blogger has been really terrible lately - swallowed an entire book review that I, of course, hadn't bothered to write elsewhere.
The book was "Into the Wild" by Krakauer. In short, it's not as good as "Into Thin Air" or "Under the Banner of Heaven," his other books. However, it can lead to interesting conversations regarding the extent to which Alex Supertramp a.k.a. Chris McCandless died because he was a fool versus death due to bad luck.
I've got a doctor's appointment in a couple of hours - ultrasound. I think it is pretty safe to assume that, if the doc doesn't give me something to be anxious about, I'll find something anyway. At my early ultrasound the tech mentioned that the heartrate was 174. I went home and perused the internet until I found something that told me this was too high. Then I obsessed about it for a couple of days - until my ob told me that was fine for 9 weeks. On the bright side, this ultrasound is with a specialist instead of a tech (as a result of some problems earlier). So, hopefully, I will get many questions answered immediately.
At any rate, those photos are coming. I borrowed the digital camera from a friend and have yet to see her to borrow the camera's USB cable.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
going to someplace that i've never been before
I'm going, I'm going [to ALASKA] where the water tastes like wine. You can jump in the water and stay drunk all the time.
Don't expect to hear from me before the 28th.
Don't expect to hear from me before the 28th.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Ramblings: taste and tolerance
My partner has this uncle, Carl, who manages to offend me pretty much every time I speak with him. I don’t really think it’s his intention, so I let it go, but it does get tedious after a while.
At root, I always end up taking offense for the same reason – he just seems to lack any awareness that there are different yet acceptable ways of living, different standards for judgment, that people have different experiences, and can count different things as important. It’s not that I am faulting him for being the person he is, which includes being a middle-class, life-long Milwaukee suburbanite with limited exposure to people who are not. It’s that he irks me because he doesn’t recognize that his perspective and experience are not universal.
Exhibit #1
When Jason’s family was leaving Maine after our wedding, Jason and I decided to meet them at the airport with a box of pastries from Standard Baking, this really great Portland Bakery. One of their most delicious treats is morning buns, which are nothing like the morning buns in Madison, instead they’re gooey and cinnamon-y with a pastry that is almost like croissant. Anyway, we brought them the box of pastries and I explained what everything was. No one was willing to try the mini-brioche or the scones. However, the pain au chocolat and morning buns were instantly rechristened “chocolate croissants and cinnabons” by Carl who pronounced them to be almost as good as what is available at Milwaukee’s Mayfair Mall.*
Exhibit #2
On their last night in MAINE, we took them to the restaurant that offers some of the best lobster stew (they were tired of pulling their own lobsters by this point and, consequently, wanted pulled meat). Carl turned to me and said, “The restaurants here have been OK, but isn’t there are Red Lobster?”**
Exhibit #3
New Years Eve at one of Milwaukee’s Japanese restaurants. As I couldn’t order an alcoholic beverage, I asked the server what she had in the way of sparking water. I ended up with a liter of sparking Voss water ($5). Carl laughed into his Sapporo when it arrived on the table, asked how much I was willing to pay for some bubbly water, probably from Lake Michigan instead of Norway, in a fancy glass bottle that probably cost more than the water.
Exhibit #4
Christmas Eve. Somehow we got on the topic of beverages. Jason and I explained that we don’t drink soda and that we’ve begun stocking just a little soda and beer so we’ll have them when people drop by. Carl asked, “What do you drink, then?” “We drink mostly water but we also buy soy milk and skim milk in glass bottles.” “Glass bottles?” “Yeah, it tastes better, the glass is easily sterilized and reused and the milk is from a local dairy that doesn’t use rBGH.” Carl snorted, “But it probably costs more.” “Yes it does.” “It’s really stupid to pay more for milk just because it comes in glass.”
I haven’t seen Carl since the new year (not my new year), so why did he come to mind today? I’ve been circling around a series of thoughts for a few days - having to do with the difference between disliking something and a negative reaction to something new.
I read in a child development book that, when introducing babies to solid food, many parents give up on a new food too early. We tend to assume the child doesn’t like beets, for example, because the child spits them out the first couple of times they try them when, in fact, infants should be introduced to new flavors 12-15 times because it takes about that long for them to become familiar with the taste.
