For years, women have been told what they need to do to prevent rape, to stop street harassment, to rise up against sexual harassment.  We have been instructed what to wear, what not to wear, what attitudes to have, what attitudes not to have, what to say, what not to say, how to protect ourselves and what the right self-defense moves are. We been instructed in all sorts of precautionary measures.

While I’m all in favor of both men and women taking reasonable crime prevention measures, it has always seemed a bit like preaching to the choir to tell women how to stop rape.  Women are, obviously, a group highly motivated to want to prevent rape.

So, I was thrilled when, at long last, a campaign aimed at men was recently unveiled by Men Can Stop Rape, a national organization that works to mobilize men and boys to prevent violence against women.  The ad campaign, “Where Do You Stand?” is aimed at college-age men and urges them to speak up and prevent sexual violence in campus settings. The campaign does a great job balancing responsibility and concern with respect.  The ads do not urge men to rescue women or to come to the aid of damsels in distress; rather, they urge men to step up, to call out other men about threatening behavior and to not blithely take part in a culture of “getting some” at any cost. This is particularly important in light of a recent survey conducted by Liz Claiborne which shows that nearly half of all dating college women report having experienced violent or abusive dating behaviors.

The ads feature couples in social situations – a terrific reminder that most rapes occur in this environment, not in the proverbial “stranger in a dark alley” setting.   The ads are multi-cultural and bilingual and inclusive of same-sex relationships, offering an important reminder that men can also be victims of sexual violence.

Congratulations to Men Can Stop Rape for working hard – and effectively – to make anti-rape culture the new culture and for helping to empower the many men who are eager to play a part in putting an end to sexual violence.

Embarrassing:

It’s time to break up with Go Daddy. The huge Internet domain registrar and web hosting company offers, arguably, the most blatantly sexist advertising of any major company that is not selling porn — and that includes Hooters.  (If you know of a more sexist ad campaign, please let me know.)  The ads seem to appeal to the lowest common denominator and are positively base.  The company uses scantily clad women as the cornerstone of its advertising — women who make the women on the old-fashioned motor oil calendars seem positively Amish by comparison.

In the aggressive emails they send to subscribers, former subscribers and potential subscribers, they use women in halter tops and short shorts (at most) to hold signs foisting the company’s promotional offers.   And, sometimes, the women are just there.  They don’t even hold a sign!  They just look hot and luscious and wanton.  That’s a good enough reason to use a company, now, isn’t it?  UGH.

The company has become somewhat notorious for its Super Bowl ads, producing ads that are bound to be banned and then capitalizing on the banned ads.  This year, “Go Daddy is doing its usual porny, corny, stupid kind of thing,” says Barbara Lippert, former Adweek ad critic and now curator of popular culture at ad agency Goodby, Silverstein & Partners. Go Daddy has released part of an ad called “Body Paint,” in which Danica Patrick and Jillian Michaels are painting the naked body of model Natalia Velez. The spot drives viewers to the company’s website, where they’ll see more flesh.   Instead of taking the bait, a better site to visit might be this one: http://breakupwithgodaddy.com/ a website organized to draw attention to the sexism of Go Daddy.

Go Daddy isn’t cheaper or better than its competitors, so there is absolutely no reason to support their sexist advertising. Host Gator, Blue Host, Hub, Fat Cow are all excellent alternatives well-ranked by consumer groups – and none of them feature half-dressed women looking vacant in any of their ads that I have seen. In fact, there’s a sweet-looking cow over there at Fat Cow.

Just say “no” to Go Daddy, and go somewhere else instead.

Anna’s fiction, essays and reviews have appeared in Salon and other publications. She writes the “Aural Fixations” playlist column at The Rumpus. Her novel, The Diary of Suzanne Frank, is forthcoming.  She’d love to hear your suggestions, so feel free to reach out to her on Facebook. And, if you missed her Empowering/Embarrassing column last month, click here to read it!

