Girls is back for its fourth season and I couldn't be happier about that. In fact, last week when Episode 1 premiered, I did a little lady-squirt.
For those of you who know me intimately, you will know that at first I rejected Dunham's visual manifesto of what it means to be twenty-something and living in New York. In case you didn't know...I did that once and I'll be happy as fuck to bore you all about it later. So at first I felt this weird ownership over that young, NYC experience, and if what I was watching didn't accurately reflect that very specific experience then I rejected it, and proclaimed loudly and obnoxiously that it was shit.
My poor friend tried with all his heart to get me to love that first season. But all he got were screams at the TV 'YOU DON'T JUST WALK OUT ON A JOB IN NEW YORK CITY! THEY'RE SO HARD TO GET!' or 'HOW THE FUCK WILL YOU AFFORD YOUR RENT IF YOU KICK OUT YOUR ROOMMATE?!' I was all superior eye-rolls and teeth-kissing. What the fuck was my problem? I'll tell you.
For a woman who makes a pretty big point of being kind and supportive to other women I was doing exactly the opposite. Sure, these women were characters on TV, but I hated them in a very real way, a visceral way that's just fucking weird. I was crazy-jealous of these women for the pure fact that they were not women. They were and are, as the show is aptly titled, Girls.
These girls that Dunham created are just trying to find their way in the world, and me, a grown-ass woman resented them for that. I thought their choices were all wrong, their wardrobes were a mess and their sex-lives were both tragic and enviable. But that's what it is to be in your 20's and I forgot that. I now have a tiny idea of what it might feel like to be a mother watching their daughter make the same stupid mistakes that she did, unable to stop her.
Luckily by Season 2 I got my shit together and joined the party. I realized that these girls are created for entertainment purposes only and that they simply can't represent everyone's experience. What Lena Dunham has done so well is to create characters that you empathize with so entirely that you think that they are yours and that they owe you something, but they don't.
When the outrage began about how there weren't enough minority characters on the show, that was a symptom of this same disease. Not everyone legitimately has a multicultural group of friends. No one brought this shit up with Seinfeld. However, Lena has created a circle of friends that includes a Jew, a Brit and someone with a cleft palate. They might all be white, but that's more diverse than a lot of friendship circles I know of.
The reality is this: Lena Dunham is damn good at her job. So damn good that we think these characters that she birthed are anything to do with us. If someone says to you 'you're such a Marnie' it doesn't mean you're actually Marnie and that if she then does something stupid in the next episode you need to feel responsible or that you should feel like Dunham's somehow betrayed you. She hasn't. Get over it.
Lena Dunham cannot be responsible for being the collective voice for a whole generation of very different girls. It's simply not possible, practical or fair. Get over it.
It's only a fucking TV show, people. It just happens to be exceptionally good.
Sunday, 18 January 2015
Sunday, 11 January 2015
Je suis nerveuse
The incidents in Paris over the past week have left me worried, depressed and confused. For our neighbors to have suffered such violent attacks is terrifying. And the aftermath is just as scary, but I worry it's just beginning.
Already on social media and in various news sources the reporting is suspect, biased and damaging. Not just to the Muslim community, but to the victims. The political cartoons created by the deceased are being blurred out, CNN is failing to report the attack on the kosher deli as anti-Semitic and everyone seems to be having an argument about who's responsible and who needs to apologize for these murders. My response to this is simple: the murderers.
This essay by Abdennour Bidar, published last October keeps popping up, and though it is thought-provoking and beautifully written, I keep seeing it being used as a precursor to some reports and opinions that to me, are starting to whiff of Islamophobia. If we use one Muslim's criticism of Islamic extremism as a way to criticize Islam ourselves, it is not so different to one Muslim's interpretation of the Qu'ran being the catalyst for all of this death.
I do not blame Islam for what has happened in Paris. Islam does not demand those who criticize the prophet to pay with their life. Yet these murderers shouted 'we have avenged the prophet' after committing their heinous crime at Charlie Hebdo. How exactly? By silencing these artists indefinitely, more and more artists have begun to fight with their pens and their wits. Should we be expecting more deaths as a result? Are we just poking an angry bear, here?
