Flashback: Pizza party

When I was a freshman in high school, my friend T. and I were invited to a pizza party by a guy whom we barely knew. It seemed like a strange invitation, but I was curious. I asked: Who else will be there? What's it for? What do you guys do? "It's just a bunch of kids our age from my church. We eat pizza, hang out and talk." I had some misgivings because I knew most of the churches in the area were more conservative than I was, but I also didn't want to pre-judge a bunch of people I'd never met. And it sounded casual enough; if it didn't turn out to be our thing, T. and I could just leave.

We went. In addition to seven or eight other kids our age, there was one older guy. (At the time he seemed ancient, but he was probably only in his 30s.) "Get your pizza and come sit down," the older guy said. Little alarm bells went off in my head; already this was less casual than I'd anticipated. But we were here, the pizza was served, and I was dependent on T. for a ride. We each took a slice of pizza and a paper towel as a plate and joined the circle of people sitting on the floor.

A few bites into our slices, the older guy began to sermonize about the evils of homosexuality and the inescapable damnation of homosexuals. T. and I gave each other sideways glances - he'd recently confessed to me he thought he was bisexual - but we felt trapped. We'd taken the free pizza, were in the circle, and getting up now went against all my parents' teachings about what it meant to be a good person and a polite guest. So we stayed until he was done speaking and we were dismissed.

On some level I blamed myself. I knew already that almost nothing in this world is free; if someone you don't know very well offers you pizza, they're bound to have an ulterior motive. On the other hand, the guy who'd invited us hadn't been completely honest, either. I felt like he'd purposefully withheld information from us, which meant we couldn't make an informed decision.

I felt duped. Manipulated. Betrayed.

I had a similar experience last week with a novel I read, which I wrote about on my business blog.

Some things

Some things I saw today
I saw water bubbling out of a drain and gushing down the street. This seems to happen every day. Every day a different drain.

I saw a regular customer of my cafe-bar pass by on the other side of the street wave to Daniel, the cafe-bar owner, and he waved back.

I saw a young man in a suit come into Le Gyozabar by himself and try to sit at the counter, but the ladies in charge of the restaurant said he couldn't because there were two open places and they wanted to keep them open for two customers together. I watched the young man say, "Okay," and go stand by the door and read his book for a while. I saw him come back after 5-10 minutes and ask again, and they still said no. I saw the young man argue a little with them. I saw them apologize but hold firm to their policy. I saw him shake his head and not leave. I saw him stand just outside the door reading his book. When I got up to leave 10 minutes later, no one had been seated in the two seats next to me, and the young man was ordering takeout with another young man.

I saw this:

Au bar

The advantage to having conversations with a group of drunk people in French is that they sometimes forget what you've already talked about (or perhaps your accent is unintelligible and they didn't understand the first time), and you get asked the same questions over again, which gives you the opportunity to practice saying the same things over and over - your age, your profession, what you're currently writing, why you were ensconced in the corner of the bar yesterday busily writing in your journal, what Americans tend to think of the French, etc.

I went to my regular cafe/bar today around 1pm for my daily café au lait. I got my coffee, retreated to a table in the back and began observing my fellow bar-goers/writing in my journal/watching the news on the bar's television. At one point I looked up and met the eye of a 50-something blue-eyed bald man wearing a baseball cap, who gestured and repeated in French until I understood.

"Your eyes are very pretty." He slapped the bicep of the older gentleman beside him with the back of his hand and pointed at me, saying something I couldn't make out.

The older gentleman looked at me. "Yes," he said. "Eyes like the Mediterranean sea."

"Thank you," I said with a warm smile, and went back to writing.

The news: pro-Palestine protests (some violent) followed by sports. Tennis. How can one hold in one's heart simultaneously the grief & outrage assoc. w/ ppl killing ppl alongside that which brings us joy? My heart is not big enough, my feels organs not skilled enuf to recognize & live both simultaneously. After seeing that news segment (signs in French

A few observations

Paris, France - 12:52pm local time - 59 degrees Fahrenheit - overcast & occasionally drizzly

1. After being in Spain, where if the sunlight doesn't wake you up the heat coming off of it will, it's really hard to get up at 8am when it's cloudy and cold. (Read: I got up at 11am today.)
2. Yesterday I walked from the apartment to the Moulin Rouge in Montmartre. To get there I walked past the Sacre Coeur area. I knew I'd officially left Sacre Coeur territory and entered Montmartre when the souvenir shops gave way to sex shops.
   
