Breathe, breathe, breathe

To do

1. Finish preparing documents for annual (phd) progress review by 7 November.
2. Finish re-writing chapters 1-3 in time for review. (Ha!)
3. Care for sick little person. Move towards getting more than a few hours sleep at some point in the near future. (Double ha!)
   
4. Continue to assist ACT Greens with confidential task... (vague, I know, sorry).
5. Help grandparents re-draft Will and Powers of Attorney. Do same for us now that I think about it.
6. BREATHE
   
7. Respond to growing flood of emails from students regarding upcoming exam. Remember own time limitations and try not to agree to do too much.
8. Figure out when on earth to mark above mention exams.
9. Stop stressing about Christmas - despite having (crazily) agreed (actually offered!) to host three consecutive family events over two days.
10. Turn 30.
11. BREATHE
    
12. Celebrate (10) with a low-key afternoon with friends. [Remember not to go overboard in preparations and that one kind of cupcake will be quite sufficient].
13. Purchase birthday present for brother-in-law.
14. Tackle disaster zone that is study/studio after the great house re-arranging fest that was last weekend. Take opportunity to throw out more stuff.
15. Send photos of Lily to family members before they are completely out of date.
    
16. BREATHE
17. Revise handmade Christmas list in light of above list, and start on some of the sewing projects - particularly the felt food for the little people.
18. Consider writing a real blog post sometime in the future. [Pictures of fabulous op-shop (thrift-store) finds and yummy food will have to sit patiently in my camera until then.]

I hope that you are all well!

Bad blogger...

Sorry, I have been a bad blogger.

It is not so easy to blog when you are staying in someone else's house - especially not when you are trying to get lots of work done on your PhD.

The good news is that the PhD is actually coming along well! I had a meeting with my supervisors on Wednesday and they told me that I was going well and was on track to complete on time.

[pauses for effect...]

Yes, I do realise that they may simply be insane, but all other evidence points to the contrary so I have decided to take to take them at their word. So: Yay! I can't properly explain how relieved I feel after hearing such positive feedback. I was so close to throwing in the towel the other month. I felt absolutely overwhelmed by it all and was just thinking that it was all too hard. Now I feel all motivated again. It is wonderful.

However, on the blogging front I have been very slack. I haven't even taken a single photo all week.

Here are a few things that I should have photographed. Lily:

• putting her hands out to Midnight (the dog) for 'kisses' (eww);
• playing in the water at Balmoral Beach with her grandparents (of course, I wasn't there - I was writing my thesis, so at least I have an excuse for this one);
• riding on the ferry;
• going off for a walk with her grandparents and Midnight to the dog park every morning, riding on grandpa's bag in the Ergo;
• (finally) learning to be 'nice and gentle' with Freya (the cat);
• floating her new boat on Grandpa's pond; and
• both of us having dinner with my mum and brother in Hyde park at the Sydney Good Food Month Noodle Market. I never did get to try the tapioca pudding with blackberry compote, but the Japanese vegetarian pancake was yummy and Lily loved the noodles.

OK. Normal posting will resume on Sunday when we get home. It is really just too hard from here...

Can't blog

I didn't blog for "VeganMoFo" or "On my desk" yesterday because I had a huge day of PhD writing where I actually got quite a lot done. It was really satisfying!

The only problem is that now I just can't seem to catch up with myself. I am feeling utterly exhausted; sore from doing my first yoga class in over 2 years; overwhelmed by Lily's mood of intense crankiness and neediness (me thinks she is teething); and a little sad about my desire to keep working on the PhD while not having any time.

Of course, it may simply be that I have PMS...

Still here... just

I want to:

• pass on Half Pint Pixie's Excellent Blog Award;
• do Isil's meme;
• finally tell you about our amber teething necklaces that we won from Isil and the gorgeous frog toy that she sent us when she thought that they would never arrive here in Australia; and
  
• tell you about P and my third wedding anniversary, and the fact that he is away and that Lily searches for him every evening, and that my Mum is visiting...

But P is away and my Mum is visiting and Lily isn't sleeping well, and, well, I am just too busy and tired to find the time to blog properly.

However, I will do all of the above soon - or at least some of it.

I hope that you are all well!

The sick family

Lily must have picked something up from some other baba she shared toys with some time in the last week. She's come down with quite the cold - runny nose, snuffly sinuses and the works. She's miserable.

Me too. I've got whatever it is too. Same symptoms - we're like a couple of snotty twins.

Poor C. She's got two babies to look after.

