assumed, skirts are not recommended. So I put a post up on facebook asking if any friends of mine had old jeans that they thought might fit me, and some friends responded, but I still don’t have jeans because it turns out that even though I am a 6-8 in skirts/dresses, I am apparently probably something like a 10-12 in pants. Like I said, hourglassish. So if you’ve got size 10-12 ladies jeans lying around, email them to me! Much appreciated.
But this hasn’t really been a problem so far. The first few days, I came to school wearing sweatpants or leggings underneath one of those ankle-length black skirts that I almost never wear in real life, and after the classroom portion of the day (i.e. all morning) I pulled off the skirt and went to the shop in pants/leggings. But then one day I forgot to change and no one noticed and the instructor didn’t care, so I stopped wearing the extra layer underneath (because it is NYC in the summer, gah) and just wear the same ankle-length black skirt every day for class and shop and no one gives a hoot. If we ever do something that’s physical enough to require pants, of course I’ll wear them, but for now I’ll stick with skirts because they are way better in summer heat and most of my non-skirt bottoms are not fit to be seen in public. And they totally don’t match my uniform shirt. (One of my pairs of leggings is like purple and shimmery. Went with the oversized navy button-down shirt super well. Not.)
Also the shirt has pockets. They’re breast pockets but it’s not like the shirt fits me so stuff in the pockets doesn’t actually look weird; it’s just part of the overall sloppy-mechanic-mess-look. Which means I carry stuff in my pockets all the time. This is awesome.
Despite all this lack of anything resembling fashion, I get looks and I get hit on with regularity, simply because I am female. This really hammers home the fact that there really isn’t that much you need to do, looks-wise, to get a guy’s attention. They’ll probably notice you exist just because you’re a girl. If you want to hold that attention (which I don’t in this case), that’s where personality comes in. (I know I am saying this from a position of body/overall attractiveness privilege, because I fit into certain conventions of beauty, and that’s unfair. But I do think that being female has a lot more to do with it in this situation than being attractive. I’m not that attractive, especially not in school; I’m just an object of curiosity.)
More about this in . . .
I have this policy of wearing makeup for the first few days of any new class/semester, in college and now in automotive school. The theory is that if that’s how I make my first impression, whatever glamour that first impression creates will cling to me for the duration that those people know me. This is a theory that I completely made up and is entirely unscientific because I have not attempted to research it in the slightest, but I don’t need to, because confidence is a head game that you play with yourself, so whatever works will work if you let it.
The biggest issue with this is that during each semester/course, you get to what I have internally dubbed the “band-aid day” — meaning, the day I rip off the metaphorical band-aid and show up with no makeup on. And Buzzfeed can tell me all they want that no one notices if you don’t wear makeup, but that is baloney. The first day I showed up without makeup, B. (of my previous post) did a double take and said, “Did you forget—” and stopped.
“Did I forget what?”
“Nothing. Never mind. You look great.”
Because nothing is so utterly transparent than giving a girl an unsolicited reassurance about how she looks after you just looked at her like she showed up wearing mud in her hair. Good one, B. And he proceeded on a few subsequent days to say things like, “You don’t get much sleep, do you?”
To which I was always tempted to respond, “None of your business but I get plenty of sleep; I’m just a pasty white girl with no consistent skin tone and I don’t feel like wearing makeup every day just so that I don’t look like a zombie.”
But note that this did not deter him from continuing to hit on me, ask me to the movies, offer to take me places “if you’re good” (ugh). He has definitively used up all my goodwill at this point. Persistence is not sexy at all when it ignores and disrespects other people’s clearly-drawn boundaries. B. is fortunately not in my class right now; he’s in the diesel program and I’m in the automotive program, so we had that one intro class together but now we have separate classes. He still comes to find me during breaks and is like, “Can I get a hug??” and I’m like, “No.” And he laughs and says, “Handshake?” and so I shake his hand instead of telling him to get lost, because I’m super polite like that.
And similarly to how it works with the clothes, plenty of the other guys continue to hit on me and attempt to chat me up whether or not I am wearing makeup.
So to end this on a positive note, I can tell you that when it’s not incredibly annoying or creepy, the inane male attention has actually been a decent confidence boost/reinforcement for me. Like, if I can look like crap and get hit on constantly, then when I finally do get all gussied up and wear makeup and put on clothes I like that actually fit my body, I feel, like, super sexy. Like turbo-charged sexy, to use a car metaphor.
