This blog post was originally composed as a YouTube comment on this video. I enjoyed the revisit and analysis of The Fox and the Hound; it's been ages since I saw that movie. Thanks to KeyTheLich for making it.
Now, here's my two cents...
Showing posts with label Bias and Stereotyping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bias and Stereotyping. Show all posts
Thursday, December 15, 2022
'Disney's Best Anti-Villain' and Societal Injustice
Friday, September 17, 2021
The Man
There is a man.
The man comes home from work. He is tired.
The man takes off his shoes. He takes off his jacket. He greets his wife with a smile and a little kiss.
The man calls his children to dinner, and they eat together and ask each other about the events of the day. The man complains casually about his boss. His wife complains affectionately about messes. The children complain about their homework. The family tells itself that it's going to be okay, and this is how life is.
The man puts on slippers, and picks up a drink, and picks up a newspaper, and sits down on the most comfortable chair in the living room, and reads about events in the world beyond his house and his neighbourhood. He reads in order to be up to date on what to talk about with his co-workers during breaks, and what to avoid talking about because it may be awkward in light of something which has happened. He reads in order to know who to be annoyed at for what recent indiscretion. He frowns at indulgent politicians. He smiles at progress in public works. He pauses to wonder at the pace of technological advancement.
The man is comfortable.
The man is sometimes worried, especially when looking at construction projects, and newspaper headlines, and stressed people whose problems he does not know how to solve.
The man is sometimes happy, especially when he thinks about his wife, and his kids, and his friends, and his home.
The man doesn't know what to do about the politicians, or how to feel about fluctuations in immigration.
But the man knows he works hard and does well enough by his boss and co-workers.
He takes care of his wife and his kids.
He looks back on his day and he feels he is doing his best. He can relax into that thought, like a warm bath; or an old, well-worn pair of shoes. He does not feel compelled to question it. He could, but it would only leave him more worried than happy, so why would he?
He settles into his chair, and keeps reading.
Monday, June 21, 2021
You Who Would Change Me
To the ones who read my messages of despair that I always get into these conversations that feel like fights, that I'm afraid my professional relationships may always be characterized by comments like "If you're so anxious about this, maybe you should reconsider your fit for this position"...
To the ones who greet my whimper with a cheer, who are proud that I'm finally coming around to seeing the problems in myself and may be open to getting better... Who tell me to grow up and adapt, to make the people around me more comfortable...
To the one who told me today encouragingly that I may be onto something, that I could seek psychiatric evaluation, that I "can't make other people adjust to me on a dime" so I should consider how to broaden my own approaches in order to get "more doors staying open" to me...
Friday, March 30, 2018
Rationality: A Different Prisoner's Dilemma
There is a certain kind of person who notices that the world is full of suffering, and after they have noticed this, they feel obligated to remind themselves regularly, even to great personal detriment and into depression. These people cannot bring themselves to turn away from suffering even to maintain their own health... not until they are so overwhelmed by compassion for other peoples' pain that they are at risk of breaking down with stress and illness. Why? ... Likely guilt, because they would perceive it as selfish to deliberately ignore someone else's suffering in order to feel better themselves, even if there is nothing they can do about it right now. Likely also fear... that if they did turn away, they would be making themselves into monsters, joining the complicit majority of people who do not act to prevent suffering, who do not seem to care.
I am one such a person, and the kinds of people I make friends with are often prone to this phenomenon. Jennifer Freed calls it "The Empath's Dilemma," but I am not under the impression that it's a term in common use.
A friend of mine came to me tonight stuck in a mental spiral of concern and guilt I recognized as the state of someone being overwhelmed by the Empath's Dilemma, and I swooped in with my own concern, to reassure and comfort them, to shake off the undeserved guilt and help them toward a mental condition from which they would, hopefully, be able to get a decent night's rest.
And then they asked me, "How did you get through this sort of a dark night of the soul [...] whenever that night was for you?"
This is my answer:
I constructed a question. A scenario that might be put to people by which to judge their preferences in a pinch, like the old standard one about pulling a switch to route a train onto a track where it would hit only one person rather than five.
The scenario was this:
Imagine that you are a prisoner in a terrible prison. In your current position, you are almost completely helpless. Your contact with the other prisoners is minimal, and tightly governed. You cannot, now, save them... But you do know that they suffer. If you don't cover your ears at night, you can hear them screaming. If you don't turn your eyes away, you can see how the guards habitually beat and torture and belittle them.
Taken metaphorically, this is not far from the truth.
Your own condition is good compared to most of the other prisoners, but very bad compared to the free citizens who live outside of it. You do not, now, have the power to do anything that would stop the atrocities that happen here. You think you could grow to have more power, though, after your sentence is up, assuming you actually are released. And assuming you survive that long.
But you also know, because the prison is still here, that the free citizens, who have so much more power than you do, have found other things to do with their time than campaign and publicize and get this prison torn down or reformed. A lot of them don't even acknowledge that it's a real problem. You might worry that you will become like them, after you're free. Stuff all your memories of this place into a bag in a closet in the back of your mind and never dare to touch it, because it would hurt.
Well then? Every night, you effectively have two options.
A: You lay down with your ears uncovered. You listen to the screams, and harden your resolve that you will never, ever, allow yourself to forget or to deny what has happened here... but at the cost of your sanity, and a greater risk of not being able to hold a job or garner any respect after you leave.
Or B: You cover your ears, you close your eyes, you do whatever it takes to swallow your meals and nourish yourself despite the sickening surroundings, and you push away the pain and the fear enough to survive another day in as healthy a state as you can. Maintaining your self and your capacity, but increasing the risks of falling into a habit of denial and inaction.
Which one will you choose?
~~~~~
That's the Empath's Dilemma, the way I see it. People we call empaths will choose A far more often. Some will choose A any time they think they can do so without the pain killing them.
I contemplated this long enough to realize that neither extreme was "right". Given a choice between someone who always chooses A, and someone who always chooses B, neither one is necessarily better. This may be difficult to accept, because it's a very emotional question, and it can be hard to imagine, if you are particularly driven to choose A, for example, that someone could choose B and it wouldn't make them a worse person than you are. Knowing whether someone is more driven to choose A or to choose B could, however, offer some useful insight into that person's strengths and weaknesses.
The optimal solution does something vaguely analogous to maximizing the area of a rectangle which is SANITY units wide and COMMITMENT units long. If you let your sanity fall to zero, your capacity to help anyone will also be zero. If you let your commitment fall to zero, your willingness to help anyone will also be zero. In either case, the prison stands just as tall, and the suffering goes on.
So, sacrifice enough of your comfort to maintain your commitment, until your commitment is sufficient to fuel the most effective actions you could take. Do not sacrifice more.
Sacrifice enough of your emotional urgency to maintain your sanity and health, until they are sufficient to support the most effective actions you could take. Do not sacrifice more.
And recognize that knowing the perfect balance is functionally impossible. There are just too many variables in the environment. Calibrating your model to be more accurate is a fantastic excuse to be neither properly maintaining your self NOR acting effectively in the moment.
Err on the side of overestimating the cost of tweaking the model if you possibly can (because you will probably fail in the attempt anyway), and if you find yourself outside the prison, if you see an opportunity to act which is likely to help and unlikely to hinder, heavily weight your preferences toward taking it, rather than trying to make sure you should. Quantity over quality; it is a provably better cognitive habit to make many mistakes than to wait until you have a perfect plan.
The time that passes as you do things other than actively and visibly and tangibly fighting death and suffering in all its forms is a sunk cost. It is a fallacy that will drive you into irrationality and error to weight it so highly that it outweighs all the factors you actually do have any control over in your decision making.
The only choices you can really make are between the opportunities you actually see, to influence outcomes you actually have the power to affect.
And, actions taken to sustain yourself, your life, your sanity and in fact also your morale, are instrumentally necessary to preserving your own capacity to fight death and continue to fight death into the future.
You cannot stand to fight if you have laid down to die with the first of your fellow-soldiers to fall, out of compassion or love for them.
So get up. I will not tell you not to remember the dead and the dying.
But we fight for the living.
I decided to borrow that line from a video game trailer. It's been used in other contexts as well, but this is the one where I personally first saw it. a damn good line, in my opinion. Hell, it's a damn good motivational video.
I would not have communicated it in quite these words when I first built the question over five years ago. I had not even read HPMoR up to the Stanford Prison Experiment arc (where a call-to-action is realized in pretty similar terms) yet at that time.
If I had, I probably would not have constructed the question this way, as it would have felt like a form of plaigiarism.
I am one such a person, and the kinds of people I make friends with are often prone to this phenomenon. Jennifer Freed calls it "The Empath's Dilemma," but I am not under the impression that it's a term in common use.
A friend of mine came to me tonight stuck in a mental spiral of concern and guilt I recognized as the state of someone being overwhelmed by the Empath's Dilemma, and I swooped in with my own concern, to reassure and comfort them, to shake off the undeserved guilt and help them toward a mental condition from which they would, hopefully, be able to get a decent night's rest.
And then they asked me, "How did you get through this sort of a dark night of the soul [...] whenever that night was for you?"
This is my answer:
I constructed a question. A scenario that might be put to people by which to judge their preferences in a pinch, like the old standard one about pulling a switch to route a train onto a track where it would hit only one person rather than five.
The scenario was this:
Imagine that you are a prisoner in a terrible prison. In your current position, you are almost completely helpless. Your contact with the other prisoners is minimal, and tightly governed. You cannot, now, save them... But you do know that they suffer. If you don't cover your ears at night, you can hear them screaming. If you don't turn your eyes away, you can see how the guards habitually beat and torture and belittle them.
Taken metaphorically, this is not far from the truth.
Your own condition is good compared to most of the other prisoners, but very bad compared to the free citizens who live outside of it. You do not, now, have the power to do anything that would stop the atrocities that happen here. You think you could grow to have more power, though, after your sentence is up, assuming you actually are released. And assuming you survive that long.