This finely-layered novel is told from the perspective of the bright, 16-year-old Sarah Kunitz. Through her eyes, we are offered an intimate look at her upper middle class family in 1970 suburban Boston. It’s an enviable portrait from the outside, but behind closed doors it is a darkly different story. Sarah’s mother is taking pills and floundering.  Sarah and her brothers must find ways to escape their parents’ bitter disagreements and their father’s difficult personality. Those harsh realities are soon replaced with confusion, grief and anger when their mother dies in a car crash. A certain drifting sadness looms while their father begins an affair with a young woman and Sarah embarks on her own romances.  Consequences abound, but Keener weaves the threads into a taut ending.

The novel carries with it the full implications of its title. What is a night swim?  It’s moving into dark waters with little illumination to guide us, trusting – without certain reason to –that we will be able to navigate the muck, the humming currents, the chilly viscosity, and emerge intact. When we close the book, we know that Sarah is not going to merely survive; she is going to thrive. This is a deep exploration of the Kunitz family, and our own humanity, that will resonate long after you have finished reading.

Keener is a big talent with a particular knack for detail and a finely tuned ear. Through the skilled rendering she offers of this family and the characters who surround them, she gives us a story that makes us cringe and lurch, laugh and, literally, weep. Her writing is never obvious, yet her lyrical prose will wow you. Even when describing the seemingly ordinary, Keener injects poetry. Sentences like these kiss every page of the novel:

“By now it was pitch-black outside and the large globe light above the table reflected off the windows like a bloated fish.”

“Her flower heads had turned brown, her petals wrinkled as old peoples’ faces”

Not every writer has the ability to move readers the way Keener does. Her writing is richly textured and she strikes perfect pitch with Sarah. We are swept into the world of a teenager on every page, including plenty of squirmy and self-conscious moments.  It is a high-wire act to give authentic voice to a teenager of a different era, but Kenner never stumbles. She is particularly adept at handling Sarah’s sex life in a realistic manner, capturing so much of the awkwardness inherent in teen sexuality, including birth control and Planned Parenthood.  Sarah comes alive as a realistic navigator and takes us along on a rich exploration of family life and coming into one’s own.  Sarah’s moment in time echoes the nation’s 1970 zeitgeist – pent up, poised for and on the verge of great change. Keener does a brilliant job lacing bits of music and other cultural signposts of the times – Woodstock, the lyrics to “If I Had A Hammer” — into the narrative, keeping us firmly rooted in the era without bombarding us with it.

There is much feeling in this novel, yet the writing never becomes precious or sentimental. It aches with suffering and shimmers with strength. Sarah’s explorations allow readers to examine their own relationship with truth, sorrow, loss, longing and joy.  Sarah gives us a careful look at something we all tend to do – rush past pain – and teaches us to keep hold of our true selves no matter how we might veer.

Readers will be glad they dove into Night Swim.

Anna March writes our monthly Empowering/Embarrassing column as well as the weekly Aural Fixations column at The Rumpus. She has been nominated for a 2012 Pushcart Prize, and her work has appeared in Salon, Connotation Press and other publications. Her novel, The Diary of Suzanne Frank, is forthcoming. You can keep up with her on Facebook.

One bite of this multi-layered confection triggers bittersweet memories of my sister-in-law, Sheila, who passed away over a year ago.  Baking was Sheila’s forte and at most family events we were pampered with her skillfully-prepared pies, cookies, cakes and, most importantly, Nanaimo Bars.  The energy and care put into every task she conquered was a sheer marvel. I admired her grasp on life and how her spirit was transferred to every person and project she touched.  As a mother, daughter, sister, wife and cook, she quickly became my role model.

The chocolate nutty cookie crust flecked with morsels of chewy coconut is the bar’s foundation.  It builds into a layer of rich vanilla cream and is crowned by a crunchy layer of semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate.  The three textures — crumbly, creamy and crunchy — are magic, making them perfect treats for the holidays or any time of year.  There are still moments I can see Sheila preparing them in her Island home, chatting with her family, with a young assistant standing patiently on a stool waiting for the final product or at least a spoon to lick.

