When a man sees you as pornography

In college I spent a semester creating a solo show for the tiny student gallery outside the dining hall.  I drew an entire room of eight foot tall self portraits, confronting my fat, nude body.  My inspirations were women who cared about material and weight: Diane Victor, Jenny Saville, Eva Hesse.  I remodeled my self image via the transitive property; my body was in a drawing, and the drawing was beautiful, so my body was beautiful.

I was intensely alone during the process.  In my locked studio space, I would strip and prop my macbook up on its side, then take short videos for reference material.  That way, I didn’t need anyone else — nobody to hold the camera, nobody clicking a shutter.  Later, I scrubbed through each frame until I found something to draw.  There was no outside viewer and no gaze in these moments.  I even deflected my own gaze, putting off looking at myself until after I was clothed and finished modeling.

For my final critique, I was alone in the gallery with four professors judging my work.  They asked for details of my process, and I mentioned using video as source material.  On his turn to speak, my (male) advisor was very interested in the video aspect.  He said to me, “you know, home video makes me think of amateur pornography.”  I had never thought of my work having a connection to pornography; I felt naive and immature for missing it.  Then he suggested I display my reference material alongside the portraits — how interesting that would be — maybe using projectors?

I remember saying no, no, I did not want to show my reference material while my professors discussed the best way to present it. The pressure was on: to expand my work in an interesting direction, I should get over my discomfort.

That critique stuck with me like a stone in my shoe, for half a decade.  I no longer feel naive; now I feel angry.  My work involved nudity and video but it was not in conversation with pornography.  A man (a professor, a person in a position of power) looked at my body and all on his own he connected it to sex.  He compared pictures of me to porn, then suggested I display them publicly and couldn’t understand why I wasn’t on board with the idea.  Instead of reacting with empathy to my statement on body image, he dismissed it to become a voyeur.  I created no space for the sexual male gaze in my work so he inserted it himself.

It is humiliating to have your carefully communicated thesis ignored in favor of one man’s sex thoughts.  I showed him three months of being sore and tired and covered in soot in a cold studio with a concrete floor and he told me about his boner.  I felt like a failed artist because a man looked at me and saw pornography.

This is the price of objectification.  Men expect female bodies to revolve around them; if a woman’s nudity isn’t for male consumption, it must at least be about male consumption.  It took me a long time to realize that my advisor’s reaction to my senior thesis was not my fault.  It was the fault of a world that cannot imagine a woman without a man to look at her.

Please get these assholes off facebook!

These folks were on our campus today, being foul and hateful.  While I was out counterprotesting they called me a cuntsucker and a vaglicker.  They screamed at a women in scrubs asking if she was a baby killer.  They said gay people are pedophiles and rapists.  One of them mentioned that they have 300,000 followers on Facebook.  It would be cool if that wasn’t true, but it is!

They are explicitly in violation of Facebook’s community guidelines.  Here’s their page: https://www.facebook.com/ChristianInterviews/

If everyone reports them for being dedicated to promoting hatred, maybe we can get their page taken down and deny them a platform to keep spreading hate and sharing videos of their protests.

Love y’all!

Fresh ink!

Today I gave a lady at a food truck five dollars in exchange for the most gigantic fruit salad I’ve ever seen.  After that I got a tattoo and then I had some fried Taiwanese sausages and a beer.


It’s deer molars and a quote from Margaret Atwood.  Activism is a long fucking grind — it means being inconvenienced and uncomfortable over and over again in pursuit of incremental gains.  After the 2016 election I wanted something permanent to touch down on when I feel burnt out.

I read The Handmaid’s Tale when I was about twelve.  Most of it went over my head and the rest of it scared the shit out of me.  It’s an intense book when you’re in middle school.  I remembered two things very vividly: one, Atwood describes a penis becoming aroused as a snail coming out if its shell which was possibly the first detailed description of male genitalia I’d ever encountered, and two, Offred finding don’t let the bastards grind you down scratched into the floor of her room in schoolboy latin.

The former I would rather not immortalize, but it seemed apt to put the latter on my skin.


What’s on the biologist’s bench?


It’s a mess.

Itemized list below:


1 – My one milliliter pipettor.  Very useful for moving small volumes of liquid around.  You can tell it’s mine because it has orange tape on it.  Orange tape means “do not steal, fellow lab assholes, property of AJ.”  Everyone has their own tape color that means the same thing.