But you also know, because the prison is still here, that the free citizens, who have so much more power than you do, have found other things to do with their time than campaign and publicize and get this prison torn down or reformed. A lot of them don't even acknowledge that it's a real problem. You might worry that you will become like them, after you're free. Stuff all your memories of this place into a bag in a closet in the back of your mind and never dare to touch it, because it would hurt.
Well then? Every night, you effectively have two options.
A: You lay down with your ears uncovered. You listen to the screams, and harden your resolve that you will never, ever, allow yourself to forget or to deny what has happened here... but at the cost of your sanity, and a greater risk of not being able to hold a job or garner any respect after you leave.
Or B: You cover your ears, you close your eyes, you do whatever it takes to swallow your meals and nourish yourself despite the sickening surroundings, and you push away the pain and the fear enough to survive another day in as healthy a state as you can. Maintaining your self and your capacity, but increasing the risks of falling into a habit of denial and inaction.
Which one will you choose?
~~~~~
That's the Empath's Dilemma, the way I see it. People we call empaths will choose A far more often. Some will choose A any time they think they can do so without the pain killing them.
I contemplated this long enough to realize that neither extreme was "right". Given a choice between someone who always chooses A, and someone who always chooses B, neither one is necessarily better. This may be difficult to accept, because it's a very emotional question, and it can be hard to imagine, if you are particularly driven to choose A, for example, that someone could choose B and it wouldn't make them a worse person than you are. Knowing whether someone is more driven to choose A or to choose B could, however, offer some useful insight into that person's strengths and weaknesses.
The optimal solution does something vaguely analogous to maximizing the area of a rectangle which is SANITY units wide and COMMITMENT units long. If you let your sanity fall to zero, your capacity to help anyone will also be zero. If you let your commitment fall to zero, your willingness to help anyone will also be zero. In either case, the prison stands just as tall, and the suffering goes on.
So, sacrifice enough of your comfort to maintain your commitment, until your commitment is sufficient to fuel the most effective actions you could take. Do not sacrifice more.
Sacrifice enough of your emotional urgency to maintain your sanity and health, until they are sufficient to support the most effective actions you could take. Do not sacrifice more.
And recognize that knowing the perfect balance is functionally impossible. There are just too many variables in the environment. Calibrating your model to be more accurate is a fantastic excuse to be neither properly maintaining your self NOR acting effectively in the moment.
Err on the side of overestimating the cost of tweaking the model if you possibly can (because you will probably fail in the attempt anyway), and if you find yourself outside the prison, if you see an opportunity to act which is likely to help and unlikely to hinder, heavily weight your preferences toward taking it, rather than trying to make sure you should. Quantity over quality; it is a provably better cognitive habit to make many mistakes than to wait until you have a perfect plan.
The time that passes as you do things other than actively and visibly and tangibly fighting death and suffering in all its forms is a sunk cost. It is a fallacy that will drive you into irrationality and error to weight it so highly that it outweighs all the factors you actually do have any control over in your decision making.
The only choices you can really make are between the opportunities you actually see, to influence outcomes you actually have the power to affect.
And, actions taken to sustain yourself, your life, your sanity and in fact also your morale, are instrumentally necessary to preserving your own capacity to fight death and continue to fight death into the future.
You cannot stand to fight if you have laid down to die with the first of your fellow-soldiers to fall, out of compassion or love for them.
So get up. I will not tell you not to remember the dead and the dying.
But we fight for the living.
I decided to borrow that line from a video game trailer. It's been used in other contexts as well, but this is the one where I personally first saw it. a damn good line, in my opinion. Hell, it's a damn good motivational video.
I would not have communicated it in quite these words when I first built the question over five years ago. I had not even read HPMoR up to the Stanford Prison Experiment arc (where a call-to-action is realized in pretty similar terms) yet at that time.
If I had, I probably would not have constructed the question this way, as it would have felt like a form of plaigiarism.
Saturday, September 2, 2017
Estimating Confidence in Astrology
Follow-up to a conversation about Zodiac signs...
I notice a strong correlation between the descriptions on a particular website for the Aries sign, and my own personality. I do not attribute this correlation to any particular cause, and would answer with a couple of vague notions off the top of my head and a shrug if asked to name a phenomenon that caused me to have "Aries" traits.
I do think that astrological signs in general describe collections of personality traits that tend to correlate to one another, such that if any given person possesses one notable trait of a given sign... take Aries and a hot temper as an arbitrary example... it is more likely that that person will exhibit any other given "Aries" trait than it is likely of a random member of the populace, regardless of whether Aries actually is that person's birth sign or not; I am not claiming that being Aries is the cause, only that, for e.g., having a hot temper, and having a passionate approach to romance, are positively correlated.
I don't put any particular stock in Astrology. If I had to take a wild guess, I'd rate the likelihood that the position of earth relative to the stars at birth has a significant and known effect on the development of a person's personality at somewhere in the ballpark of 10-20%, along with most other specific supernatural theories.
I do, from time to time, wonder about the idea, and how it could be true, if it were.
What I actually intended to express confidence in in any way was more or less like this:
If I were to link you to the specific article I found about the Aries sign and asked you to read it and select any given claim it makes about the Aries personality type, I would estimate the likelihood of that particular claim being true enough of me that bearing it in mind would likely explain some of my behaviour at around 80%.
Given that I don't think the stars are the reason, just that the traits described happen to coincide with how I turned out... If I were to make a numerical guess, I'd expect that 20% or less of the population of the Western world match their own Zodiac signs (whatever they may be) that well.
I think that Astrology, like Tarot and similar sorts of things that suggest meanings and explanations behind peoples' behaviour, may in some circumstances have some use in pushing the mind out of an established view to look at things from a new perspective. Reading about an Astrological personality archetype may prompt me to wonder if the perspective described is similar to the perspective of someone I have been arguing with, so that I have a theory that might help me understand them if it proves relevant, rather than being unable to come up with anything besides frustration when their preferences and values are not like mine.
There doesn't need to be any magic behind it at all to have that use. Rather, it is functionally a deck of cards, upon each of which is written, "Is it happening for this reason?" For any given situation, some of the questions will have no bearing on matters and may be discounted out of hand. To others, a good answer is a considerate, "Hm. Maybe. I'll look for evidence to confirm/refute."
If you take this view, then it follows that the mysticism and ceremony surrounding their use exists purely to lend weight and importance to the consideration of the possibility, without which it may be too easy to shrug off the competing theory in favour of one's existing worldview, even if it fails to properly account for the behaviours or events one is noticing.
I notice a strong correlation between the descriptions on a particular website for the Aries sign, and my own personality. I do not attribute this correlation to any particular cause, and would answer with a couple of vague notions off the top of my head and a shrug if asked to name a phenomenon that caused me to have "Aries" traits.
I do think that astrological signs in general describe collections of personality traits that tend to correlate to one another, such that if any given person possesses one notable trait of a given sign... take Aries and a hot temper as an arbitrary example... it is more likely that that person will exhibit any other given "Aries" trait than it is likely of a random member of the populace, regardless of whether Aries actually is that person's birth sign or not; I am not claiming that being Aries is the cause, only that, for e.g., having a hot temper, and having a passionate approach to romance, are positively correlated.
I don't put any particular stock in Astrology. If I had to take a wild guess, I'd rate the likelihood that the position of earth relative to the stars at birth has a significant and known effect on the development of a person's personality at somewhere in the ballpark of 10-20%, along with most other specific supernatural theories.
I do, from time to time, wonder about the idea, and how it could be true, if it were.
What I actually intended to express confidence in in any way was more or less like this:
If I were to link you to the specific article I found about the Aries sign and asked you to read it and select any given claim it makes about the Aries personality type, I would estimate the likelihood of that particular claim being true enough of me that bearing it in mind would likely explain some of my behaviour at around 80%.
Given that I don't think the stars are the reason, just that the traits described happen to coincide with how I turned out... If I were to make a numerical guess, I'd expect that 20% or less of the population of the Western world match their own Zodiac signs (whatever they may be) that well.
I think that Astrology, like Tarot and similar sorts of things that suggest meanings and explanations behind peoples' behaviour, may in some circumstances have some use in pushing the mind out of an established view to look at things from a new perspective. Reading about an Astrological personality archetype may prompt me to wonder if the perspective described is similar to the perspective of someone I have been arguing with, so that I have a theory that might help me understand them if it proves relevant, rather than being unable to come up with anything besides frustration when their preferences and values are not like mine.
There doesn't need to be any magic behind it at all to have that use. Rather, it is functionally a deck of cards, upon each of which is written, "Is it happening for this reason?" For any given situation, some of the questions will have no bearing on matters and may be discounted out of hand. To others, a good answer is a considerate, "Hm. Maybe. I'll look for evidence to confirm/refute."
If you take this view, then it follows that the mysticism and ceremony surrounding their use exists purely to lend weight and importance to the consideration of the possibility, without which it may be too easy to shrug off the competing theory in favour of one's existing worldview, even if it fails to properly account for the behaviours or events one is noticing.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Solace in a Tomato
The day before yesterday, I had plans to help another starting freshman student move to her new home in London. I awaited her call or text message to remind me where to meet her, and let me know it was time. As it happened, not only did it never arrive, but a phone call to her failed immediately, giving me the recorded message that this number was not currently available, and the previous day, none of my texts to her were answered. I still don't know what happened.
The day before yesterday, I got into another fight with my boyfriend in which he didn't see me trying (although I was) to account for his feelings and mind them, and I didn't see him trying (he wasn't sure he was) to account for mine, and he wished I'd just drop it and leave it alone like he wanted to do, and I wished he was willing to bear some pain and effort in the short-term in order to learn habits that'd make us both happier in the longer term, but he was no more willing to commit to that than I was to just drop the issue, certain as I felt that it would come up again.
