Jaycee Dugard >shudder< Horror Film?

I was horrified to discover that a low-rent actor/writer/editor/producer by the name of Shane Ryan is planning to make a film about the capture and imprisonment of Jaycee Dugard.

That's right, Ladies, the wonder-boy of such low-class cinematography as:

• Sex Kids Party (a/k/a The More, the Better)
• Amateur Porn Star Killer 1, 2, & 3
• Big Boobs, Blonde Babes, Bad Blood
• So, We Killed Our Parents
  -and-
• Caged Lesbos A-Go-Go

Is hoping to release Abducted Girl: An American Sex Slave through Alter Ego Films, in Spring 2010, according to Sacramento television station CBS13. Even though Ryan's above-noted movies have been described by viewers as:

• "[W]hat a homemade snuff film might look like with a bit of what the director thinks is artistic" [1]
  
• "[B]ad blood feature that is sheer in-your-face violence with a comedic ingredient inserted for your perverse viewing" [2]
  
• "The girl is supposed to be 13 years old, who (in their right mind) would find the gratuitous kidnapping, rape and eventual beating of a 13 year old girl entertaining?" [3]

He's "trying to figure out a way to do that so it's not exploitative," he told a reporter from CBS13 in a telephone interview. He also told the reporter, "We want to capture how sad this story is, but also how interesting."

On the film's website, Ryan writes that "this film is not about Jaycee Dugard," that it was in pre-production prior to authorities rescuing Dugard, and he continues with "Instead of doing a movie about human trafficking they instead decided [because of the Dugard case] to focus on just one victim and her captor and explore the idea of what it would be like for an 11 year old to be kidnapped and live in captivity for the next 18 years." He clearly states, "This is a fictitious film we were planning on making with a few friends in hope to make an interesting story," and he also says that this is nothing but the media "cashing in on another Jaycee story."

So, to recap, According to Ryan:

• This film is not about Dugard (even if a pre-production movie was re-drafted as the direct result of Dugard's recovery)
• Alter Ego Films is not a porn company (regardless of what they create and sell)
  -and-
• The "reporters" are the Dugard exploiters, not his film (while he's gabbing about the film's lack of exploitativeness with the CBS13 reporter and thereby co-opting as much publicity as possible).

Sorry, jackass, you just don't get to have it both ways: Either the flick is about Dugard or it isn't. You don't get to accuse the free-publicity pipeline of being vultures when you're planning to bring a film to market that you admit was significantly altered by the events of the Dugard case because that means your film feeds at that same trough of pain.

If the reporters are the vultures, I hereby call you out for catching a ride on the vulture's wing simply to save the time and effort of walking over to feast on the carcass yourself.

I have to say that I agree with the Dugard family's spokesperson Nancy Seltzer's statement that this project is "breathtakingly unkind."[4]

You, Sir, are a Very.Bad.Man.

~Riot.Jane

The Winds of Change Blow

Greetings to the Ladies Jane --

After an extended absence, rejoining you is a pleasure!

I'm a steadfast Third Wave feminist. I've spent my entire life proving to the world (and myself) that I am the equal of any man in anything that I choose to do. Beginning with schoolyard fisticuffs, I fell in love with high school Junior ROTC, refused to marry young, established a career in a (predominately male) technical field, and have vociferously insisted to anyone listening (and those not) that women have value that has nothing to do with creating new life

Adamantly, ferociously, with the crystal clarity that only true passion brings, I have practiced what I've preached. I refuse to cry outside of my own apartment. When I'm frightened, I snarl. When I'm weak, I attack. When I'm paralyzed, I bark orders at others. When I feel stupid, I boast. Full of bravado and vinegar, I dare anyone, everyone, to call my bluff. Intelligent women older than me have told me, "I'm so jealous! You're your own person: You never gave yourself away."

While battling a sleeping disorder that eradicates many useful hours, I've lived my life with what time I have as my own. My responsibilities are with my friends and parents, not with the husband or child/ren that my culture (and well-meaning individuals) say that I am missing.

The only time one of my girlfriends and I are ever catty is when we praise Glory for the fact that we are childless. We revel in the fact that we still have the luxuries of self-absorbtion and non-bowel-movement conversation. We are snotty towards and gossip about parent who don't control their children and parents who have nothing to talk about besides Johnny's ear infection or Janie's latest goo-goo-ga-ga babbling.

