Losing hours: July 2010

To my delight, one of my papers, GEND306: Gender, Work and Consumer Culture, awards 25% of its mark based on a 'research journal'. This journal is, for all intents and purposes, really just a glorified scrapbook, in which I can gather any article, picture, anecdote, advertisement or whatever pertaining to gender, work or consumer culture, and can record my passing thoughts on labour, ''the" "patriarchy" and so forth. It is going to be GREAT. Seeing as pretty much everything ever in the world pertains to one of these things, I shall have to be rather selective about what to put in my journal. My artistic skills are somewhat lacking unfortunately, so I'll probably have to resort to Google Images (trademark) searches of "briefcase" "woman and vacuum cleaner" et cetera, et cetera, to bulk out the book.
If anyone comes across anything at all that I could include in my log, please send it my way.
Since I have become more actively attuned to issues of gendered labour and consumption for the purposes of scrapbooking (for about two weeks), so many things have popped up, holding signs with ''RELEVANT! RELEVANT!" all over them.
Including:

MAC and Rodarte releasing a clothing and make-up line inspired by the maquilladora workers in Juarez, Mexico. Lipsticks with names like "nightwalker" and "factory", eyeshadow called "bordertown". Tasteful. Conveniently, today I saw a (rather dated) documentary on women in Juarez, called Performing the Border. The complete absence of rights for factory workers and the tales of murder, dismemberment and rape rather renewed my desire to never buy first-hand clothing. But if not clothes, why make up? I still spend my money on extremely superfluous things, though not to the extent of some people I know ($400 coat, anyone?). I suppose something is better than nothing though. I have to reassure myself somehow.

When I think about family dinners and gatherings, the various Christmases and Easters of my childhood, the one detail I always recall is how, having eaten, the women at the table get up first, followed more hesitantly by the girls, and begin to clear and wash dishes, while the men and boys remain seated and think nothing of it.
Reminds me of this:

I help clear and offer to wash up out of politeness, but it was certainly also a compulsory and obviously gendered practice in my home. I wonder if my uncle or cousins or brother ever felt guilty or inclined to get up also. Most nights after dinner I recall being made to serve fruit or dessert to my father and (younger) brother, and fetching napkins to spread over their knees like I was their fucking servant. A large part of this kind of activity can be blamed on my father's misogynistic Italian upbringing, of course. But I know that this Christmas, it will still be my mother and I who clear the table and bring out the pudding. At least I eventually got old enough to tell little bro and dad to fucking get their own damn napkins, thanks.

In better news, I found a new blog: http://thehandmirror.blogspot.com/