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So I´m on vacation…but…

So I´m on vacation. I should not be blogging. I should be out seeing and doing and drinking and eating. Except, I did all of those things for a while today and now I´m pooped. Quizas una siesta pequena y despues mas aventuras.

I love traveling alone for a number of reasons to be explained at some other time, but one of the challenges is that all of my brilliant observations go unnoticed. If a thought is had in the forest but no one is there to hear it, was it really as insightful as I thought it was? Por ejemplo, I just finished Mark Adams´travelogue Turn Right at Machu Picchu about his own trek through Inca country, the history of the empire (which reached 10 million people at its height) and the ´discoverer´ of Machu Picchu, Hiram Bingham.

Do you know what I underlined throughout the book? The ladies. Oh my God, the ladies. You are all rolling your eyes right now, like….duh, Emily is all about the womens, but seriously you guys, it was like half a book was missing. It´s not Adams´ fault, history is written by the winners as we all know, and winning, in all of its measurable forms (think elected seats, published articles, coronations, etc) has been traditionally male. But there were at least half a dozen times throughout the book where a woman was mentioned in passing, and I was like, Wait, Mark, don´t stop now, what´s her story?? Por ejemplo,

  • Annie S. Peck – She was a mountaineer in the early 1900s who was ostenisbly racing Hiram Bingham to the top of record breaking South American peaks. This is 1912 we´re talking about here.  She also got a masters from University of Michigan in Greek in 1881. She became known not for scaling Matterhorn, but because she wore pants while doing it. When she got to the top of Mt. Coropuna, she planted a flag that said ¨Women´s Vote.¨ How have I never heard of this chick?

    peck

    Annie Peck

  • Cura Occlo – She was the wife (and sister) of Manco Inca. She was captured by Gonzalo Pizarro (allegedly the nastiest of the conquistadores). When Manco rebelled against the Spanish (he was the puppet kin), he steals Cura back and they escape into the jungle from whence they battled the Spanish for years. All does not end well for Cura, however, she was captured again in 1539, raped and tortured, and finally executed in a public square before her body was sent to Manco via basket down the river (or so says the legend).
  • Dona Angelina Yupanqui - She was the child pride of Atahualpa, the Inca king killed by the Spanish after the most famous failed ransom attempt of all time. She became the mistress of Pizarro (by choice? doubtful, who knows…) and bore him two sons. When he was killed, she married Juan de Batanzos, who wrote the early classic Narrative of the Incas.
  • Alfreda Bingham – Hiram´s wife´s fortune bankrolled most of his adventures. From Hiram´s letters to her, it was clear that he confided in her about his exploratory insecurities. After raising seven sons while he was off adventuring (wonder how she felt about that…), they divorced in 1937. She eventually remarried a composer.

I want a biography apiece on each of these ladies. Pronto! Seriously though, they each get a few footnoted mentions in the biographies of their male contemporaries, but there are clearly volumes that could be written on each of them.

Off to the Inca Trail tomorrow. Stay safe and wish me luck!

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Vacation Diaries: Backpack 0, Emily 1

Step 1: Throw shit haphazardly in the corner. Try not to think about it.

Step 1: Throw shit haphazardly in the corner. Try not to think about it.

Step 2: Count. Recount. Measure. Estimate. Create arrays every which way. Tops vs. pants. Warm vs. cold weather clothing. Do you have enough tops to match your purple pants? Stare at the bag until you feel like it is staring back at you. Don't blink.

Step 2: Count. Recount. Measure. Estimate. Create arrays every which way. Tops vs. pants. Warm vs. cold weather clothing. Do you have enough tops to match your purple pants? Stare at the bag until you feel like it is staring back at you. Don’t blink.

Step 3: Beast all of this shit. Bag 0, You 1.

Step 3: Beast all of this shit. Bag 0, You 1.

So I’m going on vacation. A real one, for longer than 48 hours. If you’re wondering where, looking right at my reading list might be a hint. It’s been a few years since I’ve taken myself on an adventure and now that I’m 36 hours from departure I feel like a soda bottle that’s been shaken for the last three weeks and every time I open my mouth I’m about to spew giddy sweet bubbles all over everyone.

Wow, that was a gross metaphor.

For the last few years, two items have been everywhere with me. This trip will be our fifth continent together. 

IMG_2895

Related Post: You are here.

Related Post: Women’s Adventure Magazine

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Talking About Snow to Avoid Other Things

How’s that for a creatively titled post?

