So, yesterday just at quitting time, the skies in Chicago opened up and poured down rain for the evening. My cursory check of the forecast in the morning had not revealed any chance of rain, so I was unprepared - no umbrella, and my customary Birkenstocks instead of a sensible, closed shoe.
There are few things in life I dislike more, in terms of physical comfort, than walking in wet sandals. I'm klutzy on dry ground with bare feet, let alone wet pavement in soggy flip flops...and I have a long history of skinned knees and bruised shins and scraped hands to prove it. So, as a rule, when it's raining, I like a nice closed shoe that keeps my foot dry and offers a little more stability than a wide-open sandal that doesn't even buckle on.
But yesterday I pretty much had no choice. Walking, in the rain, in wide-open sandals.
I was a little prepared for how slippery the whole affair would become, so I went very, very slowly. In fact, I went so slowly, I found the whole thing sort of meditative. I had time to consider what this experience might have to teach me.
It was frustrating, because moving slowly meant I was getting rained on pretty fiercely, and that's no fun. But, I mused as I plodded sloshily along, better wet clothes and hair than a slip and fall and scrape or bruise or crack or wound.
And, yeah, that's kind of a good metaphor for me right now. I get frustrated with myself and how I work since Nervously Breaking Down last year, but the reality I'm faced with is that the pace of my life before that was toxic for me, and I can't expect to go back to that toxic pace and those toxic habits without expecting that I'll also go back to having panic attacks every day and un-fun bouts of depression. I am frustrated that I still have limited energy for my social life, that work takes so much out of me (and must, what with the whole need for a paycheck and all), that music is next on the list and takes its pound of flesh, that my commitments to re-connecting with my family in the hinterland and to my closest friends here in Chicago is next on the list, and then whatever's leftover is for everything else I care about in my whole freakin' life.
But, the fact is that I have limited time and energy, and running myself ragged or trying to squish a bazillion things into every minute will not somehow give me more time or energy. I can either plod along slowly and carefully, and get where I want eventually, if a little wet...or I can push-push-push and hurry and wind up slipping and falling and hurting.
Not much of a choice, when you really look at it.
Showing posts with label duh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label duh. Show all posts
4.15.2010
Notes to self.
1. No amount of desire, ambition, or excitement will suddenly give you the energy (or budget) to do everything you want to do Right. This. Second. So stop attempting to do that, recognize your limits, adjust your fucking plans, and get the hell over it already.
2. When you get that pre-panic-attack feeling because you're trying to force both brain and body to do seventeen things at once? Stop the out-loud litany of "come on, Follett, get your shit together." Wherever you are, whatever you're trying to do, just sit down. Give yourself the gift of three minutes where you can be silent and breathe and not froth at the mouth because you're late or behind or can't find an outfit you like or haven't unpacked what you're looking for. The world won't end if you are late, or take another hour to find an outfit you like, or don't get to everything on your To Do List or never unpack anything again ever. Panic attacks, on the other hand, hurt like a bitch....so just, you know, don't.
3. Until you consistently have room in your head (not to mention your schedule) for three squares, a good night's sleep, the day job, and music....do yourself a favor, and don't try to get all political or into some huge community-garden-project or something. It will not help with the aforementioned pre-panic-attack thing.
4. You say it to other people all the fucking time, but do you ever actually do it? BE WHERE YOU ARE, ASSHOLE.
2. When you get that pre-panic-attack feeling because you're trying to force both brain and body to do seventeen things at once? Stop the out-loud litany of "come on, Follett, get your shit together." Wherever you are, whatever you're trying to do, just sit down. Give yourself the gift of three minutes where you can be silent and breathe and not froth at the mouth because you're late or behind or can't find an outfit you like or haven't unpacked what you're looking for. The world won't end if you are late, or take another hour to find an outfit you like, or don't get to everything on your To Do List or never unpack anything again ever. Panic attacks, on the other hand, hurt like a bitch....so just, you know, don't.
3. Until you consistently have room in your head (not to mention your schedule) for three squares, a good night's sleep, the day job, and music....do yourself a favor, and don't try to get all political or into some huge community-garden-project or something. It will not help with the aforementioned pre-panic-attack thing.
4. You say it to other people all the fucking time, but do you ever actually do it? BE WHERE YOU ARE, ASSHOLE.
10.18.2009
I have a massive headache right now, so this will be short....but it was too long to fit effectively into 140 characters, so here we are. The point I wanted to make was just that important, that I feel like it needs to be said at length and with some background.
The point: the internet is completely voluntary.
Let me say it again: the internet is completely voluntary.
I could certainly be wrong, but I'm fairly sure that there aren't very many people who are reading or watching stuff on the internet with some asshole holding a gun to their head, making them do it. I'm guessing there are very few people who're tied to one of those internet exercycles that's wired to a bomb such that if they stop surfing, it explodes. I find it pretty unlikely that anyone out there has actually become dependent on the internet for life. So, yeah. VOLUNTARY.
So, when you get to a post that's rubbing you the wrong way, and it's not something you've deliberately sought out (like, say, my exploratory foray into the wilds of right-wing nutjobbery the other day), and it's not something that's making you think (like, say, my bumping into an essay about St. Patrick and being led to question what I thought I knew about him), and it's just not blowing up your skirt for whatever reason....you have some options.
You can choose to comment on it. Damn near every site on the planet has comments these days, and lots of good, productive, informative conversations get started this way. If you do choose to comment, maybe keep in mind, though, that making demands of content providers is kind of a jerk move. Nobody is obligated to provide you with the content you would like to enjoy, in the way in which you would like to enjoy it. At the end of the day, unless you're actually paying them to do it (and even then, there'd be some arguments both ways), someone who's putting stuff out on the internet doesn't really owe you anything. So, if you're gonna comment, may I suggest keeping it on topic, sharing your thoughts and thoughtful arguments and personal experiences, offering constructive criticism (if you feel you must offer criticism), and avoiding giving orders or bitching about what's being posted. 'Cause seriously, the internet owes you nothing.
The other option is a really simple one: surf away. Close the window, find another site, move along. Avoid whatever's pissing you off. Skip what's bothering you. There is no requirement that you read every site, or even sites you like if you're not feeling it. I usually like to keep up on news headlines, but this whole summer I've been only catching a few every now and then. I don't have the mental capacity to deal with much trouble beyond my own sphere, so I've just been, you know, NOT. And lately, I've even been avoiding blogs and bloggers I really, really love to read, because they've been writing about stuff that's triggering me. Since it's not my place to dictate their subject matter, I just skip the posts that I think will bother me. And you know what? The internet police didn't show up to haul me in somewhere for not looking at certain sites. Nobody gave me the stinkeye for skipping my usual reading list. I was penalized in no way. BECAUSE THE INTERNET IS VOLUNTARY.
To sum:
* If you don't like a blog, don't visit that blog.
* If you don't like a particular writer, don't read hir writing.
* If you don't like a website, don't visit that website.
The internet is voluntary. Your participation is not mandatory in any way. Humans lived for millennia without the internet, and it's still possible today. If you do choose to surf the internet, do so with the understanding that - excepting what you yourself create and publish to it - the internet may or may not be to your particular taste, and there's not a whole lot you can do about that. Except NOT SURF.
The point: the internet is completely voluntary.
Let me say it again: the internet is completely voluntary.
