The riot grrrl movement was an important clash of third wave feminism, punk rock, DIY politics (and aesthetics), and youth culture in the early nineties. Twenty-something women wanted to play their guitars loudly and be heard; they were tired of being sidelined through patriarchal musical standards and business; they wanted to reconstruct femininity and make it tough. The isolated clusters of pissed off college educated (mostly) white women located in Washington D.C. and Olympia eventually spread into a little feminist army, resembling to consciousness raising groups of the second wave feminist movement. Loud punk music with nationwide tours combined with ‘zine distribution and mainstream press coverage to give salience to their message.

And for the first time, mainstream media took notice of these women taking music production and cultural revolution into their own hands. Soon, publicity ranged from sincere Sassy profiles to hilariously patronizing television exposes, rich with “look at how these cute girls are destroying their dresses and yelling and spitting and smearing their lipstick.” Consumption culture cast the death spell on the movement, because once riot grrrl mentality was being sold back to the suburban girls in the form of pseudo-feminist role model Courtney Love and the latest scent of Teen Spirit deodorant, the cultural movement was a joke. Maybe the movement was destined to peril with the insistence of decentralization and social democracy. Maybe we can only rage so long. Who knows.

Regardless of the inevitable death of the movement, evidence from its relevance still exists. Everything from the Spice Girls and the bubblegum “girl power” moment of the late 90s to Lady Gaga of the current moment highlight how the path for independence and feminist politics was paved by these Olympia and D.C. bands in the early to mid 90s. Riot grrrl was a true a cultural and political revolution.

1.  Project Runway, season 8.

Why, oh why, does this hot mess of a show draw me in every season? Historically, I swear and curse and facepalm my way through a season to declare that I WILL NEVER WASTE MY TIME AGAIN. And then months pass without Tim Gunn or Santino Rice wannabes (NO ONE works a soundbite like those men do), and I get sucked in again. Thus far, this season is a snorefest.

2.  Pacific Science Center.

The last time I went to Seattle Center’s interactive Pacific Science Center, I was probably wearing my favorite purple Guess Jeans and those rad L.A. Gear with silver sparkles in the shoelaces.  I probably harbored a crush on Kasey Gunderson (the first boy I danced with) and most certainly had a thing for Jordan Knight (NKOTB RULES!).

Only time will tell if my fashion sense has improved, but I had as much fun at the science center as a 31 year old that I did as a 12 year old. My nerdlove for science will never die. And who knew that exhibit curators have a sense of humor? The photo below was from the amazing Circus exhibit, where people could wiggle their sexy selves into a harness and walk a tight rope or long rope.

3.  Plants.

Despite my brown-black thumb, I’m trying to grow green stuff in my apartment again. I’m not sure how successful I’ll be, but I’ve convinced myself that I am getting high from all the extra oxygen in my apartment. Plus, I’m pretty sure they love the new Scissor Sisters album as much as I do.

4. Reel Grrls.

I’m really excited to start my Design and Marketing internship with this group next month. The organization teaches young women how to shoot and edit their own films. It’s a perfect pairing of my political and creative ambitions, so wish me luck!

5.  Lupin cherries from Broadway Farmers Market.

I could eat pounds of fresh cherries, especially when they come from Martin Family Orchards. Seriously, every varietal of cherry I have had from their stand has been mind-blowing.

That big purple part is my creating time. It’s a large chunk. It feels good, even if it has come at the expense of my Assassin’s Creed re-play.

The point of this post isn’t to brag though. I want to share the fruits of my project with you all.  Shoot me an email at radioheadluv [at] gmail dot com with your mailing address. I’ll make sure and surprise on some random day with a gift soaked in grand intentions (and maybe low in actual talent).

(If you are perplexed as to why this is transitioning into a mourning post since the movie and the video game are about to be released, get thee to Neighborhood Comic Shoppe. Buy each volume. Return when you are done. )

I am uncomfortably sad. Not because the sixth volume let me down, but because this is an end of an era.

The last six years of reading Scott Pilgrim have been monumental. The series had wild and unpredictable arcs that mirrored my own crazy years. I cycled through apartments, moved across state and country lines, fell in love a couple of times, and through all the ups and downs somehow still developed into a functional adult. The development of Scott’s character mirrors my own changes, probably because creator Bryan Lee O’Malley is the same age as I am. This may be a reach, but I feel like the maturation in art and tone and direction from O’Malley (and by extension, Scott Pilgrim) reflect the same journey of improvement and challenges that I have taken on. It’s as if we were all on this wild ride of our twenties together and we have all the missteps and bad decisions and weird lettering patterns to show for it. Now the ride is over.

I won’t even attempt to review volume 6. For one thing, it’s been reviewed all over the internet. But most importantly, I am not sure how critical I can be of the book. I will say this though – it was a lovely ending.

Of course I’ll see the movie and I’ll buy the video game. But honestly, there is nothing that means more to me than looking at my bookshelf to see my autographed and nowhere near mint condition copy of volume 1 that shows the wear that only six years of re-reads and loans and moves can make. It reminds me that there was a time when Bryan was so unknown that I ordered my copy directly from him (this makes me excited for my own future success). It reminds me of the person that got me into the series. It reminds me of all the friends that I have forced to read it.

Scott P. and I…well…we’ve been through a lot. It’s been a fun six years.

A mild, mid-70s late July day in the Pacific Northwest. The air is crisp and clean. Smiles are freely shared on the street, as these folks know these days of sunshine and shorts are numbered (and are all chasing those afternoon delights).

