DumbOkie

West Virginia: A Pyrrhic Victory?

2008-05-16T09:34:00.002+01:00

Oh good for Hillary. She should be really thrilled to celebrate her victory over Barack Obama in a state full of white racists who will never vote for a Black man (or woman for that matter). How must it feel for her to know that West Virginians voted for her in order to vote against a man because of the colour of his skin? Even if she gains the Democratic nomination, these West Virginians aren't going to vote for her anyway. They're going to vote for that so-called straight-talkin' McCain.

This victory in West Virginia is not a victory for the Clinton campaign. And it's a defeat for anyone who has hope for racial equality in the United States. Go ahead, Hillary, try to make this win in West Virginia work to your advantage. The more you talk it up, the uglier you will look.

Congratulations.

If Obama loves Reagan, Does Dumb Okie love Obama?

2008-01-19T09:56:00.000Z

What does Obama mean here?

Even the most benign interpretation of this quote is troubling. At best he is merely expressing an appreciation of Regan's ability to connect to people. If so, as the Professor says, we should remember that Adolf Hitler had the same ability. So maybe we shouldn't be so free with our appreciation of this skill.

The more troubling interpretation of this quote is that Obama reveals more than appreciation for Reagan's ability to connect with the American public. Maybe this quote reveals that Obama also agrees with Reagan's policies and maybe even ideologies. I find this sinister interpretation hard to reconcile with Obama's record, but I can't rule it out just yet.

Before she can love you, Barack, Dumb Okie needs to know: do you really love Reagan, and if so, how?

Golfweek: Keeping racism alive and well!

2008-01-18T18:45:00.000Z

Dear Mr Babineau,

It's good that you have replaced Dave Seanor, but how are you ever going to repair the damage done?

A noose? On the cover of a golf magazine? 'Lynching' in an article about Tiger Woods? How hideously, hideously frightening that something that blatantly over-the-top racist wasn't picked up by any single staff member who worked on that issue. Everyone who was involved in that issue needs some basic, remedial anti-racism training. They need to go, say, twice a week, for the next 10 years or so.

Wow. Your magazine really showed that racism is alive and kicking in the Good ol' U.S. of A., as well as (we all know) in the good ol' boys' game of golf. You've got a lot of badness to undo. Good luck.

The 15th of January was the anniversary of Dr. King's birthday, too. You really couldn't have timed it any better. What a message. I guess your magazine has set back the racial integration of golf, say, to 1960. Good job!

For March (Women's History Month), why don't you put a picture of a woman being raped by a 9-iron on your cover? Then you can keep them out of golf, too.

Sincerely,

Dumb Okie

Obama v. Clinton

2008-01-16T17:12:00.000Z

Dear Professor Melissa Harris Lacewell,

Last night I listened to your debate with Gloria Steinem as I walked home from work. And it was fascinating exchange. I was sad to hear Gloria Steinem, after all these years, not really getting it. And I was sad to hear her arguments so poorly articulated. Clearly, it seems to be time for women like Steinem to pass the torch to women like you. Now, I love Gloria Steinem and respect what she has accomplished. I am indebted to Second Wave feminism, but my indebtedness is informed by my understanding of its inherent limitations and flaws. As much as I was saddened to hear Gloria Steinem less than up to the challenge of a televised debate on race and gender, I was proud to hear you as one of today's spokeswomen for contemporary feminism.

I heard my own thoughts on the Obama v. Clinton debate summarized in the arguments you presented on Democracy Now! You made your points far more persuasively than I could ever manage to do and you put into words some ideas that I had but not fully formed into coherent arguments. Thank you for putting into words what I had been thinking and feeling but could not yet communicate. As a White American feminist who is deeply concerned with matters of race and ethnicity, of these two candidates, Barack Obama for the exact reasons you so clearly explained.*

It is true that I'd like to see a woman -- of any ethnicity -- in the White House! But I don't want to see just any woman in the White House. Clinton is not my woman. And yes, I'd like to see a Black American -- of any gender -- in the White House. To see a Black American in the White House would be an amazing and wonderful and truly overdue step forward. Of course, I would not want to see just any Black American in the White House. For example, I wouldn't want to see Condoleezza Rice as President. As a White feminist, I can revel in the glee and joy and surprise of a Black man running for the White House just as much as I can revel in the fact that a White woman is running for the White House. And I do revel in the fact that people who fit those categories have broken through barriers and have the opportunity to run in this election. But when it comes down to choosing between Clinton & Obama, I choose Obama.*

Although the following is an oversimplification, I'll go ahead and say it: I trust Obama with gender more than I trust Clinton with race. She simply won't fight the fights that I think he just might be willing to take on. He will take more risks -- and fight for more -- than she will. She will compromise more than he -- on both race and gender. Clinton would like us to believe that her consciousness about race and class and sexual orientation is as acute as her consciousness about gender. But I think not. (I don't even think her gender consciousness is that acute -- at least not anymore. Maybe it was at one time in her history.) Her support for her husband's policies such as Defense of Marriage Act and welfare 'reform' and 'Don't ask Don't Tell' demonstrates her failure to see the power of institutionalized racism and classism and heteronormativity. She cannot (or will not) do for the U.S. what Barack Obama is more likely to at least try to do.