3. The neighborhood I'm staying in: In the nearest streets to the south and west of the apartment there are a lot of African and Middle Eastern people. In the streets the ratio of men to women seems to be about 10:1. In most of the cafes and bars, the clientele is 100% male. I passed by one store/cafe where the clientele was 100% female. Today I explored to the northeast and was delighted to find a bunch of Chinese grocery stores and restaurants only a block or two over.
4. This morning I chatted for a bit with Flora, my Airbnb host. It turns out she's a professional photographer. She has two books ready to be printed but she can't find a publisher because there isn't a lot of money available in France right now to support the arts and printing books of photography is expensive, and these days they choose to undertake projects only from the same well-known photographers whose books they know they can sell. One of the books is about maternity - the good, the bad and the ugly of pregnancy and motherhood. The other book is a love story told in three settings: Tasmania (where the love ignites), Smhrshuhblerg (didn't quite catch the name here), and Japan. Last winter (2013) she was an Artist in Residence in Quebec. Not Montreal - it was a rural area. There will be an exposition of her photographs from her time there...soon? (I think I overheard her 9 yr old son on the phone saying she was going to Canada in August.) The theme of her exposition: frozen. These photos could tell the final part of aforementioned love story, where the love and the people are frozen. At least, this is all what I *think* she said. My French isn't great.
5. I had forgotten how to find a decently priced cup of coffee in Paris. From being in Spain, I was already used to the idea that you pay more to sit out on the terrace/patio than you pay to be inside, but I'd forgotten that in Paris you also pay more to sit at a table than you do to stand at the bar. I'd forgotten that any cafe/restaurant with a terrace will be more expensive - inside or out - than a cafe/restaurant without a terrace. I'd forgotten that you pay more for a coffee at a place on a main street than you do at a place on a little side street. So many rules! Yesterday I found a place that only charges €1,20 for a cafe au lait at the bar, which was like striking gold. The only issue was I didn't feel particularly welcome there; I think it's one of those places that doesn't have a lot of female clientele. Today I found a place just a couple streets over where I felt very comfortable/welcome - I think with time I could get some good French practice in there - but the cafe au lait was €2,50 at the bar because the place is on a main street. Do I go for the price or the atmosphere? Tricky. Very tricky.
   
   
   
   
   

To fluoridate or not to fluoridate? 'Tis not the question

In September, Portland's City Council voted unanimously to fluoridate the city's drinking water, despite the protests of a vocal segment of the population in opposition to fluoridation.

The first I'd heard of the issue at all was a lunchtime conversation, prior to the council's vote, with a co-worker who is strongly opposed to the idea. She said that the fluoride put in drinking water was a toxic by-product of the aluminum manufacturing process, that the companies who make aluminum (and therefore fluoride) had found a clever way to sell their toxic by-product to cities rather than having to deal with safe disposal of hazardous material, and that putting fluoride into the city's water supply for dental health reasons is extremely inefficient, since we use city water for far more than just drinking or cooking. "What do my plants need fluoride for?" she asked rhetorically. Furthermore, she said it will cost $500 billion dollars to get the city set up for water fluoridation, not to mention the cost of annual maintenance. (Note: she may have said fertilizer rather than aluminum; I may be misremembering that part.)

RE: "The Wingman's guide to sucking cock"

A couple days ago I Twitter-stumbled across this head-spinning blog post by "Wingman" on the proper way to give a blow job. I should have known what I was in for from the first paragraph, wherein he suggests that a man telling a woman "you're such a whore" is "the ultimate compliment." But what really got my attention was the line: "Sucking dick without swallowing is like taking your dog for a walk and not picking up its shit."

Before I launch into my critique, let me just say this: given my unfavorable reaction to this blog post, I considered not responding. I considered the fact that doing so would undoubtedly result in driving traffic to his site, which is a kind of support. I could have simply shrugged my shoulders--saying to myself, "Well, he has a right to self-expression"-- and vowed never to read another word from this man again.

But the fact is that his post reinforces some cultural messaging that I find to be particularly damaging, and if people don't speak up against messages like this, then the damaging ones are the only messages out there, and that's not okay with me. So I offer a different perspective for your consideration.