You guys, I’m getting burned out on horrible sexist shit. I’m hitting that place where I start ignoring stories and skipping headlines. You know the feeling, right? It’s that one that crushes you when eight people send you a Rolling Stone story called “The Rape of Petty Officer Blumer” and the title alone makes you want to punch walls and yet you can’t bear to click the link. It’s the feeling that you can’t possible roll your eyes any further into the back of your head when you see stories like this, where a woman is allegedly fired because she had premarital sex and then the job is offered to her boyfriend aka the father of her child aka the other person that had premarital sex aka OMG THE WORLD IS CRAZY.

photo (11)So. I do not want to talk about these things right now. Instead I want to talk about snow, because it is lovely. It is especially lovely when you are on your couch and you just bought hot chocolate and all of the makings for chili and cornbread for later and you are warm and the world is quiet.

It is also lovely when you’re out in it and it’s the middle of the afternoon and you’re wearing “trudging boots” and so many layers that you’re sweating even though the tip of your nose is feels like it’s not even a part of your body anymore and you can’t see because the flakes have caked up on your eyelashes.

A few weeks ago, I read an essay in The Paris Review about Chicago and winter. I’m in my seventh year here, and like any good Chicagoan I have come to the conclusion that winter is not that bad if you own the right outerwear and only weak-ass Californians can’t handle it. You just hunch up, wrapping your shoulder blades around your back like an extra blanket, create no space between your scarf and your hat, wedge your hands into your pockets, squeeze every muscle of your body, and then plow on. What’s so hard about that? As for the mental component, in November it’s a novelty, in December it’s romantic what with the holidays and all, in January we’re recovering from the holidays and getting into the swing of the new year.  February is by all accounts the worst of it, but if you can survive it (and it is a short month) then there’s March and we’re almost done! By April, we’re willing to consider 48 degrees t-shirt weather, and the first day it nears 60, you’ll find folks rolling out towels at the beach and beaming at each other like loons. You just have to pace yourself.

This was the part of the essay I liked the most:

photo (12)On the first day it got below ten, I wore ski pants to the office. I thought it was an event. Like I was a nine-year-old on a snow day. But when it didn’t get above ten for the next eight days, I realized that my new hometown demanded something more of me than heavy apparel. It demanded a kind of physical and emotional rewiring. I think maybe this is the first winter where that emotional rewiring feels complete. I’ve learned to lament warm winters. I’ve learned to fear the apocalypse if it breaks forty. I’ve learned to scoff at New York blizzards.

The fact is that most of the people in this world will never know what the weather in February here feels like. We own that here. We’re proud of it. It’s what seems to set us apart. And every year there comes one morning when I realize the coldest part of the winter is behind us. And it’s as though one of the things that makes Chicago truly hearty, special, different is behind us.

So today I went for a walk in the snow, and it was beautiful and brisk and refreshing. I ran my errands, I smiled at strangers, and nodded at the kind folks shoveling a whole block’s worth of sidewalk. They know what I know, that we’re on our way out of the tunnel and the deepest, darkest parts are behinds us. The emotional rewiring is complete.

Related Post: Things TV gets wrong about Chicago

Related Post: Year 6 in Chicago

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The Lena Dunham/Patrick Wilson Conundrum

Lena Dunham and Patrick Wilson (Girls)

Lena Dunham and Patrick Wilson (Girls)

I know you all watched Girls last night and have some seriously complicated feelings about it. I know I do! Most people have been talking structure, since this strange little episode was such a diversion from the show’s loosey-goosey multi-character narrative flow. But, when Lena Dunham spends so much time naked, we know we can’t just talk cinematic decision-making, we have to talk about the body politic.

Jezebel headlined their recap (which I thought was mostly on target) with “What Kind of Guy Does a Girl Who Looks Like Lena Dunham ‘Deserve’?” and I think they’re asking the right question. To sum up, she spends the weekend banging an older, blindingly handsome, chiseled Patrick Wilson. He looks like he just stepped off a yacht in the Vinyard while filming a Land’s End spot, and she looks like a very average, very pear-shaped girl who probably sat next to you in the library and tried to surreptitiously eat a donut while reading Foucault. Mismatch made in heaven? Apparently not, according to many a commenter, who go as far as to say this pairing is so farfetched it must be a dream sequence.

But is it that farfetched? Let’s grant that if you polled Americans, Patrick Wilson is about a 9.7 and Lena Dunham is, say, a 5.5. I am making up these numbers, but the point is that they are more than a standard deviation or two apart. Does that kind of perceived aesthetic mismatch ever work out?

