Creating Consumers

I just finished reading The World Without Us by Alan Weisman. It's a very compelling read. He's at his best collecting facts and theories from various thinkers from around the world. And he paints a clear and well documented picture of how the world will fair when humans become extinct. In a nutshell, we don't need to save the planet for its own sake, but for our survival. The planet will do just fine on its own.

But Weisman's at his worst when it comes to doing his own thinking. The book came to an abrupt stop with his final solution: enforced birth control for the planet. He thinks the world will be saved if every woman on the planet is denied the ability to bear more than one child. At first blush it might seem reasonable. Less people means less use of resources and less waste. I think reducing population will have a positive effect on the environment, but not enough to enforce it. There's so many problems with the idea - where to begin...

I actually don't have the book with me, and I think he may actually suggest voluntary reduction in childbirth rate, but that's just silly. I intended to never have any children, and here I am with three. People rarely volunteer to give up something they want, especially something they're biologically driven to want (generally speaking, of course - some are happy without self-replicating).

First of all, let's look at some implementation concerns. The main problem, clearly, is all those uppity women who might get their knickers in a twist if we try to limit their reproductive freedom. The proposed legislation will likely guarantee abortion rights, but that's hardly the carrot it might seem.

Weisman words his idea carefully, linking childbirth to individual women on a one-to-one ratio. So, practically, and ethically, what happens if a baby dies shortly after birth? Is that it for that woman's chances at family? Who's going to enforce it? And if we give in and let the couple try again, it's a slippery slope to letting women everywhere get a second chance.

Remember that old saying in history class, that royalty would have "an heir and a spare"? They made sure to have an extra just in case something happened to the first one. I could see a lot of couples choosing to terminate late-term pregnancies at the smallest sign of trouble. If they can only give birth to one, it better be perfect.

Oh, and who's going to tell the Pope? This dude won't let HIV positive guys put a raincoat on their dingdongs, but you think he'll go for enforced contraception? Does worldwide include Rome?

I'm not sure about the economic effects. I wish I understood economic systems better. Our government gets concerned that we're not reproducing enough to replace the population, so we look towards immigration to fill the gap. If we don't have enough young people working, who's going to pay for our pensions? But somehow I don't buy economic arguments against population control. It seems to me that gradual decreases in population will all even out in supply and demand and resources and employment. Similarly, I'm not sure why we need our city to grow and expand forever. I'd like to know more about the link between growth and prosperity. Just on a gut level, it seems questionable to insist that we need constant growth to thrive - how can that be?? No other mammal hopes for more and more of their kind to fit in one area of limited resources. I'm still looking for a book on sustainable prosperity. Any good ones out there, let me know.

But well beyond the pragmatics of removing what most of us think of as a fundamental right, I question the effectiveness of Weisman's suggestion.

Even if the population decreases, it's not a guarantee that consumption and waste will decrease. In fact, it could go the other way. If I didn't have kids, and I didn't have money tied up in RESPs or savings for them, and if I hadn't spent all the cash I have so far on their braces and horseback riding lessons, I'd just spend it all somewhere else. Instead of saving up to educate three kids, I'd have just that much more cash to buy a car and take more trips and maybe even get an air conditioner.

When you look at how people spend in different parts of the world, it seems to make even less sense to save the planet by limiting children. In Canada, women have fewer than 1.6 children on average. We're not too far from his goal, yet if everyone lived like a Canadian, we'd need three Earths to keep us going. In some developing countries, where people are having 4-7 kids per woman, their ecological footprint barely makes a dent on the planet. The number of children per person has little relationship to the toll the people take on the world. What does take a toll, is the amount of consumption each person expects to enjoy. One child per person will dramatically reduce the number of children in developing countries, and have little effect in the more industrialized areas of the world - the parts that have the largest impact on the environment.

If we're going to legislate restrictions on freedoms, childbearing is a lower concern to me than consumption. What we buy, where it comes from, and how much stuff we think we need then pitch within a few months, it all is spinning us out of control. We need to think about every purchase. That's all. I've linked this before, but I like this video quite a bit: The Story of Stuff. It's about 20 minutes, but it's well worth checking out.

