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Kick-ass guest post

The following is a special guest post by Glenda Jordan.  It was written as a paper for her Spring 2012 Gender and Society class at UT, where she is a senior majoring in Art.

“You write sociology papers like a girl!”

One of the worst insults a man can receive is to be called a woman. If a man is caught doing any ‘female’ activity or exhibiting ‘feminine’ behavior, he is condemned to the highest degree.

This is such a reality that advertising companies will do everything in their power to make sure that their manly product is not just masculine, but outright insulting to the very idea of femininity in general. In no way can a man consume a product that’s made or marketed for women. Not only is this incredibly sexist towards women, but profoundly sexist against men as well.

This concept of gendered advertising reaches into every product imaginable, including but not limited to: food, hygiene products, cars, household products, tools, fitness plans, and beverages. Gender-biased advertising is pervasive in TV, print, and radio, and seriously affects society’s perception of gender.

Beverages and food seem particularly affected by gender messages. For instance, although diet soda has been around for quite a while, soft drink companies came up with a new version of a low calorie drink they could market towards men, because ‘diet’ is seen as a feminine word and concept. Society says it is much less acceptable for a woman to be overweight than a man, so ‘diet’ and ‘woman’ go hand in hand. Media, advertising, and society tells us women must have perfect bodies.

An example of two major companies that already produced a diet soda, but have made a new low-calorie drink that excludes the word ‘diet’ include Coca-Cola and Dr. Pepper.

The original diet drink was straightforwardly named, with Diet Coke and Diet Dr. Pepper being the plain alternative to their sugary counterparts. Coca-Cola introduced Coke Zero in 2005. The design of the can featured black coloring and stocky, bold fonts in an attempt to make the can more masculine.

But perhaps the most audacious attempt at marketing a diet drink to men came in 2011 when Dr. Pepper introduced Dr. Pepper TEN. The can aesthetics featured a masculine gunmetal gray color scheme with rivets, a design strategy that evokes imagery reminiscent of weapons and power tools. The commercial advertising for the soda depicts an over-the-top jungle action faux-film sequence, with a muscular man claiming, “Hey ladies! Enjoying the film? Of course not! Because this is our movie! And Dr. Pepper TEN is our soda. It’s only ten manly calories, but with all 23 flavors of Dr. Pepper. It’s what guys want! ….So you can keep the romantic comedies and lady drinks, we’re good. Dr. Pepper TEN – IT’S NOT FOR WOMEN!” This is actual commercial on real television. The company would tell offended audiences that it’s simply satire, and of course it’s a joke. However, how acceptable would this advertisement be if it implied that the drink was for Caucasians, and not African-Americans? Would they be able to get away with saying it’s simply a joke, that of course black people can drink Dr. Pepper TEN? In the backlash against the Dr. Pepper TEN commercial, women have been trying to contact the company for an answer to the sexist advertisement. The response is nearly as condescending and patronizing as the commercial itself, with customer relations response emails being ‘written by women’ saying that they aren’t offended by Dr. Pepper TEN commercial. To use the ‘well I’m the same minority and I’m not offended’ reasoning is incredibly myopic and derogatory.

Yogurt presents another gendered food phenomenon, with commercials for yogurt being specifically aimed towards women. Perhaps because the food itself is pastel and soft, therefore men couldn’t possibly consume it, that companies feel they couldn’t market it towards men. In one commercial for Yoplait, two women, who are a very politically correct duo of a black and white woman spending time together in a spa (implying that all women can enjoy yogurt, regardless of ethnicity or socio-economic status! How progressive!), talk about how their yogurt is so good, that the next greatest thing they could compare it to is shopping for chocolate covered high heels. Once again, this is an actual commercial. On real television.

Advertising also tells us that women are the only people who have digestive problems and need assistance with their bowel movements. Activia is a yogurt that claims to help with the body’s digestion, and once again only women are the consumers. After the Activia campaign was launched, more digestive-aiding yogurt was created like Fiber One, and Yo-plus (all of which are created by Yoplait). There is such a feminine stigma to yogurt in today’s society, that some men, even if they want to eat yogurt, will avoid buying it. I personally know of several men who have requested their girlfriends or wives to buy them Activia because they want some, but are just as embarrassed to buy it as they would be having to buy tampons for their partners. It is also significant to note that the only other major consumers of yogurt, according to advertising, are children. Trix yogurt and Gogurt are major brands and sit right beside all the lady yogurt. In fashion advertising and media, women are constantly being portrayed as childlike or juvenile.

Hygiene products are incredibly gendered. Some of them are understandably so, like conditioner meant for longer hair or soap meant to remove makeup. However, men cannot just be marketed soap. It cannot be flowery, girly, or gentle in any way. Men must have manly soap, and advertising companies are adamant to make sure that both men and women believe this. As with the infamous lady-yogurt, there is such a stigma attached to tools that women use to clean themselves that men couldn’t bear to wash in the same way that a woman would get clean (or that’s what AXE tells us.)

AXE came out with the Detailer Shower Tool. It’s basically the guy’s version of a scrub pouf or loofah. It’s just another way to lather up soap, and that’s a difficult task with just your hands. A shower pouf works very effectively, but that’s what girls use, so AXE solved that problem by created something that looks like a car part/spare tire. In the commercial for it, no less than eight supermodel women clean the man’s body with it in a industrial car assembly style setting. Judging by the design graphic and aesthetic layout of men’s hygiene products, men also abhor any and all color other than gray, navy blue, and black. I have often seen products use the advertising scheme of saying things like “it’s none of that girly stuff” or “this product isn’t for girls/women”.

