Terror and Grief

Have been thinking a lot lately about the recent attacks on Paris and the way people from all around the world have responded to it. Watching social media feeds, listening to people talk, following the news coverage, responses have ranged from a violent backlash against the Syrian refugees and Muslims in general, to a redoubled determination to reach out to and provide aid for those same people.

What struck me hardest was the hate. In the days following the attack, and even now over a week later, the degree of hate being spewed across my Facebook page rattled me. The hate--hate directed not at Islamic radicals, but at all Muslims and particularly those fleeing the same types of radicals who orchestrated the attack in Paris--shook me even deeper than the attacks themselves. Because what we should be fearing isn't refugees, or Muslims, or terrorists. What we (humanity) should fear is extreme hatred, no matter what form it takes, or who it's directed at. Responding to an act of extreme hatred with extreme hatred is self-defeating. Hate begets hate. And that's not just some hippy-dippy love-your-fellow-man theory--that's something that has been demonstrated in history again and again.

In trying to understand this outpouring of (in many cases misdirected) hate I am now framing peoples' reactions to the horrifying attack within the context of grief. When faced with a tragedy, it is natural to grieve, and when grieving, it is natural to go through the five stages of shock and denial, anger, depression and detachment, dialogue and bargaining, and acceptance. What I would like to think is that at least some of what I was seeing drift across my newsfeeds was not hate for the sake of hate, but a natural phase in the cycle of grief--the shock, denial, and anger that one goes through when grappling with the loss of life.  I would like to think that a portion of these expressions of hate were expressions of the anger of grief, and therefore a necessary part of the process in moving towards acceptance, and something more positive.

Of course, the question then becomes is it possible to authentically grieve for people you did not know? Can you grieve when the loss is not personally your own? Does the cycle of grief still apply? I think so, though my feeling is that that cycle is significantly abbreviated for those of us not directly touched by a tragedy.

In the end, I suppose it might not matter whether the hateful words people speak and the actions they commit in the wake of November 13ths attacks stem from a place of grief, or from a place of actual hatred. The damage done is the same. But for me--grief, I can understand. I can forgive things said and done in grief. I cannot find it in me, however, to forgive anything stemming from pure unthinking hate.

To leave on a note of hope, and healing:

BDSM PSA

So, by now, most of us who are interested have heard that the CBC's Jian Ghomeshi has been fired over his sexual practices, which seem to be centered around the BDSM culture. For those of you unfamiliar, BDSM is defined as "erotic practices involving dominance and submission, roleplay and restraint".

He is suing the CBC for $50 million (taxpayer dollars), claiming both defamation, and an unjust termination based on his sexual preferences. And if they were firing him just because he was involved in BDSM, this would most certainly be the case. It would be the equivalent of firing someone because of their sexual orientation, or because they have tattoos. Not fair.

However, what seems to be missing for many people in the discussion of whether or not the CBC ought to have terminated his employment is the fact that three women have come forward with claims of sexual abuse. Ghomeshi has countered this, saying that he has never engaged in sex with a non-consenting partner, and that the claims of abuse are most likely lies planted by a crazy ex-girlfriend.

I can't speak to his crazy ex-girlfriends, but I can talk a bit about BDSM culture and abuse. BDSM can be violent--it is frequently centered around seeking pleasure in pain. To someone unfamiliar with the culture, it might seem like anyone engaging in this sort of sexual practice deserves whatever abuse they get. But this is not the case. Making this assumption is, in fact, the same thing as saying that a woman in slutty clothes deserves to be raped.

The reason? There is something of a golden rule in BDSM culture that REAL and FINAL power lies in the hands of the submissive. This means if at any point the submissive gets uncomfortable and says "Stop" or some other safeword, it is the dominant's responsibility to do as he or she is told. If the dominant (in this case Ghomeshi) were to ignore this rule, he would no longer be engaged in the same sexual act the submissive originally consented to. In BDSM, an act morphs from consensual sex to sexual abuse the moment final power is wrested from the hands of the submissive.

Now, I'm not saying that this is absolutely the case with Ghomeshi. I don't know, I wasn't there. But I feel like if this is a case of Ghomeshi repeatedly breaking the golden rule BDSM and hurting women who didn't know what they were getting into, the CBC is most certainly right in terminating his employment, because what we are dealing with is an illegal act of sexual abuse. Too often in our culture we are willing to write off the words of a woman claiming sexual abuse as just that -- a groundless claim. I for one am glad that the CBC is taking these allegations seriously, and I hope that there is a full and fair investigation.

