Emily C. Has a Feminist Moment...

http://www.the-spearhead.com/2009/10/09/the-war-on-science-fiction-and-marvin-minsky/

thanks to www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com

...Yeah. Read that, and then you can read this post.

This is unfair, because none of the men I know would ever talk in the way the writer of the article in question talks. In fact, this article is doing a disservice for men, as it is painting them as afraid of women’s achievements in both science and science fiction writing. It is also painting men as assholes, plain and simple. It’s easy to think fondly of “days of yore” when men were men, and women were happy to stay at home and greet their husbands cheerfully at the end of a workday with a full three-course meal served.

I prefer today, where a friend of mine (she’s young- only 20) came to me worriedly and asked me if it was ok that she wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I told her that it was fine, as long as her partner was also in favour of it, and if she was willing to help out and get a job if her partner ever lost his job and the family was in financial straits. It’s all a matter of choice, in my opinion. Some women just want to stay at home, take care of that home and raise the children. And that’s completely fine. Conversely, if a man’s ambition is to stay at home, take care of that home and raise the children, that also needs to be ok. Equality runs both ways, kiddies.

Back to the article. The writer goes on to mention that because of casting strong females in science fiction shows, this will result in fewer boys pursuing science related careers. In the writer’s mind, this will also lead to fewer scientific breakthroughs and discoveries.... because, obviously, only men are capable of these discoveries and they can only come by these discoveries with proper encouragement from male role models on science fiction television. Was Richard Dean Anderson on Stargate SG-1 not enough for you? How about Malcolm Reynolds? Captain Kirk? Picard? Richard Deckard? George Jetson? Even Mad Max can be considered science fiction and yet... simply having a female protagonist on a science fiction show has become a threat upon men entering the field of science. I call shenanigans.

If someone finds chemistry, biology, physics, etc. compelling, he/she is going enter into a field that involves that subject. If someone has been affected by cancer and wants to find a cure for it, they are going to go into a field that allows them to do so. Gender has nothing to do with it. Also, whether a woman is the leading character of a popular science fiction show or not, that has nothing to do with it. The bottom line is, men and women in this world are going into fields and careers that they feel strongly about, regardless of what they’ve watched on television.

Believe me. This is coming from a generation raised on The Simpsons. Let’s use The Simpsons as an example. Homer could well be considered a role model for male youth. We all laugh and shrug off his antics, but how many young men are watching and thinking that this is an ok way to act? Or how about... I don’t know... try any other main male role on tv today?! TV is not the thing to blame, and if you’re that concerned, just admit you’re sexist and be done with it. Don’t try to hide behind television stations. In fact, you’re downright misogynistic. Science fiction has had nothing but male writers for a long time. And suddenly, because girls are getting in on it and *gasp* making it more compelling and interesting, you’re all up in arms to get them to stop? How dare you. How dare you try to say that women are what’s wrong with today’s science fiction.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Frank Herbert. I love Robert Heinlein. But I also love Lois McMaster Bujold. I’m about equality in the genders, and it pisses me off when someone tries to put forth something so anti-female. I’m an easy-going person, and this offends me.

I'd Promise not to ignore this again, but I'd be lying.

Yeah. I admit it. In the rush of getting back from Sweden, and the real world closing in on me, I forgot about my blog. Luckily, it's all good 'cuz no one reads my blog! Whew! Getting back to my modern day diary entry, Sweden was great. I might have a well thought out, concise entry (as I was planning for SNL) to follow. I swear they're coming, and I promise I'm not on drugs.
What I was thinking about with regards to this entry was my birthday. Yes, it's coming up soon. Now, normally I plan nothing for my birthday. Having been moved around a lot and having been a fantasy nerd needless to say I haven't had very many "incredibly awesome, rockin'" birthday parties. Though I don't expect this year to be any different (after all, how many friends do I have?!) I am hoping, as I have posted the event on facebook, that at least a few of my friends will come.
This may seem as a terribly sad pull for friends, but surprisingly it's not. I'm in Toronto for the next year, I'm withholding any words that may come forth when an elderly relative enquires of my relationship status, I'm cool with high school friends who choose end communications upon starting a longterm relationship....Which leaves me with.... friends. That's it, that's all. Friends only. Is that so hard to find?

