Much Better Sundays

So, one of the boys who I did geology with has a blog. Really, I should have known better than to read it. Seeing as how we once had a heated debate on whether or not women were inherently more emotional than men, it was inevitable that something should piss me off.

So, in his latest entry, he starts off talking about bands, and the nature of hit singles. Which would be all very well, except that he has to go and say this:

In a recording studio though, or just a jamming jive session, and the men are playing their instruments and making the beats together just so. And then the observing crowds of women are in moving agreement that it is a good song being played and that they are hearing.

Because bands are only ever made up of men. Us ladies just have to stay in the audience and worship. God forbid a woman should pick up a guitar, or play the piano, or ever try and create anything. No, that never happens.

And why is it only women listening to the music? If only! Then I wouldn’t have to get annoyed at tall guys who stand in front of you and get in your space. But funnily enough, heterosexual men are quite happy to listen to music created by other men. Sometimes they even dance.

The perceived musician-audience divide is pity enough without having to go and gender it. It seems to me that in doing so, you’re reducing music to a matter of courtship. The men are showing off their skills, and the women are judging them on it. And this wonderful, transcendent-immanent thing called music is reduced to being all about sex.

Sure, I appreciate it when a band has cute guys in it. I also appreciate seeing awesome women up on the stage, and funnily enough I appreciate music even when I don’t find any of the band members attractive, I appreciate it when I have no idea who they are, and I don’t care. It’s the music that moves me, not the musician.

Speaking of that non-existent entity, the female musician, Amanda Palmer played Wellington last night. It was awesome, and she totally wins at everything. But I think that will have to be another post in itself.

Last Friday, submissions closed on Victoria University’s proposal for the restructuring of the College of Education. It’s the day after that Vic’s Women’s Rights Officer discovers that, you know, aside from screwing over Education, this restructuring is also going to effectively get rid of Gender and Woman’s Studies.

Sneakily, of course. The proposal involves:

• requiring a minimum of 16 students for 300 and honours level papers (because that’s such a realistic number for any honours course)
• having GWS lecturers teach courses in Education (you know, that subject they’re not trained in)
• moving GWS lectures up to the Karori campus (bye bye, interest papers)

Not that it makes much sense to have Gender and Women’s Studies aligned with Education in the first place. Why not the social sciences? God knows some of those anthropology lecturers could do with being exposed to gender studies.

I’ve never taken any GWS papers. I’m not even doing a BA. A department with only two full and one part-time staff member seems ridiculously tiny to me – and the fact they’re supervising 12 PhD students between them is quite impressive. This theme of Vic trying to cut humanities papers is no threat to me.

But what is university for, if not the study of the humanities? Universities weren’t invented to teach commerce. I believe having people studying gender is vital – we do not live in a postfeminist world, and gender matters. It would be quite depressing if the only Women’s Studies department left was in Hamilton.

And even more depressing if the Victoria University bureaucracy manages to disappear a thriving subject, without listening to what the students or the staff have to say.

There’s a protest being organised when the Academic Board meets next Thursday – 9am in the Hunter carpark, people! If you’re on Facebook, the GWS support group is here, and Georgina’s posted a good summary of the situation here.

This week: International Blog Against Racism Week. I wanted to point this out because I think it’s important, and because there are a lot of interesting things to think about.

Of course, one of the things with the indy scene in Wellington is that it is very white. Alex mentioned to me once a gig he went to at Bodega that was on the same night as one of the African Dance Parties in Room 101 – and just how shockingly segregated it seemed. And then how odd it was when he actually went downstairs – because of course us pakeha aren’t used to being the odd ones out.

When Izzy and I were at Camp A Low Hum, we had a random conversation with Tu from The Deadly Deaths. He’s very nice – I’m looking forward to their gig at MVP on Saturday (quick plug). I particularly remember from this his description of himself as possibly the only sane Maori on Camp. And that only barely being an exaggeration.

So whilst I might be free to ignore the whitey-whiteness of our scene, that’s not a privilege everyone gets. And thinking about why the make-up is what it is is overwhelming, and you wonder if you’re overthinking things. But I can’t pretend like it’s not the case; I don’t want to ignore it. It’s just even talking about it is scary.

The past two weeks have taught me that there are many learning curves involved in living with people that you are not genetically related to for the first time. Sandwich bread or toast? I’m sorry that my cough is keeping you up at night, and yeah, I haven’t practiced piano in a while but it’s time I got back into it. Has anyone apart from me noticed that there are ants meandering up the kitchen wall?

But one of the biggest things for me has been the television. Although my family has always owned one, we’ve never really watched it. It’s always been a hideous grey seventies object decorating the corner of the living room, activated only when there’s something on involving murders in the English countryside. But my new flatmates utilise the television several times a day, whether there’s something good on or not. News flash: THERE IS NEVER ANY JUSTIFICATION FOR WATCHING DAYTIME TELEVISION. There is always something better to do. Always.

I hate the way that television absorbs your mind and saps your spirit. It really is a monster. The slack eyed expression of the TV watcher, the buoyant cheerful consumerism of the ads, the way each half hour leads into the next until your evening/life is wasted. It’s a direct plug into your brain, transmitting the absolute worst of mass media culture. We don’t need paranoid conspiracy theories about security cameras, corporate propaganda and council bylaws. As long as that box sits in our living rooms, they’ve got us.

The shrill whine of the set is fast becoming one of my pet hates. Since we have quite open plan living, if I’m downstairs I can’t avoid it. I love my flatmates dearly, but on this I will not compromise. It’s one of those input/output things. None of the great people in the world, activists, writers, artists, musicians, ever got anything done by watching TV.

I wish there was some way I could disable the TV set without anyone knowing it was me. Unfortunately, since we’re house sitting, the television is not mine to throw out the window. Our reception is pretty terrible as it is, but if anyone knows how to make it worse let me know. Come round sometime and I’ll give you a cup of tea, and we can destroy the idiot box between biscuits.

Can’t believe we’ve been absent. Crawling around in the loomsome cavities of our own minds, we have neglected you, our blog, our outlet, our very own fifteen seconds. Procrasination comes in many forms: sudoku; coffee; genrefing (verb to genrefy – categorise) music collections; crochet; coffee; tidying; baking; coffee.

But, poor suckers, now that I have a beautiful new computer (so charming that it makes me wish to withdraw my vow of abstinence from needless consumerism) you will not be safe. With my inbuilt microphone and pirated copy of Microsoft Word I will take over the world, one belated entry at a time. The plans! Oh, the plans! But secretive. Tell no one. Not even yourselves.

In good time, all will be revealed…