ebrink_wall_4

=__Gender__=

media type="youtube" key="KbG1t46_jmw" http://youtube.com/watch?v=KbG1t46_jmw

These following films attempt to push comedy along with the making fun of women. These kinds of videos are some of the factors that to this day are allowing it to be ok to laugh at womens rights. When really this is a problem that is allowing americans to continue exploting women with unfairness.

media type="custom" key="73046" http://glumbert.com/media/women

media type="custom" key="73048" http://glumbert.com/media/womendrive

Wrong, and unfortunatly sometimes common perceptions of women vs. men today:

http://www.cnr.edu/home/bmcmanus/gender.gif

"But you wasn't a preacher," Casy insisted. "A girl was just a girl to you. They wasn't nothin' to you. But to me they was holy vessels. I was savin' their sould. An' here with all that responsibility on me I'd just get'em frothin' with the Holy Sperit, an' then I'd take 'em out in the grass." - John Steinbeck (Pg. 22; __The Grapes of Wrath__)

http://www.nsf.gov/od/lpa/news/03/images/doctorates_gender.jpg A chart showing how throughout the years, male domination ofdoctorates awarded is constant.

A poem by Anne Sexton

The Fortress

//while taking a nap with Linda//

Under the pink quilted covers I hold the pulse that counts your blood. I think the woods outdoors are half asleep, left over from summer like a stack of books after a flood, left over like those promises I never keep. On the right, the scrub pine tree waits like a fruit stone holding up bunches of tufted broccoli.

We watch the wind from our square bed. I press down my index finger -- half in jest, half in dread -- on the brown mole under your left eye, inherited from my right cheek: a spot of danger where a bewitched worm ate its way through our soul in search of beauty. My child, since July the leaves has been fed secretly from a pool of beet-red dye.

And sometimes they are battle green with trunks as wet as hunters' boots, smacked hard by the wind, clean as oilskins. No, the wind's not off the ocean. Yes, it cried in your room like a wolf and your pony tail hurt you. That was a long time ago. The wind rolled the tide like a dying woman. She wouldn't sleep, she rolled there all night, grunting and sighing.

Darling, life is not in my hands; life with its terrible changes will take you, bombs or glands, your own child at your breat, your own house on your land. Outside the bittersweet turns orange. Before she died, my mother and I picked those fat branches, finding orange nipples on the gray wire strands. We weeded the forest, curing trees like cripples.

Your feet thump-thump against my back and you whisper to yourself. Child, what are you wishing? What pack are you making? What mouse runs between your eyes? What ark can I fill for you when the world goes wild? The woods are underwater, their weeds are shaking in the tide; birches like zebra fish flash by in a pack. Child, I cannot promise that you will get your wish.

I can not promise very much. I give you the images I know. Lie still with me and watch. A pheasant moves by like a seal, pulled through the mulch by his thick white collar. He's on show like a clown. He drags a beige feather that he removed, one time, from an old lady's hat. We laugh and we touch. I promise you love. Time will not take away that.


 * ->Before Roger Chillingworth could answer, they heard the clear, wild laughter of a young child's voice, proceeding from the adjacent burial-ground. Looking instinctively from the open window, --for it was summer-time,--the minister beheld Hester Prynne and little Pearl passing along the footpath that traversed the inclosure. Pearl looked as beautiful as the day, but was in one of those moods to perverse merriment which, whenever they occured, seemed to remove her Entirely out of the sphere of sympathy or human contact. She now skipped irreverently from one grave to another; until, coming to the broad, flat, armorial tombstone of a departed worthy,--perhaps of Isaac Johnson himself,--she began to dance upon it. In reply to her mother's command and entreaty that she would behave more decorously, little Pearl paused to gather the prickly burrs from a tall burdock, which grew beside the tomb. Taking a handful of these, she arranged them along the lines of the scarlet letter that decorated the maternal bosom, to which the burrs, as their nature was, tenaciously adhered. Hester did not pluck them off. ||
 * - Nathaniel Hawthorne (Pg. 116-117; __The Scarlet Letter__) ||