On top of the Charlie Hebdo artists, who lost their lives for their art and for freedom of expression, four brave and innocent souls lost their lives in a kosher deli in Paris for their religion the very next day. One of the gunman claimed he was 'avenging Palestine' by killing these Jews. These Jews who lived in Paris. These Jews who were just trying to buy groceries for the sabbath. The irony is not lost on me that Muslims do not want to be held accountable for the actions of these murderers, but that Jews internationally have to bear the responsibility for what happens in Israel every day. This is why I don't blame Islam for the actions of these men. Islam can no more be held accountable for these atrocities than I can for Israel's foreign policy.
The four men who perished in the kosher supermarket are to be buried in Israel. Reading the messages their loved ones have posted is devastating. What a waste of life. Seventeen people died in Paris this week as a result of terror attacks. Seventeen people with families, friends, plans for the future, and dreams. But what can I do? What can we all do?
The marches happening in Paris are inspirational, and the way the international community has rallied behind France is beautiful. But how do we rebuild? How can we feel safe again? For French Jews the solution is to leave Europe. With anti-Semitic attacks on the rise, record numbers head to Israel. French Jews would rather head to a veritable war-zone than to stay in Europe. Why? Because the Israeli government protects its people against terrorism and we have to start doing the same thing.
Terrorism, irrespective of the community that claims responsibility needs to be the target. Not the community itself. I can commit a crime saying I'm doing it in the name of Lees everywhere, that doesn't make it true or relevant. It just makes me an asshole. We must remember that the people who committed these acts are the assholes, not the community they claim to come from. If we don't we are no better than they are.
Already on social media and in various news sources the reporting is suspect, biased and damaging. Not just to the Muslim community, but to the victims. The political cartoons created by the deceased are being blurred out, CNN is failing to report the attack on the kosher deli as anti-Semitic and everyone seems to be having an argument about who's responsible and who needs to apologize for these murders. My response to this is simple: the murderers.
This essay by Abdennour Bidar, published last October keeps popping up, and though it is thought-provoking and beautifully written, I keep seeing it being used as a precursor to some reports and opinions that to me, are starting to whiff of Islamophobia. If we use one Muslim's criticism of Islamic extremism as a way to criticize Islam ourselves, it is not so different to one Muslim's interpretation of the Qu'ran being the catalyst for all of this death.
I do not blame Islam for what has happened in Paris. Islam does not demand those who criticize the prophet to pay with their life. Yet these murderers shouted 'we have avenged the prophet' after committing their heinous crime at Charlie Hebdo. How exactly? By silencing these artists indefinitely, more and more artists have begun to fight with their pens and their wits. Should we be expecting more deaths as a result? Are we just poking an angry bear, here?
On top of the Charlie Hebdo artists, who lost their lives for their art and for freedom of expression, four brave and innocent souls lost their lives in a kosher deli in Paris for their religion the very next day. One of the gunman claimed he was 'avenging Palestine' by killing these Jews. These Jews who lived in Paris. These Jews who were just trying to buy groceries for the sabbath. The irony is not lost on me that Muslims do not want to be held accountable for the actions of these murderers, but that Jews internationally have to bear the responsibility for what happens in Israel every day. This is why I don't blame Islam for the actions of these men. Islam can no more be held accountable for these atrocities than I can for Israel's foreign policy.
The four men who perished in the kosher supermarket are to be buried in Israel. Reading the messages their loved ones have posted is devastating. What a waste of life. Seventeen people died in Paris this week as a result of terror attacks. Seventeen people with families, friends, plans for the future, and dreams. But what can I do? What can we all do?
The marches happening in Paris are inspirational, and the way the international community has rallied behind France is beautiful. But how do we rebuild? How can we feel safe again? For French Jews the solution is to leave Europe. With anti-Semitic attacks on the rise, record numbers head to Israel. French Jews would rather head to a veritable war-zone than to stay in Europe. Why? Because the Israeli government protects its people against terrorism and we have to start doing the same thing.
Terrorism, irrespective of the community that claims responsibility needs to be the target. Not the community itself. I can commit a crime saying I'm doing it in the name of Lees everywhere, that doesn't make it true or relevant. It just makes me an asshole. We must remember that the people who committed these acts are the assholes, not the community they claim to come from. If we don't we are no better than they are.
Saturday, 27 December 2014
This is sick.
I've been properly ill since Thursday (CHRISTMAS!) and in denial about it for a few days before, so I suppose I've been ill for about a week now. I don't get sick often, and as Steve, or my late mother would tell you, I'm no picnic when I'm in this state. I'm needy, pathetic and a bit smelly. But nonetheless I am also, in these dark times, introspective. Here are six of the most important things I've learned through this recent bout of festive flu.