The extreme absurdity of this type of advertising lies with the reality of the products themselves. It. Is. Soap. It’s not for power tools hardcore enough that someone of small stature or strength couldn’t safely use them, it is literally slimy goo that you rub on your body to clean yourself. To claim that any product is just too hardcore for women to go near it is a marketing ploy trying to convince men that what they’re using is not feminized in any way, and that their masculinity is safe. Remember, nothing is more insulting or degrading than for a man than to be called a woman.

Advertising, media, and society tell us that women are born with the ability to use household appliances. Although men are usually praised for their competence at life in general, commercials portray them in another way when is comes to domesticity. Obviously only women do housework, but that not only because they’re women. It’s because the house would collapse if a man even attempted it. Commercials portray husbands and fathers as blundering idiots that have no idea of how to cook, clean, or take care of children. Exasperated wives and mothers roll their eyes and smile sympathetically as they take over what is a simple and ‘traditional’ task for them.

Advertising tells us that men can barbecue like a pro, but once the cooking and preparing food for the family is inside the house, it’s a disaster. Jif’s peanut butter slogan is ‘Choosy Moms Choose Jif!’, and KIX cereal’s is, ‘Kid-Tested, Mother Approved!’. In a commercial for Combos cheese snacks, the real mother is replaced with a ‘Man Mom’, in which the father is playing the mother role. Because he has absolutely no idea of how to provide nutritious sustenance for his children, he feeds them solely on cheese pretzel snacks.

The portrayal of domestic life in these commercials are just as sexist towards men as they are to women. Men are incapable of housework and childrearing, while women fly through it with ease because it’s what they were born to do. Companies even create household appliances specifically for men so that if men must do a domestic chore, they at least don’t look like a woman using it.

In 2010 Philips introduced an clothing iron designed for men. Looking more like a power tool than the average clothing iron, Philips claimed it offered ‘more power, more steam, more performance’. Apparently Philips feels if a man has to submit himself to the infamously domestic female task of ironing clothes, the tool he uses at least needs to be better than what women use, as well as looking more rugged.

The irony about common household objects, tools, or products that already exist but then companies make ‘masculine’ versions, is that it negates the reason for creating the masculine object in the first place. Companies create male version of female products because men do not want to feel emasculated when using something. It is very important that the product avoids colors like pink and purple, and cannot look feminine, because it is degrading for men to look like women, because how are women described? Shallow, materialistic, and frivolous. The irony is that products like these prove that men are actually the ones that possess all the qualities they claim women have, because they will go out of their way to buy something simply based on its aesthetics rather than its performance.

It’s important to note that the blithering idiot men in the domestic commercials are what men are supposed to be like when they turn into husbands and fathers. Before they settle down into married life, however, they are portrayed as overly-muscular, attractive, and domineering men capable of attracting any woman they want (as long as she looks like a supermodel). However, the domesticated men still want to be the sex-fueled violent beast their instinct tells them to be.

During the 2010 Superbowl, Dodge released a commercial about the Charger that depicted men standing still with grim faces while an inner monologue narrates their feelings. Parts of this monologue include, “I will eat some fruit for breakfast. I will shave. I will clean the sink after I shave. I will say yes when you want me to say yes. I will be quiet when you don’t want to hear me say no. I will take your call. I will listen to your opinion about my friends. I will listen to your friends’ opinions of my friends. I will be civil to your mother. I will put the seat down. I will separate the recycling. I will carry your lip balm. I will watch your vampire TV shows with you. I will take my socks off before getting into bed. I will put my underwear in the basket. And because I do this – I will drive the car that I want to drive.” The actual tagline and title for this commercial is ‘Man’s Last Stand’. Not having this car is the proverbial line drawn in the sand of all the crap that a man has to put up with in domesticated, civilized, and most significantly – feminized life. This commercial implies that men (regardless of socio-economic status or ethnicity), all detest the same things such as maintaining their personal and household hygiene, remaining non-violent, attempting to be sensitive and attentive, and being in a domestic partnership with a female. It also implies that men are literally desperate to resort back to hairy, filthy, violent man-beasts with no concept of civility.

Commercials tell us that that’s what all men want deep down, to return to the neanderthal roots of violence and power. In this Dodge ad, there is a powerful message being said: men don’t want to do any of the things listed and they resent the fact that they must do so anyway. Who is forcing them to live like this? The implication is clear. Although I am sure society is implied to have a role in forcing men to be civilized, in this ad the gross perpetrator is woman, and all she represents. In the monologue, the female’s friends, as with her mother, are nearly unbearable, but the fast car makes it worthwhile. The statement about the lip balm is particularly representative of the idea that for men to be associated with anything feminine is a societal crime. Man cannot bear to hold the female’s lip balm, but will do it if he can drive the fast car he deserves. Women suffer from silly female problems like having chapped lips and cannot hold their own lip balm (their purses are probably too full of chocolate covered high heels, tampons, makeup, and yogurt to fit chapstick), so the man must do it for her. To him, it probably is the most degrading thing on the planet, but as the commercial states, if you have the car, it’ll all be tolerable.