However, I think people will give up their right to shop about as easily as they'll give up their right to have as many kids as they want. And why would our government do anything to reduce consumption? What they might do, if we're really lucky, is shift from oil to sustainables (wind and solar), and ban more toxins (like silicone).

But for God's sakes, don't stop shopping.

Serial Dreams and Meme

A weird ass dream in three parts. Heads up: I recently watched season one of Dexter.

Part One

I am a serial killer. My plan is to kill five specific people, all white women. I don't recognize any of them in real life, but I seem to have a goal in the dream. I'm doing the killing with my son (12) and youngest daughter (3). That seems like a good idea. Maybe I thought they'd be a good cover. I'm killing people by hitting them over the head with a bottle, like this (which I was watching last night). In one scene I remember vividly, we're in a dingy restaurant - which I do know. It's the St. Clements Tavern, a divy bar in a tiny town nearby. Maybe it's an omen that something bad will happen there. We used to go there to see local bands play when we were underage. I actually think it may have been torn down. Just as well.

So, in the restaurant, I'm sitting at a long table with this woman (soon to be victim #4), my son is beside us, and my daughter's playing on the stairs that lead up to the rooms (it's like a mini-hotel). My daughter comes down and hits the woman with a bottle. You go girl! But I know the woman's not dead yet because she didn't get hit hard enough. So I find her pulse on her neck, then push on it hard to stop the blood flow. As I'm doing this, my daughter goes up the stairs and tells me, "I have to pee, mama." "Just a minute," I implore her as I'm finishing the woman off. Really, she picks the most inopportune times to have to pee.

My daughter pulls down her pants at the top of the stairs and lets loose. I'm annoyed, but still trying to kill this woman, so I really can't run up to stop her. I'm hoping nobody in the restaurant notices the pee running down the stairs like a torrential waterfall, but I'm completely unconcerned about the murder that just took place in plane view. This is even more ironic because, in real life, the whole place always smelled like pee; I think the regulars pissed on the walls, like, regularly. I carry my "drunk, passed-out" (nudge, nudge) friend outside and bury her.

I'm killing each woman in a different state (way to go American media infiltration - even my dreams take place in the US), and burying them there, so they won't be traced back to me and my hometown. Very clever, eh. I start to get nervous that I could get caught, so I decide four is enough even though I had originally wanted five. I'm not greedy like that.

Part Two

In this part, I'm not the killer. It's Edward Norton being evil (think American History X). He's going to houses to kill entire families. I think they're all billionaires but their houses look pretty shabby. They're frugal billionaires. He's creepy and torturous before he kills each person. And he seems to be having a pretty good time doing all this. Then he comes to my house (apparently I'm rich). I'm not really afraid because I have a plan. I think I can talk my way out of this even though I know how brutal he is. We're outside, and he's making us dig a grave for ourselves in our backyard. My son hits him with a bottle, and he just laughs. He bends over to let him have another shot. He dings him again, and Ed says, laughing, "Okay, tough guy, one more shot!" and I plow him with the shovel. He falls over, and while he's down, I take my shovel (which is really sharp at the end - for real), and cut off his head like I'm splitting a hosta. Ha!

Part Three

My cruel murderous police officer husband has caught the murderer (still Ed, but with his head back on), cuffed his hands behind his back and locked him in a jail cell. Thing is, he's locked me in with him. I think he's hoping that this psycho will kill me even with his hands behind his back. He can tell the judge that I was curious and wanted to talk to the guy, and the fact that he's cuffed means he can insist he thought I was safe, but he knows this nut could take me down with his teeth. I'm not the rich mom anymore, I'm more like Daisy Duke for this scene. And, again, I'm thinking I can talk my way out of this - using my feminine wiles, of course. My hair is amazingly sultry, very long and thick, and I'm in short cut-offs with bare feet, and I don't have a lick of cellulite on my thighs, which are about half their usual size. I look great!

