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The Control I’m Not Achieving

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Department Of The Summer Olympics Are Over…

….and moiself  be going through withdrawal.

 

“What do you mean, there’s no volleyball game on tonight?!?!?”

 

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Department Of Stop Doing This

Dateline Monday 6:50 am Morning walk. Heard the term “aviatrix” used to refer to Amelia Earhart, and it got my lady-parts in a knot.

Aviatrix, my tail feathers. No…no no no – stop this right now.   [1]

Seems to me we’ve had this conversation before, in this space.   [2]

Unless you are living in a Masterpiece Theater production of Downton Abbey, this *is* the twenty-first century.

 

 

– enne

-ess

– ette

– trix

Thou shalt refrain thy ass from using any the above, and any other suffix used to form “feminine” nouns or adjectives – the application of which reinforces the mistaken and sexist notion of male default.

There are male and female lions and tigers.  Just say so; none of this “lioness” and “tigress” shit.   [3]    Female pilots are pilots, not pilot-esses.  My doctor is not my doctress.

Female-gender-denoting suffixes convey the implicit message that occupations – or mere states of being – are inherently male; thus, females are something special that need to be noted.  If you (for some inexplicable reason) name me as the executor of your estate, then I will be the grown-ass woman doing the job of executor. I will not be your execu-trix

 

Silly Rabbit….

 

Why is this important?, some clueless buffoons curious persons may ask?  As moiself  has harangued remarked in a previous post:

It’s important because girls often grow up into women who lack the confidence to move through the world as easily and powerfully as men do, because they don’t think that the world belongs to them.  Unintentionally and sometimes deliberately, girls get presented with skewed perceptions of their “place” – even of simply how many of them there are  [4]   –  in the world.  In the images and examples girls *and* boys are shown, the default for everything is male, especially if the thing in question is perceived as being big and powerful.

It’s important because a person will want to care for the world and that which is in the world, to seek education and take action – from studying to be a geologist to learning to do their own basic auto maintenance and repairs – if they think these things are truly and equally theirs.  If it belongs to you, then you feel a sense of responsibility for it. Despite the progress made in the past few decades, girls (and boys) still look at the world, at the images and descriptions presented to them, and see it as primarily belonging to, and inhabited and ruled by, boys and men.

“I often quote myself. It adds spice to my conversation.”
(George Bernard Shaw)

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Department of Trigger Warnings

 


TW: Grief-and-death anecdote ahead.

 

Dateline: sometime last week, listening to the podcast, People I Mostly Admire.  Host Steven Levitt and guest Aicha Evans  were discussing …” the big promises the A.V. industry hasn’t yet delivered — and the radical bet Zoox (the driverless vehicle company of which Evans is CEO) is making on a driverless future. ”  [5]

The subject of driverless vehicles is one on which I have (surprise!) more than a few thoughts (some of which I might deal with next week).  But moiself  never made it through the episode.  I got sidetracked during the halfway point of the podcast, at the Q & A section, where host Levitt and his guest read letters from listeners who’ve sent in questions relating to previous episodes.

Several weeks ago, Levitt conjectured an inverse relationship between the need for feeling control in somebody’s life and how happy that somebody is. Levitt then said that he had changed in his own life (regarding the feeling of the need for control); that he was happier now than he used to be. Several listeners asked questions about Levitt’s comment.  The question Evans chose to read to Levitt came from one such listener, who wrote “… that she would love to hear you elaborate on how you were able to let go of the need to feel in control all the time.” Levitt responded that he did have an answer to her question, although he warned listeners that it was a bit “heavier” than they might be expecting.

I was glad to hear the careful phrasing about the need for *feeling* you are in control, rather than, the need to be in control.  Recognizing the difference is the key to managing that feeling, because if you think control under all circumstances is possible…there is at least one self-help book out there that you need to read.   [6]

Oncd again, moiself digresses.  In answer to the question, Levitt said two events in his life have profoundly affected the way he thinks about control.  He briefly mentioned the first one, [7]  then said, “it’s going to get heavy.”