Well, she did, until this morning. Now she's got the evil* cold and we're all in the same boat.

Any one want to come over and make us vegie soup and fill up hot water bottles?


*I say "evil" cold, because it is clear that colds were invented by the terrorists to plague the West (they hate us because we're free, remember). Well, we won't let them beat us. They can make our noses snotty and our heads ache, but we have god (well, our god anyway) on our side and we know we are right. No cold shall hold us back.

I think I need a hot lemon ginger... and a mental enema.

When I grow up

When I graduated from university I took some time off and backpacked around Asia. At the time I really felt as though this was my last moment of freedom before I returned home to start my career.

Once I got home I moved up to Sydney, put on a suit and went to work everyday at Big Corporate Law Firm (BCLF). I certainly hoped that I would not remain there forever, but generally I thought that this was my new life and that it was just a matter of gaining more experience and skills and moving forward within the legal job world. I guess I thought that I spent all that time at law school to become a lawyer and now it was just a matter of deciding what kind of lawyer I would be.

Well, life never really works out the way you plan does it?

It turned out that I hated working at BCLF. To be fair, the work was OK and many of my colleagues were kind and interesting people, but I felt completely wrong going to work there every single day. I would get off the bus at Wynyard and walk up Martin Place with a growing feeling a despair in my stomach. I found myself wondering where I took the wrong turn in life in order to end up where I was. I was utterly miserable.


At first my plan was to just keep an eye out for other jobs and to apply when they came up. The first position that caught my eye was at Redfern Legal Centre, a place where I already volunteered once a week. I wrote my application excitedly and was absolutely thrilled when I got an interview.

I didn't get the position though. They were looking for someone with at least two years experience and I had only been a solicitor for 4 months. At the time another 20 months at BCLF seemed like a life sentence.

A few months later another position caught my eye. This one was at the Environmental Defender's Office. It just so happened that I worked in Environmental Law for BCLF and so I felt a little more confident about this one as I wrote my application. Again I was excited when I got an interview and even more so when they seemed genuinely impressed by my qualifications and keenness.

Once again, however, the position was given to someone with many more years experience than me and I began to realise that I was going to have to stay where I was for quite some time before I would be able to get the kind of job that I was interested in.

Then I met P. (again) and fell in love. My job at BCLF started to seem even worse when it meant that I had to keep canceling our dates because I had to work back late or fly interstate at no notice to work on boring due diligence projects. And so I started to think more broadly about my career options.

I realised that I wasn't at all sure that I wanted to be a lawyer for the rest of my life and that I was really interested in broader social justice issues than those that could be addressed through litigation alone. However, I wasn't qualified for the kind of positions that I saw come up and so I started browsing university degrees instead.

By the time the following year had rolled around, I was enrolled in a Masters degree, which then rolled into a PhD and now, 4 years later, I am still at university! Crazily enough, I still have another two years to go (part time) on my PhD and I am starting to feel as though I missed the boat on this whole career thing. My suits and shirts sit in the cupboard unused - looking rather silly really given what my day-to-day life involved right now.

It has been so long now that I feel as though I will be starting all over and I am back to not knowing what I am going to be 'when I grow up'. I guess a lot of people in my generation are like this - we like to keep our options open and sometimes by doing so it seems as though nothing is possible, simply because everything is (in theory) and that is just too much choice.

Maybe I should have just stayed at BCLF. I would certainly have a lot more money...

The banana debacle

Me: Hi, I'd like some bananas.

Banana Man: How do you like them? Thick or thin?

Me: Um, actually, I don't like them at all.

Banana Man (looking a little hurt): Really? Oh, um...

Me (shuffling feet and scratching head): I've never liked them, I used to spit them at my mother when I was a baby... [descends into incoherent mumbles and grinds to a halt].

Banana Man (looking somewhat embarrassed): Um?

Me: They're for my partner. I think thin would be better - she's small.

[Okay idiot, just pay for the fruit and get the hell away from here]

Banana Man (trying to rescue the situation): Have you tried Ladyfingers?

Me (also trying to rescue the situation): No [smile].

Banana Man: You should, they're the nicest bananas in the world.

Me: Maybe I will [knowing full well I won't].

Banana Man: Thanks [goes back to a world where people like me don't exist].

Me: Thanks [flees].

(A lack of) bystander apathy makes the world go round

I saw the immediate aftermath of a road accident on my way to work this morning. As my bus drove past the scene police, ambulance and fire truck had just arrived. A motorcyclist had been hit by a car and he appeared to be not in a good way.

