As a lover of all things literary, I really enjoyed this piece on Jezebel. "Remember the Egg Fad!" is definitely noteworthy advice, and should be heeded at all times. (For those not in the know, in the book, bringing a hard-boiled egg for lunch and cracking it on your head is all the rage in Ramona's Gr. 3 class. Sadly, one day, her father packs her lunch and accidentally puts a raw egg in it, and poor Ramona ends up with literal egg on her face.)
"Pulling an Amelia Bedelia," however, should be a phrase that everyone understands and therefore requires no explanation. Anyone who does need it explained must repent by creating delicious baked goods for me, thus "pulling an Amelia Bedelia." See how that works?
The phrase that spoke to me most, though, was "Granger Danger," named after Hermione Granger. I am constantly guilty of being an insufferable know-it-all, and when I shared the phrase with friends, they loved having a way to describe how they feel about me when I do it. I can't really help it, though. When I'm processing things, my understanding is altered by the information I already have, and sometimes it doesn't follow a "normal" trajectory. My attempts to enable my friends to understand my thoughts results in repeated forays into the land of Granger Danger.
At least, that's what I tell myself. Just like how I'm now telling myself that instead of shaking their fists at me, my friends can now go, "Granger Danger! Granger Danger!" The rhyming should distract them from their annoyance long enough for me to explain how the Columbian Exchange enabled chocolate easter eggs. And then they'll be too busy thinking about Cadbury Creme Eggs to notice what I did.
It's foolproof. Unless they read my plan here, of course.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
An Intro to Two of Seven Emirates
My brother posted this article on my Facebook wall, and it's definitely been some food for thought.
You can see Al Ain off in the middle of nowhere, right up on the Oman border.
We moved back from the UAE more than ten years ago now, and the Dubai described in the article is in many ways unfamiliar. Back in those days, there was no palm-shaped island. There was no Harvey Nichols. There was no Burj Al-Arab. The largest mall in Dubai was the newly opened (and not quite complete!) City Centre, with its Ikea and massive, amusement park-like food court.
Dubai was where everyone went to shop in those days. There was no mall in Al Ain, and it was difficult to come across the simple things that everyone in every small crap town in North America takes for granted in those pre-internet days... like the newest English CDs and books. Dubai had an English radio station that played Rick Dees' weekly top 40 show, and that was basically the only exposure you got to the occasional rock song. The more privileged among us had MTV Europe instead of MTV India, but that still involved less rock and more techno.
You could go to the beach there, and the water in those days wasn't filled with sewage, like the article claims. My youngest brother loved to stand near the water and let the tide wash over his feet, though, and after a day at the beach, his feet were always black with oil. The atlas that my father had brought back for me from a business trip to Canada showed me that the Gulf Sea was choked with oil pollution, so I assumed that it was the whole sea that was dirty.
I've been told that they've recently built a virtual wall of buildings along the beach in Dubai, effectively blocked off the rest of the city from the ocean breeze. In my mind, that makes Dubai much more like Abu Dhabi, which is an island of overgrown skyscrapers in a desert country. In Abu Dhabi, there was no breeze, and the light would reflect off the skyscrapers into the street, baking the asphalt. There were no trees because it was the desert, but it was painfully humid because it was an island. The heat clung to you like a living object, and the air was literally thick with the humidity - you could feel it. Stepping outside of a vehicle or building was like walking into a physical wall of heat. Your clothes and hair would stick to you, and the heat seemed unbearably inescapable.
Al Ain was better. It was out in the desert, away from the ocean, but it was also an oasis, so it was full of parks. The summer temperatures were actually higher than in the larger coastal cities of Dubai and Abu Dhabi, but since the air was dry, it didn't stick to your body in the same fashion. I don't know if we really appreciated how lucky we were in that regard. We were tweens, busy being bitter that we were disconnected from the rest of the world because we had to go to Dubai to buy a fashion magazine. Because I was a nerd, I was also bitter that I couldn't go to Space Camp, and that I couldn't look things up whenever I wanted to, because there was no public library. It's kind of mundane, really. I didn't hate it there because it was fake, or because I felt like it was a con game. I hated it because it was intellectually limiting.
