Being a Monkey.

I am in LOVE.

She is a freaking goddess.

More to come on this topic - it's something I'm working on.

32 Months.

Starbaby.

Six years later...

...and I still cry every single time I watch this. I just ordered the DVD and soundtrack CD. I'm having a Buffy-revival this month.

He sleeps like this now.

And I love it so.freaking.much.

These are the shots that make me happy.

And make me so thankful that I do what I do.

First Canvas Sold.

These two cuties are the first canvas I've sold - 16x20. I'm excited to see how it turns out! My only worry is there not being enough space to wrap around without making the head and feet disappear, but I think it will be OK. Anyone who has ordered a wrap-around canvas before feel free to speak up and let me know what you think.

We need more politicians like this.

If you are as moved (and weepy!) by that as I am, you can let Mayor Sanders know how much you appreciate his honesty and his change of heart by contacting him here.

Basking.

Cooler days are here, and I am so happy. Summer makes me feel so lazy and bloated and bored. Autumn brings me back to life, with the bite in the air and the smell of chimney smoke from the farm across the road, pumpkin carving and Christmas lists, homemade apple crumble and soups four nights out of seven. There is something about the crackle of multi-colored leaves under my feet that makes my heart happy.

Ashes, ashes....

.... we all fall down.

Seriously, this couch.

It's getting a little silly!

Most definitely NSFW.

But, w.t.f.


I get the theory behind it, yeah. But the video that plays on the page? Are you kidding me?

Yes, a plastic vagina in a flashlight case is SUCH a turn on to women. Just look at the way they moan over it! Sticking a dildo in it it is the HEIGHT of arousal! Three naked chicks with three fake vaginas is every women's ultimate fantasy!

Honestly. The people who create and market these things kill me. I find myself wondering when they last had contact with this thing called reality.

More on Bill Maher's rant against breastfeeding.

At Feministing.

Weirdest Celebrity Crush

Mine belongs to one Noel Fielding, or more specifically, Noel Fielding as Vince Noir in the hilarious comedy that is The Mighty Boosh.




Who's yours?

Just call me Chester.

I read Jezebel a lot. It normally provides good snark on celebrities and assorted other people in the public eye who do things that make me want to laugh at them. Occasionally, they will also do a really good piece on issues important to women.

But sometimes, I really have to wonder about a lot of the commenters. Today, there was a clip featuring Bill Maher doing his bit on how breastfeeding in public is so gross and just like masturbating. Whatever, he's a douche. Duh. However, this is a sampling of some of the comments that followed that literally made me want to bang my head against a wall (bolding is mine):

Ew even more disgusting is the thought of the tiny hand clutching your breast, like in the still. ICK

---

Last semester I took an Anthropology class.. The prof. was a real wackjob..
She was like:

I know a boy who was breastfed until he was 7 years of age and he is perfect and healthy. The little SOB even got breast milk in his bottle to take to school..

I swear I am not making this up! LMAO.. I couldn't understand how the mom was still producing milk.

I told the Prof. that he is either a horny undercover gay, secretly fantasizing about momma, or a Serial Killer in training..
I figured it was her kid and that she claimed it was a friend's kid after our negative reactions.

And yes, Homegirl is a Psychologist! I still think of her and chuckle.. :-)

---


I have absolutely no problem with women who breastfeed in public. But when the kid is like 3 or 4 it becomes disturbing for the simple reason that I have memories from that age, so these kids are going to remember being breast feed. What normal adult is going to want that memory!! Way to foster a ediple complex!! (sorry for my badn spelling!)

---

I love my breasts, and am one of those freaks who can have an orgasm by nipple stimulation alone.

That said, imagining a baby sucking on them kind of freaks me out.

And I agree with the general sentiment here: breastfeed in public all you want, but be discreet.

---

Omg the thought of a baby latched on to my breast DISGUSTS ME. It seriously sends chills up my spine.

