Sep 02

Sensitivity Training

Every year, hundreds of thousands of dollars are spent in elementary, middle, and high schools, for specialists to try to teach children to be better humans. School is more than just learning your multiplication tables and parts of speech (and sometimes, unfortunately, it is much less than either of those). It’s a place where you can participate in arts and in cultural activities; where you can play team sports and have nearly unlimited access to pretty awesome libraries. It’s a glorified babysitting service as well, where parents get upset when they find out that teachers are permitted Professional Development days so that they can learn better and more effective ways of teaching. Even more than that, it is the primary source of socialisation for a lot of people.

So there are classes – about things like racism. Your kids will learn why we don’t say nigger, kike, chink, nip, spic, kraut, squaw/brave, towel head, mick, frog, paki, etc.. At least not to people’s faces. Actually, they won’t. They might learn that it’s mighty rude to call people names. Because it hurts our *feelings*.

They might learn that it’s naughty or wrong to think about or to mention any kind of religious belief. They might learn that people who express their religious beliefs are weird and untrustworthy. Your kids might even learn that even though religious beliefs may be *normal* and *expected*, someone mean won’t let us express our religious beliefs at school.

But there are entire teaching units about bullying. Your students will learn that bullying is dangerous. Because bullying? Leads to maladjusted kids in trenchcoats shooting people. In schools. I mean, when did *racism* ever cause mass shootings? WON’T SOMEBODY PLEASE THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!???

Would you like to know what nobody talks about at school? Sex. Gender. It is *still* the last taboo. I wonder why, in this modern age of the electrical toasting oven and the gasoline-powered internal combustion engine, why we cannot shave some of the time off of the fear-mongering from the THOU SHALT NOT BULLY section and allocate it to teaching children a) about sex and b) about gender and c) about the difference between those two things.

Not just because every time I hear someone say something about ‘the opposite sex’ or ‘what’s your baby’s sex?’ I cringe. Because to me, the opposite sex is “no sex at all”, and my baby’s sex is “none of my business, unless they choose to involve me in that part of their lives someday”. So remember: sex is sexual activity, the act of sexual intercourse, or to determine the GENDER of something. Gender, on the other hand, is determined by how many X and Y chromosomes you have.

But. I may have ranted about this before. Why can’t we start teaching our kids about their bodies in grade one? At the same time they’re learning about the digestive system in grade four, why not learn how their bladders and colons work? Because it’s dirty. You can’t talk about the different genders because it’s dirty and naughty and wrong.

Except that it’s not. The problem lies squarely with the grown-ups in this scenario. Teachers are scared of offending parents. Parents are afraid teachers will think the children are being abused if they know “too much”. Administrators don’t want anybody to know anything. So sure, it’s up to us as parents to teach our kids about sexual intercourse. But it’s also our jobs as parents to teach our kids how to cross the street, how to sing the alphabet, how to eat, how to use the toilet…we don’t have a problem with all of that, do we? So what’s the big deal with teaching our kids about their bodies and about sex.

Now, to take a left turn here, what *really* makes me angry is that while my kid learns to be sensitive to others’ skin colour, religion, heritage, family’s marital status, etc., it’s not a big enough deal when a boy calls another boy ‘gay’ in a derogatory sense. Or says “don’t be such a fag”. And worse than that, when that boy KNOWS what he’s talking about – when he’s trying to tell my boys that homosexuality is somehow wrong or dirty.

Where’s the spokesfag at my kids’ school talking about sexual-orientation-based hate crimes? Why isn’t there a flashy movie about what it means to go through school and work and the rest of your life as a gay man or woman? How come there aren’t entire displays of books in the school library about anti-homophobic actions? Where is the “wear a rainbow shirt for anti-homophobia day”? Why is it that there are *absolutely no resources* available to straight *or* gay kids in elementary school?

Kids are going to be bullied. It’s part of growing up and it’s part of being an adult. I know plenty of bullies over the age of 20. They don’t just go away because we had a frank discussion about bullying. But maybe if there was someone at school saying: “you know what? Some people are attracted to people of the same gender, and some people are attracted to people of the opposite gender, and some people are attracted to both genders, and that’s just the way it is”, I wouldn’t feel like tearing out my hair every time I hear about one of the middle school kids trying to make my own kids scared to death of fags.

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Posted in Bad Mojo, Children, Just Wrong, Rants, Sad, When There's Weather, education, piss in your eye

Sep 01

Yet Another Thing

Okay, so I think the real problem here is that Yours Truly has been watching daytime television. This is a Bad Plan. Because you know what? I think I’m beginning to understand something. And that something is that most of the people in ‘popular culture’, if daytime television is to be believed, are, if you’ll pardon the expression, effed in the haitch-ee-ay-dee. Do you know how I know? Because you do not exist in the Real World.