I could certainly be wrong, but I'm fairly sure that there aren't very many people who are reading or watching stuff on the internet with some asshole holding a gun to their head, making them do it. I'm guessing there are very few people who're tied to one of those internet exercycles that's wired to a bomb such that if they stop surfing, it explodes. I find it pretty unlikely that anyone out there has actually become dependent on the internet for life. So, yeah. VOLUNTARY.
So, when you get to a post that's rubbing you the wrong way, and it's not something you've deliberately sought out (like, say, my exploratory foray into the wilds of right-wing nutjobbery the other day), and it's not something that's making you think (like, say, my bumping into an essay about St. Patrick and being led to question what I thought I knew about him), and it's just not blowing up your skirt for whatever reason....you have some options.
You can choose to comment on it. Damn near every site on the planet has comments these days, and lots of good, productive, informative conversations get started this way. If you do choose to comment, maybe keep in mind, though, that making demands of content providers is kind of a jerk move. Nobody is obligated to provide you with the content you would like to enjoy, in the way in which you would like to enjoy it. At the end of the day, unless you're actually paying them to do it (and even then, there'd be some arguments both ways), someone who's putting stuff out on the internet doesn't really owe you anything. So, if you're gonna comment, may I suggest keeping it on topic, sharing your thoughts and thoughtful arguments and personal experiences, offering constructive criticism (if you feel you must offer criticism), and avoiding giving orders or bitching about what's being posted. 'Cause seriously, the internet owes you nothing.
The other option is a really simple one: surf away. Close the window, find another site, move along. Avoid whatever's pissing you off. Skip what's bothering you. There is no requirement that you read every site, or even sites you like if you're not feeling it. I usually like to keep up on news headlines, but this whole summer I've been only catching a few every now and then. I don't have the mental capacity to deal with much trouble beyond my own sphere, so I've just been, you know, NOT. And lately, I've even been avoiding blogs and bloggers I really, really love to read, because they've been writing about stuff that's triggering me. Since it's not my place to dictate their subject matter, I just skip the posts that I think will bother me. And you know what? The internet police didn't show up to haul me in somewhere for not looking at certain sites. Nobody gave me the stinkeye for skipping my usual reading list. I was penalized in no way. BECAUSE THE INTERNET IS VOLUNTARY.
To sum:
* If you don't like a blog, don't visit that blog.
* If you don't like a particular writer, don't read hir writing.
* If you don't like a website, don't visit that website.
The internet is voluntary. Your participation is not mandatory in any way. Humans lived for millennia without the internet, and it's still possible today. If you do choose to surf the internet, do so with the understanding that - excepting what you yourself create and publish to it - the internet may or may not be to your particular taste, and there's not a whole lot you can do about that. Except NOT SURF.
4.14.2009
My head hurts, on a couple levels.
So, I'm working a migraine for the past, hmm, 30 hours or so. I stayed home today, and have managed to stave off the crashing boredom of unending extreme pain that gets worse when I, say, read or watch TV or look at the internet....by working in the occasional brief round of reading (I've got the new Dresden Files to finish!) or watching DVDs (hello, Firefly, my old friend) or looking at the internet (hiya).
What can I say? I am sometimes stupid, and what's a little more pain as compared to the unbearable monotony of laying in bed with a pillow over my eyes, with only the rare dip into blissful sleep to break it up??
Meh. Anyway. During one of these breaks, I flipped on the news, where I saw a clip from the show Britain's Got Talent or whatever it's called, with the shocking revelation that a non-thin, non-sexpot-dressing, non-pop-star-looking-or-sounding person can sing the shit out of a song. And that Simon Cowell, and well, pretty much everyone else in a fucking reality TV show audience is a judgmental doucheface who associates talent with being hot. Well, lemme look around at the world of "famous" people in the past twenty years, and see if I can figure out where people might've made that fucking connection, hmmmm??
Yeah, anybody who's out there in the actual world, not the "real" world as conveyed by "reality" TV, anybody who's working in community theater or a local music scene or going to art shows or any creative endeavor that's not broadcast via mass media....is probably not surprised that a "normal" looking person is incredibly talented. Raise your hands, friends, if you can name five or ten really amazing artists or musicians or writers or actors or dancers who aren't going to show up on the cover of a fashion mag anytime soon. Fucking NO DUH.
Despite the pop culture phenomenon of pretty people getting record deals and better exposure and audience support and yada yada yada (which isn't to say that there aren't "pretty" people who make it by the sweat of their brow and not some "free" ride), talent obnoxiously insists on attaching itself to people from ALL walks of life, with all ranges of physical and mental and emotional states of being.
This reminds me of that old trope connecting madness to genius. Yeah, you know what, there are plenty of people walking the line of mental stability who also happen to make amazing art of some kind....and just as many totally stable artists cranking out interesting works. Just like anything else, there are so many independent factors that go into making each of us who we are, and into the opportunities we are offered and pursue, that to make any kind of gross generalization about any "type" of person is pretty much asking the universe to prove you wrong.
The news played this story with the angle, "Don't judge a book by its cover." Again I say, fucking no duh. How about we stretch our lobes a bit further, though, people? How about we stop telling our collectives selves the story that only pretty people are good? How about we stop deluding ourselves that the only people who can rip our hearts out when they sing songs or play roles or paint pictures or dance around....look or speak or act a certain way?
How about, instead of being shocked that someone so unexpected could be so brilliant, we consider the possibility that everyone we meet just might be brilliant somehow, if we only stopped telling them they weren't, and maybe gave them a spotlight and a microphone?
I'm going back to my dark room and the pillow over my eyes. Maybe when I get up again the world will be a less shitty place?
What can I say? I am sometimes stupid, and what's a little more pain as compared to the unbearable monotony of laying in bed with a pillow over my eyes, with only the rare dip into blissful sleep to break it up??
Meh. Anyway. During one of these breaks, I flipped on the news, where I saw a clip from the show Britain's Got Talent or whatever it's called, with the shocking revelation that a non-thin, non-sexpot-dressing, non-pop-star-looking-or-sounding person can sing the shit out of a song. And that Simon Cowell, and well, pretty much everyone else in a fucking reality TV show audience is a judgmental doucheface who associates talent with being hot. Well, lemme look around at the world of "famous" people in the past twenty years, and see if I can figure out where people might've made that fucking connection, hmmmm??
Yeah, anybody who's out there in the actual world, not the "real" world as conveyed by "reality" TV, anybody who's working in community theater or a local music scene or going to art shows or any creative endeavor that's not broadcast via mass media....is probably not surprised that a "normal" looking person is incredibly talented. Raise your hands, friends, if you can name five or ten really amazing artists or musicians or writers or actors or dancers who aren't going to show up on the cover of a fashion mag anytime soon. Fucking NO DUH.
Despite the pop culture phenomenon of pretty people getting record deals and better exposure and audience support and yada yada yada (which isn't to say that there aren't "pretty" people who make it by the sweat of their brow and not some "free" ride), talent obnoxiously insists on attaching itself to people from ALL walks of life, with all ranges of physical and mental and emotional states of being.
This reminds me of that old trope connecting madness to genius. Yeah, you know what, there are plenty of people walking the line of mental stability who also happen to make amazing art of some kind....and just as many totally stable artists cranking out interesting works. Just like anything else, there are so many independent factors that go into making each of us who we are, and into the opportunities we are offered and pursue, that to make any kind of gross generalization about any "type" of person is pretty much asking the universe to prove you wrong.
The news played this story with the angle, "Don't judge a book by its cover." Again I say, fucking no duh. How about we stretch our lobes a bit further, though, people? How about we stop telling our collectives selves the story that only pretty people are good? How about we stop deluding ourselves that the only people who can rip our hearts out when they sing songs or play roles or paint pictures or dance around....look or speak or act a certain way?