On Democracy Now you made a long list of points with which I agreed, but I'll single out only one more to comment on: Your analysis of Hillary Clinton's tearfulness, her 'hurt', etc. as subtle theatre that played on the fears of White Americans about the threatening Black man was both insightful and dismaying. It was dismaying because of its validity. It fit. My mind and my gut both told me you hit the nail on the head. It's exactly the kind of subtle, modern racism that actually perpetuates and reproduces uneasy and uncomfortable and distrustful relations between Black and White folks. I agree with you that her reaction to Obama's victory in Iowa elicited a white female sympathy vote in New Hampshire, women who just might have stayed home had Clinton not played into their fears and anxieties.

Finally, I would just like to say that you are an amazing woman. Thank you for all that you do.

With respect,
Dumb Okie
*Of course, in an ideal world, either Dennis Kucinich or Mike Gravel would win the Democratic primaries. They are the only candidates that are on the left side of the political spectrum. But for some reason, the typical Democrat can't see past moderate liberalism. Of course, neither can the so-called 'liberal' media that so thoroughly block these candidates' messages from reaching the general public.

Fellow Earthlings, Do you Eat or Wear Animals?

2008-01-07T23:25:00.000Z

Then you need to know where your clothes and food come from.

Watch this film.

Now how do you feel?

...But Murder Doesn't?

2007-09-19T17:02:00.000+01:00

So a 70 year old Indian gramma was sentenced to prison today because she and her son lured the son's wife back to India from England and then murdered her. Why? Because the daughter-in-law wanted a divorce. Divorce dishonors the family, but murder and insurance fraud do not.

huh?

I'm familiar with honor killings. I mean, not intimately familiar, although my friend's cousin was killed in an honor killing. I know about them because I'm a feminist and I care about women. I care about honor killings and female genital mutilation in other cultures just as I care about domestic violence and 'honor killings' amongst my own people. It's not much different in the U.S. and in the U.K., 'cept in those places, when it's white men doing the killing, they call it a 'crime of passion'. Right. It's all the same. And it's very, very sad.

Is this sexy CD?

2006-10-09T11:08:00.000+01:00

Sometime ago I lost my Strange Little Girls CD by Tori Amos. This morning on my way to work I decided to go into the local used CD store to see if they had a replacement. All they had were Little Earthquakes and Boys for Pele, which I obviously have. As I was randomly flipping through other CDs, a middle aged Indian man says, "Excuse me, excuse me, is this sexy CD?" as he pointed to this CD. Now, remember, I'm shopping for Tori Amos. If from that you conclude that I am not a huge connoisseur of rap music, you would be right. From the cover, I immediately conclude that it probably is someone's idea of 'sexy'. But this conclusion is a rather obvious one that any grown man should be capable of reaching without my assistance. Does he simply want to know my opinion on the sexiness of this particular CD? Or is this a come-on? Perhaps, unbeknownst to me, this CD shop is actually the local hangout for johns. Maybe his question is actually the secret phrase passed between johns and prostitutes looking to earn a quick £ behind the record shop at 10:30 on Monday morning. And I fit this profile? No, I must have misunderstood him. I am very confused and not a little suspicious. I say, "I'm sorry?" (By the way, why do we say I'm sorry when we mean, "What the f***? I'm SURE I didn't hear you right!") "Is this sexy CD?!" he again demanded of me as he impatiently tapped the Shaggy CD that he held out in front of me. Although I am still not sure I have correctly understood him, I decide his intentions are not good and said, "I'm sorry, but I don't work here, so I wouldn't know if that is sexy CD. Perhaps you should address your question to the clerk at the counter" as I quickly exited the store. That'll teach me to shop on company time.

Zidane, Why?

2006-07-10T09:13:00.000+01:00

Why did Zidane do what he did? And let me ask two provocative questions: 1) Despite the fact that a football player can probably hit people pretty hard with his head, don't y'all think that Italian player hammed it up a little bit? Wasn't that fall a bit too acrobatic? 2) Don't you think the Italian player must have said something really, really inappropriate to to elicit such a reaction? Wouldn't a fair reaction from the referees have been to investigate what was said? Surely a verbal attack can, in theory, deserve a yellow card if a physical attack can deserve a red one? I'm not excusing Zidane -- I think it would have been far better if he'd turned around and headbutted a ball into the goal rather than headbutting the Italian guy. I think Zidane played right into his hands -- I think this was the Italian strategy: to get Zidane ejected. And Zidane gave him what he wanted.

Megabus: Don't!

2006-07-08T13:10:00.000+01:00

I got back home for good this morning at 3am. I left The Professor late on the Fourth of July -- but just barely, as it seemed the entire Dutch train system had collapsed. My train to the airport was cancelled and I had to take a detour on a train through Utrecht that was delayed 40 minutes. After a last-minute platform change at Utrecht caused a panicked race down one flight of stairs and up another, dragging my awkward and heavy wheelie bag behind me, I managed to get to the airport and get on my flight. I retrieved my luggage and caught the shuttle bus to the train station where I then caught the last train to Crocodileville with time to spare. This time was not a time to relax, however, because even though it was the Fourth of July, it was cold. Cold on the Fourth of July. This is not my climate. In addition, it seems the Last Train to Crocodilleville is a favorite with many drunken and chatty young men.