1. Smelling stuff is important. I haven't been able to smell my food for days, making everything I put in my mouth nothing but flavourless textures. Do you know how gross a banana feels in your mouth if you can't taste it? I hope you never will. My poor husband has had to put up with my toxic mouth-breathing and my apprehension to shower because fever. Poor man. I can't smell me, but he can.
2. Sick is better with people. The last time I was this ill was 2003 and it was Christmas once again (WTF, Santa?!) I was all alone in my London flat with a fever of 104 and all of the shops were closed, so I had no medication to ease the bone-crushing pain of flu. After a couple of hellish days solo, one of my flatmates returned home to find me under a pile of blankets, nearly comatose and threw me in a cold bath. Thank you, Kristo, you may have saved my life. Anyway, this time I have a wonderful, doting husband who helps me make soup and unwrap my presents. Who makes frowny faces with me when the thermometer still reads 39 degrees and who doesn't roll his eyes every time I whimper or steal the remote. I really hope I don't get him sick, but if I do, I'll for sure be a worthy sick companion for him. It's the least I can do.
3. My body and brain are not friends. My brain is all, "let's do this IT'S CHRISTMAS!" But my body is like, "I hate Christmas and I hate you." I thought my body and brain were tight, I thought they were in sync and buddies. I was so wrong. I now have no idea who I can trust.
4. Using the internet while ill is not advised. These past few days I've either been compelled to spend stupid money on shit I don't need to make myself feel better that won't actually make me feel better (Prada handbag.) Or obsessively looking at Facebook to see what a great time all my friends are having on their holidays while I'm sequestered to my sofa. I'm having FOMO (fear of missing out) so severe it's escalated to POME (panic of missing everything) and it's really fucking with me. It's not that I don't want my friends to be having the best time. I really do, but I'd like some fun too, please and I'm not finding it at the bottom of all these boxes of tissues.
5. I am not sexy when I'm sick. I legit tried to do a Monica to Steve the other night. I tried to seduce him with my runny nose, hacking cough and incredibly sore body. He almost fell for it too, poor bugger. I've been trying to do it every day since and now he just laughs in my face. Who knows what lasting effect this will have on my self-esteem.
6. I have great friends and family. From my incredible hubby rebuffing my sexual advances to my friends sending me silly messages and TV recommendations it all helps. And although the hubby is making me watch a space film with a talking raccoon right now, I'll take this over the icy loneliness of 2003 any day.
Moral of the story: Sick sucks, but navigating it's tricky and often unpredictable terrain is best done with company.
1. Smelling stuff is important. I haven't been able to smell my food for days, making everything I put in my mouth nothing but flavourless textures. Do you know how gross a banana feels in your mouth if you can't taste it? I hope you never will. My poor husband has had to put up with my toxic mouth-breathing and my apprehension to shower because fever. Poor man. I can't smell me, but he can.
2. Sick is better with people. The last time I was this ill was 2003 and it was Christmas once again (WTF, Santa?!) I was all alone in my London flat with a fever of 104 and all of the shops were closed, so I had no medication to ease the bone-crushing pain of flu. After a couple of hellish days solo, one of my flatmates returned home to find me under a pile of blankets, nearly comatose and threw me in a cold bath. Thank you, Kristo, you may have saved my life. Anyway, this time I have a wonderful, doting husband who helps me make soup and unwrap my presents. Who makes frowny faces with me when the thermometer still reads 39 degrees and who doesn't roll his eyes every time I whimper or steal the remote. I really hope I don't get him sick, but if I do, I'll for sure be a worthy sick companion for him. It's the least I can do.
3. My body and brain are not friends. My brain is all, "let's do this IT'S CHRISTMAS!" But my body is like, "I hate Christmas and I hate you." I thought my body and brain were tight, I thought they were in sync and buddies. I was so wrong. I now have no idea who I can trust.
4. Using the internet while ill is not advised. These past few days I've either been compelled to spend stupid money on shit I don't need to make myself feel better that won't actually make me feel better (Prada handbag.) Or obsessively looking at Facebook to see what a great time all my friends are having on their holidays while I'm sequestered to my sofa. I'm having FOMO (fear of missing out) so severe it's escalated to POME (panic of missing everything) and it's really fucking with me. It's not that I don't want my friends to be having the best time. I really do, but I'd like some fun too, please and I'm not finding it at the bottom of all these boxes of tissues.