In Blink, Gladwell discusses the fact that market researchers are unable to distinguish the negative reactions people have to things that they just don’t like from the negative reactions that people have to something new. According to Gladwell, this short-coming in what market research can tell us about what people will like in the long term proves a challenge for those who want to develop innovative and creative products. Gladwell goes on to provide examples of folks who disregard marketing analyses of their cutting edge products and go on to have enormous success.
When I was doing field research this winter, I stayed with a cousin who has a very narrow palate. She doesn’t like raw vegetables. She doesn’t like any sauces. She only eats white bread. Basically, she eats meat and potatoes and the only condiments she uses are salt and butter. I wanted to make pasta sauce at her place and she didn’t even have basic spices (oregano, etc). At any rate, it was very nice of this cousin to put up with me. I quickly filled her fridge with fresh fruits and vegetables, yogurt, and tofu. I tried to cook for her a couple of times (my sure-fire audience pleasers like chicken and sour cream enchiladas) but she wouldn’t even TRY anything I made. I wanted to take her out to dinner to thank her for having me but I was not really willing to sacrifice one of my few meals in Portland to Pizzeria Uno or Applebees. In the end, I had an idea. I knew that she was a big fan of chicken fingers (no dipping sauce) and I knew that she ate plain rice so why not take her for Japanese food where the sauce is frequently on the side? I took her to Fuji, a Japanese restaurant in Portland. Her "giant chicken finger" came with a salad with ginger dressing. I heckled her until she tried it and the miso soup. I watched her face as she ate them. Her face never showed revulsion to the food. She pronounced them both, “Not my sort of thing.” That’s when I drew the conclusion that it wasn’t that she had an aversion to the flavors, per se, but that the flavors fell outside of the narrow range of what she considered tasty.
So, is Carl’s failure to appreciate even the possible value of something new or different the same as my cousin’s failure to appreciate a new flavor? All those nights when they made me sit at the table until my spinach was eaten, were my parents improving more than the range of food I am willing to eat ? Were they improving my ability to tolerate and even appreciate difference and novelty?
*It would be a tremendous mistake to assume that I am not a cinnabon fan. Despite the fact that one cinnabon supplies you with all your fat for the day, I love to eat them – particularly at the airport. My objection is to the defacto establishment of cinnabon as the standard for judging other pastries – kind of like calibrating all our judgments of cheese to Kraft American singles, which are great with Gulden’s spicy brown mustard on soft white bread. Why can't we judge new things on their own terms?
**No. Some fool tried to open a Red Lobster out in the “Anywhere USA” by the mall. It didn’t last a year.
At root, I always end up taking offense for the same reason – he just seems to lack any awareness that there are different yet acceptable ways of living, different standards for judgment, that people have different experiences, and can count different things as important. It’s not that I am faulting him for being the person he is, which includes being a middle-class, life-long Milwaukee suburbanite with limited exposure to people who are not. It’s that he irks me because he doesn’t recognize that his perspective and experience are not universal.
Exhibit #1
When Jason’s family was leaving Maine after our wedding, Jason and I decided to meet them at the airport with a box of pastries from Standard Baking, this really great Portland Bakery. One of their most delicious treats is morning buns, which are nothing like the morning buns in Madison, instead they’re gooey and cinnamon-y with a pastry that is almost like croissant. Anyway, we brought them the box of pastries and I explained what everything was. No one was willing to try the mini-brioche or the scones. However, the pain au chocolat and morning buns were instantly rechristened “chocolate croissants and cinnabons” by Carl who pronounced them to be almost as good as what is available at Milwaukee’s Mayfair Mall.*
Exhibit #2
On their last night in MAINE, we took them to the restaurant that offers some of the best lobster stew (they were tired of pulling their own lobsters by this point and, consequently, wanted pulled meat). Carl turned to me and said, “The restaurants here have been OK, but isn’t there are Red Lobster?”**
Exhibit #3
New Years Eve at one of Milwaukee’s Japanese restaurants. As I couldn’t order an alcoholic beverage, I asked the server what she had in the way of sparking water. I ended up with a liter of sparking Voss water ($5). Carl laughed into his Sapporo when it arrived on the table, asked how much I was willing to pay for some bubbly water, probably from Lake Michigan instead of Norway, in a fancy glass bottle that probably cost more than the water.