We know your little precious is the most amazingly wonderful thing in the multiverse to you, we do, I promise! Really, that's probably the way it should be, but please, dear God, would you just shut up about it?!

"That is just not going to be us, we actually have something to do with our lives," we snark, as if childrearing is relegated to those without the capacity to do anything else. I always felt a bit guilty for snarking about women whose choices have been different than mine, but not enough to actually stop the snarking. I'm positive that there's a portion of the human animal's social need that yearns for validation so much that even self-provided validation will suffice.

I've been proud to use the courtesy title of "Miss," although at the age of 38 people occasionally double-take when I do. My boss says I look 30. I refuse to change my name if I ever *do* marry. I'm not against the idea of marriage per se', but I am still not sure (while having discussed it with my boyfriend) that I am or ever will be ready for such a thing. I'm a fiercly independent, oddly particular, strongly-willed, and reliable overachieving only child who is used to having things her own way.

Let's say that the arts of negotiation and domestic order are not among my stronger points. :-)

I've been an apartment dweller my entire adult life, and I've found myself daydreaming for the last year or so of a permanent home, of putting down roots, of neighborhood block parties in the kind of place where Girl Scouts ring the doorbell to sell their boxes of yummy goodness every year. I've been daydreaming of older neighborhoods, with narrow driveways and old-growth trees, neighborhoods that have 50 years of architectural styles represented in the little houses lining the streets while the larger city sprawled around, creating little enclaves with their own little newletters and residents who know the family name of the house two blocks over who just bought that sweet new Mazda RX8 . . .

This picture never includes a husband or child/ren. I see the garden, I see the porch swing (and the kitty dozing in it), I see the cute white trim around the round accent-lighting windows, I see the kitchen with it's glorious chrome-trimmed appliances, and I see the window-box with custom cushions, begging me to wile away the sunny afternoon with my Kindle . . .

But I never see the other pieces of the house, of that life, and I've assumed that's because I'm not yet ready to see them. I'm not ready to get married, I'm not ready to be a parent, so those pieces are not yet visible to me.

As a result, I've been thinking that I've just been wanting to put down roots, that I'm finally looking for an adult level of security, stability, and serenity. That my kitty and my project house are what I'm yearning for, what I need. I'd come to the conclusion that this was just a larger, albeit more gentle, form of the insistent nesting urge I experience every time that I have PMS.

I realized just last night that I've been wrong. All at once, a thought leapt up from my subconscious brain and burst into my conscious mind with the stopping power of a close thunderclap:

I want a baby.

What the hell happened to me? Who am I to become?

~Riot.Jane

Loss and Life

My friend, Sandra died on October 20th, 2009. I received this news at 12:45 pm via text message. It simply said “Sandra has passed”.

I didn’t know Sandra long. I didn’t know Sandra from childhood. I knew of Sandra’s feelings about her childhood. She shared with me her inward experiences of the pain as well as the sad, terrible and lonely stories from those days. I believe that this makes the child in her more real to me than if I was with her then.

I know Sandra, the brave and tattered little girl who fought injustice, because she placed her in my heart.

I did not know Sandra when she married nor did I know her during her many attempts at being loved by a man......but I knew of her marriages, her lost loves and her experiences of constant abuse, abandonment, disappointment and heartbreak. I know Sandra, the broken, abused young woman who never gave up on love, because she placed her in my heart.

I did not know her oldest son but knew about his life. She allowed me entrance into their world of abandonment and sorrow. She told me of her inability to be the mother she desired to be. I know Sandra the desperate, abandoned lost, young mother who bravely continued to try because she placed her in my heart.

I know from our daily life together, firsthand, the son of her heart, Michael, and learned through careful observation and with admiration of their great love for one another. She blessed me with entrance into her inner world, Into her inner self.....her holy of holies.

I know from her who she was in the past, I knew from her actions who she was in the present and who she was becoming So although I did not know her long, I know her well. She shared with me who and what she desired to be. And I think we will all agree: Sandra desired, above all, to be loved.

Sandra has passed....

Looking back I think how strange it is that three little words represent so much in both the past, now and our future. An entire life has come and gone. My friend, my sister, her existence just...gone.... I am not sure I believe that!