From my cross-cultural studies based entirely on Yankee television, I see that folks drive everywhere. You go from point a to point b without setting foot on the ground. Or if you do, it’s on pavement. You might have some lawn in your yard, but not vegetables. Maybe fruit, if you live in Florida or California or Arizona. But mostly they’re just for show; not for food.

You buy everything; your clothes, your food, your entertainment, and your health. This last one is the one that bothers me the most. I’ve just watched seven women deliver babies, and of those seven women, *not a single one* was “allowed” to have a vaginal delivery. Not a *single one*. Granted, two of them were legitimate emergencies where the baby’s heart rate dropped alarmingly low a month before the child’s due date, and so the Caesarean section was medically necessary.

But the woman having her ‘first live birth’ being encouraged to have a C-section because she was in ‘a lot of pain’ is, if you’ll excuse my choice of language, EFFING RIDICULOUS.

I believe that c-sections are ‘medically necessary’ so very rarely that they should be, to coin a phrase, RARE. Of every 100 births, fewer than 1 should be a c-section. And to you ladies who decide to have a c-section because “then your vagina won’t get stretched out”, congratulations. Now you have external scarring and a painful, much longer recovery time. For those ladies choosing to have a c-section because they’re afraid of the pain in a vaginal delivery, I have to ask myself what the hell is wrong with you?

First of all, there are medications available to you if you so choose to take advantage of them. Granted, not all of them are safe, and not all of them work all the time. There are many many ways to manage your pain without medication as well, and some of these are far more effective, too. But honestly, do you think life is about living without pain? Pain is a part of childbirth. It. Just. Is. And do you think you’ll have a pain-free labour/delivery/recovery if you have a c-section? Really? So someone cuts through your skin, through several layers of muscle, through your uterus, and you expect to live through that pain-free? Right. Well, you know, it isn’t rocket science.

So. Here’s a shout-out from the Real World: having babies hurts. It hurts for the *rest of your life*, if you’re doing it right. But it’s a good kind of pain. It’s the kind of pain you have when you’re changing the world. Hopefully for the better. It’s the kind of pain you feel when you’re making a sacrifice; giving of yourself so that someone else can benefit. And in that pain, and through that pain, you grow and love, and you Become.

You’ll watch your tiny baby take its first breaths, and your heart will break, and you will be terrified, and you will hurt. You will ache for that child. And if you’re a mum, you’ll miss having her in your body; you’ll miss that closeness. And if you’re a dad, you’ll marvel at this miracle you’ve helped create, and you’ll feel your heart expand inside your chest and that will hurt.

You’ll watch your little one crying, and you will fill with pain because you don’t know what’s wrong and you don’t know how to stop it and you’ll panic and your panic will freak the baby out and it will be a huge freaky, scary cycle, and you’ll be all, “oh why the fuck did I sign on for THIS?” And then it will stop. Maybe an hour later, maybe five years later, but it *will* stop, and you’ll say, “oh. That’s why.” Because you’ll see something so profound, so full of beauty, that your chest will expand *again*. And someday you’ll be watching your son or daughter, and you’ll think, “this is the best thing I’ve ever done. And I’m screwing it up. But I can’t think of anything that I love more than this child. So I’ll keep trying.” And that will hurt. Because you have to acknowledge that you’re doing it wrong, because nobody has all the answers. Not even you. Not the people on the internet, not the books or doctors, not your parents, no one has all the answers. Because, what they don’t tell you is that a lot of this is shooting from the hip and doing whatever is necessary to raise up a well-adjusted, benevolent human.

And some day, you’ll watch your son/daughter walking into school, or riding a bike, or moving out to go to college, and you’ll be devastated. Because you’ll feel your heart couldn’t get any bigger. But it can. It just hurts. A lot. So if you think you can live a meaningful life with children pain-free, you are mistaken. Or, as Big T would say, Mistooken.

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Posted in Bad Mojo, Children, Just Wrong, When There's Weather, piss in your eye

Aug 27

Would you like to buy a used toupée?

Look, I don’t mind spending money on my kids’ extracurricular activities. We shell out an awful lot of money for hockey every year, and we don’t begrudge what we spend, as long as The Captain enjoys himself, learns about the sport, and stays active, engaged with his team. Football, it turns out, is nearly as expensive, and we don’t begrudge that expense either. We pay our team fees, our registration fees, our uniform rental fees, our equipment fees, etc., etc., etc.. And sure, we get a tax credit for active kids.

But that seems pretty backwards to me.

I think it’s shameful, actually, how little sport (and culture! But let’s just concentrate on sport) is fostered and supported in Canada. There are an awful lot of kids who will never have the opportunity to take part in sports because their parents simply can’t afford the registration fees. So I don’t mind paying money to our kids’ sports teams.