Let's leave aside Wingman's fallacious assumption that only women give blow jobs ("Anyway, ladies, follow these rules and no matter how much disdain a guy may have for you, he’ll think of you every time he blows his load"--or does he just assume that men already know how to give great ones?), and let's assume, for the sake of argument, that he doesn't mean for us to take his charming metaphor literally: that he doesn't mean to equate himself with a dog; his semen with dog shit; and another human being's mouth, throat and stomach with a plastic baggie made for the express purpose of receiving his sexual by-product. Instead let's discuss the gist of this metaphor, which is a sense of personal responsibility.

On cake, and eating it

Lately the saying "You can't have your cake and eat it too" has been rolling around in my head. It came up for me, I think, as I have struggled to reconcile being grateful for what I have but also wanting something different or more.

I want to have my house and dog and independence and a job that supports that lifestyle and also meets my needs for meaningful contribution, respect, equality and autonomy. I want a job that more than pays the bills and is personally fulfilling too. Or that at least leaves me with time, energy and money to pursue interests that are personally fulfilling.

Some would accuse me of being ungrateful, spoiled, unrealistic. They'd accuse me of wanting to have my cake and eat it too. My question is this: what's the point in having cake if you can't eat it?

Why should I have to choose between surviving and thriving, between financial security and my emotional and mental well-being? I see others who "have their cake and eat it too": colleagues who like their jobs, who make enough money to support their chosen lifestyles, who are treated with respect at work, who have the autonomy to decide how to do their work and balance the other important aspects of their lives.

In a phone conversation with a friend the other night, she observed that some people feel a sense of pride in not trying to eat the cake. They see virtue in accepting their lots in life and not getting all bent out of shape about what they don't have, even if other people do have it. "That's just the way it is," I imagine them saying. "Life isn't fair. You have to face reality and get on with it."

I can see the appeal in this philosophy, how it can offer relief from a mountain of struggles that seem impossible to win. Life isn't fair: bad things happen to good people, people die young, whole populations are wiped out by natural disaster. But if we accepted this philosophy when it comes to human institutions, there never would have been a civil rights movement. By accepting "that's just the way it is," we accept a position of powerlessness and become complicit in our own oppression. We stop daring to dream, stop asking for what we want, even stop asking ourselves what we want.

I dare to dream that we can create workplaces of partnership and equality. Where we acknowledge limited resources but come to collaborative decisions--all of us together, not just the "managers"--about how those resources are best used to achieve a collective vision. Where each person has the autonomy to decide for themselves how and when to accomplish the tasks they have chosen to take on. Where whole persons are acknowledged and nourished, and we no longer expect work to come first before all else: before self, family and friends. Where we can all have our cake and eat it too.

The dearth of men on What Not to Wear

After watching What Not to Wear obsessively for the better part of a week, I began to reflect once again on the dearth of episodes that feature male style victims. Despite the profusion of poorly dressed men in the U.S., in nine seasons of WNTW I know of only two episodes where men get style make-overs. Why is this?

Well, let's look at Stacy and Clinton's arguments for why their guests should care about what they wear:
1) like it or not, other people judge you based on what you look like, so you might as well take some control over the image you are projecting;
2) dressing well shows self-respect & self-acceptance;
3) looking good feels good: it boosts self-confidence;
4) dressing appropriately shows respect for those around you;
5) it's important to be beautiful for one's romantic partner so s/he feels lucky;
6) it's an important part of being a good role model for the kids.

All these reasons are interrelated, of course. If you portray self-respect and self-acceptance and feel more self-confident, people will perceive you differently and will treat you differently ("differently" read: "better"). If you know you look good, it will be easier to treat yourself with respect and acceptance and to ask others to do the same. And if you feel good and respect and accept yourself, then your kids will pick up on that and will learn self-respect and self-acceptance too.

But isn't it important for men to have self-confidence, self-respect and self-acceptance? To show respect for others? Isn't it important for them to be desirable to their romantic partners? To set a good example for the kids and teach them how to have healthy self-esteem?

Let's assume that the producers did not make a conscious decision to exclude men from WNTW. Let us assume instead that either a) not very many men are nominated for the show; and/or b) men who are nominated choose not to participate. Why then aren't men nominated and/or why do they choose not to participate?

