Spot The Looney: Riot Grrrl

Walking into Spot the Looney in a grimy cheesed yellow, a yellow normally associated with the American way of nutrition, right at the grey hour of noon. The skin-tight black dress hides beneath the length of her black hooded wool sweater and a denim jacket circa 1983. Her youth, red-stained lips, and blued bangs become vibrant in the Sunday drunken crowd. No need even try spotting the looney, there’s too many. Yet, none at all. Okay let’s not be too humble here, a couple. Forgive me name, for my doubt. Middle-aged thin punk men don’t even hesitate to hold back overly making eye contact. Okay, time to have a task to do- this is becoming uncomfortable. Beer, yes, let’s buy a beer. There is no sense of the weight of the eyes being lifted. Hurry with the drinks please. Repeat and change location. He talks more like a man, more like my father here. The conversation is uninhibited and open-minded, yet, in many cases misunderstood or even ignored. It’s a strange way of conversations, one I seem unable to fully engage myself in. I think it has to do with the intimidation (but maybe that’s all in my perverted mind) or that I am honestly just getting more out of listening than contributing. I believe he has become comfortable in this environment since 16, I don’t think this will ever change in all honesty. At least for some time, while he finds out whom he is. But I have begun to digress from explaining the experience itself. There are moments I do truly want to interject but am either completely ignored or reworded incorrectly. Only when they truly do listen they appreciate the question. It’s an extremely similar feeling and thought process to discussions in academic classes. Listen carefully, examine the background of the man, what they are trying to ask and why, and interject carefully and thoughtfully or just out of pure curiosity. I can’t deny the feeling of being bothered by the fact that so little is asked of me but so much is looked at. But, I believe that after looking past this you can listen and use your expected ignorance to learn more, more than they think you are learning (just like education…) But then I presume the question comes, how far are these men getting discussing life this way and is it truly the right way? And of course, are you at a point that you feel your may be tired of just listening and have something to give, something to say? This I do not know now, so all I am able to do is keep listening and keep learning. Sadly, playing ignorant too long will fail when you try to bring forth your higher learnt knowledge. You must be very careful when to strike attacks of unexpected wins of intelligence. Ah, all of this delicacy becomes too much for me. Then this is the time I turn to feminism. Tired of running in this circle, running in this bar, running in my head, running until I’m fucking dead.

 

Image Credit: Never Learned to Fly by Agnes Cecile

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