How about, instead of being shocked that someone so unexpected could be so brilliant, we consider the possibility that everyone we meet just might be brilliant somehow, if we only stopped telling them they weren't, and maybe gave them a spotlight and a microphone?
I'm going back to my dark room and the pillow over my eyes. Maybe when I get up again the world will be a less shitty place?
1.27.2009
Today, in things that are fucked up...
Holy crap, I can't even believe this bullshit: Bill Gates has solved Africa!
Well, okay, he's figured out how to fix that whole problem they have of, like, starving all the time over there. They just need geneticaly modified seeds and lots and lots of agrichemicals (i.e., petrochemical fertilizer!). You know, so they can kick out bumper crops like farmers over here in the States do! 'Cause it's not like there are any negative consequences to that approach, especially not when rich corporations bring it to the tropics. Jeebus, Bill Gates, what is your deal?! Is it not bad enough that you sell buttloads of imperfect operating systems that bring blue screens and frustration* to people around the world....do you have to export crappy (environment-destroying) industrial farming, too?! (P.S. While it may be historically accurate, don't you think you could've found a better way to talk about the increase in crop yield due to petroleum-based mono-crop industrial agriculture than "Green Revolution"? 'Cause I dunno 'bout you, Bill, but I'm interested in a whole 'nother kinda Green Revolution these days...Plus, what the hell? USA, China, India, Africa: one of these things is not like the other.)
In fairness, though, this sentence in Bill's letter is spot fucking on:
In other news of the wackadoo, apparently someone's printing out the Shared Items from their Google Reader, and calling it a newspaper?? I saw one on the el this morning, and literally turned to my roomie and said, "I think they missed the point." Don't get me wrong, I love the tactile experience of printed media; I will probably always keep a magazine subscription or two, and you'll pry my books from my cold, dead hands. But. It makes zero sense to me to compile a bunch of blogs and print it out like a newspaper. Also? STOP NEEDLESSLY KILLING TREES, YOU THOUGHTLESS FUCKS! Read it on your damn laptop!
Another thing fueling my rage today: TreeHugger's "Vegetarians We Love," which is a list of *dudes* who don't eat meat. 'Cause, apparently, it is totally girly to not eat meat. Don't get me wrong, TreeHugger, I get that y'all are trying to show other dudes that not-eating-meat can totally be manly, since Joaquin Phoenix is totally a vegan and all....but excellent work ignoring the fact that food choices (should) have FUCK ALL to do with gender. And that guys need some kind of extra special prize for not guzzling steak at three meals a day.
Finally, to round out the sad state of the good, green earth and some of her fucked up peoples, it seems that Americans don't really buy this whole "climate change" business, and that if those of us who do buy it and give a damn are going to convince them to change, we're gonna have to dumb it down a bit, 'cause all that science talk is just confusing, or something. I know not everybody wants to pore over charts and data and read scientific studies which are, admittedly, often a little on the dry side...but the evidence is ubiquitous enough these days that we've already boiled it down to stuff like the penguins will all die and global warming is irreversible....I dunno how much less "science-y" it gets than those really plain statements, but apparently Jane Six-Pack still somehow thinks that's not a big deal. Ugh.
Le sigh. Okay, some good stuff to get the brain churning a bit: BFP & Jess' collab called (re)Thinking Walking, which is really interesting food for thought; a manifesto from Jeremy Schlosberg at Fingertips, who I find one of the smartest, fairest and most ethical music bloggers on the web; also, this bit about racism in SF&F is delightfully blunt.
The world is a complicated place, and I rarely find enough time to wrap my brain around even a small piece of it. But I keep trying.
_____________________________
* Note: I detest Microsoft only marginally less than I detest anything Apple-related. Just in case you were thinking I was a Mac person or something. *shudder*
Well, okay, he's figured out how to fix that whole problem they have of, like, starving all the time over there. They just need geneticaly modified seeds and lots and lots of agrichemicals (i.e., petrochemical fertilizer!). You know, so they can kick out bumper crops like farmers over here in the States do! 'Cause it's not like there are any negative consequences to that approach, especially not when rich corporations bring it to the tropics. Jeebus, Bill Gates, what is your deal?! Is it not bad enough that you sell buttloads of imperfect operating systems that bring blue screens and frustration* to people around the world....do you have to export crappy (environment-destroying) industrial farming, too?! (P.S. While it may be historically accurate, don't you think you could've found a better way to talk about the increase in crop yield due to petroleum-based mono-crop industrial agriculture than "Green Revolution"? 'Cause I dunno 'bout you, Bill, but I'm interested in a whole 'nother kinda Green Revolution these days...Plus, what the hell? USA, China, India, Africa: one of these things is not like the other.)
In fairness, though, this sentence in Bill's letter is spot fucking on:
It is interesting how often the impact of climate change is illustrated by talking about the problems the polar bears will face rather than the much greater number of poor people who will die unless significant investments are made to help them.I totally agree, Bill. I'm not sure, though, that expanding industrial farming techniques to countries that don't use them now will actually help this situation. In fact, I'm pretty darn sure it won't. Now, organic and permaculture resources? Whole different story.
In other news of the wackadoo, apparently someone's printing out the Shared Items from their Google Reader, and calling it a newspaper?? I saw one on the el this morning, and literally turned to my roomie and said, "I think they missed the point." Don't get me wrong, I love the tactile experience of printed media; I will probably always keep a magazine subscription or two, and you'll pry my books from my cold, dead hands. But. It makes zero sense to me to compile a bunch of blogs and print it out like a newspaper. Also? STOP NEEDLESSLY KILLING TREES, YOU THOUGHTLESS FUCKS! Read it on your damn laptop!
Another thing fueling my rage today: TreeHugger's "Vegetarians We Love," which is a list of *dudes* who don't eat meat. 'Cause, apparently, it is totally girly to not eat meat. Don't get me wrong, TreeHugger, I get that y'all are trying to show other dudes that not-eating-meat can totally be manly, since Joaquin Phoenix is totally a vegan and all....but excellent work ignoring the fact that food choices (should) have FUCK ALL to do with gender. And that guys need some kind of extra special prize for not guzzling steak at three meals a day.
Finally, to round out the sad state of the good, green earth and some of her fucked up peoples, it seems that Americans don't really buy this whole "climate change" business, and that if those of us who do buy it and give a damn are going to convince them to change, we're gonna have to dumb it down a bit, 'cause all that science talk is just confusing, or something. I know not everybody wants to pore over charts and data and read scientific studies which are, admittedly, often a little on the dry side...but the evidence is ubiquitous enough these days that we've already boiled it down to stuff like the penguins will all die and global warming is irreversible....I dunno how much less "science-y" it gets than those really plain statements, but apparently Jane Six-Pack still somehow thinks that's not a big deal. Ugh.
Le sigh. Okay, some good stuff to get the brain churning a bit: BFP & Jess' collab called (re)Thinking Walking, which is really interesting food for thought; a manifesto from Jeremy Schlosberg at Fingertips, who I find one of the smartest, fairest and most ethical music bloggers on the web; also, this bit about racism in SF&F is delightfully blunt.
The world is a complicated place, and I rarely find enough time to wrap my brain around even a small piece of it. But I keep trying.
_____________________________
* Note: I detest Microsoft only marginally less than I detest anything Apple-related. Just in case you were thinking I was a Mac person or something. *shudder*
12.04.2008
Griping.