“The other experience in my life that deeply affected the way I think about control was by far the most tragic thing that’s ever happened to me.  I had a son named Andrew; he died suddenly, nine days after his first birthday, from meningitis – completely out of the blue.

And I had always feared something like that – losing my child was probably the deepest fear that I had. And I wish that I could say that the reason I could let go of control was that ‘my worst fear came true and it turned out not to be that bad…’   But actually, it was the opposite.

My worst fear came true, and losing a child was *so* much worse than I ever imagined it would be, and really, the only escape from that for me was surrender – surrender to the universe.

And it was just…the pain and the loss was so great…I just kind of gave up. And I don’t even know if that will make sense to people listening, but to move on in life, I just gave in to it, I just gave in to the idea that I had no control, that I was nothing, that the world was going to do what it was going to do to me, and I had no choice but to accept that.

And there was virtually nothing good that came out of his dying, but I have since then been more or less free of the need for control…and I wish it could have happened in any other way than the way it happened.”

 

I don’t know about y’all, but right now I need a picture of sloths hugging.

 

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Department Of Music Appreciation 101

Bassist Dusty Hill of the rock band ZZ Top died last week.  When asked to describe the sound of his particular playing style, Hill once said,

“It’s like farting in a trashcan. Raw, big, heavy, and a bit distorted.”
(The Week, 8-13-21)

 

Hey, what’s going on in there?

 

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Punz For The Day
Music Bands Edition

If Iron, Arsenic, Lead, Mercury, and Cadmium formed a musical group,
would they be a heavy metal band?

Four magicians formed a band which plays Swedish pop music from the 1970s.
They call themselves Abba-Cadabra.

Have you heard the Creedence Clearwater Revival tribute band,
composed wholly of sheep and cow musicians?
They do a great version of “Baa Moo Rising.”

 

Keep staring; maybe we can make her stop.

*   *   *

May you excise enne/ess/ette/trix from your vocabulary;
May your musicianship never be described with flatulence analogies;
May you, in all circumstances, be comforted by pictures of baby sloths;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

[1] And shame on a so-called “science” podcast, which should know better.  Yep, I’m talkin’ *you,* Curiosity Daily.

[2] Or perhaps it’s always been more of a lecture than a conversation.

[3] Do you say Puma-ess, or bobcat-ette?

[4] The world human population male/female ratio consistently hovers around 50-50,  but you wouldn’t know that if your only statistic in this matter came from your consumption of popular media, where the male characters consistently and overwhelmingly outnumber the female.

[5] Evans is the first female African-American CEO of such a company company.

[6] Or write.

[7] A trip Levitt took to India, which he said he had spoken of at length in a previous episode with Sam Harris (and he’d let listeners, if they were interested, look up the episode).

The Baby Card I’m Not Sending

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Happy New Year – Pick Your Battles

Every morning I send an email to my mother (from my end it’s an email; from her end, it’s more like receiving a fax [1]). The emails are neither particularly personal nor conversational – I save that for our phone calls. Rather, they are another way of keeping in touch, another way of letting her know I’m thinking of her, another way to provide her with a modicum of cognitive stimulation and something to read besides that loony-ass shit the Billy Graham people send her. [2]

Each day’s email has a theme. Mondays are Jokes for the day, and I send her select stories and gags I’ve culled from a variety of “clean” humor websites.

On another day she receives a Word for the Day, and there is a Quote for the Day, Poem for the Day, and so on.

Thursdays are Thoughts for the Day: two or more meditative or philosophical passages I gather from a couple of sources, including one called (wait for it) Thought For Today.

The TFT website describes its function as providing:

 “…daily Medication for the soul. Quotations and words of wisdom to motivate and inspire. Since January 2008 we have provided a Thought for the Day from famous and not so famous individuals, some still living, some not.
We believe that words are powerful, they have the power to tear you down and they have they have the power to build you up….”

The TFT site posts a list of quotations/meditations/thoughts that change daily.  No matter the attribution, the words of wisdom are listed as being presented on the site by “The Thought Collector’s Wife.” Which frosts my butt, every time I read that.