I tell Ed he's going to get the chair (I don't know where we are, but it sure ain't Canada), and I ask him, all seductive like, if he's got any last requests. I'm planning to ditch my husband and help the killer escape. I'll go with him for a while, but then take off when I'm far enough away. We'll be like Bonnie and Clyde! Actually he's looking pretty good in his white muscle shirt, sitting on the floor leaning against the bunk, his hands behind his back. But those teeth are a concern. What if he bites through my jugular while I'm making out with him? I'm thinking that he's not really a psychopath because all the murders were for money. Since I'm poor, I'm probably safe. Anyway, you can see where this is going.

***

I often have sex in my dreams, and I'm surprised how many people I know who say they never do. (And I don't know why they'd lie about that, so I'm assuming I'm in the minority.) It's Edward Norton (even Charlie Rose is turned on)! Of course I'm going to go for it.

And I'm not usually a killer, but I'm often a spy or double spy even. I'm sneaky in my dreams.

And almost all my dreams run like a movie - sometimes the director even gives direction (off camera) to the actors. I wonder how common that is.

On to the meme:

I wasn't tagged, but I saw this over at Halushki's (a very fun place to check out), and I'm in a playful mood today, so here goes.

Of the following six items, five are true. Find the lie.

1. I had sex on a motorcycle.
2. I dropped acid during class.
3. I have four university degrees.
4. I've been hit in the face with an axe.
5. I burned all the hair off my forearms, and John Candy was there (but I didn't kiss him - I'm saving myself for Ed).
6. I've never been asked on a date - in my whole, pathetic little life (which might have something to do with numbers 2, 4, and 5, but you'd think 1 and 3 would trump those).

And I tag anyone who reads this and is feeling up to making stuff up about themselves and delighting us with true tales of intrigue. Let me know in the comments, and I'll play!

Interpretations

I typically lean towards the side that insists authorial intent is neither here nor there. It doesn't matter what the artist was trying to say; what matters is what the viewer gets from the artwork. In fact, I think authorial intent is often a red herring distracting us in our quest for some Truth in this world.

When I'm looking at any piece of art, I don't research it to be able to appreciate it. If it speaks to me, and says something important to me, then I'm taking away something important. I recently re-watched American Beauty. When that movie first came out, I saw it twice in a row. I'm at the age to really get what Lester and Carolyn are going through, and I've always been the kinda weird girl you might grow to like after a while, never the perfect one everyone's lusting after.

But the bigger messages are what compelled me to spend another $7 for the late show: wake up and pay attention to all the beauty in the world, follow your own path with integrity, remember that death is just around the corner, and don't get sucked into the routine assembly line that is the average automaton's life. It's all the same message really. But even as I type this I can hear someone out there about to comment, "No, you've missed the real message of the film." My response: "La-la-la, I can't hear you." I'm captivated by the film because of what it's saying to me, not because of what the author meant for me to get from it.

And really, since art (poetry, paintings, music, film, etc.) can be interpreted by so many in different ways, isn't it sheer arrogance to suggest your interpretation is most accurate? Because even if you've read books about the piece of work, or met the artist directly, or have done this, I'm not convinced it increases the validity of of the interpretation. Because I also question how thoroughly artists see the layers of meaning in their own works. There might be an intention to communicate a message, but other issues and ideas, our stuff, can sneak into what we create beyond our cognizance. So it remains possible for a viewer to get to a clearer understanding of the art than the artist. And the accuracy of the interpretation becomes unknowable, relative, personal wherein it only really matters what the piece says to you. And each viewpoint should be considered, contemplated, no matter how wrong it seems.

It's frustrating when people don't get what we're saying. There's some cases where people are just completely missing the mark, not actually taking in a significant part of what we're putting out there. They're not interesting to me. But there are other cases where people see what we've done and see more than what we intended to say. And that's very exciting - even when I vehemently disagree with them.

I've been thinking about this lately with respect to people as art: art in progress or performance art or fluid expressionism, whatever. We intend to communicate a message about who we are, but it's often lost. I'm often misinterpreted. Could it be the case that the viewer is, in this case, seeing a clearer version of me than I'm able to get to? Sometimes. But more often, like the first case above, they just completely miss it. And the question becomes when to clarify.

