Yeah, Great Blog…

As I was walking to work this morning I saw a young woman pushing a stroller while she was smoking.  I noticed this from behind (but was luckily far enough away that the smoke did not affect me) and could only see the telltale line of smoke whirling around her head and drifting like powdery snow down to where I could assume a small child was sitting.  This woman was puffing and puffing away, almost flaunting her filthy and death-causing habit to passersby.  

I had to stifle my outrage, biting my lower lip so hard that I was sure I would draw blood any second.  If someone chooses to smoke and damage their own lungs, fine.  I don’t agree with that decision but I’m not going to try to convince you to stop.  However, if you allow your disregard for health to influence another human being, and in this case a human being that is not old enough to either move away or voice their own objection, I feel nothing but hatred for you.  

I have asthma.  Whenever I find myself walking behind someone who is smoking I suddenly cannot breathe.  I have to force myself to sprint past the offender so the smoke will no longer clog my throat and make me dizzy.  I grew up with parents who smoked all the time and I always had to rush into another room when they lit up.  Smokers should be ostracized from society completely when they partake in their disgusting and harmful behavior.  On a recent roadtrip I was appalled that restaurants in other states still have smoking sections, at least one of which I had to cross through to reach the restroom of the establishment.  I guess I was spoiled growing up in New York where smoking is outlawed in public spaces.  However I know that I will never be able to stop people from smoking on the streets and I just have to keep my laces tied tight for the inevitable sprinting I will have to do in a vain attempt to save my lungs.

Today was different.  Today a defenseless small child was being subjected to harmful smoke.  In my mind that’s abuse.  I know others feel differently, but I think intentionally exposing a child to dangerous chemicals is wrong.  I wanted to run up to this woman and shake some sense into her, but I didn’t because I hate confrontation and didn’t want to be prosecuted for some sort of assault.  

I continued to feel bad for the baby that I knew was suffering in that stroller as the woman wheeled towards the bus stop on my left and turned sideways to board the approaching Silver Line.  For the first time I got a look at both the woman’s and the baby’s faces.  The woman was seemingly of hispanic descent, dark hair and eyes and a brown (but not African-American) complexion.  The baby couldn’t have been more than a year old and was as Aryan as they come with pale white skin, bright blue eyes and so blond it’s almost white hair.  This made me wonder if this woman was this child’s mother or perhaps his babysitter/nanny.

Yes, it’s possible that she was the child’s mother, but highly unlikely in my book, even if the father was Mr. White America himself.  Maybe the child was adopted, that’s certainly plausible.  Even in these cases my outrage is sustained because parents should protect their children, not harm them with their own behavior.

But if this woman was the child’s nanny that’s a whole other type of rage.  If I found out that my child’s nanny was smoking around him I would fire her on the spot, no explanation necessary.  The thought that someone being paid to take care of a child would have such a blatant disregard for the child’s well-being sent a flash of anger through my chest.  

I’ll never know the relationship between the woman and the child, nor whether this woman will ever learn the error of her ways.  I can only hope that the child doesn’t suffer any long term damage from this.  You might think that I’m overreacting, but I have seen from personal experience the damage that cigarette smoking can cause.  The next generation should be protected from that.

So I went to the new Apple store on Boylston St. in Boston the other day and realized something highly amusing (at least from my standpoint).  On macs there is an application called dashboard that when selected puts a bunch of useful widgets on your screen, including a current weather and five day forecast for any city that you set it to.  However, little known fact apparently, if you just type in Boston the widget will automatically provide the weather for Boston, Georgia because this Boston comes first alphabetically.  Therefore, when you clicked on dashboard for the weather report on any of the tons of the computers on the three floors of the store you were given a rather sunny and brutally hot forecast that was woefully incorrect for the user’s current location.  

I am not technically inclined in the slightest, but, if I figured this out, wouldn’t you think at least one of the so called “geniuses” that works at the store would’ve noticed this and corrected it immediately?

For a starting price of $1099, I want a computer that will automatically conform to my specific intended settings, whether I’m able to coherently request them or not.