I did see some of the darker side of things, though. As a child, there wasn't really much that could be done about it, and I didn't personally know anyone who told me the kinds of stories of victimization that Hari writes about in his article. He also seems to leave out a whole class of people, drawing lines between the local Arabs, the migrant workers from the subcontinent, the Phillipines, and apparently Ethiopia now, and rich, white expats from Western countries.
There's no mention of the families from the subcontinent who have lived there for decades with no rights in terms of citizenship. There's no mention of Western expats of colour like my family, or like my classmate's family, a black American girl. There's only a passing mention of the residents from other Middle Eastern countries who have settled there... and nothing of the many Baha'i residents that fled Iran to settle there. There's just so many different facets to discuss.
I've tried to determine how many of the differences can be explained simply by my living in the emirate of Abu Dhabi as opposed to Dubai, but it's still the same country. So I thought I'd write it myself, and add some of my own analyses. I'm not the greatest writer, but in this case, I have plenty of source material.
You can see Al Ain off in the middle of nowhere, right up on the Oman border.We moved back from the UAE more than ten years ago now, and the Dubai described in the article is in many ways unfamiliar. Back in those days, there was no palm-shaped island. There was no Harvey Nichols. There was no Burj Al-Arab. The largest mall in Dubai was the newly opened (and not quite complete!) City Centre, with its Ikea and massive, amusement park-like food court.
Dubai was where everyone went to shop in those days. There was no mall in Al Ain, and it was difficult to come across the simple things that everyone in every small crap town in North America takes for granted in those pre-internet days... like the newest English CDs and books. Dubai had an English radio station that played Rick Dees' weekly top 40 show, and that was basically the only exposure you got to the occasional rock song. The more privileged among us had MTV Europe instead of MTV India, but that still involved less rock and more techno.
You could go to the beach there, and the water in those days wasn't filled with sewage, like the article claims. My youngest brother loved to stand near the water and let the tide wash over his feet, though, and after a day at the beach, his feet were always black with oil. The atlas that my father had brought back for me from a business trip to Canada showed me that the Gulf Sea was choked with oil pollution, so I assumed that it was the whole sea that was dirty.
I've been told that they've recently built a virtual wall of buildings along the beach in Dubai, effectively blocked off the rest of the city from the ocean breeze. In my mind, that makes Dubai much more like Abu Dhabi, which is an island of overgrown skyscrapers in a desert country. In Abu Dhabi, there was no breeze, and the light would reflect off the skyscrapers into the street, baking the asphalt. There were no trees because it was the desert, but it was painfully humid because it was an island. The heat clung to you like a living object, and the air was literally thick with the humidity - you could feel it. Stepping outside of a vehicle or building was like walking into a physical wall of heat. Your clothes and hair would stick to you, and the heat seemed unbearably inescapable.
Al Ain was better. It was out in the desert, away from the ocean, but it was also an oasis, so it was full of parks. The summer temperatures were actually higher than in the larger coastal cities of Dubai and Abu Dhabi, but since the air was dry, it didn't stick to your body in the same fashion. I don't know if we really appreciated how lucky we were in that regard. We were tweens, busy being bitter that we were disconnected from the rest of the world because we had to go to Dubai to buy a fashion magazine. Because I was a nerd, I was also bitter that I couldn't go to Space Camp, and that I couldn't look things up whenever I wanted to, because there was no public library. It's kind of mundane, really. I didn't hate it there because it was fake, or because I felt like it was a con game. I hated it because it was intellectually limiting.
I did see some of the darker side of things, though. As a child, there wasn't really much that could be done about it, and I didn't personally know anyone who told me the kinds of stories of victimization that Hari writes about in his article. He also seems to leave out a whole class of people, drawing lines between the local Arabs, the migrant workers from the subcontinent, the Phillipines, and apparently Ethiopia now, and rich, white expats from Western countries.
There's no mention of the families from the subcontinent who have lived there for decades with no rights in terms of citizenship. There's no mention of Western expats of colour like my family, or like my classmate's family, a black American girl. There's only a passing mention of the residents from other Middle Eastern countries who have settled there... and nothing of the many Baha'i residents that fled Iran to settle there. There's just so many different facets to discuss.