This is obviously a bad thing, but it seemed to bring out the best in several bystanders. A cyclist and a car driver (not the one involved in the accident) were clearly the first on the scene and were administering first aid to the motorcyclist. Another car driver had pulled up and was conducting traffic across three lanes (interestingly he was continuing to do so despite the police presence, perhaps they thought he was doing a good job and it freed them up to do other things).

Despite the inherent awfulness of the situation, the fact that several people had interrupted their commute to assist gave me some hope that not all humans are entirely selfish and self-serving.

It also got me to thinking about my own life. Being confronted with the prospect of mortality and the utter frailty of the human body tends to make one reflective.


I decided to endeavour to treat every day as a precious commodity and to try and keep things in perspective. C and the 3rd Pea are the most important things in my life and it's so easy to forget that in the daily grind.

So, based on the philosophy of the ever expanding circle of concern

which begins with the individual, then embraces the family and ‘soon the circle... includes first a class, then a nation, then a coalition of nations, then all humanity, and finally, its influence is felt in the dealings of man [sic] with the animal world’

I'll endeavour to do what I can to assist whom(what)ever I can, but C and 3rd pea come first.

I don't think this contravenes the ideals of ecotarianism that C and I are implementing in our lives, nor should it affect the work I do in the development sphere, it will just help me to remember what my order of priorities would be were I forced to make a choice.

And how could I ever forget when every day walking up the hill from the bus a deep sense of happiness and contentment comes over me, no matter how depressingly bureaucratic my day has been. It gets stronger with every step and culminates when I walk through the door and see the lights of my life. It gets even better when 3rd Pea notices me and smiles (and lately often yells "dada" in excitement).

Werona

The is Werona.

Well, to be precise, this is the main hut on the Werona property.

Werona is a area of bushland owned by the Quakers on the river in Kangaroo Valley. As children my brother and I spent many a weekend here with our Mum and her partner exploring the bush, building camp fires and swimming in the river. It is one of those places that I imagine in my mind when I want to be miles away from anything stressful.

Silbling rivalry

"I really want to beat Michelle at scrabulous."

"I know. Why?"

"It's a family thing. She's always been the smart one."

"Uh huh."

"Dux of the school in year 10 math my ass. I'll kick her ass at scrabulous. This is way better than straight HDs in my masters."

"You know I don't really have that with my brother. I don't really want to beat him at anything. We are in way different places at the moment."

"Yeah, well I don't have that. I just have scrabulous."

The downside of spring

There is a magpie between me and the shops - between me and Tilleys, between me and the world really.

Why is it that magpie swooping season coincides with spring?


I love spring. The weather is beautiful. The flowers come out. The world feels fresh and full of promise... and then a bloody magpie decides to dive bomb me from the sky and attempt to drive a large hole in my skull with its enormous beak.

I hate magpies. I have always hated them - they terrify me.

There was a magpie that lives in my cull-de-sac when I was very little. It was an evil magpie (a redundancy perhaps, but this one was especially evil) and it swooped all year 'round. It also had a particular fondness for swooping small children and used to terrorise us. One day, when I was 2 and my brother was 3, it swooped my brother when we were out in the street playing. I can still see that enormous bird coming at us with its fierce red eyes.



Anyway, this magpie isn't quite as bad. It does keep to itself outside of spring and it doesn't appear to target small children. But it will follow me for up to four blocks, swooping continuously as I run away from it, and I think that it has a particular hatred of me. You see, it has been doing this for years and yet it often seems to ignore everyone else that walks down the street.

I guess it knows how much I hate magpies - or it can sense my fear...

I have found another way to the shops. It takes me half an hour instead of 15 minutes, but there are no vicious magpies.

Time is not my friend

Time is not my friend at the moment.

I have been meaning to post about our trip to Darwin and Kakadu, about the government's election stunt ('State of Emergency') that seemed to overshadow our time in the NT, about the FIVE (beautiful) skirts that I purchased while on holiday, about meeting Ken and Jen (of Club Troppo) while in Darwin and discovering that they live on the SAME STREET as my Mum, about the fact that we are suddenly moving house THIS WEEKEND and are trying to pack up around a rather demanding little munchkin, about Lily teething and feeding like a demon, but the thing is that all of these things have made blogging rather difficult.

So, now that it is late and the dishes still need to be done, all I can say is that I will try to post again before our internet is disconnected and takes a WHOLE WEEK to be reconnected at our new place.

I'm bad at NYE

Seeing this post reminded me of just how bad I am at NYE.