Amber Valletta and Kevin James (Hitch)

Amber Valletta and Kevin James (Hitch)

Adam Sandler and Salma Hayek (Grown Ups)

Adam Sandler and Salma Hayek (Grown Ups)

Katherine Heigl and Seth Rogan (Knocked Up)

Katherine Heigl and Seth Rogan (Knocked Up)

Wait, weren’t you saying it’s ludicrous to even think that a vaguely unkempt, less sophisticated schlub might land a smoking hot partner? Oh I seeee, it’s only ludicrous because she’s a lady and ladies are supposed to be the smooth, shiny ones. I get it now, this is just your basic old-fashioned double standard. Got it, glad we’re all on the same page.

But Seth Rogan is so scruffy and adorable! But Adam Sandler is so hilarious! But Kevin James is so cute and cuddly!  Women have other reasons for falling for these dudes in the movies, so it all makes sense. Actually, doesn’t that seem about right? We all want to end up with someone we find physically pleasing, but most adults acknowledge that there will inevitably be a thousand other things we love about a person too. Even though not everyone can look like insert-your-dream-hunk-here, we will “compromise” because they are delightful and lovely in all of the ways that really count. You know, kindness, smarts, humor, that kind of lame “personality” stuff.

Why is this such a shocking concept when the genders are reversed? I find it both offensive to the ladies (you are nothing if not decoration!) and insulting to the dudes (you are shallow and only want decoration!) Why is it hard to imagine, in theory, that Patrick Wilson might have found this overly earnest quirky hipster girl on his doorstep sweet, cute, funny, or interesting? Or also hot? Which brings me to my second point…

I would like to brag about something now. It will seem like just straight-up patting myself on the back, but it is in service to a point, so stick with me. I have slept with some good looking gentlemen, some if-you-polled-America-they-would-tell-you-that-he-is-fiiiiiine kind of men. Here’s the kicker: back in the day (young, naive, blah blah blah), I used to be surprised that they wanted to sleep with me. Not like, “oh poor little old me, I’m not a supermodel” surprised, but just kind of curious, the kind of curious you are when you’re a plus size girl who is most definitely in the Lena Dunham camp, the she-of-the-thunder-thighs camp, not the Salma Hayek/Amber Valletta/Katherine Heigl camp.

So here’s what I know. People like all kinds of things. They like all kinds of bodies. They like all kinds of people. This is in spite of the Esquire Hot 100 list, or the Maxim Ladies We Love, or the Bro Mag Chicks We Dig column. There is certainly a segment of men who would only go for the willowy model-types (just as there are women who won’t date men under 5’9″). But there are also men (more than you think), that have a wide ranging palate. We are deluding ourselves if we let the beauty mags tell us what men like, because men will tell you that, yeah, that 36-24-36 is nice, but so is this, and this, and that, and sometimes this, and when I’m in the mood, that too. Human sexuality is a complicated thing, yo, and it’s pretty freaking arrogant to think your taste is the only one that makes any sense.

So I guess what I’m saying is no, I don’t think it’s impossible that Patrick Wilson went for Lena Dunham, and yes, I do think y’all are seriously narrow-minded if you can’t see that.

Related Post: My kind of porn tumblr (NSFW).

Related Post: Does being fat-positive mean you have to throw skinny girls under the bus?

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Welcome Newbies

Dear New Friends,

I want to take a minute and extend a warm welcome to those of you who are new to Rosie Says. This past week has been a blur of awesome, thanks to the letter I wrote to a street harasser on the gender site Role/RebootI mean, come on, Paul Tompkins retweeted me, how could I beat that? (Maybe if Tina Fey retweeted… a girl can dream, you know?) 

Emily Heist Moss (rosiesaysblog) on Twitter-1

Before you poke around (and please do!) let me give you the lay of the land. This is my personal blog about things that I find interesting, mostly in the categories encompassed by a triple venn diagram: gender/sex, media, and politics. Sometimes, of course, I stray off into the internet corners dedicated to food or sports or books or other things that grab my mind for a minute or a month. There are also regular features (like guest posts from experts on things I know nothing about) and recurring questions, like what makes a show feminist? Check out the About tab above for other places I’ve been published and a more thorough explanation of what this whole shebang is about.

I love to hear from you guys, and your feedback this past week has made it impossible for me to stop grinning. Feel free to comment here, or find me on Facebook, tweet at me, or email me at sayhitorosie AT gmail DOT come.

Thanks for stopping by,

Emily

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I Hearby Resolve…

…to attempt to keep this New Year’s Eve post at a tolerable level of cheesiness, but I make no promises. It’s 8:00 and I’m still in sweatpants reading my book and listening to revelers get an early start on the block below. My house is quiet, for the moment, and it’s kind of nice to have a few hours to myself before it’s time to hop and wiggle into some tights and a dress, try to make my hair look like this, and go see some people I really like to celebrate the end of 2012.