Emily of Sweden, Part V: Into the Wild (Swedish style)

On Friday Dad and I ventured out- perhaps the farthest I've ever been in Sweden. We were heading to his cottage (newly acquired last fall: he and Märit have a fun summer ahead of them), which is about a 2 1/2 hour drive from Knivsta. It was an uneventful drive, there wasn't much to look at beyond farmland and the now-familiar red houses with white trim.

To get there involved quite a drive over an old dirt road. There was only so far we could go before we had to get out and walk the rest of the way to the cottage. On a lake with evergreens all around, the isolated place put me in mind of Northern Ontario. The difference is, of course, in Sweden it's not too long before you're back among people, whereas in Northern Ontario if you get lost there is a real chance you could be killed by wild animals, or simply freeze to death (and then those same wild animals will feast upon your remains).

But back to the Swedish cottage. It was a good reminder to me of how much I enjoy getting back to nature- we were able to take the canoe out for a spin, I lit the fire and even the outhouse didn't bother me much. (It's a far cry from the putrid stalls you find in public parks, though.) It was colder than I like for camping, even though we were inside, and sleeping in the loft made the outhouse less quaint and more of an annoyance, but all in all it was a good trip. It was also good to see a place with so few people. Sometimes I get this image of Europe in general as this overpopulated madhouse of cutting-edge fashion, ancient architecture and a snooty attitude towards 'the colonies'. I'm happy to say that in Sweden I haven't encountered this last one at all, and as far as fashion goes, well, I don't think I'm one to judge.

So. After one night at the cottage, it was time to head back to civilization and modern amenities. We returned to Knivsta and prepared to attend a concert- an Iranian singer, known as 'the nightingale of Iran'. The adventures of Emily of Sweden continue...

Emily of Sweden, Part IV: Attack on Stockholm

I took on Stockholm early in the morning on May 7th. A short train ride from Knivsta saw me in Central Station by 9am. By the end of the day, I reigned victorious over the ancient and beautiful city by the Baltic, but it wasn't without heavy casualties.

My first setback came right out of the station. One wrong turn had me far from the tourist office, wasting my valuable energy simply trying to get my bearings. Once I reached the tourist office, I felt confident that my troubles were over- Oh, how mistaken I was! I purchased my Stockholm Card, received a map of the museum locations and away I went. I found the Mediterranean and Middle Eastern Museum: It didn't open till 11am (at this point it was shortly after 10). I moved on to the Museum of Dance: There was some sort of baby-day affair going on. As I do not have a baby, I could see I wasn't welcome. From there I wandered over to Gamla Stan ("Old Town") with the intention of seeing the Royal Palace. Unforturnately, though the signs told me to ask for staff assistance, there were no staff to be found. Somewhat dejected, I took a few pictures of the buildings and proceeded down a pedestrian-only street. Though I was tempted by the many interesting shops, at this point I hadn't been to a single museum yet, and I worried about getting my money's worth (or rather, Dad's money's worth- thank you, Dad!) out of my Stockholm card. I found my way back to Norrmalm (the modern city centre- like being downtown T.O.) and grabbed a burger (it was now 12 and I was famished).

Things began to look up for me. I headed back to the Mediterranean Museum, knowing that it would be open by now. Sure enough, I got in and was able to take many pictures. However, I reached the mummy exhibit and got a bit creeped out, so I moved on to the Museum of Dance, confident that the baby time would be over. My belief turned out to be entirely correct and I quickly took in the many exhibits.

The battle had reached a stand-still at this point: I was unsure of where to go next, and wandered aimlessly in search of inspiration. Then Stockholm got a bit tricksy, by sending a nice young Swedish student to attempt to distract me with a survey. Oh, Stockholm. I cannot be fooled by your magician's tricks. I answered the questions quickly and moved on- my next goal was the Medieval Stockholm Museum, but it proved elusive. I was not about to surrender! A moment of brilliant thought, and I was on a bus heading for Skansen.

Once in Skansen, I had Stockholm on the ropes. I went to the Aquarium, the Nordic Museum and off to the Museum of Antiquities. Stockholm cried for mercy and I, gracious in my victory, simply claimed the city as part of Emily-Land. My job done, I returned to Knivsta for victory pancakes and an evening of British television.