Yesterday, I had an appointment with my doctor, who has in the past seemed dismissive and distrustful of me. I was reluctant to go, but did anyway. I felt very discouraged. I kept thinking about the failed moving day, and even though I now no better than to catastrophize it, since the most likely answer is that there was just some problem with my fellow student's phone and she either didn't remember my number without the use of it, or didn't think of using another phone to contact me... but still, not actually knowing was really bothering me.
I kept not thinking, but feeling, that my plan for school was too ambitious and would certainly overshoot my capacity or take too long to prepare. I know with my logic, as opposed to my feelings, that the only way to find out if I can is to try, and I still remember why the logic is sound that leads me to believe I could. But in that discouraged, I dare say even reactively depressed state, I could not remember why I cared to try.
On the way out to go see my doctor, I forgot my mp3 player for one thing and had to go back for it from the bus stop, reasoning that at the time it was, the likelihood of this making me miss my appointment was very low, I didn't actually care if I was only slightly late, and if I didn't get my mp3 player and bring it with me, the chance of not having it making me much more miserable was high. Even if I don't want to listen to music, not having the ability to choose to makes me nervous and tense.
I also saw my tomato plant.
There was a time around April/May of this year that I asked our landlord here if I could use one of the little square garden plots myself when planting time came, since I was very interested in doing some gardening even though I was a newbie at it. He agreed to that, and gave me the one which had had a rotting pumpkin in it since the last autumn, and said that was good for a garden, of course. It was the second of four little squares built into our side yard with plank edges that he'd set up.
Later, come May when the weather was getting reliably warm and frost didn't seem to be coming back, I went out with my seeds and used two and a half little packets of them, carrots and tomatoes and some low-to-the-ground herbs. I had gotten advice from one of my coworkers who gardens a lot about repelling pests and good plants to plant near one another that wouldn't give a newbie too much trouble.
The same day, the landlord's wife comes out and starts her own planting, and she digs up and uses and plants in all four of the squares. And when I complain that the landlord promised me one of them, she goes and talks to him of course... But as it turns out, he never told anybody about that but me, so he just apologizes and his wife gets all the gardening space and I get none of it, my seeds wasted, my time and effort spent in anticipation and preparation for nothing. Landlord's wife says the soil is too shallow for tomato plants to grow well anyway (although that didn't stop her from transplanting some, just in a different one of the squares).
Determined and angry, I went into my house and brought out a flower pot bowl thing that we happened to have, and set it not far from the squares and said I was going to plant something in that. I planted a few tomato seeds in it. In the following days and weeks, I weeded out all but one of the tiny seedlings, watered it whenever I remembered and the soil seemed not to be moist enough, and watched it slowly grow. Next to the wife's transplanted tomatoes, it seemed like a runt of a litter. Over the months, it grew to nearly but perhaps not quite two feet above the soil, in a maybe not quite one foot deep little pot, and although it seemed to wilt sometimes from heat or thirst or maybe something else, it looked like it was pretty healthy, despite being small.
When it bore flowers and then lost them, there was only one little forming tomato that had taken on its little branches, but that one fruit grew and reddened. It was not as big as even the small tomatoes you would buy in the grocery store, nor as big as several of the tomatoes that its transplanted neighbors grew, but nevertheless it was there.
Any time I left the house or returned to it, which was not every day, mind you, I would see my tomato plant, especially since recently its transplanted neighbors have been harvested and taken away and its solitary red tomato is the only red in the garden. There was the one single fruit of my independent labour at gardening without space or cooperation.
Yesterday in particular, I could really use that reminder. A solid, physical, undeniable thing, small and modest but wholesome, that I had brought about, by trying to do so.
It felt, bizarrely, as though the tomato plant was forgiving me for my flaws and foibles, and had tried its feeble best as a two foot tall tomato plant growing in a one foot deep flower pot, and had put some effort into giving me something in return for my care of it, even though I had sometimes forgotten to water it for days at a time. I felt forgiven.
It didn't immediately cheer me up, for I did not, immediately, want to be cheered up. It is very rare indeed I get to show a doctor rather than merely tell them about the lows of my moods; generally, the act of going to the doctor's to begin with was proactive enough that it cheered me up considerably on account of actually doing something. But today, I did not want to see that doctor again, and my discouragement was weighty, and I rather wanted a medical professional to see it first hand, so I held onto it, and made a mental note to write this blog post later, which would help me focus on something positive, when I was ready to do that.
My doctor seemed no less dismissive and accusatory this time. The problem I have with my throat, that makes me gag and retch whenever I brush my teeth, and feels like I have a hair stuck in it? She says unless I am actually having trouble swallowing (something physical like food, I guess), she cannot give me a referral to a specialist. She didn't bother to ask if that was what I was asking for, no, just said I couldn't have it. I mentioned that there had been times I had been kept up at nights, my swallow reflex triggering repeatedly, but feeling uncomfortably blocked or aborted. She said nothing to that, almost as though she had not heard me.
Her responses to some of my other matters held a similar attitude; she personally does not believe the evidence for intestinal flora being important to healthy digestion is strong, so she will not prescribe me anything to improve intestinal flora, but she will, if I like, hand me a chart of foods I should and should not eat for better digestion, and seem to expect that it is no harder than a whim to radically change one's diet.
It seems very much to me as though this member of "a caring profession" does not care to help me unless I am in a particular amount or kind of suffering; otherwise, she does not advise me. As though it were somehow beneath her, a general practioner, to put any effort forth on improving health that, though not good, is not yet in the realm of critical illness or injury. Apparently it's meant to be my own responsibility to judge how best to make my crummy-but-operational body work better, and to put forth all the effort of that path myself. Of course, how stupid of me. I thought doctors were meant to help their patients to be more healthy, regardless of how healthy they are to begin with.
I took the bus past my home to the college, and went back to the Learning Center, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite places, to talk to someone. Isaac, my favorite person to talk to so far, whose sound judgement, signs of honesty and assertion I could do anything I put my mind to have inspired me to try, was not there; he will likely hang out there sometimes, but he recently gave up his post as scheduled staff of the place and was not there yesterday, so I ended up talking to "Shay" Sheryl instead. She had put on a lecture I liked, full of effective ice breakers, and with a casual, engaging atmosphere.
I talked to her about some of my stress, and about my plan for school, and she was supportive, giving me some helpful suggestions, and becoming a little alarmed on my behalf when I told her the Counselling and Accessibility office would not book students for ongoing counselling until after the tenth day of classes when they were no longer able to get their student fees and tuition refunded without specific cause. I learned her nickname, and enjoyed her company, though it was not quite as uplifting as Isaac's had been.
I felt better, not completely restored but much better than I had been, on my walk home. And when I got there, I ate my tomato. It was delicious.
The day before yesterday, I got into another fight with my boyfriend in which he didn't see me trying (although I was) to account for his feelings and mind them, and I didn't see him trying (he wasn't sure he was) to account for mine, and he wished I'd just drop it and leave it alone like he wanted to do, and I wished he was willing to bear some pain and effort in the short-term in order to learn habits that'd make us both happier in the longer term, but he was no more willing to commit to that than I was to just drop the issue, certain as I felt that it would come up again.
Yesterday, I had an appointment with my doctor, who has in the past seemed dismissive and distrustful of me. I was reluctant to go, but did anyway. I felt very discouraged. I kept thinking about the failed moving day, and even though I now no better than to catastrophize it, since the most likely answer is that there was just some problem with my fellow student's phone and she either didn't remember my number without the use of it, or didn't think of using another phone to contact me... but still, not actually knowing was really bothering me.
I kept not thinking, but feeling, that my plan for school was too ambitious and would certainly overshoot my capacity or take too long to prepare. I know with my logic, as opposed to my feelings, that the only way to find out if I can is to try, and I still remember why the logic is sound that leads me to believe I could. But in that discouraged, I dare say even reactively depressed state, I could not remember why I cared to try.
On the way out to go see my doctor, I forgot my mp3 player for one thing and had to go back for it from the bus stop, reasoning that at the time it was, the likelihood of this making me miss my appointment was very low, I didn't actually care if I was only slightly late, and if I didn't get my mp3 player and bring it with me, the chance of not having it making me much more miserable was high. Even if I don't want to listen to music, not having the ability to choose to makes me nervous and tense.
I also saw my tomato plant.
There was a time around April/May of this year that I asked our landlord here if I could use one of the little square garden plots myself when planting time came, since I was very interested in doing some gardening even though I was a newbie at it. He agreed to that, and gave me the one which had had a rotting pumpkin in it since the last autumn, and said that was good for a garden, of course. It was the second of four little squares built into our side yard with plank edges that he'd set up.
Later, come May when the weather was getting reliably warm and frost didn't seem to be coming back, I went out with my seeds and used two and a half little packets of them, carrots and tomatoes and some low-to-the-ground herbs. I had gotten advice from one of my coworkers who gardens a lot about repelling pests and good plants to plant near one another that wouldn't give a newbie too much trouble.
The same day, the landlord's wife comes out and starts her own planting, and she digs up and uses and plants in all four of the squares. And when I complain that the landlord promised me one of them, she goes and talks to him of course... But as it turns out, he never told anybody about that but me, so he just apologizes and his wife gets all the gardening space and I get none of it, my seeds wasted, my time and effort spent in anticipation and preparation for nothing. Landlord's wife says the soil is too shallow for tomato plants to grow well anyway (although that didn't stop her from transplanting some, just in a different one of the squares).
Determined and angry, I went into my house and brought out a flower pot bowl thing that we happened to have, and set it not far from the squares and said I was going to plant something in that. I planted a few tomato seeds in it. In the following days and weeks, I weeded out all but one of the tiny seedlings, watered it whenever I remembered and the soil seemed not to be moist enough, and watched it slowly grow. Next to the wife's transplanted tomatoes, it seemed like a runt of a litter. Over the months, it grew to nearly but perhaps not quite two feet above the soil, in a maybe not quite one foot deep little pot, and although it seemed to wilt sometimes from heat or thirst or maybe something else, it looked like it was pretty healthy, despite being small.