In the same way that traditionalists would argue that women want to be housewives and child-bearing home makers, so all the ads and hype and media are just satisfying women’s desire to be the way they are meant to be, the advertisers for all the hyper-masculine media would argue that the absurd man-beast is indeed men’s natural state. There is this pervasive stereotyping idea that men just desperately desire to be as cave-men like as possible. They hate shaving, bathing, wearing clean and/or proper clothes, keeping house, putting up with women in any context that doesn’t involve having sex with them, eating anything other than meat, working, and pretty much being ‘civilized’ in any context. The misogyny present in advertising that tries to sell products to males is disgustingly overt.

In 2006, Burger King launched the ‘Manthem’ commercial, which depicts a man eating lunch with his girlfriend at a fancy restaurant. Disgusted with both the content and proportions of his meal, the man can’t take it anymore and gets up to burst into song. Some of the song lyrics include “I am man, hear me roar, in numbers too big to ignore, and I’m way too hungry to settle for chick food! [….] Oh, yes, I’m a guy! I’ll admit I’ve been fed quiche! Wave tofu bye-bye!” At one point during the ad, a man strips off his underwear, flips a minivan off of a bridge, and unfurls a banner that reads ‘EAT THIS MEAT’.

As with the yogurt advertisements, food plays a large role in the way gender differences are portrayed by advertising. Men are condemned for eating healthy food, and are pussy-whipped if their girlfriend made them. And small portions? Forget about it. But the worst, the most unforgivable crime of the man-food code is to eat vegetarian. Only weak, spineless men would consider not eating meat. I’ve been a vegetarian for eight years now, and I can tell you that people certainly feel it is incredibly wimpy and pathetic to consider not tearing into animal flesh. Caring about the welfare of lesser creatures makes you a coward and a pansy, and you deserve to be ridiculed for it! (or so Burger King says).

Commercials and advertising imply that you are not a real man if every meal you consume doesn’t consist of industrial quantities of meat and any other type of food that will cause early onset cardiac arrest and obesity. Another lyric in the song was “I will eat this meat until my innie turns into an outie!”. It seems that food advertising has polar opposition for gender: women must eat as little as possible or feel guilty for consuming anything with more than 5 calories, and men must be proud of the massive amounts of fatty foods they consume (or at least want to consume). Yogurt is again a perpetuator of this idea, with its commercials trying to convince women that they have to avoid any type of desert food, but it’s all alright because the magical Yoplait has come up with tiny cups of flavored dairy alternatives to their favorite and selfish splurges like cake, pie, and ice cream. It’s just like the real thing! Right?

So with all of these commercials, products, and advertising ploys, we’re still left with the reality that society endlessly and relentlessly tries to convince us that it is not ok to be female. When did this insult begin? With the dawn of patriarchy eons ago? It is reasonable to assume that as long as women were and are considered the weaker sex, it would be an insult to men to be compared to one. What are the qualities that society and media tell us women possess? They tell us that women are frivolous, vapid, shallow, self-centered, nagging, bitchy, unreasonable, materialistic, and child-like. Both advertising for women and men propagate this idea. Average, everyday jibes perpetuate the female-accusatory insult. How many times have you heard men say to each other, “You’ve been whining all day. Do you need a tampon” or “Are you on your period?”. I can recall several films, mainly action or military, when a strong male authority figure shouts at a group of men, “This isn’t girl scouts!”.

In the Sandlot, the local rag-tag baseball group is having an insult match with the uniformed official team. The final blow that causes everyone’s jaw to drop and for an epic revenge match to be declared is when the rag-rag team member who’s representing his side shouts, “You play ball like a girl!” This rhetoric states that it is so incredibly easy to be a woman, and that the tasks and activities that women participate in are so shallow and purposeless and simple that to be accused of being associated with anything of the like is horrifying and insulting to the nth degree.
How do we combat this disparity? I have personally made people stop and stare when, after they utter a female-accusatory insult, I look straight at them and say, “That’s offensive to my gender.” I find it catches people up a bit, it’s like they don’t quite know what to do with what I said. I feel that this reaction is due in part to the reality that nobody seems to be addressing this issue in all seriousness. The female-accusatory insult prevails, day in and day out, in every level of society. When I pointed the offensiveness out to my brother, I was pleasantly surprised when he simply said, “Yeah. Actually, you’re right.”

I feel that the first step to try and dispel this type of language is to just get people to acknowledge what they’re saying. I also think it’s incredibly important to point out the sexism towards men in media and advertising that perpetuates the female-accusatory insult. Of course men are capable of child-rearing and domestic tasks. The insult degrades the mere existence of women and condemns men of expressing anything not ‘masculine’. For instance, if during a scene in a military film, a soldier cannot perform a task due to physical or emotional strain, a savage general could yell, “Suck it up, soldier! This isn’t girl scouts!” and it would be commonplace and acceptable for him to say that. This would imply that men who struggle with any physically or emotionally draining task is weak and pathetic for suffering, and that it’s not acceptable to feel that way.

This is why this rhetoric is damaging for both genders, not just women. Even the extremely common expression, “man up!” or the command to “grow a pair!” promotes the same sexism. One must be as masculine as possible or grow a pair of testicles to accomplish difficult tasks. “Ballsy” is a word used to describe someone of considerable courage and daring, while “pussy” is used to describe a weakling. “Pussy” having the obvious double usage of being both a descriptive term for a sissy and a coward, as well as the slang for a woman’s genitalia.

In an episode of South Park, the boys (Cartman, Stan, Kyle, and Kenny) are horrified to learn the truth of the veal industry, and steal calves from the butcher so that they can keep them safe in their room. Stan is so convicted of his passion for animal rights that he becomes a vegetarian. As the episode progresses, he becomes very sick and lesions appear all over his body. At the end of the episode, his doctor diagnoses him with a condition where the lesions are actually tiny vaginas that appear all over his body.