One of the many adjustments New Englanders make when they move west is the realization that when the ball drops on Times Square and Ryan Seacrest’s spray-tanned mug splits into a manic grin, it will only be 11:00 here. The east coast really does think it’s the center of the world, so settling in Chicago has been more of a mental shift than a geographic one to me. It seems fitting for the second city to have the second New Year’s.

*      *      *      *       *

One of my favorite moments in yoga is when we’re asked to put our palms up if we’re seeking energy, palms down if we want to feel more grounded. It’s a question that forces us to consider, even briefly, what exactly we need at that moment. Are we on our way up or or the way down? What is coming and where does my mind need to be to make the most of it? Personally, I don’t ask myself these questions nearly enough, so the end of a yoga practice is as good a time as any.

Which brings me to everyone’s favorite NYE topic: resolutions. I fully admit they are arbitrary and unlikely to be fulfilled. That said, this is a moment, silly and sensationalized as it is, to think about what I want for the next year, and so here’s what I’ve got:

1. Drink more water.

2. Eat more delicious things, like bagels and cream cheese, cupcakes, guacamole, fresh fruit, and bacon. Eat less fake shit, even if there’s enough sugar and salt and sugar and salt substitutes to temporarily trick me into thinking it’s delicious.

3. Take more walks. Have you seen my city?

4. Do more yoga.

5. Call my parents more. Talk to my brother more. Take the 21 minutes I could be watching a sitcom and call someone I haven’t heard from in a while.

6. Give away what I don’t need.

7. Read stuff that doesn’t reinforce what I already believe to be true. I don’t know about Fox.com, but there has to be a middle ground, right?

8. Drink more water (It needs to be said again!) In fact, I’m going to go get some right now.

9. Do things that make me make this face (↓) as much as possible:

photo (8)

See you all on the other side!

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Rosie Says Turns 2

secondI missed it last year, but never again! Today is the second blogiversary of Rosie Says. Let the fireworks and celebrations ’round the world be heard!

I’m working on my Christmas letter (I am secretly a 70-year-old spinster, in case you weren’t already aware), and in preparation I’ve gone back to read the letters of years past. “Earnest” is the word that comes to mind, right after “poorly written.” Man, I’ve gotten better at this  over time! In addition to age and wisdom etc etc etc, this blank  page I face most evenings is certainly owed some credit for my improvement. What is it they say about practice? It makes you suck less? Yeah, I think that’s it.

But in all seriousness, I get a lot of joy out of coming here every day and sharing something, so thanks for making me feel like it’s not being shared into the void. Guest contributors, regular readers, commenters, reposters, tweeters, likers, editors (ahem), idea-challengers, question-askers, all you people who show up on occasion and say a good word, or come out of the woodwork at parties just to say you read something, who respond in private and public with your own thoughts and additions, thanks a bunch, amigos. Means a lot.

How’s that for earnest?

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Sunday Scraps 85

sunday85

1. SPORTS: This Charles Siebert piece for the New York Times Magazine about the rigors and stresses of trying to make an NFL team is fascinating. How much do you want it? And how much are you willing to take to get it?

2. BOOKS: Super great Atlantic essay about author Ann Patchett (Bel Canto, State of Play) and her new bookstore in Nashville. As a lover of independent bookstores, I think this is all kinds of awesome.

3. CHRIS BROWN: After violent exchange with a female comedian on Twitter, Chris Brown deleted his account. The always excellent Roxane Gay on why criticizing Brown isn’t racist, and why it also is pretty f’ing complicated.

4. ELECTION: Curious about how all those Obama for America emails with subject lines like “Hey” or “It’s officially over” played out? Businessweek has some answers.

5. PAIN: There’s an extremely rare medical condition where you feel no pain. Sounds great, right? Not unless you step on a nail, scratch yourself bloody, or break an ankle and don’t realize it. The New York Times has an examination.

6. MEDIA: The Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media has put together an excellent report about the representation of women on screen (especially on children and family programming) and Mother Jones has a summary of some of the most telling facts and figures.

Related Post: Sunday 84 – Letters from astronauts, the female male model, bedrooms around the world.

Related Post: Sunday 83 – Hillary Clinton’s next move, Denver public schools, Mormons on the Romney bus

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Welcome, Jezebel Readers

Dear Jezebel readers,

Welcome to Rosie Says. This is a blog about gender, media, politics, sex, and other things I find funny, fascinating, disturbing, or confusing. Poke around, settle in, find some stuff you like. Here’s one place to start: The Most Self-Aggrandizing Post Yet.

Emily

http://www.facebook.com/rosiesaysblog

@rosiesaysblog

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Be Jealous

I’m on vacation. There is hiking, biking, yoga, and wine. Lots of wine.

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