Exhibit #4
Christmas Eve. Somehow we got on the topic of beverages. Jason and I explained that we don’t drink soda and that we’ve begun stocking just a little soda and beer so we’ll have them when people drop by. Carl asked, “What do you drink, then?” “We drink mostly water but we also buy soy milk and skim milk in glass bottles.” “Glass bottles?” “Yeah, it tastes better, the glass is easily sterilized and reused and the milk is from a local dairy that doesn’t use rBGH.” Carl snorted, “But it probably costs more.” “Yes it does.” “It’s really stupid to pay more for milk just because it comes in glass.”
I haven’t seen Carl since the new year (not my new year), so why did he come to mind today? I’ve been circling around a series of thoughts for a few days - having to do with the difference between disliking something and a negative reaction to something new.
I read in a child development book that, when introducing babies to solid food, many parents give up on a new food too early. We tend to assume the child doesn’t like beets, for example, because the child spits them out the first couple of times they try them when, in fact, infants should be introduced to new flavors 12-15 times because it takes about that long for them to become familiar with the taste.
In Blink, Gladwell discusses the fact that market researchers are unable to distinguish the negative reactions people have to things that they just don’t like from the negative reactions that people have to something new. According to Gladwell, this short-coming in what market research can tell us about what people will like in the long term proves a challenge for those who want to develop innovative and creative products. Gladwell goes on to provide examples of folks who disregard marketing analyses of their cutting edge products and go on to have enormous success.
When I was doing field research this winter, I stayed with a cousin who has a very narrow palate. She doesn’t like raw vegetables. She doesn’t like any sauces. She only eats white bread. Basically, she eats meat and potatoes and the only condiments she uses are salt and butter. I wanted to make pasta sauce at her place and she didn’t even have basic spices (oregano, etc). At any rate, it was very nice of this cousin to put up with me. I quickly filled her fridge with fresh fruits and vegetables, yogurt, and tofu. I tried to cook for her a couple of times (my sure-fire audience pleasers like chicken and sour cream enchiladas) but she wouldn’t even TRY anything I made. I wanted to take her out to dinner to thank her for having me but I was not really willing to sacrifice one of my few meals in Portland to Pizzeria Uno or Applebees. In the end, I had an idea. I knew that she was a big fan of chicken fingers (no dipping sauce) and I knew that she ate plain rice so why not take her for Japanese food where the sauce is frequently on the side? I took her to Fuji, a Japanese restaurant in Portland. Her "giant chicken finger" came with a salad with ginger dressing. I heckled her until she tried it and the miso soup. I watched her face as she ate them. Her face never showed revulsion to the food. She pronounced them both, “Not my sort of thing.” That’s when I drew the conclusion that it wasn’t that she had an aversion to the flavors, per se, but that the flavors fell outside of the narrow range of what she considered tasty.
So, is Carl’s failure to appreciate even the possible value of something new or different the same as my cousin’s failure to appreciate a new flavor? All those nights when they made me sit at the table until my spinach was eaten, were my parents improving more than the range of food I am willing to eat ? Were they improving my ability to tolerate and even appreciate difference and novelty?
*It would be a tremendous mistake to assume that I am not a cinnabon fan. Despite the fact that one cinnabon supplies you with all your fat for the day, I love to eat them – particularly at the airport. My objection is to the defacto establishment of cinnabon as the standard for judging other pastries – kind of like calibrating all our judgments of cheese to Kraft American singles, which are great with Gulden’s spicy brown mustard on soft white bread. Why can't we judge new things on their own terms?
**No. Some fool tried to open a Red Lobster out in the “Anywhere USA” by the mall. It didn’t last a year.
Monday, March 14, 2005
sleep work
My dream-life has been CRAZY lately. Sometimes I wake up in the morning wondering if I would feel more rested if I hadn't gone to sleep at all. I had at least 3 distinct dreams last night and I remember 2 of them quite vividly.