---

I agree...what is the big deal? It's completely natural. If you can allow a man to do what he pleases with them, why can't a baby get the nutrients he needs? I think being appropriately covered with a blanket is necessary in public, but it always confuses me that women find it "gross," considering the other bizarre and far grosser things we allow happen to our bodies. Definitely not an advocate of breast-feeding past eighteen months or so, because that's just creepy and molester-like, but it IS true that it's the best nutrition and meal for babies. It's always on tap, it's easy, why not do it? Plus, it's supposed to be very bonding for mother and baby.

It's like...I just...complete incomprehension on my part. These are supposed to be liberal, forward thinking, feminist women! According to these comments, I am a creepy, disgusting child molester who is raising an in the closet serial killer with an Oedipal complex.

Get fucking real.

I am so tired of comments like these that I don't even think I have the energy to try to educate any more. It's just, how many times can you say radical lactivists speak for me as a breastfeeding mama in about the same way those crazy- ass PETA people speak for me as a vegetarian? How many times can I explain that, while I chose to not use a blanket most of the time, I was (and am, on the rare occasion I still do it) a very discreet public nurser - I can very nearly guarantee the worst someone has ever seen when I was nursing Davey was a little side boob or some stretchmarked belly. How often do I need to defend my choice to continue breastfeeding even though he's almost three because it is still mutually beneficial to the both of us? How else can I tell you that the "stretched and saggy tits" are worth it because how my boobs look isn't quite as important to me as feeding and nurturing my child?

GOD. Today was the first day in a long time I have actually been bothered by other people's opinions on this because it was on a site that I normally equate with intelligence and tolerance. It's one thing when some wank trolls a blog or a news article and gets all, "Breastfeeding is like peeing in public and should be confined to bathrooms and don't these women have any shame!" But it's another thing altogether when it comes from grown women whose opinions you've generally respected, if not always agreed with.

I just.don't.understand why women can't be more supportive of each other's CHOICES. I get feeling a little squicked out by seeing a (completely oversexualized) breast being used for its intended purpose, but do we really need all this "OMG that's so gross, my boobs are for sex, a man latched on is OK, but never a baby!11!" bullshit. Damn. It disappoints me right to the core.

So, last week I picked up an Argos (similar to Sears) catalogue while we were in town. I thought I'd look through it and get a few ideas for Christmas.

Well.

Davey has become insanely obsessed with it. About ten times a day, he comes up to you with this huge, fat catalogue in his arms, going, "Book? Book?" He likes to sit on our laps with it, and have us flip through the pages so he can look at everything. If we are not available, he will lug it over to the couch or the chair, and plop it on his lap, where he proceeds to name everything he recognizes, especially in the toy section. As I am typing this, I hear, "Shrek. Thomas. Choo-choo. Dooo-ra. Shrek. Monkey! Oo-oo-oo! Dooo-ra. Donkey? Cat! Shhman (= Simpsons.) Man! (= Spiderman) Water? Pooh-beyah? Tigger! Pooh-beyah! Poooooh."

It is so very, very, painfully cute.

After days of dragging this thing around, you should see the state of it. And you can! Because I took pictures.

A Passage of Right.

SuperMom or SuperFeminist? Do I Have to Choose?

There are days I really struggle with aligning myself with feminism, as it exists today. It is hard for me to reconcile my desire to be a good mother and wife because I enjoy it and derive pleasure from it with this apparent ideal of a "good" feminist - a woman who scorns men in general, who sees the evil hand of patriarchy in every detail of modern life, who is career driven, who does not need marriage or children. And I wonder, where does that leave me?


Do I care less about women's issues because I embrace motherhood? Do I forego my right to call myself a feminist because breastfeeding rights mean as much to me as the fight to stop the objectification of women? Do I betray the sisterhood by loving my husband and my son and taking pride in my ability to care for them, to teach them to see things from a strong woman's point of view, to help shape them into better human beings, as they do me?