5. I am not sexy when I'm sick. I legit tried to do a Monica to Steve the other night. I tried to seduce him with my runny nose, hacking cough and incredibly sore body. He almost fell for it too, poor bugger. I've been trying to do it every day since and now he just laughs in my face. Who knows what lasting effect this will have on my self-esteem.
6. I have great friends and family. From my incredible hubby rebuffing my sexual advances to my friends sending me silly messages and TV recommendations it all helps. And although the hubby is making me watch a space film with a talking raccoon right now, I'll take this over the icy loneliness of 2003 any day.
Moral of the story: Sick sucks, but navigating it's tricky and often unpredictable terrain is best done with company.
Tuesday, 23 December 2014
Goodbye to Gram
It's been three weeks since my last post and I've missed this.
I went away with my fabulous husband to visit my family and best friend in Massachusetts and then to celebrate our 10-year wedding anniversary in NYC. That trip was all I'd wanted and more. Third row tickets to Hedwig and the Angry Inch with a surprise signing of programs by the cast afterwards, The Christmas Spectacular at Radio City with the Rockettes and of course a lot of time spent shopping, drinking and just being with my wonderful spouse.
However this time spent in America was bittersweet. I heard the news that my seemingly invincible Grandmother had taken ill on Thanksgiving Day. She had been suffering with pneumonia and was struggling to breathe, so into the hospital she went where the news was bleak. The woman who'd survived for three years with a tumor on her lung with no further discomfort was in pain. The woman who to me, since I was little would live forever, it turns out wouldn't.
I believe that there is something that guides us through life. Whether it's a higher power, or a past life dictating our current decisions or pure instinct, I don't know, but I know it's there because it has guided me into and through some of the most important decisions of my life, that at the time seem totally benign. When I decided that we wouldn't go home for Christmas this year I had no idea that decision would enable me to see my Grandmother again. When I insisted that we spend our anniversary in New York and not Budapest I was unaware that would mean I could say goodbye.
My aunt is a rock. A solid, stoic, petite hunk of geode that remains unmoved despite hurricanes, avalanches and many a shit situation. She is the cornerstone of my family and to be able to sit with her while decisions were made and questions were asked was a privilege. I'm not very active in my family. To be honest, the closeness freaks me out and I don't really understand it. I love them all fiercely, but I just don't know how to get involved, to not feel like I'm watching myself pretending to belong.
Gram was being looked after at the Jewish Health Care Center in Worcester, Massachusetts, which to me was the ultimate irony considering she was a staunch Catholic and was not too thrilled when my mom converted to Judaism to marry my dad. Her little hand-carved nativity sat on her bedside table next to her Christmas tree and no one seemed to mind. It's a beautiful place and the care that they gave to my Gram was exceptional. As I watched her work with the OTs there it occurred to me that this would be the last time I would see her.
She looked great. She always looked great: head to toe color coordination, a ring on each finger and her hair shiny and soft. You couldn't help but be impressed with how Gram always put herself together. We talked a little and nurses and doctors came in and out. Steve had a bad cold, so he stayed away. We snuck her brownies and talked about nothing, but we both knew, we all knew that these conversations would be the last we'd have.
Gram died last Tuesday with my aunt by her side. She departed this earth after 95 years of being in very good health and in very good spirits. She said she was ready and I believed her, though I'm not sure I'll ever be ready and I know that we were sure not ready for her to go. Selfishly I always expected her to be there for Christmas. Everyone else I've lost has died so young, so Gram was a lovely reminder that it doesn't always happen that way. But we do all go and although I'm so grateful for the time we have, I will always want more.
I've been told her service was beautiful and that she got everything that she wanted, which she was able to dictate. How few people must get to do that? My gorgeous and heroic cousin wrote and gave the eulogy and Gram was celebrated. I wasn't able to get back and I'm glad for that. I want to remember her as she was; beautiful, smiling, deaf as a post, but very happy. If there is an afterlife she'll have joined her grandson, her daughter and the love of her life. She'll be in very good company.
Love you , Gram
I went away with my fabulous husband to visit my family and best friend in Massachusetts and then to celebrate our 10-year wedding anniversary in NYC. That trip was all I'd wanted and more. Third row tickets to Hedwig and the Angry Inch with a surprise signing of programs by the cast afterwards, The Christmas Spectacular at Radio City with the Rockettes and of course a lot of time spent shopping, drinking and just being with my wonderful spouse.