When it bore flowers and then lost them, there was only one little forming tomato that had taken on its little branches, but that one fruit grew and reddened. It was not as big as even the small tomatoes you would buy in the grocery store, nor as big as several of the tomatoes that its transplanted neighbors grew, but nevertheless it was there.
Any time I left the house or returned to it, which was not every day, mind you, I would see my tomato plant, especially since recently its transplanted neighbors have been harvested and taken away and its solitary red tomato is the only red in the garden. There was the one single fruit of my independent labour at gardening without space or cooperation.
Yesterday in particular, I could really use that reminder. A solid, physical, undeniable thing, small and modest but wholesome, that I had brought about, by trying to do so.
It felt, bizarrely, as though the tomato plant was forgiving me for my flaws and foibles, and had tried its feeble best as a two foot tall tomato plant growing in a one foot deep flower pot, and had put some effort into giving me something in return for my care of it, even though I had sometimes forgotten to water it for days at a time. I felt forgiven.
It didn't immediately cheer me up, for I did not, immediately, want to be cheered up. It is very rare indeed I get to show a doctor rather than merely tell them about the lows of my moods; generally, the act of going to the doctor's to begin with was proactive enough that it cheered me up considerably on account of actually doing something. But today, I did not want to see that doctor again, and my discouragement was weighty, and I rather wanted a medical professional to see it first hand, so I held onto it, and made a mental note to write this blog post later, which would help me focus on something positive, when I was ready to do that.
My doctor seemed no less dismissive and accusatory this time. The problem I have with my throat, that makes me gag and retch whenever I brush my teeth, and feels like I have a hair stuck in it? She says unless I am actually having trouble swallowing (something physical like food, I guess), she cannot give me a referral to a specialist. She didn't bother to ask if that was what I was asking for, no, just said I couldn't have it. I mentioned that there had been times I had been kept up at nights, my swallow reflex triggering repeatedly, but feeling uncomfortably blocked or aborted. She said nothing to that, almost as though she had not heard me.
Her responses to some of my other matters held a similar attitude; she personally does not believe the evidence for intestinal flora being important to healthy digestion is strong, so she will not prescribe me anything to improve intestinal flora, but she will, if I like, hand me a chart of foods I should and should not eat for better digestion, and seem to expect that it is no harder than a whim to radically change one's diet.
It seems very much to me as though this member of "a caring profession" does not care to help me unless I am in a particular amount or kind of suffering; otherwise, she does not advise me. As though it were somehow beneath her, a general practioner, to put any effort forth on improving health that, though not good, is not yet in the realm of critical illness or injury. Apparently it's meant to be my own responsibility to judge how best to make my crummy-but-operational body work better, and to put forth all the effort of that path myself. Of course, how stupid of me. I thought doctors were meant to help their patients to be more healthy, regardless of how healthy they are to begin with.
I took the bus past my home to the college, and went back to the Learning Center, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite places, to talk to someone. Isaac, my favorite person to talk to so far, whose sound judgement, signs of honesty and assertion I could do anything I put my mind to have inspired me to try, was not there; he will likely hang out there sometimes, but he recently gave up his post as scheduled staff of the place and was not there yesterday, so I ended up talking to "Shay" Sheryl instead. She had put on a lecture I liked, full of effective ice breakers, and with a casual, engaging atmosphere.
I talked to her about some of my stress, and about my plan for school, and she was supportive, giving me some helpful suggestions, and becoming a little alarmed on my behalf when I told her the Counselling and Accessibility office would not book students for ongoing counselling until after the tenth day of classes when they were no longer able to get their student fees and tuition refunded without specific cause. I learned her nickname, and enjoyed her company, though it was not quite as uplifting as Isaac's had been.
I felt better, not completely restored but much better than I had been, on my walk home. And when I got there, I ate my tomato. It was delicious.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Validate Me Please
Have I been born or at some point rendered unable to detect an important tell between incredulity expressed out of pure and simple confusion, and incredulity expressed out of anger; frustration; exasperation?
Is there not a valid associative tie between incredulity and annoyance, then? I've seen a correlation too often for that to seem right.
It may have been emphasized harmfully by Mother.
Could Mother really be innocent after all, my understanding of her passive aggression false? No, I doubt it. There is some burden of responsibility that a mother should bear the brunt of maturity for with her child. That a lover should not have to bear the brunt of maturity for with a lover.
What, exactly?
I have felt a desperate need for, and lack of, validation for my interpretations of social interactions all my life. Having thought about that for a moment, yes, I believe all my life within useful memory.
Where is the sense that the validity of interpretation is to be assumed supposed to come from? Certainly, with my upbringing, it was undermined if not entirely destroyed. If I were to be allowed to assume that my interpretations were valid, Mother would have allowed me to defend myself from her passive-aggressiveness with logic. Which of course I did anyway, but it was continually invalidated at the point of my observations so that no argument I made could stick to her.
Narcissist. What have you done to me.
So I crave explicit validation of my interpretations as at least reasonable or understandable, and I crave it constantly. I become anxious and aggravated if it is not present and I begin to feel doubt.
What has this to do with incredulity? Mother often spoke to me in incredulous tones. From her, it seemed to mean that I was an unbelievably bad child. That my inconsideration and selfishness were so great that it was almost inconceivable I even existed. And so when she was angry at me, she would shout at me incredulously. How dare I question the love she undeniably had, while she complained at every juncture of what I was costing her and how much trouble I was that she put up with, and no matter how hard I hurt and raged and explained, trying to make her understand that she was hurting me, she never stepped down. Not once. Because she loved me, clearly.
So incredulity became the badge of "you horrid thing", to not back down became the abuse I was most used to, and letting me have my way became the golden grail I sought that represented the love I never got at home?
Perhaps, but of course I left home horribly twisted, and did not get my way often.
Things to learn and clarify:
To let me get my way is not what loving me is.
One can love me and not let me get away with shit.
One can not love me and let me get my way.
I know this, but the assumed lie may still be deeply ingrained in my emotional responses, moreso than for most.
Confusion is not inherently condemnation.
Confusion is not inherently condemnation.
Confusion is not inherently condemnation.
There are things someone may not understand about me other than how horrible I am.
An unfortunate number of people have the bad habit, but not everyone thinks something is bad just because they don't understand it.
What else?
The validity of my interpretations is assumed to be present, not absent, where no remark of it is made.
Gods, it's going to be a nightmare to reverse engineer that one. Geesus.
Is there not a valid associative tie between incredulity and annoyance, then? I've seen a correlation too often for that to seem right.
It may have been emphasized harmfully by Mother.
Could Mother really be innocent after all, my understanding of her passive aggression false? No, I doubt it. There is some burden of responsibility that a mother should bear the brunt of maturity for with her child. That a lover should not have to bear the brunt of maturity for with a lover.
What, exactly?
I have felt a desperate need for, and lack of, validation for my interpretations of social interactions all my life. Having thought about that for a moment, yes, I believe all my life within useful memory.
Where is the sense that the validity of interpretation is to be assumed supposed to come from? Certainly, with my upbringing, it was undermined if not entirely destroyed. If I were to be allowed to assume that my interpretations were valid, Mother would have allowed me to defend myself from her passive-aggressiveness with logic. Which of course I did anyway, but it was continually invalidated at the point of my observations so that no argument I made could stick to her.
Narcissist. What have you done to me.
So I crave explicit validation of my interpretations as at least reasonable or understandable, and I crave it constantly. I become anxious and aggravated if it is not present and I begin to feel doubt.
What has this to do with incredulity? Mother often spoke to me in incredulous tones. From her, it seemed to mean that I was an unbelievably bad child. That my inconsideration and selfishness were so great that it was almost inconceivable I even existed. And so when she was angry at me, she would shout at me incredulously. How dare I question the love she undeniably had, while she complained at every juncture of what I was costing her and how much trouble I was that she put up with, and no matter how hard I hurt and raged and explained, trying to make her understand that she was hurting me, she never stepped down. Not once. Because she loved me, clearly.
So incredulity became the badge of "you horrid thing", to not back down became the abuse I was most used to, and letting me have my way became the golden grail I sought that represented the love I never got at home?
Perhaps, but of course I left home horribly twisted, and did not get my way often.
Things to learn and clarify:
To let me get my way is not what loving me is.
One can love me and not let me get away with shit.
One can not love me and let me get my way.
I know this, but the assumed lie may still be deeply ingrained in my emotional responses, moreso than for most.
Confusion is not inherently condemnation.
Confusion is not inherently condemnation.
Confusion is not inherently condemnation.
There are things someone may not understand about me other than how horrible I am.
An unfortunate number of people have the bad habit, but not everyone thinks something is bad just because they don't understand it.
What else?
The validity of my interpretations is assumed to be present, not absent, where no remark of it is made.
Gods, it's going to be a nightmare to reverse engineer that one. Geesus.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
A Series of Surprisingly Positive Events
Well. I guess it's been a while. I've been preoccupied.
Mostly, it's that my distant online primary relationship takes up a lot of my time. My young pup would honestly be very happy if he could play D&D 12 hours a day, and while I will admit, I'm getting back into playing and actually having fun with it (despite having gotten really really jaded with weaknesses due to, effectively, group cohesion and social stuff in my first campaign and subsequent attempts), I nevertheless cannot play that much - D&D is awesome (or can be, as is being proven again), but it wears me out if I overexpose myself to it. My mind needs to rest after being blown too hard. I might get dragged into playing for two to three hours almost every day anyway, though, more for his benefit because he's short on other people to play with than mine. To be fair, Pup does have some really neat and shiny campaign ideas. We are currently preparing a two-character-party Inquisitor game fashioned in the style of Van Helsing, or Brothers Grim... or the default setting of a more obscure role-playing system called Dogs of the Vineyard... in which we will take turns DMing adventures, but have both our characters work together all the time... sometimes I get to be the player without much OOC knowledge, and he gets to play as a DMPC, and sometimes the other way around.
