Garden of Daisies

Archive for May, 2006

New Poem

Check it out, if you’re into that kinda thing ;).

(I officially dub this the day of short unrelated posts)

2 comments May 31st, 2006

A Summer’s Rain

As I walked home today a summer rain began to wash away the heat of the days before. Large drops forced my chin down to protect my eyes and my back enjoyed the sensation of cool.

Lightening cracked across the sky, and claps of thunder reminded anyone who cared to listen that humans, city-dwellers or otherwise would never be more powerful than nature.

Add comment May 31st, 2006

I often wonder if I didn’t know that depression (among other things) runs in my family would I worry so much when I’m feeling down? I sometimes wonder how bad it is for your mental health to study psychology.

It would be nice to just have a headache, and feel drained and not worry about it.

Add comment May 31st, 2006

nature vs. nurture, boys vs. girls

“If a society puts half its children in dresses and skirts but warns them not to move in ways that reveal their underpants, while putting the other half in jeans and overalls and encouraging them to climb trees and play ball and other oudoor games: if later, during adolescence, the half that has worn trousers is exhorted to “eat like a growing boy,” while the half in skirts is warned to watch its weight and not get fat; if the half in jeans trots around in sneakers or boots, while the half in skirts totters about on spike heels, then these two groups of people will be biologically as well as socially differant. Their muscles will be different, as will their reflexes, posture, arms, legs and feet, hand-eye coordination, spatial perception, and so on…there is no way to sort out the biological and social components that produce these differences, therefore no way to sort nature from nurture”
-Ruth Hubbard (1990) The Politics of Women’s Biology. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. 115-116

2 comments May 29th, 2006

You, me and the weather

You me, you me and the weather
You me, you me and the storm
You me, you me here together
You me, you me safe and warm
You me, we got things together
You me, we both been warned of all that could happen
Two lovers that walk on the lines there
Yeah they told us beware
But we never cared, oh no
We just went on in our usual way, oh ah
We never cared, oh ah

You me, you me getting wetter
You me, swimming for the shore
We’re swallowed like daylight into morning
We’re swallowed we care not any more
You me, we got things together
You me, we both been warned of all that could happen
To lovers that love like the lions dare
We bring us to shore
They couldn’t ignore all the times we were lost on their usual way, oh no

Some are fighting hard, some are laying low
Pretty ones are hanging on a wing

You me, you me and the weather
You me, you me and the storm
You me, you me here together
You me, you me safe and warm
You me, we’ve been together
And you me, we’ve both been warned about all that could happen
To lovers that tug on the reigns end

Some are lying hard, some are lying low
Pretty ones are hanging on a wing

Some are lying hard, some are laying low
Pretty ones are hanging on a wing

Some are fighting hard, some are laying low
Pretty ones are hanging on a wing

Some are fighting hard, some are laying low
Pretty ones are hanging on a wing
–Hawksley Workman

Add comment May 23rd, 2006

Love by Association

For most of my life he has lived in Ireland, and for all of my life he has been very ill, but from what I understand my father was a captivating man.

People who knew my father before, and who see my brother and I now, they always go out of their way to tell us stories. They know how young we were when he left, and how sick he was our whole lives…and it’s like they feel it’s their duty to share with us what he was to them. And it’s a powerful and strange feeling: this love they attribute to us because of who our father was. A man who we barely know and yet who helps to make up who we are.

An old friend of my father’s died last weekend, and basically for that reason my mom and I went today to visit some friends they had shared. The friends we went to visit are an old Irish couple. Hugh, the husband has been suffering from MS for decades and is finally completely bedridden, basically able to do little but move his eyes. For most of the visit my mom and I sat in the living room with his amazing (read: powerful, strong, independant, loving, caring) wife, their son, his wife, and their four-month-old daughter. Then, just before it was time to leave, we went in to see Hugh, me with the baby in my arms. I had been told that his short term memory was gone, and knew that he was very ill, so I prepared myself first of all to not be remembered at all, and second of all to see someone painfully unable to communicate.