My finest example of NYE's laziness was in 2000-2001 when I flew out of LA on 30 December and arrived in Australia on New Year's Day. NYE disappeared somewhere over the date line. This, however, was not actually my worst NYE.

My least enjoyable NYE ever was in 1998-1999 . That year I spent NYE on a Greyhound Bus somewhere between Calgary and Fernie (Canada) with my boyfriend of the time. Along the way I looked up and asked him the time. "Midnight," he grunted, exhausted and bored. "Oh," I said. No one else on the bus moved.

Aside from these low points, I also have a history of simply piking out and deciding to go to bed before midnight. The worst example of this was in 1993-1994 when I was in New York with my father and brother. Jono wanted to go to Times Square for the count down. I refused, declaring that it was already New Year's Day in Australia and so the count down was meaningless. This was the set the tone really...


In 1994-1995 I was in Orlando, once again with my father and brother. Disney World was doing something special for NYE, but we all decided that we would rather get a good night's sleep and went to bed around 9:30pm.

In 2003-2004 P and I watched 9pm 'family fireworks' from Cremorne Point with family before walking back to Dad's place and going to bed. We then watched the midnight fireworks out the spare room window from bed. (To be fair, we were both exhausted from having arrived home that day from China still recovering from food poisoning).

To continue with this pattern, in 2005-2006 P and I went to a funky bar called 'Elsewhere' in Phnom Penh with my brother, Nat and their friends, only to pike around 11:35pm rather than waiting for the midnight countdown. Once again we were exhausted from a nasty bout of food poisoning (and we also had to get up early for a flight to Bangkok).

In 2004-2005 I had no such excuse, but after having friends over early for drinks and sushi, P and I (well me really) sent everyone packing to another party around 11pm and after walking them to Taylor's Square went home to bed just after midnight.

Finally last year (2006-2007) P and I stayed in Canberra, watched the 9pm 'family fireworks' in the rain and then had a hot chocolate in Garema Place before going home to bed. This time my excuse was the fact that I was 7 months pregnant.

My three best NYEs were all between 1999 and 2003.

In 2002-2003 I danced the night away on Lonely Beach, Koh Chang during my post-Uni, post-big-break-up backpacking trip. However, although this was a fun night, I did pay for it the next day...

In 1999-2000 I went out to a few bars in Vancouver with my boyfriend of the time and a small group of friends. We then counted down to the new millennium on the freezing streets of the city that was to become my temporary new home.

And then there was my favourite NYE so far: 2001-2002. That year I spent NYE drinking fruit cocktails around a camp fire at Kangaroo Valley with my brother and a group of friends. I then counted down to midnight by being sent flying into the trees on a huge swing. Not only was it a great night, but I still felt great the next day.

So, the question is: how should I celebrate this coming NYE?

I realise that is over 6 months away, but given my history I think that this is something that I should put a bit of thought into.

[Of course, I may just bow to the reality of having a baby and my general laziness and go to bed early...]

Meet Mr. Eggplant

At the markets this morning we found this wonderful eggplant. It might be somewhat gender biased of me, but it does look like a Mr. Eggplant, doesn't it?

Funny thing is that, no matter what it looks like, or how much we come to love Mr. Eggplant, in loo of 3rd Pea (who just won't come out with either threats or enticements), He is still going to end up like all the stray eggplants we find and bring home...



Poked full of holes, shoved in the oven, baked, and turned into baba ganoush!

Gosh, I feel a bit like the witch in Hansel & Gretel...

I wonder if this is how it feels to be American?

GANGS of youths armed with sticks and rocks were roaming Dili last night chanting "Down with Australians".

Sigh, it's a complicated world.

No sign of 3rd Pea yet...

Happy Valentine's Day

I hope that you are all having a lovely Valentine's Day.

In a moment of intense 'cheesiness' I decided to bake (coconut) cupcakes for P. and take them to him at work. (He works only one block from our apartment).



I also treated myself this morning.


I had an appointment with my midwife at some nearby local shops and decided to drop into my favourite secondhand bookshop afterwards. Unfortunately, it was closed and so I decided to get myself a hot chocolate at Tilleys (Tilley's Devine Cafe to give it its full name) while I sat there and flicked through interior design magazines.

I love Tilleys. It is a strangely comforting place that has featured throughout all of my life.

When I was very little, I used to fall asleep under the table at Tilleys while my Mum caught up with friends. Back then it was a tiny place - just a few tables and a small bar. It was also a women's bar (men could come in only if they were accompanied by a woman), so it always felt safe and comfortable.