What picks my butt, though, is that on top of all of the fees we pay, we also have to sell crap to fundraise (by the way, if you’d like to buy some tickets for a chance to win some crap, call me) for the team. At least one book of tickets for hockey, one for football, PLUS, selling 50-50 tickets at games, organising prize raffles for tournaments, selling steak night tickets…I mean, for eff’s sake.

I suppose, but don’t know, because nobody’s ever bothered to offer this information, that this money goes to pay for the privilege of playing in an indoor rink (it probably costs a lot to keep those rinks running) or playing a game at Taylor Field. So we tithe to the organisation so that the organisation can tithe to the Greater Cause. Or something like that. So that the People can enjoy the Games in the Coliseum.

But then I think: sure, it’s cool that we get to play at Taylor field, but we’d enjoy the games (as would our kids) just as much if they were at *any* outdoor field. Our high school field, f’rinstance, which is free (which probably means “not good enough”.

Which makes me question what our registration fees are *for*. If I pay a few hundred bucks a year to our local sports association for the privilege of playing football, why am I then expected to pay *another* several hundred dollars? I mean, why not just say: “if you want to play this sport, the registration fees are X. That includes your team fees, your equipment (name badges, socks, etc), facility fees, etc.” right off the beginning? And why do I then have to do MORE fundraising throughout the year?

I figured out that for one team alone, the fees themselves will be close to $170,000. That doesn’t include the fundraising. When you multiply that amount by all the teams in the league, you’re hitting over a half million dollars. We don’t know what that’s for. And it’s not like I figure the coaches are all off driving hoopty cars with pimped out dice and beeyotches in the back. Well. Not because they get paid. Because they don’t. AFAIK, the only folks who get paid in minor sports are the officials and any support personnel associated with the facilities at which we play.

I’d also like to know what kind of funding regional minor sports get from organisations like SaskSport Because it looks like SaskSport funds, f’rinstance, Football Saskatchewan. But it doesn’t look like Football Saskatchewan supports minor football in Regina, Saskatoon, Prince Albert, Swift Current, Estevan, etc.. Similarly, it looks like the Saskatchewan Hockey Association receives something from SaskSport, but our fees for hockey go to our local hockey association, and as far as I know, our local hockey association pays its tithes to SHA as well.

It’s a shell game, really. A shell game in which I, the dupe, am expected to keep forking over the ill-gotten gains of illicit ticket/raffle sales completed clandestinely behind water coolers, and in the alleys between offices, and over the phone with every relative I’ve never met. It’s the minor sports mafia, and I’ll tell you something: I’d much rather just have a party at my house and pass around the garbage bag for wads of cash than sit at a mall trying to convince someone to shell out five bucks a ticket to support something I’m going to spend more money on this year regardless of how many people shell out five bucks at the mall.

It doesn’t sound like it, but it’s really not the money. It’s the not knowing why I’m being asked to sell shite when I’ve already gladly forked over fees. If the fundraising was to reduce the participation costs (for me or for other families), I’d be all over that like a dirty shirt. But the problem is, I *just don’t know*.

Also, did I mention I’ve tickets to sell for a thing in which you could win some crap? I also may have some tickets for a steak dinner to offload. And, if you give me a couple of weeks, I can sell you some tickets that might guarantee you a chance to win a hockey stick to which someone has pasted a ridiculous amount of loonies.

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Posted in Everything Else Drawer

Aug 26

But, you see, that’s not the point

Recently, a few of the folks on whose eff-lists Yours Truly may appear on the effbook have indicated their affinity for groups like: “If I have to take a drug test to qualify for a job, you should have to take a drug test to qualify for Welfare”. This really makes me angry. I know there will be people who comment here, perhaps not in favour of this precise sentiment, but certainly in favour of shrinking the social safety nets we have in this country, in favour of non-governmental, non-tax-based programmes to address social issues. I respect your opinion, and staunchly disagree.

But what makes me mad about this particular sentiment is multifold.

First, welfare is not a job. It should not be compared to a job. It should not, in my opinion, be considered income. Welfare ought to be considered support for those incapable of supporting themselves, whether that is in the raw form of dirty government money, food stamps, subsidised housing, what have you. It is not a job. It is a system by which we, as humans, provide for those other humans who can not provide for themselves.

Second, failing a drug test presents a liability for your employer. Which is why they don’t want to hire a junkie. Many of the people who are on welfare would probably fail that drug test, and *that is why they are on welfare*. Because our mental health system has failed them, because our addictions programmes have failed them, because our legal system has failed them, and because our society has failed them. It’s pretty tough, f’rinstance, to ‘get over’ alcoholism or other substance addictions if you can’t get in to a detox program because the hospitals don’t offer them, the closest one is two hours away, and after five days of detox you’re tossed back out on the street and left to your own recognizance to get your arse to treatment. Which is also not available to you.