So I was late leaving for work this morning (*sigh* big surprise) and I caught the first few minutes of The Morning Show with Mike and Juliet on Fox.  Now I had never heard of this show before, so I’m not sure how widely syndicated it is, but suffice it to say that it’s like Regis and Kelly on crack.  They pick the most ridiculous stories to cover and ask the most obviously poised to create drama and unnecessary controversy questions, from what I can tell from their website.

This morning one of their stories was about the growing trend of mothers taking their toddler daughters for spa treatments:  manicures, pedicures, facials, massages, waxing– the whole enchilada as some of the gringos at work say when they are trying to fit in with the Bilingual Editors.  In the interest of appearing to be fair, there were two sets of guests, one mother and her four year old daughter who go to the spa all the time and see nothing wrong with it and another mother and her sixteen year old daughter who is forbidden to go to the spa.  The spa loving mother’s argument was (and I’m quoting directly) “I want my daughter to know that she is a princess in my eyes and a princess in god’s eyes.”  She also said that she wants her daughter to know that she should be pampered and take good care of herself so guys in the future won’t take advantage of her.  How the hell is this little girl going to grow up with a healthy sense of self?  Once she is old enough to understand how the real world works, she is going to realize that she isn’t that special and she will no doubt be crushed and drown herself in the local spa’s hot tub.  I am all for promoting self-esteem, but fostering a sense of entitlement to be waited on hand and foot is damaging in the long run.  Perhaps a manicure as a rare treat or in preparation for a special event is okay as many little girls love doing “big girl” things, but having your daughter be accustomed to this sort of treatment on a regular basis will warp her sense of reality.  

On the other hand, I think forbidding your sixteen year old from attending the spa EVER is a little extreme.  Sixteen year olds, while not exactly rational human beings, are capable of recognizing the treatment you receive at a spa as a luxury and not a right.  Being a teenager can be wicked stressful and maybe girls would stop beating each other up and sleeping with their teachers if they got a massage every once in awhile.  Being able to relax is very important when the stress of life as you teeter on the precipice between childhood and adulthood is overwhelming.  This mother’s argument was that spa’s promote an unhealthy expectation of what women should look like, how they should groom themselves for society’s benefit.  I think that a sixteen year old can decide for herself if she wants to get her nails done or have a facial.  I don’t think participating in these activities sparingly will make a teenager think that she has to put this amount of time, effort and money into her appearance on a daily basis.  The teenagers who believe that are going to believe that whether or not they are permitted to indulge in a spa.  

Personally, I’ve never been to a spa per-se and have only had my nails done for the two proms I attended in high school.  However, I can see the benefit of getting pampered and perhaps when I have more discretionary income I will treat myself to such.  But seeing as the economy is being strangled closer and closer to oblivion with each day that passes, I don’t see myself being able to afford this luxury any time soon. 

My mother has had the same bedroom set of furniture since Bill Clinton took office for his first term.  She recently finally decided that she had enough money to buy a new set.  She was further motivated to make the change by redecorating the master bedroom with a new color of paint and carpet after sleeping amongst the same vomit-inducing shade of mint green for the past ten years.  This redecorating was completed almost four months ago, so I inquired this morning about how the new furniture was treating her and my stepfather.

After waiting for three months for the set to be delivered, it finally came this past Tuesday.  Everything that could possibly go wrong with this process did.  First, they said that they would be delivering the set on Monday, so my stepfather took the entire day off of work in order to grant access to the house.  The company called at 6pm to say that they wouldn’t be able to make it that day and would come on Tuesday.  So my mother had to take Tuesday off and wait around.  Knowing that neither she nor my stepdad would be capable of transporting the furniture from a truck outside to their bedroom inside, my mother opted to pay extra for the delivery service that will move the pieces right into the room, unpack them and assemble if necessary. 

So of course when the truck finally does show up, there is one rather scrawny man accompanying the furniture who unloads the pieces onto the driveway and starts to bid my mother adieu.  She stops him, my mother can be rather demanding when necessary as several years of living under her rule has taught me, and fights with him to bring the furniture inside.  Obviously, she feels bad that the guy has to do it himself but it’s really not her problem that the company only sent one mover.  After about half an hour of back and forth, the guy finally agrees to move the furniture into the house (no doubt after hearing about my mother’s painful health issues).