Perhaps men's and women's self-confidence is shaped differently. For several months I dated a gorgeous man who not only had broad shoulders and muscles but also a beautiful face and beautiful skin. If he had supplemented his natural good looks with clothing that flattered him, he would have been entirely irresistible. One day I asked him whether he thought he was handsome, and he said yes. I asked him to describe what made him handsome, and he talked about his strength and his muscles. That was all. Nothing about his skin, hair or eyes. Nothing about the symmetry of his face or his beautiful mouth.

I think of the men I know who would make fun of other men who dress well or groom themselves.

I think of the episode of House where the Aussie doctor was called out for having a manicure and having his eyebrows waxed (neither of which would have raised any suspicion had he been a woman).

I think of the term "metrosexual" to describe a straight man who devotes resources to personal grooming and clothing.

I think of the scene from Fight Club where Edward Norton and Brad Pitt scoff at the image of a beautiful man in an underwear ad, saying "Is that what a real man looks like?" Meanwhile their own faces and bodies show bruises and dried blood from their participation in fighting matches. They prize strength and prowess above physical attractiveness.

I think of the credit card commercial where a fairly unattractive, plainly dressed man is about to buy an engagement ring for his long-legged, red-haired fiancée, who is dressed for the runway.

Or of the fast food commercial where the man comes home to find his well-dressed, well-groomed and very jealous girlfriend waiting for him. Meanwhile he is dressed in work clothes but his hair is slightly mussed, his shirt too big, his facial hair in need of grooming; in short, he is presented in such a way as to minimize his attractiveness.

Resulting hypotheses:
1) Women have a responsibility in life to meet others' need for beauty; the same is not true for men.
2) Men are instead supposed to be strong and capable; if a man attends too much to his appearance, his priorities seem misplaced, and he is perceived as unmanly.
3) There are not more men on WNTW because men do not need to be beautiful--indeed perhaps should not be beautiful--because their responsibility is to provide physical protection and financial security, and that is where their self-respect, self-confidence and role model potential should come from.

I, for one, would be grateful if more men met my need for beauty. If they spent more time, energy and money on personal grooming (especially when there is a uni-brow or copious amounts of back hair involved) and on dressing themselves well. I don't see why men should be exempt from looking good. Because I do think that dressing well shows a modicum of respect for others. It says, "Hey, I care that I am out in public and you have to look at me, so I'm going to make an effort to be worth looking at." European men get it. Why should U.S. men get to go around all slovenly?

But if it is an issue of men in this society not having been taught how to take care of their physical appearance and look good, why then we are back to a role that What Not to Wear could play but is not. I would very much like to see the show devote an entire season to men's make-overs. After over 250 episodes featuring women, it doesn't seem unreasonable to ask for 22 that feature men.

more cultural differences

I'm still sort of "unpacking" my time in Madrid, still figuring out how it has changed me.

I worked a temp job downtown Portland for a week and a half, and one of the things I noticed was how rude people seemed to me when they'd get on the elevator without saying hello.

Of course I remember that this is normal here, but after experiencing how the Spanish create a sense of community in their apartment buildings and work places, not verbally acknowledging other people's presence seems so cold and unnecessarily distant.

I've also noticed a cultural difference between Portland and Central Oregon.

In Portland when one interacts with strangers (e.g. ordering a coffee, speaking with a bank teller, etc.), there is a willingness on both ends to connect, to see the other person as a person, to be open to each other and quickly establish a friendly acquaintanceship.

But so far in Bend and Sisters, although people smile and ask you how you're doing, there is a coldness behind it, an insincerity, an emotional wall. They ask because it is expected of them, but I don't get the impression that these people actually see me as a person, that they want anything other than to get the business transaction over with.

I clearly prefer the Portland culture in this respect. I like to be treated as a respected friend by the random people I do business with or stand in line with. It makes me feel like a person.

I have no idea what could cause such differences in cities only a couple hundred miles from each other. Maybe it's the high desert and Bend's lack of greenery. Maybe it's the political climate. Or the types of people that are attracted to each place. Maybe people who live in the desert would prefer to be left alone. I dunno.

But it might account for a large part of why I had such a hard time connecting with people and making friends when I lived in Bend. And why I feel so much more comfortable and accepted in Portland.