I choose to stay home with my son during the week because I did not want to miss out on these fleeting early years, where he is growing and changing and becoming every minute of every day. I work on the weekends for a little extra cash - the money we need for groceries and transport, etc. It also allows me to get away for a few hours every weekend and be someone who is not a mother or a wife, but just a person at a job. No one forced me to choose this. There was no preconceived notion that I, as his mother, would be the one to stay home and care for him. If I had been in a job making significantly more than my husband, it would've been him working a part-time weekend job instead of me. We both feel there are innumerable benefits in one parent staying home with their child for at least the first few years, but we weren't too picky about which parent it was. Our decision made financial sense, and it was one we were both at peace with.

Granted, I did not have a career I had worked long and hard for to give up, and I am sure that made a big difference. But my point is, it is a CHOICE I made for both myself and our family.

My days are spent hanging out with my kid, taking pictures, creating art, pondering over many of the questions I have in regards to my life and what it all means in the grand scheme of things, reading feminist blogs, reading some books for fun and some books for enrichment, and talking over all these things with my husband. There is no rush to clean the house. Sometimes the dishes sit. I rarely dust. I sweep every day, but only because if I didn't, the house would be awash in a sea of Sam and Molly hair. I spend too much time blog-hopping and not enough time folding and putting away laundry. I spend untold hours on Photoshop after a particularly productive photo session and feed my family veggie burgers and oven fries for dinner. Some days I don't even get out of my pajamas, because I'm too busy doing whatever else.

After 29 years, I finally know what I want to be when I grow up. Luckily, photography affords me an opportunity for both creative and financial fulfillment. It also means I'm not slaving away for 80 hours a week for a mega-corp who couldn't give two shits about me or my family or our individual needs. And even though this will hopefully be my main means of financial gain, it's more about the spiritual and emotional fulfillment I get from creating lasting memories out of fleeting moments. So, even were I forced to give up the money making aspect, I would still have what truly makes me happy - I guess in this way my experience isn't comparable to someone who has put many years and a lot of hard work into, say, making partner at a firm.

STILL.

Does this mean my feminist card should be revoked? It's been my understanding all along that feminism = equal choice and opportunity for men and women. Am I wrong? Yes, I know that there are still very many injustices being perpetuated against women the world over simply because of their sex, but I guess I don't see where my marriage/birthing/lack-of-career should come into it. I can give my husband a blowjob at night and still campaign against female genital mutilation the next morning. I can breastfeed my son at lunchtime and still debate the pornification of our culture and the impact it has on both women and men in today's world after dinner. I can cook a meal, bake cookies, give my son a bath, and wash the dishes, all while thinking furiously about an article I've read suggesting that women "marry down" in order to protect themselves from being shafted in their relationships, and wondering how or even if that applies to my own personal life.

So, you see, I don't need to be ONLY a mother or ONLY a wife or ONLY a feminist. I can easily be all three. Well, perhaps not "easily"; as I've said, it seems to be becoming more and more difficult to reconcile all three into one acceptable package, at least where many feminists themselves are concerned. I actually wonder if such a thing as "family friendly feminism" exists, and if so, where the hell I might find it, because it is certainly eluding me in the circles I'm currently travelling, and I just find that sad.

My love for Seth Green knows no bounds.

Camera Phone Goodness.

Woke up at 6:45 a.m., got to work by 8 a.m., dealt with tons of guests arriving early unexpectedly, off at 3 p.m., home by 3:30 p.m., nap at 4 p.m.

This? This was the best part of my whole day.

Another tip for today.

When you put a couple of beers in the freezer to chill while you eat dinner, try to remember to take them out before THREE HOURS have passed.

Otherwise, this is what you get.

The Birthing Couch takes on a whole new meaning.

Alternate title: Why the rip in my couch just keeps getting bigger.

Pastors need a little self-lovin', too!