With the way that women are portrayed be society, I would almost agree that yes, actually, it is that horrible to be a woman. But only because we are treated as such by advertising, men, society, and even  other women.

The point to keep in mind here, over all this discussion of these gendered ads and commercials, is to really see what the companies are selling, and the consequences of how they sell it. Soap. Shower poufs. Soda. Yogurt. Cars. All these are seemingly so important and critical to a functioning society, that advertising companies will jeopardize the healthy perception of gender in society because they feel it will make them wealthier. The companies seem to forget human decency and respect all together for the sake of the almighty dollar. If human beings feel that these commercials and the attitudes they perpetuate are harmful, then they must make a stand and voice their opinions against these companies and their advertisements.

When those attitudes extend beyond the commercials and advertisements into everyday life, when you hear people saying anything that suggests that being a female is inherently negative, it is vital that you voice your disapproval.

It should not be acceptable to have the accusation that a man is feminine be the most offensive insult he can endure.

It should not be acceptable that a man who is a husband or father is expected to have no competency when it comes to household work and childrearing.

These attitudes are ridiculous, infinitely absurd, and incredibly detrimental to both genders. So man up, grow a uterus, and fight like a human being: with passion, reason, and equality.

Thanks for reading.

The much anticipated penile explanation blog

This will not be my usual post.  I admit that I blog across a wide range of subjects:  triathlon training, nutrition, secularism, family, law school.  But this subject is out there.  Waaayy out there.

What follows is a true story.  It was told to me by my brother, the attorney in the story.

South of Atlanta, there is a small town by the name of Griffin, Georgia.  Somehow, near the “downtown” center of Griffin (“downtown” is in quotation marks because the difference in uptown and downtown is about 25 yards), a rooster had gotten loose from its unknown owner and set about terrorizing the merchants and residents.  He took up primarily in the Verizon store parking lot, and made front page headlines with his aggression and bad aviary attitude.  Both Animal Control and a pest-control company were hired to capture the rooster, to no avail.  In some chain of events, it was discovered that someone knew or was related to a trapper in Gay, Georgia, who would guarantee the rooster’s removal.

The Trapper made his trip to Griffin, and proceeded to successfully remove the rooster from the Verizon parking lot.  Permanently remove, with the help of a 22-caliber pistol loaded with ratshot (teeny-tiny beebees, for you non-gun folks).  Unbeknownst to the Trapper, the entire bank of windows of the IHOP faced the artillery action, and cell phones lit up the 911 switchboard with reports of an armed, overall-clad, denture-challenged individual in the Verizon parking lot.

There followed then an encounter which resulted in the Trapper in handcuffs, charged with both reckless conduct and discharging a firearm in the city limits.  Here is where my brother comes in.

The Trapper calls a friend who calls Eric and tells him the highlights of the deal, and Eric agrees to represent Trapper.

The day of the hearing (yesterday) Eric met with Mr. Trapper and proceeded to go into the courthouse, but not before the obligatory security check.  As we all know, that requires emptying ones pockets, which Mr. Trapper did.  And in Mr. Trapper’s pocket was this:

We’ll leave the explanation of what this is for later in the post.  What Mr. Trapper said is that it is his good luck charm and he carries it with him at all times.  The security personnel allowed him to put it back in his pocket and proceed to his hearing.

The hearing was rather anticlimatic; the more serious of the two charges was eliminated, but Mr. Trapper would be responsible for the reckless endangerment charge that was accompanied by a fine of $200.  As they were walking to his car, Eric commented that his good luck charm worked, and he asked what the charm was.  Mr. Trapper said:

“It’s a raccoon pecker.  How much do I owe ya?”

Without missing a beat, my brother said:

“Well, the fee is $50, but because we got you off on the big charges, I’d like the good luck charm as a tip.”

Trapper thought a minute and said:

“Alright, I can git another’n.”

Then he proceeded to tell my brother that he was never coming back to the town of Griffin, that where he was from in Gay, GA, he knew everyone and they knew him.  In fact, he said, if Eric ever needs anyone shot, just make sure it was in Gay, Ga.

Sometime during the day he also shared with Eric his personal trick of trapping coyotes.  One of the sentences included the phrase “ground-up housecat”.  I am not making this up.

Ok, so the good luck charm.  It’s a raccoon baculum, and the Trapper was indeed, correct.  Did not see that coming, and I pride myself on the number of NatGeo and Discovery Channel specials I have watched.

So there you have it.  The Great Griffin Chicken Murder of 2012.  And its added bonus content of genitalia rodentia.  And coyote bait.  Gotta love the south.

Thanks for reading?

Cancer blows. And there aren’t enough words.

My friend’s kid is sick.  Really sick.

I don’t know what to do.

This young man (I almost wrote “boy” – he’ll be 28 in 9 more days, but I’ve known him since he was 6) is exceptional.  He’s funny and warm and smart; that doesn’t even matter – my friend is in love with her kid like we all are.  Her heart is breaking, and I don’t know what to do.  Every time we email back and forth, I close with the same tired, lame, useless “I love yous” and “I’m so sorries”.

Adam has struggled with leukemia for the past 5 years.  As with diseases like this, there are times of false security when the bastard lays low and allows you a moment to breathe and look around, and then back he waltzes, right into the middle of your life.

