Thursday, February 5, 2009
Someone said it better
I wanted to write a post, but then I read this, and realised I wanted to post that instead.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
This is why I hate reading the news
I know what the reaction will be to this post: I'm hysterical, and humourless, and a feminazi bitch who needs to get a life and focus on what's really important, with the understanding that, of course, what's really important cannot be the niggling sense that the society in which I live is sexist, and wrong, and wants to treat me like a thing.
Same song, second verse...
Why was this article headlined on Windows Live Today as: "Stepfather killed: Teen 'sex slave' to stand trial"? If it was me, I would have headlined it "Rapist killed: Teen victim to stand trial", or "Teen accused of killing rapist". But I guess that would paint the poor girl in far too sympathetic a light for the media.
The article, too, is a bit hit and miss "after she performed the act" where I would have said "after he assaulted her" (correctly assigning agency "after she performed the act" implies consent) and "many pictures of the pair engaged in sexual activity" where it should read "many pictures of the man raping her".
Please, people, call a spade a spade, and a rape a rape.
The article, too, is a bit hit and miss "after she performed the act" where I would have said "after he assaulted her" (correctly assigning agency "after she performed the act" implies consent) and "many pictures of the pair engaged in sexual activity" where it should read "many pictures of the man raping her".
Please, people, call a spade a spade, and a rape a rape.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Pronouns
This post at Shakesville reminds me of a story a substitute professor told me. He was a baby lecturer (his words) at Sydney Uni, in the 70s, the early days of Women's Lib. One day a young activist protested the use of the male pronoun as universal in the University handbook. It made it sound like all the students were male. The women students were feeling a little alienated. Don't be silly, said the male Dean, it's understood that the male pronoun is universal, and means men and women.
Now, this activist had a mate at the printing press, and when the next bunch of student handbooks went to print, there was one small difference. Oh sure, the book was still written with only one gender pronoun, it was just that - it was the female pronoun.
The Dean pitched a fit. How dare those feminists! It made it sound like his University only had female students! The horror! Don't be silly, said the activist, it's understood that there are students of both gender.
Of course, it wasn't understood. The Dean ordered the run of handbooks pulped. The activist's mate (and higher-ups who had failed to disapprove the change) were fired. But the activists won, because someone realised the Dean's hypocrisy. Obviously, it mattered, and the handbook started using both pronouns.
Now, this activist had a mate at the printing press, and when the next bunch of student handbooks went to print, there was one small difference. Oh sure, the book was still written with only one gender pronoun, it was just that - it was the female pronoun.
The Dean pitched a fit. How dare those feminists! It made it sound like his University only had female students! The horror! Don't be silly, said the activist, it's understood that there are students of both gender.
Of course, it wasn't understood. The Dean ordered the run of handbooks pulped. The activist's mate (and higher-ups who had failed to disapprove the change) were fired. But the activists won, because someone realised the Dean's hypocrisy. Obviously, it mattered, and the handbook started using both pronouns.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Ah, Work
At the moment I have nothing else to talk about, and so: this weeks bitchiest customer at [Restaurant].
Customer at Table M has been catty to us all night, let's call her Snob, for reasons which shall become obvious.
Snob: Excuse me, but we're finished with this cake, and we just thought the Staff might want it.
(Now, we have been given cake before, but something about her manner seemed off.)
Me: Oh, ah, thanks ma'am but that's ok really...
Snob: No. Really it's quite tasty, we just thought The Staff might appreciate it.
Me: Well, thanks ma'am... *I take the cake, feeling like a peasant being given the scraps from The Lords table. Snob gives me a filthy look, like I'm not being grateful enough.* I'm sure we'll all enjoy this.
As I later remarked to AmericanR, it's the first time someone has managed to insult me by giving me cake...
Customer at Table M has been catty to us all night, let's call her Snob, for reasons which shall become obvious.
Snob: Excuse me, but we're finished with this cake, and we just thought the Staff might want it.
(Now, we have been given cake before, but something about her manner seemed off.)
Me: Oh, ah, thanks ma'am but that's ok really...
Snob: No. Really it's quite tasty, we just thought The Staff might appreciate it.
Me: Well, thanks ma'am... *I take the cake, feeling like a peasant being given the scraps from The Lords table. Snob gives me a filthy look, like I'm not being grateful enough.* I'm sure we'll all enjoy this.
As I later remarked to AmericanR, it's the first time someone has managed to insult me by giving me cake...
Friday, January 2, 2009
Just quickly...
... I'm not sure what to make of this. Part of me is going "Ha! Taste of your own medicine, boys!" and the rest of me is aware that eye for an eye doesn't actually work.
And it won't bring Ms Hodder back. But at the same time, the backlash against the bullies is reassuring, and proves that there are people out there who don't condone that sort of behaviour.
And it won't bring Ms Hodder back. But at the same time, the backlash against the bullies is reassuring, and proves that there are people out there who don't condone that sort of behaviour.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Obligatory New Years Post
It's the 1st of January (duh) and considering last night's Tequila consumption, I am surprisingly un-Hungover. Yay!!!
So moving on to the New Year's Resolutions, of which I have Three:
1) Blog more. Preferably daily (complicated by the fact I'm spending most of 09 overseas...)
2) Write more. Finish the damnable first novel which has been killing me for two years now.
3) Get fit. Not 'lose weight', 'get fit'. Mainly because I want to get some hiking in while overseas, and at current fitness level... no. Just no.
So moving on to the New Year's Resolutions, of which I have Three:
1) Blog more. Preferably daily (complicated by the fact I'm spending most of 09 overseas...)