I was talking to my brother last night. He's staying at my grandparents for a while, helping them out with some things and just kind of hanging out until he re-enlists in the Reserves. He decided to go to church with them last Sunday, and told me the following story:

It's time for Sunday morning service to start, but the pastor is nowhere to be found. One of the men in the church is kind of fumbling around on stage, waiting for him to show up, but he's just completely MIA. After many awkward moments of shuffling and silence, he finally turns up and walks to the pulpit. He clears his throat.

"We had a little problem in the Children's Church," he says.

"The workers were looking at something over at the side with their backs turned to the kids, when all of the sudden they heard laughing. They looked over at them and there was PORN! on the DVD player. Porn!"

"Now, I don't know why someone would do this. I ain't a violent man, but I could just wring somebody's neck right now. I guess some ol' sinner done snuck in there this week and replaced the kids' DVD with that porn one."

--

Of course, the congregation was outraged, and in the meantime, my brother was about to crack a rib trying not to laugh. Because y'all, seriously. Someone snuck in and replaced a kids' show with a porn DVD? Just because? Just walked on in off the street and no one noticed?

I think we all know what really happened.

I think the youth pastor or one of the other church workers found himself alone with the only DVD player in the church and decided to have himself some....private time. I'm guessing he got disturbed or distracted somehow and forgot all about that DVD being in there until a roomful of kids cracked their asses up over it. Embarassing!

My grandma later asked me if J told me about it, and I said yes. She said, "They ought to fingerprint all those boys up there!"

I don't know if she was serious or not, so I just laughed it off.

So, today's lesson? If you're going to indulge in a little adult entertainment in a place where little people often congregate, remember to take the DVD out!

New Website.

The front page of my new site is up and running after months of procrastination and laziness.

http://www.cassiefox.net/

I hope to have all the galleries finished along with the slideshow on the main page by tomorrow night, so watch this space!

Today I made a Flickr break.

Flickr truly is like crack. I check it so many times a day - like, you would totally laugh if I told you how many times I look at it, how many times I click "Your Photos" to see if anyone has commented on them, how many times I look at my ridiculously talented Contacts list and feel a mixture of pride and envy.

I have learned so much there. In the last year, I have seen my photography skills grow exponentially and my own style develop in ways I never foresaw. Much of that is down to the incredible encouragement of artists on Flickr who have taken time to comment and tell me what they liked and what they didn't.

But.

I have noticed a disturbing trend within myself over the last month or so. When I shoot something, I think, "I wonder if this will get many comments?" When I am editing, I think, "I bet no one will like this." When I am writing something to accompany an image, I think, "I wonder if anyone will get this."

It's stopped being about the creating, and has become all about performing for the crowd.

It's so silly to feel let down if no one comments on an image I love. I don't want to be a slave to other people's reactions, and that is how I'm feeling right now. I'm not making art for the sake of the art, or because it's what my soul needs to do. Recently I've been making art because I crave the adoration, the accolades, the applause. And I do NOT want to be that person.

So, I have made all photos Private and said a temporary (and surprisingly emotional) good-bye.

I think I will be able to visit my contacts streams and comment more frequently knowing I am expecting absolutely nothing in return. And hopefully, this will free me up to be more open in my art - because I will be doing it for me, and for no one else.

Sailing On.

pieces of me piled together
on the shore of my subconcious

always remembering but never thinking
about the details of the day

about the bright white clouds that
mingled with the smoke

about the blue sky everyone kept
cringing up at

about the six hour journey from normality
to irrevocable change

about the grey faces coming at me
on a bus I jumped just to get out of town

about the bleeding lady on the ground some
guy tripped over as he ran away

about the heat and the way I had to tie
up my black turtleneck to get some air

about Louie and holding his hand and
wondering if cheating counts at the end of the world

about running mascara and crazy hair
everywhere and feeling puke in the back of your throat

about a city dying in front of my eyes for months
and months and me dying inside

about tributes and memorials and faces on
every corner and every post

about no escape and no relief and nothing
but silent oppression breathed in every day

about leaving, getting out, starting over and
learning to live with it all

about growing and accepting and still
raging and never forgetting

about keeping it all next to my heart and
remembering and sailing on