why men should love sex and the city

First of all, let me just say that I realize most people don't consider "sex and the city" and "conversation to be taken seriously" to be complimentary terms. But hear me out.

I went to see the sequel this afternoon, despite every review that warned me otherwise. I knew what to expect: shallow dialogue, shameless slow-motion shots of ripped men in speedos, and wildly inappropriate fashion choices. I was not dissapointed.

However, the movie for me did come back to an underlying staple of the franchises' progression since about the 4th season: the stability of the male counterparts. Without having to include a spoiler alert, a conflict arises between Carrie and Big that threatens their relationship. However, the resolution of this conflict proves once again that, more often than their female counterparts, the husbands of satc are the ones to learn the real lessons from.

Take Steve, for example. Despite his one-time marital infidelity, he proves to be a loyal and loving husband who tells Miranda what she needs to hear, even when she's at her most stubborn. He actively fights to live up to his fatherly duty, and is just overall a lovable dude.

Harry, Charlotte's 2nd husband, proves just as admirable. Unlike her first toolbag husband, he treats her infertility as a shared challenge and balances adoption with supporting his wife's dream of a family. He's not afraid to be himself, but when Charlotte pesters him with her sometimes pretentious protection of the perfect park avenue lifestyle, he finds compromises that don't just let her steamroll his personality.

Throughout the show the fantastic 4 share horror stories of bad relationships over endless bowls of rice pudding. But Carrie, despite all she did to advance the open dialogue of women's sexuality, too often refuses to give up aspects of her own identity while expecting her leading man to give up his. Ironically, the men who survived this show's entourage of potential partners are the ones who are able to find the balance of ever after and every day. Sure they sit naked on the white furniture or won't let you eat orange slices in bed. But at the end of the day, they're the ones who made it through the gauntlet and we would be better women for having loved them.

As a tangent, I could write pages about the cultural implications of the film on our opinions of Muslim women, but that's for another day...

the f word

If you haven't figured it out yet, I use the f word a lot. In casual conversation, in arguments, even in formal speeches. Yep, that's right, I'm a feminist. This blog is actually something I eventually want to use as more of a focused space to tackle the 21st century issues of feminism. (Stay tuned this summer for a full critique of The Feminist Mystique.)

In a society where someone with ovaries can vote, play football, sit in the Supreme Court, and legally plan their childbirths, I am still surprised when I come across barriers to positions, pay or power simply because I am a woman. Well not surprised really, but more just disappointed. And usually indignant, especially if you try to convince me that's the way things should stay.

But for 2 hours every week, I still have not figured out how to reconcile my passion for women's issues with my surroundings: in my church pew. I've heard all the reasons in the book why women are still limited in the church; we should "submit" to our spiritual husbands, it wasn't culturally acceptable in Biblical times, women have "different gifts", blah blah blah. I even restrained myself once from punching a college peer who told me he just "didn't trust the spiritual guidance of a woman because it would be too emotionally unstable." I combat this deep-seeded spiritual sexism by trying to contribute to communities that actively encourage women's leadership, from the pastoral position on down. The discrimination and exclusion of women and homosexuals in the Christian church seem to be two of the few hot topics that we use snippet verses to defend and ignore the cultural relativism we apply to most all other passages. In a broken world with broken people, I've always taken comfort to know that in heaven we will all be walking the same golden streets and watching the same big-screen tv, regardless of race, gender, class, or self-proclaimed righteousness. We've all fucked up, but are all equally forgiven.

Recently I realized that my new church in Baltimore still works under these old assumptions. In a community focused on racial and socioeconomic reconciliation, it saddened me to learn that "Biblically" women are not intended for leadership. Sure, they have a women's deacon committee and all that jazz to "honor the contributions of women when the men just can't figure it out," (actual quote from the pastor), but at the end of the day, not allowing women access to key leadership roles is just as damaging as banishing us to a separate tent outside town for 7 days out of each month. In fact, one columnist recently suggested that recent abuse within the church could be solved by allowing women into the Catholic diocese.

I haven't decided yet if this is a deal-breaker for me. But it's a heart breaker, to say the least.

a powerful word

In the vein of Alyssa's latest theme of becoming real adults, I had my first "real" adult vocabulary experience:

I said a decision was irresponsible.

Now don't worry, it's not anything my mother would disapprove of. But the word just slipped out, in a normal conversation, in a tone that said I no longer needed an adult to tell me what I should be doing with my time. And I'm even a person that has always prided myself on knowing the "right" thing to do. But there's something about that word, something frumpy almost. It carries a connotation of wasteful selfishness. It drips off your tongue, loathing the unfortunate soul it is uttered upon.

I also have no doubt I have many more irresponsible moments to look forward to.