I've tried to determine how many of the differences can be explained simply by my living in the emirate of Abu Dhabi as opposed to Dubai, but it's still the same country. So I thought I'd write it myself, and add some of my own analyses. I'm not the greatest writer, but in this case, I have plenty of source material.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Where my reputation for omniscience and I meet again
The Boy was working the other day in an old chemical factory they're turning into something else, tearing down a concrete wall. ("Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!") I didn't know that it was a chemical factory until I saw his concrete-dust-covered ass at the end of the day, and I mean that quite literally. Apparently his green cargo pants ripped just before lunch, and proceeded to get worse as the day went on. I didn't have my camera, so I couldn't take a picture, and he probably wouldn't have let me do it anyway, but the tearing started up near his crotch, and went horizontally almost all the way around his leg, as well as down the inseam almost to his knees.
It looked like he'd tried to turn one leg into cut-off short shorts and realized it was a stupid idea with about three inches of fabric left holding them together. It's a good thing that he wears his boxer-briefs like a good boy, or it would have been an indecent exposure charge waiting to happen.
"Apparently, jeans are the way to go at that place," he told me, trying to hold his pants up.
"Well, that's what they were originally designed for, right? I mean, technically it was for miners, and they were made out of canvas, but you get what I'm saying..."
He stared at me blankly.
"You know," I tried. "Levi... and the boat... and the canvas for the tents..."
"I really have no idea what you're talking about."
"You mean DON'T you know all about the history of denim?! Why not?" I teased.
"Because you haven't told me yet," he responded, shaking his head as if I should have known better.
Silly me. I forgot that I'm supposed to know everything.
It looked like he'd tried to turn one leg into cut-off short shorts and realized it was a stupid idea with about three inches of fabric left holding them together. It's a good thing that he wears his boxer-briefs like a good boy, or it would have been an indecent exposure charge waiting to happen.
"Apparently, jeans are the way to go at that place," he told me, trying to hold his pants up.
"Well, that's what they were originally designed for, right? I mean, technically it was for miners, and they were made out of canvas, but you get what I'm saying..."
He stared at me blankly.
"You know," I tried. "Levi... and the boat... and the canvas for the tents..."
"I really have no idea what you're talking about."
"You mean DON'T you know all about the history of denim?! Why not?" I teased.
"Because you haven't told me yet," he responded, shaking his head as if I should have known better.
Silly me. I forgot that I'm supposed to know everything.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
A Box of Her Own
I haven't gotten my period in a disturbingly long time, seeing as how I don't appear to be pregnant. So where did it go?
At first, I wondered if I just wasn't eating healthily, but I weigh a reasonable amount. It's not like last spring when I looked a little skeletal and felt a little faint like I was living in the olden times when corsets were mandated.
I suggested to a friend that perhaps my uterus had fallen out without me noticing, like while I was sleeping. A stealth uterus, if you will. She compared it to Dexter.
Imagine, if you will...
A uterus, with a mind of its own. It crawled out to attend to its box, where it stores samples of semen from previous conquests like Dexter stores samples of blood from its victims. A box, with a box of its own. Although I prefer "a box of her own," because it gives it that Virginia Woolf feel. Imagine what a uterus could do if given a room of her own! Works of art! Photography!
And, of course, a comedically named festival celebrating turtles:
At first, I wondered if I just wasn't eating healthily, but I weigh a reasonable amount. It's not like last spring when I looked a little skeletal and felt a little faint like I was living in the olden times when corsets were mandated.
I suggested to a friend that perhaps my uterus had fallen out without me noticing, like while I was sleeping. A stealth uterus, if you will. She compared it to Dexter.
Imagine, if you will...
A uterus, with a mind of its own. It crawled out to attend to its box, where it stores samples of semen from previous conquests like Dexter stores samples of blood from its victims. A box, with a box of its own. Although I prefer "a box of her own," because it gives it that Virginia Woolf feel. Imagine what a uterus could do if given a room of her own! Works of art! Photography!
And, of course, a comedically named festival celebrating turtles:
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | M - Th 11p / 10c | |||
| Cooters! | ||||
| ||||
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Out of Mao's Shadow: The Struggle for the Soul of a New China
I read Out of Mao's Shadow a couple of months ago, and I've been meaning to blog about it since.