I’m two weeks into automotive school. Well, technically 6 school days in, since I started on May 22nd and got vacation for Memorial Day and the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, cutting the four-school-day week down considerably. But still, 6 days is half of a course in my program, since every 12 days we’ll have a final and move up to the next class.
I am the only girl in my current intro class. There are a handful of other girls in the school and I’ve seen a few at lunch, but none are in my class. This in itself wasn’t something that I considered remotely problematic; I don’t mind standing out, and being a girl makes me memorable, and you want to be memorable in a field like this. Far more nervewracking was the fact that everyone in my class had experience working with cars whereas I was a complete newbie.
That’s still an issue that I’m dealing with, even though I’ve quickly risen to the top of the class with my book-smarts and grades on all the written quizzes and assignments. I am slower with tools because of a) having never used them before and b) needing to use my entire body weight to operate something that my shop partner can use with one hand.
I know that I shouldn’t be too hard on myself for not being the fastest with, say, a 3/8 drive ratchet or a torque wrench, seeing as I’d never even heard of those tools and certainly never used them until a few days ago, but I am used to excelling, and I know that as a girl, I need to excel in this in order for anyone to take me seriously. If I were a guy, the raw strength would make up for some of the doubts employers might have when looking at me, seeing that I could be useful in other ways, for lifting and grunt work. But I don’t have raw strength; I’m barely 5’ 2”; I’m thin and I was told by one of the guys at lunch that he thought I was 19.
Which leads me into the other gender issue that I obviously knew I’d have to deal with — numerous personal interactions with guys, generally without any women around to back me up. Me against the world, dun dun dunnnn. And that makes it sound antagonistic, which it’s not, because everyone I’ve met has been nice to me. There has been no outright hostility from anyone. (When I told that to a friend, she responded, “that’s good!” before adding, “Our standards are really low, aren’t they.”) And plenty of people have been really friendly.
For instance, I remember being somewhat freaked out at lunch on my first day, after sitting in class all morning and feeling overwhelmed by all the new material I knew nothing about, and a Haitian guy in some other class sat down at my table and haltingly told me not to worry: “You gonna make it. Look at me — I barely speak English and I doing okay.” And that was exactly what I needed to hear.
And I’ve also somehow befriended the guy in the class with the most car experience and he’s been enormously helpful, giving me tips and offering me advice and information on all sorts of things without me asking for any of it.
And the guys in the lunchroom have a domino tournament every day and they were happy to deal me in. I actually won one game, though the exact rules of scoring that they play by are kind of a mystery to me.
But it’s not that simple. It never is.
So far there’s only been one super creepy incident — when I went to refill my water bottle at the water fountain on the first day, a smallish guy was already there and he insisted on letting me fill it before taking his turn. That was unnecessary but nice, but then he had to go ruin it by staring at me unblinkingly the whole time and speaking in this weird monotone that some guys use when they’re trying to be slick or suave but don’t know how. He told me his name, and I told him mine (it was on my ID tag anyway) with my brightest chipper voice and smile so that he wouldn’t know how creeped out I was, and then when I finished and turned to go, he said, in that slow, deep, deliberate monotone, “Sarah. I hope we stay friends.”
Dude. You let me fill my water bottle. That does not make us friends. Especially not with the bonus leering.
And then there’s the condescending and sometimes downright weird sexism that I encountered from some of the administrative staff. The very first time I visited campus, my admissions representative kept saying to me what a “nice girl” I am: “You’re a nice girl, aren’t you? Just a nice girl. I can just tell. You’re a nice girl. A nice girl.” He did this in the midst of selling the school to me as hard as he could, but I seriously can’t figure out what kind of sales pitch that is supposed to be. I am, however, 99.9% certain he didn’t say the same thing to the prospective male students who came to tour the school. (And he did it again once I enrolled a few months later: “We’re gonna take good care of you, because you’re a nice girl. A nice girl.” I can’t even.)