Last night, dream #1: I was in San Francisco on the cable car on my way to Chinatown. I was talking to someone else on the car about how many of the buildings in SF rotate, circling around with one another in order to share the best views. The cable car started down a very steep hill and at the bottom of the hill, it detached from the cable and plowed through several Chinese bakeries and gift shops before coming to rest. I had a bit of a pain on my right side and wondered if I had kidney damage but I decided to walk around Chinatown to see if the pain went away. As I was walking up the street, two women wearing the white make-up of young geishas and second-hand wedding dresses came running out of a shop. They were laughing nervously. "Help us," they said with very heavily accented English, "The man in the store, he licks us."
"Licks you or likes you?" I asked.
"Likes us. Do you also have beads on your arm?"
I pulled up my shirt sleeve so they could see that I was wearing a gold bracelet (this horrendous, cheap-o bracelet that Jason's grandmother gave me for Christmas 3 years ago, and that I would never wear - even if I were the type to wear bracelets). They were relieved and described to me the beads the man in the store had around his wrist. As we were talking, the man himself came out of the store. I knew him at once because he was wearing rosary beads around his wrist. He smiled at us and continued to walk on.
The danger passed, I also walked away. I approached a city park and noticed there were several police officers. At first I was concerned that I had done something wrong but then I saw the cops were supervising convicts who were cleaning the park - you know picking up trash. One of the officers blew a whistle and said, "It looks good, time to test it." At that the prisoners laid down and began to roll over the grass. I was angered and disgusted because I realized that any bubble-gum, dog shit, vomit, etc. left on the ground would end up on one of the men cleaning the park. As I stood there, one of the convicts rolling along complained about his bad back.
That's all I remember.
Last night, dream #1: I was in San Francisco on the cable car on my way to Chinatown. I was talking to someone else on the car about how many of the buildings in SF rotate, circling around with one another in order to share the best views. The cable car started down a very steep hill and at the bottom of the hill, it detached from the cable and plowed through several Chinese bakeries and gift shops before coming to rest. I had a bit of a pain on my right side and wondered if I had kidney damage but I decided to walk around Chinatown to see if the pain went away. As I was walking up the street, two women wearing the white make-up of young geishas and second-hand wedding dresses came running out of a shop. They were laughing nervously. "Help us," they said with very heavily accented English, "The man in the store, he licks us."
"Licks you or likes you?" I asked.
"Likes us. Do you also have beads on your arm?"
I pulled up my shirt sleeve so they could see that I was wearing a gold bracelet (this horrendous, cheap-o bracelet that Jason's grandmother gave me for Christmas 3 years ago, and that I would never wear - even if I were the type to wear bracelets). They were relieved and described to me the beads the man in the store had around his wrist. As we were talking, the man himself came out of the store. I knew him at once because he was wearing rosary beads around his wrist. He smiled at us and continued to walk on.
The danger passed, I also walked away. I approached a city park and noticed there were several police officers. At first I was concerned that I had done something wrong but then I saw the cops were supervising convicts who were cleaning the park - you know picking up trash. One of the officers blew a whistle and said, "It looks good, time to test it." At that the prisoners laid down and began to roll over the grass. I was angered and disgusted because I realized that any bubble-gum, dog shit, vomit, etc. left on the ground would end up on one of the men cleaning the park. As I stood there, one of the convicts rolling along complained about his bad back.
That's all I remember.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Global apology
I explained previously about my feeling that I am not anywhere enough for people to think of me as a person in their lives. I generally assume that people forget about me, but increasingly I have a terrible feeling that people just don't like me. Is it true? Is it recent?
Have I done something to offend you? If so, I am truly sorry. It was never my intention, honestly.
Have I done something to offend you? If so, I am truly sorry. It was never my intention, honestly.
Book recommendation: Blink
So, my book group is reading Blink by Malcolm Gladwell this month. Gladwell writes about the power of and problems with snap judgments - summarizing a great deal of work in cognitive psych as he does so. If you are already familiar with FACS, priming, IAT, etc. there isn't really anything new in here. However, the book is a fairly easy read and very accessible. I think it would be very helpful in my quest to develop a social psych class that doesn't use a textbook. This book could easily supplement lectures on cognition as well as prejudice and discrimination, giving students plenty of examples of real-world application and making plenty of claims that could yield interesting class discussion.