Sheila and memories of her kitchen will always hold a special place in my heart.  She died after falling asleep one evening at the age of 51.  There was no reason – she was perfectly healthy.  It remains a mystery.  A surreal and pervasive grief gripped our family for the days and months to come.  She left us way too early.  Our vacations and holidays on the Island will never be the same.  However, I bake and try to grab each task in life with the same perseverance in honor of her.  I have put love and spirit into each ingredient of these Bars in remembrance of my sister-in-law.

Nanaimo Bars

In Canada, Bird’s Custard powder is used instead of instant vanilla pudding.  You can find the powder in specialty food stores (especially British) or on Amazon.com

1/4 cup sugar

5 tablespoons cocoa powder

1 cup + 2 tablespoons butter, softened

1 egg, beaten

1 1/4 cup graham cracker crumbs

1/2 cup finely chopped walnuts or pecans

1 cup sweetened flaked coconut

2 1/2 tablespoons cream

2 tablespoons vanilla instant pudding powder (Note: In Canada, Bird’s Custard Powder is used instead of instant vanilla pudding.  You can find the powder in specialty food stores, especially British, or on Amazon.com)

2 cups powdered sugar

4 ounces semi-sweet chocolate

Combine the sugar, cocoa and 1/2 cup butter in a saucepan over medium-low heat.  Stir until butter is melted and everything is well mixed.  Remove from heat and quickly stir in beaten egg.  Stir in graham cracker crumbs, nuts and coconut.

Press mixture firmly into a lightly greased, 8-inch square pan.  Refrigerate for one hour.

Meanwhile, beat the milk, pudding powder, powdered sugar and 1/2 cup butter with an electric mixer until light and fluffy.  It should have the consistency of butter cream frosting.  Spread over chilled base.  Refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Melt the chocolate with the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter in a small saucepan over low heat.  Remove from heat and cool for 5 minutes.  Pour over bars and spread evenly.  Return to refrigerator for at least 30 minutes before cutting into bars.

You can find lots more delicious recipes on Liz Hughes’ blog, Virtually Homemade.

Anna’s fiction, essays and reviews have appeared in Salon and other publications. She writes the “Ink on the Tracks” playlist column at Connotation Press. Her novel, The Diary of Suzanne Frank, is forthcoming.  She’d love to hear your suggestions, so feel free to reach out to her on Facebook.

Empowering:

Dear Sugar  is an advice column unlike any other you’ve ever read.  Written by an anonymous forty-something woman who is married (to Mr. Sugar) and raising two kids (the baby Sugars), Sugar offers us a huge dose of her own life (the column where she reveals that Mr. Sugar was unfaithful to her before they married will tear you to bits, just before it restores you) and her wisdom-from-the-pain sensibility gives her a wide platform on which to stand with us and call on each of to rise up and find our way out of the muck.  Her bi-weekly column is not about dispensing pat advice; instead, it is a roughly 2500 word meditation that whittles each question down to its very core and then implores to reach within to find our own truth and push ourselves to live that truth.  Sounds hokey, but it is not one bit hokey.  In a world full of snark, it is charmingly sincere.

When Sugar lays forth her own pains, fears, insecurities, struggles, her readers feel — as they typically exclaim in an outpouring of comments — “understood” and “not alone.” Sugar constantly reiterates that there is a way out and the way out is within you.  She reminds us to say “thank you” and points out that “nobody will protect you from your suffering.”  She implores us to “be brave enough to break your own heart,”  step forward out of your fears and be all about the love.  To stop worrying about the roundness of our bellies and “inhabit the beauty that lives in your beastly body and strive to see the beauty in all the other beasts.”

You will find, in her columns, that “acceptance is a small quiet room” and that you already know at least part of the answer to your own question.  Sometimes Sugar reveals that there really is no answer — that life is a series of choices and most of the time there is no right or wrong answer, as much as we want someone to tell us what to do. In fact, she reminds us over and over that there is only being true, being honest, being fair to others, being kind, and searching, digging deeper, working harder to be our own best selves.  That’s empowerment.