However this time spent in America was bittersweet. I heard the news that my seemingly invincible Grandmother had taken ill on Thanksgiving Day. She had been suffering with pneumonia and was struggling to breathe, so into the hospital she went where the news was bleak. The woman who'd survived for three years with a tumor on her lung with no further discomfort was in pain. The woman who to me, since I was little would live forever, it turns out wouldn't.
I believe that there is something that guides us through life. Whether it's a higher power, or a past life dictating our current decisions or pure instinct, I don't know, but I know it's there because it has guided me into and through some of the most important decisions of my life, that at the time seem totally benign. When I decided that we wouldn't go home for Christmas this year I had no idea that decision would enable me to see my Grandmother again. When I insisted that we spend our anniversary in New York and not Budapest I was unaware that would mean I could say goodbye.
My aunt is a rock. A solid, stoic, petite hunk of geode that remains unmoved despite hurricanes, avalanches and many a shit situation. She is the cornerstone of my family and to be able to sit with her while decisions were made and questions were asked was a privilege. I'm not very active in my family. To be honest, the closeness freaks me out and I don't really understand it. I love them all fiercely, but I just don't know how to get involved, to not feel like I'm watching myself pretending to belong.
Gram was being looked after at the Jewish Health Care Center in Worcester, Massachusetts, which to me was the ultimate irony considering she was a staunch Catholic and was not too thrilled when my mom converted to Judaism to marry my dad. Her little hand-carved nativity sat on her bedside table next to her Christmas tree and no one seemed to mind. It's a beautiful place and the care that they gave to my Gram was exceptional. As I watched her work with the OTs there it occurred to me that this would be the last time I would see her.
She looked great. She always looked great: head to toe color coordination, a ring on each finger and her hair shiny and soft. You couldn't help but be impressed with how Gram always put herself together. We talked a little and nurses and doctors came in and out. Steve had a bad cold, so he stayed away. We snuck her brownies and talked about nothing, but we both knew, we all knew that these conversations would be the last we'd have.
Gram died last Tuesday with my aunt by her side. She departed this earth after 95 years of being in very good health and in very good spirits. She said she was ready and I believed her, though I'm not sure I'll ever be ready and I know that we were sure not ready for her to go. Selfishly I always expected her to be there for Christmas. Everyone else I've lost has died so young, so Gram was a lovely reminder that it doesn't always happen that way. But we do all go and although I'm so grateful for the time we have, I will always want more.
I've been told her service was beautiful and that she got everything that she wanted, which she was able to dictate. How few people must get to do that? My gorgeous and heroic cousin wrote and gave the eulogy and Gram was celebrated. I wasn't able to get back and I'm glad for that. I want to remember her as she was; beautiful, smiling, deaf as a post, but very happy. If there is an afterlife she'll have joined her grandson, her daughter and the love of her life. She'll be in very good company.
Love you , Gram
Monday, 1 December 2014
A raped man is not lucky.
It's become such a frequent occurrence that I write about rape that I'm bloody terrified at what the hell is going on in the world that I have so much to write about. In fact, between my posts on rape I have hardly any time to write about anything else.
I'm going to make this quick because I believe I have made myself perfectly clear on this topic many times before. However, I feel that if I don't lend my voice to this conversation it would be hypocritical.
I believe Shia LaBeouf when he says he was raped. I believe him because I choose to always support a victim who comes forward. I fully believe men can be raped and I do not think that it is not rape without penetration. I also believe Shia LaBeouf is not mentally well or stable, but this does not undermine or minimize his experience as a victim.
Too often we seek to excuse the assailant by blaming the victim: he's crazy, he was drunk, he was teasing me. Sound familiar? Probably not. Change the pronoun and I bet it does. Shia was participating in an art instillation, he was not something to be played with. He was acting, as he is paid to do, but this time he was not on film, he was human art.
For the #IAMSORRY exhibition in LA's Cohen Gallery, Shia wore a paper bag over his head which read "I'm Not Famous Anymore." For a fee, and after waiting in line, spectators could buy the privilege of siting in a room in total silence with the Transformers actor. Is it art? Is it rape?
I understand the critics when they say that because he didn't protest or try and stop the perpetrator it is difficult to believe that he legitimately felt threatened. But vulnerable women will often behave in a similar way. I believe that someone can be paralyzed by fear and confusion and I know that a body will sometimes respond in a way that suggests pleasure, but is really just a physiological response to stimulation. I understand that it was probably awful for Shia as he sat there, confused and afraid of what was happening to him and unable, for whatever reason to stop it.