Adam is an engineer, Purdue 2007, and is a classic computer geek/nerd.  I got to attend his wedding in Indiana several years ago, and the legend was that he proposed to his lovely wife Kelly after she beat him in his favorite video game.  When Adam and his brother Aaron and my two sons were little, we lived on the same quiet street.  My friend Renee, Adam’s mom, and I would discuss their passion for videogames and bounce restrictions and limits off each other to make sure we were on track.  Far simpler times; like we should have worried about that.

When the boys were little, and it was the big boys against the little boys, inevitably Adam would become the peacemaker and the Lego’s would once again become the domain of all 4 of them.  Even now Adam’s struggle, lying in a hospital bed, is not wanting to disappoint anyone if he can’t get down his daily count of calories due to the chemo and other meds.  He’s a kind, compassionate, gentle, loving man, and he’s sick, and I can’t help my friend.

On his Caring Bridge site, his guestbook is full of good wishes and good thoughts.  It is indicative of how much the boy is loved and cared about to read these posts.  Each time I visit the site, I have my fingers hovered over the keys, trying to think of what to write, how to say how much we care and want him to get well, about our confidence in his medical team, how spectacular we think he is.  As I read the other entries, I see that my fellow wellwishers are experiencing the same writer’s block.  I think about Adam and his family reading every word and the comfort they might take in the love expressed from friends, even in middle of their despair.  And all of the strength that words have ever had just vanishes.

Last year, just before Bonnaroo, Adam inboxed me to recommend a band that was playing.  I made a point to go hear them, and as I suspected, they were metally and weird, and just what you’d expect from a game geek/engineer/science/computer guy.  But I loved it just because Adam wanted me to.

And now the hospital is home, the Candlewood Suites is home for my friend Renee, and her husband David.  A few years ago, when Adam was first sick, and I was either still in massage therapy school, or just out, I made a trip up for a couple of days with Renee.  She’s probably the smartest friend I have (which is saying something with the group of people I hang with!), but also one of the kindest and most thoughtful.  I went up to support her and give her a massage and help her, but it was she who had girlie presents for me of lotion and candies and we ate like kings while I was there.   Renee and David made the drive down to Murfreesboro for my 50th birthday party, and one of Renee’s gifts to me was an engraved wine glass that read “The Greatest Ironman is a Woman”.  She has since finished her PhD in nursing and is teaching at the U of So. Indiana, and of course has had a long career in helping and teaching others.

She and I are both very expressive, so our relationship has through the years been one of many words.  Long conversations, long letters, long emails, and now I don’t know what to say.  I told her in my last email that I so wanted to say something profound and comforting, something to make her smile, or laugh, or think, and I’ve failed.  Epically failed.  It’s cliche to write it, but words are so thin and meaningless in this situation.  That’s hard to take in a relationship in which words have had such profound meaning.

I love you.  I’m sorry.  I hate this.

Wrapping you up in a friend’s arms, because it’s all I can do.

Adam and Renee at her PhD graduation celebration
Adam and beautiful Kelly
This is the boy who suggested Opeth
Dugger Fam

Community

I credit evolution.

My kids get tired of my constant reference to it, but I think we can learn so much from our evolutionary heritage.  I’m not a scientist, so all of this is amateur, but I’m learning how to apply what evolution can teach us now.

About 10 years ago, when I started on a journey to regain my health, I discovered information that allowed me to do that.  I began to study metabolic science, nutrients, human anatomy, and what that information can tell us about what to eat and how to move.

Because I chose law school over medical school, I had to learn how to learn science, starting with formulating a hypothesis, studying the process, studying the data, in this case applying it personally (n=1), and seeing if the hypothesis holds up.  So here I started with the hypothesis that maybe we should eat like our ancestors ate, since that seemed to have allowed them some survival advantage.  I’ve written a whole other blog about all of that; I mention it because it’s the method I’m going to use for this next topic.

Back to evolution.  As I study anthropology and what our societies were like before we embraced agriculture, which seems to be a real change in our history, I’m finding that we lived in small, cooperative communities, pooling resources, celebrating together, grieving together, raising children, struggling to understand our environment, finding ways to protect ourselves from the environment and predators.  Almost all of these societies, across the globe, had myths and tales about origins of the world, explanations for natural phenomena, and rituals for birth and death.  As Americans, our particular pedigree comes from the Abrahamic line, and those rituals and rules over the years have become manifest in contemporary Christianity.   The church has provided a place for gathering, to worship, instruction, support, a common agenda – all sating very primal needs.

Sometimes in my discussions with believers, the topic veers from the validity of religion to the usefulness of religion.  I absolutely believe that religion can be useful; this blog is about just that.  I also believe that its usefulness has no bearing on its truthfulness (please tell me I just invented that phrase).

As I attend secular conventions (AA in April, TAM9 in July, Skepticon 4 in November), and as an avid blog reader, and new activist, I have made the following observations about the secular community:

1.  We are intellectuals.  We can blog the hell out of any topic, including, but not limited to, gelato.  We love the process of language, we love words, we have a unique ability to explain our position, and, thanks to the interwebs, can back it up with citations and references.

2.  We own the internet.  No shit.  It is the single most effective reason atheism is experiencing the growth it is – even evangelicals are acknowledging that.

3.  The future of the movement is in the hands of college students – not individual, identifiable people, but as a demographic.  It’s the perfect window of age to be free from familial obligations of church attendance and exposure to a broad base of philosophical and social input, yet young enough not to have established personal habits of faith and superstition in their own new families.

