Gender Essentialism in Your Stocking This Christmas

This showed up on my Pinterest feed yesterday:

Source

It's a list of stocking stuffer ideas for Christmas, by age.  I groaned inwardly when I saw that it was divided into a list for boys and one for girls.  Then I got a little optimistic when I saw that the first half-dozen or so items on the list were identical.  Play dough, art supplies, bubbles, stickers.. I can totally get behind this list.

And then as I continued to scroll down, my heart dropped with an almost audible sitcom trombone chorus - You know the one... wah wah waah waaaaah. About six or seven lines down, we get to the inevitable.  Cars and action figures for boys, dolls and jewellery for girls.

*sigh*

Can we step out of our boxes for a minute and consider the fact that some little girls just might enjoy playing with cars?  Or maybe there are little boys that enjoy playing with dolls?

I know many people will jump up with "But My Daughter LIKES dolls! My Son Likes Trucks! They wouldn't WANT to play with trucks/dolls!"  That's awesome.  Really, it is.

Your kid is not EVERY kid.

How many kids out there aren't getting what they would really like for Christmas because lists like these reinforce gender stereotypes that dictate what toys are appropriate for what gender? I'm not even going to get into the assumption of a gender binary here, because people tend to lose their shit when faced with the suggestion that a kid may be anything more than all-boy or all-girl.

What I wonder is why the creator of this image couldn't have amalgamated these items into one list and done away with the unnecessary gendering of sunglasses, jewellery, Nerf Guns and Barrels of Monkeys?

Speaking as a former little girls I, for one, LOVED Barrel of Monkeys.  It was a goddamned barrel of FUN.

UPDATE: So last night I posted a comment on the blog where this image originally came from asking, very diplomatically, why split the list into boys/girls, since parents clearly would already know whether their kids were into dolls or trucks, regardless of gender.  I wish I had taken a screen cap, because I went back to see if there was a response and my comment has been deleted.  I followed up, although I doubt my response will garner a response.

There's also a disclaimer at the top of the blog now asking not to leave harsh comments regarding the splitting of the lists into boys/girls.  That may or may not have been there before I commented.  I hadn't really paid attention, so if it was already there, my bad.

Exploiting Victims in the Name of Activism

So, as we already know, Chris Brown is a giant, girlfriend-beating douchecanoe.  Chris Brown the rapper, not Chris Brown that guy that used to work with my sister.  That guy was pretty cool and to the best of my knowledge, never beat anyone with an umbrella.

No, I definitely mean this guy. - Jeff R. Bottari/Getty Images

So, some folks in Sweden decided to protest one of Brown's concerts and in said protest, decided to put up a huge billboard and posters featuring the visage of then-and-possibly-now girlfriend, Rhianna, shortly post-assault.  You know the one, where he beat the shit out of her.

I am not okay with this.

Don't get me wrong.  My issue with these billboards has nothing to do with any desire to see Brown NOT punished to the further extent of the law by the court of public opinion.  I would love nothing more than for him to be forever known not as Chris Brown, Musician but Chris Brown, Giant Girlfriend-Beating douchecanoe.

Seriously, fuck that guy.

I love the fact that people are putting stickers on his CD's reminding people that this guy beat the shit out of a woman and maybe we shouldn't give him our money.  I'd love to see people do similar to Guns N Roses CDs, or Roman Polanski films or DVD boxed sets of Three and a Half Men.  (Axl Rose was accused of beating two exes, Roman Polanski drugged and raped an underaged girl and Charlie Sheen is.. well, Charlie Sheen).   Sing it from the rooftops.  "THIS GUY BEATS WOMEN."  Blow-horn that shit, seriously.

Can we do that without exploiting the victim?  That is my main issue with this postering effort. Given the fact that it appears that Brown and Rihanna are kind of off-again, on-again, I'd be willing to bet that she has not given any permission for her image to be used in such a way.  This is not a publicity photo from a magazine spread.  It's a picture taken in the wake of a horrific assault, when Rhianna, as a subject, was in a vulnerable position.  It's a haunting reminder of what he did to her, but is not for us, as the public, to consume.

