See You Next Tuesday

I have to be upfront about this. This post is going to have a lot of bad words. Not so much an assortment of bad words, but one word in particular will be mentioned. A lot. You may think you don't care, you may think bad words don't shock you at all anymore, but I'm pretty sure this is one of the few English curse words whose sharpness has not been dulled with overuse.
This post also gets extremely personal and disturbing at times.
So, a warning: If you are easily offended, stop reading now.

I'll wait......

Ok, are all the wimps gone now? Good, this post should be read amongst friends.

Man, I've really built up the suspense, haven't I? You're dying to know what word I would actually warn about. I'm just going to say it once, get it out of the way, and then we can move on to my reason for bringing it to your attention.

CUNT.

Yep, you read that right. This post is all about the cunt. Or, more specifically, my response to the book Cunt: A Declaration of Independence by Inga Muscio.
This book is many things; it has many messages. It starts off with a backround of the word cunt, how it was originally a word used for female priestesses, women who were holy and connected with the spirit world. It was a word of reverence. A word of power. And I guess it still is, but in a very different way. Inga is adamant about reclaiming the word, much like African Americans have reclaimed 'nigger'. (Yes, I thought about using the phrase 'n-word' instead, but I figured, I've already used cunt, being P.C. is pretty much out the window at this point.)
She talks about sexual abuse, she talks about women's relationships with their cunts, she talks about alternative natural "accessories" for the cunt, she talks about sex workers, and basically everything else you could imagine about that lovely area. If you're wondering whether or not you should read it, I will say that on the flight from CA to NY I pretty much did not put it down except to sip water and munch on sunflower seeds. If nothing else, whether you agree with what she says or not, it will make you think about the cunt in a very different way than perhaps you once did.

Now, I did not agree with everything she said. I'm not trading in my tampons for a sea sponge (not making that up) and I will continue to see movies and read books by men. However, I found myself affected and at times even moved to tears by the stories and epithets she wrote.

Truth be told, women's issues have always been very important to me. In acting school, we were assigned a project, or Poetry Project as it was called, where everyone had to create a 5 minute one person piece using at least 3 different published works. It could be from a script, yes, but it could also be from a book, newspaper, even a cereal box, as long as the actor performing it did not write it. Those were the only parameters. I could have made it about any subject I wanted. And I chose to make mine about... menstruation.
Why? I'm not really sure. I don't know why I wanted to talk about my cunt for 5 minutes. Perhaps it's been at the forefront of my mind since middle school, where I was the only girl I knew who had not yet gotten her first period. Who knows?
Thankfully, it ended up being pretty funny, even with the ending of me dropping my red skirt to show nude colored panties stained with stage blood and talking about 'the great river'.

And yes, the whole realizing your "womanifesto" thing appealed to me. I do believe that women have tremendous power within us, simply because our bodies produce life, which is a pretty miraculous thing. I'm not saying it isn't a pain in the ass having a cunt sometimes, but on the whole, I very much enjoy being a woman and revel in my femininity.

But what really got to me in the book were the stories of sexual abuse. Stories of men exerting their power over women in this way make me furious. The fact that, at age 24, not having been sexually assaulted makes me very very lucky. In America, 1 in 4 women will be sexually abused at some point in their lives and 1 in 3 will at least have to fend off an attack. And these numbers are probably conservative, as they are based off of mostly reported cases. I shudder to think about the statistics in other countries.

I read a book last summer called Desert Flower by Waris Dirie. It's an autobiographical tale about a woman born into a Somali tribe of goatherders who runs away, manages to get to England, is discovered and becomes a supermodel. But that wasn't what affected me. She became a fighter for women's rights because of what happened to her as a child, and what happens still to many women around the world: Female circumsicion, or as it is politically and correctly called, female genital mutilation.
As an 8 year old girl, she was woken up in the middle of the night, dragged to a spot in the desert, had her clitoris and labia sliced off with a rusty razor blade, and was sewn up so only a hole as small around as a matchstick remained.

When I read this, and read that this is a common occurrence in many African countries and their ensuing communities in Europe, an emotion that I must label as rage swelled inside of me. There is no religious base for this. It is nothing other than men controlling every single aspect of women's lives, at the most personal level. Of men treating women as property.
Few issues affect me more.

Though, thankfully, barbarity such as that is not legally tolerated in this country, we are still, in my opinion, far away from true equality between the sexes. I'm not saying I hate men, and that all men treat and think of women in the same way. This is not at all true. But even in a city as liberal as NYC, misogyny is everywhere. Language has incredible power, and what may masquerade as innocent guy banter actually perpetuates the objectifying of women, which can have devastating results. The change has to come from the people it affects: women.

This book, if nothing else, made me more determined to love myself and my cunt, and to treat both with reverence and respect. If you are reading this, and you are a woman, think about the last time you paid a visit to your cunt. Do you know what it looks like? Feels like? Let's face it ladies, if we aren't willing to get to know ourselves, how can we expect someone else to?
It can be a place of joy and power, if only you let it.

In the words of Inga, "You gots a goldmine between yo' legs." So get digging.