So, I am riding an emotional rollercoaster of epic proportions lately...on the one hand, I'm prepping for gigs and focusing on music, and yay awesomeness of that....of course, then there's the dying grandmother and how much that is fucking sucking the suck of much fucking suckage. Whatev. I'm trying not to get all big and dramatic now. I figure there'll be time enough for that when the inevitable comes knocking on my door.
In the meantime, I have a few petty gripes to share. Bitching about them all out of proportion with their actual impact, and in ways that don't actually affect anything, allows me to channel some of my rage about other stuff into safe outlets, so I consider it a valid coping method. Enjoy!
Peeve the First: *MY* Fucking Obama Holiday Mug
I have received about six e-mails with the subject "Your Obama Holiday Mug" in the past couple days. First off, I know my mugs intimately, and I don't have a holiday mug, let alone an Obama holiday mug. So, dudes, your first mistake was telling me something is mine when it is not. Secondly, I don't want a fucking holiday mug, let alone an Obama holiday mug.
Attention Democratic National Committee, Obama campaign people, MoveOn.org, local Democrats, and whatever other groups I may have donated to during the election: STOP SENDING ME 50 FUCKING E-MAILS A DAY asking for money, trying to give me cheap crap I don't need, and/or reminding me that "the fight's not over yet." I know the fight ain't over yet. It won't be over until the people who are trying to make the world a better place aren't still trying to bribe people with landfill fodder like FUCKING OBAMA HOLIDAY MUGS. Any one of you assfaces notice we have a goddamn environmental crisis? Any of you assfaces think maybe it has something to do with jackholes who mass produce useless shit (in China?) and hand it out indiscriminately without any thought of its fucking environmental impact?! WHAT THE FUCK, DUDES?!
Peeve the Second: Air Fresheners in Public Restrooms
Okay, ladies. I get it: poop stinks. Yes, I know it's an awful reality, but there you have it: poop stinks. I don't particularly enjoy smelling shit any more than the next girl, but at least it's a natural smell that I kind of expect if I'm headed in to pinch a loaf myself.
You know what I don't expect to smell? Fucking air fresheners. Sure, poop stinks....but the human body is sort of designed to deal with that. It's sort of a natural thing. Unlike chemical-laden air fresheners filled with carcinogens and particles that lungs are NOT designed to handle. Especially since, instead of actually making anything smell better, they smell of perfume and plastic and petroleum - none of which actually get rid of the original smell of shit. So, really, it winds up smelling like petroleum-covered, plastic shit dipped in perfume. Sounds like an awesome smell, yeah?
No. Not at all. It doesn't smell any better than poop smell - and in fact, it smells a good deal worse. So cut it the fuck OUT.
Peeve the third: The End of the Year
It's bad enough that the holidaze are here, and the (marketing disguised as) music is nonstop everywhere, and it's like an elf puked all over downtown Chicago. It's bad enough that I'm having to make hard choices like: do I get my neices the American Girl dolls they want and that would make them very cool kids, even though American Girl dolls represent everything I believe is ruining the world? It's bad enough that I'm wrestling with the crap "what to do on NYE" issue AGAIN (throw a party? go out somewhere? which friends might want to hang? can I snag a date to make out with in time?!).
On top of all that holidaze bullshit, year end also means my office is bathed in a fucking frenzy of stuff-I've-been-back-burnering-for-six-months-is-now-imperative-and-must-be-done-now-GAH!! I'm working longer hours, squeezing in more stuff, and fielding more frantic phone calls. It is starting to damage my calm.
In the meantime, I have a few petty gripes to share. Bitching about them all out of proportion with their actual impact, and in ways that don't actually affect anything, allows me to channel some of my rage about other stuff into safe outlets, so I consider it a valid coping method. Enjoy!
Peeve the First: *MY* Fucking Obama Holiday Mug
I have received about six e-mails with the subject "Your Obama Holiday Mug" in the past couple days. First off, I know my mugs intimately, and I don't have a holiday mug, let alone an Obama holiday mug. So, dudes, your first mistake was telling me something is mine when it is not. Secondly, I don't want a fucking holiday mug, let alone an Obama holiday mug.
Attention Democratic National Committee, Obama campaign people, MoveOn.org, local Democrats, and whatever other groups I may have donated to during the election: STOP SENDING ME 50 FUCKING E-MAILS A DAY asking for money, trying to give me cheap crap I don't need, and/or reminding me that "the fight's not over yet." I know the fight ain't over yet. It won't be over until the people who are trying to make the world a better place aren't still trying to bribe people with landfill fodder like FUCKING OBAMA HOLIDAY MUGS. Any one of you assfaces notice we have a goddamn environmental crisis? Any of you assfaces think maybe it has something to do with jackholes who mass produce useless shit (in China?) and hand it out indiscriminately without any thought of its fucking environmental impact?! WHAT THE FUCK, DUDES?!
Peeve the Second: Air Fresheners in Public Restrooms
Okay, ladies. I get it: poop stinks. Yes, I know it's an awful reality, but there you have it: poop stinks. I don't particularly enjoy smelling shit any more than the next girl, but at least it's a natural smell that I kind of expect if I'm headed in to pinch a loaf myself.
You know what I don't expect to smell? Fucking air fresheners. Sure, poop stinks....but the human body is sort of designed to deal with that. It's sort of a natural thing. Unlike chemical-laden air fresheners filled with carcinogens and particles that lungs are NOT designed to handle. Especially since, instead of actually making anything smell better, they smell of perfume and plastic and petroleum - none of which actually get rid of the original smell of shit. So, really, it winds up smelling like petroleum-covered, plastic shit dipped in perfume. Sounds like an awesome smell, yeah?
No. Not at all. It doesn't smell any better than poop smell - and in fact, it smells a good deal worse. So cut it the fuck OUT.
Peeve the third: The End of the Year
It's bad enough that the holidaze are here, and the (marketing disguised as) music is nonstop everywhere, and it's like an elf puked all over downtown Chicago. It's bad enough that I'm having to make hard choices like: do I get my neices the American Girl dolls they want and that would make them very cool kids, even though American Girl dolls represent everything I believe is ruining the world? It's bad enough that I'm wrestling with the crap "what to do on NYE" issue AGAIN (throw a party? go out somewhere? which friends might want to hang? can I snag a date to make out with in time?!).
On top of all that holidaze bullshit, year end also means my office is bathed in a fucking frenzy of stuff-I've-been-back-burnering-for-six-months-is-now-imperative-and-must-be-done-now-GAH!! I'm working longer hours, squeezing in more stuff, and fielding more frantic phone calls. It is starting to damage my calm.
11.12.2008
History, and some lessons.
I grew up in a non-nuclear family setting. My parents divorced when I was eight, and I lived a few years with my single-parent mom, and then a few years with my single-parent dad. Luckily, before they divorced, my folks had the sense to move back from the wilds of the Great Plains, to Michigan, where they originally met, and where their respective parents still lived. When they divorced, and became single parents, they both were lucky enough to have their moms to help them out with their three obnoxiously precocious children.
Now, those of you who've been following my ramblings for any length of time may have recognized that I do not have a "traditional" mother-daughter kind of relationship (whatever that is) with my mom. Her mental condition combined with my typical early-teen angst to produce some rather spectacular conflict (I imagine that standard sullen rebellion might look pretty intense through a lens of psychosis and paranoia, but at the time, I wasn't exactly able to be charitable). So, you know, in addition to my confusing gender-bendy-sexual-abuse issues, I didn't exactly have a good relationship with mommy. I suspect this is part of what makes me who I am.