2 – Razor blade.  Environmental Health and Radiation Safety doesn’t think we should have loose razor blades everywhere, but EHRS doesn’t know how incredibly handy it is to have a razor within arm’s reach at all times!  Cutting up some sample tissue?  Razor.  Opening a box?  Razor.  Hacking up a plastic test tube to make an impromptu strainer out of it?  Razor.

3 – Forceps.  You could call them tweezers, but then how would people know they cost fifty bucks a pop?  These used to be extremely sharp precision instruments, but I’ve been using them for five years and if you drop them even one time on the tips they bend into sad squiggles and have to be filed blunt.

4 – A precious opaque box.  This box used to hold sample mounting medium spiked with a fluorescent dye, but now it holds all of my light-sensitive samples while I process them.  Note fuck-off tape.

5 – The lid that goes to the test tube in the green rack labeled #13.

6 – Ubiquitous tube holder.  There are many sizes of tubes and tube holders in the lab, but the most common is one and a half milliliters, or about the size of half a pinkie finger.  You can shove the tips of your fingers into 1.5mL tubes and wiggle them around like you’re a witch, but that is not an efficient way of holding tubes, and afterwards you should probably throw the contaminated tubes away.

7 – My ten microliter pipettor.  Same as #1 except for smaller volumes; the most it can move at a time is a little droplet the size of, like, one quinoa (cooked).

8 – Empty beaker.  My bench collects empty glassware the way a nightstand collects coffee mugs, except instead of coffee this beaker used to hold formaldehyde fixed tissue samples floating in saline solution.

9 – A big tube of block solution.  Block solution is salty water with soap and fetal bovine serum in it.  Fetal bovine serum is baby cow blood that’s been spun down to remove the cells and boiled.  It’s not — look — it’s useful, okay?

10 – Beaker full of tiny, sticky glass spheres.  There used to be ethanol in the beaker covering the spheres, and I put  the foil over top of it to keep the ethanol from drying up but it evaporated anyway.  The glass beads are used to spread bacteria around on plates so they get a little bit of bacteria and bacteria food on them (sticky).  I should replace the alcohol so I don’t get an exciting microbe garden.

11 – Improvised cooler (small).  Made out of electrical tape, a piece of headphone cord, packing peanuts, a plastic cup, and some other lab stuff.  Very helpful for when you have to keep just one tube cold and you have to go five buildings down the street and you’re not carrying a gallon bucket of ice over there for one tube, that’s stupid.

12 – Disposable pipettor tips.  Biology means being super militant about not ever mixing your solutions, so pipers are fitted with little plastic tips that get switched out for every sample.  We buy them by the thousand.

13 – Test tubes.  For growing bacteria!  Despite studying fish, I rely on E. coli to do all my bulk DNA replication, and I still have to smell them.  E. coli cultures smell like feet marinated in the essence of a thousand gym bags.

14 – More fetal bovine serum.

15 – Loose tips.  I may have, in the throes of science, upended a hundred-count box of tips because I was trying to balance those tips on an unstable stack of lab shit.  I have cleaned up: none.

16 – Parafilm.  Have you ever wondered what it would be like if cling wrap wasn’t garbage?  That’s parafilm.  It’s stretchy.  It doesn’t stick to itself while you’re cutting a piece of it.  It does stick to itself when you’re wrapping it around the top of a tube.  It makes a genuinely watertight seal.  It stays watertight even when you freeze it.  It does start to turn to goo at around 100˚C, but like, come on.  It’s good shit, just don’t boil it.

17 – Tiny glass bar with shallow round holes molded into it.  Sometimes I work with material that can’t touch plastic and needs to be continuously submerged and is also very very tiny.  It’s fine.  I’ve learned to make adaptations.

18 – This is garbage.  Literal trash.

19 – Sharpies.  Methanol, water, a solution full of DNA-destroying enzyme and the vial of DNA that I worked for three months to synthesize are all clear liquids.  Labels.  Gotta have ‘em.

20 – Thaw box with lid.  Most of our reagents live in the freezer, and I hate waiting for ice to melt.  Chucking a frozen tube into room temperature water makes it melt faster.  I could grab a cup of water from the sink and just toss my samples into it every time I was feeling impatient, except for two things: first, as I have mentioned, unintentional liquid mixing is anathema to biologists, and second I hate having wet gloves.  Some clever application of a razor blade turned an empty tips box into a rack that will hold just the bottom of a test tube in a reservoir of lukewarm water, because I am a problem solver at heart.