Residual
Although my mood has improved considerably since the new year began on March 3 and I have even accomplished a bit, I am still experiencing considerable residual putzing around. That my home is where I live and where I work is part of the reason. That I don't have enough going on makes it a bit more difficult for me to organize my day in a productive manner. Wednesday morning my doctor gave me the OK to return to gym. Perhaps I should get up early, go to the gym, and then work at the library until I come home to give the dogs their afternoon walk? I will give that a try next week - or maybe even tomorrow.
Monday, March 07, 2005
It's not terrible!
So, I just wanted to share my excitement because I've been working all morning on my dissertation and, probably for the first time ever, I am feeling pretty good about what I've got. I mean, it's not terrible and I don't feel like I have no recourse but to delete it all and cry the rest of the day. Let me tell you, this is progress!
Of course, when I meet with my advisor tomorrow I'll probably get the same stuff I always get: "I'm not sure if you know what this is about yet. What is the contribution here?" But, just maybe, he'll say something along the lines of, "Interesting. Write more. Finish this chapter for next week." That would be so great!
UPDATE 3/8: Amazingly enough, my wish was granted. My advisor said, "You've made some good progress . Why don't you read Bakhtin and finish this chapter for next week." I am completely euphoric!
Of course, when I meet with my advisor tomorrow I'll probably get the same stuff I always get: "I'm not sure if you know what this is about yet. What is the contribution here?" But, just maybe, he'll say something along the lines of, "Interesting. Write more. Finish this chapter for next week." That would be so great!
UPDATE 3/8: Amazingly enough, my wish was granted. My advisor said, "You've made some good progress . Why don't you read Bakhtin and finish this chapter for next week." I am completely euphoric!
Dog-cat
My parents got a dog when they were first married - an Irish setter named Red. Although I have no conscious memory of Red, my parents had him until I was about three and there are several pictures of the 2 of us together. I think that my early experiences with Red made me the dog lover that I am.
As my parents used to tell it, Red was a devoted dog but he had terrible separation anxiety. If they left him outside when they left the house, he howled incessantly. If they left him inside, he tore the house apart. At one point, my parents were going away for a few days so they left him at a kennel on the mainland. Red scaled the 8-foot fence at the kennel. My parents received a call that he had run away so they came home. After a week Red showed up at the kennel. My mother was sure that he had been trying to get back to them in the meantime but, as he couldn't swim to the island, he returned to the kennel when he was unsuccessful.
At any rate, I have no conscious memory of Red but I was obsessed with dogs from day one. Every story I wrote in kindergarten and first grade was a tale of "My puppy" or "The day I got a dog." Often the story involved some kind of subterfuge. For example, I would purchase a puppy for myself with the $5 my grandmother had given me for my birthday and sneak it under the Christmas tree. My parents would think that Santa had brought it, and, since no one argues with Santa, their opposition to having a dog would be overcome. Most of the books I read in those years were about kids and their dogs: "Missy & Me," and "A Dog named Schnitzel" were a couple of favorites. My mother told me that I would wake up in the night crying. When she asked me what was wrong I would reply "I need my dog." She was certain that I would hate her as an adult because she never got me a dog.
But this isn't a post about my dog obsession, it's a post about Pepper, the cat that I got instead of a dog. My mother reasoned that cats were less work ("I already have six kids," she would say when I requested a dog, "I don't need any more.") Pepper was a Maine coon mix -long-haired, black with a white spot on his chest. We got him when the neighbors cat had kittens. I raised Pepper to be a dog, taking him on my paper route with a leash and collar, teaching him to fetch, etc. Pepper died many years ago.
This morning when I was taking my dogs out for their first walk, a long-haired black cat with a white patch on his chest was sitting on my front porch. My dogs bristled and started barking immediately. The cat turned serenely and stared them down. "Oh my god," I thought, "It's Pepper, come back to check on me." I like the idea.
As my parents used to tell it, Red was a devoted dog but he had terrible separation anxiety. If they left him outside when they left the house, he howled incessantly. If they left him inside, he tore the house apart. At one point, my parents were going away for a few days so they left him at a kennel on the mainland. Red scaled the 8-foot fence at the kennel. My parents received a call that he had run away so they came home. After a week Red showed up at the kennel. My mother was sure that he had been trying to get back to them in the meantime but, as he couldn't swim to the island, he returned to the kennel when he was unsuccessful.