As I grew up so did Tilleys. It started to take over the shops around it - the butcher was one of the first to go (obviously a good trade in my book) - adding more tables, then a stage, and then finally a full size kitchen.

In High School, I used to go into Tilleys after school for a hot chocolate when I wanted to feel grown up and have a really good chat with my best friend. On my 18th birthday, I met a group of my friends at Tilleys for my first legal drink (I think it was around 3:30 in the afternoon, which is a bit of a worry, but I felt that there were many places to make my way through that particular evening). Throughout university, Tilleys was the ideal place to study. You could spread out your books on the big tables and hole up there for the day without ever being bothered - except by friends who might stop through during the day for a short coffee break. It was also the location of our regular Saturday brunches - again the big tables being the perfect size to spread out the weekend paper and spend a good few hours lingering over coffee, beans and toast.

When I moved to Sydney, Tilleys was one of the first things that I really missed. I couldn't find anywhere similar - no other cafe seemed as tolerant of customers settling in for hours on end without buying anything more than a coffee or a juice. The absence of somewhere comfortable and homely seemed to represent everything that I found so hard about Sydney in the first 6 months that I was there. Everyone seemed to be permanently in a rush and I felt as though there was nowhere that I could just sit and catch my breath.

This morning there was a large group of women sitting up the back with their babies. All the little ones looked around the same age and so I guessed that it was probably a 'mother's group'. Looking down at my massive belly I realised that Tilleys may well play host to yet another milestone in my life.

I couldn't think of a better place.

I'm so hungry I could drink a horse

I'm going into hospital tomorrow to have an endoscopy. It's nothing serious, just need to get a few things checked out. The scariest part is that I'm going to have something that looks like a prop from Alien stuck where the sun don't shine.

Eew!

But that's not the worst of it. I had to take a couple of very small and innocuous looking pills last night, which, at about 5 this morning brought on hideous cramps and a rather hasty run to the bathroom. No need for details, but I'm sure you can imagine. I'm feeling better now, but have that "on the verge of soiling my pants at any minute" feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not the most pleasant way to spend a day.

But even that's not the worst of it. The worst of it is that I'm not allowed to eat anything after last night's dinner till after the surgery (which should be done by mid-afternoon tomorrow)! Have I ever mentioned that I love food?


I guess it's not as bad as it could be. I'm allowed to have "clear" liquids today. The definition of which is anything I can see through. I feel like rummaging through the kitchen, pouring things into glasses, holding them up to the light and peering into them. But I won't. I'll stick to water and the occasional vegetable soup (strained, of course).

It's a little torturous, but I'm a 3rd of the way through and figure I'll be okay.

Actually, come to think of it, that might not even be the worst worst of it.

The worst worst bit is called Colonlytely Original. I'm meant to dissolve 2 sachets into 2 litres of water and drink it later this afternoon - 250ml every 15 minutes. The packet has this vivid description of what's in store for me:

Chill to taste, the made up solution in the refrigerator.

Great, I'm supposed to trust my precious bowels to people with grammar this bad!

Gradually drink a cupful every 15 minutes. This is equivalent to ONE litre during an hour.

Right, well thanks for the math lesson, now back to the bowels.

If you feel nausea or fullness, SLOW DOWN and take longer to drink the required amount completely.

I'm not even sure what this means.

Bowel motions may begin after drinking the first litre.

How ominous is that! It sounds like my nasty bowels are only being held in check by rules and regulations and as soon as I down that first litre (in 1 hour, or possibly longer if I feel like throwing it back up) they will let loose their fury - "and lo, the house shook with the thunder of his bowels..."

Oh boy, it's going to be a hell of an afternoon.

Declaring a moratorium on the future

This has to be my favourite news story of the year so far.

I’m a week or so late, I know, but protesting against the concept of the future is just too sensational not to write about.

There are 2 parts of this story that make me double up every time I read them. The first is that:

The marchers called on governments and the UN to stop time's "mad race" and declare a moratorium on the future.

The idea of declaring a moratorium on the future is just fantastic. The only problem is that, historically, philosophers have never reached agreement on what ‘time’ actually is, and it’s difficult to place a worldwide moratorium on something without an accepted definition. Another problem is that even if we did manage to declare a moratorium on the future, basic science tells us that we’d still age and I’d argue that even the most dedicated anti-futurist would still perceive the passage of time.

This moratorium on the future is looking shakier by the minute (no pun intended).