It is also my hope that people won't lose sight of the three women who came forward. This isn't a question of whether a person should be fired for engaging in BDSM culture--the answer to that is a simple "absolutely not." The question here is, should a person be fired for perpetrating sexual abuse to which the answer, in my book, is yes.

Fear and the University

So, all of us who care to have heard about the drama going on at the University of Saskatchewan lately will have heard by now. The TransformUS project, which really translates into another crippling bout of layoffs and department mergers in the name of a maybe-deficit that isn't too different from the deficit facing pretty much any public institution in the country. Soon-to-be retired professor R. Buckingham's outcry against the TransformUS plan and the rather brutal reaction of the provost/president with his termination and a lifelong ban from campus. The popular outcry that this was an affront to academic freedom and freedom of speech and the resulting resignation of the Provost and termination of President Ilene Busch-Vishniac.

I am ashamed to say that, as an employee of the university, I did very little to speak out against TransformUs, or Busch-Vishniac's treatment of Dr. Buckingham. I didn't blog about it, facebook about it, didn't reshare any of the articles I was avidly reading, didn't attend the May 21st rally. I didn't do any of these things because I was afraid -- like, stupid, paralyzing, lay in my bed in the dark and fear for my job/develop dental tooth-grinding problems afraid.  I am only talking about it now because I feel a bit safer under the administration of our new temporary president Gordon Barnhart.

So, why so afraid? Aside from the obvious fear of losing a job that I love, being a new employee in a unionized setting where there is a push towards "last in the door, first out," I was afraid because under the regime of Busch-Vishniac, there was a seemingly conscious effort to create a climate of fear. All employees regardless of union/non-union/tenure-track/faculty status were at risk of coming to work one morning to find a pair of security guards and (if lucky) a cardboard box waiting at their desk. No two weeks warning, no gentle words of explanation and an honourable goodbye--just the University equivalent of gestapo making an example of you in front of people you'd worked with, maybe for decades, and a long escorted "perp walk" off campus.

Management through fear, while it may work fine in many corporate environments, is absolutely contrary to everything an academic institution should stand for. This is because fear is so frequently partnered with ignorance. I won't say that you can't have one without the other, or that one causes the other, but chances are: where there is fear, there is ignorance, and where there is ignorance, there is fear.

By encouraging an atmosphere of fear on a University campus, Busch-Vishniac was also encouraging ignorance. Innovative thinking on the part of the students can hardly be fostered in a place where staff are bullied to thinking and behaving like drones. And without innovative thinking on the part of at least some percentage of the University population, what, really, is the point of the academic institution? We become some sort of Dr. Seussian machine churning out identical creatures with stars on their bellies and stamped pieces of paper in their hands.

While the relief when the Provost stepped down was great, and the relief accompanying the termination of Busch-Vishniac even greater, I think the true sign that this attitude of ruling-by-fear is changing comes with interim president Barnhart's assurance that Perp Walks are a thing of the past. Perhaps with the withdrawal of the cloud of fear that has been hovering over the campus for the past few years, the entire institution can get back to the important task of focusing on enlightenment over ignorance. 

A Note on Elliot Rodgers

I have ten minutes to write down my thoughts on the mass murderer behind the killing of six people at UC Santa Barbara earlier this week--and ten minutes is more than he's worth.

First: You, Elliot Rodgers, were a spoiled self-absorbed whiny little prat who couldn't take responsibility for your own failures and insecurities, choosing to instead project that self-hate outwards. You lacked the self awareness anyone dealing with mental issues needs to pursue a normal, healthy life. More than that, you were too blinded by your own selfishness to have any degree of that needed self-awareness.

Second: Yes, you were a misogynist asswipe, Elliot, but contrary to what the media is yowling about, the real issue here isn't misogyny. Misogyny played a role, yes. It heavily influenced the heavily influence-able Elliot, for certain, but the real issue is mental illness, and our inability as a society to read the warning signs of someone about to flip their lid, and do something useful with that information. And lets face it, our Elliot was throwing up plenty of red flags. Society as a whole needs to both understand mental illness more completely, take its manifestations more seriously, and deal with it more directly and decisively if we are to prevent these tragedies from occurring.

That's all I've got to say on the issue.

A complex relationship with language

. . .or a language complex. . .

Reading kills meaning
as writing slays word.s
Language a slag heap
of bloodied nouns,
broken adjectives,
twitching verbs.