Third, yes, I understand that some of you are bitter that weed isn’t legal and you take umbrage with the idea that your prospective employers oughtn’t have the right to be proscriptive with the way you choose to live your life. And fair enough. You have the power, here. You can choose not to apply to work for someone (say, the government) who does mandatory drug testing, or you can choose to quit doing drugs while you work for them. It’s pretty simple, really.

I have a few friends who seem to think that the world owes them something, who really seem to believe that it’s !Not Fair! that they are not living the kind of life they would like to live. But at the same time they are unwilling to do something about it, so their bitching and moaning really amounts to a hill of beans. More to the point, as far as I’m concerned, they can hold their hand out and wait for the world to give them what they want, and poop in their other hand, and see which hand fills up first. Which is, of course, just a really fancy way of saying ‘grow up and face the truth; no one deserves a free ride’.

And welfare, my friend, is not a free ride. There are those who seriously have a hate-on for the idea that there are people out there who “don’t have to work; they get their house and their daycare paid for and so all they do all day is sit around and do drugs and spend their food money on beer and my tax dollars pay their rent”. I kind of feel bad for the folks who say those kinds of things, because I don’t think many of them have ever lived in poverty.

And yeah, I’ll concede that the welfare system in this country could really be a lot better managed and delivered. I think it is ridiculous every time I hear someone say “I’m going to leave home and live on the dole and then I won’t have to do anything with my life but watch TV and eat take-away”. I mean, first, what a horrible life. Second, good luck being able to afford TV and take-away. Third, you’re part of the problem.

But, back to my original point. If you are suggesting rescinding Welfare for addicts, do you think people decide to become addicts so they can live in the lap of luxury on Welfare? Do you think the life of an addict living on Welfare is so much better than yours, now that you’ve had to give up dope to be gainfully employed? I mean, feel free to start selling your body on the streets so you can earn enough money for a bag so you can deal with having to sell your body on the streets so you can earn enough money for a bag.

So, my problem is this: people who say things like “if I have to take a drug test to get a job; then people should have to take a drug test to get welfare” either don’t grok Welfare and what it’s *supposed* to be for, or they don’t grok addiction, or they think they’re being cute.

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Posted in Just Wrong, Rants, Sad

Aug 20

NOW I get it

About ten years ago, I was offered a freelance contract writing an ‘advice column’ for a men’s magazine. I turned down the offer because a) they weren’t paying well; and b) I wasn’t sure they’d appreciate the kind of ‘advice’ I’d be giving. Because either I’d have to give completely tongue-in-cheek advice or I’d have to give serious advice, and i’m pretty sure the latter would be the kind of thing that may make people weep. I’m not known for sage advice delivered with a soft touch. Heh. Initially I typed ‘a soft torch’, which is more the kind of advice i *am* adept at giving.

Anyhow, add to this the fact that I’ve never read men’s magazines. I’ve read *pornographic* magazines, but publications like “Men’s Health” or “Men’s Weekly” or “Healthy Macho Man” or what-have-you? Never even glanced at it. For the record, I don’t purchase many women’s magazines. Because they make me angry.

Women’s magazines are all about how to decorate and what the hot new makeup colours are and how to blow-dry your hair without getting the frizzies and which stars are dating which other stars and what the last thing is that Oprah said you should do. Sometimes, the magazines have recipes (my aunts kept women’s magazines in the washroom).

I always figured these kinds of advertisements on paper were one step below crappy self-help books like Men are From Mars; Women are From Venus and Chicken Soup for the Soul …about on line with those solve-the-maze placemats at truck stop diners. Particularly the ones some four-year-old has solved before you got there.

So imagine my surprise when I found myself reading a men’s magazine. It had an interesting workout set that i thought sounded kind of cool. So I went to the website. Where I subsequently found a number of patronising articles about a) how men *CAN* cook; b) the ways to impress other men higher on the machismo/power ladder; c) how men will score points with the chix AND with their bosses if they can iron…blah blah blah. It’s a bunch of alpha male bullshit.

Most of this malarky, I just shake my head at and wonder how publications like this make money. Like, who *buys* this crap? It’s about what you could expect for something in which the primary advertisers are: exercise equipment manufacturers; drug companies hocking diet/fat-burning pills; etc.. This is the kind of publication designed to make the consumer feel bad about himself.

But you know, I learned something, wading through the twaddle and blather. I learned why some guys make me want to send them a bag of vomit. Now fellas…especially those of you, maybe younger fellas, maybe shy fellas…I want you to listen to me here. If you take the advice you find in this type of magazine, you are *guaranteed* to fail in romance. Gare-ant-eeeed.