Embarrassing:

I was invited to go holiday caroling here in my small town.  Someone else who was going asked me, seriously,  “Are you going to dress sexy for it?” I suppressed a laugh. Among other reasons not to “dress sexy for it:” evening caroling on the Mid-Atlantic coast in December promises to be windy and chilly — not so conducive to sexy caroling attire, not that I knew what sexy caroling attire was. “What do you mean?” I said. “Oh you know, a sexy elf costume or something or frisky Mrs. Claus?” my friend replied.  She was not kidding.

So, now, as if the shopping and wrapping and baking and decorating weren’t enough, you can add “dressing sexy” to your list of holiday chores!

I’ve got no problem if someone wants to dress like a sexy reindeer or a hot Mrs. Claus.  Live and let live.  However, I do have to ask, is there no place where women are not expected to get their sexy on these days?

This typical ad states: “Naughty red Christmas costume includes bra top, mini skirt and matching hat. It’s sure to be festive and fun times any time of year you wear this smoldering hot Adult Christmas Sweetie Costume for ladies … Garters that you can remove along with a Santa hat, a fur shrug, and stockings make this costume hot enough to melt the hearts of the coldest men at your next holiday gathering.”

Really? 

My advice: say “bah-humbug” to this trend.

S’Mother began as a collection of over 1200 letters I had received from my mother. Some of the letters had remained unopened since the day they first arrived in the mail. One day, I looked at the box of letters sitting uncomfortably in my garage and heard my wife ask me what I was planning on doing with them. I started a blog called, “Please Don’t Eat Sushi! Love, Mom,” where I posted one letter per week, accompanied by a small explanation offering my take on the whole thing. I really just wanted to know if anyone out there in the real world could relate. Within hours, I started receiving emails from people saying they couldn’t believe this! I had to be making this all up. Nope. I wasn’t.

I shopped an outline of a proposed book I called S’Mother to my agent, who secured a book deal for me with Abrams.  Now, I’m signed with Reveille and Jack Black’s production company, Electric Dynamite, who will be pitching S’Mother as a 30-minute sitcom! Pulitzer prize-winning author Marsha Norman (who, ironically, penned ‘Night, Mother) is drafting it for the theater!

My mother?  Initially, she was mortified that I even KEPT any of her letters.  Now, she’s absolutely loving her new “celebrity” life.  She often tells people that she had to sign a legal document saying that she couldn’t sue me.  But, seriously, she’s thrilled that she gets to meet other inappropriate, overprotective mothers on various book appearances we do together.

In the end, she wins as she now gets to spend even more time with me.

Story #1

Calling all Burlington Coat Factory and Sears advertising execs – meet your new holiday spokesperson.

Monday

Adam -

Did you buy yourself a winter coat?  Because if you go with Maria to NY in March, it is bitter cold and your pea coat will not be warm enough!  You have no time to get sick.  Please buy yourself a coat. Burlington Coat Factory has good buys. Also, make sure your tires and Maria’s tires are sound. I will gladly pay for two new tires. One for you and one for Maria. Sears has the best buy on tires.

Love,

Mom

Story #2

This was one of the most embarrassing phone conversations I’ve ever had with someone I didn’t know from, well, from Adam.

My mother was coming to California from New York for the holidays.  There were strong winds in the area, so the plane was going to be delayed by about three hours.  While waiting at her gate, she called to let me know that she wouldn’t be landing until after midnight and I shouldn’t worry about picking her up.

“That’s fine,” I said. ”Thanks for letting me…”

“Hang on a second,” my mother interjected. Then I heard her say, “Captain?  Captain?”

“Listen, Adam, the pilot of the plane wants to talk to you for a second.  Here.  This is my son, Adam.”

Captain O’Reilly: Hello?

Adam:  Hello?

Captain O’Reilly:  Hi, this is Captain O’Reilly.  I’m here with your mom.  (Pause.)

Adam:  Is this really the Captain of the plane?

Captain O’Reilly:  Yes.  Your mom wanted me to tell you that we’re going to be delayed about three hours due to the strong winds we’re having here.  She just didn’t want you to worry.

Adam:  I can’t believe she got you on the phone to tell me that.