I am disappointed with the two other collaborators of the show who have now come forward and said that they "put a stop to it." Why wasn't there more security? Why weren't there cameras watching the installation? There would be if he was actually a piece of art, but he was a person pretending to be art. What's the difference? I can't get near the Mona Lisa without a sideways look from an entitled French security guard and 50 cameras on me, but on this occasion, in this gallery someone was able to touch a man's body without permission for a prolonged period of time. Even once the behavior was acknowledged by the others in the gallery, they allowed the assailant and her escort to leave.
Does it smell fishy? You bet it does, but the reality is that the majority of rape cases are fucking weird and fucking complicated. It's never the guy hiding in a bush with a knife. Despite the tinge of tuna, we need to be open to hearing about Shia's assault and stop saying that it didn't happen. 3% of American men will suffer a rape or attempted rape in their lifetime. (RAINN) Why is it so hard to believe that Shia is one of these?
Piers Morgan has come out and declared that Shia's claims are "an insult to all real rape victims everywhere." Why? Because he didn't stop it or say anything afterward? He sure as hell didn't consent either. The fact is this story is incredibly strange, as has been Mr. LaBeouf's behavior as of late. But this doesn't necessarily discredit him as a victim. It's incredibly rare for a man to come forward and to admit sexual assault because it's too often the case that he will be disbelieved and emasculated for speaking out as Piers is doing to LaBeouf now. Let's stop with the victim blaming irrespective of gender. It shouldn't matter.
I'm going to make this quick because I believe I have made myself perfectly clear on this topic many times before. However, I feel that if I don't lend my voice to this conversation it would be hypocritical.
I believe Shia LaBeouf when he says he was raped. I believe him because I choose to always support a victim who comes forward. I fully believe men can be raped and I do not think that it is not rape without penetration. I also believe Shia LaBeouf is not mentally well or stable, but this does not undermine or minimize his experience as a victim.
Too often we seek to excuse the assailant by blaming the victim: he's crazy, he was drunk, he was teasing me. Sound familiar? Probably not. Change the pronoun and I bet it does. Shia was participating in an art instillation, he was not something to be played with. He was acting, as he is paid to do, but this time he was not on film, he was human art.
For the #IAMSORRY exhibition in LA's Cohen Gallery, Shia wore a paper bag over his head which read "I'm Not Famous Anymore." For a fee, and after waiting in line, spectators could buy the privilege of siting in a room in total silence with the Transformers actor. Is it art? Is it rape?
I understand the critics when they say that because he didn't protest or try and stop the perpetrator it is difficult to believe that he legitimately felt threatened. But vulnerable women will often behave in a similar way. I believe that someone can be paralyzed by fear and confusion and I know that a body will sometimes respond in a way that suggests pleasure, but is really just a physiological response to stimulation. I understand that it was probably awful for Shia as he sat there, confused and afraid of what was happening to him and unable, for whatever reason to stop it.
I am disappointed with the two other collaborators of the show who have now come forward and said that they "put a stop to it." Why wasn't there more security? Why weren't there cameras watching the installation? There would be if he was actually a piece of art, but he was a person pretending to be art. What's the difference? I can't get near the Mona Lisa without a sideways look from an entitled French security guard and 50 cameras on me, but on this occasion, in this gallery someone was able to touch a man's body without permission for a prolonged period of time. Even once the behavior was acknowledged by the others in the gallery, they allowed the assailant and her escort to leave.
Does it smell fishy? You bet it does, but the reality is that the majority of rape cases are fucking weird and fucking complicated. It's never the guy hiding in a bush with a knife. Despite the tinge of tuna, we need to be open to hearing about Shia's assault and stop saying that it didn't happen. 3% of American men will suffer a rape or attempted rape in their lifetime. (RAINN) Why is it so hard to believe that Shia is one of these?
Piers Morgan has come out and declared that Shia's claims are "an insult to all real rape victims everywhere." Why? Because he didn't stop it or say anything afterward? He sure as hell didn't consent either. The fact is this story is incredibly strange, as has been Mr. LaBeouf's behavior as of late. But this doesn't necessarily discredit him as a victim. It's incredibly rare for a man to come forward and to admit sexual assault because it's too often the case that he will be disbelieved and emasculated for speaking out as Piers is doing to LaBeouf now. Let's stop with the victim blaming irrespective of gender. It shouldn't matter.