I’ll show you one of them. I may include some editorial comments.

Top ten signs she’s interested in you

1
She’s Chatting Up the Bar Tender
A flirtatious woman can hardly contain herself. She won’t let a male waiter or bartender take her order without flashing a smile and saying something silly, like, “What can you make me that would be really yummy” [ed. note: Actually, this means she's interested in the bartender or waiter. If you're on a date with a woman who pays no attention to you, but does pay attention to all the other men around her, either she's the wrong woman or the two of you are the wrong combination.]

2
She’s Scanning the Room
When women go out to bond with friends, they have blinders on. If they’re not looking around, don’t bug them. But when they want to mingle, they’ll be scanning for cute men. They may even sit facing the room instead of each other.
[ed. note: clearly, this article is written by someone who did all of their 'research' in a nightclub, smashed on sangria and booze-fueled observational skills. When women go out to bond with friends, at least in this woman's experience, they don't go to nightclubs and singles bars, period. They go to each others' houses or maybe for a run in the park. Anyone who goes out to nightclubs, bars, pool halls, or GWAR concerts trolling for dates is not looking for a relationship. Not the kind of relationship you're worthy of.]

3
She’s Playing Games
Darts, pool, pinball—women know this makes them easier to approach. That’s why they do it. It’s easy to get a man’s attention when you’re about to jab him in the ribs with a pool cue.
[ed. note: That's right! Actually, I completely agree with this point! It is a well-kept secret that the only reason women participate in sports or, in fact, any activity that takes us away from cooking and cleaning is so that we can attract a man's attention! Women who game only do it because it makes them easier to approach! It's because all we want to do is rut like rabbits!]

4
Her Drink is Big, Frozen, and Blue
She’s ready to party, which means meeting new people and having a good time, not getting naked with the first guy who buys her another round. But sometimes it does mean getting naked with the first hot, cool guy who buys her another round.
[Ed. Note: What. The. Poop. I mean, I don't even know where to START with this. I mean, there's the obvious "sometimes a Frigid Smurf is just a Frigid Smurf"; there's the cautionary: once you've seen what those blue drinks do to someone's teeth and tongue, there's no way you're going to want that radioactive crap anywhere near your own skin; and there's the 'how the eff do you equate someone with bad taste in drinks with someone who's has so little self-respect that she'd bed the first mook to buy her a drink?' angle...]

5
She Sends You a Zoolander Eye Lock
And the eyebrow raise, and/or at least two smiles (full, open-lipped, teeth smiles). Go over there and talk to her already. Caveat: There’s a small chance she just thinks you’re funny looking, but go ahead, have some balls. She’s worth it.
[ed. note: Aw. That's sweet. She's WORTH it. She's WORTH you 'manning up'. ]

6
Her Pupils are Dilated
If she’s feeling stimulated by you (not just sexually), her pupils will dilate. That’s because her body is programmed to want to see more of whatever’s exciting her, so her brain tells her irises to let in more light. Time to make your move.
[ed. note: the pupils are also dilated during periods of intoxication, life-threatened fear, and intense anger. Sounds like a recipe for date rape to me. PLUS, if you're close enough to see her gorram pupils, you ought to've clued in by now that she's interested.]

7
She Lets You Get Close
As you flirt, stand or sit within 6 inches of her. If she seems unruffled, move closer. Eventually you want your thigh to be pressed against hers, whether you’re standing or sitting. If she’s into it, she won’t back off.
[ed. Note: This is called 'assault'. Sometimes she won't back off because she can't. Sometimes she won't back off because she's terrified. Why not just, after the Zoolander thing and before the Pupils thing, why not just ask her if she'd like to dance/go for coffee/talk about World of Warcraft (or whatever)?]

8
She Uses Her Tongue
A make-out session is a prerequisite to any sexual proposition. Kiss her lips softly and note how intensely she’s kissing back. You want the “I want to eat you alive” kind of kiss, not the sweet “I’m not a dirty girl” kind of kiss.
[ed. Note: Er. I beg your pardon. How did we get here? If she's using her tongue, she's interested. And a make-out session is most decidedly NOT a prerequisite to any sexual proposition. This is the second stupidest thing i've ever read. After the Frigid Smurf thing.]

9
She’s a Chatterbox
If she leans forward when you’re talking or asks you endless questions, the only way to shut her up is to kiss her.
[ed. Note: Or you could hit her with a sack of hammers. That works too. Dude, if she's *talking* to you, she's *interested in you*. She might not be interested in spending the night, but that's a good thing.]