At any rate, I have no conscious memory of Red but I was obsessed with dogs from day one. Every story I wrote in kindergarten and first grade was a tale of "My puppy" or "The day I got a dog." Often the story involved some kind of subterfuge. For example, I would purchase a puppy for myself with the $5 my grandmother had given me for my birthday and sneak it under the Christmas tree. My parents would think that Santa had brought it, and, since no one argues with Santa, their opposition to having a dog would be overcome. Most of the books I read in those years were about kids and their dogs: "Missy & Me," and "A Dog named Schnitzel" were a couple of favorites. My mother told me that I would wake up in the night crying. When she asked me what was wrong I would reply "I need my dog." She was certain that I would hate her as an adult because she never got me a dog.
But this isn't a post about my dog obsession, it's a post about Pepper, the cat that I got instead of a dog. My mother reasoned that cats were less work ("I already have six kids," she would say when I requested a dog, "I don't need any more.") Pepper was a Maine coon mix -long-haired, black with a white spot on his chest. We got him when the neighbors cat had kittens. I raised Pepper to be a dog, taking him on my paper route with a leash and collar, teaching him to fetch, etc. Pepper died many years ago.
This morning when I was taking my dogs out for their first walk, a long-haired black cat with a white patch on his chest was sitting on my front porch. My dogs bristled and started barking immediately. The cat turned serenely and stared them down. "Oh my god," I thought, "It's Pepper, come back to check on me." I like the idea.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
If I had my life to live over....
Second semester, senior year of high school. I am taking a required course: American History 1945-present, or something like that. Mrs. Payson is the instructor. The course meets immediately after lunch and the whole group – the people that I have been taking classes with since tracking began in seventh grade – is in the class.
From what I remember, the class consisted of lecture in which Mrs. Payson rattled off important dates, places, and people. Every week or so we had an exam which required us to regurgitate the information Mrs. Payson had given us. For example, the exam would list a date and we would be required to write what happened or vice versa. I was doing quite poorly in the class. One day Mrs. Payson asked me to stay after class to speak with her.
“Islander, I must tell you that I am surprised. I had always heard what a good student you were but you’re not doing well in my class. Not well at all. If your performance doesn't improve, you are going to end up with a C or even a D. Is something troubling you?”
I greeted her concerned smile with a smile of my own, “I know I’m not doing well, Mrs. Payson. It’s just that I believe memorization is a poor educational technique and a waste of my time.” I was so cocky and certain that I was being reasonable that I half-expected she would agree with me and give me the option of writing a term paper or something. Instead she bristled.
“Well, if you can live with a D than so can I.”
What an arrogant little twerp I was!
Perhaps you are wondering: Did Islander stick to her principles and take the D? Of course not. I studied for the last couple of exams and received an A- in the class.
From what I remember, the class consisted of lecture in which Mrs. Payson rattled off important dates, places, and people. Every week or so we had an exam which required us to regurgitate the information Mrs. Payson had given us. For example, the exam would list a date and we would be required to write what happened or vice versa. I was doing quite poorly in the class. One day Mrs. Payson asked me to stay after class to speak with her.
“Islander, I must tell you that I am surprised. I had always heard what a good student you were but you’re not doing well in my class. Not well at all. If your performance doesn't improve, you are going to end up with a C or even a D. Is something troubling you?”
I greeted her concerned smile with a smile of my own, “I know I’m not doing well, Mrs. Payson. It’s just that I believe memorization is a poor educational technique and a waste of my time.” I was so cocky and certain that I was being reasonable that I half-expected she would agree with me and give me the option of writing a term paper or something. Instead she bristled.
“Well, if you can live with a D than so can I.”
What an arrogant little twerp I was!
Perhaps you are wondering: Did Islander stick to her principles and take the D? Of course not. I studied for the last couple of exams and received an A- in the class.
book: Brothel
Last night I read Brothel, a book about Mustang Ranch (and less directly Nevada's legal brothels), written by Alexa Albert.
Albert gained access to Mustang Ranch for health research but became very interested in life inside the brothel. She visited to the ranch for extended periods of time over a few years doing research for her book. She is clearly a proponent of legalized prostitution, citing decreased violence toward prostitutes in the legal Brothel system and dramatic numbers on the prevention of infection with HIV and other STDs among legal Nevada working girls. Her conclusion is based upon the realistic assumption that there will always be prostitution.