I was ill-prepared.

I was the last to walk into the room. By the time I got there it was clear that Hugh had recognized my mother and was happy to see her. When I stepped into view Hugh’s wife said, “This is Padraigin, all grown up. Isn’t she just the image of her father?” and Hugh’s son said “She is. Doesn’t she just look exactly like Murph?”, and I smiled and looked at him. And he looked at me. And I could see clearly in his eyes the thoughts: “Excellent. Padraig’s daughter is beautiful, alive, healthy and strong” I could see that that made him genuinely happy: that despite all the pain my parents went through, and how completely my father’s life fell apart, that in this man’s eyes seeing me–the baby born right into the middle of it–all grown up made it at least partly O.K. I could feel the love that that man had for my father pouring into the way he looked at me. And it was unreal.

Then he noticed that I was holding his granddaughter, and he looked like he felt all was right with the world. I wanted to cry.

Add comment May 21st, 2006

Just a Wednesday night

I want to write about how feminists are perpetuating patriarchy. I want to write about how by pushing for gender equality they themselves are actually quenching women. I want to write about how when they argue that women have been opressed by being kept out of managerial and high-paying jobs they are falling victim to the idea that those jobs are actually the good ones. I want to write about how feminists are being dooped by the patriarchal-capitalist system even as they try to fight it.

I want to explain all these ideas because I think it will help women, and because I think it will help our (very sick) society.

But I don’t now how yet.

p.s. Today a raindrop fell directly on to the tip of my nose, and it made me smile.

2 comments May 17th, 2006

Stereotypes and a Justifiable Double Standard

Today in my class on gender roles the instructor talked to us about a double standard when it comes to attractiveness and aging: while women are percieved as less attractive as they age, men are actually perceived as more attractive.

This was being put forth as a terrible injustice. And I just had to raise my hand.

“Doesn’t it make sense from a biological perspective?” Women gradually become less fertile before the point of menopause when they become completely unable to reproduce, and their physical appearance can be a pretty good indicator (although certianly not a perfect one!) of where in that process they are. Men on the other hand do not stop being able to reproduce. Infact as men age it is more likely that they will be successful and established and able to both provide for and protect a family–biologically speaking that sounds pretty attractive.

Ya, my feminist professor didn’t like that one bit. She responded by acknowledging that yes from a “biological” (and as she said it, the word dripped with disgust) perspective it makes sense, but in this course we will not restrict ourselves to a biological perspective. We will look at the biological, the sociological, the cultural. “Because,” she added “that makes biological sense, but it doesn’t explain the sociological side. What about the people that can’t reproduce at all?” she said in a way that was clearly supposed to make my heart bleed, make me retract my insensitive statement.

My problem with her defense, of course, wasn’t that she wanted to look at the topic from varying angles: I’m all over that. It’s that instead of integrating them she was pitting them against each other. Precisely what is fascinating about the biological perspective is that it does help to explain the sociology behind what we find attractive. She tried to discredit my point by saying that it placed value on reproduction: but that’s something we do naturally. We are animals, that were designed to reproduce–and that is going to have very powerful implications on how we behave and percieve others. Does that really mean that people who can’t reproduce are of less value? Of course not! Humans are incredably complicated animals with countless overlapping value systems. It does mean, however, that biologically speaking they are of less reproductive value, and considering that physical attraction is related to sexuality is related to sex is related to reproduction–it would make sense that they be less physically attractive.

All of this was discussed toward the middle of a lecture which was entirely focused on revealing evil stereotypes for the terrible damnable things that they are–which was another thing I found funny in and of itself.