I arrived in Crocodileville at about 1am, with just enough time to take a short nap, water the plant, pack my backpack, and turn around to catch the 9:00 Megabus to attend a conference in the hometown of the Bee Gees (HBG). For those of you who don't know, Megabus is the Ryan Air of the road, with fares one way beginning at £1.00 if you book early enough. Except travel on Megabus makes memories of travel by Ryan Air reflect a feeling of First Class luxury.

The Megabus was a packed double decker, so I sat on the upper deck, where there were 88 other bodies, no circulation, no ventilation, no air condition, and the temperature outside was reported to be around 30C or more. Our bus made only three stops between Crocodilleville and the Home of the Bee Gees, but we didn't arrive until 17:45.

The conference was over yesterday and I reluctantly queued up to take the return Megabus journey back to Crocodilleville. The bus route began in Major Metropolitan World City (MMWC), in the southern region of the country. It was supposed to stop in HBG at 17:00 and arrive in Crocodilleville at 00:45. Remember that Megabus has NO rented space in the bus station: They have no gate, they have no ticket office, they have no employees posted there. Further, they often do not have any signs indicating where passengers are picked up and dropped off. Shortly before 17:00, the 17:15 Megabus, travelling to MMWC arrived early. But by 17:45, there was still no sign of my Megabus. What do you do when your Megabus doesn't show up? First, I and the other 20 or so people in the sprawling queue, most of whom had been there since 16:30 or so, stood around like mules. It is amazing how little action people take in times like these.

No phone number was included in the hard copy of my reservation confirmation and terms of service, although there was evidence of a link to a phone number to "contact us". So I called the Professor and had him look up the number on the Megabus.com website. Miracle of all miracles, a human being named Emma answered the phone. She wasn't aware of any bus problems or delays, but would investigate and call me back. Which she actually did. When she did, she had no news or help other than to say that the driver must be stuck in traffic because he hadn't reported any problems and he wasn't answering the phone. And she was right. The bus showed up almost exactly one hour late.

I entered the packed bus and again had to sit on the upper deck. Remember, this bus had been on the road for three hours already, travelling northbound. Upon entering the bus I was hit by a wall of stink. The piss smell coming from the toilet was the first assault. The second began immediately after, at the stairs leading to the upper deck: bodies and feet and old food. No air circulation, ventilation, or air condition. We get on the road, travel for no more than two hours, then stop to the side of the road. Out tumbles a young man who has thrown up all over his purple shirt, shorts and laptop case, followed by two young women, one of whom is apparently his partner or sister, who strips his shirt off him (fortunately he is wearing a t-shirt underneath), tries to clean up the vomit, and otherwise care for him. The view behind him is a strange combination of the pastoral (sheared sheep grazing near the highway) and the industrial (in the distance a gigantic factory vomited its own waste into the air from three of its four smokestacks). We sat there, I think, for about an hour. One of my upstairs mates, a woman travelling with husband, adolescent son and pre-adolescent daughter, goes downstairs and offers assistance (she is apparently a nurse or some other health professional. Surely she is not a doctor. Surely doctors do NOT travel on Megabus). Eventually an ambulance and traffic safety officials arrive, the young man is attended and taken away, statements are taken from those who were directly involved, and the bus departs (but not without stalling three times before we finally get on the road). I do not know why this young man became ill. The nurse did not offer her fellow passengers any information upon her return. I don't think he had appendicitis or anything like that. I am sure the Megabus made him sick. What surprises me is that more people don't get sick on the Megabus.

We advanced a few more miles and then pulled into a rest stop. I don't know if this was for the driver's benefit, but I doubt anything Megabus does is for passengers' benefit. Everyone but me exited the Megabus and returned with stinky fast food. I had brought snacks for the ride so I didn't need or want anything except clean air. But my desire for clean air was overridden by my absolute dread of piercing the wall of stink only to return and have to reacclimate to the smell all over again. So I stayed put. This time.

We finally resumed our travel and, after what in retrospect seems like only 30 or 45 minutes (at this point I have no idea as my coping strategy was to attempt to disconnect myself from any awareness of the passage of time), we pulled into another rest stop. As usual, no announcement was made as to why we stopped. I remained up top until I could stand it no more went downstairs to cool off outside. It was raining and a little cold. It felt very good. I overheard other passengers talking. We were about 40 minutes from the first major stop north of the border. Apparently the driver could not drive anymore (because of legal restrictions on length of time? had he lost his mind? had a mental breakdown?) and so we must wait at this rest stop until another Megabus arrived with another driver who would drive us the rest of the way. I went back upstairs and sat in the hot and the stink. I gazed into the open restaurant and in my daze formulated a plan. I exited the bus again and entered the restaurant where I purchased a cup of ice for £2 ($4) and took it back onto the bus to employ as my personal temperature control device.

Interestingly, when the new bus driver arrived (at midnight), he turned on the bus and the air conditioner worked. There was circulation, ventilation, and temperature reduction. Immediately. I got so cool -- cold -- I had to eventually put on my sweater. And my jean jacket. This is even though both previous bus drivers (the outbound bus driver and the first inbound bus driver) said they were "doing all they could do" to cool down the bus. I swear I think Megabus encourages drivers to leave the air conditioning off on the upper deck in order to economize. I have decided that Megabus has installed some kind of surveillance measure that tracks the energy consumption on its buses. Drivers who use too much energy by running the air conditioner are punished. Or, drivers who can withstand assaults from passengers are rewarded with bonuses for keeping down energy costs. Is this crazy thinking? I don't think so.