However, it seems to me that she glosses over a great deal of evidence that women are just as exploited and unhappy in Nevada's brothels as they are in the sex trade generally. For example, women are not allowed to leave the brothel and they are not supposed to have family visit. Women live at the brothel for as many as three weeks at a time and then take a vacation to return to loved ones. They are charged for their meals and board. In addition, they must pay someone to run errands off site. Surprisingly, Albert discovers that many of the women have pimps that take a cut (or all) of their earnings. Their occupation interferes with their family lives in other ways. For example, most of the women feel they cannot reveal their occupation to family and neighbors back home. Many have a difficult time being sexually intimate with their spouses. Finally the stigma attached to their occupations tends to lead to relationship dissolution anyway as, eventually, most significant others pull out the "You're only a worthless whore" line at some point in the relationship.
Anyway, an interesting book and a very quick read.
Albert gained access to Mustang Ranch for health research but became very interested in life inside the brothel. She visited to the ranch for extended periods of time over a few years doing research for her book. She is clearly a proponent of legalized prostitution, citing decreased violence toward prostitutes in the legal Brothel system and dramatic numbers on the prevention of infection with HIV and other STDs among legal Nevada working girls. Her conclusion is based upon the realistic assumption that there will always be prostitution.
However, it seems to me that she glosses over a great deal of evidence that women are just as exploited and unhappy in Nevada's brothels as they are in the sex trade generally. For example, women are not allowed to leave the brothel and they are not supposed to have family visit. Women live at the brothel for as many as three weeks at a time and then take a vacation to return to loved ones. They are charged for their meals and board. In addition, they must pay someone to run errands off site. Surprisingly, Albert discovers that many of the women have pimps that take a cut (or all) of their earnings. Their occupation interferes with their family lives in other ways. For example, most of the women feel they cannot reveal their occupation to family and neighbors back home. Many have a difficult time being sexually intimate with their spouses. Finally the stigma attached to their occupations tends to lead to relationship dissolution anyway as, eventually, most significant others pull out the "You're only a worthless whore" line at some point in the relationship.
Anyway, an interesting book and a very quick read.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Defection
1. Sociology is concerned with a great deal more than sex and politics.
2. I'm not really a chest-thumper. Nor do I want to be associated with a whole lot of poorly reasoned (even if playful) posturing.
That's right... I'm just a big snob.
Incidentally, I have to argue that The Dead Milkmen have made many forgotten contributions to music. "Punk Rock Girl" is one of the least of the songs that we should never forget.
2. I'm not really a chest-thumper. Nor do I want to be associated with a whole lot of poorly reasoned (even if playful) posturing.
That's right... I'm just a big snob.
Incidentally, I have to argue that The Dead Milkmen have made many forgotten contributions to music. "Punk Rock Girl" is one of the least of the songs that we should never forget.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Real people and real accomplishments
So, today is the day that we get our house cleaned. Carolyn, the woman who runs the cleaning business, is one of my favorite people in the State of Wisconsin. She reminds me of my mother and her siblings: good, hard-working, friendly, caring, go-getters. In fact, my Aunt Bobbie, my godmother, is also a self-employed cleaning person. My mother, who worked as a waitress during "tourist season" also worked caring for elderly people all year long. My mother used her job as a caregiver much as Carolyn uses her business. Carolyn hires people to work alongside her who she feels need some direction and support. For example, she often cleans with a young woman who is a single mother and is struggling to move out of her own mother's home. Carolyn takes these people on, not just to give them a chance to make some money, but to mother them, to give them advice, etc. Growing up, I remember a great many troubled young women that my mom took on as co-workers and mentees. When my mother died, we received so many letters from people I didn't even know about - people writing to tell us how my mother saw that they were in need and got them on track.
It just seems so much more real to me in so many ways - measuring your achievements by knowing that you've helped concrete others.
It just seems so much more real to me in so many ways - measuring your achievements by knowing that you've helped concrete others.
resolved, resolute
January 1 is a strange time to start the new year. It's dark. It's cold. You're emotionally and fiscally exhausted from all the cooking and shopping you did over the holidays. Really, it is an odd time to feel that one can turn over a new leaf.
