Alt Art AK

WE FRIGGIN' DID IT!!!

Mister D, Miss B, Mister M and I did it. We got the art, we did the publicity, we put together the show and we were a hit.

For many we may have been just another stop, for some we may have been the red headed stepchildren of the art scene, but for some we were the only stop, we were it, where people wanted to be.

We featured around 12 artists, we had everything displayed properly, though we definitely got a little creative with some of our displays, and we even sold some art. Hooray!

We will be keeping the place open by our volunteer hours for the next few weeks or a month.

If you are in Juneau and would like to drop in, we're at 127 S Franklin next to the skate shop.

A Woman Silenced or a Woman Scorned

Warning: This post is one of a very serious nature about a very serious and potentially controversial topic: Sexual assault. It is a personal account and I hope that through my sharing, there are others who feel like they need no longer be silent.

I recognize that, as someone living in a small community, this post may elicit some concern or some criticism. This is what I choose to share, no more. This is as far as I go, no further.

If your iPod got stolen, if your car got broken into, if you were involved in a barroom brawl, you would talk about it. You would complain to your friends that now you have to buy a new iPod, that your stereo was so nice and now you can't afford a better one, about how the fight started and ended and how everyone should see the other guy. Bad things happen. You can talk about it.

But not always. When a woman is subject to sexual assault or domestic violence, she is silent. Women make up excuses for why their significant other hit them, they contemplate all the reasons it may have been their fault that they had non-consensual sex. I was wearing a short skirt. I was flirting. I don't really remember what happened because I had been drinking, but maybe I did want it. A woman may feel more guilt for being a victim than the perpetrator feels for sexually assaulting a woman who did not consent.

Only a very small number of instances of sexual assault are reported. To speak up is to be scorned. A woman I know filed a complaint about sexual harassment in the workplace and not only has nothing come of it, people mumble and grumble about her stirring up trouble. There is also a question of what constitutes sexual assault? That would be sex without consent, right? But consent is this awful gray area. If a woman is blackout drunk, can she consent to sex?

I choose break the silence. I choose to speak. I will not speak in full detail, but it is a story shared by many women, many of my friends.

I enjoy drinking. A lot. It's probably awful, I started drinking in college, engaging in college binge drinking culture. I would drink copious amounts of alcohol on my weekend nights, waking up to horrible hangovers and a very patchy memory. It didn't stop when I graduated college, though. I work at a bar myself and hang out with other people who work in this industry and I'm not going to hide it, many, if not all of us, are alcoholics by some definition or another. We drink often and we drink a lot.

I can't count the number of times I have gotten carried away and consumed so much alcohol that I have been slurring my words, that I have blacked out, that I have vomited. It's an unacceptably large number, I assure you.

Not too long ago, I awoke in my bed with a throbbing headache, a dry mouth, and hardly any memory of the night before. On some mornings like this, I might chuckle to myself and think, “Must have been a good night.” but on that particular day I awoke feeling awful. It wasn't just my pounding head or my dehydration, nor was it the fact that I had fallen asleep face first in my pillow with my clothing still on. I had no idea how I had gotten home or when I had gotten home or what I had been doing for however many hours prior to having gone home. I did my best to recover, showering, drinking liters of water – then I went to work. In the afternoon I received a text message teasing about me and a man – I suddenly remembered that he and I had been talking – no – making out. Not someone I would choose to make out with, but we all make mistakes. Then I got more and more teasing. Friends texting, friends who dropped by.

Then I got a message on facebook that said, “I know.” and I was confused. Was this like a teen slasher flick? You know what I did last summer and now you are going to kill me? I didn't get an answer, which was strange, but I have a lot of friends who smoke a lot of pot, so I don't consider any interaction too weird.

On Monday I got a phone call from one of my best friends. She asked if there was something I wanted to tell her and I was again frustrated that everyone seemed to know about my making out with this guy. I responded with, “Oh, about making out with [man's name]? I figured everyone already knew.” She was quiet for a moment and said, “What I heard was not making out, Melissa, what I heard was much worse. Did you?” “Did I what, have sex with him? No. Is that what he is saying?”