Also, I just got a job! Yay! I just got back from a two hour orientation to get acquainted with things... the job is selling cellphone cases and accessories at a mall island shop booth called Speaking Phones. At first I felt kind of disgusting for putting myself so close to anything quite as covered in rhinestones and cheap as the merchandise seemed to be... but having taken a closer look and gotten acquainted with the prices... erm... it doesn't seem to be overpriced cheap glittery garbage after all. The prices are actually pretty damn good compared to other places I've seen, and there's a lot of really swanky gear, including a pair of shades with 2 gigabytes of built in data storage and earphones, for $50... though I'm not sure whether that does something independently or is to be used with a phone or MP3 player or what. The nature of the business even seems to be fairly low on paper or plastic wastage, my supervisor is a pleasant young lady who laughs at my jokes, used up every inch of the notebook that notes for the staff are written in, and is transferring inventory management to a fully electronic format... in this case meaning "write it down and save it in a notepad file if we're running low on anything". The whole thing seems sensibly run and down to earth, and while I keep being told the focus is on selling and up-selling, from watching my supervisor work, it is quite clear I'm not being asked to pressure sell.
I make a distinction between sales and customer service along the following lines: if the customer already knows they want something from me, and I help them find what they were looking for, show options, and happily lead them to make whatever choice they find preferable, it's customer service. If I have to tell the customer they want something, or tell them what to buy, it's sales. By that definition, this falls squarely in the realm of customer service, despite the fact that my title is "sales associate". And that is absolutely fine with me. I may find myself enjoying this job enough to want to stay at it rather than switching to something else, after all. It was... a lot easier than I expected it to be. All that procrastination and fear regarding a job search, and I actually get a job before I considered myself to have started doing it properly... Well. Um. Well. ...Okay? I guess life is easier when you play by the rules people expect you to. Or something.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Family Androgyne
So, I've been a bit idle for a while, my dear readers. Not too long, though, I think. Were you wondering how things turned out with the subby fur boy? He's still around, and swiftly became the love of my life. He's been one of the most important things in my mind for about six weeks now, for better or worse.
I've found myself feeling... an odd impulse. I really, really want to go out and get work, not just to fund my Secret Plan, but... to feed and support my family.
Now, I don't have blood children, obviously, and I don't plan on having any. But my subby boy has swiftly become close as kin to me. Damon already is, though he's been keeping more distant of late. And a quiet reunion with friends I haven't been able to talk to in far too long reminds me I have others as well... And I would love, so much, to be able to earn them shelter and food, at least in part. I really want to make them a home to live in. I fantasize about my loved ones supporting me to search for work, and being there to thank and congratulate me when I bring the spoils home to them.
And I find myself wondering... is this some weird, filtered version of the impulse I keep hearing hits the young once they reach the right age, to settle down and start a family? Maybe it is. I am very proud, personally, that my version doesn't involve unnecessary production of additional population. Why should it? Not only am I VHEMT, I already have a family, and I love them dearly and want to support them in all of the ways I can... as well as helping them to support each other.
It helps, of course, that I recently introduced the new subby boy to one of my older, more long-term, less obsessively full-time loves... and their first impressions seem to be that they agree abjectly, each of the other, that this person is just as awesome as I thought they were, and it is amazing and wonderful to have another such awesome person to know and like. They want to adopt each other. The thought got me thinking about the whole household issue, and sighing wistfully over it. Mind... if I call in help and support from all of my supports who are most likely to be able to give it... and turn over some responsibility for care of the intense, attention needing sub to another truly awesome person I trust not to let him down... it should help me immensely with mounting an effective search.
I guess I really am just a home maker. I feel like such a family-oriented androgyne. ^.^
In other news, said subby sweetheart just showed me a rap song I enjoy. It feels really weird for me to type that sentence. I usually hate rap with a passion - when it's not derogatory, it still doesn't stop being self-congratulatory posing. Except... except in this case, the congratulatory posing is not directed toward the self, at least not entirely. It's interesting hearing rap arraying out in street verse and rhythm the praises of someone else, besides the singer, for once. And it reminds me, in my heart of hearts and my mind of minds, that any language can speak truth and things worth hearing, even if they often don't. Yes, even rap.
Besides, it's an amazing track to get pumped up and prepared to do and be awesome to. Remember the Name. I have one word, and only one, to voice to the artists who made this: Respect.
Which brings me to a final thing. Sub boy has got me playing a Dragonball Z based roleplaying game with him online, and it rocks all our socks clean off, it's so much damn fun. Maybe because I didn't know all that much about the series, but already had some degree of respect for it. Maybe because it's a fresh new system that hasn't gotten stale in my head. He runs it fast and loose, which fits DBZ perfectly, and he's teaching me the lore with references and inside jokes, and the fact that we're effectively playing a slightly altered timeline of the show's plot, just as non-canon characters. He is an amazing DM. And I approve. Also, props to whoever made the above Anime Music Video, because the way it uses the song's lyrics to talk about the characters and make completely valid points about who they are and what they're about is fucking brilliant.
I've found myself feeling... an odd impulse. I really, really want to go out and get work, not just to fund my Secret Plan, but... to feed and support my family.
Now, I don't have blood children, obviously, and I don't plan on having any. But my subby boy has swiftly become close as kin to me. Damon already is, though he's been keeping more distant of late. And a quiet reunion with friends I haven't been able to talk to in far too long reminds me I have others as well... And I would love, so much, to be able to earn them shelter and food, at least in part. I really want to make them a home to live in. I fantasize about my loved ones supporting me to search for work, and being there to thank and congratulate me when I bring the spoils home to them.
And I find myself wondering... is this some weird, filtered version of the impulse I keep hearing hits the young once they reach the right age, to settle down and start a family? Maybe it is. I am very proud, personally, that my version doesn't involve unnecessary production of additional population. Why should it? Not only am I VHEMT, I already have a family, and I love them dearly and want to support them in all of the ways I can... as well as helping them to support each other.
It helps, of course, that I recently introduced the new subby boy to one of my older, more long-term, less obsessively full-time loves... and their first impressions seem to be that they agree abjectly, each of the other, that this person is just as awesome as I thought they were, and it is amazing and wonderful to have another such awesome person to know and like. They want to adopt each other. The thought got me thinking about the whole household issue, and sighing wistfully over it. Mind... if I call in help and support from all of my supports who are most likely to be able to give it... and turn over some responsibility for care of the intense, attention needing sub to another truly awesome person I trust not to let him down... it should help me immensely with mounting an effective search.
I guess I really am just a home maker. I feel like such a family-oriented androgyne. ^.^
In other news, said subby sweetheart just showed me a rap song I enjoy. It feels really weird for me to type that sentence. I usually hate rap with a passion - when it's not derogatory, it still doesn't stop being self-congratulatory posing. Except... except in this case, the congratulatory posing is not directed toward the self, at least not entirely. It's interesting hearing rap arraying out in street verse and rhythm the praises of someone else, besides the singer, for once. And it reminds me, in my heart of hearts and my mind of minds, that any language can speak truth and things worth hearing, even if they often don't. Yes, even rap.
Besides, it's an amazing track to get pumped up and prepared to do and be awesome to. Remember the Name. I have one word, and only one, to voice to the artists who made this: Respect.
Which brings me to a final thing. Sub boy has got me playing a Dragonball Z based roleplaying game with him online, and it rocks all our socks clean off, it's so much damn fun. Maybe because I didn't know all that much about the series, but already had some degree of respect for it. Maybe because it's a fresh new system that hasn't gotten stale in my head. He runs it fast and loose, which fits DBZ perfectly, and he's teaching me the lore with references and inside jokes, and the fact that we're effectively playing a slightly altered timeline of the show's plot, just as non-canon characters. He is an amazing DM. And I approve. Also, props to whoever made the above Anime Music Video, because the way it uses the song's lyrics to talk about the characters and make completely valid points about who they are and what they're about is fucking brilliant.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
UglyBeautiful
(written today!)
What's ugly is beautiful.
The awkward, unsightly and pitiable
bely a humanity
sweet for its innocence,
harsh with its eyes,
that builds the illusion,
insists on its lies:
What's beautiful is ugly.
We become so jaded with the human body in all but our own most idealized forms. We so easily become jaded with human psyche and behaviour in all but our favourite people. We make each other, and ourselves, so very ugly. I'm sure we know better, if we stop to think about it.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
The Sting of Rejection - But Not What You'd Think
I feel guilty today. On my way home from a walk around town and lunch at My Sister's Place, I met the eyes of an attractive-looking black man and he stopped me to talk for a moment. He introduced himself as... I suppose it would likely be spelt Santha - It sounded like Santa with an accent and a soft t - asked if I lived on "this side" (of the city, I guess) and said something about looking for a relationship. Then his phone rang. He excused himself and asked me to stay, but I didn't, I slowly wandered away, not wanting to stick around just for the awkwardness of trying to be graceful about rejecting him verbally.
He was very handsome, and I was, admittedly, eyeing him a bit before he spoke to me. But he had an accent so thick I could scarcely understand a thing he said. Communication is important in relationships and communication problems caused by heavy accents just annoy me and make it hard for me to feel on level ground with anyone. It couldn't have worked. Maybe I should have stayed to say that aloud, but I imagine my just walking away probably delivered a message of rejection without having to get into reasons or details. If I see him again and have the balls, maybe I'll apologize and explain. To be honest, though, I don't really hope I get the chance.
He was very handsome, and I was, admittedly, eyeing him a bit before he spoke to me. But he had an accent so thick I could scarcely understand a thing he said. Communication is important in relationships and communication problems caused by heavy accents just annoy me and make it hard for me to feel on level ground with anyone. It couldn't have worked. Maybe I should have stayed to say that aloud, but I imagine my just walking away probably delivered a message of rejection without having to get into reasons or details. If I see him again and have the balls, maybe I'll apologize and explain. To be honest, though, I don't really hope I get the chance.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Scarcity of Connection
From the title you might assume this is going to be a post about the frustrations of finding a romantic partner that meets my standards and offers some chemistry in the modern world and while homeless. It might have been, too - I have been feeling that way recently. But it's not. This is about the internet.