4.  We are young and we are old.  It seems that, both through the blogs and attendance at conventions, that we are comprised of youngs (18-25) and olds (50+).  It’s not that we don’t have the middle folks – in my own local group that’s actually a large percentage of our number – it’s just that that group is busy with career and spouses and children that the youngs and the olds don’t have.

5.  Community.   Online: we have it in spades.  Every support group you can imagine – recovering fundamentalists, ex-Mormons, secular parenting.  Flesh and blood: not so much.  We’re working on it, and we’re getting better at it, but we’re no match for churches.  I think that that sense of community, rather than a devotion to the faith itself, is what keeps a lot people in church.

As our evolutionary history tells us, we are social beings.  We need to feel included, but individual, protected but not restricted, part of a group yet independent.  The contemporary church has provided its version of that; I think the secular movement can do at least that, and even do it better.

My local group of seculars (hereinafter known as: the posse) is heavy on the very group I say the movement as a whole doesn’t have:  young adults with families.  There are couple of us oldies, and the ubiquitous college agers, but we’re lucky enough to have several young couples and their beautiful, freethinking young children.   Which finally brings me to the point of this post:  my scheme to take over the world social experiment.

Our posse, instead of just hanging out and sampling the finest hops our town has to offer, is going to add a bit of intention to our efforts.  We’re going to try to make our get-togethers a smidge more family-friendly:  choosing restaurants that are easier on the wallet, more conducive to child palates (notwithstanding my moratorium on Chuck E Cheese), parties where the children are accommodated with caretakers (perhaps education majors from our local university?), scheduled activities that work around school nights and bedtimes, service projects in which entire families can participate.

So stay tuned for updates — right now I’m on my way to a New Year’s Party with said posse – best wishes to all for 2012!!

Happy Saturnalia! Festivus! Christmas!

Ok, ok, I’m listening.  And reading.  And paying attention.  When enough of you ask the question, or make the comment, I get it.  That’s one of the best parts about having a blog; the opportunity to clarify, explain, and answer!

Christmas without religion.  I don’t know if it’s really that hard to comprehend, or if it’s simply too disturbing and uncomfortable to even contemplate.  Several people have asked, with differing levels of hostility, why I have an interest in celebrating Christmas.  My first inclination is to ask them what specifically are their Christmas traditions, and how do those traditions relate directly to the celebration of Jesus’ birth?  Let’s take a look…

Is December the 25th the actual anniversary of Jesus’ birth?  What information do we have about this?  Just a little research will reveal that even religious leaders acknowledge that it is highly unlikely that the date Christians celebrate as the birth of Christ is the date we know now as December 25.  However, let’s just assume for argument’s sake that we’ve simply agreed to celebrate it on this day.  But why did it get “implanted” here?  Why late December?   The pagan Roman emperor Aurelian had proclaimed December 25th as the birth of the invincible sun-god Saturn.  Christianity cleverly and strategically had begun supplanting pagan celebrations (see Easter) in an effort to “facilitate conversion”, and viola!  Merry Christmas!  In fact, there are some Christian faiths who choose to de-emphasize the celebration of Christmas altogether, basing that on admonition from the scripture not to participate in pagan festivals.

Christmas trees and greenery?  That’s an old Nordic tradition celebrating those evergreen and holly trees, with their lovely red berries, which keep their beautiful color even in the depths of winter.  I’m old-school, and will only be happy with a live tree; my mother and brother both have perfectly gorgeous fake trees, so the debate continues year to year.

Santa Claus?  That’s about as secular as one can get!  The patron saint of children, Saint Nicholas, whose day was designated as December 6, traditionally gave children gifts.  The poem by Clement Moore added to the image of the jolly old elf.  Again, many believers choose to downplay this beloved tradition in an attempt to be less confusing and more honest with their children about things that are make-believe and things that are real.

Stockings by the fireplace?  Another old European tradition about the Norse god Odin’s flying horse.  During the Yule festival, children would put carrots, sugar, and straw in their boots, and leave them by the fireplace for the great Odin’s horse.  In exchange for this kindness, Odin would leave the kids candy and treats.  In our house, the kids could retrieve their stockings before daylight, but had to wait til dawn to come wake us up for presents.  Most years, this was after our having stayed up til 3 or 4 am assembling some toy or another.  Another Christmas tradition in our house was Christmas day naps.

Family gatherings, food, singing songs?  As an end-of-the-year celebration, many people have time off and choose the recognized holidays to renew family ties.  Sometimes that includes attending church services, and sometimes not.  Schools are traditionally closed, allowing college students the chance to go home and see their parents and siblings.  Special and celebratory foods go hand in hand with this, as does game-playing, song-singing, laughing, talking…well, that’s how it is in my house!  Our favorite holiday foods – dark chocolate walnut fudge, boiled custard made with fresh eggs, sausage and cheese balls and gooey yeast cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning.

Gift-giving?  I believe that’s as old as mankind itself.  The tradition of expressing gratitude, or love, or affection through the exchange of gifts is carried on even now; the wrapping and decorating are an expansion of that.  We all know that we’ve taken this too far in our society, and have overcommercialized that aspect of the holiday, but it’s still integral to the season.  My go-to is always books, books, books, but I always get a little something sparkly for my precious mother.  And get this, my dad’s birthday is December 25, and I really do go to the trouble every year of getting him 2 gifts, and wrapping one in non-Christmas paper!