If people get something from their perspective of me that adds to their life, something they really appreciate, but it's really not me at all that they're seeing, it seems best to leave it alone. I don't explain, but hope people will re-evaluate their original explanation of how I am through repeated exposure. But sometimes the construction is oppositional to the intention. Then it seems wise to intervene with clarification.

If I paint a rape scene, my rape scene, as a means to come to terms with a trauma, hoping to communicate the devastation and pain it causes, someone could misinterpret it as a glorification of rape, a promotion of power over others. "Look how happy he looks doing this to her..." Interpretation is most affected by where your lens is focused which is precisely what the audience brings to the aesthetic experience. It's the individual viewer's addition to the pot luck, and some dishes are tastier than others.

Years ago my own mother insisted that my frugal nature ("You just hoard your money - live a little!") was the real reason I wouldn't buy a car. She couldn't grasp that I despise the mass consumption transportation devices. I can walk everywhere I need to go. A car merely gives me the ability to carry lots of purchases from a store to home. Who needs that? A car symbolizes freedom and fun to her. Not owning one means I must be trapped and miserable. That perception coloured her interpretation of me until she died. She pitied me, like some of my students pity me when they see me walking home from the grocery store dragging a cart behind me "like a homeless person."

We can't be understood in the way we understand ourselves, even by people close to us, because of what they're bringing to the table, particularly the connotations our iconography has for them. We're often liked or disliked for who people think we are, which doesn't seem fair at all. But who has time or the interest to explain and re-explain especially when many, like me, won't agree that's what we're like at all. In exterior artwork, it doesn't matter to me at all what the artist was intending to say, but the interior? Does our self-knowledge necessarily trump all other explanations, or does each interpretation, like in art, have the potential to be more in focus that the artist's deliberate conception?

The Responsible One

Wow. It's been so long I couldn't remember how to log in!

I've gotten really involved "sponsoring" an eco-club at my school. I've headed up clubs before, and typically I might guide students away from totally outrageous, un-do-able projects, but other than that, I just sign off on stuff that requires a teacher's approval. This group is keen, but really lazy. They show up to the meetings with amazing ideas, but bail on the work involved. I should let it all fall apart to teach them to get their act together, but I want their initiatives to happen. So I've been busting my ass making it all come to fruition. Then the kids take all the credit. Lao Tzu once said, more or less, when a good person leads, the people say, "we did it ourselves"- but I don't think this is what he had in mind.

I've also been trying to sell the stupid rental house we got ourselves sucked into (well, that I got us sucked into). People want to see it three and four times; they need to come back with their parents, and their kids, and their uncle, and their friend from high school, and their dog. Then they don't make an offer. It's frustrating and time-consuming, and I'm still puttering away at it, trying to make it just a bit nicer so some kind person will take it off my hands. Last night I laid sod in the back and dug out millions of dandelions in the front, then overseeded. I finished watering at 11:00 at night, then collapsed into bed with my clothes on. I woke up just now, and my bed was full of dirt. Go figure.

So here's something more interesting for contemplation.

At the last school eco-event, we had an entire festival for Earth Day. It went really well, and was a totally amazing evening. We had several booths with information on hemp and bottled water and fair trade chocolate. We sold fair trade, organic coffee, tea and cookies, hemp necklaces and bracelets, and some really cool t-shirts the students and I made. I actually like the shirts I made so much, I'd like to start a side-business. Maybe I can advertise and sell them on-line - but they're a very alternative kind of product. I took a permanent marker to old shirts from a second-hand store and drew scenes of environmental terrorism and social injustices. They look better than that makes it sound, and I've been wearing them daily.

But back to the issue of the day. The highlight of the festival was a concert. We did a call for bands and 13 amazing student groups showed up to play. Instead of auditions, we let everyone in. It was in the spirit of unity and grooviness and all, but it led to ridiculously tight timelines. We had to have the school empty by 11 pm or alarms would go off, so we couldn't run a minute late. I impressed on the performers that everyone had to be ready to go the second they were called. Any time taken meandering onto the stage, would be time lost from their set. To kick things off, a teacher-band opened (me, my friends, and my guy - I faked my way through singing, and actually learned how to play drums for one song). I intended to start the whole show a few minutes early, to give us a bit of breathing space.