There is a certain type of former English major who suffers a form of literary ptsd. I am one of them. Pursuing my degree ruined me for pleasure reading (simple pleasure reading, anyway--now I always always must analyze what  is being read on a more complex level). Likewise, my ability to string a sentence together in a way that seems clever without sounding trite has been torn from me, and I bumblefuck my meaning across, bleating like a tongueless antelope. (See?)

It's like there are two extremes of interaction with language, and only a certain personality type is able to walk the knife's edge between the two and experience true literary contentment. On the one side, we have an extreme where things like reading and writing seem so dull, onerous, and unnecessary, that individuals would rather lick sandpaper than read a line of Shakespeare. Let us call this extreme that of literary ignorance. People in this category much prefer swifter forms of communication like texting. At the other extreme, we have individuals who find themselves so trapped in a neverending Hell of literary analysis they would rather stab out their own eyes with forks than read another line of Shakespeare. Let us call this extreme that of literary over-saturation. This would be the category I fall into, I think.

Could the ever narrowing gap of literary contentment between these two extremes be part of why language itself seems to be going the way of the dodo? Are we all so impatient with language, or so worn out on it, that we would rather grunt and stab at small screens with our thumbs than communicate openly with our tongues?

I don't have an answer. Ask me again when I'm not running a fever.

Nostalgia

So, what is up with all of these people saying they should have been born in a different era? You have the new-wave house moms (nothing wrong with being a house mom, btw), making clothes and puddings and cheese and bread and crocheted cozies for their SUVs from scratch. You have the hipsters, beating mothballs off of their great-grandad's clothes and lugging his typewriter out to the park to write poetry that reflects Poe at his worst (something great grandad would probably never have done, if you think about it). You have the fashion bloggers, dolling themselves up Victorian, or twenties, thirties, forties, fifties, sixties, seventies, or eighties and bemoaning the fact that if they had just been born a few decades earlier, someone out there would understand their fashion sense.  Pinterest boards covered in paraphernalia from past decades. People displaying nostalgia for things they never came close to having a chance to experience.

I mean, I get it. The present sucks. There are no jobs, we're all in debt. Life is hectic, expectations are high, and we've all got more responsibilities than we can shake a stick at. We're all drowning in a shitstorm of information overload, and people are longing for simpler, pleasanter times.

But . . .seriously.

So many people have blogged on this or started community discussions on this (you know, using the internet) its not even funny. Here are some examples. 

"  I often think I should have been born in another time and another place. Don't get me wrong. I have a wonderful family. I just like differant things and would have loved to have been around in certain times in History.   I love reading about the 1700's 1800's. I wish I could have been around during the Victorian era."

The author of this snippet was a woman, to contextualize. Really? REALLY? You would like to live in a time where, as a woman, you were expected to be seen, rather than heard. A time when you were not yet, fully, legally considered a human being. You couldn't vote. You couldn't really state your opinion. In the 1700's, especially, depending on your class, you may not have even been able to read those books you enjoy reading. Lets be real, here.

"Anyone else feel like they were born in the wrong time period. I mean don’t get me wrong I find technology useful but there is little room for adventure in this day and age.
If you could live anywhere in any time period where’d it be?"

Sort of encompasses the issue, doesn't it? The present is dull. Things were far more exciting in the middle ages when there were dragons and shit . .. Thing is, people have found life dull no matter what time they're living in. The problem isn't the time period. The problem is the people living in it. You will find excitement and adventure wherever you are, as long as you're looking.

"Yes, I often feel like I was born too late! I would've liked to have lived in the mid-to-late 1800's, in the Old West or in a wilderness. Live on a homestead in a cabin I built myself, raise my own food, ride or drive a horse everywhere, and be self-sufficient. Live without electricity and heat my house with wood. Live off the land. Of course, people do that nowadays, but I think it would be much harder today with the government telling you what you can and can't do."

Now, I like good hard physical labor as much as the next person, more than most . . .but the person writing this has obviously never lived on a farm. The payoff of having created something by yourself is good--if you can do it. A lot of homesteaders just gave up. A lot of them worked themselves to death. There's a great deal of isolation in that sort of a lifestyle, and while isolation can be good, it also tends to drive you a little batty if enforced over a long period. No such thing as a vacation--things always need to be done, even (though to a lesser extent) on Sundays. Constant. Grinding. Toil.

Also, this pinterest board entitled Renaissance/ Medieval- the time period I should have been born in :). Its a lovely board. Full of lovely things. Unfortunately, the Middle Ages and the Renaissance were not lovely times. People dumped shit out of windows onto the streets, and thought that wearing perfume was a good alternative to bathing. They also thought that leeches could save you from cancer, and that any outspoken woman was a witch.

