Slutty Mother, Feminist Baby

So Slutwalk Jerusalem is coming up for the 7th year in a row. I noticed that every time someone posts about it on Facebook, there is a shitload of back-and-forth comments mostly by trolls who have no idea what Slutwalk is even about and think they can criticise it however they want.

I don’t really care about that. Slutwalk is about women reclaiming their bodies. That’s it. It’s a good thing. It’s a positive thing. But people still comment on it, saying it’s demeaning and offensive. So if people are offended by women claiming ownership of what they obviously own, said people can go fuck themselves or get a brain.

I’m going along with a group of friends. I was also planning on bringing my daughter along and dress her in her new onesie (pictured here). But my husband said he won’t let me. It’s funny and rather ironic that he won’t let me do something when it comes to feminism. But in this case, I think he’s right. Although I want to expose my daughter to the movement early on in her life, I think that a year and five months is far too young to actually take part in marches that involve being in the scorching sun for a long time, shouting slogans, and (let’s face it) putting yourself in certain danger by counter-protesters.

I want my daughter to be an activist and be strong and stand up for her rights as an empowered woman, but I also want my daughter to be safe. And Slutwalk Jerusalem is not exactly the safest place to be on May 18. So she will stay with my husband, who can do his own share of exposing our daughter to feminism by reading her one of her favorite books “Feminist Baby”, including the Slutwalk-inspired part that says “Feminist baby chooses what to wear, and if you don’t like it she doesn’t care”, as well as teaching her the Rosie the Riveter feminist fist, demonstrated in the book by the feminist baby herself.

So next week will be nice and packed. With the hopes that my daughter doesn’t get sick in any one of those days, this is my schedule for the upcoming days:

Friday, May 11: Bake cookies, go to Be’er Sheva for the weekend
Sunday, May 13: Work morning, pick up daughter, bake broccoli snack (new recipe!)
Monday, May 14: Tai Chi morning, work afternoon
Tuesday, May 15: Doctor’s appointment and blood work, work afternoon
Wednesday, May 16: Write letters to penpals, work afternoon
Thursday, May 17: Bake pizza-flavored pasta quiche (another new recipe!), work afternoon
Friday, May 18: Smash the fucking patriarchy at Slutwalk with a group of badass bitches, and make the world a better place for my daughter, then go to Be’er Sheva for weekend and Shavuot.

If all goes well, I might try to start a new issue of my zine and include a piece about Slutwalk. Between taking care of a child and taking care of a child, I don’t know when that will be, but yes. Zinesters shall zine.

Peace, love and sluts

Feminist Wife

I just read an article posted by Bust Magazine called “15 Ways to Have a Feminist Wedding”. Some of the points the author made did not pertain to me because the traditional wedding ritual in Israel is very different from the one in the States or other countries. The rest of the points I found to be complete and utter bullshit. So here is my response to all points:

Proposing is an equal opportunity event
My husband didn’t propose to me and I didn’t propose to him. One day we talked about it over dinner and just decided that this is what we’re gonna do.

An engagement ring for all or no one
I wanted a ring and he didn’t. Where is the problem?

Pass on the bride’s parents permission
If my husband had asked my dad if he could marry me, we would have had a good laugh. We’re not orthodox and we’re not in the 1950s. Nowadays, I doubt anybody does it in Israel.

Everyone pays for the wedding
Nope. My parents paid for the Hinna. My husband’s parents paid for the wedding.

It’s the groom’s day too
It’s also the day of the parents of the bride and the parents of the groom. We all planned the wedding together.

Invite men to the wedding shower
Showers are not a thing in Israel. Wedding showers or baby showers. So irrelevant.

Have diverse wedding parties
Not sure what she means by that… we had a surprise engagement party at Blaze and a Hinna. Neither of us had bachelor or bachelorette parties.

Drop the terms bridesmaid or maid of honor
Again, no such thing in Israel. My “maid of honor” was my dog.

Don’t let your father give you away
I wanted both my parents to walk me down the aisle. So that’s how it was. My parents walked me, and my husband’s parents walked him.

Ditch the garter and bouquet toss
Yet another tradition that is not practiced in Israel.

Cut a rug with any parent
Whatever you say dude. I’ll dance with anybody I want.

Name-change is a two-way street
That was the point that pissed me off the most. Name-change is anybody’s choice. I wasn’t going to make my husband change his name. And the reason I wanted to change mine was so that I could have the same family name as my fucking family! My husband and my kids will be Bar Lev. I want to be that too. What’s so wrong with that?

Ditch the term Mrs.
I’m not Mrs. or Ms. I’m giveret. So fuck you.