Emily of Sweden, Part III: Sweden, Finally!

After Munich, my arrival in Arlanda was a breeze. No one questioned, searched or even eyed me suspiciously as I zoomed to the luggage claim and then out through the nearest exit. Dad and I took a crazily fast train right to Knivsta, and then after a quick trip for groceries we got to his place. I settled into the guest house and took in the changes since the last time I visited. (Wow! Indoor plumbing! Heated tile floors! Big TV! The place has definitely improved.) After, I sat in the kitchen to visit as Dad and Marit prepared dinner.

It was an early night for me, and the next day I slept in and had a liesurely morning/afternoon before...wait for it... Emily of Sweden took on IKEA! I wasn't in a position to buy anything, but IKEA is always a fun store to wander through and look at everything. Plus, I can get ideas for my next apartment- once back in Canada, of course.

It was another quiet evening, with Stockholm to look forward to in the morning.

Emily of Sweden, Part II: the Failed Raid of Munich

After several delays, the plane from Toronto finally took off. I had one of the worst seats on the plane: almost at the very back and sandwiched between two strangers, both of whom proceeded to fall asleep and spent most of the trip infringing on my space and impeding any trip to the bathroom. After a couple of movies and tv shows (in-flight entertainment has really improved since my first international flight!) and a nap or two we arrived at Munich airport. Because of the initial delay there was a great burst of people trying to leave- some old men even tried to get off the plane before we had even finished landing!

Once off the plane we were herded into the main area of the airport and everyone received an informative handout about the swine flu. Apparently, Germany doesn't have it yet. I'd try some germ warfare, but unfortunately, I don't have swine flu either.

I successfully navigated my way through customs and began wandering through the airport with a pained expression due to the onset of a stomachache. Wait... is that a sign of swine flu?! ...Nah... if anything, I blame the inflight meal. I wanted the beef, but by the time they got around to serving the back all that was left was chicken. Damn you, Airplane Chicken!

Now, I have made it to the appropriate gate- my passport is stamped and I'm ready to go. I just wish there were drinking fountains around. I'm parched. All I've been able to find are Camel smoking rooms (apparently for smoking Camel cigarettes only) and nap booths (these I fully support and would endorse if given the chance.) So while my brief stay in Munich airport was not a total fail, it wasn't what I'd think of as a win- or even a tie. Onward, to Sweden!

Emily of Sweden, Part I: Escape from Canada

Note: This entry, and the next, were written on the go while I was without Internets.


I've made it to the airport! There were some bumps- I needed help arranging to get my boarding pass, there was some discussion of whether I should just take both bags as carry-on (I opted not to: my suitcase is full of shampoo, conditioner, etc, which is now a no-no... thanks a lot, terrorists.) and the baggage check woman laughed at my last name.

My final security check was the worst. I didn't realize I needed to check my laptop separately (yeah... I wasn't thinking) and so my bag had to be searched completely. My camera-in-a-sock was met with an amused raised eyebrow (Come on, guy! I already dropped more money than I should have for the camera, memory card and extended warranty, a sock will serve as a camera case for now!) and my spare plastic fork was met with bewilderment (though actually, I'm not sure where it came from either...) but in the end I was able to pack everything back up and proceed.

Now here I am, enjoying a beer in an airport bar before I mosey over to my flight gate. Sweden is 21 hours away! My initial flight is 2 hours away! Aerosmith is playing! My beer isn't empty! Life is good.

Squick...

So, I've been watching some early SNL episodes lately. (Season 3: 1977-1978) And it started me thinking about a number of things... most I'll probably get to later, because the one that is pressing in my mind is the whole situation of when you say something, and then later on that saying comes back to bite you in the ass, and wouldn't you know it, most of North America has it on tape! To cut the suspense, in an early episode of SNL, (he was hosting) O.J. Simpson remarked, "Never underestimate the revenge of a black man!" ... My roommate and I looked at each other, then turned back to the screen, speechless. Oh, O.J. ....that was squicky!

Customer Service.