Sunday, 30 November 2014
Full of Thanks
People often ask me what Thanksgiving is all about. Technically I suppose it's the annual American ritual of celebrating mass genocide by eating a turkey, or more controversially a turducken with your closest friends and family. It's about a parade, a four day weekend and it's about football. But as I get less cynical in my old age I think it's about something else, something deeper.
Thanksgiving for me is an excuse to invite round the people I love to say "thank you" for just being around. Not everyone has a home they can invite people to and not everyone has people to invite, so for me it's about reflecting on my life and recognizing that I am incredibly lucky.
I had the company of four incredible women plus my wonderful husband this Thanksgiving and it was lovely. Of course we overindulged in food and libations, but that's all part of the fun. My guests requested that we take it in turns to share what we were thankful for. We must have forgotten because champagne, but I wanted to be incredibly self-indulgent and share my list with you today.
What I am thankful for this Thanksgiving 2014:
1. My wonderful husband- he is a saint and a brilliant partner in everything
2. My fantastic friends- No matter where you are, I am thinking of you this week and today. I have the best group of buddies a girl could hope for and I am so appreciative that we all make time for each other.
3. My family- although they are all far away, it's great that I have a family I can go home to.
4. My job- I am so fortunate that I get to get up every day and look forward to going to work
5. People who read this. My blog is my joy, my respite and my outlet. Thank you for reading, for sharing and for supporting me on this journey.
This has been an incredible year and I'm so looking forward to what 2015 has in store. But for now let's all enjoy the run up to the festive season and remember that it's less about the crap you buy, it's the stuff that's free that endures and that matters.
Happy Thanksgiving week, everyone.
Thanksgiving for me is an excuse to invite round the people I love to say "thank you" for just being around. Not everyone has a home they can invite people to and not everyone has people to invite, so for me it's about reflecting on my life and recognizing that I am incredibly lucky.
I had the company of four incredible women plus my wonderful husband this Thanksgiving and it was lovely. Of course we overindulged in food and libations, but that's all part of the fun. My guests requested that we take it in turns to share what we were thankful for. We must have forgotten because champagne, but I wanted to be incredibly self-indulgent and share my list with you today.
What I am thankful for this Thanksgiving 2014:
1. My wonderful husband- he is a saint and a brilliant partner in everything
2. My fantastic friends- No matter where you are, I am thinking of you this week and today. I have the best group of buddies a girl could hope for and I am so appreciative that we all make time for each other.
3. My family- although they are all far away, it's great that I have a family I can go home to.
4. My job- I am so fortunate that I get to get up every day and look forward to going to work
5. People who read this. My blog is my joy, my respite and my outlet. Thank you for reading, for sharing and for supporting me on this journey.
This has been an incredible year and I'm so looking forward to what 2015 has in store. But for now let's all enjoy the run up to the festive season and remember that it's less about the crap you buy, it's the stuff that's free that endures and that matters.
Happy Thanksgiving week, everyone.
Sunday, 23 November 2014
We all know it's Christmas.
Last week I sat through the video debut of the newest Band Aid resurrection of that horribly patronizing Christmas classic designed to inspire us to loosen our purse strings and feel bad about the size of our Christmas dinners, "Do They Know It's Christmas?" This time the focus is on Ebola-ridden Africa and not poverty-stricken Africa, but always Africa. I don't know what I was expecting to have changed, but I was bitterly disappointed that so much remained the same.
There are 54 countries in Africa. It is a widely diverse continent in socioeconomic situation, natural resources, religion and even weather. Contrary to Geldof's lyric, there is usually snow in Africa at Christmas time. It is not the sweltering hot desert populated by children with flies in their eyes and distended bellies. Of course those images we see on infomercials and in Bob's vision are real, but they are not representative of all of Africa.
I worked in fundraising for 7 years, so I understand better than most that these are the images to invoke when you're on the other end of the phone with me and I'm asking you for £3 per month. The same images we use to threaten our ill-behaved and greedy children when they hide their vegetables under their meat. "Starving kids in Africa would be grateful for those broccoli florets." This is how I recognize the dangerous and demeaning message we send to Africa about how we, the intentional community view its citizens. No campaign has demonstrated this to us in the west better than the satirical Radi-Aid Campaign created by Africa for Norway: see it here.
