I think it's time for some good old-timey emorific confessional. Also, I'll be returning to earlier allusions, which would give me some kind of literary dignity and structure if I weren't so half-hearted about it.

Ready?

1) At the moment, I'm probably more of a feminist than a Marxist. Don't get me wrong; if I could choose to flip a magical switch and end gender oppression or end class oppression, I would end class oppression--hands down, no questions asked. . . but it would be like shooting myself in an artery. Possibly I just lack discipline, but I find it really hard to think about class struggle when a)I never feel safe, and b)I'm not sure that class struggle can resolve a lot of the sexist-oppression-related problems I see going on around me, and c) a lot of the guys involved in this treat me, and other women, poorly.

2) I have no idea how to modulate my responsiveness to the opinions of others. Witness the attention-whoring currently in progress.

3) As we speak, I am halfway through a volunteer task I'm undertaking for the dems in Utah county. . . yes, I know. The anarchists may now proceed to throw their tomatoes. You see, it's nice to interact with non-radicalized people who care enough to do something, and I'm interested in the campaign experience. Also, if they manage do accomplish anything about the local air quality, it will have been more than worth it.

Actually, I think I might be an anarchist. . but that's a story for another day.



You didn't think this new blog style meant I was going to avoid politics entirely, did you? How silly.