Philip Pan was on The Daily Show promoting this book sometime last spring, and it sounded pretty interesting at the time. I'm pretty bad at actually reading the books I put on my book list, though. Fast forward to November, and I noticed it prominently on display in the library, so I picked it up. Then it sat in my room for a few weeks as I read a biography on Hillary Clinton. Eventually I got around to it, and am I ever glad that I did! I tore through it in about two days.
The book is organized into three parts, or eleven chapters. Each one discusses a separate story, focusing on a specific person and their experiences in dealing with the Chinese system. For instance, there's a chapter about a doctor who broke the story of SARS as the Chinese govt tried to keep the epidemic under wraps as it escaped China. There's another chapter about the editor of a newspaper that struggled to maintain its voice and duty to report honestly in a climate of censorship. One of the most fascinating was the chapter about Lin Zhao, a young revolutionary woman in the fifties who turned against Communism with the same fervour that she felt when she first ran away from home to support it. She was imprisoned and wrote hundreds of pages assailing the Party with her own blood before her execution.
I'm not very well-versed in Chinese history, but Pan's book provides a fascinating primer. He places all the stories in their historical context, giving a basic background to events like the Cultural Revolution, and the extreme violence that took place in cities like Chongqing, as well as the role the Communist Party played in trying to suppress the populace's memory of these events and the people who struggled to reveal the truth and seek justice. Part of Pan's analysis is that in many of the cases, the dissidents were able to get the Party to make small changes, such as finally being open about SARS, enabling the medical field to fight and contain it. However, this did not result in more openness and a path to democracy in China, but rather the opposite. By showing a small amount of flexibility, the Communist Party was, in fact, able to strengthen its hold on power. They were basically able to take credit for taking action rather than being vilified for hedging and taking not action for so long.
I highly recommend it.
Philip Pan was on The Daily Show promoting this book sometime last spring, and it sounded pretty interesting at the time. I'm pretty bad at actually reading the books I put on my book list, though. Fast forward to November, and I noticed it prominently on display in the library, so I picked it up. Then it sat in my room for a few weeks as I read a biography on Hillary Clinton. Eventually I got around to it, and am I ever glad that I did! I tore through it in about two days.
The book is organized into three parts, or eleven chapters. Each one discusses a separate story, focusing on a specific person and their experiences in dealing with the Chinese system. For instance, there's a chapter about a doctor who broke the story of SARS as the Chinese govt tried to keep the epidemic under wraps as it escaped China. There's another chapter about the editor of a newspaper that struggled to maintain its voice and duty to report honestly in a climate of censorship. One of the most fascinating was the chapter about Lin Zhao, a young revolutionary woman in the fifties who turned against Communism with the same fervour that she felt when she first ran away from home to support it. She was imprisoned and wrote hundreds of pages assailing the Party with her own blood before her execution.
I'm not very well-versed in Chinese history, but Pan's book provides a fascinating primer. He places all the stories in their historical context, giving a basic background to events like the Cultural Revolution, and the extreme violence that took place in cities like Chongqing, as well as the role the Communist Party played in trying to suppress the populace's memory of these events and the people who struggled to reveal the truth and seek justice. Part of Pan's analysis is that in many of the cases, the dissidents were able to get the Party to make small changes, such as finally being open about SARS, enabling the medical field to fight and contain it. However, this did not result in more openness and a path to democracy in China, but rather the opposite. By showing a small amount of flexibility, the Communist Party was, in fact, able to strengthen its hold on power. They were basically able to take credit for taking action rather than being vilified for hedging and taking not action for so long.
I highly recommend it.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Obama's in Ottawa! (GOP serves pork tenderloin for dinner in his absence.)
I was just browsing Jezebel and came across this post. Of course, I had to read even more about Obama's visit to Ottawa, and squee about how I've appreciated the same bakery as Obama. I spent part of the morning reading about it in the National Post, even though I felt a little dirty even touching the Post. I couldn't help myself! There were so many pictures! He looked so cute with our esteemed Governor-General Michaëlle Jean. Apparently, they discussed how awesome it is that they're both black. (That was not meant to be condescending. I'm totally sincere.)
There was also a press conference with Stephen Harper. He didn't look as cute with Obama. The whole relationship is still brand spanking new, so I don't feel like commenting on US-Canada relations at this time.