I don't have a laptop of my own right now (or a desktop, obviously... or, for that matter, a phone) and have been relying on resources at my disposal at the library and at the shelters. Earlier in my stay, it was often possible to get hours of uncontested internet at a time without even signing up for it at the shelter, while most of the other residents were busy, I suppose, with other things and often no-one would come in to use the other of the two computers on this floor for quite some time even while it remained free. Some of the staff, bless them, will give me extra time at night and leave the room open past its official closing time at 10 PM. I have, I suppose, been a lucky little 'net addict.
Recently, though, times have changed. There is a new girl on our floor that I find I have taken an immediate dislike to, perhaps unfairly, because she is competition. It seems that half or more of the times I peek in the window to check whether there's a machine free, there she is. She plugs herself into earbuds just like me, but unlike me, she tends not to react if you try to get her attention. The first night I saw her here, she had been using one of the computers when I came in and started on the second one. Someone came in having booked use for the upcoming hour. It's usually something of a protocol for the person who was using a computer first to get off first unless either it's approaching their own booked time or the other volunteers to leave. I looked at her but she made no indication that she'd even heard the newcomer. I tried to talk to her (never an easy thing for me to begin with) and got nothing. So with some frustration I logged off, and asked at the office whether there was a free slot at the computers. Being told there was, I signed up for it, determined to spend more time online (what can I say? I was stressed out that day), came back to the computer room and quietly announced that I'd signed up for the second slot. Still nothing, at least for several minutes until one of the other ladies managed to get through to her somehow, at which point she typed out another few lines to someone or other, agonizingly slowly, and at last, removed herself from the computer. Herself, but not her earbuds or plugged in MP3 player. I unplugged them and handed them to her myself, trying to be friendly about it. An hour later she returned, having booked the next hour, and thus with the authority to boot me off. I left - after all, the other lady on the computers hadn't been there as long as I had - but I was in a foul mood about it. I must admit I was starting to take it a little bit personally.
Now... I realize that from the perspective of a lot of the ladies here, much of this could probably just as easily have been me, and it's led me to wonder whether my greed for hours on the computer annoys other people the same way as hers annoyed me, but I don't think I'm that bad. I have always been very careful about it. While I indulge myself for as long as I can without feeling impolite, if both computers are taken and someone new wants to use one, and the other lady, whoever she is, shows no indication that they are logging off, I almost always will, even if the newcomer doesn't have a slot booked. When someone opens the door, I usually take out at least one of my earbuds and turn to look at them, smiling, to indicate receptiveness to communication so that if they need to ask me to get off, they can without too much awkwardness. I try never to be unpleasant about it and usually to be prompt. While I know it may be unfair to criticise anyone else's typing speed, mine is fast, so it's generally not hard for me to quickly tap out a few quick goodbyes and be on my way.
To make matters worse, yesterday something mysterious must have happened overnight or something, because one of the two computers is now asking for a password at start-up, and the floor staff don't seem to know what it is. This has caused the computer to be out of commission for two days now while the maintenance guy either fails to get around to it or is somehow just as perplexed by the problem as the rest of us - in which case... who had both the administrative priviledges and the ill will to password-lock the computer? Those functions are banned from common use on these machines, so unless we have a really vindictive hacker on-board here, someone in authority must have restricted it. Regardless, this does mean that it will be harder to get time on the computers and on the net until the problem is fixed and possibly longer. I still have my daily-except-Sundays hour and a half at the library, but time at the shelter is uncertain and often full of drama.
I know it shouldn't be as much of a stressor as it is... but... while waiting (endlessly... for fuck's sakes it's been over two weeks now) for OW to contact me with a meeting so I can go do their intake and get the funds cleared for me to move into the room that's been reserved for me... while sleeping again in a 10-bed dorm where it's not uncommon at 5 AM for some lady to be woken up and start shouting at the source of the offending sound, because obviously if one person was disturbed, it's important that everyone else is, and while continually failing to finally get over the last of the congestion that's been plaguing me for about a week... I'm stressed. I'm really, really, really stressed and it often feels like I'm losing my mind. There is no privacy in this place at all, no-where at all that can even be relied on to be quiet. The internet and its comforts are a reassuring home-turf for me, and there is nothing else I have that allows me to relax in the same way. I have Damon's ipod back, admittedly, and it is a comfort, but a comfort small; My music, the stuff I listen to that Damon doesn't also like, isn't there. No Ani DiFranco, no soothing tones of ToadyOne's Dwarf Fortress podcast... God, I miss Dwarf Fortress so much... Even without net capability, if I could have that laptop, just as it was, netless but functional, to sit in the library and game for an afternoon... It would be like a vacation.
I think you get the idea. I'm starved of what I rely on for access to my emotional supports, relaxation, and in times of this much stress, sanity. Oh, cruel world, why doth thou take away mine internet!
I realize that if you're not among those who understand, this may sound like the bleating of a whiny, spoiled child who wants and cannot have the newest shiny toy. It's important to understand this is more than that. It's probably a generational thing. Anyway... I may or may not post again soon... And if I don't... I shouldn't have to tell you why.
I don't have a laptop of my own right now (or a desktop, obviously... or, for that matter, a phone) and have been relying on resources at my disposal at the library and at the shelters. Earlier in my stay, it was often possible to get hours of uncontested internet at a time without even signing up for it at the shelter, while most of the other residents were busy, I suppose, with other things and often no-one would come in to use the other of the two computers on this floor for quite some time even while it remained free. Some of the staff, bless them, will give me extra time at night and leave the room open past its official closing time at 10 PM. I have, I suppose, been a lucky little 'net addict.
Recently, though, times have changed. There is a new girl on our floor that I find I have taken an immediate dislike to, perhaps unfairly, because she is competition. It seems that half or more of the times I peek in the window to check whether there's a machine free, there she is. She plugs herself into earbuds just like me, but unlike me, she tends not to react if you try to get her attention. The first night I saw her here, she had been using one of the computers when I came in and started on the second one. Someone came in having booked use for the upcoming hour. It's usually something of a protocol for the person who was using a computer first to get off first unless either it's approaching their own booked time or the other volunteers to leave. I looked at her but she made no indication that she'd even heard the newcomer. I tried to talk to her (never an easy thing for me to begin with) and got nothing. So with some frustration I logged off, and asked at the office whether there was a free slot at the computers. Being told there was, I signed up for it, determined to spend more time online (what can I say? I was stressed out that day), came back to the computer room and quietly announced that I'd signed up for the second slot. Still nothing, at least for several minutes until one of the other ladies managed to get through to her somehow, at which point she typed out another few lines to someone or other, agonizingly slowly, and at last, removed herself from the computer. Herself, but not her earbuds or plugged in MP3 player. I unplugged them and handed them to her myself, trying to be friendly about it. An hour later she returned, having booked the next hour, and thus with the authority to boot me off. I left - after all, the other lady on the computers hadn't been there as long as I had - but I was in a foul mood about it. I must admit I was starting to take it a little bit personally.
Now... I realize that from the perspective of a lot of the ladies here, much of this could probably just as easily have been me, and it's led me to wonder whether my greed for hours on the computer annoys other people the same way as hers annoyed me, but I don't think I'm that bad. I have always been very careful about it. While I indulge myself for as long as I can without feeling impolite, if both computers are taken and someone new wants to use one, and the other lady, whoever she is, shows no indication that they are logging off, I almost always will, even if the newcomer doesn't have a slot booked. When someone opens the door, I usually take out at least one of my earbuds and turn to look at them, smiling, to indicate receptiveness to communication so that if they need to ask me to get off, they can without too much awkwardness. I try never to be unpleasant about it and usually to be prompt. While I know it may be unfair to criticise anyone else's typing speed, mine is fast, so it's generally not hard for me to quickly tap out a few quick goodbyes and be on my way.
To make matters worse, yesterday something mysterious must have happened overnight or something, because one of the two computers is now asking for a password at start-up, and the floor staff don't seem to know what it is. This has caused the computer to be out of commission for two days now while the maintenance guy either fails to get around to it or is somehow just as perplexed by the problem as the rest of us - in which case... who had both the administrative priviledges and the ill will to password-lock the computer? Those functions are banned from common use on these machines, so unless we have a really vindictive hacker on-board here, someone in authority must have restricted it. Regardless, this does mean that it will be harder to get time on the computers and on the net until the problem is fixed and possibly longer. I still have my daily-except-Sundays hour and a half at the library, but time at the shelter is uncertain and often full of drama.
I know it shouldn't be as much of a stressor as it is... but... while waiting (endlessly... for fuck's sakes it's been over two weeks now) for OW to contact me with a meeting so I can go do their intake and get the funds cleared for me to move into the room that's been reserved for me... while sleeping again in a 10-bed dorm where it's not uncommon at 5 AM for some lady to be woken up and start shouting at the source of the offending sound, because obviously if one person was disturbed, it's important that everyone else is, and while continually failing to finally get over the last of the congestion that's been plaguing me for about a week... I'm stressed. I'm really, really, really stressed and it often feels like I'm losing my mind. There is no privacy in this place at all, no-where at all that can even be relied on to be quiet. The internet and its comforts are a reassuring home-turf for me, and there is nothing else I have that allows me to relax in the same way. I have Damon's ipod back, admittedly, and it is a comfort, but a comfort small; My music, the stuff I listen to that Damon doesn't also like, isn't there. No Ani DiFranco, no soothing tones of ToadyOne's Dwarf Fortress podcast... God, I miss Dwarf Fortress so much... Even without net capability, if I could have that laptop, just as it was, netless but functional, to sit in the library and game for an afternoon... It would be like a vacation.