AWKWARD PAUSE

Captain O’Reilly:  No problem.  Have a great day.

Adam:  Thanks.

Captain O’Reilly:  Here’s your mom again.

Adam’s Mom:  Hello?

Adam:  (Dial tone.)

Story #3:

Who needs to see family over the holidays? By the way, Nanny, are you ok?  So, Nanny, are you ok?  Are you ok, Nanny?

Saturday

Adam -

Don’t go near Nan until we find out from the doctor why she has a rash all over her body and face!  I don’t know if it’s contagious. So stay away.

Love,

Mom

On a totally different note, read about Lois’ mom, Amy’s mom and Susan’s mom!

I seriously love everything about your company, from its name to the idea behind it to the actual t-shirt designs. Tell me a little about how you got started, and why you decided to do this.

Thank you so much, Lois! I’m so glad you love them! I started making the collages about fifteen years ago when I was living in Montreal. I was writing full-time and house-sitting for my brother’s colleagues. He’s an Anthropology professor and all of the anthropologists in his department would go off at various times to do their fieldwork and needed someone to take care of their animals and plants. It was fantastic. I was able to live in different apartments and condos all over the city for free and write. I started out making collages of writers that I loved and giving them away as gifts. One day a friend said, “You should sell these.” We brought thirty collages out to Bennington, Vermont, and sold them all in the first boutique we went into. I was floored. I then got into making greeting cards, magnets, bookmarks and seven-day glass votive candles with the image wrapped around them. They sold quite well. Then I learned the t-shirt trade and started putting my images with quotes on to high quality soft cotton t-shirts that I would wear. That took a lot of research to find the right company, but once I did it was a hit.

How do you choose which people to feature?

I will only do a collage of someone I admire. These are magnanimous figures that I hold in high esteem. I love every one of them!

How do you select the quotes you use with each one? There would be so many I’d want to use for each one.

That’s always difficult. I agree with you. There are so many excellent quotes from all of these incredible innovators, but it usually comes down to what appeals to me most and it must fit around the image on the t-shirt, so both size of quote and something that engages me are essential!

Which ones are the most popular?

Meg's friend, writer Robert Vaughn

It depends on where they’re selling. Frida Kahlo is quite popular here in NM. In Vancouver, they love Joni Mitchell. She lives in the same town as this boutique I sell my t-shirts in. There are many requests for Bob Dylan, Billie Holiday, Janis Joplin, Bob Marley, Tesla, Gandhi, Jimi Hendrix, Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf, Nietzsche and Flannery O’Connor.

But then, there’s always someone who comes along, who wants that certain someone that might seem more obscure to most people. My Editor-in-Chief at Connotation Press, Ken Robidoux, loves Delmore Schwartz, the poet (as do I), and ordered a shirt of his. There’s someone for everyone, I hope!

Any funny – or touching – requests?

I had a woman come to my booth at a festival and she was adamant about getting a Johnny Cash t-shirt in her size. I found a Hank Williams Sr. and thought she’d like him, but no, it had to be Johnny. It turns out she was one of Johnny Cash’s daughters and we did find a Johnny t-shirt in her size. That was very cool!

Which is your own personal favorite? Why?

I love them all, but if I think about which one I wear the most, it would have to be Carson McCullers. I love her writing and I love the quote on the t-shirt: “While Time the Endless Idiot, Runs Screaming Round the World.” And I wear Kafka quite often, as well as Flannery and Samuel Beckett. It’s hard to pick a favorite. My husband’s favorite is Frank Zappa: “My Dandruff is Loose, My Breathe is Chartreuse.” And sometimes I pick out one depending on the color I feel like wearing that day. I have a huge collection in my closet. They make me very happy!

Who’s still on the to-do list?

Hemingway, David Foster Wallace, Raymond Carver. I have more on the list, but have been writing so much lately that I haven’t had time to add to the group in a while!

Let us know who you’d like to see on one of Meg’s t-shirts!

Whenever I purge my closet, I always imagine the results will be long-lasting. I know I’m deluding myself, but indulging in the fantasy is cheap entertainment.