However, I was very lucky to have not one, but two amazing mother figures in my life. No, they weren't the typical kind. No, I didn't have that bond-y closeness that does whatever-it-does that can only come from "a mother's love" or whatever touchy-feely bullshit. But I learned how to be a woman from my grandmothers.
.....
My mom's mom, who was one of my primary caregivers after my parents divorced and my sibs and I lived with my mom (while she worked full time and finished her B.A.), was and remains one of the few truly "good" Christians I know. My dad used to say she wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful, and that's true...but she was also one of the most genuinely kind and caring people I have ever known. She taught me more about grace and courtesy and giving then I actually exhibit in my life these days, but she made a sterling example that I aspire to on a daily basis. She wasn't perfect - she and her mother sniped like harpies in the most hilarious ways. She lost her temper with my brother a lot (but then, most people who've spent more than five minutes in his company are guilty there). She even, on occasion, swore (seriously, I heard her say S.O.B. once - not the actual words, just the abbreviation).
She was a really strong woman, and not a "traditional" one for the time. Back in the sixties, her husband (my mom's dad) was institutionalized (he, like my mom, was schizophrenic), and she was left with four kids to raise on her own (I'm pretty sure she didn't get disability checks at that point in time). She had her mother's help, of course, but she did it. She worked for the State of Michigan until she retired. She raised three boys and my mom - all of whom went to college. At some point, she remarried and gained a stepson...her second husband died when I was a toddler, and she was alone again, living in a farmhouse on a dirt road way back in the Michigan countryside.
She was a model Christian, tithing regularly, doing good works, the whole bit. She read her Bible, and she did her level best to live by its tenets. Sometimes, when I stayed home sick from school, she would let me tag along to the Rescue Mission Quilting Circle, where I would tie yarn in knots and gleefully listen to the old women talk about their families and churches. Sometimes, she would let me come with her to church choir practice, and it was at her elbow that I learned to sing harmony and gained the vocal flexibility that still is one of the prime joys of my life.
When I was around twelve, she married a minister who told some of the best clean jokes. He's a die-hard right-winger, and I rarely see eye to eye with him, but he makes her happy. I have never and will never talk with her about my spirituality....not because I'm ashamed, but because if we never talk about it, I know she can tell herself I'm not going to burn in Hell. I detest her sons, and I will never tell her that either.
.....
My dad's mom is a straight-talking matriarch of the first order. She had six kids with two husbands, and never worked outside the home - except inasmuch as everybody works on a farm. When my mom was diagnosed, and my sibs and I went to live with my dad, we spent a couple months staying in a camper in my grandma's backyard.
It was my freshman year of high school, and I was at that really awkward stage, and on top of all that usual rigamarole, I was dealing with the revelation that my mom was crazy and I'd spent the past couple years being angry at her all the time over shit she couldn't really help, not to mention the joys of going to a brand new school. Those first couple months, coming home with the stack of books I was using to escape my real life, and talking things over with my no-bullshit grandma...it helped me put things in perspective, and not take on too much guilt over being human and out of my depth.
She taught me a lot about family, and what family means, and what family does. She operated a complex web of cousins, aunts, uncles, family friends, and several generations of various family ties. She worked the gossip mill like a champ - and taught me that everybody spends time in the doghouse, and nobody is beyond redemption. She also taught me that gossip is a kind of accountability, and the trick to avoiding its effects was to not do anything you minded people talking about. That's a rule I really try hard to stick to in my life, though I'm sure some of my crazier choices are popular topic of conversation these days ("Is she a communist or what?").
When I graduated from high school, my grandma gave me her valedictory pin. It was a big deal, because I was the first of her grandkids to be going to college. I'd been a really good student in high school, probably should've been my class valedictorian (not that I'm bitter), and wasn't - but my grandma gave me her pin anyway, and that pin was salve to my wounds on that score. I felt like I was some kind of standard-bearer, and I was so happy to feel like I was doing her proud.
When I dropped out of college after the first year, I didn't visit or talk to her or my dad for six months. I felt like I had let her, and the whole family, down, and I was consumed with guilt and regret and self-loathing. When I finally went and saw her, she dressed me down right to my face, telling me what a jackass I was being, and that I was breaking my father's heart by not talking to him, that shutting them out was a slap in the face, and who cared about some damn pin and some damn college.
I did my time in the doghouse, and survived it.
.....
Between all the moving around my parents did when they were married, and all the moving around they did after they divorced, I never really got attached to the idea of a physical place as "home." But my grandmothers have both lived in the same two houses, six or eight miles apart in a little tiny town in Michigan, for my whole life. Their phone numbers haven't changed, either - they're one digit apart. My idea of what makes a family, and what makes a home, is tied into these two beautiful, strong, amazing women.
I haven't lived within four hours of either of them since that brief stint in Michigan after I dropped out of college. I moved first to Atlanta, and then to Chicago, and in the eleven intervening years, I've been home three or four times a year at most. When I do go home, I usually only spend a couple days - see the parents, go to some big extended family functions, see the neices and nephews and the sibs if I can work it in. I don't usually make time to visit my grandparents. I'm a fucking idiot for that.
These women, these two women who taught me so very much about life and how to be a good person, are both in very poor health. My mom's mom is going through kidney failure and a third round of chemotherapy, and she is not doing well. My dad's mom has just had a Hospice consult and is now only taking sleeping pills and pain meds.
My life is so much different from either of my grandmothers' lives. I don't think I could be who I am, who I am supposed to be, and have stayed any closer. But I will regret to the end of my days not making more space for them in my life. In the time that remains, I can't even begin to come close to making up for that lack, but I want to try. I hope I have the guts to not let my guilt stop me from doing the right thing, because I love them, and I am grateful to them, and I have not done their love and their gifts justice. I haven't given them the tiniest fraction of what they deserve of me.
Even in this, they're still teaching me.
Now, those of you who've been following my ramblings for any length of time may have recognized that I do not have a "traditional" mother-daughter kind of relationship (whatever that is) with my mom. Her mental condition combined with my typical early-teen angst to produce some rather spectacular conflict (I imagine that standard sullen rebellion might look pretty intense through a lens of psychosis and paranoia, but at the time, I wasn't exactly able to be charitable). So, you know, in addition to my confusing gender-bendy-sexual-abuse issues, I didn't exactly have a good relationship with mommy. I suspect this is part of what makes me who I am.
However, I was very lucky to have not one, but two amazing mother figures in my life. No, they weren't the typical kind. No, I didn't have that bond-y closeness that does whatever-it-does that can only come from "a mother's love" or whatever touchy-feely bullshit. But I learned how to be a woman from my grandmothers.
.....
My mom's mom, who was one of my primary caregivers after my parents divorced and my sibs and I lived with my mom (while she worked full time and finished her B.A.), was and remains one of the few truly "good" Christians I know. My dad used to say she wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful, and that's true...but she was also one of the most genuinely kind and caring people I have ever known. She taught me more about grace and courtesy and giving then I actually exhibit in my life these days, but she made a sterling example that I aspire to on a daily basis. She wasn't perfect - she and her mother sniped like harpies in the most hilarious ways. She lost her temper with my brother a lot (but then, most people who've spent more than five minutes in his company are guilty there). She even, on occasion, swore (seriously, I heard her say S.O.B. once - not the actual words, just the abbreviation).