We pulled into the station at Crocodileville around 2:45, without any further incidents. Fortunately, I immediately got a taxi and was finally home a few minutes before 3:00.

Will I never take the Megabus again? I don't know. I won't say NEVER because I'm afraid to have to eat those putrid words some day in the future. But my inclination is to say that my days of long distance bus travel are over.

Anyone who has similar Megabus experiences, please comment and tell me about them.

World Cup 2006

2006-07-03T09:12:00.000+01:00

Yes, I've become a bit preoccupied with the World Cup. Unfortunately, my pick (T&T) didn't make it past the preliminaries. But they held off England until the 82nd minute and I am proud of them for that. Then Portugal answered Scotland's prayer,"Please god, anyone but England". Who do we have left? Our host country (Germany) &amp; Italy; France & Portugual. It's gotten very interesting.

Fluffy Mackerel Pudding

2006-06-03T16:13:00.000+01:00

Planning your next dinner party?

May I suggest Cabbage Casserole Czarina followed by 'Caucasian Shashlik'?

Yum.

R. I. P. 25 Dec 03 - 01 June 06

2006-06-02T07:14:00.000+01:00

I cannot believe you have left me so soon. Our time together was too short. But in that time you became family to me. We were inseparable. And so intimate. You always snuggled close, in my ears, in my pocket; I often kept you cradled in my hand and gave you frequent caresses. And you knew me, better than almost anyone else. You had an uncanny perception of my mood and through your shuffle you provided the perfect soundtrack to my life. You worked and played with me. You comforted me in sad times, shouted with me in angry times, laughed with me in happy times. You made life bearable when I've been in places I didn't want to be. You protected me from hearing things I did not want to hear; you were a powerful and impenetrable barrier between me and unwanted others. Even in crowds, you could make it feel like you and I were the only two things that existed in the world.

We were a team. But somehow I let you down. It's true, I was not always as gentle with you as I should have been. Sometimes we were clumsy. I cannot say there were no accidents that might have contributed to your early demise. You had some ups and downs -- you had those little creaks and aches and pains that come along with age -- a little skip here, a little freeze here, your stamina was waning, you had to rest more often than you used to. But I didn't mind all that. Yes, I did worry about you, but I thought I took good enough care that, well, while I didn't think you would live forever, I thought we still had years together. Until yesterday, when you froze that final time. Like always, I energized you as soon as I could. But then the dreaded, fatal sign appeared on your sweet square face: the folder/exclamation point. I consulted experts. I attempted to follow their advice to the letter. But when I plugged you into your home base, Toshi couldn't even recognize you -- you "failed to mount". I know you struggled to survive: I could hear the agonized churns coming from your center. And in sympathy, my insides churned. Despite heroic efforts, I could not save you. I am sorry. You will be missed.

Mrs. Jesus

2006-05-28T16:09:00.000+01:00

I'm no different from perhaps a billion people on this planet -- I've read The DaVinci Code -- and Angels and Demons. I have to admit I was enthralled by the former, but then felt a little bit duped when reading Angels and Demons made it obvious how much the two are the cookie-cutter image of one another. I swore that two Dan Brown novels were enough for me and refuse to even look at the cover of a third. Dan, you are writing novels, not episodes for a TV series like Gilligan's Island. Stop trying to get off the island!

With all the critical writing and discussion going on about the new movie, however, I hope that this critical analysis of Brown's treatment of Mary, her transformation from one female stereotype (prostitute) to another (the wife and mother), is not overlooked.

Cast in this light, it reminds me of a dear friend of mine, who is an extraordinary political theorist. In her award-winning dissertation, she presented a very insightful and complicated analysis of the use of virtue and vice both within and outwith feminist circles -- of how both sides of this binary are used against women as well as how difficult it is for feminists to theorize outside and beyond virtue and vice.

*****

Beyond this, and on a personal note, this May has been the second crappiest May of all time for me. The last May that was this crappy happened in 1987. Which actually may be a source of hope. Both of these crappy Mays were, in part, due to serious malfunctions in judgment on my part. That doesn't mean that I did not have judgment malfunctions between these Mays. It just means that, given the fact that the first May really has had no negative impact on my life, maybe this May, in time, will not either. But I doubt it.

I thought we were supposed to become wiser as we become older. Sometimes I think I just get older and none the wiser. How long does it take to develop good judgment and caution? How long does it take to tame impulsiveness so that it occurs only in harmless contexts? I don't want to become such a cautious mouse that I never act spontaneously, but I am tired of creating unnecessarily painful situations for myself.

shower update

2006-05-15T22:49:00.000+01:00

Did I tell you the lovely Scottish electrician installed a completely new and updated fuse box for me? Do you know what that means? That means I take comfortably warm -- even hot -- showers for as long as I want to. I no longer have to place the anticipatory chair underneath the fuse box so that when the circuit breaks I can hop out of the shower, run down the hall, hop up on the chair, reach up and flip the switch, hop down from the chair, run back down the hall, hop back into my shower, and rinse my hair and body before the circuit breaks again.

Blessed goddess of wiring.