As I said, I do not think Chris Brown deserves anything less than to have his name forever associated with being that guy who beat his girlfriend with, ironically enough, an umbrella and then was known to throw hissy fits when the media refused to just 'get over it'.  But in such cases, the victim's right to privacy should be respected, without being exploited as a poster child for a cause.  It reminds me of The World According to Garp and the Ellen Jamesians, who alienated Ellen James by making her a martyr and, through their movement, refusing to let her move past her own assault.

The use of Rhianna's battered face as a reminder of Brown's wrong-doing feels exploitative to me.  I feel like the people who created these posters were more interested in vilifying an abuser (which, on it's own is not a bad thing) than protecting the victim from further harm.

Election is over, put on your big-boy pants and deal with it.

Specifically, I am addressing one Mr. Donald Trump, who went on a Twitter-rage rampage last night.

Caption: You, my sweet angel face are being a fucking hater.

Special thanks to Azia and this blog for this image.  It's my favourite thing in the world right now.  If anyone knows the original source, please let me know so I can give proper attribution.

Wherein an era comes to a close, and customer service flies out the window.

So annoyed right about now.

I went to pick up the girls only to be informed that the youngest's indoor shoes, which I bought not more than two months ago, were broken and in need of replacing.  It seemed a good idea to take them back to Zellers and ask for a refund because in no universe should a pair of children's runners fall apart after two lousy months.   She never even wore them outside.

Zellers used to offer a "Kidurable" guarantee on all of their children's wear.  If they wore it out before they outgrew it, then they'd replace it.  Since I still had the receipt, I figured piece of cake.

Yeah, except that not too long ago, Zellers got bought out by Target and now all the locations are either in the process of becoming Target or, if you live in an area that is economically depressed and already has a Walmart such as we do, being liquidated and closed down.  One of the first steps was saying "effyoo" to the Kidurable guarantee.

No, wait it gets better.

So because the shoes are no longer guaranteed I have only the option of exchanging them for a new pair.  Which would be awesome, if there were more than, oh say, two pairs in the kids size available.  And two of those pairs cost about twice as much as the original pair.  We had the foresight to re-measure her feet, thankfully her feet had grown and she was up a size so this brought us up to three or four possible pairs.  That's if you count the ones in the boys section as well.  Yeah, it's safe to say they're pretty picked over in their shoe selection.

So let's recap shall we?

1. The cheap-assed shoes that lasted a mere month beyond the 30 day return period can only be exchanged.  No money back, even though logic would dictate that if I bought a shitty pair of shoes somewhere which fell apart after two months, I'd want to take my money elsewhere, perhaps somewhere the shoe selection was less shoddy and craptacular on-the-whole.
2. Had I not been able to find a suitable replacement, I'd have been stuck with the original broken pair.
3. I not only have to go through the whole pain in the ass that is children's shoe shopping a second time, I have to pay extra for the privilege since no shoes are available in the original price range.
4. Because of the exchange-only policy and the lousy fucking 'We're liquidating and oh yeah it's winter' selection of running shoes I am limited to the same shitty line of shoes.
5. This means that in two or three months time, I'm almost inevitably going to be in the exact same boat only this time Zellers will either be in total liquidation so my exchange-only selection will be even MORE limited and shitty or the whole damn store will be gone and I'll be completely shit out of luck.

So, thanks for nothing Zellers.  If not for the bitter taste this incident has left in my mouth, I'd almost be sad to see you go.  At least your demise blessed us with this:

Oh and then in all but perhaps karmically unrelated incident I proceeded to dump the contents of the green bin on the kitchen floor.  Which was awesome.

So, how is your night?