Replace the terms “husband” and “wife”
Yet another pisser-offer. I LOVE it when my husband calls me his wife (or rather isha) and I love referring to my husband as my husband (or rather baal). There is nothing that keeps my husband from using “isha” and “feministit” in the same sentence. Nothing wrong with it either.

Don’t let him carry you over the threshold
Not usually done in Israel. In fact, I don’t understand how anybody can do that. This is supposed to happen AFTER the wedding, right? When both of you are shitfaced and sore all over from dancing like maniacs. So how exactly can your husband carry you anywhere when he can hardly hold himself up? Ridiculous.

One of the comments on this article was “How to have a feminist wedding: Be a feminist. Have a wedding.”

Seriously. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Peace, love and next stupid article from Bust: “How to be a feminist mother”

 

 

Bleeder of the Pack

Happy International Women’s Day! Here’s to being a proud female, a fierce feminist, and a crafty creator! To all my fellow sisters of the revolution, you’re fucking beautiful!|

Treat yourself or the lovely women in your life to an IWD gift from the PMS Mess Etsy Shop. Use the coupon code IWD2016 and get 20% off any purchase!

PMS Mess is my new Etsy Shop. There, you will find all the items that I produce by hand, sell with freebies, and ship with love!

Messy and magical items in the shop include:

Purple Myrtle Squeegy – my PMS Perzine

Fallopian Falafel – my compilation zine

Alternative Jerusalem – a series of awesome postcards I designed

Kickass care packages

 

All items come with freebies such as feminist zines or minizines or stickers or patches or my band’s CD!

Peace, love and feminist forever!

Get Messy on V-Day!

V-Day special! For this weekend only, use the coupon code “VDAY2016” on the PMS Mess Etsy Shop and get 14% off any purchase! (14% as in February 14, get it?)

Treat yourself to feminist zines, music and postcards or get a unique gift for a kickass feminist friend!

Messy and magical items in the shop include:

Purple Myrtle Squeegy – my PMS perzine

Fallopian Falafel – my compilation zine

Alternative Jerusalem – a series of awesome postcards I designed

Kickass care packages

 

All items come with freebies such as feminist zines or minizines or stickers or patches or my band’s CD!

Peace, love and mess up!

Riot Blah

If you haven’t already figured it out, judging by the name of this blog, I am a huge riot grrrl fan, and I also identify as one. So it was clear that I couldn’t have a Fun-a-Day month of album-listening without some riot grrrl in it. I picked Bratmobile and Le Tigre because they’re bands that I already know and love but haven’t listened to all their albums. And I picked Julie Ruin because Kathleen Hanna is awesome. Unfortunately, the albums I picked didn’t reflect said awesomeness, to put it mildly. It was a terrific blow to my riot grrrl persona and I’ve never felt more disappointed in my choice of music.

Day 16:
Bratmobile – Pottymouth (3.5/5)
Back when I discovered riot grrrl, Bratmobile featured among my top bands along with Bikini Kill and L7. But back then, I just found a few of their songs on Limewire because HMV wasn’t selling any of their records. I listened to Pottymouth last Saturday expecting to hop around my living room to their fast beats, rough distortion and profane lyrics. But I didn’t. I mean, some of their songs sound like the same good old Bratmobile I know and love. But some of them just sound like grade-school playground teasing songs, with a profane twist. I’m pretty sure that this was exactly what Bratmobile was aiming for, judging by their name. But I think they could have done much better. A little more power, a little more spirit, and much more riot grrrl.

Day 17:
Le Tigre – This Island (3.5/5)
I have Le Tigre’s self-titled album and I can honestly say that it is a completely different league than This Island. Le Tigre’s lyrics, vocals, distorted guitar and electro-pop sound effects are all so much better on their self-titled. Despite that, Kathleen Hanna’s vocals are as powerful as ever. But somehow, this record just didn’t do it for me. It needs to be said that TKO is an incredible song. I felt shivers up and down my spine when the verse flows into the chorus with a crescendo that multiplies by the guitars and the doubled vocals. If the entire record had been like that song, it would have been perfect. But with boring monotonous songs like “Nanny Nanny Boo Boo” and the title song, This Island is just bland.

Day 18:
Julie Ruin – Self-titled (2/5)
If Le Tigre and Bratmobile didn’t disappoint me enough, along comes Julie Ruin to finish the job. They sound just like Le Tigre, with less energy if that were even possible. I still love Kathleen Hanna’s vocals and a very few select songs are passable, but the music sucks. There is really no other way to say it. It sucks. There is no depth, no dimensions, no overwhelming sense of oh-my-god-I-can-feel-my-heart-swell. Where is the former brutality and rawness that is Bikini Kill? Julie fucking ruined it. I’m so disappointed and upset, I can’t get over it. Bikini Kill of the early 90’s is simply the best thing ever. No other riot grrrl projects can ever compare or even come close. Screw post-riot grrrl. So not for me.

