Cultivating Girls with Precarious Ideas about Sex One Purity Ball at a Time

Every year, the Purity Ball makes the news and I lose my mind a little bit. The Ball is a formal, primarily Evangelical event attended by girls as young as four and their fathers. The girls pledge to remain pure and virginal until marriage; the fathers pledge to protect their daughters' virginity.

Let's begin with a creepy excerpt from Nancy Gibbs' July 17th article (The Pursuit of Teen Girl Purity) in TIME magazine:

Kylie Miraldi has come from California to celebrate her 18th birthday tonight. She'll be going to San Jose State on a volleyball scholarship next year. Her father, who looks a little like Superman, is on the dance floor with one of her sisters; he turns out to be Dean Miraldi, a former offensive lineman with the Philadelphia Eagles. When Kylie was 13, her parents took her on a hike in Lake Tahoe, Calif. "We discussed what it means to be a teenager in today's world," she says. They gave her a charm for her bracelet--a lock in the shape of a heart. Her father has the key. "On my wedding day, he'll give it to my husband," she explains. "It's a symbol of my father giving up the covering of my heart, protecting me, since it means my husband is now the protector. He becomes like the shield to my heart, to love me as I'm supposed to be loved."

Kylie talks with an unblinking confidence about a promise that she says is spiritual, mental and physical. "It's something I'm very proud of. I plan to keep pure until marriage. It's a promise I made to myself--not pressure from my parents," she says. She speaks plainly about what she wants in her life, what she thinks she has the power to control and what she doesn't. "I'm very much at peace about this," she says, and looks out across the twirling room. "I don't feel like I need to seek a man. I will be found."

These messages provided by these events and the parents who encourage their daughters participation are incredibly complicated. The messages insinuate that girls' worth is dependent only on their sexual activity or inactivity. And aren't these parents getting a little too involved in what's going on between their daughters' legs?

Perhaps providing a thorough sex education (including issues about emotions and self-esteem, peer pressure and hormones, STIs and contraception, pregnancy and responsibility), empowering girls to make their own decisions and being prepared to love and respect them after they've made their own decision, good or "bad," is the way to cultivate a sense of worth and strength in these maturing girls. In a time where abstinence-only sex education is a widespread and Congress-endorsed, albeit irresponsible, means of "teaching" students throughout the country, it is imperative for kids to be given as much information as possible and to be allowed to make decisions without fearing repercussions and crushing guilt.

From Feministing:

Flowery language and valorizing these days doesn't change what purity balls are about: the ownership and fetishizing of young girls' sexuality. Perhaps someone should remind Time of that fact.

via Feministing

Dear Overindulgent Neighbors

Dear Overindulgent Neighbors,

Its 66 degrees and damp outside. Is the air conditioner really necessary? Its so loud I can't hear David Sedaris tell me about his childhood music lessons.

Sincerely,
Your Petulant Neighbor

A Witte for Me, A Double IPA for Jesse

Today, Jesse and I are heading to Sewercuse to the 2008 Empire State Brewing and Music Festival. The nice thing about this festival is that it really highlights the craft brewing industry, both local and nationwide.

There is a new, extra special portion for the true beer snob (read, Jesse): a Cask-Conditioned Ale Tent. And for me, a beginner connoisseur of Belgian brews, a Belgian Beer Tent. The tents are only open for brief periods of time; our experience with last year's Belgian Beer Tent was crazy: tons of people all shoved into a little tent trying to get a 2 oz. sample of some Duvel or Lindeman's Lambic. The beer didn't last anywhere near the length of time the tent was scheduled to be open.

We will be meeting up with our friends Phil and Emily and Dominic and Jessica. My brother, Eric, also an extreme beer snob and brewer, has to miss this year's festival since he is in Alaska.

We had a lot of fun at last year's festival. I'm sure this year won't disappoint us. Details to follow.

Dear Family and Children's Society

Dear Family and Children's Society,

I know you're a non-profit organization. I know you're in Broome County and there's no mons at all. I know the mons you have are stretched way too far. I know, I know, I know. All these components contribute to the fact that you have to pay your employees such poor wages. Let's not even get into the discussion about living wages.

I took all of the above-mentioned components into account when I accepted the Personal Care Aide position. I was interested in the job because of my interest in elderly people. I enjoyed a somewhat similar position a few years ago and I said, "its not much money, but I'll be helping someone out. Maybe I'll like it."