Shoppers Drug Mart Agrees to Hold Off on Christmas Music, People Predictably Lose Their Shit, Act Like Total Assholes.

Holy crap, you guys.  A store actually listened to a customer complaint.  A CHAIN store, even.  And then, everything went to hell.  Because we can't have nice things.

I picked this up via fellow blogger Tom Megginson, who writes  at The Ethical Adman

So, I guess someone complained about Shoppers Drug Mart playing Christmas music in their stores the freaking day after Halloween and shockingly the store chain said, via their Facebook page "Okay, cool, we'll hold off"

Predictably, people are freaking out about political correctedness gone apeshit and the so-called "War On Christmas."

The store chain has stated that this is not a permanent ban -  they're just holding off citing that many people thought it was too soon.  There are a lot of Canadians who are pushing to have people and establishments hold off on putting up Christmas decorations and playing music until after November 11th, so as not to take attention away from Remembrance Day.

Can I reiterate?  NOT A PERMANENT BAN.

Holy shit, people.  I'm the first one to say that when I start hearing Christmas carols in stores when there are still dead babies on my lawn, it kind of takes some of the magic out of the season.  Give us a chance to breathe before throwing the general public into another harried holiday season.  I personally like a little chance to get excited about Christmas before I move onto being stressed as fuck about it.  So kudos to Shoppers Drug Mart for this move, says I.  If you can do something about your bloody make-up counters and their proximity to the front door, then we'll be on a roll.

Anyway, to no one's surprise, the thread has devolved into the ultimate game of War-on-Christmas bingo, complete with racist, go-back-where-you-came-from anti-immigrant sentiment.   Check out Tom's post for some of the worst offenders.  I'm thinking of getting a big old bottle of something alcoholic tonight and reading through the epic thread that has already reached over 3600 comments in the last three hours.

If you wanna take part, just take a drink everyone someone invokes the following:

• Allusion to people being 'too politically correct'
• References to a War on Christmas
• Telling non-christians to go back where they came from and ignoring the fact plenty of non-christians are born here.  Including the millions that lived here before Christians ever showed up.
• Anti-muslim comments
• Complaints about not being able to say "Merry Christmas" 
• References to "Holiday Trees"
• Putting the Christ back into Christmas
• The Grinch or Scrooge

Something tells me I'm going to be feeling rough tomorrow.

Parenting Win plus Other Things.

Oh Hallowe'en.  Just because I've been slow on the uptake as far as preparations go, doesn't mean I don't love you as much as I always have.

I usually take this holiday pretty seriously.  My kids take the brunt of it.  The oldest one mostly just humours me but the youngest has taken my enthusiasm for blood and creepiness and run with it.  I dropped her off at a Halloween party at her friend's place today.  At the door we were greeted by a Little Red Riding Hood, and a cute little skeleton and an adorable cowgirl.

And then there's my kid, looking, very much of her own accord, like something coughed up from the very bowels of hell.  Gray, pasty skin, scraggly black hair and blood dripping from her eyes.

I'm so proud.

**********************************************

Back in 2004, I took a road trip to Fort Frances, Ontario which is roughly a 20-hour drive away from where I live.  On the way, I stopped for the night and slept in the back of my car in the back of a Ford dealership outside of Wawa, Ontario.  In the cramped backseat of my 1992 Ford Tempo, I had dreams of my children turning into werewolves.

As of yesterday, a good chunk of that dealership has been washed away with a stretch of the Trans-Canada highway.  It no longer exists.

Yeah.. I was parked right around there.  - Source

I'm thinking that's a metaphor for something, but I don't know what.

Months later, reflecting on an unexpected text message

So, here I am making an honest-to-Gord attempt to be a good blogger with more than one post in a week.  Bear with me as there are bound to be errors since typing on the iPad is a royal pain.  I can't complain too much as the computer is an option.  However the idea of lying in a warm bed to blog was a lot more appealing than sitting at a computer desk.

Better company, too.