What a stupid post to add on a riot grrrl fan site, seriously.

Fuck it, tomorrow I’m resuming my metal playlist with yet another CD of Kataklysm and then Astarte. Then some other metal bands I haven’t heard of before. I hope I will find some that will blow my face off like Winds of Plague did.

Peace, love and I miss growls.

Sleat My sKinney Throat

Day 7:
Sleater-Kinney – Self-Titled (5/5)

Back when I was just getting into riot grrrl, I was streaming songs off of the bands’ respective MySpace pages. MySpace was really the best resource to find bands that nobody knows.

Anyway, I heard and read a lot of great reviews about Sleater-Kinney. So I listened to one of their songs. But back then, for some reason, I found they weren’t aggressive enough for my tastes. I was looking for bands that sound exactly like or more aggressive and loud than Bikini Kill.

But maybe the Sleater-Kinney song I heard back then was one of their less extreme ones because when I listened to their first full album this weekend, I was BLOWN AWAY!

After the first couple of songs, I told my husband, “It’s cool. They’re totally riot grrrl, but not as extreme.” But soon thereafter came the shrieks and screams that is so common in the genre. With such throat-shredding screams, it’s no wonder that Sleater-Kinney wasted no time in rocketing to the top of my personal riot grrrl charts.

I can’t wait to listen to their later albums. I really hope they’re just as good because seriously, holy damn, I can’t believe I went through all these years without them!

Peace, love and Century Media bands coming soon!

 

Get Messy!

Today is the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women. For this reason, from November 25 to December 2, all proceeds from the PMS Mess Etsy shop will be donated to the Jerusalem Rape Crisis Center!

Please support the cause, buy zines, DIY art and postcards, and spread the word!

More abut the shop:

PMS Mess is my new Etsy shop. There, you will find all the items that I produce by hand, sell with freebies, and ship with love!

Messy and magical items in the shop include:

Purple Myrtle Squeegy – my PMS Perzine

Fallopian Falafel – my compilation zine

Alternative Jerusalem – a series of awesome postcards I designed

Kickass care packages

 

And more DIY art, such as patches and buttons, coming soon!

All items come with freebies such as feminist zines or minizines or stickers or patches or my band’s CD!

For more info, contact me at fallopian.falafel@gmail.com!

My Feminist Dick

Yesterday, I started writing a zine about my trip to Salem and the Boston Zine Fest. At some point, I recalled a conversation I had with my friend about the common mispronunciation of the word “zine” and suddenly came up with this:

Any person who pronounces that word as “za-in” would not think anything of it. UNLESS they were Israeli/Hebrew-speakers. As the word “za’in” in Hebrew can mean the seventh letter of the alphabet, the number seven and another word for “weapon”, it is most commonly used as the Hebrew pejorative for penis…

A dick is a weapon, right? Both are operated pretty much the same way – point and shoot. However, one is used in the creation of life, while the other one is used in taking it away.

Either way, don’t you think it would be kind of off to refer to my FEMINIST publication as a dick?

And so! if you want to talk to me about my zine, and not my dick or my weapon (neither of which I have), kindly pronounce it properly. It’s ZEEN. Say it with me: ZEEEEEEN!

Peace, love and I would really prefer if you referred to my zine as an ass. A BADass!

Grrrl Flop

Last night, I went to a punk show at a local bar. The first band on the bill was a girl punk band from Russia. So I thought, like, “Pussy Riot”, fuck yeah! Or at least some form of riot grrrl band.

I sampled their music via YouTube and found a song of theirs that was rather interesting and sounded a bit like it was inspired by Bikini Kill.

I got really excited for the prospect of seeing a live riot grrrl band in Jerusalem, which very rarely or never happens. So I wore my Bikini Kill t-shirt and sort of fantasized about the Russian band going onstage, playing some of their original material, and then spotting me with my shirt and saying “This next song is dedicated to the badass chick with the Bikini Kill tee,” and break into a cover of “New Radio” or “Rebel Girl.”

But that didn’t happen. Not even close. The first song they played was the one I sampled from YouTube, and it was their only acceptable, slightly riot grrrl-y song. The rest of their show was made of a medley of muddied-down songs that sounded nothing like punk, or even music for that matter. The organizers may have referred to it as punk, but I refer to it as WTF?!

My husband was suffering and said “Punk is not complicated. Verse, chorus, verse. You don’t even need much technical talent. Hell, WE were better than that!” He was referring to our Mistress Distress project back in 2012. And yes, compared to last night’s show, we weren’t half bad.