However, one of the ground floor flats was burgled and a roll of al-u-min-ium foil was found on the stairs. Al-u-min-ium foil is a sure sign of heroin smoking, so they tell me. I don't mind if people smoke heroin, I just don't want them doing it in my stairwell and burgling my flat. It could be that that al-u-min-ium and the burglary are unrelated. I'd hate to blame the heroin smokers for something they didn't do. They get a bad enough rap as it is.

I need renter's insurance.

Bitter

2006-05-12T15:10:00.000+01:00

I like where I work and I liked the people with whom I work.

Until today.

Today I feel betrayed.

But I also see what was obfuscated before.

I thought life might get easier. Instead, it just got harder.

Humour

2006-05-11T16:24:00.000+01:00

the Cutting Edge

(76% dark, 46% spontaneous, 15% vulgar)

your humor style:
CLEAN | SPONTANEOUS | DARK

Your humor's mostly innocent and off-the-cuff, but somehow there's something slightly menacing about you. Part of your humor is making people a little uncomfortable, even if the things you say aren't themselves confrontational. You probably have a very dry delivery, or are seriously over-the-top.

Your type is the most likely to appreciate a good insult and/or broken bone and/or very very fat person dancing.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: David Letterman - John Belushi

The 3-Variable Funny Test!
- it rules -

If you're interested, try my best friend's best test: The Genghis Khan Genetic Fitness Masterpiece

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 97% on darkness

You scored higher than 42% on spontaneity

You scored higher than 4% on vulgarity

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Foreign languages + flight materials = terrorist?

2006-05-07T11:29:00.000+01:00

Shame on Americans, again. Shame especially on passengers on American Airlines Flight 1874 , which departed from DFW on May 6, 2006. Shame on them for their reaction to hearing fellow passengers speak "foreign languages" and seeing them carry information on flying airplanes.

From the Associated Press, as reported on Yahoo! news:

Sat May 6, 10:18 PM ET
NEWARK, N.J. - Five airline passengers speaking in foreign languages and carrying "aircraft flight materials" were briefly detained Saturday until authorities determined they were simply returning to their home countries after attending a U.S. helicopter training school.

Fellow passengers on American Airlines Flight 1874, which had departed from Dallas Fort Worth International Airport, became suspicious of the men, said Steven Siegel, a spokesman for the
FBI's Newark office. A federal marshal on the plane notified authorities at Newark Liberty International Airport about the men's behavior.

. . .

He 'notified authorities...about the men's behavior'. What 'behavior'? Since when is speaking a foreign language a crime? And, despite September 11, I do not think that carrying aircraft flight materials is a crime, either. I guess it's the particular combination of foreign languages, aircraft flight materials, and probably the men's skin colours, that threatened these stupid Americans.

I want to know the name of the federal marshall who orchestrated this. He should be penalized for such a costly mistake, for humiliating those men. And so should the idiot American passengers who started this whole debacle in the first place. They should be publicly named and then put in the town stocks. Their own embarrasment should meet and exceed that which they caused for these innocent visitors to our country.

When is enough going to be enough? When is this fearmongering going to end? Where will this racism cloaked in the guise of 'national security' stop?

. . .

The men — identified only as four Angolan military personnel and an Israeli — had attended helicopter training school in Texas, Siegel said. Police officers from the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, which operates the airport, took the men into custody soon after the plane landed around 3:20 p.m., said a Port Authority spokesman.
After being questioned by authorities, the men were released around 6 p.m., Siegel said.
The plane was carrying 121 passengers and five crew members. All other passengers had been released.

cultural difference: Part II

2006-02-01T15:13:00.001Z

So it's not cultural difference. It's mere incompetence. Here's the reply I received yesterday from F*** (nice that her name has the same number of letters as another, very favored and often used, word in my vocabulary) at the PPA. Note that in the previous entry, Cultural Difference: Part I, I never used any title in any self-reference. And also note that the first reply that I received from F*** did not contain any salutation and that her tone was rather curt. But look at this new email. See how her tone has changed. Once she checked the facts in her files and found a) that she was wrong and b) those two pretty little letters that now introduce my name: the 'D' and the 'r', well, there's no way around it -- once F*** realized that, she changed. She grew... polite. How powerful is the team of the 'D' and the 'r'! Of what alchemy it is capable! It can change sour apples into apple pie!

But seriously, aren't I the same person who -- just last Friday -- didn't even deserve a salutation from her? There's a lesson here somewhere, but it's not about treating people with special letters like they're extra-special. It's about treating people, in general, with kindness. (It's a lesson I could stand to review every now again, myself. I know. You don't have to remind me.)

Here's F***'s email from yesterday (I will not comment on grammar, style, or punctuation. I will leave that to you):

Dear Dr DumbOkie
Further to your email sent at the end of last week, I have looked into your comments further and have discovered that there was a typo on the database and your flat is in fact 2/1, which links with Royal Mail.

We apologise for the confusion caused and we will be in contact with your utility suppliers to rectify the situation. If convenient we would like to ask you to come into our office to resign a corrected lease at any time. Our offices are open between 9-5 Monday-Friday.

Unfortunately as we do not have any connection with the flat next to yours we are unable to assist you in retrieving your mail.