I read on and then clicked over to this blog post at Politico, where some of the commenters seem to be confused about why exactly it's hypocritical for Republicans to be lining up for stimulus money now, after delaying it for weeks with their incessant whiny brattiness. The argument seems to be that they have to pay for it, so they might as well partake in the pork chops.
First of all, let's get the snark out of the way by making fun of an idiotic comment.
Only 600 billion? Oh, ok then. I didn't realize that it was such a bargain! All criticisms withdrawn. Thank you for showing me the light, Garret. It's really too bad that I read this article in the New York Times right after reading your comment: Obama Bans Gimmicks, and Deficit Will Rise
It seems that the second Bush was even less honest than the first about the actual size of the budget shortfall. Lying about the state of the govt is kind of a dictator thing to do, though, isn't it? I don't want to block your righteous outrage with petty facts, though, so moving on.
As a public service, allow me to demonstrate why the Republicans are being hypocritical:
House Republican: "This stimulus package will not do anything to help and is a complete and utter waste of money! I must stand against it!"
The bill then passes, as House Republicans knew that it would.
House Republican: "So, can we get some of that stimulus money? It would totally help us out."
Simply put, the Republicans voted against this bill insisting that it was a waste of money and would not do anything useful. There were even suggestions that it might make things worse by breeding a population that depends on govt bailout money instead of working really hard to become Wall Street execs and make obscene amount of money bleeding society dry.
Now that it has passed, as they knew that it would despite their grand-standing, they're lining up to get that money because they KNEW ALL ALONG that the bill was not a waste of money, and in fact, was incredibly useful. I guess you could say that a lot of stuff in the bill was good, but not necessarily economically useful, and I would disagree and then concede the point. But that's not the tack that they're taking, as evidenced by this quote:
It's very clearly talking about economic disasters and the economic fallout of natural disasters. It is shameful that for the purposes of political partisanship they voted against a bill that was necessary for the economic well-being of their constituents.
That is why it is hypocritical.
There was also a press conference with Stephen Harper. He didn't look as cute with Obama. The whole relationship is still brand spanking new, so I don't feel like commenting on US-Canada relations at this time.
I read on and then clicked over to this blog post at Politico, where some of the commenters seem to be confused about why exactly it's hypocritical for Republicans to be lining up for stimulus money now, after delaying it for weeks with their incessant whiny brattiness. The argument seems to be that they have to pay for it, so they might as well partake in the pork chops.
First of all, let's get the snark out of the way by making fun of an idiotic comment.
wow the democrat who was whining about bush spending a trillion on the war in iraq your wrong it was 600 billion over seven years and Obama the great dictator spent that within 100 days !!!
Posted By: Garret | February 19, 2009 at 10:45 PM
Only 600 billion? Oh, ok then. I didn't realize that it was such a bargain! All criticisms withdrawn. Thank you for showing me the light, Garret. It's really too bad that I read this article in the New York Times right after reading your comment: Obama Bans Gimmicks, and Deficit Will Rise
For his first annual budget next week, President Obama has banned four accounting gimmicks that President George W. Bush used to make deficit projections look smaller. The price of more honest bookkeeping: A budget that is $2.7 trillion deeper in the red over the next decade than it would otherwise appear, according to administration officials.
It seems that the second Bush was even less honest than the first about the actual size of the budget shortfall. Lying about the state of the govt is kind of a dictator thing to do, though, isn't it? I don't want to block your righteous outrage with petty facts, though, so moving on.
As a public service, allow me to demonstrate why the Republicans are being hypocritical:
House Republican: "This stimulus package will not do anything to help and is a complete and utter waste of money! I must stand against it!"
The bill then passes, as House Republicans knew that it would.
House Republican: "So, can we get some of that stimulus money? It would totally help us out."
Simply put, the Republicans voted against this bill insisting that it was a waste of money and would not do anything useful. There were even suggestions that it might make things worse by breeding a population that depends on govt bailout money instead of working really hard to become Wall Street execs and make obscene amount of money bleeding society dry.