Zoom into our hero; a female with her headphones on. Nothing about her appearance is particularly noteworthy until a passerby sees a slight smile on her face that is angled down towards the ground. He searches her face, but can’t find any clue. It appears that she is having a happy moment with herself.

Cue:

A much-needed reunion with my much-beloved friend who has known me longer than anyone else became my grounding strip, the thing that plants my feet back on the ground.

Our reunion started with a late night Denny’s trip to reconnect to our awkward 17 year old selves on those restless Albuquerque nights where the only thing we could legally do at midnight was drink too much coffee at Village Inn and talk about new loves.

Our 31 year old selves on a quiet Portland night blended talk of work and life and dreams and history, with yawns as a reminder that we are not as sprightly as we once were. It was perfect. There is nothing more refreshing than spending time who remembers what you were like as an angry 15 year old kid, stomping around awkward high school halls with everything to prove and nothing to lose.

And now, after a whirlwind trip, a renewed clarity brings a spring to my step. I won’t pretend to know where I am headed, but I know I have my people behind me. I love my people. You all are my breath and my grounding strips and my blood and the thing that I think about in those moments of panic.

Thank you.

A birthday is looming in my future. These last few days before a birthday usually bring up strange emotions. Last year, it was ambivalence. 29 was unadulterated excitement. 2007 was peaceful. This year could be described as purposeful.

I’m feeling mortal these days. I hear the sirens call out around me and I read about people younger than me dying and it invigorates me to do more while simultaneously striking fear in my bones. It’s a perpetual state of conflict, I suppose. I close my eyes and feel myself falling, wondering where I am going to land. I feel in flux.

Truth be told, 31 slips off my tongue easier than 30. I am embracing my age. I feel a tiny bit wiser with every crack of my hip bones in the morning. I find the youth of my co-workers amusing rather than revolting (this means that I have finally matured). I feel a calmness finding its place in the new baby wrinkles in my smilelines. This getting old thing is alright; if nothing else, it means I have more time to do all the stuff I need to do.

I need to love another dog. I should learn how to cook a decent tamale. I want to dip my toes into the clear blue of the Mediterranean. I want kiss under the stars and wrestle in the mud. I want to buy skates and try out for roller derby. And I want to see you, whoever you are.

This is in no way comprehensive, nor should this replace cracking open a real book. I’ve got loads and loads of books to loan out, so let me know if this topic amps you up.

(Hey! Don’t roll your eyes at me. I can see you through the intertubes.)

So with that rambling introduction, know your history.

There are three ‘waves’ of feminism to remember.

The first wave was late 1800’s to early 1900’s. The primary political goal was suffrage (right to vote). You have women such as Susan B. Anthony and Margaret Sanger causing a ruckus. This period is important, but incredibly problematic. For example, Margaret Sanger – the woman who spearheaded the demand for reproductive freedom and birth control pills – was a fan of Eugenics and used primarily Puerto Rican women as lab rats for the testing of birth control pills.

The second wave started in the early 1960’s and ends in the late 1970’s/early 1980’s. This is when you start seeing visible activists (see: bra burning, Gloria Steinem, Women’s Liberation March) and coalition building. Though a gross oversimplification,  the second wave was born out of women (or Rosie the Riveter as a cultural reference) being forced back into the homes after WWII. This is notable because during WWII women entered the job market en masse, making lots of money and celebrating a period of independence. Then, the soldiers came back. For some whacky reason, they wanted jobs. So the 1950’s were shaped by significant cultural constructions of family and home and femininity, ensuring that there was a return to the pre-WWII social structures. The second wave feminists fought this regression; they wanted jobs, education, equality, and peace.The consciousness-raising and slogan-coining were positive events…for white, middle-class women. The problem with the political goals of the second wave is they assumed many things: women weren’t working, women had access to education, and women had class mobility. The race and class issues propelled the evolution feminist politics.

The third wave is the result of race and class clashes in the second wave feminist era. The time period is the early 1990’s to the present. It is in this moment that the narrow and singular focus of the second wave has been abandoned for a lot of anti-racist work and community outreach. I would argue that the third wave was borne out of the Riot Grrrl movement. There was an incorporation of anti-capitalist, queer activism, and anti-racist rhetoric. The third wave is characterized by branching out of strict gender equality battles and embracing intersectionality.

Alright kids, that wraps up your first feminist lesson. I promise it won’t always be so boring. But, like I said above, know your history. The battles of the feminist movement are rooted in some epic failures and in-fighting among feminists, but countered by bad-ass bravery and standing up for what you believe in.

True fact: if you don’t like Daniel Clowes, we cannot be friends.

2. Kayaking

Sure, you might look like a d-b, but it’s fun. And if you are super fancy and fashion forward you can bring a beer in a cozy to complete the amazing ensemble of fat suit life-jackets and awkward (flailing) rowing.

3. Sunshine in Seattle

It appears that we will be breaching the 80 degree mark in Seattle this week. This means that the hipsters will break out their cut off skinny pant shorts, the curmudgeons will begin smiling at fellow humans, and people will fall in love. Summer in Seattle is epic in its awesomeness.

4. Smena 8M

Once upon a time I bought this old toy lomo camera. The translated “instruction manual” is hilarious, as it is full of unhelpful and poorly constructed tips that apparently were at one point helpful in Russian. My first roll will be hilarious (if I can figure out how to actually remove the film), and I promise to post the inevitable disaster to my flickr account.

5. Jenny Peterson photography

This Seattle photographer came to my attention when I needed an injection of inspiration the most. Her work is full of humor and weirdness and awesome light. Check it out.

What have you guys been checking out?