I’ve been reading about the anthology Yes Means Yes on Bitch PhD. I think, despite the fact that just yesterday I started (but did not finish) a blog post about my large stack of unfinished projects and books, that I need a copy of this book pronto. I almost ordered it online last night but then decided maybe I should use my purchasing power to actually support a physical bookstore in my community and so I put off the purchase with the intention of popping over to Vroman’s for it at some point. Then this morning while I was stuck in traffic on Sepulveda I thought “Oh, I should just stop by a bookstore in Westwood during lunch and pick it up there.” The logic in my brain was 1) Westwood is the neighborhood adjacent to UCLA 2) UCLA is a University 3) Universities are surrounded by bookstores 4) Thus Westwood has bookstores. While point 3 might be true in a sort of vague general sense, it is not true of UCLA. Here we have the UCLA bookstore (which doesn’t have Yes Means Yes, I checked), a mystery bookstore (and while it might be a mystery to me why female sexuality is so fraught with BS in our society, I don’t think the bookstore in question would see it as part of the genre), and a Borders far enough down Westwood Blvd that I’d either have to take a really long lunch or drive there (and really if I’m going to support Borders I might as well order online from an independent bookstore somewhere else). I guess I’ll be making a pilgrimage to Vroman’s some night this week after all. Here’s hoping that the women’s studies section is far enough from the gardening and crochet sections that I am not lured into their grips. I think their gardening section must have some sort of gravitational field going or something, as it’s very hard not to get pulled in.
Meanwhile (and somewhat related to the book in question) I’m listening to the Taj Mahal album my mother owned while I was in high school. At the time I absolutely hated this album, not due to the musical style, but because of the song “Big Legged Mamas are Back in Style Again.” At 14 or 15 years old I was seriously offended by this objectification of fat women (I felt the same way about “Baby Got Back” for what that’s worth; but that at least I didn’t have to encourage my mother not to play at home). Of course, looking back, it’s absolutely hilarious that I thought of myself as being part of the mentioned demographic since at my heaviest I think I was 145 pounds (which at almost 5’10” would have put me on the slightly low side of normal weight). Moreover, fifteen years or so later, I have to agree with my mother that whatever problems one might have with songs objectifying women, extending some appreciation to non-stick-figures is a very very good thing indeed.