I think you get the idea. I'm starved of what I rely on for access to my emotional supports, relaxation, and in times of this much stress, sanity. Oh, cruel world, why doth thou take away mine internet!
I realize that if you're not among those who understand, this may sound like the bleating of a whiny, spoiled child who wants and cannot have the newest shiny toy. It's important to understand this is more than that. It's probably a generational thing. Anyway... I may or may not post again soon... And if I don't... I shouldn't have to tell you why.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Regarding my Arrogance and Insight
I'm starting to suspect I was one of those kids who was bright enough to make it through high school and mostly excel without having to do much work. I felt most inspired when my own thoughts took the subject matter and extrapolated it to other thoughts and ideas: When we touched on black holes among star types in grade 10 science, I got thinking about the Big Crush Theory before I remember hearing about it. After brief mention of the binary system, I ended up contemplating that there was a lot of philosophical truth in the system of unity, Base One, absolutely useless for measuring or comparing, but what seemed to be a mathematical basis for the ancient spiritual thought that all is one and all is none, or nothing, or nothing to count, at least, when you transcend differences.
If, then, I'm right, I never really learned much work ethic, and I find myself at once certain that I have much to contribute and afraid that I don't. I fluctuate between feeling ashamed of my laziness and fear, my paralysis of uncertainty about what to do now and how to do it, and proud, indeed arrogant, at my brightness. I show off reflexively, but have a very hard time weathering frustration long enough to accomplish things that are difficult. I'm not sure where to go from here. I want help learning how to learn the way other people, to whom school didn't come so easily, did... But deeper than that, I want to be a miracle child to whom everything comes easily. I'm guessing that's what I'll really have to let go of before I can join in the culture party, and really use the brightness I know I do have to do something useful, something wonderful. But then the question is... How?
Can I do it on my own?
...Do I have to?
I'm kind of alienated from my blood family at this point, with few resources to make use of, and even less experience struggling until I am victorious without giving up and coming back to nothing. How do I fight my own arrogant need to be perfect? Can I ever leave it behind?
Even now I suspect my difficulties with relationships follow many of the patterns of Rimm's too-Dominant child. There is no question over conforming or not. I don't see conformity as a virtue at all, and often struggle to see the good in the legacy of civilization (though sometimes I do wonder at it in admiring ways rather than appalled ones). I have never gone to college or university, largely because everyone seemed to expect me to, but also partly because I have had so many areas of fascination that it was hard to think of how I might choose something specific to study. At this point, the choice is somewhat more clear - psychology, especially the psychology of language and how we say things we don't know we're saying, different levels of self-awareness, have always fascinated me and been things I already think a lot about.
I find it hard to hear criticism. I sulk reflexively and sometimes even physically retreat from it, even... especially... when I know it's justified. I genuinely do value the honesty when people tell me things I get defensive about hearing, but I don't know how to change my behavior.
Someone I spoke with only briefly recently told me that my desperate reaching out for love was almost tangible, and I am consciously aware (although not always) that I want discipline, too. I want a do-over. I want someone to treat me just like what I am - a very bright, perhaps even talented, but not very disciplined, 22 year old child. I want to be parented, but I suspect no-one out there has the patience to deal with my passive-aggressive tantrums and panic attacks, my cravings for praise when I face my fears even in ways that may be hard to see; When I make an effort. I want to find the ability to persevere. I don't think I have it yet. I want help.
Who can help me?
If, then, I'm right, I never really learned much work ethic, and I find myself at once certain that I have much to contribute and afraid that I don't. I fluctuate between feeling ashamed of my laziness and fear, my paralysis of uncertainty about what to do now and how to do it, and proud, indeed arrogant, at my brightness. I show off reflexively, but have a very hard time weathering frustration long enough to accomplish things that are difficult. I'm not sure where to go from here. I want help learning how to learn the way other people, to whom school didn't come so easily, did... But deeper than that, I want to be a miracle child to whom everything comes easily. I'm guessing that's what I'll really have to let go of before I can join in the culture party, and really use the brightness I know I do have to do something useful, something wonderful. But then the question is... How?
Can I do it on my own?
...Do I have to?
I'm kind of alienated from my blood family at this point, with few resources to make use of, and even less experience struggling until I am victorious without giving up and coming back to nothing. How do I fight my own arrogant need to be perfect? Can I ever leave it behind?
Even now I suspect my difficulties with relationships follow many of the patterns of Rimm's too-Dominant child. There is no question over conforming or not. I don't see conformity as a virtue at all, and often struggle to see the good in the legacy of civilization (though sometimes I do wonder at it in admiring ways rather than appalled ones). I have never gone to college or university, largely because everyone seemed to expect me to, but also partly because I have had so many areas of fascination that it was hard to think of how I might choose something specific to study. At this point, the choice is somewhat more clear - psychology, especially the psychology of language and how we say things we don't know we're saying, different levels of self-awareness, have always fascinated me and been things I already think a lot about.
I find it hard to hear criticism. I sulk reflexively and sometimes even physically retreat from it, even... especially... when I know it's justified. I genuinely do value the honesty when people tell me things I get defensive about hearing, but I don't know how to change my behavior.
Someone I spoke with only briefly recently told me that my desperate reaching out for love was almost tangible, and I am consciously aware (although not always) that I want discipline, too. I want a do-over. I want someone to treat me just like what I am - a very bright, perhaps even talented, but not very disciplined, 22 year old child. I want to be parented, but I suspect no-one out there has the patience to deal with my passive-aggressive tantrums and panic attacks, my cravings for praise when I face my fears even in ways that may be hard to see; When I make an effort. I want to find the ability to persevere. I don't think I have it yet. I want help.
Who can help me?
Sunday, June 24, 2012
The Ignorance of Privilege
I wrote a response to a video a while ago that I'd like to share here. It was a response to this episode of SF Debris science fiction reviews. This video presented Real Life, an episode of Star Trek Voyager in which the Emergency Medical Hologram bonds with a holographic family in order to better understand human relationships, but then eventually has to face tragedy as his holographic daughter dies. Chuck is very passionate in his objection to some of the messages in the episode, and the way that this tragedy was ultimately handled. Go watch it if you want more context, but in essence he stated quite clearly his own answer to the question of whether something like this is traumatic enough that anyone capable of simply avoiding the situation to begin with and never facing it is truly fortunate to have that option, or whether the personal growth and maturing that comes with having to live through and deal with tragedy is worth facing it. His stance? Some things are bad enough that there should be no shame in avoiding them if you can, and losing a child is definitely one of them.
Here are my original thoughts on the subject, edited slightly for better clarity and to correct a typo or two:
I remember your turn-around of the old saying "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger", refuting it as inaccurate. "I make me stronger when I refuse to let it kill me." However, this saying, in either form, only deals with the two extremes of the spectrum of possibilities. In the aftermath of a tragic event, you can fail to come out of it at all, or you can get through it... And it isn't always true that you will necessarily come out of it stronger if you survive. Some events cause forever crippling, or at least scarring, injuries. Sometimes the price you had to pay to get through it set you back years of development in some form or another. This can be physical, like a fractured bone that never completely heals, or an accident leaving one bedridden for so long that the patient has to learn to walk all over again afterwards. It can also be emotional.
The most unfortunate thing is that I haven't seen many examples of people who were able to understand that some struggles just aren't worth it even if you survive them... that the scars and damages are, and remain, greater than the strength gained in facing them, that they have never been truly overcome, and possibly never will be... without having been through such a situation in some form or another themselves. I remember hearing someone refer to it as something like the "ignorance of privilege". It's not a clear fault of the ignorant that they are ignorant, either. It is genuinely hard to imagine a situation in which there is no possible way to come out ahead... and for most people, it seems to be impossible, up until the first time they realize... this... whatever "this" is... is one.
Perhaps the only way to change this is to refute and avoid reaffirming the lie that if you got through it, it was good for you. Unfortunately, it IS true that having gotten through it required growth that would otherwise not have come about in the same way... People who have dealt with tragedy are almost always better prepared and better able to deal with it again - not that it isn't still a terrible experience, just that, like any pain that hurts badly enough, long enough, there is a numbing effect that diminishes its effects on you. The lie is in the assumption that this hardening is "worth" the pain, which is a value judgement, and thus inherently an opinion. People may disagree. The problem is when people who are not in a position to understand the severity of the situation... which really, includes anyone without the full context of emotional weight and other issues involved, and thus anyone at all besides the person experiencing this trauma... try to make that judgement themselves and enforce it on the person suffering it.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
What Stops Me
Today, I went for two long walks. A total of about 11 km. A total of almost three hours. One at evening, one in the middle of the night. I was stopped by a cop car on my way back on the second walk, which startled me a bit. Officer Question Mark asked me my name, which made me feel suspicious, and whether I was out doing anything I shouldn't be, which didn't. Apparently my answers satisfied him, because he left, still quite friendly, without much fuss.
Less than ten minutes later, a cabbie pulled over and asked if I was alright, too, amusingly.
But now I feel shaken. I keep imagining a conversation with the policeman, things I might have said, things I might like to say, about why I feel nervous talking to a man with a badge. Things about the protesters in the states, at Wall Street, at the University of California... nearer by, in Toronto... And the more I think about it, the more I seize up. I shake, I start to cry. There is so much I'd like to say, that I'm afraid to - not that I think these neighborhood cops, or this one in particular, is like that, just... just, the only thing I know for sure about them and about the ones from the stories and videos, is that they share the mark of authority, the badge. And I don't know.
Human beings need each other. We are not machines, as much as industry leaders might want us to be.
Human beings can exist and survive without houses, without electricity, without medicine or guns or modern plumbing, in very harsh conditions. We're amazingly resilient sometimes, really.
But I'm not sure human beings can survive without being able to trust each other.