I've decided that I disagree with the Canadian way of dealing with customers. So far, in my experience (in the front lines of customer experience) we bend over backwards to coddle the customer. To me, this supposedly symbiotic relationship has become too much "do what you have to" in order to please the customer. Let's all remember that the customer wants something too, otherwise he/she would not be here.
I work as a waitress right now, which perhaps makes me more vocal about this. I suppose, for me, it gets infuriating when I work my ass off for all of my 6-table section, and then 3 of them leave me with 10% of a tip. Although, as I read in a redflagdeals discussion, 10% is what most people leave for good service.... Just so everyone knows, 10% tip is what you give when you're less than impressed, yet not pissed off enough to not tip at all. 15% is what you give if the service is adequate, and above that if the service was exquisite.
Back to the subject at hand, I'm incredibly tired of people expecting me to be properly emotional and outraged when their meal arrives, I dunno, with a tomato missing or with a french fry out of place. If you have a hair, band-aid, or toe-nail (or anything that would gross me out) in your meal, then yes! Complain! I will see that you are appeased.
However. Should you act disgusted at discovering something in your meal which appears there naturally (see: french fry with a reuben sandwich) (also see: thai noodles on top of a teriyaki salmon) then complaining to me will only result in my dirision. And when you don't tip, it only makes you look worse. How cheap and trashy can you be?! ESPECIALLY as the waitress doesn't really have anything to do with how the food comes out, and that waitress still has to tip out to the kitchen, so if you deny a tip to the waitress depending on the food you're just ensuring that some helpless middleman ends up with nothing rather than punishing the kitchen.
I suppose I'm just tired of having to grin and lick boot to people who treat me like i'm less than the dirt on their shoes. I mean, I'll show up there next week and it'll be the same story- and I'll have to do the same thing- whereas if Canada just paid servers more (maybe included the price of a tip?) then it would be so much better. It would also probably stop people complaining that their sandwich doesn't have as much meat as they were expecting.
Though if I could take a moment to rant at people who don't tip: do you think you can just go out for food and get served without a cost? There is no fast food restaurant that gives you that service, therefore if you want the service of being waited on you better damn well be prepared to add in a tip for that priviledge. Keep in mind, the people who are serving you are also most likely tipping out between 3 and 6 %, meaning that when you tip someone 15% for excellent service, well, you're only tipping her 12%.
So to make a long story short, I'm tired of working in an industry that lets a stranger treat you like a moron while you have to grin, nod, and get what they want. I think it signifies the greater breakdown of our society that you can just go into a restaurant and make a huge fuss for no reason except because you want to get something for free. Let me remind everyone- there ain't nothing for free.

What's Your Background?

Is asking about a girl's heritage really a good pick-up line? If I look back on the random pick-up attempts I have experienced, most of them begin with the strange gentleman wanting to know my ancestor's country/countries of origin. It's a confusing question to begin with because you are suddenly being drawn into a genealogical discussion even though you can see that the guy is simply trying to get your phone number.
If said guy is seriously into you, it's almost worse when he uses this pick-up line. If you tell him where you're from, he then launches into a conversation about the country's politics, entertainment, exports, etc., which leaves you bored and bewildered.
This might not be the best way to start a blog, but it's what I've been thinking about today. Mainly because a guy on the bus started talking to me and wanted to know my background because he guessed wrong twice. I finally told him I was a mix of several countries, to which he replied, "I'd like that mix in my pancake." ...um.... SERIOUSLY?! What does that even mean? It sounds dirty, but really it's nonsensical.
And back to the subject at hand, why is someone's background such a point of interest? I mean, once you really get into a conversation with someone then it becomes interesting to hear their history, but unless their familial countries of origin really make a difference in their lives, it's not something that will immediately come up so why even ask about it? Ah, well. Perhaps it's a subject that is actually incredibly compelling and I'm just the one girl who doesn't get it.
I've had guys guessing I'm Icelandic, Polish, Scandinavian, Russian, and, weirdly, Welsh. It's awkward when they're wrong and it's awkward that they're guessing in the first place. I guess my pick-up techniques tend towards the here and now (because you're dealing with someone you've just met...) but I feel there must be better ways to find out more about a girl you find attractive.