Sandra. Sandra Myles. Sandra Lane. To me, friend and teacher. To me utterly beautiful. I can honestly say when I think of Sandra one word comes to my mind that describes her perfectly:

Love

“Sandra has passed” flies before me.....

Sandra lived her Love Spirit naturally and gracefully. She gave me this love freely as only one who has learned the one of the greatest lesson in life can give. That great lesson is What we desire the most in life is what we are required to give to others. That we give love even when it is not returned. That we give it because we know, often through our own lack of receiving, the importance of love. We give what we desire the most to others.

Her very vibration was that of love. She asked for it and extended it with every breath. She was acutely aware that she, that all of us, require love the same way we require air. That without it life was just that. Life. She knew, instinctively, that in order to be ALIVE, to truly feel ALIVE, we must learn the power of giving and receiving love. It is what are all designed to do. She pursued love and her ideals of it with a passion. Always talking and encouraging her version of the “Sisterhood,” always striving to be there for me and for others, always letting me know she loved me, appreciated me and valued our time together. Sandra was the great giver of this pure water and holy water. It poured forth from her and I eagerly, thirstily drank of it.

Through her I learned to speak words of love. To not be shy in saying I love you, to hug warmly without reserve, to give, without fear that which I myself require the most.....Love.

How beautiful it is to me to know that I was blessed by the short time I was allowed to walk in the warm light of Sandra’s life. That I was blessed by her intimate sharing of her spirit. That I was given such grace through knowing the heartbreak and joy of her life. I learned valuable lessons of courage, humility and of life beyond survival. Her example showed me that I could and should ask questions, learn about and change my inner-self. Her ways taught me to listen, embrace new thoughts and ways of being. She showed me how beautiful it was to admit when and where I went wrong, where others had wronged me, and to embrace the truth of my life with courage. I learned, through her private “sisterhood,” to stand in the light of truth and experience joy and not to selfishly hold this knowledge and joy for myself...but to pass it freely forward to all that I meet.

How blessed I am that God brought us together, that we spent part of our journey together. No, Sandra has NOT PASSED. The dust that is her body has passed, but the true Sandra, the everlasting Sandra, the spirit that animated the clay that housed her, is alive and always will be. She lives in me and you, she lives between us, every time we extend or receive love. She is alive and here right now in and around all of us and she is laughing and she is dancing... And she is telling us “I am loved and so are you.”

Ralph Lauren Ad: Wrong on So Many Levels

Greetings to the Ladies Jane!

Today I've stubled upon an odd intersection of feminism and digital rights to share with all of you. My two favorite subjects, rolled into an unlikely bitter pill. This doesn't happen often, so I'm going to enjoy it!

The Ralph Lauren Blue Label ad to the right was originally posted (and commented upon) at the PhotoShop Disasters blog. Apparently, Ralph Lauren objected to said activities and issued a bogus DMCA takedown notice ("bogus" because Fair Use includes criticism).

Since Blogger's policies include automatic removal of content subject to any in/valid DMCA takedown notice, the PhotoShop Disasters post disappeared.

The Streisand Effect immediately came into play, and that's how the outraged feminist in me stumbled upon this advertisement glorifying a soul-crushingly unobtainable female body shape. Thank God for the Streisand Effect, otherwise I would have missed my weekly dose of self-righteous indignation! >only slight hyperbole<
Yes, Blogger also happens to host TJP. As a result, the picture you see to the right is actually residing on a TechDirt server. In fact, because of Blogger's policy to remove any subject of an in/valid DMCA takedown request, all pictures in this post are actually links to files residing on servers that in no way belong to me. I hope those server owners will forgive my poor digital manners because I'm doing this to both prove a point and keep this post alive, not to suck their bandwith.

As for the myriad issues with the advertisement itself, suffice it to say that this is a knuckle-dragging step backwards from the news of recent years that indicates a glacially changing (but changing!) international perspective among swimwear designers, magazine editors, runway model organizers, clothing designers, and a portion of the French fashion industry in the unconscionably thin body types displayed by these industries during the entirety of my lifetime.

Of particular interest is the case of Crystal Renn. In her book Hungry: A Young Model's Story of Appetite, Ambition, and The Ultimate Embrace of Curves, she discusses the experience of having lost 70 lbs to land a $250K modeling contract while still in high school. Suffice it to say that while she had that $250K contract, she looked like this:

Eventually, surviving on "lettuce with a side of batshit" caused a break. One day, "something snapped," leading her to quit her agency and move to the Plus Size division of Ford Models. She now shoots fashion campaigns for the likes of Jean Paul Gaultier, Dolce & Gabbana, and UK clothing chain Evans. This is what Renn looks like today -- Healthy, happy, and the most successful American plus-sized model:

You can read more about Renn's experience and book here and here.