I guess what I'm saying is, is its not really right to hold up any era in a golden light of idealism. People have always been people no matter what time they're living in. Beliefs change, daily activities change . . .but in the end, humans are just humans. Times change, but we stay the same . . .and because of that, time ceases to matter.  

This from the girl with a (soon) archival degree.

Pride and Prejudice

Okay, gonna attempt to write a writey post naow, but words no good have today, so sound garbled maybe.

I think most of us who know how to read, write, think, and chew gum at the same time would agree that we dislike prejudice. What comes to our minds when we think of prejudice is this:

Or this: 

But what a lot of us have trouble realizing is that we all have prejudices. Those of us who claim to be the least prejudiced may have the harshest prejudice against those we view as "prejudiced". Which might seem like justice at the time, but is actually pretty illogical. 

So, given that everyone has some sort of prejudice, what makes some prejudices worse than others? I'm going to throw out the notion (absolutely debatable) that it is less the content of the prejudice that makes it "bad" , then what is done with it. 

Characteristics of a "bad" prejudice:

1.) It is used to maintain authority over another group.

2.) It is used as a tool of power-through-fear, against the group the prejudice is inflicted upon, or (surprisingly often) directed at the prejudiced themselves (who get stuck in a cycle of fear, which validates their prejudice, which generates more fear, etc. etc.) 

3.) It is acted upon  . . .actively. Burning crosses in people's yards, folks. Not cool. 

4.) It is acted upon passively. For example, school is hard enough without your teacher marking you down because she doesn't like your hair color or something. 

5.) It is passed on to children. I'm sorry. I know we, as adults, have all developed our own prejudices through the course of our lives, but if you are actively trying to pass that prejudice on to your kids, seriously, you can burn in hell and a happy Satan assfuck to you (and there's my prejudice, ladies and gentlemen). The very, very, very least you owe your children is the right to develop their own prejudices in their own good time, rather than having some half baked ideal shoved down their throat at an age when they are too helpless to say "no, daddy, I don't like half-baked ideals. Please don't feed me any more of them." 

I'm sure there are more characteristics of a "bad" prejudice, and I know that all prejudices, no matter how they are expressed are "bad". But, they are an inescapable part of how we function in the world, and maybe if we can understand some of the ways in which your regular human prejudice can morph into something awful and inhuman, we can learn to prevent just that from happening.

And yeah, that was definitely too big a topic to tackle with this size of headache.
Stevie, out.

Taxis and whatnot

This is really a small portion of what could be a huge rant about how Anglais are treated in Quebec. But, that is really too big of a topic for me to handle here, and one which I am certain would get me into some trouble if I did. So, allow me to restrict myself to transportation in Montreal.

Say, for example, I wanted to order a cab. This seems simple enough. You find a phone number, you call it. . .right? Wrong! In Quebec, prior to making such a call, you desperately search the web for a company with service in both English and French. Should you fail to do this, and you call one of the French companies instead (even though pretty much everyone here speaks some degree of English) the dispatcher will straight up hang up on you. Rude.

Or, for example, say I want to ride the bus to the airport. Nowhere is it posted that this is a $9 trip. The driver will explain this to me in French, will not explain it in English, will become increasingly frustrated with me, finally explain it in English, and then kick me off the bus. When I attempt to explain why I was confused (AKA I thought my transit pass had enough $ on it for a $9 trip), he will say (in perfect English) "I don't know English". Rude.

What ticks me off here isn't so much the rudeness (although that is bad enough), it isn't this stubborn adherence to the French language in a world where English is the global language, it isn't even the general lack of common courtesy and concern for one's fellow man. What bothers me, more than anything, is that this sort of behavior is absolutely illogical in any sort of a setting where one is intending to generate a profit. Montreal is a city with many English speakers, and many French speakers. By catering to both, you are maximizing your profit. By catering to only one or the other, you are cutting your profits in half. Simple good business sense seems to be greatly lacking in this city.

To demonstrate the reverse: were a French speaker to wander into a store in Saskatchewan (where French is poor at best and non-extant at worse), the storekeeper would not automatically turn this customer away with a brisk "I do not speak French". I mean, certainly some assholes would, but this wouldn't be a common practice. Instead, the storekeeper would do her utmost to try to understand the potential customer. She would point, she would grasp at her rudimentary grade seven French, she would flap around and grunt until some sort of meaning was exchanged. At the very least, she would be intensely apologetic. The point is, anywhere else in the country, all customers are created equal (unless they are rude or have a history of not paying). The money exchanged is the same no matter what language you speak. Obtaining money is the entire point of a business, ergo the language spoken should not prevent someone from giving a business money.