She put a picture of Paris Hilton (looking sensual in a light summer dress with sultry eyes directed to the camera, blonde hair cascading down her back) up next to a female tennis player mid-swing with a look of determination and sweat on her forhead. Her point was that we attribute more feminity to Paris Hilton. Her point was that in doing so we see the tennis player as more masculine. Was she right? At a first glance: sure. And that’s exactly what stereotypes are for, quick assessments so that we can move forward without overanalyzing ever step we take. Once we were sitting there thinking about it, I had to admit that I figure Miss Tenis was probably like alot of athletic girls and when it comes time to dress up for the athletic banquet she’s bloody gorgeous. Once we were thinking about it. But again, you go to the biology of it and Paris when that shot was taken was thinking about being that girl–she was thinking about being sexy. Miss Tennis, was trying to make a shot. Picking up Paris while she’s wearing a slinky little dress in heals, probably easier than coming onto Miss Tennis in the middle of a tournament. i.e. How relevant is Miss Tennis’ feminity while she is playing tennis–really?

Stereotypes aren’t evil. They are dangerous if you live by them. But to get by day-to-day they are necessary.

Picture a pretty girl walking alone in a park at night who notices a man in the shadows. Now, if upon noticing him her heart skips a beat and she starts moving a little faster toward home with her eyes glancing around too see if there is anyone else there is she being sexist and making an unfair value judgement on his character? No. She is just doing what she can do when there is no other information available. Making an assumption because it’s all she’s got. Of course not every guy is a potential rapist. Not even close. But… well for example I saw an episode of C.S.I. the other day where a petite blonde dressed up in a mermaid costume (she’s been performing at a child’s birthday party) was raped and murdered while she was walking home through a park. My initial thought? What girl walks home through a park late at night dressed in anyway provocatively? That’s just stupid. Stereotypically speaking it’s a bad idea.

Now for a quick announcement from MasterCard: Living by assumptions and making laws of stereotypes is very stupid. Trying to live without assumptions and stereotypes is even stupider.

(yes I said stupider).

2 comments May 16th, 2006

Sex Roles and Behaviour

This post is two things:
1. a prelude to my summer course
2. me getting something off my chest.

I was asked the other day by a very good male friend if I had “let” a new guy in my life “do me”. My heart sank immediately. And then the next day, as the thought settled in I thought “You know what? Screw you.”

I don’t “let” anyone do anything to my body. I make choices with people to do things we both want to do and both have every intention of enjoying.

“Who are you to word it to make me the victim?” I thought. “To imply that I’d be the one to have given in?”

My body is mine, and I am proud of the fact that more often than not I do exactly what I want to do with it. I like, need and want sex as much as the next guy– I don’t put up with it, or let guys have it–what is that even supposed to mean?

I am so sick of the idea that women are the inherant victims in sexual relationships. I am tired of having close girlfriends of mine that feel guilty and sinful for using their bodies exactly as they were designed to be used. I am tired of the notion that it is up to females to be chaste: that it’s o.k. for guys to push and girls are thought to be the ones to give in or not. Fuck that. Everybody makes their own decisions.

This summer I will be taking a psychology course on sex roles and behaviour; and I am very excited about it. I am particularly interested because of the views I already hold on the differant sex and gender roles. I acknowledge that the desire for chaste women is an international, multicultural thing–and that studies have shown that women more likely to be in committed relationships tend to be regarded as more attractive. From a biological perspective it makes sense. Women play the discriminatory role in mate selection. Women will carry the children. And yet in today’s day and age–with the contraception that is available this is one of the few areas where as far as I’m concerned we’re stronger for stepping away from what may be the natural biology.

Promescuity, no. Just control over, ownership of, and pride in our own bodies: my one concession to feminists.

4 comments May 13th, 2006

Poems and Papers

Rooted through some journals and resurrected some poetry this morning…as well as posting some papers from the spring term. So if you’re bored and feel like wandering through someone’s writing–enjoy!

Poems:
Depression
Goodbye
Poker
Sweet Lies
Thin Ice
Too Late
We were Silent
–no dates on the poetry in order to facilitate some level of anominity when it comes to the people involved

Papers:
Computation and Mental Illness
–using computation as an analogy for understanding the various levels of mind and the implications this holds for the treatment of mental illness
Evolution in Song
–a look into religion as an evolutionary tool, particularly the role that song plays in uniting church communities

Add comment May 12th, 2006