So there I am, at the mic, two minutes before the show starts, and I can't find my band. Apparently, about ten minutes earlier, they decided to go for a beer run. Way to go. So I'm standing there, waiting, wondering whether to bail and just get the next band up or to do a solo, when they finally show up. Okay, we only started five minutes late, but still. I was all over the students to be on time, and the teachers were late. I was pissed, and not in a good way.

We played our set. We couldn't hear ourselve sing, so the harmonies were off. One song that we did beautifully in practices ended up sounding like crap, which is too bad. But we made light of it all - especially when I completely forgot the words to one song and had to pull them out of my back pocket. Surprisingly I got lots of kudos for my drumming - which I had just picked up a few days before the concert. We fully intended and expected to be the worst band. It was a show of courage far more than a display of talent. And we wanted to get things going in a spirit of fun and playfulness. A few students were getting antsy and surly before the show, and I kept reminding them there wouldn't be any talent scouts in the audience.

But about that beer run. I was pissed that they were late, but I was even more upset that they didn't invite me along. I mentioned that to them, and one friend said, "But if we had asked you to come with, you wouldn't have let us go." And she was right, which really sucks. My guy later added, "Someone has to be the responsible one." Which is also right, but why is it just me? You'd think that in a group of teachers, there'd be more than just one person to suggest that going to the beer store twelve minutes before you're supposed to be on stage ready to perform (at a school event, no less) is perhaps unwise.

After our set, they all sat in our department office drinking while I supervised the school on my own. I convinced them to help, briefly, only after the principal showed up to see how thing were going. Then they had to suck on Fisherman's Friends to hide the beer on their breath. Once the principal left, they all went back to drinking.

And it all made me think of Freud's whole superego / id dichotomy. The goal is to "stay in your ego" (reason in Plato's charioteer analogy), which is a means to keep each of the three in balance, but we often falter and slide to one side or the other: the superego side of being too controlling and working too hard, focusing on what everyone should be doing (Plato's spirit becoming aggressive), or the id side of being too goofy and playful, focusing on fulfilling immediate desires (Plato's appetite out of control). A person "staying in their ego" is well-balanced, getting work done but playful.

And my question is this: How can you get anything done in a group full of ids, without sliding into superego mode? What's the ego response, the reasonable response, to excessive or inappropriate playfulness? In other words, how can I get time to play when there's work to be done and nobody else will do it. Or, how can I convince others to help without coming across like a bitch? These are my peers, not subordinates. It's not my place to boss them around, and I don't want to go there. But geez!

The Tao would suggest to stop hanging on to outcomes. But Taoists don't get much done, and I have two more projects to finish in the next month.

This id/superego thing is really the root of most of my relationship issues. And it's not an uncommon dynamic. It shows itself in every sit-com with the bossy wife and goofy husband. It's Felix and Oscar incarnate. And I know I'd much rather hang out with Oscar. Who wouldn't? But I can't stop being Felix.

(I have a theory that there's not many models of the ego on TV firstly, because it really is hard to determine the ego course of action, and secondly, because reasonable people aren't very interesting to watch.)

Hey, I ALREADY hated Wal-Mart

The following is lifted from Feminist Majority, in a YouTube clip of The Philip DeFranco Show. Spread the word.

If you have not already heard, Walmart has decided to take $470,000 from Debbie Shank, a 52 year old mother of three (One of her sons recently died in Iraq), who was involved in a terrible car accident crippling her short term memory, leaving her in a wheelchair, and in a nursing home.

Because of the fine print of Walmarts health insurance plan, since Debbie was involved in a car accident and was awarded the money to take care of the tragic aftermath, they are entitled to take all the money that was supposed to go to taking care of Debbie.

THEY ACTUALLY WANT $470,000 from this handicapped woman in a wheelchair, who needs it to be taken care of in the future. This coming from a company that made $90 billion last quarter...