In conclusion:

Flywheel

So, every so often, I enjoy watching a REALLY BAD Christian movie. I think part of the reason I enjoy this is because I spent four months too many working at Western Canada's largest distributor of Christian books' warehouse. Anyway, Christian movies (with the exception of veggie tales, which can actually be delightfully witty, and stfu if you think otherwise) have a penchant for being terribly written, and even more poorly acted.

Flywheel, the enthralling tale of a crooked used car salesman turned straight, is no exception.

The movie begins with some epic piano music in the opening credits. It should be noted that this epic piano music DOES NOT STOP AT ALL anywhere throughout the movie. The main character, Jay, has trouble taking his morning shit? You can be damn sure that has its own musical score in soaring piano notes. This is funny enough in itself. What makes the movie even more funny is the fact that it's set in Arkansas, and the actors are all definitely untrained, and most certainly from the south.

Its like if the cast of the Honey Boo Boo show were sort of able to read and sort of act off of a script that had been written by a man who had watched nothing but television preachers and eaten nothing but Chik-fil-a for his entire adult life. Realism abounds as these bible belt idiots fumble through their lines, laugh like wheeeeweeee, make constipated faces and resort to psalms when at a loss for better words (which is frequently). One part did have me laughing out loud, though, and that's when our used car salesman gets his ASS CHEWED by some sassy old black lady and her even older, even blacker mother. That was totally worth it. (Magical African American Friend, anyone?)

The funniest part of this movie, however, is that it was made in 2003, and yet manages to pull itself together with all of the low-budget graininess, bad musical scores, and value-village wardrobe of a B-movie in the 1980's. Now, I don't know how many of my readers have been down south, but the big bible belters do seem to be stuck in the 80's, so , I suppose, realism strikes again. 

Somehow, Flywheel manages to go on in this manner for TWO hours. Don't worry, I was multitasking heavily, so it wasn't two hours of my life wasted. Anyway, its always nice to have the reminder of why I never want to ever get back in the business of selling christian shit again in my life. 

Your brain is not a penis, quit jerking it off.

Rant time! I know how fun it can be to get lost in one's own mental catacombs. Digging up treasures, expending large amounts of mental energy to formulate some sort of a mental structure whereby you believe the universe and all in it operates. 

But, no matter how fun it is, how productive it may feel, it is important to remember that thought does not make reality. No matter how hard you think, and how sure you are that you've got the whole universe figured out and lying prone at your feet, back in reality where people have to work to put bread in their mouths, all you've really accomplished is a whole lot of mental masturbation. Thought, while it is an important component in grounding ourselves in our human realities, when taken too far, can have the opposite effect, transforming what might be useful members of society into abstract philosophers who have their heads so far up their asses they are mistaking their stomachs for an ultimate Truth. 

In the end, your brain is not a penis. There are more flattering ways to use it than mentally jerking off and having your own psychic cum dribbling down your face. 

/ end rant. 

Chronicles of the Medicated

So, its time for another one of those painfully honest posts (as if seeing me half naked once a month wasn't brutal enough). For most of my life, I have struggled with depression, bipolarity, and anxiety. Bipolarity, in particular, I have a genetic predisposition to, as it can be traced back for three generations in my family. However, despite knowing about my genetic predisposition towards being batshit crazy, I spent the first twenty two years of my life steadfastly in denial. Given a little more time, I would get a grip, I'd tell myself. If I thought it through enough, remained self aware, eventually I'd be "normal". Eventually the sadness and the moodswings and the anxiety would go away, as long as I *worked* at it hard enough.

This notion of somehow intellectually bludgeoning myself into good mental health was reinforced by my parents, who viewed the taking of any kind of medication (head-drug) as a sign of weakness. Its not just my parents, either. Society, up until very recently, has tended to view people who use medication to sort out their emotional and mental problems in a pretty negative light. Taking the easy way out.

But here's the thing. Sometimes you *can't* bludgeon yourself into shape. Sometimes, there really is something just miswired inside of you. Chemical imbalance. Something firing wrong. Just makes you feel down (or up and down and up and down) for no real reason. Hell, it got to the point for me where I would *invent* reasons just to justify the moodswings, particularly the bouts of depression and anxiety. For the record, making shit up to justify how you are feeling isn't normal, healthy, or good. At that point, I suggest you consider that your problems might be chemical in nature, and seek out a doctor. 