10
She’s Wearing Thigh-High Stockings
Women only wear sexy underthings when they’re expecting a man to see them. If she’s wearing a thong, she’s trying to avoid panty lines, but sex is on her mind, too. Anything black, red, pink, leopard print, or lace equals “I want you.”
[ed. note: Sometimes, wearing thigh-high stockings only means 'it's too bloody hot for pantyhose'. Honestly, I don't know why anyone wears a thong, except that they want to be made fun of. And by the logic inherent in these pointers, anything more than unconsciousness equals "I want you". Again, if she's willingly showing you her underthings, chances are good she's interested in you and you don't need this list. Oh, and also, that first line there, that's a complete lie. Sometimes, and this may come as a shock, so you may want to have a sit-down...sometimes, women wear sexy underthings because we like being the beautiful, sexy things we are. It has nothing to do with who's seeing whom.]

Perhaps tomorrow I will show you the list of ten ways to keep your sex life interesting (this assumes you’ve followed these first ten instructions).

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Posted in Bad Mojo, Just Wrong, Rants

Aug 18

http://www.tera.ca

Imagine my surprise (and shame at not having known this before) to have learned that courts in Canada have been overturning decisions in which women have been charged with public indecency for being topless, since 1996! The website mentioned up there, for the Topfree Equal Rights Association highlights many cases of women charged with crimes, simply for going topless.

In some cases, women have been charged with public indecency for breastfeeding in public, and I’m pretty sure you know where Yours Truly stands on that particular piece of bull-twaddle.

Here’s the deal. The most important part of this entire discussion, that being whether women ought to have the right to go topless if they so desire (the answer to that is simply: “yes”, by the way), is not “YAY, PUBLIC BOOBIES!” (although there’s nothing wrong with that), but rather the fact that breasts are *not* sexual objects.

We have made them so, particularly since the early part of the 20th century. Back in the 1800s when table and piano legs were considered immodest, women’s bodies were dangerous places where the sin of the flesh may be found. Men? Not so much. Poor men were merely the victims of overpowering lust, incited by women’s immodesty. See how ridiculous that sounds? Well. Times change.

Women, by and large, do not and will not go topless, because, truth be told, they will be stared at, harassed, photographed, and filmed. Nobody pays any attention to Joe Jogger who’s carrying his shirt in his hand. But if there’s a woman walking topless, traffic stops and people stare and, sometimes, she gets arrested for public indecency.

And there are some people out there who are all in favour of topless freedom because they love boobies. Because to them, breasts *are* sexual objects, and the more boobies they get to see, the better their lives are. Bully for you guys, I say. I’m not going to tell you you can’t look and get your jollies that way. But what I *am* saying is that you may be in favour of topless freedom for the wrong reasons.

Head on over to the Go Topless website. Take a look at some of the “legal/illegal” images on that site. Incidentally, there are some people who say that ‘topless’ is a word that somehow is more synonymous with strippers and sex workers, and that ‘top free’ is an expression that promotes equality.

Not to belittle that argument, but whatever. I’m'a stick with ‘topless’ for the most part. ‘Top free’ sounds too much like some weird yoghurt product.

Anyway. Right. This is about equality, and the freedom of women to be topless (and here’s the important bit) **without persecution, harassment, or unwanted attention**. When you go to a beach or a park where it’s never been an issue whether people wear tops, regardless of gender, the only people staring are the people who are repressed, or who have been taught that breasts=sex. It *is* first base, after all.

I just…I’ve always figured that if someone is uncomfortable with my decision to read books in my backyard, wearing a top or not, that’s their problem, not mine. Yet, as a woman of means in the breast department, let me just tell you that there aren’t very many times when I enjoy people staring at my chest.

I might joke about it, or play along, but for the most part, I’d really rather there wasn’t such a big deal made about it. Or them. And if I decide to be topless in Wascana Park (as a woman was in 1998, who was later charged with indecency after the pool staff convinced someone to complain about said toplessness), I not only have the right to be so, but I also have the right to be so *free of harassment, staring, snickering, picture taking, comment, etc.*.

So I think what I’m trying to say is that folks should, by now, have figured some things out.

And also, that courts in Canada routinely overturn public indecency for being topless charges. Although I’m positive that this will never happen while certain sweater-vest-wearing knobs are still in power, it would be nice to see official legislation enacted that unequivocally offers this freedom to women *and* to men (and to every gender in between, for that matter) so that organisations like TERA don’t have to help Canadian women with their court costs when they’re arrested for doing something they have every right to do.

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Posted in Porblems, Rants

Aug 17

Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful

**
There’s this guy.
I see his leering face everywhere. He’s at the post office; he’s at the pharmacy. He’s in the city when I drive there. Sometimes, I even see him at the mall. It’s really annoying.