A different male administrator didn’t say anything nearly that weird to me throughout my enrollment process, but on my first day he passed me in the hallway the first time I wore my oversized uniform shirt, and he went, “Aw, you look so cute.” Which is, well, wildly inappropriate, but I just smiled instead of saying anything, because a) he’s in a position of authority and I do not want a fight, and b) I’m still trying to find the balance between how much to use my cuteness to get students and faculty to like me and be more patient with me than they would if I were a guy, and how much I should really draw the line and say no, that’s not okay.
It’s complicated. More on this later.
Mostly, what I’ve had to deal with, and anticipate having to deal with most, are very well-meaning, friendly guys saying stuff that they mean to be complimentary, that they don’t realize are in fact sexist.
Like I mentioned befriending the guy who turned out to be the most knowledgeable one in the class. I had no clue about that when I met B. at orientation; he was just friendly and easy to talk to, so we talked, and talked again while waiting for class to start on the first day, and sat at adjacent desks, and so out of anyone in class, we’re probably the best friends in that room. It’s been a bonus that he’s got experience and from Day 1, B. basically took me under his wing and doled out all sorts of practical tips and reassured me that there was once a time when he knew nothing about cars and that I’d catch up.
That was all really great stuff to hear on my first day, and I could see how serious B. is about his career and about school (he wants to get 100s on everything and get all the iron-on patches they give you for your uniform to signify the A’s you’ve gotten), and I was glad to have made a friend, or at least an acquaintance, who was as dedicated to school as I was and who was fun and could easily carry a conversation.
But then, after a whole day of just being friendly and helpful and professional, B. had to go and say, “You know, it’s really pretty sexy that you’re doing this.”
Sigh. I just wanted to facepalm everywhere. But I just shrugged it off.
Because it’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t already get why a comment like that is demeaning. Because there are situations in which I would not mind a guy finding out what I’m learning to do for a living and saying that it’s sexy. A woman doing blue collar work is a inevitably a symbol of strength and self-sufficiency, so I’d hope for their sake that guys have the good sense to find that attractive. And plenty of people find it attractive when a guy can fix a car, and I’ve got no problems with that.
But not in school. In school, we’re supposed to be peers. We’re supposed to be equals. You’re doing the same work I’m doing, and I doubt you consider it sexy when you do it — it’s just work. Being called sexy from within the industry diminishes my professional standing. It makes my work somehow different from yours; it “others” me. If an outsider looks at me and my work and thinks it’s sexy, that’s different. I’m already “othered” in that situation, by virtue of working in a different job with all the exoticism that entails. But if you’re in the business, find other ways to compliment me.
Look, I could tell B. liked me. I’m not one of those people that can’t see someone’s interest unless they declare their intentions with flashing neon signs and smoke signals. He clearly thought I was smart and funny and interesting, and I also happen to be a cute girl. So I knew, and I also knew that I was unequivocally not interested back and did my best to communicate that to him without outright telling him to forget about it. I mentioned in one of our very first conversations that I only date Jewish guys (which B. is not), and also that this is a very stressful time for me and I’m not really interested in dating anyone at all at the moment. He didn’t seem to grasp the significance of the Jew thing until a couple days later when the topic of kosher food came up somehow and I started explaining just the bare bones of kashrut rules, and he was astonished by how complicated it is and said, “No wonder you prefer to only date guys who are your religion.” YES.
I thought that was that, and even smugly congratulated myself on finding an ingenious method of scaring off non-Jews without hurting their feelings, but the next day this happened:
B.: “I’m gonna take you out someday.”
Me: “Oh really. Why?”
B.: “Because you’re beautiful.”
B.: “And I want you to know that I know that you’re beautiful.”
Me: “I know you know I’m beautiful. You have eyes, don’t you?”
I feel like these were lines that must have worked for B. in the past and that’s why he said them, but just no. Compliments on my beauty are not gonna get you a date. Like I said up there, find something else to compliment.
Not that good compliments would have made any difference in B.’s case, since I had already made it clear that he wasn’t what I’m looking for. In case my response came off as more flirtation than rejection, I clarified to make things crystal clear:
Me: “Look, I think you’re a great guy and I enjoy your company, and don’t be offended, but like I said, I don’t date guys who aren’t Jewish, and besides, I don’t think you’re my type.”
At which point B. backtracked and said he only meant “take me out” as a friend and that I was reading too much into things, and I probably should have let him save face with that but I couldn’t help myself:
Me: “Then what does me being beautiful have to do with it? You’re not friends with ugly people?”