Which is exactly what I did, about two years ago, during a particularly low point in my existence. I didn't do it right at all. I went to a walk-in clinic, where they had me fill out a bunch of goofy tests (quizilla, anyone?), which the doctor swiftly frowned over, and went "hmmm" and then wrote me a prescription for Prozac (for the depression) and Divalproex (for the bipolar). 

Now for the surprising bit. Despite the slapdash nature of my getting my hands on these drugs, and despite a rather unfortunate two weeks when they had me on ativan for anxiety, which made me sleep about eighteen hours a day, I found that, once I had adapted, the prozac and the divalproex actually helped. 

It was like a switch flipped on in my brain. Things which had seemed insurmountable before (like getting up in the morning and finding breakfast AND putting my shirt on right side in) began to look like what they were (aka: life). And things I hadn't even dreamed of doing before (like going to school across the country) suddenly seemed possible. Despite not being medicated directly for anxiety, the cocktail for depression/bipolarity seemed to also work to reduce my anxiety significantly. I spent less time freaking out and fretting, and more time just doing things and dealing with my problems. Not to say that I turned into superwoman or anything. I'd still have my down days. I still do. But the world isn't a big, scary, dreadful place anymore. It is the world, and I am in it, and I will make the most of the time I have.

Some people will read this and think : psychosomatic. Seven years ago or so, I would have been inclined to agree. But, the thing is, I have gone off of my meds (for financial reasons), and the old problems gradually snuck back in like fourteen year olds at an R rated movie. The change was so gradual, that I didn't notice I was having problems again until my boyfriend pointed out that my constant depression was starting to damage our relationship. All I can say is thank God for boyfriends. I smartened up, I went to the doctor, I got back on my meds . . . and again, within two weeks, that switch had flipped, and everything once again seemed possible. It wasn't too long after that that I nailed down a job, finished the semester with flying colors, started exercising more and started to have more and more time to spend with friends (as opposed to laying in bed staring at the ceiling fan). It was also around that time that I started blogging again in earnest, now that I think about it. February-ish.

So no, its not "all in my head", and its not something that I can "work through". There are other issues I have that I am sure therapy would prove useful for, like anxiety. But the depression and the bipolar behavior seem to be purely chemical in nature, and the medications help in a way that no amount of introspective self-aware, touchy-feely bullshit ever could.

That is not to say, however, that I think that everyone should just give up, give in, and get medicated. Far from it. I fought for a good decade to get a grip on myself, and it was only after fighting for so long, that I realized a different tactic was needed. I think its important for people to strive to get a grip on their own issues before hopping on the pill wagon. However, I think it is also important that people not demonize the use of medication to address mental health issues. If the therapy or self-discovery route just isn't doing it for you, if you're verging on despair and all of your personal relationships are going to shambles because no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to think and feel like a normal rational human being, there is absolutely no shame in being medicated. None at all. And you can tell anyone who tries to tell you differently to go fuck themselves, because I will tell you this: when there is something wrong in you that is throwing everything you care about, and maybe your own life into jeopardy, only a really crazy person would refuse to explore all of their options.

And you don't want to be really crazy, do you? 

My Two Cents

I figure its about time I lay down my thoughts on the student protests/ public response going on in Montreal. Just as a preface, two cents might be about all my opinion is worth here. I am not a native of Quebec, I am not involved in the protests, and I'm not an avid follower of the news. However, because so many friends back home have asked about it, I figured what the hell, I might as well throw down my thoughts and impressions as a quasi "outside observer" to the whole thing.

First of all, I do not agree with the way the student protests started out. Crowding the streets during the day and banging pots and pans at night does nothing but inconvenience and piss off the taxpayers--who the students should be trying to get on-side, rather than annoy, if they want to keep tuition at least partially subsidized by the government. Also, the notion of "striking" from university seems about as effective as boycotting Walmart, which is to say, not very effective at all. (Yes, I did just compare McGill to Walmart -- here's your McEducation, would you like fries with that? But that's another rant in and of itself).

Secondly, I think the entire reason these protests are taking place (namely the dramatic hike in tuition fees and the increased student debt that will cause) is perhaps a poorly thought out cause. We live in a debt based economy, on a global scale, and no amount of shouting, waving signs, or pinning red squares onto our lapels is going to change that. The provincial government is able to do about as much to remedy this international situation as we ourselves are, and the feds can't do much more. It would take worldwide economic cooperation in order to erase the culture of debt in which we now live, and honestly, I think we'll be able to genetically engineer pigs that fly before international cooperation of that sort comes about.