There are articles of clothing which, no matter how long I keep them, still aren’t my style. They are only made more pathetic by the flimsy wire hangers from which they droop. I admit I do prefer wire hangers for certain items, which begs the question: Does anyone else hear Joan Crawford repeatedly screeching, “No more wire hangers!” when they clean out their closet? Or is it just me?

Judging by the number of pajamas I sorted according to season, one might think I live in them. Although there have definitely been days of pajama loafing, blue jeans win out, hands down.

And speaking of jeans, it’s apparent from the storage location of the “pretty sexy things” I have acquired over the years that I clearly feel sexier in my jeans or even the aforementioned pajamas. I am guessing Jimmy may have a different perspective, although I doubt his involves clothes of any kind. Because he’s out of town, an early morning wake-up call about lingerie preferences may not be welcome. So I fold them back into a drawer.

Having lived in California for the past 16 years, I have about ten bathing suits but am really comfortable with only three of them. Judging by how threadbare they are, I have a hunch it’s time to get comfortable with the other seven, or face my fear of ocean swims and get a wet suit. As an aside — every bathing suit top I have ever owned somehow managed to shrug off the pad intended to cover the nipple, and they were all in a group together at the bottom of my bathing suit basket.

Some fashions do circle back around and are worth holding onto. My scarves have finally made it back to the fashion “do” list and I am grateful I saved them.

While still on the clothes tangent, I should probably mention my overalls, which remain, regardless of how much crap I get when I wear them. I have never been one to chase the latest fashion trends and, after sharing this, they’re unlikely to be seeking me out either.

Next – hats. Alas, I really am not a sun hat girl. Seriously, if I wore one of those with my overalls? My personality leans more toward visors and caps, my favorites of which tell the world I am “redefining girly.”

Dust-coated and hanging from plastic hangers for their future days of glory are some of my suits. While most of their counterparts have been unceremoniously stuffed into bags which should be labeled “Dry cleaning I might do someday,” the microscopic part of me that tends toward practicality thinks, “you never know.”

Last — a mini leather skirt. I felt its softness while wondering how it was possible that I ever fit into it. And I keep it why? Perhaps as evidence of an era, coupled with regret of having donated my old leather motorcycle jacket. It really doesn’t take up any space and perhaps my daughter will want to wear it as a vintage costume someday.

On to shoes. Mine tend toward flip flops, UGG boots and sneakers. And all previously separated socks are thrilled to be married again.

Long ago, I had a handbag obsession. I am glad it was short-lived because switching them around almost always resulted in my forgetting something.

My closet also houses sentimental mementos, items and pictures. Some of them, I imagine, I will have until I die. Someone else will need to decide whether to toss them, donate them or keep them.

When my dad died, we did just that—sorted, sifted and purged. Sadly, much of his stuff made its way to the enormous dumpster which practically covered my parents’ driveway when my mother decided to move. Some of his “little things” I simply couldn’t bear to toss and even now, nearly six years later, I cleave to them. One of those items is his beret.

The last time I saw my dad while he was alert was in December 2005. He was living in an assisted living facility due to the stroke had suffered. He was a shadow of his former self in so many ways and, yet, at times I would see him shimmering through the haze. One of those times I offered to take him for a drive and he happily nodded his agreement. Jacket, gloves, beret and a long walker-assisted stroll to the car later, we were driving. Directed by my father’s pointing and nodding, the miles clicked by until we arrived at the gate of the cemetery where he would later be buried. My heart, head and stomach protested but this journey was about him, and he needed to see his future even if I did not.  Standing by his grave site, I looked back at him nestled in the car. Pointing to where I was, he nodded yes; feeling the blood drain from my face, I bent down and brushed the frozen ground, asking, hoping, praying for his peace. I still picture him in that rental van, beret on his head, showing me his final wish — to no longer mark the time. The hat is soft. I tuck it back in its place and whisper my thanks for having had an incredible father.

There are other boxed up treasures, including the beautiful headband I wore when Jimmy and I were married 16 years ago. Just seeing it stirs my heart to the present and all that I hold so dear.