Posting this recent picture of Renn brings into focus the sharp contrast between it and the monstrous Ralph Lauren ad above. I've studied design at an undergrad level, so I can usually figure out what ads that fail were trying to accomplish, who their target market was, even if they missed that target. This ad that someone intentionally altered to glorify an impossible-to-achieve crack-whore/cancer-patient silhouette simply baffles me from a design perspective. I can't figure out their target market except to know with utter conviction that I was not part of it. Because of this atrocious ad, I will never, ever purchase anything from the label, even as a gift.

Note to Ralph Lauren: When your model's head appears larger than her pelvis, you have created a side-show freak, not an attractive living mannequin for your clothes, so you might want to reconsider the message your freak is sending about your product.

Renn is a realistically-shaped, realistically beautiful woman. She looks like someone that I might befriend, someone that high school girls who aspire to be models (like she once was) might one day become. The fact that this woman is considered "plus size" (just look at her!) astounds me.

Renn is the archetypal beautiful, healthy woman. She is what we need to be portraying as beautiful and glamorous to not only our girls but to the never-good-enough half of the adult population that is female. If we're to ever win the fight for the hearts, minds, and souls of our females, we have to practice what we preach, live what we speak, and further what we write.

That we cannot discuss an advertisement (with legal digital supporting material) that doesn't further a corporation's monetary aims without legal bullying (I am looking at you, Ralph Lauren) and without the recourse the law provides (I'm looking at you, Blogger) is a powerful statement about who has the power in this country.

I, for one, do not generally believe that just because Big Money always has the power that it is always right. I, in fact, believe that in the vast majority of cases, the power that Big Money wields is morally (if not legally) wrong. In this case, it is both. Releasing that ad was morally wrong, and submitting a bogus DMCA takedown notice was legally wrong. Since Blogger is complicit in the injustice, PhotoShopDisasters cannot fight back.

We can. Just a little, but we can.

Comment on this post. Tell us how you feel. Drive traffic to this post. E-mail it to everyone you know. Post about it in other blogs that have audiences that care either about women's issues or digital rights, or both. Write a letter to Ralph Lauren, include a copy of the ad. Write about how their ad affects you, personally; women, as a group; and us, as a culture. Write about how their ad is a throwback to an earlier time, and how shamed they should feel. Talk to people: About Crystal Renn, about the small changes we've been seeing in the perspective in the fasion world, about the importance of actual humans as the people we see, not painted stick figures that couldn't possibly be alive. Demand that companies that sell the products you buy use advertising that features people who look like people who could actually exist.

Read. Write. Talk. Demand. Change begins with us.

~Riot.Jane

Ralph Lauren ad: TechDirt
Crystal Renn then: The Sun
Crystal Renn now: The Sun

CVS Pharmacy WIN!

Overview: There are several CVS programs/tools that I've become familiar with over the last few years of shopping with them. Over time, I've developed an eye for combining and stacking the benefits of all of them to obtain remarkable savings.

CVS Card: Like a grocery store discount card, the CVS Card allows CVS to track your purchases, but also entitles you to discounts. Such cards enrage privacy advocates, but I think that paying me (in the way of discounts) is fair compensation for using my purchase history as marketing material. The CVS Card comes in key-chain and credit-card sizes, and a telephone number can be tied to it as well (I did not provide mine). I believe only 2 CVS Cards are allowed per household, but different cards can be linked online so that they are treated as the same account (even with different card numbers) so that a household's aggregate spending can be combined.

Extra Bucks: Tied to the use the use of a CVS card and awarded quarterly, these are usable like cash in CVS stores on most products (alcohol, tobacco, and prescriptions excluded). The main source of EBs is a percentage of your purchases, but additional EBs are awarded for filling new prescriptions (or transferring them from other pharmacies), and as after-the-fact discounts on items (buy X, get Y EBs). The EBs are printable online and also print on CVS receipts, so they're easy to cash in once awarded. The trickiest thing about after-the-fact discount EBs is that they aren't always awarded the same way: Some are awarded immediately after a purchase (printing on that receipt), others are held until the quarterly EB award. To be sure of when such EBs will be awarded, the yellow stickers on the shelf underneath the merchandise in question will indicate when the EBs for that purchase will be awarded. EBs do expire, but the expiry date is clearly visible on the EBs (either receipt-prints or online prints).