Now that it has passed, as they knew that it would despite their grand-standing, they're lining up to get that money because they KNEW ALL ALONG that the bill was not a waste of money, and in fact, was incredibly useful. I guess you could say that a lot of stuff in the bill was good, but not necessarily economically useful, and I would disagree and then concede the point. But that's not the tack that they're taking, as evidenced by this quote:
“This critical funding is vital to protecting our schools from budget cuts and teacher layoffs. Because Florida has been hit especially hard by a rise in foreclosures, unemployment, and recent natural disasters, we are experiencing a crippling budget crisis. Now more than ever, we must invest in our state’s future,” said the letter.
It's very clearly talking about economic disasters and the economic fallout of natural disasters. It is shameful that for the purposes of political partisanship they voted against a bill that was necessary for the economic well-being of their constituents.
That is why it is hypocritical.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Blog for Choice Day
Today is the 36th anniversary of Roe v Wade, the landmark decision legalizing the right of American women to choose. In honour of today, I'm participating in Blog for Choice Day 2009, even though I'm not American.
This year's topic is our pro-choice hopes for Obama and the new Congress, and it's why I felt that it was important to blog today, despite not being American, and my belief that the many, many restrictions on choice in the United States, some of which are supported by ostensibly pro-choice people, infringe on the rights of women to exist as free human beings. (I'm a believer in the reasoning behind the Canadian Supreme Court's decision that any restrictions on abortion in essence force women to be pregnant against their will violates their very personhood.)
But I didn't really want to talk about my hard-line position on abortion today. I wanted to talk about the Global Gag Rule, also known as the Mexico City Policy. The policy bars any organization that receives US funds from having anything whatsoever to do with abortion, whether it is providing them, advocating for them, or counselling women on their very existence, whether or not abortion is legal in the country where the organization is located.
This is ideology trumping the actual health and well-being of the citizens of these countries, and using American aid as a tool to enforce this ideology on women who have very few other options. It puts health-care providers in the position where they are either prevented from giving women ALL the information they want, regardless of the risk to women's health and safety, or foregoing necessary funding and supplies. Essentially, they're playing with people's lives, because they can. Because they've decided they have that right.
Incidentally, abortion is now legal in Mexico City, although not in the rest of Mexico.
The Global Gag Rule was originally implemented by Reagan, thereby neatly fitting into my theory that Reagan was a scourge on humanity. It was reversed by Clinton at the beginning of his first term, until Bush reinstated it at the beginning of his presidency. Obviously, this means that it remained standing throughout Bush Senior's term, meaning that all three Republican presidents of the last thirty years deserve equal blame for this abominable policy.
So my hopes for Obama and the new Congress? Bye bye Global Gag Rule. And I don't know if it's possible, but it would be great if Congress could pass some legislation prohibiting future evil presidents from bringing it back once Obama's term has ended. The health and well-being of women and their families worldwide shouldn't depend on the whims of a president bowing to anti-choice interests.
This year's topic is our pro-choice hopes for Obama and the new Congress, and it's why I felt that it was important to blog today, despite not being American, and my belief that the many, many restrictions on choice in the United States, some of which are supported by ostensibly pro-choice people, infringe on the rights of women to exist as free human beings. (I'm a believer in the reasoning behind the Canadian Supreme Court's decision that any restrictions on abortion in essence force women to be pregnant against their will violates their very personhood.)
But I didn't really want to talk about my hard-line position on abortion today. I wanted to talk about the Global Gag Rule, also known as the Mexico City Policy. The policy bars any organization that receives US funds from having anything whatsoever to do with abortion, whether it is providing them, advocating for them, or counselling women on their very existence, whether or not abortion is legal in the country where the organization is located.
This is ideology trumping the actual health and well-being of the citizens of these countries, and using American aid as a tool to enforce this ideology on women who have very few other options. It puts health-care providers in the position where they are either prevented from giving women ALL the information they want, regardless of the risk to women's health and safety, or foregoing necessary funding and supplies. Essentially, they're playing with people's lives, because they can. Because they've decided they have that right.
Incidentally, abortion is now legal in Mexico City, although not in the rest of Mexico.
The Global Gag Rule was originally implemented by Reagan, thereby neatly fitting into my theory that Reagan was a scourge on humanity. It was reversed by Clinton at the beginning of his first term, until Bush reinstated it at the beginning of his presidency. Obviously, this means that it remained standing throughout Bush Senior's term, meaning that all three Republican presidents of the last thirty years deserve equal blame for this abominable policy.