Needless to say, I was utterly disappointed, considering my fantasy of earlier that day. I mean, they didn’t even have to cover a Bikini Kill song. They could have just played a few more songs that sounded more like their first one. That would have been good enough.

I’m still looking for a riot grrrl scene in Jerusalem, so when a band like that comes to town, it’s only natural that I get my hopes up way too fucking high.

Peace, love and sigh…

Of Men and Eagles

Recently, Bust Magazine posted this piece about “manspreading” – the habit that some men have of spreading their legs so wide on public transit that they sometimes take up two seats.

The point that the article makes is strong and I agree with most of it. I, too, have suffered the wrath of men’s long legs on buses, pushing me to the edge of my seat and forcing me to squish up against one of the windows on the bus.

However, the video that they posted shows that the man is not only spreading his legs but also takes up an extra seat by putting his bag on it. That, my friends, has nothing to do with manspreading.

I think it’s a question of communication between people and how it differs from region to region, country to country, depending on people’s mentality in that particular place. I’m just speaking from my own personal experience in Montreal, Canada and Jerusalem, Israel – two separate countries, two completely different mentalities.

For example, in Montreal, if a dude puts his bag on the seat next to him, chances are people will just let that pass because actually approaching a stranger and asking him to move his bag so that you can sit is simply not something that you do (unless you’re an Israeli like me or you got guts). The man is a stranger. You do not talk to strangers. You don’t even acknowledge their presence. I remember riding the bus or the metro in Canada, people would not even make the slightest eye contact. Everyone would suddenly find their shoes extremely fascinating and stare at them during the entire ride. Same thing would happen on elevators.

In Israel, however, people don’t give a shit. If you are sitting on the bus with your bag taking up an extra seat, nobody would have a problem coming up to you and asking you to move your bag. Some may even do it politely: “Is this seat taken?” or “May I sit here?” That’s because the mentality in Israel says that there is no such thing as personal space and there is certainly no such thing as “object” space and if you are riding with heavy ass luggage, you should have stored your bag in the luggage compartment or on yourself.

This issue of no personal space is indeed a problem when it comes to actual manspreading when bags are not involved. So yes, squishing up on windows is wont to happen in Israel, too.

Another thing, I’ve noticed that if a man is manspreading, it may not necessarily be because his balls are too big, but rather because his legs are too long. That is something I’ve noticed with my husband when we ride on the bus. My husband is a tall dude, probably over 180 cm, and his legs definitely reflect that. His femur is twice the size of mine. So when we sit on the bus, it’s rare to find a seat where the seat in front of us is far enough for my man to sit comfortably without manspreading his way to a split. Maybe on the subway it’s a different issue. I guess we’ll find that out when we travel to the States in June.

The major problem in Jerusalem, and I think it’s the same in every Israeli city with a significant religious population, is that if you’re a chick and you see an orthodox dude sitting on the bus with an empty seat next to him, you should not sit next to him. The orthodox reasoning for that stupid more is that if a woman sits next to a man and they are not married, a hard-on may occur and that is a sin.

Now, most buses in Jerusalem have a sign that reads “Every passenger is entitled to sit where they choose (unless in places marked for people with physical disabilities). Harassing a passenger on this matter may be grounds for criminal offense.” Or something along those lines. So technically, you can play the dumb tourist and sit next to the dude. He might say something, or he might just do the polite thing and go sit elsewhere or just stand up.

But there are some buses – mainly those that drive to and from settlements around Jerusalem like Beitar Eilit or Gush Etzion – that fall under the category of “Mehadrin” buses. A funny term, usually associated with dietary laws, to refer to something that is very kosher. It’s just a better way of saying that this bus is fucking segregated! That’s right, men sit in the front, and women are relegated to the back. Now THAT, my friends, is MANSPREADING!

I dare anyone in the diaspora to find a single man who can manspread so wide that he takes up half a bus, and sends all women to the very back. You can’t. And Mehadrin buses or Mehadrin subways do not exist in the diaspora.

Therein lies the real problem. Men will be men living in a by-men-for-men world and will keep manspreading to their hearts’ content, not that I’m justifying it or anything. But the real problem, where I come from, is when men start segregating women completely. There is word that they are actually starting to do that also on international flights. El-Al is screwed.

Lucky for me, I’m married. So if my meaty metalover decides to manspread, I will have no problem stretching out my legs and put them right on top of his. I do that all the time anyway – on the bus, at a bar, on the dinner table, even when we’re home, sitting on the couch, watching TV – and it’s comfy as hell!

Peace, love and I manspread too, and with pride!