But then I thought about that night and I realized that I didn't have any recollection of having sex with this person, but had I possibly had sex with this person? I concentrated as hard as I could and managed to piece together a few more vague memories, patches, here and there. I told my friend I didn't want to talk about it and that I had to go. I ended our conversation and spent the rest of the evening locked in my mind, trying to uncover any clues. I scoured phone and social networking and, aha, I discovered a very drunken message sent, likely via facebook mobile, rather incoherent, encouraging the person to call me. No recollection of sending that. In a sober state, or even in a less drunk state, I would not kiss this person, let alone have sex with this person. I even recall pulling away a friend of mine who had been talking to him, a couple years ago.

What had I done?

Well, really, I had no idea what I had done, but the slurring, sloppy drunk me had apparently done something. And not only that, apparently everyone knew about it. Could I have consented to whatever happened? I could have possibly said. “Oh, yes, please!” but whether it is strict law or just ought to be, a person in an altered state cannot really consent.

Here I was – here I AM – feeling awful, staying at home, avoiding people and places, thinking constantly about what I had done, what he had done, knowing that I was a “slut” and that he was a “stud” and that I was looked down upon and mocked and that he was probably congratulated and high-fived. That I had been a victim of sexual assault, and that he will be unaffected. I went to dinner with my friend who had informed me of the depth of the rumor and she got me to talk. I told her everything and I told her how hopeless it all was. There was absolutely nothing I could do but let it all blow over and try to never allow myself to be in that position again. But there is one thing I can do.

I, a victim, choose not to suffer in silence, but to share this story. I share this story here because I can't do anything better but make people aware of a major problem. It's nearly a week later and I have no evidence that anything has occurred, had their been witnesses they may have said I wanted it, I also have no proof of my level of intoxication. To file a report, to try to press charges – it is futile. I would waste time and money, I would, like the woman I know, stir trouble, and I would be stressed out. And when it is all over and the case is dismissed because there is nothing really there but a woman who says she was too drunk to consent – I'll be a woman who is both scorned AND silenced.

So if I must choose, scorn me for sharing this story, but do not silence me. By sharing my story, I feel that there is one more voice calling for laws to be changed so that women are not victimized by the legal system as well as by the men who take advantage of them or assault them.

One of the worst things is that, despite having been taken advantage of and having to hear the worst of it as a rumor, I still have to force myself to call it what it is – I feel guilt and I feel shame and I am the victim.

Middle Ground

I gave up drinking for most of the month of November. Then on Thanksgiving I re-entered the world of the drinking and I've discovered something.

I don't need to be a tee-totaller. Nor should I be a complete shit show. I need to find a middle ground.

I went from completely sober to complete shit show on Thursday/Friday and now it's time to find a balance.

But first, to take advantage of the other opportunities offered on Thanksgiving weekend, I am off to the Public Market with the roomie.

Cannibal Canard

Amid a puppy filled evening of glee, I had a rude awakening. I sat at the table cuddling Miss B's new puppy, finding comfort in the furry ball of warmth as the tale was told.

Miss N, in a very serious voice, begins telling a story, which she warned would take a little time.

When I was living in San Antonio, a friend of mine went to this party with a male friend of hers. They were drinking and having fun and she met this guy - they hit it off. The two of them were making out all through the night, they even went into some room and, you know, hooked up. She gave him a blowjob or something. Then he said he was going home and he really wanted her to come with him. She said that she would, but she was having too much fun at the party and wanted to stay longer. He kept pushing, "Come on, come home with me, it'll be fun!" and she declined, but took his number, saying she'd call him and if they still had the same spark the next day, they would go from there. She stayed at the party, drinking and having fun, while he actually lingered past the time he declared he'd be leaving, trying again to convince her to go home with him. Now, she's sort of, you know, the type of girl who would definitely go home with a guy, but her friend she went to the party with pointed out that the guy seemed a little creepily desperate and she agreed that going home with him was a bad idea. She reiterated that she would give him a call and went home with her friend instead.