So my hopes for Obama and the new Congress? Bye bye Global Gag Rule. And I don't know if it's possible, but it would be great if Congress could pass some legislation prohibiting future evil presidents from bringing it back once Obama's term has ended. The health and well-being of women and their families worldwide shouldn't depend on the whims of a president bowing to anti-choice interests.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Moustache Wax
I was talking to a friend of mine on MSN when I noticed that he'd changed his display picture to one of him twirling his moustache... And quite the 'stache it was! I only wish he'd taken the picture in sepia, so the true nineteenth century glory of his mustachio could be appreciated.
I complimented it, of course. He told me that he needed wax. I suggested a standard tub of pomade, but then it occurred to me that he probably just wanted the novelty of having a container marked "moustache wax." I asked, and I was right.
Of course I was right.
I googled moustache wax, and was directed to the wikipedia page on the topic. It's a mere stub, but it does come with a recipe!
I decided to explore a couple more links, because making one's own wax doesn't supply the container with the funny label, and next up was Firehouse Moustache Wax. I don't really understand the reasoning behind the fire engine sound effects, but that's probably because I wasn't expecting it and jumped when it started. But I did not judge! (Well, not much.) I was on a mission! Instead, I clicked on the products page, so I could learn to understand what it means to look like someone who would tie a distressed damsel to railroad tracks while twirling a waxed 'stache.
Success! There was a review! Featuring this sentence:
I giggled like the school girl that I once was, and went back to the google results page. And then I struck gold.
A few excerpts? I think so. 2007 World Champion Moustache expert Ted Sedman thinks so as well.
A true legend in Canadian bargain-hunting! But does it come in maple? How can it be truly Canadian if it doesn't come in MAPLE?!
Yes, that is a problem. How is anyone supposed to take moustache-twirling and evil laughs seriously when it comes from someone who looks rabid? They'll be focusing on the potential rabies (and accompanying scent of Jergens) instead of the mustachio!
Now, this is just an example of wasted potential. He could clearly have rolled his moustache in seeds and used himself as a bird feeder all winter long.
Now those poor birds will starve. Shame on him.
I complimented it, of course. He told me that he needed wax. I suggested a standard tub of pomade, but then it occurred to me that he probably just wanted the novelty of having a container marked "moustache wax." I asked, and I was right.
Of course I was right.
I googled moustache wax, and was directed to the wikipedia page on the topic. It's a mere stub, but it does come with a recipe!
I decided to explore a couple more links, because making one's own wax doesn't supply the container with the funny label, and next up was Firehouse Moustache Wax. I don't really understand the reasoning behind the fire engine sound effects, but that's probably because I wasn't expecting it and jumped when it started. But I did not judge! (Well, not much.) I was on a mission! Instead, I clicked on the products page, so I could learn to understand what it means to look like someone who would tie a distressed damsel to railroad tracks while twirling a waxed 'stache.
Success! There was a review! Featuring this sentence:
I decided to heat up my moustache with the hair drier and I spread it through.
I giggled like the school girl that I once was, and went back to the google results page. And then I struck gold.
A few excerpts? I think so. 2007 World Champion Moustache expert Ted Sedman thinks so as well.
"I am a Canadian, Handlebar Moustache sporter. Have not found moustache wax, but have been using toilet bowl seal wax. This wax has no odour, spreads colourless, and does not cause potty mouth. Best part about toilet bowl wax is the price, less than a Canadian looney and you get about half a pound."
A true legend in Canadian bargain-hunting! But does it come in maple? How can it be truly Canadian if it doesn't come in MAPLE?!
One of our members used just soap when he ran out of wax but when the rain came down it foamed up and made him look as though he was rabid!
Yes, that is a problem. How is anyone supposed to take moustache-twirling and evil laughs seriously when it comes from someone who looks rabid? They'll be focusing on the potential rabies (and accompanying scent of Jergens) instead of the mustachio!
The other day a delightful lady friend of mine observed that I have recently become quite furry, which conversation rambled around to an old friend of hers from years gone by that used peanut butter, as an alternative to wax, for his moustache.
Now, this is just an example of wasted potential. He could clearly have rolled his moustache in seeds and used himself as a bird feeder all winter long.