After inspecting the furniture, my mother realizes why the guy wanted to leave as quickly as possible.  Every single piece was damaged in some way.  Some of the pieces have scratch marks and dents that were probably made in transit, which while unfortunate is not exactly the manufacturers’ fault, but some of the pieces were defective from seemingly “shoddy workmanship” (her words, not mine).  One of the bedside table’s paint does not match the rest of the set and some of the dresser drawers do not close all the way.  The mirror on the headboard is cracked.  You get the picture.

Now my mother is trying to figure out how to complain about this awful service and either receive a repair, or a new finished and pristine set of furniture.  She hasn’t gotten far in her search as she found the company online and can’t find a working set of contact information.

Apparently, she tried to check out the company before she purchased the furntiure.  She found glowing reviews online and believed the company’s claim of a 99% satisfaction rate.  There were no complaints filed against the company with the Better Business Bureau.  She thought she had found a good deal and would get her money’s worth.

I know she shoulders part of the blame here for this disaster, but I can’t help wondering how many other people have been scammed in a similar manner.  Shouldn’t there be a better way of keeping track of online companies that fail their clients?

As much as I hate the annoying TV commercials, when it comes time for me to furnish my own apartment, I am going to a physical store and interacting with a human being face to face before I hand over any cash. 

I was walking to work this morning (yes, I’ve taken to walking to and from work everyday as T prices are ridiculous and exercise is only happening for me if it’s got a purpose) and I witnessed something that part of me wishes I hadn’t, but part of me is lucky I experienced if only to have a greater understanding of mankind.  

This college-aged woman passed me, binder held against her chest and iPod earphones attached.  Her long raven hair flew behind her in the breeze and even with a quick glance I could notice the perfect shape of her legs and conservatively painted toenails.  I didn’t give her a second thought, because if you throw a rock (or rather more apt would be a Gucci handbag?) on my campus you’re bound to hit one or two of these types of girls.  However, the two men walking behind me obviously noticed her and made it a point to comment directly to her just what they thought.

“You’re really beautiful you know that?”

Cue slight pause in which I thought, “wow there’s a nice compliment you don’t hear everyday, I wonder what it would feel like if someone said that to me while I was just walking down the street?”

But then he followed it with, “But you’re so stuck up, see, that’s your downfall.”

I’m assuming the gentleman was miffed at the lack of acknowledgment given by the woman, and thus felt justified in insulting her demeanor.  It is possible that she was willfully ignoring the comment, and if so I couldn’t exactly blame her.  It would be a bit jarring to be told such by a complete stranger at 8:30 in the morning when you’ve previously been solely invested in your own little isolated world that we all reside in when we’re walking somewhere to a predetermined destination.  However, my instinct tells me that it is more likely that she simply did not hear the comment because of the music blasting into her eardrums.  In this case, the stuck up follow up comment is really ridiculous and could be easily disregarded as someone needing to defend their bruised ego.

What I don’t understand is why people think that they can say such things to a stranger and make vocal judgments about their character when they’ve been in contact with the person for mere seconds.  When I walk down the street I either stare straight ahead or admire the cracks in the sidewalk as my feet fly past them.  I do not engage with others unless I know them from previous life situations (and even then, this is limited most of the time to a quick “hey”) or we are stuck in a situation in which we are confined close together for an extended period of time like inside a broken down T car.  

Do other people not feel limited in this way?  Humanity really confuses me.

This morning while I was walking to work (yay sunshine!) I saw one of the most peculiar contraptions ever created for toddlers.  This young mother was pushing her son along on this big wheel bicycle.  Not just helping him along or what have you, but actually pushing the thing along.  There was a tall handle attached to the back that was just at the right height for an adult to grasp.  The kid was sitting on this bike DOING NOTHING!  The peddles just flew round and round as his chubby little legs hung off the sides motionless.  When I passed them, the little kid looked up at me with these round blue eyes as if to say “I’m just as confused as you are!”