The bit that I like even better is that the protestors (who left their run a little late as they were protesting just before midnight on 31 December) weren’t perturbed by the passing of the year and the commencement of 2007.

The tension mounted as the minutes ticked away towards midnight - but the arrival of 2007 did nothing to dampen their enthusiasm.

The protesters began to chant: "No to 2008!"

I guess at least they now have more time to get organised in their bid to stop the clocks before 2008 rolls in.

Not bad for an old man...

Two things happened on the weekend.

1. I did actually turn 30; and
2. I realised that attempting to ride over 200km without any training and in pouring rain and freezing conditions is not only insane, but is likely to earn one a derogatory (but loving) nickname.

Thinking back I should have listened to, well everybody. My friend P. gave me plenty of opportunities to pull out – the last one on the morning we were to leave. He called, said it was raining and asked if I still wanted to come. I think I said something particularly stupid, along the lines of "bring it on!"

It was brought on.

We set out not long after 6am and rode through the silent city streets. The rain wasn't too bad and the cold not as bad as I'd thought it would be. By the time we hit Queanbeyan (Canberra's nearest NSW neighbour) things had taken a nasty turn. The weather had gotten colder and the rain heavier.

We struggled on up the first of the many big hills. Well, I struggled P. just whistled and disappeared off into the foggy distance.

To cut a very long and painful three hours of me-wishing-I-was-dead short, we eventually pedalled into Captain's Flat - a small mining town 65km from Canberra and a quarter of the way along our route.

By this time the rain had really set in and I was so cold I couldn't change gears any more.

We stopped at the first available place, a gas station, and ordered hot cups of tea. I have pretty steady hands most of the time, but I was shaking so much from the cold that I managed to spill about half of the boiling hot tea all over my hands before I managed to take a sip. It was pretty scary that I couldn't feel the skin burning.

There was no way I was getting back on that bike.

No way in hell.

P. decided to push on and instantly rose several notches on both my esteem and insanity registers.

After P. departed, still whistling and looking cheerful (a look he still possessed 9 hours later when he arrived at the coast, by the way) I staggered across the road to the nearest public toilet and had one of those moments you'd rather not have.

Standing in front of the urinal I realised my hands were too frozen to actually undo the button on my shorts. The only thought that ran through my head was "I'm almost 30 years old and I'm about to wet my pants."

Luckily, I managed to force the button open with my frozen clumps (formerly known as hands) and the crisis ended in a warm stream heading in the right direction.

Next it was onto the phone booth and the call of shame. I phoned my father, who owns a ute, and asked if he was busy ... then spent the next hour thawing out in front of an open fire in a lovely cafe called The Outsider. My parents arrived, had a good laugh at my expense, and bundled me into the car for the return journey.

I arrived home to a much amused C., who struggled to keep a straight face at the sight of my sorry state.

A hot shower and fresh clothes made me feel much better (though I'm not sure I'll every get the chill out of my bones). The better feeling rapidly departed with the arrival of C2 and L, who were to take us down the coast. The jibes flowed and continued to flow all weekend. So much so that I have been re-christened "Captain Flat" by my work colleagues.

It seems like the name will stick...

...Still it could be worse.

The weekend was lovely, however, despite the jibes. 15 of us spent a few days relaxing and eating obscene amounts of beautiful and (mostly) vegan food.

Happy birthday to me.

Humour and sexism

Aargh. I have just been accused of having no sense of humour for being offended by a beer commercial. The basic subtext of the argument is:

"We find it funny so, if you find it offensive, you must have no sense of humour."

To me this is the core message of the Right's argument that the Left has no sense of humour. So much of what they find amusing consists of subjugating people who fall outside the powerful groups in society - i.e., ultimately anyone who is not a wealthy white male. Oddly enough, people on the Left often object to this, because it contributes to the marginalisation of people who are already disempowered by society. In response, the Right jumps up and down and says that the Left has no sense of humour. Of course, if they are laughing it must be OK. How could anyone object?

These are the same arguments that were (and still are) used in workplaces to justify most forms of sexual harassment. Why is it that some men still can't seem to understand that the fact that they (as a member of the most powerful group in society) find something funny does not make it beyond objection? It is far easier to find something funny when it does not threaten you in any way.

Why can't they understand that this kind of 'humour' contributes to the objectification of women (or the marginalisation of other groups) and normalises attitudes of the same kind, thus allowing people to justify actions based on those attitudes? In the case of women, this includes everything from judging an individual solely by their looks to sexual assault and rape.

Once again, AARGH!

Where is P when I need someone to sympathise with me?

7 more sleeps.