Currently the Ebola outbreak is affecting 6 of Africa's 54 countries, all in West Africa and yes, this is a terrible and catastrophic epidemic in these countries, but not in all Africa. It would be as if the recent snowstorm that left Buffalo, NY under 6 feet of snow was reported as if it were the whole USA that was in a deep freeze. It's totally inaccurate. But we're not talking about something as banal as snow, we're talking about a virus that kills people in ways so violent and painful that to even think about it causes widespread panic.
This panic is detrimental to Africa's recently burgeoning tourism trade. Countries like Kenya and South Africa are suffering as people are confused about what countries in Africa are at risk. These are the same people who think Africa is a country. Formerly plagued as a continent of crime, hunger and poverty, now Africa is contending with the plague of the bloody plague and singles like "Do They Know It's Christmas?" aren't helping.
I'm not saying don't give to charity, not at all, but know what you are giving to. Do your research and know your cause as well as where your money is going. If you're donating to help treat Ebola and your money's going to "Africa" that shouldn't be good enough. You want it going to Sierra Leone or another affected country. Ask before you donate.
As someone who works for a volunteer organization I know how damaging these perpetuated assumptions can be to a country, or in this case a whole continent. Africa For Norway's latest offering sees a white European desperate to volunteer to "save Africa" but the Africa she wants to save is nothing like the majority of the continent's reality and it's our collective ignorance damaging the international perception of Africa as a whole. Videos like Live Aid's gang of rich, white celebrities continue to sell the "white man's burden" bullshit that we, since colonial times should be trying to distance ourselves from.
Where are all the African artists? Why were Emilie Sande's more sensitive revisions to the song binned? Was changing a few odd lines really enough when the shitty, condescending chorus remains? Of course people in Africa know it's Christmas. The problem is so many of us know nothing about Africa.
There are 54 countries in Africa. It is a widely diverse continent in socioeconomic situation, natural resources, religion and even weather. Contrary to Geldof's lyric, there is usually snow in Africa at Christmas time. It is not the sweltering hot desert populated by children with flies in their eyes and distended bellies. Of course those images we see on infomercials and in Bob's vision are real, but they are not representative of all of Africa.
I worked in fundraising for 7 years, so I understand better than most that these are the images to invoke when you're on the other end of the phone with me and I'm asking you for £3 per month. The same images we use to threaten our ill-behaved and greedy children when they hide their vegetables under their meat. "Starving kids in Africa would be grateful for those broccoli florets." This is how I recognize the dangerous and demeaning message we send to Africa about how we, the intentional community view its citizens. No campaign has demonstrated this to us in the west better than the satirical Radi-Aid Campaign created by Africa for Norway: see it here.
Currently the Ebola outbreak is affecting 6 of Africa's 54 countries, all in West Africa and yes, this is a terrible and catastrophic epidemic in these countries, but not in all Africa. It would be as if the recent snowstorm that left Buffalo, NY under 6 feet of snow was reported as if it were the whole USA that was in a deep freeze. It's totally inaccurate. But we're not talking about something as banal as snow, we're talking about a virus that kills people in ways so violent and painful that to even think about it causes widespread panic.
This panic is detrimental to Africa's recently burgeoning tourism trade. Countries like Kenya and South Africa are suffering as people are confused about what countries in Africa are at risk. These are the same people who think Africa is a country. Formerly plagued as a continent of crime, hunger and poverty, now Africa is contending with the plague of the bloody plague and singles like "Do They Know It's Christmas?" aren't helping.
I'm not saying don't give to charity, not at all, but know what you are giving to. Do your research and know your cause as well as where your money is going. If you're donating to help treat Ebola and your money's going to "Africa" that shouldn't be good enough. You want it going to Sierra Leone or another affected country. Ask before you donate.
As someone who works for a volunteer organization I know how damaging these perpetuated assumptions can be to a country, or in this case a whole continent. Africa For Norway's latest offering sees a white European desperate to volunteer to "save Africa" but the Africa she wants to save is nothing like the majority of the continent's reality and it's our collective ignorance damaging the international perception of Africa as a whole. Videos like Live Aid's gang of rich, white celebrities continue to sell the "white man's burden" bullshit that we, since colonial times should be trying to distance ourselves from.
Where are all the African artists? Why were Emilie Sande's more sensitive revisions to the song binned? Was changing a few odd lines really enough when the shitty, condescending chorus remains? Of course people in Africa know it's Christmas. The problem is so many of us know nothing about Africa.
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