If you’re going to transport your kid around town, get a conventional stroller.  Making the process of not walking cool and fun will delay the child’s natural development to being independent and capable of movement on his own for an extended period of time.  No, I don’t have data to support this, but it just seems to make sense to me.  The kid should be ashamed of the stroller.  The kid should want to walk around as soon as it is physically able to keep up pace with its parents.  This desire isn’t going to develop if the kid sees his stroller as a fun toy.  

However, I must admit that if the kid had been actually riding his big wheel down the cobblestone sidewalks of Back Bay I wouldn’t have been too pleased either.  That sort of activity is best reserved for playgrounds and back yards where those of us lucky enough to not be at the having children stage of our lives are not present.  Big wheels are toys and toys do not belong impeding the free flowing traffic of America’s 2nd best Walking City.

Rape Worn Not on a Sleeve, but Right Over the Heart

The above link is to a New York Times article about a new t-shirt that has been designed and is starting to be distributed by a prominent activist in the sexual assault awareness movement.  I found it on accident, and was intrigued by the concept, a commercially available t-shirt with a design of a safe open, containing a small handwritten note proclaiming “I was raped.”  Sounds simple, but what would wearing such a shirt actually accomplish?  Do the shirts empower survivors or reinforce stigmas of victimhood?

Would I wear this shirt in public?  Part of me wants to be able to proudly proclaim that I would be able to wear the shirt and bring awareness to the cause.  I think that putting a face to this CRIME is very important when so many survivors are forced into silence and obscurity for a variety of reasons deep seated in how our society deals (and ignores) rape.  However, one of the biggest reasons that it took me nearly eight years to tell my own mother about my rape was because I didn’t want her perception of me to change knowing that I was a victim.  I didn’t want anyone to see me differently, to be labeled as a victim.  This shirt would seemingly be such a label.  If people took it seriously, would they approach me about its content?  Would I be asked to talk about what happened?  Would people that I know who aren’t aware of my past feel hurt that I haven’t confided in them?  Even writing this blog post makes me a bit nervous, simply because it takes the knowledge of what was done to me out of my control and allows anyone who might stumble across this page to learn a very intimate detail of my life.  Would I have the courage to wear a t-shirt proclaiming something that I kept as a dirty, shameful and gut-wrenching secret for so long?  I want to remove the stigma surrounding rape.  I want people to know that rape survivors exist in all segments of society, that you’d never know who has and hasn’t been affected by this issue.  But am I willing to sacrifice my own anonymity and relative comfort to educate others?  Is that a fair trade?  

I have not yet been able to find specific information about how to purchase one of these shirts, but if I did I think I would be compelled enough to get one in my possession.  Deciding where and when to wear it would be a battle, but I believe that I deserve the option.  I think that no one has the right to tell me that I can’t wear the shirt because people who see it might be made uncomfortable.  The concept that rape needs to be kept secret, that it’s not polite to discuss it in public, needs to be deconstructed and proved illogical and harmful.  Would people get that message from seeing those three little words emblazoned across my chest?  Or would I simply be whispered about behind my back and made to feel even more ostracized and ignored?  

Some people that know me might be surprised that I’d have reservations about wearing such a shirt because I have a tattoo that pretty much proclaims in picture form this very sentiment.  On my left ankle I have a teal ribbon with a safety pin.  Teal ribbons are (among other causes) used for sexual assault awareness.  Because April is sexual assault awareness month, I have started to see these ribbons in various places and am reminded of my tattoo’s importance both in my life and in starting important conversations.  Because Boston is still so damn cold, no one really can see the tattoo at this point, but this summer will be the first full shorts wearing season that I have the tattoo and I wonder if I will get asked about it.  A tattoo is obviously more of a commitment than a t-shirt, I will have this picture of the cause on my skin forever.  My reasons for getting it were rather impulsive: I was fed up with the destruction that my recovery has caused and I wanted a symbol of healing and hope that I could look at whenever I wished, that I would be forced to carry with me at all times.  I am proud of my tattoo, but I must say that there are reasons I didn’t get it in a place that would be visible all year round.  Having the ability to easily cover it up was important, not because I am ashamed of it, but because I am not always in the mood to talk about the issue.  Perhaps this is how I would have to see the t-shirt, something I could wear when and where I would feel comfortable potentially being asked to discuss the topic.  