This is not the first time since I started my workout that I've been afraid I might honestly not be able to convince myself to continue... But it's the first time I've felt something that I thought might be the thing to prevent me. I am again reminded of some of the things I'd like to do... some of the changes I'd like to make... some of the talking and standing up, and yes, protest, I'd like to take part in... And I'm reminded of what made me stop thinking about it last time.
I am terrified, paranoid. I don't think anyone is watching me, specifically, but I think if I started to do what I want to do, they might. And the helplessness, the fear... this paranoia, a feeling that even if I do become strong enough to be healthy... I may never be strong enough to be confident of my survival should I step into the place where trouble is... this, more than anything else... This, is what always stops me.
I feel so afraid, thinking about it, so helpless... I'm not sure I can do anything but sit here, stunned. I'm not sure I can find the courage for my workout tomorrow. How? In the face of this... can I ever feel brave? How can I feel strong, and use my strength, when I feel so weak? But I guess I'll find out, tomorrow.
Less than ten minutes later, a cabbie pulled over and asked if I was alright, too, amusingly.
But now I feel shaken. I keep imagining a conversation with the policeman, things I might have said, things I might like to say, about why I feel nervous talking to a man with a badge. Things about the protesters in the states, at Wall Street, at the University of California... nearer by, in Toronto... And the more I think about it, the more I seize up. I shake, I start to cry. There is so much I'd like to say, that I'm afraid to - not that I think these neighborhood cops, or this one in particular, is like that, just... just, the only thing I know for sure about them and about the ones from the stories and videos, is that they share the mark of authority, the badge. And I don't know.
Human beings need each other. We are not machines, as much as industry leaders might want us to be.
Human beings can exist and survive without houses, without electricity, without medicine or guns or modern plumbing, in very harsh conditions. We're amazingly resilient sometimes, really.
But I'm not sure human beings can survive without being able to trust each other.
This is not the first time since I started my workout that I've been afraid I might honestly not be able to convince myself to continue... But it's the first time I've felt something that I thought might be the thing to prevent me. I am again reminded of some of the things I'd like to do... some of the changes I'd like to make... some of the talking and standing up, and yes, protest, I'd like to take part in... And I'm reminded of what made me stop thinking about it last time.
I am terrified, paranoid. I don't think anyone is watching me, specifically, but I think if I started to do what I want to do, they might. And the helplessness, the fear... this paranoia, a feeling that even if I do become strong enough to be healthy... I may never be strong enough to be confident of my survival should I step into the place where trouble is... this, more than anything else... This, is what always stops me.
I feel so afraid, thinking about it, so helpless... I'm not sure I can do anything but sit here, stunned. I'm not sure I can find the courage for my workout tomorrow. How? In the face of this... can I ever feel brave? How can I feel strong, and use my strength, when I feel so weak? But I guess I'll find out, tomorrow.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Alejandro
(originally posted on FetLife on July 10, 2010)
Lady Gaga is not a subject I would normally admit to starting a conversation about...
But I had to sit myself down and do some real thinking about bias and bitterness when, after finding a link to one of these music videos, described by the linker (don't remember who, but it was on youtube) as a really interesting demonstration of gender assumptions and such things, and going there, and watching and listening...
Well. I like the song, I have to admit. But I found myself having a very hard time accepting that I liked a song performed by Lady Gaga. And I found myself thinking that if it had been done by Ace of Base instead, I could have loved it and had no issue of feeling like I'd just smiled and shaken hands with Adolf Hitler. Which makes no sense, because I'll admit, Ace of Base has made some songs I consider almost pukeworthy for being idiotic, cliched and shallow... and also some songs I consider brilliant, but that doesn't diminish the badness of the bad.
And this is why myself had to take me aside for a little talk about bias. In front of someone, because I find it almost impossible to talk through these things properly unless I'm talking "to" someone.
Is Lady Gaga evil?
Well... erhhm?
Come on, Emily, erhhm is not a functional answer. What exactly is your problem with her?
And, well. Sigh. It turns out my problem with Lady Gaga is that a great, great many careless idiots love her music. It's popular. Fullstop. That's it.
And -some- of it, I don't like based on content as -well-, quite definitely. But, as has been discovered, not all.
But this brings me back to a very old problem of mine (as a not very old girl, anyway) of hating the popular simply because it is popular and I believe for both reasons bitter and senseless and reasons rooted in intelligence and perception, AND reasons that other people just told me and I find believable (let's not be denying that I'm perfectly capable of adopting other peoples' opinions just because they sound good, too, that would be dishonest)... that the methods by which things become popular are stupid, stupid methods that should die.
The problem is that even assuming that it's true things become popular for incredibly stupid reasons (such as, for instance, that a great many idiots like them, as one of the less conspiratorial explanations), does NOT mean that anything selected by this process will necessarily be horrible. Only that it WON'T necessarily be good. There's a difference. And...
Alright. Does her music condone violence?
Um... No, not any songs that I know of, anyway.
Does it condone hatred then?
Er... I don't think so? Does coldness count? Apathy? Psychological power tripping? Some of them seem to condone that.
No. It doesn't count.
Well damnit.
Yep.
(Sigh) ... Alright! Alright. Lady Gaga is not... Hang on wait! Um - Some of her songs may condone stupidity?
(Impatient sigh) Yes?
Well... ... Umm... ... Okay, okay! Fuck it. Fine! Lady Gaga is not evil.
Thank you. And?
(reluctant mumble) and it's not fair to hate her because she's popular...
And?
S'ry.
Well, there now. That wasn't so hard, was it?
Mumble mumble should have been harder mumble.
Oh, come on now, none of that.
... And in fact... Well. There -are- some really interesting and bizarre things in what she's doing there. Getting a small group of butch-looking men in militay uniform to dance in her own feminine style (and presenting a bunch of men almost naked wearing spiky heeled shoes) - and the resulting image, and how it looks to someone living in this culture (if you're watching one of the men in those scenes, and not her, for a minute - incredibly silly) DOES say a lot about gender roles, and about the repression and pressure and limitations on -men-...
Is it really any wonder we see so many crossdressers and "sissies" on FetLife? Us genetic females aren't the only ones who like to experiment with acting and dressing, and dancing, etc, in different ways.
I think there's something here I haven't been paying enough attention to the value of, because I've been a bit blinded by stupid hate.
And that... Well. It hurts. It's extremely embarassing and sad.
Let it never, ever be said that intelligent people are above stupidity.
And let it never be assumed that we should have to be.
Now that would be unreasonable bias.
SS
Lady Gaga is not a subject I would normally admit to starting a conversation about...
But I had to sit myself down and do some real thinking about bias and bitterness when, after finding a link to one of these music videos, described by the linker (don't remember who, but it was on youtube) as a really interesting demonstration of gender assumptions and such things, and going there, and watching and listening...
Well. I like the song, I have to admit. But I found myself having a very hard time accepting that I liked a song performed by Lady Gaga. And I found myself thinking that if it had been done by Ace of Base instead, I could have loved it and had no issue of feeling like I'd just smiled and shaken hands with Adolf Hitler. Which makes no sense, because I'll admit, Ace of Base has made some songs I consider almost pukeworthy for being idiotic, cliched and shallow... and also some songs I consider brilliant, but that doesn't diminish the badness of the bad.
And this is why myself had to take me aside for a little talk about bias. In front of someone, because I find it almost impossible to talk through these things properly unless I'm talking "to" someone.
Is Lady Gaga evil?
Well... erhhm?
Come on, Emily, erhhm is not a functional answer. What exactly is your problem with her?
And, well. Sigh. It turns out my problem with Lady Gaga is that a great, great many careless idiots love her music. It's popular. Fullstop. That's it.
And -some- of it, I don't like based on content as -well-, quite definitely. But, as has been discovered, not all.
But this brings me back to a very old problem of mine (as a not very old girl, anyway) of hating the popular simply because it is popular and I believe for both reasons bitter and senseless and reasons rooted in intelligence and perception, AND reasons that other people just told me and I find believable (let's not be denying that I'm perfectly capable of adopting other peoples' opinions just because they sound good, too, that would be dishonest)... that the methods by which things become popular are stupid, stupid methods that should die.
The problem is that even assuming that it's true things become popular for incredibly stupid reasons (such as, for instance, that a great many idiots like them, as one of the less conspiratorial explanations), does NOT mean that anything selected by this process will necessarily be horrible. Only that it WON'T necessarily be good. There's a difference. And...
Alright. Does her music condone violence?
Um... No, not any songs that I know of, anyway.
Does it condone hatred then?
Er... I don't think so? Does coldness count? Apathy? Psychological power tripping? Some of them seem to condone that.
No. It doesn't count.
Well damnit.
Yep.
(Sigh) ... Alright! Alright. Lady Gaga is not... Hang on wait! Um - Some of her songs may condone stupidity?
(Impatient sigh) Yes?
Well... ... Umm... ... Okay, okay! Fuck it. Fine! Lady Gaga is not evil.
Thank you. And?
(reluctant mumble) and it's not fair to hate her because she's popular...
And?
S'ry.
Well, there now. That wasn't so hard, was it?
Mumble mumble should have been harder mumble.
Oh, come on now, none of that.
... And in fact... Well. There -are- some really interesting and bizarre things in what she's doing there. Getting a small group of butch-looking men in militay uniform to dance in her own feminine style (and presenting a bunch of men almost naked wearing spiky heeled shoes) - and the resulting image, and how it looks to someone living in this culture (if you're watching one of the men in those scenes, and not her, for a minute - incredibly silly) DOES say a lot about gender roles, and about the repression and pressure and limitations on -men-...
Is it really any wonder we see so many crossdressers and "sissies" on FetLife? Us genetic females aren't the only ones who like to experiment with acting and dressing, and dancing, etc, in different ways.
I think there's something here I haven't been paying enough attention to the value of, because I've been a bit blinded by stupid hate.
And that... Well. It hurts. It's extremely embarassing and sad.
Let it never, ever be said that intelligent people are above stupidity.
And let it never be assumed that we should have to be.
Now that would be unreasonable bias.
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