She was a really strong woman, and not a "traditional" one for the time. Back in the sixties, her husband (my mom's dad) was institutionalized (he, like my mom, was schizophrenic), and she was left with four kids to raise on her own (I'm pretty sure she didn't get disability checks at that point in time). She had her mother's help, of course, but she did it. She worked for the State of Michigan until she retired. She raised three boys and my mom - all of whom went to college. At some point, she remarried and gained a stepson...her second husband died when I was a toddler, and she was alone again, living in a farmhouse on a dirt road way back in the Michigan countryside.
She was a model Christian, tithing regularly, doing good works, the whole bit. She read her Bible, and she did her level best to live by its tenets. Sometimes, when I stayed home sick from school, she would let me tag along to the Rescue Mission Quilting Circle, where I would tie yarn in knots and gleefully listen to the old women talk about their families and churches. Sometimes, she would let me come with her to church choir practice, and it was at her elbow that I learned to sing harmony and gained the vocal flexibility that still is one of the prime joys of my life.
When I was around twelve, she married a minister who told some of the best clean jokes. He's a die-hard right-winger, and I rarely see eye to eye with him, but he makes her happy. I have never and will never talk with her about my spirituality....not because I'm ashamed, but because if we never talk about it, I know she can tell herself I'm not going to burn in Hell. I detest her sons, and I will never tell her that either.
.....
My dad's mom is a straight-talking matriarch of the first order. She had six kids with two husbands, and never worked outside the home - except inasmuch as everybody works on a farm. When my mom was diagnosed, and my sibs and I went to live with my dad, we spent a couple months staying in a camper in my grandma's backyard.
It was my freshman year of high school, and I was at that really awkward stage, and on top of all that usual rigamarole, I was dealing with the revelation that my mom was crazy and I'd spent the past couple years being angry at her all the time over shit she couldn't really help, not to mention the joys of going to a brand new school. Those first couple months, coming home with the stack of books I was using to escape my real life, and talking things over with my no-bullshit grandma...it helped me put things in perspective, and not take on too much guilt over being human and out of my depth.
She taught me a lot about family, and what family means, and what family does. She operated a complex web of cousins, aunts, uncles, family friends, and several generations of various family ties. She worked the gossip mill like a champ - and taught me that everybody spends time in the doghouse, and nobody is beyond redemption. She also taught me that gossip is a kind of accountability, and the trick to avoiding its effects was to not do anything you minded people talking about. That's a rule I really try hard to stick to in my life, though I'm sure some of my crazier choices are popular topic of conversation these days ("Is she a communist or what?").
When I graduated from high school, my grandma gave me her valedictory pin. It was a big deal, because I was the first of her grandkids to be going to college. I'd been a really good student in high school, probably should've been my class valedictorian (not that I'm bitter), and wasn't - but my grandma gave me her pin anyway, and that pin was salve to my wounds on that score. I felt like I was some kind of standard-bearer, and I was so happy to feel like I was doing her proud.
When I dropped out of college after the first year, I didn't visit or talk to her or my dad for six months. I felt like I had let her, and the whole family, down, and I was consumed with guilt and regret and self-loathing. When I finally went and saw her, she dressed me down right to my face, telling me what a jackass I was being, and that I was breaking my father's heart by not talking to him, that shutting them out was a slap in the face, and who cared about some damn pin and some damn college.
I did my time in the doghouse, and survived it.
.....
Between all the moving around my parents did when they were married, and all the moving around they did after they divorced, I never really got attached to the idea of a physical place as "home." But my grandmothers have both lived in the same two houses, six or eight miles apart in a little tiny town in Michigan, for my whole life. Their phone numbers haven't changed, either - they're one digit apart. My idea of what makes a family, and what makes a home, is tied into these two beautiful, strong, amazing women.
I haven't lived within four hours of either of them since that brief stint in Michigan after I dropped out of college. I moved first to Atlanta, and then to Chicago, and in the eleven intervening years, I've been home three or four times a year at most. When I do go home, I usually only spend a couple days - see the parents, go to some big extended family functions, see the neices and nephews and the sibs if I can work it in. I don't usually make time to visit my grandparents. I'm a fucking idiot for that.
These women, these two women who taught me so very much about life and how to be a good person, are both in very poor health. My mom's mom is going through kidney failure and a third round of chemotherapy, and she is not doing well. My dad's mom has just had a Hospice consult and is now only taking sleeping pills and pain meds.
My life is so much different from either of my grandmothers' lives. I don't think I could be who I am, who I am supposed to be, and have stayed any closer. But I will regret to the end of my days not making more space for them in my life. In the time that remains, I can't even begin to come close to making up for that lack, but I want to try. I hope I have the guts to not let my guilt stop me from doing the right thing, because I love them, and I am grateful to them, and I have not done their love and their gifts justice. I haven't given them the tiniest fraction of what they deserve of me.
Even in this, they're still teaching me.
10.30.2008
Pedantic Public Service Message
1. The phrase "wherefore art thou Romeo" from Romeo and Juliet does not mean "where are you, Romeo?" as it is so often misinterpreted. It means "WHY did you have to be Romeo," which is Juliet bemoaning the fact that the dude she's hot for is a Hatfield to her McCoy, and she can never get it together with him, 'cause her whole family would totally freak. When I was younger, and less intrepid with my Elizabethan English skills, I made the same misinterpretation, and in fact wrote an entire horrible poem around the concept....which apparently impressed the hell out of my elementary school teachers at the time, but is now pretty damn embarassing to me.
2. Say it with me now: it's an apostrophe for a contraction, but possession needs no apostrophe in its spelling.
3. Speaking of apostrophe usage...it's the '60s, '70s, and '80s - NOT the 60's, 70's, and 80's. For the same reason as the whole it's/its thing.
4. "Would've" is a contraction for "would have," NOT "would of." Seriously, where the hell does that even come from?
6. And my own personal top grammatical pet peeve: "a lot" is TWO words, not one. "Alot" is a B and an L short of the thing you cast in an election, and that's as close as it gets to being a word.
Speaking of which, did you vote yet?
2. Say it with me now: it's an apostrophe for a contraction, but possession needs no apostrophe in its spelling.
3. Speaking of apostrophe usage...it's the '60s, '70s, and '80s - NOT the 60's, 70's, and 80's. For the same reason as the whole it's/its thing.
4. "Would've" is a contraction for "would have," NOT "would of." Seriously, where the hell does that even come from?
6. And my own personal top grammatical pet peeve: "a lot" is TWO words, not one. "Alot" is a B and an L short of the thing you cast in an election, and that's as close as it gets to being a word.
Speaking of which, did you vote yet?
7.02.2008
May. (or may not)
Jamie Lee Curtis says that Activia "may help regulate your digestive system in two weeks" - studies have proven it!
Coffee may be linked to cancer. Ditto on cell phones and microwaves.
Today, I stumbled over the headline "Women may be more attracted to men with a little stubble." (I like the place it was published, so I'm not going to link it, I'm just going to mock it.)
Oh they may, may they?
You know what? Coffee may turn steel wool into golden fleece. Wearing Berks may increase the size of my bank account. Knowing the lyrics to "Ice Ice Baby" may be the key to eternal salvation and/or universal enlightenment.
Then again, all that may be total bullshit.
Do people not understand that the word "may" does not actually indicate anything definite? I mean, seriously, Activia may regulate your digestive system, or it may make your nipples sprout fur. Women may be attracted to stubble, or they may prefer to romp through rainbow forests with unicorns that shoot sunshine and rose petals right out their asses! Either statement would be equally valid!! When they say "may," what they're telling you is that THEY DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW FOR SURE, and whatever they're selling you is based on FUCK ALL.