Here is the link to the full story:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/03/25/walm...

I'm asking for you to stop buying from Walmart, and to pass on this story and link to everyone you know.

-------------------------------------

Edits:
1. $417,000 was put into a trust fund, and $470,000 is what Walmart is trying to get from her.
2. I realized I said $90 billion a year, when it is actually $90 billion a quarter. Simple mistake. mhm mhm

New Carnival

Carnival of Sexual Freedom and Autonomy is up at Uncool. I'm sorry I missed this one. I love writing about sex. Next time.

These days, I'm organizing a big Earth Day thing at my school, so I'm totally immersed in eco stuff. And my guy is working way too much, and a bit sickly, so I'm missing out on the whole sex thing anyway. Today I stayed home with my sick little one, intending to get much done while she snoozed all day. I ended up snoozing right along with her. It's nice to snuggle a three-year-old, especially one who is rarely still for so long at a time. But now I've got a late night of work ahead.

There will be time.

Training Our Partners

I was reading this article today, "Lessons from the zoo - applied to the bedroom." Amy Sutherland is bombarded with writing gigs because she wrote about how animal-traning techniques improved her marriage. Her general thesis is that since people can train killer whales to do tricks, convince them to give them a ride on their backs and then some, surely she can train her husband to pick up his laundry.

In a nutshell, it seems she's using standard behaviour modification techniques from the 40s: "Reward the behaviour you want. Ignore the behaviour you don't want." It just takes patience.

So the dirty clothes on the floor are ignored, and low and behold, eventually he picks them up. When he drives really fast, she says nothing, but tightens her seatbelt. Instead of asking him to shave more, she says nothing, but praised him tons when he actually gets around to shaving in hopes of increasing the frequency of the target behaviour.

Hmmm. Who was trained here?

And wasn't there a Doris Day movie in which she trained her husband using a dog training manual? Nope - I just found it: If a Man Answers with Sandra Dee. Dee trains Bobby Darin to be the perfect husband (I was sure it was James Garner)

She says we have to remember we're all just primate. I appreciate that, but primates don't try to train other primates. No matter how co-operatively you try to approach it, training something involves a dominating stance, an intention to manipulate and alter the other being. It might be useful, but I question how possible it is from an equitable mindset. If you're my partner, as soon as I consciously decide to try to surrepticiously make you behave the way I'd prefer, I'm setting myself up in a superior position.

Believe me, I've handled the dirty laundry dilemma. And training can work to change behaviour, but it doesn't do anything about the internal desire to live up to the other's standards, and it certainly doesn't help to develop a loving, forgiving bond between two people. But maybe that's just me.

6,000 Years Young

Check out this Creationist Tour of Science Museum. (Sorry I still can't figure out how to put the video directly in a post.) It's amazing to me that a museum would allow private tour guides to direct children in a "B.C." (Biblically Correct) tour of dinosaur bones.

Some choice concepts: Fossils are boring because they're piles of dead things. Hey, take kids to a museum and point out how dull it all is. Good work.

Also: Radiometric dating is based on circular reasoning. This is said as they bypass the exhibit with an explanation of radiometric dating.

At least they don't insist that dinosaurs are made-up creatures. They're just another creation of God, made after Adam and Eve*, and named by Adam. Actually, Adam named them "dragons," and the word dinosaur was invented later, when the bones were found.

What baffles me, though, is that this is presented in Nightline's Faith Matters segment. I'm not sure of the intention of the series, but the reporter in this video clearly leans towards the evolutionist side. If the purpose of the series is to show that faith matters to some people, then it works. But I'm guessing the purpose of the series is to show that faith should matter to people, that faith is necessary to humanity, as in, "Hey you: faith matters!" If this is the case, then the video falls short of its mission. It teaches me that the faithful like Billy and Rusty are a bunch of idiots. I want to hang out with that curator guy and learn more.

I actually think it's admirable to run an on-going segment about the necessity of faith. But I'd show clips of people who find great comfort or strength from their beliefs. Because, really, without faith, we're left on our own to be existentialists finding our own meaning or hedonists not giving a shit. Faith is warm and comfy.