Circulars, Clip-Free Coupon Books, and In-Store Sales: Like grocery stores, CVS has a weekly circular (available online and in-store) with that week's in-store sales listed, most discounts requiring a CVS card (but no coupon clipping). The clip-free coupon books (also available online and in-store) seem to appear every month or so in addition to the weekly circulars.

Marketing E-mails & CVS Website: Like most other on-line retailers (and make no mistake, CVS is an online retailer as well as brick-and-mortar), you can register on the website to receive weekly marketing e-mail. If you register a CVS Card online as well, you can review/print EBs, weekly circulars, clip-free coupons, and create/print shopping lists. I am on their e-mail marketing list, and I receive printable coupons via these e-mails (my favorites are the $2 off $10, $4 off $20, and $5 off $25, seeming to arrive every 4-to-6 weeks). Product-specific coupons arrive by e-mail as well, and I can't remember receiving more than 1 e-mail in a given week (unless the second e-mail was one of my favorite coupons, that is!). NOTE: The in-store and online discounts are often different. Below is today's in-store WIN, but I've accomplished the same sort of WIN with website orders, too.

CVS Website Edu-Quizes: This seems to happen roughly twice a year. You take a less-than-5-minute quiz on a health topic, and at the end you can print a $5 off $25 coupon. You don't even have to answer the questions correctly! The last two quizzes were about the importance of refilling and taking prescriptions on time and about the flu shot.

In-Store Coupon Kiosks: Like the price-checkers at Target and Wal-Mart, these price-checkers will print coupons if you scan a CVS Card instead of a UPC. I scan mine on every single visit.

Today's Extraordinary CVS WIN:

16.99 OptiFree Express Saline, 2-pk
            (in-store sale 14.99 + 2 Extra Bucks awarded immediately)
4.79 Gold Emblem Roasted Almonds (in-store sale 3/$10)
4.79 Gold Emblem Roasted Almonds (in-store sale 3/$10)
4.79 Gold Emblem Roasted Almonds (in-store sale 3/$10)
12.49 Maxwell House Coffee (in-store sale 6.77)
9.99 Ferreria Hair Color (in-store sale 7.99)
9.99 Ferreria Hair Color (in-store sale 7.99)
7.69 CVS-brand Acetominophen Arthritis (i.e. extended release) (in-store sale $5)
7.69 CVS-brand Acetominophen Arthritis (i.e. extended release) (in-store sale $5)
4.99 Repelle hair-color stain shield

Total, Non-Discount (off-the-street retail): $84.20

-2.00 Extra Bucks from Saline purchase, completed separately first
-2.00 2 off 10 Gold Emblem Nuts coupon printed from in-store kiosk
-2.00 2 off 10 pain reliever coupon printed from in-store kiosk
-2.50 Clip-free manufacturer's coupon for Maxwell House coffee
-5.00 5 off 25 from online flu-Shot edu-quiz, computer-printed
-5.00 5 off 25 coupon from marketing e-mail, computer-printed
-9.00 Extra Bucks from previous purchases, printed on previous receipt

Discount Total, Extra Bucks, Kiosk/E-Mail/Edu-Quiz Coupons: $27.50

-2.00 Saline, CVS Card
-4.37 Nuts, CVS Card
-5.72 Coffee, CVS Card
-4.00 Haircolor, CVS Card
-5.38 Pain reliever, CVS Card

Discount Total, CVS-Card-Required In-Store Sales: $21.47

Total Spent on Today's Discounted Purchase: $35.23

Total Savings: $48.97

Ring Around Society

Sexuality is coextensive with power; one is one’s sex and, not the other.

Sex is produced within service of social regulation,and in control of sexuality.

Sex conceals and unifies artificially.

We all fall down.

Juridical model presumes power and sexuality.

Power only subdues and liberates sex fundamentally.

Sex is recontextualized with in sexuality.

We all fall down.

Notion of sex brought fundamental reverse,representation of power relationships to sexuality is invert.