So, please, don't buy it. It's meaningless.
Coffee may be linked to cancer. Ditto on cell phones and microwaves.
Today, I stumbled over the headline "Women may be more attracted to men with a little stubble." (I like the place it was published, so I'm not going to link it, I'm just going to mock it.)
Oh they may, may they?
You know what? Coffee may turn steel wool into golden fleece. Wearing Berks may increase the size of my bank account. Knowing the lyrics to "Ice Ice Baby" may be the key to eternal salvation and/or universal enlightenment.
Then again, all that may be total bullshit.
Do people not understand that the word "may" does not actually indicate anything definite? I mean, seriously, Activia may regulate your digestive system, or it may make your nipples sprout fur. Women may be attracted to stubble, or they may prefer to romp through rainbow forests with unicorns that shoot sunshine and rose petals right out their asses! Either statement would be equally valid!! When they say "may," what they're telling you is that THEY DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW FOR SURE, and whatever they're selling you is based on FUCK ALL.
So, please, don't buy it. It's meaningless.
5.28.2008
Attention "Weeds" Fans.
It has come to my attention that the theme song for the TV show "Weeds" is the awesome Malvina Reynolds song "Little Boxes." So, hey, people who are fans of that show and refer to the various versions of the song that were used in the opening titles....fucking credit where it's due, dammit!!
Thank you.
This message is brought to you by Songwriters Annoyed With People Not Bothering To Give Credit to the Artists Whose Work They Apparently Enjoy.
Thank you.
This message is brought to you by Songwriters Annoyed With People Not Bothering To Give Credit to the Artists Whose Work They Apparently Enjoy.
4.21.2008
Ye gods, a whole article on metabolism - and no O-word?!
It's a whole article about metabolism, high blood pressure, heart disease, diabetes, diet, and exercise....and not a single mention of the "obesity epidemic." They even went so far as to call Britain the 51st State...and still no o-word.
There was a mention of genetics, too - basically saying that high blood pressure had less to do with genetics, and more to do with diet and exercise and "gut bacteria" (mm, tasty!). Still nothing about fat. Eating meat was tied to high blood pressure....still nada on fat.
So, basically (if I'm reading this right), high blood pressure is impacted by diet and exercise, and is neither genetic nor tied to fat. So, eating well and exercising is good for health, and weight has jack-all to do with it.
Wow. I can't wait to see this spun. Or totally ignored. Whichev.
There was a mention of genetics, too - basically saying that high blood pressure had less to do with genetics, and more to do with diet and exercise and "gut bacteria" (mm, tasty!). Still nothing about fat. Eating meat was tied to high blood pressure....still nada on fat.
So, basically (if I'm reading this right), high blood pressure is impacted by diet and exercise, and is neither genetic nor tied to fat. So, eating well and exercising is good for health, and weight has jack-all to do with it.
Wow. I can't wait to see this spun. Or totally ignored. Whichev.
4.13.2008
Evidence of systemic racism.
I've seen a lot of talk about race these days, between the Democratic Primary and the controversy around the feminist blogosphere. In going through the various posts rightfully calling attention to some serious bullshit, I stumbled onto Angry Black Woman's call for a Carnival of Allies. Here's my thought.
I firmly believe that widespread, systemic racism is one of the biggest hurdles global culture has to overcome in order to develop into any kind of just and fair society. I believe that even as much as my poor white trash hiney doesn't always see how I benefit from being white (and there are times I don't think of myself as white because I have long-standing class-related issues with the stereotype of "white people"), I nonetheless DO. Much as it breaks my heart, because I have busted my ass to claw myself up from my roots to get anything I have (and because half the time in my life, earning something wasn't enough to get it), I have no doubts that being white has landed me plenty of freebies. Which is bullshit, because goddammit, I want a level playing field so that everyone (including me!) gets full credit for their merits.
But, in trying to think of ways I can see this widespread systemic racism in my own experiences as a white girl, I have often struggled to find a clear, convincing argument for people I know who are disinclined to buy statistics like the racial skewing in jail populations and overall convictions, the ratio of white to non-white people holding executive positions, income disparities and educational access. Even in Chicago, where there are obvious differences in the condition of CTA service based purely on neighborhood - and where segregation by neighborhood is rampant - people still don't think race has anything to do with it.
Last night, though, I thought of something pretty damn compelling, from my own experience.
I love geography. Love it. I love maps, I love knowing what countries are where, and I like having a sense of how the cultures tied to the locations on maps have evolved and shifted over the course of history. I'm kind of a smartypants, too, and so my geography is pretty damn solid. I know the Americas and Europe solidly....I know Asia relatively well....and Africa...well, Africa I sort of know. I can do most of northern Africa and the Arabian peninsula, and I can usually pick out a few countries further south, like, well, South Africa, and um....hm.
See the pattern there?
I was talking to some girlfriends last night, and stumbled onto this. I know the countries where white people live totally by heart. I can even ramble off the states of the former Yugoslavia, and tell you a little bit about the conflict between ethnic groups there and who's living where and what drove the fighting to begin with. I have a fairly good grasp not only of the political boundaries, but also the topography and cultural background of the people living there.
But Africa? Even Asia, to a certain extent? I am much less well-versed, and the countries I do know are much more likely to have been "colonized" by white people. For example, I know lots about Egypt, ancient and modern; of course, it was colonized by both the British and the Romans. Nubian culture, which I think was probably as extensive as ancient Egyptian and I think existed at around the same time frame....I got nothing. I don't even know what I don't know!
Unlike the Yugoslavian situation, I have no idea what drives the violence in Somalia or Darfur. I vaguely know there are some tribal warlords, and I think some of them are Muslim - but I just don't have the cultural landscape locked in my memory the way I do for Europe. I don't have a good sense of the political boundaries or the cultural variety or the history or the religious evolutions or any other aspect of the myriad countries that make up the African continent.
(Which is another thing - I find myself referring to Africa all the time as if it was monolithic....when I know it is not! I know there are at least as many different cultural groups in Africa as in Europe....but I have very little idea what they might be!)
It makes me very sad that an entire continent is so absent from my knowledge base. It makes me sad that - even though I love geography and have gone out of my way over the years to keep my geographical education ongoing - I have not made space for Africa and her peoples. It drives me crazy that, when I was in school as a young person, there was a huge blank I didn't even know about. What utter bullshit.
All of this is what I call undeniable evidence of widespread systemic racism.
And now I have to go start to re-educate myself.
I firmly believe that widespread, systemic racism is one of the biggest hurdles global culture has to overcome in order to develop into any kind of just and fair society. I believe that even as much as my poor white trash hiney doesn't always see how I benefit from being white (and there are times I don't think of myself as white because I have long-standing class-related issues with the stereotype of "white people"), I nonetheless DO. Much as it breaks my heart, because I have busted my ass to claw myself up from my roots to get anything I have (and because half the time in my life, earning something wasn't enough to get it), I have no doubts that being white has landed me plenty of freebies. Which is bullshit, because goddammit, I want a level playing field so that everyone (including me!) gets full credit for their merits.
But, in trying to think of ways I can see this widespread systemic racism in my own experiences as a white girl, I have often struggled to find a clear, convincing argument for people I know who are disinclined to buy statistics like the racial skewing in jail populations and overall convictions, the ratio of white to non-white people holding executive positions, income disparities and educational access. Even in Chicago, where there are obvious differences in the condition of CTA service based purely on neighborhood - and where segregation by neighborhood is rampant - people still don't think race has anything to do with it.