Yesterday, I decided that it’s butt-thawing time, and sent the TFT site the following email.

I enjoy reading your collection of motivational quotes. As you so wisely put it in your About Us statement, “Words are powerful, they have the power to tear you down and they have they have the power to build you up.” I agree wholeheartedly that words matter – that how we say something can be just as important as what we are saying.  Thus, I request that you please change the name of “The Thought Collector’s Wife” to “The Thought Collector.” The former “title” is a sexist remnant, reflecting the times when only a man was thought to have ownership of occupations and ideas – times when, for example, a man who farmed was referred to as a farmer, and the woman who also farmed would be called “the farmer’s wife.”
“Wife” and “husband’ are terms denoting relationship, not occupation.  If a woman collects thoughts, she is a thought collector – her marital status is irrelevant.
Thank you for your consideration of my request.

*   *   *

 

OPRAH DROPS FOUR SIZES ! ! !

Yikes! I hope they didn’t land on anyone’s noggin.

That is my favorite spam of 2015. The year is young, I know.

*   *   *

Speaking of canned meat by-products,  although it pains me to waste precious seconds by typing the name, Sarah Palin (ye-ow, that smarts) was something I thought I’d be grateful for, in the new year.  Grateful as in, I’ve yet another year to appreciate the concept of bullet dodging.

As in, we dodged a bullet.

Big time.

All of us.

Which we did by not electing the McCain-Palin (ouch) ticket.

I also thought I’d be grateful that the dropout governor/former mayor of the meth capital of Alaska was seemingly/relatively gone from public life….

Silly moi.

And then, one of her mutant offspring [3] stepped on the new family dog, and for some reason Palin (owwww) posted a picture of the abuse charming domestic scene on a social media site.  Animal rights accusation flinging ensued, and Palin (stop that!) eagerly dove headfirst into the slop bucket jumped into the ring.

Pet abuse, schmet-abuse – the real story is, why did she respond at all?  Is it simply that she continues to be infected with the quasi-celebrity mentality that any press is good press, and it’s been some time since she’s had a headline?

I actually read part of her screed, before I was overcome with a return-to-sanity-inducing, WTF am I doing?!  bout of self-reproach.  And I felt a chill – yep, the actual, [4] proverbial chill running down my spine – to read her strident, two-steps-short-of-intelligible harangue; I felt chilled to realize that such an immature, superficial, petty and vicious person was, for the most manipulative and cynical reasons [5], chosen to be placed in a position a few EKGs away from the presidency.

And thus, the first Pretty Purple Toe Award of 2015 goes to…well, to all of us. We do a lotta dumb shit, but at least we did not go down that path.

*   *   *

҉    New Year Reflections Continued    ҉

The Department of She Meant Well
Chapter XVI: The Problem with The Problem Child

The following discourse is courtesy to flashbacks sparked by the family wedding photos I received with this year’s Christmas cards and letters.

Dateline: either in late junior high or high school.  was visiting a friend at her house. My friend, Friend’s Mother and I were talking about…parent-child relationships, perhaps? I cannot remember the subject. Whatever the topic, it apparently inspired Friend’s Mother to tell me the story of how my mother had confided in her that I was my mother’s “problem child.”

Looking back, I think FM sincerely (if mistakenly) thought that by sharing this story she might bolster my self-confidence and paint herself as a hero –  my champion – as the anecdote also included her response to my mother:

“Well, if that’s a problem child, give me that problem any day!”

Problem child. A moniker which, I imagine, most true problem children bear with pride.

It confused me, then. Still does.

I attended a Southern California high school that had a socioeconomically and ethnically diverse student body, and which was majority Hispanic by my senior year.  My fellow students were kids from poverty-stricken neighborhoods with gang problems and rich kids with drug problems and surfer kids with Dude, where’s my brain? problems, and everything in between.