Early spring/ later winter, on the other hand, when the days are noticeably longer and brighter and the anticipation of green grass and leaves and flowers begins to mount, is a pretty good time for new beginnings. In the spirit of all I just described, I hereby declare March 3, the first day of the new year. Or course, it might not be March 3 next year. It will all depend upon whether or not March 3 is a bright day that holds the promise of spring and puts me in a resolute mood.
I resolve to stop skulking around feeling completely isolated and hapless. I am going to get myself organized and go in to get my hair cut. I am going to spend at least 3 hours a day working on my dissertation. I am going to make a list of all the people that I've lost touch with over the past few months and get in touch with them. There's more but that's enough for now.
Early spring/ later winter, on the other hand, when the days are noticeably longer and brighter and the anticipation of green grass and leaves and flowers begins to mount, is a pretty good time for new beginnings. In the spirit of all I just described, I hereby declare March 3, the first day of the new year. Or course, it might not be March 3 next year. It will all depend upon whether or not March 3 is a bright day that holds the promise of spring and puts me in a resolute mood.
I resolve to stop skulking around feeling completely isolated and hapless. I am going to get myself organized and go in to get my hair cut. I am going to spend at least 3 hours a day working on my dissertation. I am going to make a list of all the people that I've lost touch with over the past few months and get in touch with them. There's more but that's enough for now.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Book Recommendation - memoirs of a geisha
I know that I am probably a decade behind the times but I just read "Memoirs of a Geisha" and I loved it! As literature it is only good - the plot a little too neat and many characters a little too simple. However, whatever "Memoirs" is lacking as a novel is balanced by the information it contains. Of course, I haven't done any fact-checking, but what an interesting look into a world I knew nothing about - the world of the Kyoto geisha in WWII Japan!
a touch of insomnia
I made some chocolate chip bread this evening and, as I have had almost no chocolate (or caffeine in any form) since November, I think the miniscule amount of caffeine it contains is enough to keep me from sleeping.
However, even if it wasn't enough, my mind would be racing far too quickly for me to sleep on account of this email my older brother sent out this evening:
[...]
Secondly we were wondering if everyone was doing a gift for Dad and Mary. If you are, are you going to want to do one together or everyone separates. We don't have any idea what do get for them because they both have everything for a house. We don't know what they are doing for a honeymoon if anything. Also Dad will be moving to Connecticut so they wont be around here much. Even if you don't want to go in on anything can anyone suggest any ideas.
I guess its getting to be a pretty big affair. roughly 40-50 people so far. If everyone comes that is.
How did it move from a family affair to 40-50 people? Is this going to be the full deal - wedding, reception, etc? Should I cancel my trip to Alaska, which Jason and I have been planning for YEARS and, given our pending change in family status, is a trip that needs to happen NOW, so that I can be at my dad's wedding even though my dad has given absolutely no indication that my presence there matters to him? If my dad would just call and say it was important to him that we all be there, I would be there in a heartbeat but I will end up being really resentful if I go and it feels like it doesn't matter that I did. I don't like feeling all of this doubt and resentfulness especially when it comes to my family.
However, even if it wasn't enough, my mind would be racing far too quickly for me to sleep on account of this email my older brother sent out this evening:
[...]
Secondly we were wondering if everyone was doing a gift for Dad and Mary. If you are, are you going to want to do one together or everyone separates. We don't have any idea what do get for them because they both have everything for a house. We don't know what they are doing for a honeymoon if anything. Also Dad will be moving to Connecticut so they wont be around here much. Even if you don't want to go in on anything can anyone suggest any ideas.
I guess its getting to be a pretty big affair. roughly 40-50 people so far. If everyone comes that is.
How did it move from a family affair to 40-50 people? Is this going to be the full deal - wedding, reception, etc? Should I cancel my trip to Alaska, which Jason and I have been planning for YEARS and, given our pending change in family status, is a trip that needs to happen NOW, so that I can be at my dad's wedding even though my dad has given absolutely no indication that my presence there matters to him? If my dad would just call and say it was important to him that we all be there, I would be there in a heartbeat but I will end up being really resentful if I go and it feels like it doesn't matter that I did. I don't like feeling all of this doubt and resentfulness especially when it comes to my family.
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