I mean, the guy doesn’t scare me or anything. It’s just…it’s weird. Then it started getting weirder. He started sending me stuff in the mail. First, it was just a couple of letters, and I can understand that. If you’re too frightened to approach someone IRL (In Real Life, as we gamers say), sometimes it’s just easier to write them a letter.

But now I’m getting stuff in the mail from him at least once a week. I don’t know what he says; I don’t even open the stuff. And I mean, that kind of stuff I can deal with. Doesn’t take much just to toss a bunch of crap in the recycling, right?

I’ll tell you, though. He’s gone too far. He started calling me. At home. He’d call at all hours of the day…early in the morning, in the afternoons, even late in the evenings. Sometimes…usually…he calls when my husband isn’t home. Sometimes when he calls, it’s just a recording of his voice. That’s the creepiest thing, I think. Just this recording…you know, and at first, you feel guilty about interrupting him, but then you figure out that he’s not waiting for you to respond, and then you figure out that he’s not really talking to you. He’s just talking. He’s talking and he just assumes you’re listening to him.

And he’s even got his friends to call me and send me emails. Like, I don’t even KNOW his friends? But whatever. They’re calling me and sending me email anyway.

This is the worst thing, though: the last few times he’s called, he’s threatened to take something away from me. Or rather, he’s not stupid enough to actually threaten to take something away, but I can tell that’s what he means. He talks about how things are changing and how if I don’t listen to him, Bad Things will happen. People could get hurt. Where it counts, if you know what I mean.

So, I mean, according to the Criminal Code of Canada, I guess you could say he’s stalking me. But it’s *okay*, because he’s *allowed* to do these things. He’s not really threatening me…not *really*. He doesn’t come to my house or my work or anything. I even know his name. I know what he’s up to, and it isn’t going to work.

His name is Tom Lukiwski**.

I’m not making fun of the seriousness of real stalking; I just thought it was kind of funny when His Nibs came home from the post office today and mentioned that my stalker had sent me more mail.

–
** Tom Lukiwski is the Member of Parliament for the riding I’m living in. He’s not stalking me. He sends me crap junk mail that talks about how if I don’t vote for the Conservative party in the next hellection, LIFE on EARTH AS WE KNOW IT WILL END!!!

Like I said, I don’t mean to make fun of the serious business that stalking is. I’ve had a stalker, and it was incredibly unpleasant.

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Posted in Canadian Politics, Something or other but True

Aug 10

What reminds you?

The whispering wind through aspen boughs, and shushing waves along rock-broken shore woke me long before chirruping squirrels or squawking jays.  I’d shuffle down into the sleeping bag, or the rough woolen blankets. I’d try to pretend I didn’t have to pee.  I’d think about the run to the outhouse through dew-wet grasses, hazy predawn sun aching to break through the lake mist. I’d try again to pretend I didn’t have to pee.

I always had to pee.

Back inside, after I’d hopped in the frigid foot-rinsing basin (I always thought it had a skim of ice on top; it never did), then leapt to the steps and wiped my feet on the sand-covered doormat inside, I’d run tippy-toe back to my bunk, and hope there was still some warm left inside my blanket. There always was. Sometimes, i could fall back asleep, until the sun streamed through the window at the top of my wall. Most times, I’d find the book I’d hidden between the mattress and the wall, and I’d read (yes, even though the light was dim. I had a flashlight and determination).

Then I discovered thunder mugs, and the entire process was much less descriptive. Particularly in the winter.

I knew it was time to jump back down off the bunk when I heard the crackling of a fire in the wood stove and the sound of water burbling into coffee in the percolator. That sound, part comfort of home and part SCIENCE!!! laboratory, always reminds me of those mornings. I still make our coffee in the percolator. It’s more than the sound, of course. You don’t quite get that early-morning coffee smell from a drip machine or a french press. Not in the same way.

Y’all should come to the lake some day. I’ll make you proper coffee, and bread baked in the wood stove.

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Posted in Everything Else Drawer

Aug 09

Creeeekits chirping ’round here

That’s about the only sound around here at the moment.

Aside from Lego Star Wars, that is, and the hacking Count Cougherton of Chokery Way. Which is to say, The Captain has managed to contract himself some summer, as the Nipper would say, bronchee-itis. And an ear infection. And possibly a sinus infection. THIS IS WHAT CLOWNS DO TO YOU, PEOPLE.

So a lot of the rant I had in me has been kind of zapped by tending to the sputum bucket, putting onions in socks, and making healing teas and electrolyte-rebalancing cool drinks. Because that’s how I roll, baby. That’s how I roll.

Also: I’ve been invited to do another reading. In public. Of my own writing. In Victoria Park. On Friday the 13th. At noon. Ish. In three days, I will regret having told you this.