The next day, she woke up with a rash around her mouth, it was red, swollen, had pustules. She freaked out and called her doctor, they had had a cancellation and told her if she could get there in the next 15 to 20 minutes they could see her. She drove across San Antonio and arrived at the doctor, explaining the rash around her mouth. The doctor assured her it wasn't Herpes, but he didn't know what it was. He gave her a topical medication he said should, at least, lessen the swelling and bring down the rash, informing her that he would call her if he discovered what rash was ailing her.

Two days later she was at work and received a call from her doctor, his voice was urgent when he asked her to come to his office right away. She explained that she was at work and that she couldn't get there then, but offered to come in later. The doctor told her his news had precedence over work and that she should come immediately. She managed to get away from work and arrived at the doctor's office in reasonable time, where she was met not only by her doctor, but by two men in uniforms. She was frightened. The doctor explained to her that the rash she had acquired was very rare and could be contracted in one of two ways, either through the consumption of large amounts of human flesh, or through close contact with someone who has consumed large amounts of human flesh. The doctor instructed the girl to explain how she may have gotten the rash and she described the incidents of her night. The officers asked if she had any way to contact the man and she recalled that she had his phone number and provided it to the officers.

Within days, the home of the man had been located and a swat team was dispatched to the location. When they entered the home they searched and found the remains of three partially eaten bodies of women in the freezer.

So, there you go, don't be promiscuous! I was horrified. Miss N knew the girl, or knew the girls friend, something like that. She said the party had been mostly her friends. I suddenly questioned my safety - I had gone home with a guy before - what if he had been a serial killing cannibal! I clutched Nova more tightly, even wondering about past boyfriends, were they serial killing cannibals? Were they just waiting until the right time to kill me and feast on my chunky man-calves?

I finished the night at the bar and snuggled with Nova-puppy all night, thinking of cannibal killers when I would awaken to her twitch or whimper.

This morning I decided to do the smart thing and research this cannibal canard, coming up with a handful of questions sites talking about a friend's roommate's brother's girlfriend's friend, a friend of a friend, the friend of a friend of a cousin, all with a similar story about meeting a guy at a club.party and making the fateful decision to reign in those promiscuous and lusty desires, staying with friends instead of leaving with the charismatic stranger, only to find out, when a rash is diagnosed, that she has narrowly avoided a fate worse than death - death followed by dinner.

I'm a skeptic, generally, so I generally assume that all these six degrees away story tellers have been audience to the same urban legend that ruined my sleep last night and made me swear to change my liberated ways.

The only real story I saw out there was about a cannibal mother who killed her infant and ate its brains, she was suffering from psychosis, apparently. I think that is possibly more disturbing and, as in many a true story, there is no moral in sight. Sometimes life just sucks.

But right now I have a puppy to snuggle, so I won't let it get me down.

The Old Days

Ashley at Writing to Reach You has been blogging through the school years. I don't think I can do one blog post per year, since my younger years are vague memories at best and the more recent years are full of debauchery and absurdity... Instead, I am going to break it down, writing a sentence or so about each year or so.

Preschool - we had swings. We had music time and I liked the triangle.

Kindergarten - our teacher was nice (I think all Kindergarten teachers have to be nice) and when we did an assignment we got to put a dot sticker on our ladybug and when we filled our ladybug we got a prize. Maybe if the prizes had been better I would have developed better habits.

First Grade - our teacher was mean and ugly, from my memory. Whenever we got in trouble we had to write to one hundred on a piece of graph paper with exactly 100 squares. I was already proving to be a lazy genius, as I would fill out the page systematically, being very aware of the pattern and understanding the efficiency of writing the same number repeatedly. I was a one woman assembly line of 1 to 2 digit numbers. I think I peed my pants in class once. I don't know why kids aren't allowed to go to the bathroom without permission.