Kind regards F***

====

This morning I visited F*** at her office and we signed a new lease together. She's promised to identify the appropriate government office and make enquiries about the names of the owners next door so that we can retrieve my mail. That's a sweet girl, that F***.

showering in the UK

2006-02-01T14:55:00.000Z

Seems to me the biggest battle I've had in the UK is over the shower. No matter where I live or where I visit, I have shower drama.

Today the the electrician came to the flat to have a look and see what he could fix. He was so competent and friendly! i really like the Scots. I especially like the way the roll their 'R'. And it's becoming somewhat easier to understand them. Despite warnings to the contrary, I haven't met a dour Scot yet (Except for F***, but maybe she's just the exception that proves the rule). He gave me lots of information about my electricity and my shower. here's the good, the bad, and the ugly:

THE GOOD: The Professor and I aren't dead. When the shower quit the first time, The Professor and I stood in the hall and stared at the electricity box for about 10 minutes with our thumbs up our noses. Turns out, that was the best place for our thumbs. If one of us had opened that box and messed around, it's possible we would have gotten the shock of our lives. It's a good thing we acted like the ignorant academics with no common sense that we are. The electrician said under no conditions should i open that box -- even to replace a blown fuse -- because the box is dangerous inside. While up on a step stool or ladder, I might lose my balance and reach out to steady myself -- and instead of getting steadied, I might steady my heart forever. He didn't have to tell me twice. You and I both know exactly how graceful I am.

THE BAD: the circuit that flips is an ancient model from around the time of Robert the Bruce and the warehouse doesn't seem to have any replacements. The temporary solution would be to replace this switch, but he doesn't think he'll be able to obtain one. if he could find one, he says it would probably last up to, max, a year before it needed to be replaced again. So, a stop-gap measure is only a stop-gap if you've got a stop.

THE UGLY: the small box that contains the malfunctioning circuit is no longer allowable. it's connection to the larger box is not quite illegal, but under today's regulations they are not allowed to simply replace that box when it has a fault. Rather, my ancient bigger box (the dangerous live box that I'm forbidden to open on threat of death), which powers the smaller box that powers the shower, will have to be overhauled and that will take a couple hundred pounds worth of parts. so, this is a big expense for the owners of my flat, which they probably didn't anticipate when they added this property to their empire. (or at least hoped they'd be able to indefinitely delay.)

the electrician will file a hazard report with [putative property management agency], PPA will will alert the owners, and the owners will decide whether i deserve an investment of 200 pounds so that i (and The Professor, and the Parentel, when they visit) can have a comfortable shower.
So, we'll see. Technically, they don't have to replace it, I guess. Ethically, they should.

cultural difference: part I

2006-01-30T10:09:00.000Z

Here is a recent exchange with my letting agent. Would anyone in the U.S. ever expect to have a "debatable" apartment number? Would it ever cross your mind that you needed to confirm the apartment number on your lease corresponds with the number that your postal carrier calls your apartment? Remember this exchange, dear friend, if you ever happen to find yourself living abroad. Like Gavin says, it's the little things that kill.

Dear _______,

I haven't been receiving my mail, so I put my name and flat number, 2/2, which is on my lease, on the door. The postal worker left a note saying that I'm actually 2/1. So, there are two things here: 1) I think important mail has been going in the mail slot next door, and 2) my lease is technically not valid. To me, this latter is rather trivial, but the former is quite important. There's been construction going on next door, so my hope is the same people who own my flat also own it, and, I hope, [your property management company] is managing it. We need to arrange entry into that flat so I can retrieve my mail. The less-urgent but nonetheless important issue is about the shower. The new shower was installed by the workers in a very efficient and professional manner. However, it became clear that the problem doesn't lie with the shower; it lies with the electrical circuit, which is not strong enough to operate the shower at a comfortable temperature. I therefore either take an uncomfortably cool shower or I take a warm shower punctuated by trips (two within 10 minutes) to the breaker box to hop upon a chair and re-set the broken circuit. I'm not an electrician, so I don't know what needs to be done, but I hope someone can come inspectthe wiring and see if it will be possible to improve the situation. In advance, thank you for your attention to these two matters--Kind regards, DumbOkie

The reply:

The official address for your flat is 2/2 although sometimes it can be debated if your flat is on the right when looking out from the flat to thefront or looking at it from the street. Putting your name on the door shouldsolve the mail problem. Unfortunately we do not have any details of the flat next door. I have contacted [putative electrician] to get in touch with you about your shower.
F--- Putative Property Management

My response:

Hello,
Thank you for the quick reply and thank you for contacting someone about the shower. I do look forward to having that matter resolved.

Regarding the matter of the mail, I do wish for a more satisfactory solution and I hope you can help me generate one. Although I have noticed workers going in and out of there, I haven't observed any activity there for the last 10 days or so. It is therefore unclear when anyone will return and how I will obtain my mail.

It may be the case that the house numbers are ambiguous, but I'm sure you can see from a tenant's point of view that the matter is not trivial and such unresolved ambiguities can be the source of substantial problems, including financial ones, for example, if bills are misdelivered and cannot be retrieved. I would think it is a fundamental of property management that the number assigned to a property corresponds to the number recorded with the Royal Mail, don't you? One usually does not expect to have to obtain verification of her own flat number upon moving into a new property. Usually, one can take it at face value that the flat number documented in a legally binding lease is accurate.