Everything now folded, hanging and boxed, my closet life has been restored. I stand inside it and absently grab the framed photo which sits on a shelf above my drawers. It is a picture I took while visiting Ground Zero and paired with an Eleanor Roosevelt quote, “The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.”

I will donate all the clothes and items purged to help support survivors of domestic violence — women who may never know my closet life but who also hold fast to their dreams and are taking steps to claim their future.

Elin Stebbins Waldal is the author of Tornado Warning: A Memoir of Teen Dating Violence and its Effect on a Woman’s Life and the founder of Girls kNOw More.

The big day arrived and oddly I wasn’t excited – or unexcited.  I was resigned.  Sure, I applied a tad more toner to my wrinkled face, spent a little more time on my curly locks, brushed on a wee more eye shadow to my upper lids and dressed in my fanciest outfit of black pants, top and high-heeled boots, adorned my neck, wrists and ears with silver jewelry (my usual wedding, funeral, Bar/Bat Mitzvah garb) and was out the door.

Once there, I immediately noticed that nearly everyone looked nervous — like deer caught in headlights.  Would anyone even remember me, that somewhat insecure girl with the poodle haircut when everyone else had those awesome “flips?”

We were all given name tags with our high school photos to wear around our necks.  How embarrassing.  We’d look at lined faces, down to the tags, then back up to the faces.  “Oh, wow! I remember you!”  But did we, really?

After wading through the sea of men and women, ninety-five percent of whom I didn’t recognize, I finally saw a bunch of my old girlfriends and in an instant it became a love fest of hugging and laughing and memories bubbling up from decades gone by.  One friend remembered that my mother always had a bowl of M&M’s in my bedroom.  Another remembered hanging out at my house listening to The 2000 Year Old Man and Mort Sahl albums.  And, of course, cruising Hollywood Boulevard in my silver ’57 Chevy with the top down.  We just picked up where we’d left off fifty years ago.

Later, the band started playing oldies but goodies — which we were, too — and we hit the dance floor to do the Watusi, the Hully-Gully, the Pony and the Swim.  And as the clock ticked towards midnight, we hugged and promised to stay in touch, to meet for lunch, to be friends again. Will we? Who knows? 

But for those few rather magical hours, we had connected over shared memories and experiences because we had spent our youth together in that time of innocence.  And it was good.

Not only am I glad that I went to my 50^th high school reunion– now I’m really looking forward to my 75^th. I can’t wait to see who will show up to that one!

The highly sanitized depictions in the film removed the vast majority of Bella’s “violet blotches,” decorating (Meyer’s word choice) her with a few tiny bruises on her arm and shoulder. This diminishment can be seen as positive, given that it results in a depiction that does not romanticize Bella’s bruised and battered body to the same extent as the book. (For more on this line of analysis, see this post.)

However, the horrors of Bella’s pregnancy are not diminished to the same extent. Seeing her skeletal, ghostly figure on the large screen, with sunken eyes and protruding collar bones, makes visible the book’s claim that the fetus is killing her. Yet, the film ultimately depicts the pregnancy and resulting birth as miraculous, a framing that also suggests the fetus is more important than Bella. Bella is portrayed as an heroic martyr, an ultimate mother-to-be, rather than as a delusional lovestruck teen with a seeming death wish. What a message for young audiences who are also privy to the popularity of teen motherhood that shows such as 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom foster!

Perhaps the most problematic and ick-inducing moment is the poorly-handled scene where Jacob “imprints” on baby Renesmee. As he looks into the baby’s eyes, he envisions her as a young girl, a teen and, then, a woman. He falls to his knees in front of baby Renesmee at the close of the scene, in gooey admiration. With child sexual abuse scandals rocking the nation, it would be hard to pull off any depiction of the imprinting strand of the narrative that doesn’t call to mind sexual abuse and pedophilia – but the director’s choice to have the baby age in Jacob’s mind doesn’t make the ick factor more palatable. If anything, it emphasizes that Jacob sees the baby he falls in love with AS the woman she will become. Ick ick ick.