Second Grade - Who did I even have? I think her name might have been Mrs. Carter. I think she was like your average teacher those days, with a bad sort of mushroom cut and frequently wearing corduroy jumpers. My mom and step dad got married. My sister Michele was born. I think we also moved to a new neighborhood, leaving a lot of friends behind.

Third Grade - Fourth Grade - I was in a 3rd-4th combined class. In 3rd Grade I remember we were supposed to do some sort of presentation in front of the class, I got so nervous I cried and declared that I couldn't do it. Mrs. Mulrooney threatened that I would get a 0, an F if I didn't do it. I took the poor grade. We watched The Princess Bride in class. My best friends were Rachel, who was in a different class, and Audrey. In fourth grade I used to hang out with Audrey all the time, even going to a Renaissance Faire dressed up. She had a schizo moment when I was at her house and I made her mom take me home in the middle of the night. That may have been the end of it. I was also friends with Nina and Morgan among others. I think I hit a boy at recess once.

Fifth Grade - Sixth Grade - I was again in a combined class, the Gifted and Talented Education classes were always combined. Maybe this is when I had Mrs. Carter. Yeah. We called her Mrs. Carterski. I don't know why. Who did I have for second grade? Montesano? Oh well. I had my first crush on a boy, Tyler Roberts. Friggin' Cody Dadew told him. This is when people first started to have boyfriends and girlfriends. I had one boy come up to me during recess and ask me if I wanted to go out with his friend. I said 'no' because I didn't think he was being serious. I wasn't that cool. I would play games like Miss Mary Mac at recess sometimes and Iesha said the word 'bitch." My dad was teaching me to play softball. I was going to be on a team.

Between Sixth Grade and Seventh Grade my family moved to Oregon. My sister and I didn't know anyone and we lived way far away from people so we played outside in the backyard wearing shorts with boots pretending we were in Jurassic Park or playing other weird games. Michele got stuck by her pants on a rock and Meg and I discovered her.

Seventh Grade - I had started a new school in a new state - the first day was on my birthday. A girl I had met while registering for school and had had a sleepover with once discovered that she could be cool and left me behind pretty much immediately. I think she stole my Fiona Apple CD. I made friends with Tricia and a girl named Velvet Lafaun, who is most likely in porn now. I was no longer in the classes for smart kids and I started doing worse in school, despite everything being easier. Tricia had to move and I became friends with Tyana and her group of friends. I committed vandalism and got sentenced to one day of in school suspension.

Eighth Grade - Still friends with many of the same people for a while, I staged an uprising in Tyana's crew, Katrina and I split off. I later became BFF with Kristin and Josie - we sat together in Satan Maffai's class. I was still a horrible student and spent more time mastering the art of folding notes than anything else. My sister Maddie was born. I tested really well and was to be put in all honors classes in high school, though Satan Maffai was opposed to this. A girl I knew got pregnant.

Ninth Grade - The friendships continued to shift and I had a big falling out with Kristin at the end of the year. I had a big crush on this boy, Brandon, but he had a big crush on Kristin. I wanted very much to be cool and still did pretty poorly in school, managing to just barely pass a lot of classes, despite being intelligent enough. I took lots of art classes, though I nearly failed one of those, as well. I just didn't turn stuff in.

Tenth Grade - I still wasn't doing amazingly well, but I started hanging out with some good influences, future valedictorians, some of them. I took more art classes, still had a big crush on Brandon, made friends with his girlfriend, who remained a close friend for the rest of high school and somewhat beyond. I used to write and illustrate notes with Laura and Rachel. Rachel makes amazing zines now. I still keep in touch with Laura as well, even though she moved. Laura, Allison and I made a ridiculous video based on our overactive imaginations and a number of films we had watched that weekend.