2) Write more. Finish the damnable first novel which has been killing me for two years now.
3) Get fit. Not 'lose weight', 'get fit'. Mainly because I want to get some hiking in while overseas, and at current fitness level... no. Just no.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Belated Christmas Message
Christmas with my mother’s family has a certain rhythm: the BBQ the night before, getting up at oh-Gods’-AM to open ‘Santa’ presents, the big present opening at 11, with Eldest Aunt MCing, and everyone else bitching from the sidelines, lunch at 2:30, which is always a 25 odd people feeding frenzy with way too much food, the pudding contest my grandfather always wins because no one has the heart to tell him that Dad’s pudding tastes better…
And, of course, 8:30 AM mass.
I was raised Catholic. OK, that’s not strictly accurate. My parents were raised Catholic, though Mum’s family win the ‘most religious’ prize by a country mile, and I was baptised Catholic. My younger brother went through the whole kit and caboodle, but I never did. I don’t know when, exactly, I lost my faith – or even if I had faith to lose. I never minded going to Mass as a child, because the music was nice, and the Virgin Mary was pretty, in a serene sad kind of way, but by the time I was eleven, I was pretty sure it was a crock. How could God be all forgiving, yet vengeful? It didn’t make sense. I made a conscious decision to give up on the church thing a couple of years later, after reading that women were supposed to “come to God in fear” and after my religion teacher told our class that sexual desire in women was always evil.
I made my peace with leaving religion a while ago. If I have to articulate it, I would say that I believed in a divine something, but that I had no faith in organised religion, often the domain of Old White Men, and which seemed to cause more problems than it solved. And yet, every year I went to church with my family. Why? Because if I hadn’t, it would have hurt my grandfather beyond words.
Which brings me to the 25th of December 2008. Going to bed the night before I had heard that the Pope’s Christmas message equated homosexuality with global warming. I was furious. This wasn’t what I thought God was supposed to be. It wasn’t what I thought spirituality was supposed to be. It was petty, arrogant bigotry. It made me ashamed to be even peripherally associated with the Catholic Church. For the first time in my life, I decided to try and get out of Church. But at 8:30 the next morning, my nicely clad butt was on a pew.
Why? Even though I was furious, even though I felt hypocritical and yes, dirty, I couldn’t hurt my grandfather, particularly since he’d pulled me aside that morning, and told me that I would be taking the Eucharist, even though I’d never had my first Holy Communion. It meant too much to him.
I sat in Church on Christmas morning feeling like a liar and a hypocrite. I had to grit my teeth in an effort not to snort when the Father thanked God for “returning Bethlehem to its proper owners”. When I stood up to accept the Body of Christ – participating in a ritual I had no right to, I felt ashamed. I nearly choked on it. I felt like I was condoning the Pope’s homophobia, or in some way agreeing with it.
Maybe I should have taken a stand, stood up for my beliefs. I confessed my doubts to Second Eldest Aunt, and Youngest Aunt. For what it was worth, they absolved me of guilt. After all, I’d only gone because I loved my grandfather. It didn’t make everything right, but it was something, I suppose.
And, of course, 8:30 AM mass.
I was raised Catholic. OK, that’s not strictly accurate. My parents were raised Catholic, though Mum’s family win the ‘most religious’ prize by a country mile, and I was baptised Catholic. My younger brother went through the whole kit and caboodle, but I never did. I don’t know when, exactly, I lost my faith – or even if I had faith to lose. I never minded going to Mass as a child, because the music was nice, and the Virgin Mary was pretty, in a serene sad kind of way, but by the time I was eleven, I was pretty sure it was a crock. How could God be all forgiving, yet vengeful? It didn’t make sense. I made a conscious decision to give up on the church thing a couple of years later, after reading that women were supposed to “come to God in fear” and after my religion teacher told our class that sexual desire in women was always evil.
I made my peace with leaving religion a while ago. If I have to articulate it, I would say that I believed in a divine something, but that I had no faith in organised religion, often the domain of Old White Men, and which seemed to cause more problems than it solved. And yet, every year I went to church with my family. Why? Because if I hadn’t, it would have hurt my grandfather beyond words.
Which brings me to the 25th of December 2008. Going to bed the night before I had heard that the Pope’s Christmas message equated homosexuality with global warming. I was furious. This wasn’t what I thought God was supposed to be. It wasn’t what I thought spirituality was supposed to be. It was petty, arrogant bigotry. It made me ashamed to be even peripherally associated with the Catholic Church. For the first time in my life, I decided to try and get out of Church. But at 8:30 the next morning, my nicely clad butt was on a pew.
Why? Even though I was furious, even though I felt hypocritical and yes, dirty, I couldn’t hurt my grandfather, particularly since he’d pulled me aside that morning, and told me that I would be taking the Eucharist, even though I’d never had my first Holy Communion. It meant too much to him.
I sat in Church on Christmas morning feeling like a liar and a hypocrite. I had to grit my teeth in an effort not to snort when the Father thanked God for “returning Bethlehem to its proper owners”. When I stood up to accept the Body of Christ – participating in a ritual I had no right to, I felt ashamed. I nearly choked on it. I felt like I was condoning the Pope’s homophobia, or in some way agreeing with it.
Maybe I should have taken a stand, stood up for my beliefs. I confessed my doubts to Second Eldest Aunt, and Youngest Aunt. For what it was worth, they absolved me of guilt. After all, I’d only gone because I loved my grandfather. It didn’t make everything right, but it was something, I suppose.
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