Here is a picture of my tattoo:

In short, I have very personal opinions that cannot be separated from this issue.  I just find it interesting that so many people have an issue with this t-shirt.  I guess people don’t like it when their norms are tested.

I have found the best candy on the planet.  If I could eat these babies every day for the rest of my life I would die a happy gal.  For fifty cents plus tax you get two six inch cylindrical tubes of excitement.  They are essentially hollowed out twizzlers with a blue sugary substance dotted with nerds for their insides.  You get the chewy sensation of the casing, the tangy taste of the blue SweetTart mixture and the sweet oh so sweet and crunchy goodness of the variety of flavors of nerds all in one bite.   These candies make the perfect movie snack and are way healthier than popcorn or chocolate candy.  I command you to go purchase a bucketful from the nearest CVS or 7-Eleven.  You will be a believer before your first glorious bite is swallowed. 

There is a young mother of three who usually takes her two oldest kids to school on the same bus that I take to work every morning.  I say young because I cannot figure out how old she is.  Her oldest kid looks to be around seven or eight so I feel like the mom must be at least 25, but I swear she looks the same age as, if not younger than, me (20).  Now I can’t for a second pretend that I know what it’s like to have kids, much less three of them, but everytime I see that they are waiting for the bus in the morning I cringe reflexively.

Every morning it’s the same.  The little boy and girl scream at each other at the top of their lungs the entire twenty minute ride and the mom ignores them, only responding if and when they interfere with her cell phone conversation.  The kids hit each other and curse and the mom does nothing.  She sits in the back of the bus while the kids run up and down the aisles and crawl underneath unoccupied seats.  Excuse me, but just because you’ve managed to get your hooligans on a bus doesn’t mean that you can rely on the rest of the passengers to make sure that they don’t get hurt or kidnapped or worse.  In my (biased, unsubstantiated) opinion, once you are a parent you are always a parent.  There is no time when you are with your kids that you aren’t responsible for keeping them in line.  I’m not saying that I expect the kids to sit motionless, side by side with their hands folded in their laps.  However, I think it’s ridiculous for everyone else to be inconvienenced at a quarter to nine in the morning by ear splitting shrieking for the duration of their travel.  Every time I witness this I want to yell at the kids to quiet down or something, yet that would be a big no-no in this society.  People freak the fuck out if you try to parent their kids, even when they are obviously neglecting to do so.  Children don’t automatically know what is and isn’t acceptable behavior.  They have to be taught by someone.  If this mom isn’t going to do it, shouldn’t someone step in? 

I just wish these two could learn from this charming three year old who is on the bus every once in awhile.  He sits calmly next to his mother and plays with his action figures.  Sure, sometimes he talks loudly, but at least he’s communicating, not making noise just to hear himself. 

But then again, what the hell do I know?  Maybe when that kid gets a bit older he’ll be just as much as an inconsiderate brat.  

Yet I can’t help but assert that when I’m a mom I’ll do a better job.  Hopefully that’s not for many more years to come…   

It’s amazing what we’ll consume if it’s free.  My office has free coffee, tea and hot chocolate in the lounge area every day and though it’s taken a while for me to partake in the communal hot beverages, now that I have I won’t ever stop!  Nothing makes you feel better after a trek in the arctic cold than a fresh mug of hot chocolate.  I don’t even need the marshmallows to be reminded of snow days in third grade when I’d burn my tongue on the scorching liquid but keep on gulping the chocolately warming goodness.  Close my eyes and bam I can actually feel the thaw disseminate through my bones.  The best part is that it is free here!  I get paid to come into work and drink hot chocolate.  Fuck yes.  Take that… man!  Today though I consumed my first mug of real green tea and now I think I’ll have to drink it every day (with two sugars of course, can’t be too healthy and shock my dilapidated system now).  Any trace of sickness I might’ve felt is completely gone and I’m actually alert and ready to face whatever frustrating challenges of the publishing world might come my way.  Maybe I’ll get creative and put it in the fridge on Monday so I can have some green iced tea with lunch.  It’s free!  I can do it and not feel guilty about abandoning my water bottle.  I want more free things.  I like getting something for nothing.  Perhaps I will start coupon hunting like a fiend this weekend…