Now those poor birds will starve. Shame on him.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Unattainable Beauty Standards
This article is more than five years old, but it discusses a phenomenon that I've seen my entire life: colourism. As a child, I didn't realize that it wasn't just limited to the South Asian community, but spanned many different communities of colour. It wasn't a shock when I did notice, because I was so used to the idea already. It seemed normal. Shitty, but normal.
I wasn't a "fair" child. I wasn't really DARK, but I definitely wasn't fair. I remember my mother instructing me not to go out in the sun too much, because I would get too dark. For the most part, though, I just went on living my life. I wasn't ever too concerned with beauty ideals, for reasons that are a subject for a different post. However, when I started university, I considered myself towards the darker end of the spectrum. I would never have defined myself as fair, like my mother.
Growing up, I was mostly exposed to other North Indians, and didn't meet very many South Indians, but there were a lot of South Indians at my university. The girls started commenting on how fair I was, in reverent and envious tones. It was jarring, and confusing. At first, I thought they were insane, because I so clearly wasn't fair; I was more along the lines of average. But I was, in fact, a lot lighter than the people who were saying it. It didn't make a difference to me, but it did seem to make a difference to all of them.
Why the difference? I think the article makes it clear.
This is Kajol, taken from here.
And this is Rani, taken from here:
Both of these women are about as dark as I am. The article presents them as dark, in much the same way that I was always considered dark as a child, but still attractive. However, this puts them at the "dark" end of the spectrum, effectively erasing women who are much darker. Since skin colour is very much related to perceived beauty in Indian society, the implication is that anyone darker can't be beautiful. The flack that those girls must have gotten for being dark must have been so much worse than my mother telling me not to play outside and hearing an adult comment on how much darker I was than my mother a few times.
It's like the brown version of the paper bag test. Basically, I grew up around people who were lighter than the bag and got labelled as dark because I was the exact shade of the bag. But the whole principle of the bag is fucked. It's a ridiculous and stupid parameter for beauty.
Obviously, I want it gone. But I really can't blame people for buying into it when it's framed as something that is economically beneficial. So how to get rid of it? Beyond emphasizing whenever it comes up that it's a pile of shit.
I wasn't a "fair" child. I wasn't really DARK, but I definitely wasn't fair. I remember my mother instructing me not to go out in the sun too much, because I would get too dark. For the most part, though, I just went on living my life. I wasn't ever too concerned with beauty ideals, for reasons that are a subject for a different post. However, when I started university, I considered myself towards the darker end of the spectrum. I would never have defined myself as fair, like my mother.
Growing up, I was mostly exposed to other North Indians, and didn't meet very many South Indians, but there were a lot of South Indians at my university. The girls started commenting on how fair I was, in reverent and envious tones. It was jarring, and confusing. At first, I thought they were insane, because I so clearly wasn't fair; I was more along the lines of average. But I was, in fact, a lot lighter than the people who were saying it. It didn't make a difference to me, but it did seem to make a difference to all of them.
Why the difference? I think the article makes it clear.
She goes on to cite dusky Indian female film actors Kajol Devgan and Rani Mukherjee as examples of her conviction, "If you are dark, then dark is the best."
This is Kajol, taken from here.
And this is Rani, taken from here:
Both of these women are about as dark as I am. The article presents them as dark, in much the same way that I was always considered dark as a child, but still attractive. However, this puts them at the "dark" end of the spectrum, effectively erasing women who are much darker. Since skin colour is very much related to perceived beauty in Indian society, the implication is that anyone darker can't be beautiful. The flack that those girls must have gotten for being dark must have been so much worse than my mother telling me not to play outside and hearing an adult comment on how much darker I was than my mother a few times.
It's like the brown version of the paper bag test. Basically, I grew up around people who were lighter than the bag and got labelled as dark because I was the exact shade of the bag. But the whole principle of the bag is fucked. It's a ridiculous and stupid parameter for beauty.
Obviously, I want it gone. But I really can't blame people for buying into it when it's framed as something that is economically beneficial. So how to get rid of it? Beyond emphasizing whenever it comes up that it's a pile of shit.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Because no one does like bad water. Especially not the fine people at this Victoria establishment:
For context, see here.
For context, see here.
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