As for me and my family, our Christmas traditions now are almost identical to the traditions we observed when we were believers, leaving out only attending the Christmas services at the church.  We do a lot of eating/cooking/baking/drinking, a lot of game-playing (this year’s favorite is Apples to Apples), a lot of talking and laughing and gift-wrapping and arguing and debating, some movie watching, hiking on the farm, gathering old friends, and this year, a lot of relaxing post-finals, as my kids and I are all in school, save our one graduate intern.

Our unique traditions include:

A psycho collections of nutcrackers that is WAY out of control.  It started when the kids were little, and has grown to over 100.  Son Sam gets devious pleasure out of “reorganizing” my display by having them all turned to face the wall, or all turned to face each other, or hiding in my cabinets looking at me when I open the door.

Also, this truly bizarre assembly:  we have recently added this very unconventional (surprise) and darkly interesting event.  The kids and I share with one another our annual memorial plan update.   Yes, that memorial plan.  How we wish to be memorialized when we die.  We add some ghoulish delight by making it a drinking game (you’d have to understand my brilliantly quirky kids).  We end the affair by expressing yet again our love for one another, and our humble and profound appreciation for every single breath we draw in this, our one and only life.

So, that’s what Christmas means to me.  And I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that most believers participate in the same traditions as I’ve just described here.  If you want to put religious significance into this celebration, enjoy!

I’ll end with my favorite Christmas song….ever.

Best of the season to you and yours!

Thanks for reading!

Thankful without a “To”

Good to be back, dear blog.  My bad.  More promises I won’t keep about blogging more regularly and all that.  I hope that my excuse of studying for a final that covers an entire year of law school is if not acceptable, at least understandable.

My Thanksgiving post has been, as former GOP candidate and excuse-generator extraordinaire Herman Cain said, “twirling around in my head” for almost 2 weeks now.  And now that I am afflicted with the I-can’t-sleep-for-worrying-about-my-test syndrome, I find myself with the opportunity to write it.

I had a delicious and delightful season of Thanksgiving.  I was able to share it with my daughters and SO’s in Johnson City, TN, where one of my girls lives and learns.  The weather cooperated beautifully, even to the point that we were able to have our feast in the afternoon sun in the backyard, complete with the ubiquitous Boo under the table.  Our food was traditional, save the English marmalade gravy contributed by our very own royal subject, and Glenda’s squeeze, Sam.  The food was scrumptious, the atmosphere intoxicating, the conversation stimulating, and the moment unforgettable.

shamelessly stealing from Google, because epic fail at picture taking myself – our picnic looked a lot like this

There are times, as I’m sure everyone has, when I am so moved by a moment, that I am not only rendered speechless, but physiologically affected with breathlessness and tachycardia.  I have more of these moments in the presence of my children that at any other time.  Thursday was just such a day.

We had enjoyed the usual routine of the pre-preparation activities of grocery shopping, about a half-dozen of us in the store to accomplish that task, and had enjoyed the bawdy hilarity of that spastic chaos.  Then the next day we enjoyed the full day’s preparation of chopping, and stirring, and baking, and sipping, and mixing, and tasting, and hauling the table and chairs to the yard, and carrying the wine and dishes and glasses and flatware until finally it was time to feast.

I’m one of THOSE moms.  I had insisted everyone write a haiku as our pre-meal reflection.  Each of us read another person’s, and in those haikus, some reverent, some not, all creative, as we raised our glasses in toast to gratitude itself, I had my moment.  Looking into the faces of these profoundly important people, I was overwhelmed with how absolutely and completely fortunate I am and have been.

First, to have been here at all.  Of all the millions of biological combinations that could have been at the moment of my conception, and it was my particular egg and sperm, in this country, at that moment, to those people.  To have had the opportunity to have the education I have had, with that family and those friends, the travels I have made, the relationships I’ve been part of, the health I’ve experienced, culminating 51 years later in a sunny backyard in Tennessee with these beautiful people, that wonderful food, in this spectacular country, in this unique time.

same girls, different picnic – epic photo fail, ‘member?

I have always had a recognition of how very fortunate I have been.  When I was a believer I attributed it all to God, and often said a prayer of thanks; for a god who could create universes and intervene in physics and change weather, my little life, while important to me, was not a nanosecond’s work, but I was grateful nonetheless.  As an atheist, who holds no belief in divine intervention, I am utterly astounded at my good fortune.  Daily.  Hourly.  By the second.

My believing friends comment pretty regularly to me that this is a piece of my non-faith they do not understand, this disregard of blessing.  Do not misunderstand me.  My variance with you on the source of the joys in no way detracts from my gratitude for it; in fact, it substantially enhances it.  I remember visiting Arches National Park years ago as a Christian, being moved by the beauty of it, thinking how wonderful it was for God to have simply created it, in the blink of an eye.  Looking at the same view with the eyes of a secularist, processing the years, and forces of wind and water, and effects of gravity and physics, left me silent with deep wonder and awe and respect.

I close with my haiku, which I suppose I could have substituted for this entire post:

Thankful, but to whom?

No, not “To whom?” but “For what?”

Family, life, love

And, as always, in the spirit of gratitude, thanks for reading!

Time to blog

Hi everyone!  Good to be back.  Didn’t have the heart to blog for a bit, but life goes on.

September.

I have loved September since I was a little girl.  Back in the day, we didn’t start school until after Labor Day, and unlike everyone else who dreaded the end of sumer, I couldn’t wait for school to start.  I was a smartypants, and school was my refuge.  Home life was sometimes unpleasant, and I thrived (throve?) in school.  The pre-September school-clothes shopping event put me over the moon, and I had everything laid out on my bed the night before.  It is not lost on me what a total dork that makes me out to be – Proudly.