And they could feature people who are better off for their beliefs not just in God, but in homeopathy, or pranic healing, or the power of crystals, or synchronicity, or the power of ritual work. For anyone who doesn't read here much, and thinks I'm taking a swipe at a whole lotta people with one short sentence, I'm a firm believer in the power of ritual healing, and I really like the idea of synchronicity even if it can be easily opposed with a few probability studies. I'll give the rest of it a miss though. And there will be some who believe one or two of these strategies towards comfort or strength that are offended to be grouped in with the others, but that's their problem.

But evolution is one of those things that's not like the others. It's not a religion. It's not a philosophy. It's sitting on pretty solid scientific ground. It can be argued it's based on assumptions like all science is, in a David Hume sense. You know, we can't prove that one pool ball hitting the other actually causes the other to move. We can only know that we saw one move, then the other. And the possibility exists that the other moved spontaneously. So, it's an assumption that the movement of one ball creates movement in the other (transfer of energy, blahblahblah...). And all of science is founded on these assumptions. But, they're pretty reasonable assumptions. It's an assumption of mine that the sun will come up tomorrow. I can't prove it will merely because it always has in the passed, so I can only assume it. But I'll take that one to the bank.

Radiometric dating, based on numerous repeatable experiments, makes sense scientifically. Because the Bible say so.... well, not so much. Rituals aren't scientific either, but they make me feel better. They help me get through difficult transitions in life. Faith in God helps myriad people worldwide get through difficult transitions. We can prove that belief helps people cope, but we can't prove God exists. It's a faith because it can't be proven. People don't have faith in evolution like we don't have faith in the cycles of rainfall or faith in our heart circulating oxygen in our blood. This is stuff we've figured out through experiments and tediously detailed observations. Evolution's not particulary comforting either. It's a little bit creepy even. It's not something I want to believe in, it's just the way it works.


*According to Genesis 2:18-19 people came first before all other creatures. We are, as you know, the most important and best-loved creatures so we obviously came first. Genesis 1:25-27 begs to differ with people created last. Whatever. I like Yigal Levin's response to the different stories.

Day of Silence - April 25th

Students at my school are trying to get involved with the 12th annual Day of Silence campaign to eradicate bullying of LGBT students. If you haven't heard of it, spread the word! April 25th this year will commemorate the death of Lawrence King, an openly gay 15-year-old student who was shot by a homophobic classmate in February.

At my twisted, fucked-up school, we have myriad committees on bullying at various levels of administration. People are paid big bucks to write curriculum on bullying and make pamphlets about bullying and present skits on bullying. And so much of it is bullshit. The big cure-all for the entire dynamic, according to our board, is TELL TELL TELL. If you tell on a bully, they'll stop bullying. Bullshit. If you tell, some teachers will ignore you, insisting you're making a big deal out of nothing. Other teachers will express shock and outrage, but actually do nothing more than give you the words to use to try to stop further attacks. And others will tell someone higher up, who will then ignore the situation to their best ability, bogging it all down in a wonderous display of bureaucracy. Most teachers, like most people in general, are cowards. We need to expose that reality before we can start fixing this problem. Pretending otherwise helps nobody.

If you tell me you're being bullied, I'll tell you to go kick the guy's ass, and I'll be there for back-up. And then I'll lose my job because that's the wrong approach. Violence begets violence and all. My experiences have shown otherwise. I wrote at length about that here and here and here. But I was writing about littler kids, and this approach only works if there's no weapons involved. So it sure wouldn't have helped Lawrence.

At my school, the administration, steeped in anti-bullying rhetoric, do NOT want anything to do with the Day of Silence. I'm not sure why, but they're really trying to stop the kids from organizing it. So the students have been going to individual teachers to ask for letters of support. This is my letter:

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We have many teacher-based committees tackling bullying in the schools. But we all know real change happens from the bottom up, as students band together to refuse to ignore the bullying any longer.

A teenager died because of sexual orientation. It wasn't a random shooting or a random choice of victim, but a message to all LGBT teens that they should be afraid - that there could be serious consequences for falling in love or desiring the "wrong" person or for openly expressing their true gender. We must project a strong message to students, parents, and the community that acts of intimidation will not be tolerated or ignored.