Fortunately, today I am working from home and had the opportunity to talk with the postal carrier. Unfortunately, he told me that he has put a lot of my mail into the other slot. I'm sure you agree with me that this matter is of serious concern, since the flat next door is empty, as I mentioned earlier, and therefore, I can only speculate about when and how I am going to be able to retrieve my mail.
Kind regards,
DumbOkie

So far, I've received no reply. And I don't expect to.

the corners of the internet universe

2005-11-15T23:55:00.000Z

I recently came across this. Whenever you need a break from whatever mindnumbing task you are working on, just randomly click through whatever images are presented in the right-hand bar. They change with each click so it gives the feeling of a random tour through their archives. amazing the things that people lose, and the the things that people find. Anyone who knows me also knows I could have a whole house full of items there. Grandma once put an odd twist on an old cliche and said that I would lose my butt if it wasn't attached.

I also recently found this fascinating diversion from everyday life. It is by some ol' guy, seemingly a Vietnam (or other) veteran. We might not agree about politics but his 'hobby' is brilliant. His commentary is sometimes moving, but it's also sometimes a little cheesy, especially the poems. Skip the poems, look at the photos. Don't miss this set (scroll down past the colour photo of the camera). I think it's the best. It's clearly from WWII. Any idea where these pictures were taken?

Finally, I can't get home any time soon. I miss home, I hate home, and I love home. Here are some things that I miss and that I love about home.

'Survivor' in the Academy

2005-10-07T09:14:00.000+01:00

I just got back 'home' (what is home to a grrrl who feels like she lives in three countries?) from my first experience with interviewing in the British university system. It is quite similar to that which they use back home in the good ol' U.S. of A., but it differs in one crucial respect: all candidates are evaluated simultaneously in what I've come to call 'Academic Survivor'. You could make a reality TV show out of it. Fortunately, although this was my first interactive experience with Academic Survivor, I was a member of the 'live studio audience' when my partner was a contestant (a strong contestant, I might add, albeit unsuccessful) two years ago at a university that shares its name with a city in the deep South of the good ol' U.S. of A., and which is the hometown of musicians ranging from the Moody Blues to Electric Light Orchestra to Ozzy Osbourne. Being a member of the live studio audience while my partner suffered was fortuitous for me because it gave me valuable insight into this sadistic selection method. The Brits throw all three candidates together into two nights and three days of artificial camaraderie during which you dine together the night of your arrival, then the next day sit together while you await your job talk 'performance' (thankfully without the other candidates in the audience), lunch together after the faculty have had a 30-minute closed-door gossip session about you and your job talks, embark together on tours of the department, go out together for friendly pints at the local contemporary arts centre, and then sit nervously together the next day while you wait your turn for formal interviews with the selection committee. All the while wondering, who of us is next to be voted off the Island of Academia and lose the coveted prize of guaranteed employment for the next years? Social comparisons run rampant as one scrutinizes one's fellow contestants, sussing out their strengths and weaknesses compared to one's own. For example, I almost immediately surmised that my co-candidate from a southern European country was little or no competition, not due to her research or intellect (about which I was unable to obtain any diagnostic information), but rather to her amazing inability to suppress her whinging on about various trivialities (as well as stuff more substantial, such as the climate). But then I saw her greeted warmly by a member of the faculty who is also from her homeland. Aha, I mused, an inside track! Nepotism of a sort. Will it trump her unpleasantness? The third candidate was a guy from the same university that had stupidly (although thankfully, but that's another, less interesting, story) failed to offer the job to my partner two summers ago. Early on, I evaluated this third candidate to have at least an equally strong research track record as I, but less teaching experience. Also less personality. Personality is where we Americans can often (but not always) win out over the Brits. Also in my favor: This candidate bows to the gods of experimental reductionism in our field of research, which might give him an edge in the broader scope of the field, but in the narrower scope of this job, i suspected would not favor him, as his interests simply did not match with those of the faculty (mine did). So, Dr. Whinge had done me the good deed of getting her own self voted off the island, but Dr. Boring was still 'stiff' competition. I set about the two nights and three days to work hard to make him the next to get the boot. Being my charming, self-effacing, enthusiastic self, and emphasizing how well I fit with the faculty, along with my clear advantage in the teaching department, seems to have been a successful strategy. Dr. Boring was soon voted off the island and I received my prize: a faculty position in the vaunted halls of academia in a city that shares its name with a famous fictional hunter of crocodiles.

Precious Things

2005-09-20T15:58:00.000+01:00

I live where the sun doesn't shine that often. And I love the sun. Today started off rainy and grey. This afternoon the sky cleared and I went again to the post office to try to mail my shoebox of love. The way back from the post office was pure pleasure. A skinny latte made with fair trade coffee not purchased at Starbucks in my hand, the sun shining on my face, and Ani Difranco on my ipod. Bliss.

Defying Nature

2005-09-19T20:00:00.000+01:00

So the other day I woke up to the latest breaking story on BBC 4: women who wait till the age of 35 to have babies are defying nature. Now, I haven't defied nature in this way yet, and actually, I doubt that I ever will want to, but listening to this story elicited a really strong psychological reactance in me. Waking up to this story, about how inconsiderate and self-centered "career women" are to wait until their mid-thirties to conceive just simply started my day off on the wrong foot. Not again, please.