During the interview, we talked extensively about many aspects of the job. We talked about the in depth 80 hour training. We covered scheduling and benefits and weekends. You told me where I should park for training if I was offered the job. I asked many logistical questions. One detail, however, was conspicuously neglected: The two week, 80 hour training is unpaid.

WHAT?? I have to volunteer 80 hours of my life to be certified to make barely over minimum wage to buy cigarettes for and do the dirty dishes of a wide array of elderly people throughout the entire county? Do you understand how absurd this is? When I called for clarification, I was told, "We try to defray the cost of transportation and time by giving the people who complete the certification a $100 stipend." A $100 stipend for 80 hours of work is $1.25 an hour. And I have to drive 9.4 miles each way. I am SO not doing that.

Dear Price Chopper

Dear Price Chopper,

Today I called your Endicott location. I asked for and was transferred to the produce department and asked if they had tomatillos on hand.

"Yes," said your produce man.

I thanked him and headed to over to the store. I am unfamiliar with your produce section since I rarely shop there and I saw no sign of tomatillos. I found a sullen produce employee and inquired about tomatillos. She huffed at the disruption, did not look for any tomatillos and told me "[Price Chopper hasn't] had any for weeks."

"But I called and was told you have some," I told her. Another huff. She walked over to the tomatillos, said, "here, jerk!" (the jerk was not verbalized but implied by her tone).

Now, Price Chopper, lets review:

1. I called and inquired about your tomatillo situation and was told that there are, in fact, tomatillos in stock
2. I came and looked for myself but was unable to find said produce
3. I asked for help from one of your own, was huffed at and denied the presence of any tomatillos
4. I informed said employee of my call and of the confirmation I received regarding the presence of tomatillos
5. I was huffed at AGAIN
6. Then, magically, at the whim of said sullen employee, tomatillos appeared. I call their appearance "magical" since I was told "[Price Chopper hasn't] had any for weeks" and when I pressed further,.... magic!
   

Ok. The review is complete. You have an idiot working for you. Whatever. That happens sometimes.

On to the next:
I pulled down the basket of tomatillos to have a better look. Jesse will tell you that I am very picky about produce but today I was willing to be somewhat less picky since I really needed to get some tomatillos. Wow. They were awful. Fetid, moldy, squishy, under ripe, overripe, bruised. OBVIOUSLY, not only do you currently have tomatillos in stock, but THESE PARTICULAR ones have been around... for... weeks.

Price Chopper, you and your lousy employee are ridiculous. Your produce is as bad as your lame-ass, idiot produce staff. I don't know what is wrong with all of you, but moldy, smelling like rot, smashed up, gouged produce like what I found today should be in the place that it smells like it came from: the compost.

Since you don't know what nice, fresh tomatillos look like, I'll help you out.
See? Pretty.


image via Whole Foods

Please, Train Conductor, Quiet Down!

Dear Train Conductor traveling through the Endicott, NY area in the middle of the night,

Although I have no particular affectations for trains, I do really like the chugga-chugga chugga-chugga sound that trains make. I asked for and received a white noise machine as a gift several years ago and, instead of choosing the sound of the ocean or the rain forest or whatever, I chose the chugga-chugga chugga-chugga train sound. Unusual, I know, but it was pretty soothing and I liked it. Now, when I hear a train, I often joke that it must be bedtime.

I DO NOT like trains when, at 4:05 a.m., you're wildly blowing your horn for 6 or 8 or alot of minutes. Frequently, I wake with a start and can only ASSUME the following scenario: some capricious soul has chosen the speeding train as a means of suiciding and you're trying desperately to warn or scare this person. You're hoping they've only accidentally happened upon the train tracks and have no self-destructive plot in mind.

THIS scenario is absolutely appropriate for wildly sounding your horn and inadvertently waking me at 4:13 a.m. But I am a habitual obituary reader and actually have an affinity to particularly morbid news and stories and would know of a rash of suicides in the area of your disruptive horn-blowing warnings, if such was the case.

Since this is, in fact, NOT the case (the warning of the kamikaze mortal, and so on and so forth), HUSH UP ALREADY! You're startling me and then I can't sleep (and am writing you this letter at 5:13 a.m.)

Thanks,
Lisa.


image via Paris Parfait