21 – Phosphate buffered saline.  All kinds of biological things love a nice bath in 0.9% salt solution at a stable pH!

22 – Lab notebook.  It’s hard to make a lab-notebook-sized space in my meticulous bench mies-en-place, so I throw it on top of whatever.

23 – Fat sharpie.  For when a label needs oomph.

24 – More disposable pipettor tips.  The boxes have a hundred each and I still go through so many.  We fill a full-size trash can with just tips every week.  (Tips go in special bins because EHRS thinks that little plastic tips are too dangerous for regular trash.)

25 – Graduate cylinder.  I used it to measure water, and then I didn’t want to put it back with the clean dishes because I’d used it, but didn’t want to put it with the dirty dishes because fuck, it’s only touched distilled deionized filtered water, calling that dirty seems absurd, and now it lives on my bench.

26 – Jar of distilled deionized filtered water that has also been sterilized by going through the autoclave.  The autoclave is an angry cabinet that pressurizes and heats things inside up to 121˚C.  Do not put styrofoam into an autoclave.

27 – Non-hazardous liquid waste.  Mostly salty water and old bacteria.  I put bleach in periodically to keep it  an acceptable odor.

28 – You can never have too many plastic bags.

29 – Tips/garbage bucket.  The trash can is only three steps away, true, but at full pipetting speed I make a hundred pieces of tiny garbage, one at a time, in five minutes.  If you’d like to know why there’s still a fine coating of garbage on my bench despite having a designated garbage spot two feet away, you can shut up.

30 – Small tube holder.  If it looks a lot like a tips box, that’s because it’s upcycled.

31 – Slide mounting stage.  I made this from parafilm, tape, a piece of a box, and a foil cover for a 96-well plate.  Works great for making little coverslip and vaseline sandwiches without breaking or losing any paper-thin squares of glass.  Actual microscope slides are easier to work with, but then you can’t take pictures from both sides, so: sandwiches.

32 – Glass-bottomed dish.  For when your sample is alive and needs to be in a warm bath of buffer and nutrients instead of smashed between two thin sheets of glass and sealed up with nail polish.

33 – My solutions library.  You want some water with salt in it?  I got it, in a hundred varieties.  I also have water without salt in it, in several grades of purity, a bunch of different alcohols, several concentrated dyes, and duplicates of everything because this library is not very organized and I keep thinking I’ve run out of one molar potassium chloride despite having some in the back.

34 – Jumbo bag of 1.5mL snap-cap tubes.  I was told that these had to be sterilized before use and I did it for years before someone finally told me that was bullshit.  They’re good right out of the bag!  Amazing!  Who knew!

Why Sewing Machines Have So Many Parts


A sewing machine uses one spinning motor (or foot pedal if you’re old school) for everything.  That means there’s a lot of gears in there!  I was going to draw how a sewing machine works today, but instead I found incomprehensible technical drawings of cranks and levers and parts labeled things like “45864” and “supplied only when repairs are made at the factory.”

The lights in the sky are coming down

Perpetually falling around the Earth is a constellation of 72 Iridium communications satellites.  There are thousands of objects orbiting our planet, but the Iridium satellites are special.  Because of a quirk in their design, every so often the Iridium satellite’s meter-wide antennae flash in the sunlight.

From the ground, a light brighter than a thousand stars appears, flares, and fades.

People’s reaction to this phenomenon gives me a special joy.  That people track these winking satellites, that small groups of friends travel to where a washing-machine sized piece of space technology will fly over head, that they point their cameras and their gaze skyward to catch a few seconds of brilliance, four hundred miles away — it fills me with inarticulate fondness for humanity.

This year, Iridium launched the first batch of next generation satellites to replace their old fleet.  The new satellites are re-designed and are not so reflective; in a few years there will be no more Iridium flashes.

The old satellites will fall out of orbit and burn up in our atmosphere, and species of strange lights in the sky will go quietly  extinct.

I am not an amateur astronomer; even given an entire lifetime I doubt I would have ventured out to see an Iridium flare with my own eyes.  And yet, I’m glad I discovered this obscure, temporary marvel before it was gone.