How long will it take until people -- including women -- stop trying to put women back in their place: young, barefoot, pregnant, and dependent on men? On how many points is this tired old chestnut about selfish career mothers just wrong and bad?

1. Is it defying nature to inoculate people against smallpox, pneumonia, and tuberculosis? Why are all these medical advances: transplant operations, stem cell research, gene splicing, or whatever, why are these not defying nature, while a woman who waits until she is secure in her career and confident in herself and chooses to be a mother when it is right for her (and therefore optimal for the hypothetical child), who might use medical technologies to extend her fertile years, why is THAT defying nature?

2. The people who wrote this editorial in the British Medical Journal are infertility specialists and their clientele is, overwhelmingly, the women 35 and over who they criticize. Really, rather dumb of them. Do they want to put themselves out of business?

3. The point made already by lucid women, including Diana Holland and Rehana Azam, who have pegged the authors of this British Medical Journal editorial for who they truly are: people, men and women (one of the authors is a woman, a successful medical doctor specializing in infertility -- wonder how old she was when she had her children) identified with the patriarchal arrangement who try to use "science" to justify the gender hierarchy and women's disadvantages relative to men. As Diana and Rehana point out in their article in the Guardian today on p. 27, the problem doesn't lie with women 35 and older waiting to have babies, the problem is with a social structure that is set up to the advantage of people (other than women; men) with wives at home to take care of their reproductive needs, not for two-career families, or, god forbid, single-parent (mother or father) families. If childcare and childrearing were valued, then the social system, which is artificial and constructed and no ways natural, would be reconstructed so that people could parent without career and income penalties. The system would be structured so that parents could take care of their children and their careers: more and better childcare programs for all -- regardless of economic status, and more and better childcare facilities within the workplace. For example.

4. Why do we never hear about men sacrificing their careers, working part time, sharing jobs, putting their careers on hold, for the sake of having and rearing children? Why is it still and only women? Why aren't men like Tony Randall, who had his first child at age 77, criticised for the fact that their children are, in all likelihood, never going to be able to even remember them, because these fathers are probably going to croak before the child's fifth birthday, for christ's sake?

Why do women who choose to delay motherhood get criticised by the very medical doctors who are making big bucks off of their fertility treatments?

These authors insist that the optimal time for a woman to enter motherhood, to conceive, is age 20 - 34, before she's even of legal drinking age in the United States. No, say those who know better than us what we should do with our bodies, no, we won't let you have that glass of wine, but please, this is your window of optimal opportunity for motherhood, please go conceive. We trust you with a baby, not with that dangerous glass of wine. Please find yourself a wealthy, preferably older, father for your optimally timed child, go forth, and conceive! It's only natural.

Why in the world would a medical doctor be encouraging motherhood to women who are, by almost any definition, still children, or at least girls? Why would any medical doctor encourage a girl of 20 to make herself a slave to diapers and sore nipples before she is old enough to have even earned a bachelor's degree? This is tantamount to consigning her to an uneducated life of dependency and drudgery.

I have half a mind to go forth and conceive, at my ripe old age, just to stick it to the British Medical Society and the authors of this article. But if in defying nature, I am to need fertility treatment, I'll never go to those hypocrites. I will be the $10,000 that they will never make.

Embryonic Streams of Consciousness

2005-09-18T18:28:00.000+01:00

So this is my first post. Why am I doing this? My ideas are no better than anyone else's; indeed, you can see from the name of my blog that they may be a lot worse. What's a dumb okie got to say about anything that someone else hasn't already thought of and already articulated in a much cleverer way than I ever will? For a clever blog, you are much better off going to my all time favorite, charismatic megafauna .

I'm a transplanted Okie who lives far, far away from Louisiana, but I did get to where I am via a small conservative southern baptist convention liberal arts college in the middle of that state, where i did manage to lose my religion in the literal, not the southern, definition of the phrase (although i had many occasions to lose it that way, too, back in that former life). Although I lived in Louisiana, I never made it to New Orleans, mostly because i had shacked up with the worst of the potato version of so-called human beings. But that is a different story for another day.

Several days before Katrina hit, my friend Bologna called and asked me, "have you ever been to New Orleans?" "No," I replied. "Well, you never will," said she, who works for an international news agency and ought to know things like whether or not, in the wake of the hurricane, I would ever have the chance to bear my little breasts in the hope of receiving plastic beads in return, listen to jazz, or walk Bourbon Street. Her partner, also in the news business, predicted 25,000 deaths. Several days before the hurricane hit, Bologna was saying I will never see New Orleans and Bo was saying that 25,000 would probably die. Don't tell me, Porgie Pie, that you didn't know. You knew. And you didn't care.

Today I filled a "shoe box with love" to mail to evacuees in need of toiletries. If you want to do the same, go here. Doing this makes me feel good, like I did something; and crappy too, because this is all I have done, thus far. Filling a shoebox with toiletries does not get me off the hook of for my bit of collective responsibility, to respond not just now, but well into the foreseeable future. Responding to Katrina with a shoebox full of tampons and shampoo seems like pissing into the Atlantic. It's pitiful, embarrassingly small. Where are people going to be in six months, 1 year, six years? Where are those of us who give shoeboxes of love now going to be then? What will we be doing to do our bit?

Yes, I encourage you to go fill a shoebox and send it to Grambling. But don't stop there. It's a start, but it is not enough.