West Coast Summer-ization

I've been trying to think of how to sum up this trip. How to concisely put into words what this trip has been like, what it has meant for me, and what I took away from it.
First, I tried out the paradigm that this trip was all about traveling to the west to spend time with boy and meet his family and to have a wonderful and relaxing 4th and explore the city he grew up in..... Wait a second, this is sounding very 2006. Try again.
Then I tried out the paradigm that this trip was all about my professional prospects, to learn about the twists and turns of life in the not-so-angelic City of Angels and make connections and see if I should consider moving here... Wait a second, this is sounding very 2009. Start from scratch.
Then I tried the paradigm that... um.... ouch. My head hurts now.

The truth is I'm not sure what label could cover this whole trip and give me something solid to take home and examine at my leisure. I'm looking for a mental touristy tchotchke that I can put up on the shelves of my mind and, tacky though it may be, let it bring back memories and lessons learned with just a glance.

Wait, I'm sort of jumping in too deep too early here (that's what she said), aren't I?

Ok, so boy has been wanting to make it home and see his family for quite some time. A few months ago, he invited me along. I, of course not wanting to be rude, and not being stupid enough to turn down a trip, accepted his offer to travel to the lovely San Fransisco and explore the city through the eyes of a local.
At the same time, I had been wanting to make a trip out to the west coast myself, to see some friends from back east, but also to finally meet with and hopefully make a good impression on a woman we'll call DZ.

Now, let me explain this whole DZ situation. My mom's best friend Suzanne has a friend who works in the entertainment business. A very good friend who happens to be very powerful in the world of making movies. I have been hearing about this woman, I think, for about 10 years at this point. It started out as a family joke when I was still in high school. "Oh Rachel, we know you love theatre, but when you're ready to be a big star we'll call DZ." As I grew more serious about choosing acting as a career, it was brought up more and more, until it became a matter of me becoming ready in my talent, professionalism, and personal health.
Let's face it, being an actor is hard. If you haven't picked up on at least that from my blog, I think maybe you should try a little harder at reading comprehension. And most successful people, actors or not, got to where they are in life with some mixture of hard work, talent... and opportunity. Someone to give them a break, to trust them, and help smooth the way just enough for them to seize their moment and make that extra stride.
That's what DZ has been rumored to be able to do for me.

I figured the approaching San Fran trip was as definite of a sign as I was going to get. I decided to spend some time with Boy & Co, then hop down south for a meeting and some good times with friends, then back to my beloved NYC just in time for some massive heat wave or power outage or other fun disaster.

Now, while I have just been cast in a very cool project, I still feel like my career is gathering speed a little too slowly. I have felt a dearth of opportunities in the last few months, not to mention the fact that it took me a long time to get my head on straight and I feel as if there are some burned bridges in NY. I have been considering a move to the West Coast for a couple years, but never quite as seriously as now.
Not to mention the fact that boy has been feeling a little stuck himself, and has been having his own debate about whether or not he has worn out his NY welcome.
Both of us wanted this trip to spend time together and grow closer, but also to give some clarity and help figure out some 'heavy shit'. That's Cali talk, right?

So, without going into too much detail (trust me, it would take a lot of scrolling for you to read it all, forget about me writing it), San Fran was wonderful. About as close to a perfect trip as I've ever had. I was made to feel instantly welcome in his house, I met (and liked) his old college/BBYO buddies, and ate enough good food to give even my iron stomach a longing to take it easy. I went all over the SF area, from hiking at the beach to wine tasting at Napa, and not to toot my own horn, but I gave boy an awesome birthday and somehow managed to bring along the perfect gift. I rule.

Then, I hopped of the plane at LAX with my dreams and my- NO NO NO I WILL NOT QUOTE MILEY CYRUS, DAMN IT!

ahem... I spent most of my time in LA hanging out with Peter from high school, who was nice enough to let me crash in his absent roomie's empty bed, and basically trying to keep my mind off of the imminent meeting that could or could not determine my future. You know, I just try not to sweat the small stuff.
Again, not to go into too much detail, but the meeting went very well. I even got some clarification afterward through the mother-daughter grapevine that DZ liked me, understood that I needed a little help, and was willing to give it. As added bonuses, I saw friends from every education facility I've attended since middle school, and I spend most of Tuesday wandering around the streets of LA with some random guy named Dre, and escaped unscathed.

This trip has been amazing. I accomplished pretty much everything I set out to do, and then some. It was fun, romantic, exhausting, hilarious, and exciting.

The only question that remains is: Where do I go from here?

From what I can gather, boy seems pretty set on being done with NY. He wants to head back west, and I don't blame him.
I have to admit, moving west would probably be the best option for me too. I've always said I will go where the work is, and there is certainly more work for an unknown film/tv actor in LA than NYC. And, though this is not my deciding factor, I am in a relationship, a pretty damn good one, and would like to see where it goes.

But NYC is more than a city, it's my city. It's my home. It's my life. It's witnessed me at my worst, and at my best. It's given me love, strength, attitude, and the beginnings of a sense of fashion.
And as far as it is from Miami (read: family) LA would be exponentially further. Time zones be fuckin my shit up.

I'm not making any immediate decisions. But I am feeling it's time for a change. Time to grow. Time to stop waiting for my life to begin.

And like generations of pioneers before me, the West may be the key.