Jeremy's Ramblings, Babblings, and Other Pretentious Bullshit.
Monday, February 14, 2005
I'm really tired (literally) of people thinking that, because I'm a man, I am stronger than women. A few minutes ago, my manager asked all of the guys in the department to help him carry a pile of computers and monitors from the far end of the parking lot, up a flight of stairs and to the other side of the office. I was given two computers, stacked on top of each other, and was teased all the way.
Now, I have this to say about the jests that were made (the two most popular being "too much for you?" and handing me very small objects): Fucking duh! I've been scrawny most of my life, and judging by my family history, I'll be scrawny for the rest of it. Yes, it is hard for me to lift heavy objects, including dance partners. Yes, I can bench about 65 pounds on a good day. Yes, I took a weights class in high school with several women and found out that most of them were stronger than me. Yes, my girlfriend could beat me up if she had the inclination. You know this, and yet you still ask me to carry heavy objects.
It's as obvious as sunlight that there are women in my department that could do a much better job of lifting and carrying objects than I could. And yet, I was asked. Why is that? Two words: Pe nis. There's this unusual belief that testosterone gives you extra strength, when it really just gives you extra appreciation for sexual innuendo, extra attraction to lesbians and extra inclination to go "WOOO!" while pumping your fist in the air.
Now my arms are sore (to add to my already sore neck and back from a "Rocky Horror Show" audition this past weekend that kicked my butt), I want to vomit and my shakiness is making typing, eating and drinking difficult. I know that this is basically a scrawny kid crying, but I just feel that in the 21st century, we should know better than to ask guys to do all the heavy work simply because they're guys. We should ask the strongest people, regardless of gender, to do the hard labor, and leave the wimpy people to do what we do best: simper and whine like the sissies that we are.
On a random topic jump, I cannot wait to get back to working at Hunger Artists Theatre again. Not that I don't like the theatre where I'm at right now, I just want to get back to my family. I saw their amazing production of "Othello" again last night and helped take down their set. The smell of the bathrooms took me back to some wonderful memories of last summer and fall (the five most glorious months I've spent doing theatre), and I was reminded of what great theatre is. I entered the dirty theatre, with ladders propped up against one wall. And for two and a half hours, I was suddenly not in a Fullerton business park with meth labs and loud motorcyclists. I was on the isle of Cyprus, watching the moor of Venice being deceived into killing his wife by his best friend.
It was an exceedingly well-acted, well-lit, well-directed production that completely captivated me and demanded my attention (which is hard to do with me when it comes to Shakespeare). After seeing "The Clean House" at South Coast Rep and doing "Joseph...", I was surrounded by theatre that was awash with decent budgets, great sets and hundred-seat-plus houses. Returning to Hunger reminded me that you can have fifty seats, three flats, two platforms and costumes straight from the actors' wardrobes, and still have phenomenal theatre.
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