So, that for that. The whole thing is an exercise in futility.

However, that is not to say that I agree with the ways in which the situation has been handled by the media, the police, and the government. For starts, the media has blown the whole thing out of proportion, making the protests into "riots", and generally giving the students a lot of bad press that they don't necessarily deserve. Its not like I have to walk the streets in fear of being firebombed and gang-raped by money-hungry students frothing at the mouth. The worst you can accuse this movement of is of choosing to fight a fight that no one has the power to win.

The police are likewise overreacting. I have seen a couple of these protests in action. While the noise can be overwhelming, the disruption to traffic patterns annoying, and the presence of human bodies nigh on awe-inspiring, its not exactly something that needs an entire police force armed with Tasers and pepper spray and batons and goddam horses to control.

And finally, perhaps the most drama-queen-ish of the entire lot is the provincial government itself. The passing of Bill 78, which you can read about here, was a completely overblown response to the unrest, and has, as most overblown responses do, just made things worse, actually turning the tide for the protesters, transforming them from annoyances into near-martyrs. National support for the movement has grown since the passing of Bill 78, as the plight of the Quebec students comes to symbolize a wider struggle for basic rights and freedoms across Canada. Which is a real shame, when there are so many other, more significant, and more damaging affronts to basic human rights and freedoms that occur just beyond our blinders every day in this country.

Celebrities, and Their Tits.

So, it's happened again. Some celebrity snapped a bunch of photos of her naughty bits on her phone, and they got leaked to the public. Which celebrity this time you ask? None other than Blake Lively, star of "Gossip Girl", "The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants" (parts one and two), and the upcoming "Green Lantern".

I'm sure you're asking yourself the same thing I am:

Why the *fuck* can't the famous figure out this simple fact. If they take pictures of their tits, they *will* be seen by the public. It's inevitiable.

Or to quote a disturbed literary figure: "It's axiomatic."

The popular theory is that she snapped these R-Rated pics while she was filming "The Town". Having seen them, I'd have to say I concur, since the tattoo's on her body match the ones that Make-up put on her for the movie. So, here it is. I'm gonna put it out there in plain-speak for all the celebrities who think that their boyfriends need a picture of them posing like self-absorbed cunts in their bathroom mirror:

HEY. CELEBRITIES. HERE'S THE DEAL. IF YOU TAKE A PICTURE OF YOUR TITS, ASS, AND NETHERLY GIRLY BITS.. PEOPLE WILL SEE. IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN. THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. SO UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR VAG PLASTERED ACROSS THE WEB, KEEP YOUR FUCKING PANTS ON.

That being said: I hope no one takes my advice, because I like watching famous people fall.

(I almost included pictures, but I'm not sure who the rights belong to, so I neglected. If anyone is desperate to see them, go to Egotastic, or What Would Tyler Durden Do?)

I almost forgot to add: her Reps vehemently deny that this is her.. but she has nice tits, and I like nice tits -- after doing a forensic examination that approaches CSI levels, I can say -- this *is* her.

Reflection on Holidays

I call this a reflection, but really its more of a pet peeve of mine: People who refuse to celebrate holidays because they are "too commercial". If you don't like the holiday, don't believe in what's behind it, that's fine--nothing saying you have to celebrate. But if you agree with the holiday in everything but what popular culture has done with it, you need to stop and look at yourself. What you are angry with is the fact that holidays like Christmas, easter, valentines day, have become more about physical gifts (xboxes, stuffed bunnies, chocolate) than about the religious/social aspects. But refusing to have anything to do with the holiday is not an answer. In fact, it just makes the problem worse. Refusing to celebrate Christmas with your family does not give meaning back to Christmas--rather than spreading love and joy, it spreads resentment and unhappiness.

It is far better to look at the holiday, think about what it represents to you,  and go about sharing that meaning with others in your life, than it is just to sit back, ignore the day and everyone involved in it. If friends are important, bake Christmas cookies and share them over coffee with your best buds. If family is what counts to you, buy your family members little gifts on valentines day just to remind them that you care. If religion is what floats your boat, convince someone to go to church with you on easter. Share. Enjoy. Appreciate. The holidays (any holiday) will be a whole lot less stressful and a whole lot more fun for everyone.