Does the film have good moments? Sure. I especially liked the self-referential comedy  where the movie poked fun at itself and the franchise. The wedding toast speeches were a comedic highlight, as were all of Jessica’s lines. Bella asking Edward, “What, you’re not  a virgin?” added another comedic touch to the otherwise often pro-abstinence, sex-is-dangerous, pregnancy is a “godsend” message of the film.

The Twilight films have struck a cultural nerve. We need to pay attention to such zeitgeists even if we are not “fans” – such pop culture phenomenon take the pulse of the current moment, acting like cultural barometers. I just wish this pulse didn’t include a dead-looking young mother-to-be who cares nothing for herself, only for her Edward and the “little nudger” growing inside her. I also wish it didn’t include an adult male falling in romantic love with a baby girl. That is one meme that surely deserves to be slayed once and for all.

Natalie Wilson is the author of Seduced by Twilight. She teaches literature and women’s studies at Cal State San Marcos, and you can follow her blog here.

We are so honored that Karen is sharing this special day with us, and that she’s written a guest post exclusively for us about what Georgia O’Keeffe can teach us about following our own bliss.

Leave a comment below for a chance to win your own copy of How Georgia Became O’Keeffe.

Georgia O’Keeffe would have turned 124 today, and in addition to our continuing love for her mad, sexy flowers and otherworldly cow skull paintings, we’re still enamored of the way she lived her life. She is still, 25 years after her death, the poster girl for finding your life’s passion and following it to the end.

We’ve always had trouble wrangling our attention spans. But since the advent of the Smart Phone, most of us — by which I mean me — can’t even finish composing email without feeling the overwhelming urge to check Facebook.  People trying to accomplish anything that required sustained attention used to complain that life could be a distraction.  Now, even when nothing much is going on, we distract ourselves.

Obviously, O’Keeffe didn’t share our problems — although she had her own, including surviving measles for which we now have a vaccine, plus endlessly battling the culturally-sanctioned sexism of her times.  Still, we can learn from the good habits she developed that allowed her to follow her bliss.

The Power of Daily


Considering O’Keeffe’s massive output — she created over 2,000 paintings, drawings and sculptures between the ages of 14 and 96 — you would think she worked every day, all day. But Georgia was kind of a slacker.  She would go through phases when she would futz around, read, daydream, write letters, and go for long walks.  But when she worked, she worked every day.

Whether you’re trying to launch a business, write a memoir, paint a mural or sew a quilt, doing it every day reaps beaucoup benefits.  You establish a habit of unplugging, which develops focus, and harnesses that all-important, intangible momentum.  Even if you can only carve out a half hour a day, it will make a huge difference.

The Lost Art of Sublimation

“You can’t always get what you want,” said the poet Jagger.  Despite our current obsession with happiness, that’s as true as it ever was. The good news, though, is that if you’re trying to launch a business, paint a mural, write a memoir, you don’t actually need to be happy.  You can throw yourself into your work.  You can hide in it, in fact.  Sublimation is a powerful thing. It doesn’t matter if you’re frustrated by your job, disappointed by your mate, envious of the slim-assed receptionist at the gym. You don’t need to fix anything.  You can simply start a blog. 

Say Yes to No Frills

Georgia O'Keeffe, 1918, Alfred Stieglitz

You don’t need a new laptop to follow your bliss.  You don’t need to update your software.  You don’t need an iPad.  You don’t need to clean your study. You don’t even need a study.  You don’t need the best hours of the day.  You don’t need big ideas — or any ideas.  You just need to set aside time, and do it.

When O’Keeffe was feeling frustrated with painting, she gave up working with color.  She went back to charcoal — a humble and impossible material — and cheap newsprint.  Late at night, after teaching all day, she got down on her hands and knees, and drew.  She got back to basics.  She didn’t care that she was tired and frustrated.  She worked during the lousiest hours of the day, making the art that would change her life, launch her seven decades-long career, and change the history of art in America.

What’s the bottom line for us? Life was far from perfect for O’Keeffe, but that neither worried her nor inhibited her. Even the most difficult, least likely moments can be put in service of our abiding passions.