A day of silence is an exceptional, peaceful means to develop community and come together in a caring and co-operative way as a school that fosters openness, acceptance, and respect of all people.

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So mark April 25th on your calendars as the Day of Silence. It's easy to remember because it's just three days after Earth Day on April 22nd.

And don't forget today is turn off your lights (and electronics) night at 8:00 for an hour. I say, live dangerously, turn them off for TWO hours. Or just leave the damn things off until they're really necessary. Have a beer on your porch and say hello to the neighbours for a change instead of macrameing your ass to the couch watching Seinfeld and South Park reruns. (Strictly speaking for myself here.)

"Survivor" as a Coping Tool

Yesterday my 3-year-old went to the dentist for the very first time. It was very exciting. So exciting, in fact, that after jumping up and down for 30 minutes in the waiting room, and finally getting through a 30-minute appointment, she fell asleep as soon as we left the building. This would be fine and dandy for most people, but I don't own a car. And I also harbour a radical belief that if I don't pander to my girl by bring a stroller everywhere we go, she'll actually get really good at walking long distances. It worked for the first two. No charm for this trial.

The dentist is about one and a half kilometers (just under a mile) from home, and my girl weighs about 40 pounds. Don't ask me why I measure distance in metric and weight in imperial. I was in grade 6 when it all changed over, and some old habits stuck. (But really, how many Canadians measure lumber in centimeters?? - or themselves for that matter?) Usually I think of the dentist's office as really close. But this trip, the sidewalks stretched out ahead of me, growing longer as I walked, like that scene in Poltergeist when JoBeth Williams is trying to get to her screaming kids. Ya. Just like that.

My kid was absolutely unwakable - practically in a coma. I carried her on my front, one arm under her butt, the other on her back trying to hold her close to me as her head slid further and further down my chest. At about the halfway point home, my arms started to shake. I wondered what my other options were. It seemed silly to call a cab to go a few more blocks, and where would I call from. Since so many people own cell phones (not this luddite, sister), phone booths have been disappearing. The next generation of teens will be completely baffled by that old Colin Farrell movie. What is that glass box he's stuck in??

I wondered, would anyone pick up a crazed mom and sleeping tot if I stuck out my thumb? Not without a car seat in the car. And how could I possibly stick out my thumb with my arms full? And then I remembered that my girl wanted to go to the bathroom when we first got to the dentist's office, but didn't like that bathroom, so didn't go. And I started praying that she didn't go in her sleep, down the front of me, as I walked.

So, in my head, I became a contestant on Survivor. I would get $1 million if I could carry the urine-filled dead weight the rest of the way home without spilling it. Every block I managed, I pictured another contestant bailing out, and my team cheering me on. I was making it! I was going to win! By my street, I was doing labour breathing to cope with the pain in my arms and lower back. But I perservered. And it paid off big time.

I got my little one home without dropping her once, and she promptly caught a second wind and ended up in bed an hour later than usual. I did a little victory speech for the camera: "Wow! I can't believe I did that! I really didn't know I had it in me. It was tough, but the Mabooboo tribe really kept my confidence up! I couldn't have done it without them. I'll be paying off some debts, then the rest of the money will go to environmental causes."

And I recognized how often a similar speech comes to mind - after negotiating a truce between fighting kids, or fighting kids and spouse, I have to be the best negotiator to get the cash. Or if I can start dinner, get in a load of laundry, strip and scrub my girl's bed which she still occasionally pees in, stir dinner, hang the laundry, make the bed, get back to dinner, feed the kids, do dishes and get the little one tucked in for the night all by 7:30, then I win!! And my reward is getting to help with homework and do marking and prep work until I pass out.

And some days I think mid-40s is too old to have a 3-year-old especially with two tweens to deal with. It's killing me. They're rarely all asleep at the same time. But if I can raise these kids up to some manner of self-sufficiency without killing them or myself, and without harming the planet, then I win!!

But I'm still waiting for my money.