Moi? I was a smart ass, with opinions. I talked back – and forth, and up and down – at home, at school, at church. I questioned; I had political and social and cultural attitudes and interests that were not always shared nor understood by my parents or teachers.  I also was a straight-A student, involved in my church’s youth group and in school sports and student government and journalism programs, and by my senior year had my own editorial column in the school paper’s op-ed page.

I was not doing drugs/violence/the track coach under the bleachers. Where, exactly, was the problem?

Not my long-lost high school picture.

Through the miracle of time travel we return to the recent past, to one of last year’s three family weddings.  My niece’s wedding ceremony was late (surprise!) in starting.  Sitting in the second row, I struck up a conversation with one of the three wonderful women who are employed as my mother’s round-the-clock, live-in caretakers (“Mom’s Ladies” is how my sisters and I fondly refer to them).

Looking around at the other guests, I’d noticed I seemed to be the only female not attired in something on the purple-blue end of the color spectrum. I pointed to my black skirt and made a crack to the Mom’s Lady sitting nearest me, about how I obviously “hadn’t been sent the wedding attire memo.”

Mom’s Lady winked at me and said, with conspiratorial affection, “Well, of course – black sheep of the family.”

Interesting…that the label had apparently changed (progressed?) from Problem Child ® to Black Sheep ®.

Still, youch. I just wasn’t expecting that blast from the past.

The thing is, the only reason one of Mom’s Ladies could have known I had been given that label is that is that someone – my mother is the likely suspect – had to have said that to her.

Why does such a label – or the story of it – persist? It may be due in part to the fact that I am the only (openly) religion-free person in my immediate family. But, really. FFS, I’m in my fifties.

 

Yeah, I’m black. You tighty whities got a problem with that?

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Department of Pipe Dreams

Aka, The Congratulations Card I Probably Won’t Send

What with all the weddings in my extended family during the past year, there’s bound to be some imminent breeding. Here is an example of the baby congrats card I’d love to send…but won’t.[6]

Congratulations on your new little atheist!

 

All babies, including those born to religious parents, are born atheists.  Atheism is not a philosophy or belief system – really, it’s not an ism at all. It is a term which simply denotes a lack of theistic belief, which is where we all begin – it is a human being’s natural state. We are born without supernatural beliefs, or beliefs of any kind.

Religions need to be inculcated.  Beliefs are learned [7].  You have to be carefully taught.

 

*   *   *

And You Thought Wedgies Were Uncomfortable

Animal name of the day…year…century.  Behold, the cockchafer.

Imagine having that for your species name. Just, because, okay?

Who’s the cute little cockchafer?!

*   *   *

Overheard

Dateline: Wednesday, during our family tradition of playing cards at dinner (dealer chooses the game). Over a game of Knock (aka Kings in the corner), MH came up with a somewhat mild double entendre while Belle, K and I were discussing the latest Downton Abbey episode.

“Dad!” Belle gasped in astonishment and delight. “Did you just make a dick joke?!”

MH smiled enigmatically, but did not reply.

“I think you’re ready to play Cards Against Humanity,” [8] Belle declared.

*   *   *

May you be ready for any game your children will play with you, and for all shades of sheep that may roam the pastures of your life, and may the covert dick jokes and hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

 

[1] She has a device which allows her to print email from selected sources (thus, no spam), but she cannot reply. The device caters to and is marketed at the elderly/frail/computer-disinterested and/or phobic.

[2] No, she does not read this blog (and has no means to do so) – whaddya think, I’m crazy or something?

[3] I know, I know, don’t pick on the kids. At least I didn’t employ a slur that is supposedly directed at the mentally impaired (hint: rhymes with pee chard).

[4] Notice I did not type, “literal,” as, literally, that word has been officially declared so 2014, or whatever.

[5] You really must read Game Change: Obama and the Clintons, McCain and Palin, and the Race of a Lifetime. Preferably while chugging a strong anti-emetic.

[6] Because, after all, don’t want to give ’em any more Black Sheep ammunition.

[7] And, fortunately, can be unlearned.

[8] My offspring have promised to play that game with me, but have steadfastly refused to do so with their more genteel father.