Anyway, it has occurred to me lately that most of what you read here has been Yours Truly ranting about any number of things, and I just want to reassure you that Yours Truly isn’t all about ranting.

Um.

I bought new underpants!

Um.

Right. Maybe Yours Truly *is* all about ranting.

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Posted in Everything Else Drawer

Aug 06

Do Not Read This Post

Did I mention the wedding I attended last weekend? I did, didn’t I?

Did I mention that TUO and I were reverse twins without any foreplanning? I may have mentioned that.

I believe I mentioned that part of the striking and amazing service was Vedic and part of it was Roman Catholic and then there was a civil service bit. Did I not mention that? I believe I completely mentioned that.

(incidentally, how the hell did V keep his hat on while being repeatedly shot at? Did he have some kind of kevlar hat permanently affixed to his head? A little under-the-chinny tie? Carpet tape?)

One of the things I remember learning is this: a common reading for weddings in the Christian church (particularly the more Catholic churches – John 2:1-11). It’s all about this wedding that Jesus went to in Cana in Galilee. You know the story. It was a Jewish wedding, and there were six large cisterns of water for ceremonial Jewish cleansing. So then the wedding planners (because they hadn’t watched television programmes about How To Plan a Wedding) ran out of wine. So Mary said, “Jesus Christ! Do something!”

And Jesus was all, “Woman! Why you dissin’ me? Why you doin’ me this way? I’m not even supposed to BE here today!”

And Mary was all, “WhatEVS. Y’all, do whatever he says, because I am DONE. Do you hear me? DONE. I am NOT your servant anymore.”

And Jesus was all, “Bitch.”

So then he got all stompy and pouty and in a fit of pique, turned all the ceremonial cleansing water into wine. Now, I have some issues with this, which I never really thought about before:

1) It was **CEREMONIAL WASHING WATER**. So Jesus basically broke the religious aspect of the wedding. His guests were all, “Jesus! This is wine!” while they were wiping their sticky hands all over slaves’ backs.

2) Jesus TOTALLY hijacked the wedding. Here’s these two people who’ve just spent however many sheckles on their wedding, and they’ve invited the the whole Jewish quarter of Galilee, and then Jesus shows up with his miracle making and nobody even looks twice at the bride, because they’re all : “OooooOOooo. Look! The Messiah!” And the bride was all, “Oh Christ. Here we go.”

3) It’s not (and folks getting married in the church, pay attention here) actually about a wedding. I mean, the wedding is the setting, but it has nothing to do with the union of two souls; it has nothing to do with everlasting love in one another and the cleaving together and all that jazz. It’s really about the revelation of the Christ to the people. But it’s a passage that’s always troubled me. Moreso now that I’ve been thinking about it for a week.

I’ve heard this passage interpreted as an example of faith. That Mary had faith in what Jesus could/would do. But that doesn’t sit well. First of all, she’s his MOTHER. Of COURSE she has faith in what he can do. I’m pretty sure if he’d only been able to squeeze a thimbleful of wine out of someone’s robes, Mary’d have been all: “LOOK WHAT MY PERFECT CHILD CAN DO!!!” (and now Catholics everywhere are going to shiv me for dissing their virgin mother). But seriously; she’s all “do this thing”, and Jesus is all, “not a chance, ma”; and she’s all, “just do whatever he says”, to the servants.

What if what he’d really said was “You three, fill up these jugs with water. You three, take my purse and go buy three extra jugs of really good wine. Mum said I had to perform a miracle.”

Jesus said “my hour has not yet come”…to paraphrase again, he wasn’t even supposed to BE here today. But Mary pushed him. Sure, maybe he was a reluctant Christ (incidentally, that’d be a good name for a book of poetry: the reluctant christ. Just remember to credit Yours Truly when you use it) who really wasn’t into doing miracles at someone else’s wedding.

The priest was saying this passage is about opening yourself and being open to being filled with the love of God through Christ, and that through Christ, you will be transformed, like those jugs of water, and you will enjoy the glory of Heaven (extrapolated through the Sanctity of Holy Union and all that jazz).

Like I said, I’d never really thought about how Jesus had crashed someone’s wedding, ruined the ceremony, and then stolen the bride’s thunder. I’m positive I’m taking away the Wrong Thing from this passage. And yes, some of this is tongue-in-cheek…but part of the point of having religious texts (on the heels of the last post) is understanding them, and understanding them in context.

Sure, I get it that this event was the beginning of the Christ’s revelation. It was the first of His miracles. It was when everyone began to SRSLY believe in Him. So I guess in that way, if you use it to talk about how a wedding is another beginning, you can kind of draw a loose sort of correlation there….

…probably people just shouldn’t invite me to their weddings.

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Posted in Everything Else Drawer

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