->"I wonder if mother will ask me what it means!" thought Pearl. -> Just then, she heard her mother's voice, and, flitting along as lightly as one of the little sea-birds, appeared before Hester Prynne, dancing, laughing, and pointing her finger to the ornament upon her bosom. -> "My little Pearl," said Hester, after a moment's silence, "the green letter, and on thy childish bosom, has no purport. But dost thou know, my child, what this letter means which thy mother is doomed to wear?" ->"Yes, mother," said the child. "It is the great letter A. Thou hast taught it me in the horn-book." -> Hester looked steadily into her little face; but, though there was that singular expression which she had so often remarked in her black eyes, she could not satisfy herself whether Pearl really attached any meaning to the symbol. She felt a morbid desire to ascertain the point. -> "Dost thou know, child, wherefore thy mother wears this letter?" ->"Truly do I!" answered Pearl, looking brightly into her mother's face. "It is for the same reason that the minister keeps his is hand over his heart!" -> "And what reason is that?" asked Hester, half smiling at the absurd incongruity of the child's observation; but, on second thoughts, turning pale. "What has the letter to do with any heart, save mine?" -> "Nay, mother, I have told all I know," said Pearl, more seriously than she was wont to speak. "Ask yonder old man whom thou hast been talking with! It may be he can tell. But in good earnest now, mother dear, what does this scarlet letter mean?and why dost thou wear it on thy bosom?--and why does the minister keep his hand over his heart?" -> She took her mother's hand in both her own, and gazed into her eyes with an earnestness that was seldom seen in her wild and capricious character. The thought occurred to Hester, that the child might really be seeking to approach her with childlike confidence, and doing what she could, and as intelligently as she knew how, to establish a meeting-point of sympathy. It showed Pearl in an unwonted aspect. Heretofore, the mother, while loving her child with the intensity of a sole affection, had schooled herself to hope for little other return than the waywardness of an April breeze; which spends its time in airy sport, and has its gusts of inexplicable passion, and is petulant in its best of moods, and chills oftener than caresses you, when you take it to your bosom; in requital of which misdemeanours, it will sometimes, of its own vague purpose, kiss your cheek with a kind of doubtfulness, and play gently with your hair, and then begone about its other idle business, leaving a dreamy pleasure at your heart. ||
 * ->Her final employment was to gather sea-weed, of various kinds, and make herself a scarf, or mantle, and a headdress, and thus assume the aspect of a little mermaid. She inherited her mother's gift for devising drapery and costume. As the last touch to her mermaid's garb, Pearl took some eel-grass, and imitated, as best she could, on her own bosom, the decoration with which she was so familiar on her mother's. A letter,-the letter A,but freshly green, instead of scarlet! The child bent her chin upon her breast, and contemplated this device with strange interest; even as if the one only thing for which she had been sent, into the world was to make out its hidden import.
 * - Nathaniel Hawthorne (Pg. 155-157; __The Scarlet Letter__) ||

-> Little Pearl, meanwhile, had quitted her mother's side, and was playing at her own will about the market-place. She made the sombre crowd cheerful by her erratic and glistening ray; even as a bird of bright plumage illuminates a whole tree of dusky foliage by darting to and fro, half seen and half concealed, amid the twilight of the clustering leaves. She had an undulating, but, oftentimes, a sharp and irregular movement. It indicated the restless vivacity of her spirit, which to-day was doubly indefatigable in its tiptoe dance, because it was played upon and vibrated with her mother's disquietude. Whenever Pearl saw any thing to excite her ever active and wandering curiosity, she flew thitherward, and, as we might say, seized upon that man or thing as her own property, so far as she desired it; but without yielding the minutest degree of control over her motions in requital. The Puritans looked on, and, if they smiled, were none the less inclined to pronounce the child a demon offspring, from the indescribable charm of beauty and eccentricity that shone through her little figure, and sparkled with its activity. She ran and looked the wild Indian in the face; and he grew conscious of a nature wilder than his own. Thence, with native audacity, but still with a reserve as characteristic, she flew into the midst of a group of mariners, the swarthy-cheeked wild men of the ocean, as the Indians were of the land; and they gazed wonderingly and admiringly at Pearl, as if a flake of the sea-foam had taken the shape of a little maid, and were gifted with a soul of the sea-fire, that flashes beneath the prow in the night-time. -> One of these seafaring men-the shipmaster, indeed, who had spoken to Hester Prynne-was so smitten with Pearl's aspect, that he attempted to lay hands upon her, with purpose to snatch a kiss. Finding it as impossible to touch her as to catch a humming-bird in the air, he took from his hat the gold chain that was twisted about it, and threw it to the child. Pearl immediately twined it around her neck and waist, with such happy skill, that, once seen there, it became a part of her, and it was difficult to imagine her without it. ||
 * There was a sense within her,-too ill-defined to be made a thought, but weighing heavily on her mind,-that her whole orb of life, both before and after, was connected with this spot, as with the one point that gave it unity.
 * - Nathaniel Hawthorne (Pg. 212; __The Scarlet Letter__) ||


 * Resources:**

http://youtube.com/watch?v=KbG1t46_jmw http://glumbert.com/media/women http://glumbert.com/media/womendrive http://www.cnr.edu/home/bmcmanus/gender.gif http://www.nsf.gov/od/lpa/news/03/images/doctorates_gender.jpg Poem (The Fortress); By: [|Anne Sexton] Book Excerpt(s); By: [|Nathaniel Hawthorne] Book Excerpt(s); By: [|John Steinbeck]


 * Links Back:**

Elliott Reflection Four

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