A brief post on the victimization of women

So, I just read about Toronto's Slut Walk, at http://www.fangirltastic.com/content/slut-walk (Thank you Minerva Li of The Renfield Trading Company!) This event was held in light of some comments made earlier in the year by a Toronto police officer, which amounted to:

"If a woman dresses like a slut, she deserves to be assaulted".

This is a stigma that has been kicking around for a long, long, long time. It is tremendously outdated. It has caused judges to be sympathetic with rapists, and apparently causes our law enforcement to be unsympathetic with victims.

Here's the thing. Unless a woman verbally asks to be advanced upon sexually, or instigates sexual contact, she is not asking to be advanced upon sexually. Period. It doesn't matter what she is wearing. Clothing is its own sort of language, but it can be easily misinterpreted, and so should not hold up as evidence of a woman's sluttishness and intent to seduce in court. Those short shorts she was wearing? MAYBE IT WAS HOT OUT, DIMWAD.

If a man with a chicken fetish were to rape a woman in a chicken suit, would her outfit be held as a valid reason for his actions? I really don't think so. She was just going about her job selling fried chicken, for chrissakes.

In retaliation, I think women should start running around shoving baseball bats up the asses of any good looking men wandering around shirtless, or wearing a nice suit, or with a few too many buttons undone at the bar. We'll see how the courts and the law enforcement like that.

And remember, Toronto cop, women find men in uniform sexy. By your own standards, you could be next.

Devolution

If you hadn't noticed, I've been reading the Niebelungenlied, which is an epic poem of the middle ages. Something that has always struck me as a little odd about literature from this period, is the way the characters' emotional responses seem blown out of proportion. For example, when hearing of Siegfried's death, all 1100 knights join Kriemhild and her ladies in weeping in the hall, something which I mockingly referred to as a "group therapy session". Kriemhild mourns the loss of Siegfried intensely, bawling her eyes out every day for three years.

In medieval epic tales, wars can be started for love, a few bad words can lead to murder, and everyone just seems larger than life. Verses upon verses are devoted to detailing the purity of the good, and verses upon verses are devoted to detailing the dark souls of the evil.

Now, most people (logical, rational people) would tell you that this is just storytelling. Exaggeration for the sake of story. But, what if--what if--people really did feel with greater intensity back then?

Yeah yeah, roll your eyes at me. Yet another lecture about desensitization in modern culture. But think  about it. Right now, we have around 20,000 dead in japan after the March 11 tsumami, and hundreds of thousands homeless. Not only that, but it is becoming increasingly apparent that many on the island are in danger of radiation poisoning due to the leaks at the Fukushima plant.This is a massive natural disaster, which will have long lasting ecological, social, and economic ramifications.

Meanwhile, in Libya, we have Ghadafi using civilians as meat shields, and yet another war is brewing there before we're even out of Afghanistan (remember Afghanistan?).

And, for chrissakes, Canada's having an election. But do most of us care about any of this? No. We'd rather watch Dancing With the Stars.

As so many have done before me, I would like to take this opportunity to blame human nature as exacerbated by the modern media for this generalized modern antipathy. In the time of the Niebelungenlied, when a war happened, either you were directly involved in it, or unaware of it. There was no distance--either it was there, directly in your life, or it was not. Now, after the introduction of the modern media, we can be aware of horrific things happening all around the world--not just what's going on in our back yard.

With this increased awareness comes the need to dumb down your emotions. We would have a nation of suicides if everyone intensely felt every loss we become aware of through the media. I can't weep for Japan. I can't even begin to fathom the confusion and pain people are going through there right now. The mind balks, emotions fail me, and the whole thing gets filed away in a more analytical part of my brain. Statistics, not people.

For most of us, it is easier for us to cry during the season finale of our favourite TV series, or while watching PS: I Love You than it is to feel anything at all watching the news. In fact, the news has to be somewhat fictionalized to even catch our attention--flashy headlines, themesongs for every disaster. CNN often makes reality look like a soap opera, because that's the only way you can get the ratings needed to even make news worthwhile.

I'm not saying that I'm not as desensitized as everyone else. This isn't a holier-than-thou post. I am saying that its a fucked up state of being, when The Vampire Diaries can make us cry, where we won't even bat an eye over tens of thousands dead in Japan.

So, do yourself a favour: pick something, anything that is going on in the world, in your country, your state or province, even your own city, neighborhood, or family, and try to give a shit about it. Try to remind yourself that empathy, and the pain that goes with it, is one of the things that makes us human.