Anyway, I've been thinking the last few days about an occurrence that took place back around my birthday.  I had wanted to write about it but I guess I hadn't quite parsed out on my feelings on the whole thing.

I got a text, out of nowhere, from a friend I hadn't spoken to in almost two years.  She had been my best friend for 18 years.  We had a falling-out and well.. Things were said.  Feelings were hurt and then nothing more was said.  That was it.  We weren't friends anymore.

"They say friends don't destroy one another
What do they know about friends?"

 So back in August, I was having a quiet evening with The Guy On The Other Side of The Bed when my cell buzzed.   My stomach had dropped when I read the name and my heart started racing.  I felt vaguely nauseated, nervous, and tears came to my eyes as they are prone to whenever... well... whenever.  The message said only "Hey."  I had never deleted her from my phone, so her name came up immediately.  I thought of a reply that I felt would accurately convey my shock at hearing for her after almost two years.

"Um, hi?"

What ensued was pretty much history's shortest, most awkward small-talk text conversation.  Part of me wanted to engage more, but at that point I was wary.  I couldn't fathom why, after so much time, was she trying to reach me, especially when i had made a couple of attempts to reach out over the past few years with no response or acknowledgement.  When I ran out of small talk, I simply stopped replying.

I found out later from my mother that my dad had run into her at the store.  She was in town with her family, and he suggested she call me.  I guess it's harder for someone to hang up on a text?  I guess if it were me I'd be hesitant to pick up the phone, as well, not knowing what reaction would be waiting on the other end.  I'd considered calling, but I think I was still angry and still felt as though I was owed an apology.  I'm sure she may have felt the same way.  I don't know, I can only speculate.  Truth is, I still miss her but I am still hurt about the way things went down.

I'm still not entirely sure how I feel, at any rate.  I don't regret my part in it, only that my timing could have been better.  I sleep well at night, knowing I've done things on my own terms and at my own pace, in a way I've felt was best for myself and my children.  I don't apologize for these things, or for having times that were difficult to navigate.

I have friends, dear friends and The Guy On The Other Side of The Bed and family, all whom get that I am not perfect, far from it and for that I am eternally grateful.   I guess it still gets to me sometimes.
Such is life.

Weekend Update... but sadly, not the one with Tina Fey or Norm MacDonald even.

This will be a much shorter post than I had originally anticipated as I have roughly five minutes to throw a quick post up while I finish my coffee before I have to head into the bathroom, pretty myself up a bit and head out for another FUN-filled week at work.

Friday night, after getting the Sunday newsletters to bed, I went for a quick drink with my fellow co-workers.  Fun, and something that should be done more often I think.  Couldn't stick around long as I had a previous engagement to go thrift-store shopping with one of my best friends.  I scavenged for parts to my halloween costume, which came to me through Pinterest at the last second and managed to pick up a winter jacket and some curtains for my front window so I can stop flashing the neighbours.  As per usual, K and I ended up reducing ourself to giggling fits to the amusement of the Goodwill staff with our running commentary regarding some of the more... um... 'unique' and 'vintage' finds.

For dinner we went to a nearby East Side Mario's where my menu had gunk on it and our waiter threw coasters at us and hovered while we tried to decide.  It was disconcerting, this manner.  He was not an incompetent waiter.. all our order arrived in a timely manner and as requested.  But so aggressive! It was like he was waitering AT us.  Not the most impressive restaurant experience I've had.

Saturday was a day of coffee and cuddles and relaxing and not getting much of anything done.  Wouldn't have done it any other way.  That night I travelled to Toronto with Tess to Toronto to see the Mountain Goats in concert.  I have written previously my love for this band so you know this was very exciting for me.

See the excitement? My phone is shit and I don't have a working camera right now, so this is what you get for pictures.