Eleventh Grade - I got straight A's for the first time in my life. I really turned things around and started to be a good student. I took every art class available and a number of social studies classes as well, but I had refused, for some stupid reason, to take AP History, choosing, instead to take the regular history classes. In my freshman year I had refused to take Biology instead of the regular science class because I couldn't get Katie to switch classes with me. I am pretty sure high school kids shouldn't be provided with choices. I was hanging out with a lot of the same people, but secretly (or not) wanted to be a punk rocker and used to hang out at "the rock" a lot.

Twelfth Grade - I was a much better student, I finally had my driver's license, and I felt like I had some pretty good friends. I was taking lots of independent study classes for art and lots of social studies classes, which is why I graduated with a Social Studies Honors Diploma. I had gone through a dozen or more crushes over the year and never managed to have a single boyfriend. I got stood up by a guy for prom. I was pretty ok with not having boyfriends and used to ask all my male friends to dance, usually not getting rejected, if I recall correctly. I was applying to colleges and was determined to go to a private college. My dad tried to talk me out of college and I won that argument easily. I was an attorney in Mock Trial that year and I had Mr. Hanson for a teacher for two classes and he was the greatest. This is when I decided that I would pursue politics instead of art for a career. I used to hang out a lot with my friend Megan too, I went to a party with her. I swore off drinking. During my last two years of high school I spoke to youth against drinking, drugs, and having sex before being ready. When I graduated we were allowed to walk in pairs or groups of three. Nathalie and I were going to walk together. Amanda asked me to join our group and Callie asked Nathalie. We both said yes, independently, and when we took the final walk, I ended up walking with Callie and Nathalie with Amanda. I worked at a pizza parlor with Allison and Nicole and there was a guy who was older than us who used to flirt with all the girls. During that summer Nicole and I worked for a week as flaggers at a road construction site.

Then I went to college and became the tree hugging, bleeding heart liberal that I am today.

That's Just How I Roll

The past couple weeks have been filled with lots of bright and shiny ideas. A new art show in town, hooray! A new art project, hooray! New crocheting projects, hooray!

And Roller Derby.

I know, I know. You think it's because Whip It came out and I want to ride that wave. Well, I didn't see Whip It. Damn it. My friend Miss M (one of many, it gets confusing for me too) has had the goal for a little while now to start a derby league in Juneau and she chose fairly recently to feel out interest. Well, there has been a ton of interest. Apparently Juneau is full of girls who want to release some pent up aggression on wheels.

We've had our first planning meeting and we are working on finding a location, all getting our skates and pads and helmets, learning the rules and regulations, and, of course, coming up with names.

Names in Roller Derby are huge - it's ridiculous. Everyone needs a sweet name and you can't double up. My first choice was Melicious, but that's taken. Tons of names are taken, there is a database online so you can be sure you aren't breaking a cardinal rule of derby and going as a second Bloody Mary or something like that.

Right now my favorite option is "The Mean Red" which is pretty badass, refers to my defining feature, and is a literary reference all in one. Nobody steal my idea. I'll be angry. And I'm this close to being a roller girl and you don't want to fuck with a roller girl!

There's a name for that...

There is a name for how geeky I was.

I was just skimming through my RSS reader and saw that cracked had a piece referencing the kid from Jurassic Park. Must be Timmy. When I was younger, elementary school? Middle school? I'm not really sure - I wrote a story about the character, Timmy, going back to school. In the story, he went back and was constantly paranoid about dinosaurs, providing all other students with an easy target for mockery. At the end of the story, if I remember correctly, dinosaurs end up attacking the school and Timmy is vindicated. Then eaten.

Holy shit, guys, I was so nerdy, I wrote Jurassic Park FAN FIC. I had no idea what fan fic was, nor have I ever been nerdy enough to read it since my introduction to the term. Apparently, though, when I was a mere pre-teen, possibly an early teen, I was a horrible geek.

I would like to point out, however, that my fan fic was AWESOME because I was apparently as morbid and cynical as a tween as I am as an adult. I made the kid suffer the slings and arrows of a thousand bullies and then, when he was right, he gets gnawed on by T-Rex?

Probably raptors, actually.