Last night, though, I thought of something pretty damn compelling, from my own experience.
I love geography. Love it. I love maps, I love knowing what countries are where, and I like having a sense of how the cultures tied to the locations on maps have evolved and shifted over the course of history. I'm kind of a smartypants, too, and so my geography is pretty damn solid. I know the Americas and Europe solidly....I know Asia relatively well....and Africa...well, Africa I sort of know. I can do most of northern Africa and the Arabian peninsula, and I can usually pick out a few countries further south, like, well, South Africa, and um....hm.
See the pattern there?
I was talking to some girlfriends last night, and stumbled onto this. I know the countries where white people live totally by heart. I can even ramble off the states of the former Yugoslavia, and tell you a little bit about the conflict between ethnic groups there and who's living where and what drove the fighting to begin with. I have a fairly good grasp not only of the political boundaries, but also the topography and cultural background of the people living there.
But Africa? Even Asia, to a certain extent? I am much less well-versed, and the countries I do know are much more likely to have been "colonized" by white people. For example, I know lots about Egypt, ancient and modern; of course, it was colonized by both the British and the Romans. Nubian culture, which I think was probably as extensive as ancient Egyptian and I think existed at around the same time frame....I got nothing. I don't even know what I don't know!
Unlike the Yugoslavian situation, I have no idea what drives the violence in Somalia or Darfur. I vaguely know there are some tribal warlords, and I think some of them are Muslim - but I just don't have the cultural landscape locked in my memory the way I do for Europe. I don't have a good sense of the political boundaries or the cultural variety or the history or the religious evolutions or any other aspect of the myriad countries that make up the African continent.
(Which is another thing - I find myself referring to Africa all the time as if it was monolithic....when I know it is not! I know there are at least as many different cultural groups in Africa as in Europe....but I have very little idea what they might be!)
It makes me very sad that an entire continent is so absent from my knowledge base. It makes me sad that - even though I love geography and have gone out of my way over the years to keep my geographical education ongoing - I have not made space for Africa and her peoples. It drives me crazy that, when I was in school as a young person, there was a huge blank I didn't even know about. What utter bullshit.
All of this is what I call undeniable evidence of widespread systemic racism.
And now I have to go start to re-educate myself.
3.12.2008
Say what?
I am currently in the process of moving. As part of this moving process (into a slightly smaller place), I'm getting rid of lots of furniture, which I'm throwing out on both Freecycle and Craigslist. This is not stuff I'm selling. This is stuff I'm giving away to whoever can make pick-up arrangements soonest. Pretty standard stuff.
So, today, I'm juggling three different people interested in my kitchen table. One asked for measurements, which I didn't have on hand. I told her I'd get her measurements if nobody else opted to take the set sight unseen. She thanked me for the response. The next guy sent me an e-mail saying he was interested. I asked him if he could pick the set up tomorrow; he responded by asking me to call him....and in the meantime, the third guy arranged to come and get it. So, I e-mailed the second guy to let him know that someone else had already taken it. Because I am courteous, and think it's polite not just to drop even an e-mail conversation in the middle like that.
The response? (And I quote...)"Fuck you!!!!! You could have called me you rotten bitch." (It was in all caps, but I won't recreate that eyesore here.)
So, I'm being polite....and I'm a rotten bitch. I somehow denied this dude the free dining set he wanted, because I didn't call a total fucking stranger who took the time to e-mail me, but not to make arrangements via e-mail. Yeah, that makes TOTAL sense. He's right. I am such a rotten bitch.
You know, I make no pretense to being particularly well bred or blah blah blah...but it seems like somebody ought to have taught this jackhole some fucking manners.
So, today, I'm juggling three different people interested in my kitchen table. One asked for measurements, which I didn't have on hand. I told her I'd get her measurements if nobody else opted to take the set sight unseen. She thanked me for the response. The next guy sent me an e-mail saying he was interested. I asked him if he could pick the set up tomorrow; he responded by asking me to call him....and in the meantime, the third guy arranged to come and get it. So, I e-mailed the second guy to let him know that someone else had already taken it. Because I am courteous, and think it's polite not just to drop even an e-mail conversation in the middle like that.
The response? (And I quote...)"Fuck you!!!!! You could have called me you rotten bitch." (It was in all caps, but I won't recreate that eyesore here.)
So, I'm being polite....and I'm a rotten bitch. I somehow denied this dude the free dining set he wanted, because I didn't call a total fucking stranger who took the time to e-mail me, but not to make arrangements via e-mail. Yeah, that makes TOTAL sense. He's right. I am such a rotten bitch.
You know, I make no pretense to being particularly well bred or blah blah blah...but it seems like somebody ought to have taught this jackhole some fucking manners.
2.20.2008
Miscellaneous.
1. I have long resisted the Firefox, because I'm one of those jerks who refuses to do what "everybody's doing" because what "everybody" does is usually a poor fit for me. However, for a couple reasons, I decided to download Firefox tonight, and holy cows, I can't believe I didn't do this sooner. So much better than IE, for so many reasons. (I still like IE - and will be forced to use it at work. But I think I will not at home much again.)
2. This. Fucking. Insane. Chicago. Weather. Is. Driving. Me. CRAZY. Seriously, 40 degrees, -10 degrees, 50 degrees, 2 degrees. How the fuck is a normal human body supposed to deal with these kinds of temperature shifts so quickly?! I feel like a human barometer! [/END RANT]
3. I started reading these books last weekend, and flew through them really quickly, because they're just that damn fun. I mean, ghosts, demons, the devil, vampires, and plasma guns!!! What the hell isn't to like? Seriously, if you like slightly sci-fi-flavored urban fantasy, and can handle a little bit of whiny-ness in a heroine...I recommend.
4. This set of maps (via TreeHugger) is really interesting. I especially like the "sustainable commerce" section, that looks at population density and installed renewable energy resources. The "Industrial Pollutants" map was also noteworthy. Really instructive - in terms of showing us how scary it is out there.
2. This. Fucking. Insane. Chicago. Weather. Is. Driving. Me. CRAZY. Seriously, 40 degrees, -10 degrees, 50 degrees, 2 degrees. How the fuck is a normal human body supposed to deal with these kinds of temperature shifts so quickly?! I feel like a human barometer! [/END RANT]
3. I started reading these books last weekend, and flew through them really quickly, because they're just that damn fun. I mean, ghosts, demons, the devil, vampires, and plasma guns!!! What the hell isn't to like? Seriously, if you like slightly sci-fi-flavored urban fantasy, and can handle a little bit of whiny-ness in a heroine...I recommend.
4. This set of maps (via TreeHugger) is really interesting. I especially like the "sustainable commerce" section, that looks at population density and installed renewable energy resources. The "Industrial Pollutants" map was also noteworthy. Really instructive - in terms of showing us how scary it is out there.
2.07.2008
News flash: stereotypes and assumptions based on total crap.
Apparently:
(You know what would be awesome? If a study talking about the fact that fat is genetic....didn't still play up the health risks and talk about how we've got to keep trying to beat our genes.)
- fat is genetic
- fat is still genetic
- fat is so genetic, it shows up in the brain
- overeating doesn't make people fat
- fat people cost less for healthcare
(You know what would be awesome? If a study talking about the fact that fat is genetic....didn't still play up the health risks and talk about how we've got to keep trying to beat our genes.)
1.18.2008
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