Then there’s the fact that I am a southerner.  You really simply do not have an appreciation for fall if you have not withstood a southern summer.  It was 106 degrees here in middle Tennessee today.  It’s been a helluva summer.  But it’s September, and that heat is gonna give before the end of the month – forecast says it’s the next few days.  It almost always breaks before the equinox and I start looking for it on September 1.  That feel in the air of the drop in humidity, cool mornings and coffee on the porch, warm, clear sunshiny days of autumn.

With that turn in the weather comes football, high school and college, some of the best memories I have.  Friday nights in Fayette County, or Saturday mornings in Athens, bring on the game.  Those days hold significance each for their own reasons, all of them good.  The friendships, the joy of the game, the partying, the ritual…all good.

Then when I became a parent (and one of my favorite kids was born in September), September meant a new schedule, new routine, new teachers, time to learn new things.  For me it was a time for my new year’s resolutions – September was always a fresh start and new year for the kids and for me.

Finally, I have decided I’m a 3-season athlete.  I don’t like training in the heat, the kids are all over the map and I’m trying to follow them, and after a long 9 months of training, it’s good to take the summer off.  But after that three months, my sneaks start to call, the bike’s ready to roll her tires, and the cool mornings and warm afternoons just beckon to be utilized.

So bring out the turtlenecks and start cutting the firewood.  Fall’s here.

Thanks for reading.

Ragbrai 2011

Hot, Hot, HOT!!

In spite of that, we’re having a great time!

I always have intentions of blogging everyday, but every year I forget how unbelievably difficult it is to find internet access or a decent signal on my aircard.  The system is so overloaded with the influx of 20,000 cyclists and their electronica – we get text messages from one another the next day.

The drive up was uneventful, considering the bus, the passengers, and the mission.  We met 5  team members in 3 places near Davenport.  So we were finally assembled as a team of 16 and headed across the state to Glenwood, the starting town.

The ride up gets interesting

The first morning is always so exciting — we’re like racehorses waiting for the gates to open.  Everyone is in clean, new Team Fly jerseys, our bikes are cleaned and tuned and we get up at sunrise ready to roll.

most of the team starting out

The weather forecast has been for mid to high 80’s, which sounds lovely until you factor in the heat index (which, by the way friends, Rush Limbaugh says is a left wing conspiracy).  We’ve had such high humidity a couple of days have been ridiculously uncomfortable.  It has finally (on day 6) leveled off a bit, but it’s still toasty.

musician in a tree doing yoga?
hanging around the campsite in the evening
Slacklining for cyclists
Chef Dustin and our salmon feast
typical campsite shot
temporary tattoos
sometimes it happens
some small town in Iowa
not sure
all of Iowa has this good of reception
Bobbing for beer - not as easy as it looks
tequila, especially expensive tequila, helps with the heat
sweet Sam
another typical campsite shot
lots and lots of this

I know this blog is heavy on the pics and light on the words, but I’ll go back and fill in.  Hopefully the pics tell a lot of the story.  I’ll try to have more pictures on my Facebook page and on the Team Fly Facebook page.

For now, I’ll end this blog at about the halfway point of the ride and do a followup post when I can get internet again.

We are having a blast, as we always do on this magnificent bike ride.  We are enjoying each other and all of our new friends in spite of the atrocious heat.

Thanks for reading!!

 

And now for a complete change of pace

I forget that not everyone knows the lingo.

Kick-ass Team Fly bus

Ragbrai is such a part of our family’s vocabulary I can’t remember ever not knowing it.  This bike ride across Iowa has been rolling every year since 1973; our family’s first year to do it was 1990.

Ben was 5 and already on his 2 wheeler.  Sam was 3 and on training wheels.  The girls were 16 months old.  We were living in Minnesota at the time, and Iowa was just a hop-skip south.  My dad had done Ragbrai and urged us on so off we went.

It was a train wreck to say the least.  Jesse was on his bike with Sam and Ben in a little cart behind him, trailering Ben’s baby bike.  Every few miles, Jesse would get Ben out of the cart, let him ride a mile or two, put him back in the cart with Sam, and they’d go on again.  I had the two girls in the cart behind me, with their toys and sippee cups and pillows.

It was hot and crowded and we couldn’t get enough.  The rest, as they say, is history.  Our family calls this week the Best Week of the Year.  We may not get all the kids together at Christmas, but we can always count on Ragbrai.

This year, as it has been the last few years, Ben and girlfriend Kirsten will drive from Colorado and meet us in the End Town (Davenport this year) on the Eastern edge of the state, where they will get in the bus with us and drive across to the Western edge (Glenwood).

from the back looking forward
from the front looking toward the back

We will pack the bus and leave from Murfreesboro at 6:00 on Wednesday.  It’s about 18 hours (by Team Fly bus) to Davenport, then another several hours across.  We’ll be in place Saturday evening for our team kickoff meeting and Sunday am start!  Tradition has the group of 20,000 riders dipping their wheels in the Missouri River Sunday morning, then after the 500 or so miles across the state, 7 days later dipping them in the Mississippi.

peleton up top

These are all old pictures.  I’ll do my best to blog across the state, but internet is just too overwhelmed, even with my aircard.

Team Fly 2009

If ever in your daydreaming you think about doing something crazy and impulsive and out of the ordinary….Ragbrai is your ride.  Always the last full week in July, always 7 days, always west to east.  You don’t have to ride every mile – that’s what the bus is for.

Thanks for reading!

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