Latter, not essential or positive to urgency.

We all fall down.

Sexed body not in need of deconstructions,sex to be subjected to social regulations.

Sex regulative and a power knowledge regime regulative; sexual regulation is refute.

Disappearance of sex, though intelligible.

We all get up again.

~Olga Cisneros

My Man's Been Crack-a-Lack'n!

My man’s been crack-a-lack’n and now he’s in the jail.
His hair is all crazy and he says it’s really hell!
He needs some commissary!
He needs some money, please!
My man’s been crack-a-lack’n and now he’s prayin’ on his knees!
He says he’s really sorry! He says it wasn’t him!
He tells the judge he’s not the same. “No, really Judge, it’s not a game!”
My salvation's REAL!
My man’s been crack-a-lack’n but God’s delivered him!
He’s been washed as white as snow from that crackin’ sin!
If the judge will let him go, if he’ll only set him free!
When he gets out he’ll stay straight; just you wait and see!
My man’s been crack-a-lack’n.
And now he’s in the pen.
He’ll hang out and speak of God until he is set free.
Within two months he’ll be right back,
because he’ll run right back to crack.
His salvation's real!!

~Barbara Rhyne-Tucker

The Taker of Innocence

She stepped on the grass, still moist from the morning dew, the dried leaves beneath her feet made small crunching noises with every step she took. The sky was a majestic blue with a few white clouds and the sun peeking through offering the beginning of the heat that would permeate throughout the day. Dressed in a white and yellow dress, ruffled socks and black patent leather shoes, her hair swept up in two ponytails tied with ribbon, she was the vision of innocence. Led by the hand they continued their walk to their secret place, a place where he would sit her down and tell her how special she was.

His name was Sam and he was her uncle, everyone’s favorite son, brother and best friend. Sam had a charisma about him that melted everyone he met, he could do no wrong and his touch was truly recognized as golden. Nieces and nephews, brothers and sisters, they all adored him and always poured the accolades his way. A sharp dressed man, a connoisseur of all that could be considered the finest, a collector, a giver and a taker.

He took her innocence, that little girl with the ponytails and the wide eyes. Her desire to be loved and shown affection was her downfall. He preyed upon her, showered her with little tokens; he was the big bear of men that always was ready for a hug, a tussling around on the floor, a piggy back ride, a game of hide and seek.

Her mind blocked the beginning of time; she had no recollection as to when it started, but the memory of being under the covers with him as they lay on the sofa in a seemingly adult pose. Like spoons in a drawer they laid side by side, he stroked her hair, her shoulder; slowly his hands moved under the covers and found their way between her legs.

At the age of five she had the knowledge that what was happening was wrong, it felt good, the touching, the closeness, the sweet nothings whispered in her ears. She was beautiful, she was special, she was his favorite, he knew what he was doing, was she his first victim, was someone else before her in the same spot as she was, hearing the same words, being told she was the one, the special one.

As they continued to lay there under the covers they were interrupted, her look at the intruder was one with a plea of help from her round big tear filled eyes. He was commanded to stop and let the girl out from under the covers. SHE knew what HE was doing. SHE knew. And just like that she was rescued from HIM.

A couple of years passed, a call in the middle of the night came with the news that Sam had been killed. That little girl felt a sense of sadness, but beneath that sadness came another feeling, a much stronger feeling. Relief, relief that he would no longer be able to touch her, touch anyone else. That little girl knew she wasn’t the only one; there were other little girls younger than her. She often wondered who else he touched in that special and loving way. She would never know, that was their untold secret.

Her joy at his death cost her dearly, a price she gladly paid with tears. When she was unable or unwilling to show the proper emotion of sadness at his passing she was punished. That big leather strap came at her, not once, not twice, but many times, each time it came in contact with her bottom she was commanded to shed tears, the tears finally came, but not because she was sad. The tears came from the pain being inflicted upon her. And just like that her walk along life as a victim would begin.

~Ruby Cantu

Back-to-School Shopping Lesson

Long before “Tax-Free Weekend” became a component in our Back-To-School ritual, my mother used the August clothes-shopping ritual as an object lesson in fiscal responsibility. This particular lesson was probably the most valuable financial lesson she ever taught me.