The show was not disappointing (aside from the fact that the Phoenix is sorely lacking in seating of any kind so my legs were not happy the next day).  John Darnielle - with whom I got to meet and speak briefly - comes across on stage as someone who not only is happy with what he does, but genuinely excited... like 'Holy shit I can't believe I get to do this for a living' excited when he performs.

They played a number of newer songs, along with older tracks that I recognized as well.  J.D. also manages to engage the audience, telling stories and interacting and improvising.  There were a few tunes I got the impression had been made up on the spot.  If that's the case... wow.  Just wow.  Amazing.

The night ended with 'No Children' which, anyone who goes to Open Mike night knows, is probably my favorite tune of theirs.  An excellent choice for the end of night sing-along.

Oh dear.  I've gone way past my time limit.  Gotta go throw my face on.

Tootles, all.

I've been reading again.

So back when I was in school, I bought and/or procured a shit-load of books, mostly those that had been mentioned in class, with the intention of reading them.  The snag was that while in school, I never had time read anything other than the required texts for my classes.  Once I graduated, my brain went into sleep mode and I wanted nothing more than to immerse myself in comic books, suspense thrillers and Harry Potter.

I was burnt out.

I also starting blogging and reading blogs a lot more in this time so my reading materials mostly consisted of other blogs and my books got sorely neglected.  So five years later I'm getting back into reading some of those more 'meaty' books I picked up in school.

I just finished "The Road To Wigan Pier" and I was struck by how a book that was published over 80 years ago holds relevant in many ways today.  Some of the parallels I found between his descriptions of the unemployed in Britain in the 1930s and prevailing attitudes toward the unemployed and working poor at the time similar to some of the misconceptions the Occupy movement attempted to address this past year.  Namely the idea that the unemployed don't want to work.  Both Orwell and the Occupy movement pointed out that most unemployed are willing to work, were the the work there and available at a living wage.

The book comes from a very pro-Socialism standpoint.  His thesis seems to be that unless a lot of people embrace socialism very soon, the only alternative will be Fascism which, to paraphrase, is basically Socialism without any of the good stuff.  He points out a few reasons that people at the time were hesitant to consider it, despite agreeing with many of the ideals.  One argument, that could easily applied to today and the tendency of lower-middle class to accept the fallacy of trickle-down economics, is that the class-conciousness of the time meant that people who, by upbringing, considered themselves 'middle-class' (described by Orwell as 'those who pronouce their aitches') were being pushed into the working class by way of economics.   One who was raised to think of themselves as a higher class than the working class may, out of fear of 'losing their place', be apt to align themselves with systems that benefit the rich, than systems that are actually more likely to be in their own best interests.

The other issue Orwell brings up is the tendency to avoid Socialism out of a desire not to align oneself with the prevailing ideal of what it means to be a "Socialist".  The caricature of the pistachio-shirted, sandalled, stuffy, boring, intellectual type is similar to the image of the man-hating, hairy-legged butch lesbian who will scream at someone who holds doors that causes many people to say "Yeah, I believe men and women should have the same rights, but I'm not a feminist..."  

(For the record, I fully identify as a feminist, but I am still grateful when someone holds a door for me.. why?  BECAUSE IT'S A NICE THING TO DO, NO MATTER WHO YOU ARE.)

Long story short, I found this book a hell of a lot more interesting than I had originally thought I would.  The descriptions of the daily lives of the British coal miners and the living conditions of the unemployed of the working poor at the time made me look around at all I have and thank Gord for what I have.  The later parts of the book where he describes the machine age and its effects on the human population had me nodding in agreement, as many of the passages could easily have been written today.

Morning.

Sitting in the silence of the mid-morning with a coffee and the sunlight streaming through the living room windows and the cat purring contentedly on the easy chair I feel completely and totally at peace.

There is a roof overhead and food in my pantry.  My children are happy and healthy and I am well-loved.   At 32, I've come to terms with my body and made amends with my past and look, hopefully and enthusiastically to the future, while I savor the present and for this moment, I am home.