B.: “No, I’m – I’m friends with all kinds of people.”
I don’t usually give guys such a hard time, but I really needed B. to get it. I don’t think B. is the type who gets rejected much — he’s tall, strong, has a symmetrical face with dark skin and very white teeth that give him a great smile, and he’s intelligent and friendly without giving off any creepy vibes — but he handled it okay.
But being rejected didn’t stop him from giving me compliments on how sexy I am or other very gendered compliments. What do I mean by gendered here? Basically, if you can easily imagine a straight guy saying it to another straight guy, it’s probably not a gendered compliment. Like, “Good job!” or “Impressive” or “Nice!” Gender-neutral, non-sexual, can be directed at anyone, male and female alike. B.’s compliments to me were things like, “I’m proud of you,” or “you’re fascinating,” or “you make it hard not to like you.” Things that I really can’t picture him saying to another same-aged, same-sized dude, which (spoiler alert) I am not.
I finally asked him not to call me sexy or describe my work as sexy, and this exchange happened:
B.: “But I just mean it like validation, to let you know that you’re doing a good job.”
Me: “Then just say I’m doing a good job. You wouldn’t say that a guy, would you?”
Me: “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable; it’s just not necessary.”
And he seemed okay with that. Then I tried to push my luck the next day asking him not to say certain other things he said and he wound up asking me why I hate men.
And it’s frustrating, because I don’t want to misrepresent myself as being more uptight than I am. There are tons of jokes made in class about “lubing things up” and “not putting them in dry” and it’s hilarious and I love it. I joked with B. that he lets me do a lot of the work on the engine because he likes watching me, and the instructor overheard and said, “Is that so?” and I said, “Well, who wouldn’t?”
And maybe saying things like that is a mistake and makes people think other remarks are acceptable when they’re not. I don’t want to act like I don’t want anyone to talk about anything remotely sexual around me, I don’t want to call “inappropriate!” on every little thing, I don’t want to burn potential bridges. I definitely don’t want to seem ungrateful for everything B.’s done to help me so far, but at the same time, his help does not earn him the right to say certain things to me, any more than it earns him the right to touch me, which he does a bit more than I am honestly 100% comfortable with. But I haven’t stopped him yet, or any of the other guys who’ve casually touched me, because I worry about male entitlement and whether they will be insulted if I tell them not to. Which is absurd, to be concerned about other people’s feelings more than my own right to personal space and comfort, but like I said, I’m only six days into this and I’m worried about starting things off by burning bridges. I hope I haven’t burned any with B.
The weird and contradictory truth is that in a male-dominated setting, invoking my sexuality myself makes me feel empowered, but having it invoked by the men around me feels demeaning. It’s the only thing I have that they don’t and when I control it, it gives me back some of my power. But when other people use it, I lose that control and consequently that power. I’m at such a disadvantage here for not being male; my instinct is to try to recoup some of that with whatever nebulous power comes with being female.
What I’m asking is this: If I don’t have the advantages I can get from maleness and physical strength, isn’t it only fair that I use some of the advantages I can get from being female and cute? (I’m not talking about sleeping with people here. I’m just talking about being a cute, feminine presence. Using my girlness to gain likeability, since, as I am fond of saying, true power comes from likability, because if people like you, they’ll willingly try to do anything you ask.) But at what point do those things cease to be at all advantageous and just invite people to think they can treat you condescendingly and make inappropriate remarks at you? Where is the tradeoff between likeability and respect? Can you have a sufficient amount of both? Is this a harder balance to achieve as a woman than it is for a man? Is it better to just draw the lines from the start and almost certainly get a reputation for being a bitch, just so that everyone’ll leave you alone and respect you? Is that even real respect? Where’s the middle ground and why is gray area so hard to navigate??
So yeah, when people ask me how automotive school is going, all of these things come rushing to my head and I can’t figure out how to distill all of them into digestible, conversational chunks. All I can think to do is write ‘em all out.
Here. HERE ARE ALL MY LADY FEELINGS ABOUT AUTOMOTIVE SCHOOL.
This is the seventh page of this post in Microsoft Word. So if you ask me how school is going and I say, “…Interesting. Complicated,” and you don’t get why I’m not exploding with details or jumping for joy or whatever it is you’re expecting that I’m not doing — this is why.