I spent most of my time growing up poor. With the few exceptions of particularly lucky years sprinkled throughout my child- and teenager-hood, back-to-school meant endless hours sifting through used clothes at the local Goodwill or Salvation Army supplemented by sifting through trash bags of hand-me-downs my mother would bring home from neighbors/co-workers or my father would pick up near Dumpsters. The vast majority of cash was usually spent on actual school supplies: Paper, pencils, pens, and folders. Even though my mother would stock up on the actual supplies, taking advantage of the once-a-year sales, I often didn’t have the “required” school supplies.

In fact, here’s the 2009-10 list of Eighth Grade school supplies for the district from which I graduated high school, with the items I would not have taken with me marked with *. The bracketed comments are mostly things my mother would say:

      *2 packages of notebook paper (to be replenished throughout the year)
      *6 spiral notebooks [You’ll get one 5-subject and deal with it.]
      *3 brad folders with pockets
      *2 pocket folders
      *12 pens (to be replenished throughout the year) [You get five, and if lose ‘em, you deal with it.]
      *1 package of highlighters [Use the map pencils.]
      *2 packages of map pencils [You only need one, and you don’t need the big one. Five colors is enough.]
      *1 hand-held pencil sharpener [There’s one bolted to the wall in every classroom. Use them.]
      *1 personal hand sanitizer [No one outside of the medical community even knew what this meant when I went to school.]
      *1 stretchy book cover [Use the ones the school gives out. I don’t care what the list says.]
      *1 composition notebook [Here’s another brad folder. Put notebook paper in it. Don’t look at me like that, we are NOT the VanAsterBuilts!]
      *1 package of graph paper (1/4” quad-ruled) *1 spiral set of 3x5 index cards [Here’s a rubber band to hold these normal index cards together. You don't need the fancy ones.]

The summer before my Eighth Grade year was happened to be in the middle of a lucky stretch. Both of my parents had decent jobs, and money wasn’t as tight as usual. My mother saved every dime she could for four whole months to give me a great experience: back-to-school shopping for new clothes. New! Hot damn, here we go!

My mom, at the last minute, decided use new clothes shopping as a learning experience. As we sat at the Waffle House across the parking lot from K-Mart, we made a list . . . Shoes, check. Underwear, check. Socks, check. Jeans, check. Shirts, check. Barrettes and ponytail holders, check. Light jacket for fall, check. Backpack, check. Belt, check. Winter coat, hat, gloves? After-Christmas sales.

All set? Good.

Then she handed me what seemed like an un-Godly amount of money and said these words to me . . .

I think you’re old enough to do this on your own. Remember, what you buy now, you’re stuck with for the rest of the year. Be smart. If in doubt, don’t buy it.

I was stunned. I had no idea what to do. I shoved the money in my pocket, keeping it in my fist and my fist buried so deeply in my pocket that I almost pushed my shorts down, as I blindly wandered across the parking lot to the front doors of K-Mart.

What I sight I must’ve been! That I never thought to ask her whether she watched me go and look back two or three times is a shame. She died before I thought to ask.

I’ll spare you the details of a prospective Eighth Grade girl’s first solo shopping expedition. Suffice it to say that by Christmas Break I was crying for a hell of a lot more than just winter gear . . . I’d either not bought enough of one thing, or too much of another, or cheap versions that fell apart or shrank so much as to be unwearable because I had no idea how much I needed of anything or what might constitute a good purchase or a bad one. I bought things that didn’t match, didn’t fit, and didn’t hold out.

By the time my mother asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I’d already been borrowing her socks for two months and had stolen her work-worn oldest jeans, cut them off at the knees, and hemmed them myself. Years before workman-chic became the rage, I’d pulled my dad’s ruined light-blue uniform button-ups out of a trash bag, had a friend draw pictures over the stains (with a black Sharpie, the only kind then!), and covered his company patches and embroidery with music band logos from other people’s torn-up concert t-shirts salvaged from another Dumpster.

Needless to say, all I wanted for Christmas was, “Clothes! And you’re coming this time!” Christmas break was a thrift-store bonanza. And good God, was I was happy for the opportunity. I never went shopping with her again, for anything, without paying close attention and asking so many questions that she would eventually have to give me “The Look” to shut me up.

We didn’t have uniforms in public schools back then, so there was no “financial assistance” to purchase back-to-school clothes during the other years when we really could have used it. I wonder what kind of changes going to “uniform schools” would have made in my life, if any at all

~Riot.Jane

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