Where are all the women?

I noticed something while watching the news this morning as the anchors ran through the catalogue of anti-American protests going on in Egypt, Libya, Tunisia, Yemen and Sudan.

In all the reels of footage they were showing of the rioters, I didn't see a single female face amongst the crowds.

Mohammed Abu Zaid/AP Photo                           Egypt

AFP/Getty Images                                            Libya

Hassene Dridi/AP                                       Tunisia

AP Photo                                                     Yemen

Reuters                                                Sudan

There must be some women who share the anti-American sentiments on display. But they are noticeably absent or at least underrepresented in the mob violence.

This is very different from the pro-democracy protests of the Arab Spring that we saw last year where men and women, Christian and Muslim stood shoulder to shoulder in Tahrir Square. 

CNN

And, this very different from the crowds of counter-protesters that have been gathering in Libya.

Esam Al-Fetori/Reuters

Sociologically, this is interesting to me. Statistically, there are fewer female serial killers, fewer female suicide bombers, and historically, far fewer murderous female world leaders.

Personally, I'm far less likely to lend credibility to a mass movement until I see both sides of the human race represented.

I don't have the answers to the Middle East problem -- I don't know anyone who does -- but I know that when we find one, women will be in the mix.

Democrats for...democracy

So, this happened tonight at the second night of the Democratic National Committee's convention in Charlotte, NC.



To put it all into context, there was a lot of hullaballoo about the fact that the DNC's platform, voted on and passed on the first night of the convention, differed greatly from the 2008 platform in leaving out "God" in a section where God was previously acknowledged and on the matter of Israel's security -- one of the U.S.'s strongest allies.

The language that was voted on included a declaration that Jerusalem "is and will remain the capital of Israel. The parties have agreed that Jerusalem is a matter for final status negotiations. It should remain an undivided city accessible to people of all faiths." Such language was in the 2008 platform, but the 2012 platform only made reference to a "commitment to Israel's security."

Also, it included a call for a government that "gives everyone willing to work hard the change to make the most of their God-given potential." 

As you can see, they did not have their ducks in line when they took that vote. The change required 2/3 approval by all delegates. Anthony Villaraigosa (mayor of Los Angeles and convention chair) looked almost as if he was trying to convey a *hint, hint, wink, wink* to the crowd as he repeated his call for the votes not once, but twice before making a wholly indefensible decision that the "ayes" had it.

Reports coming in from Twitter suggested either that the "nos" were in the majority or that the vote was too close to call. Some delegates are even questioning whether a quorum was present to make the vote official.

Had the party any integrity, Villaraigosa would have admitted that it was too close to call and requested a roll call vote. Because the party's platform is meant to be represent the guiding principles under which all party members will campaign. What goes into that platform matters most to grassroots political organizations. The delegates who represent party politics on the local level are bound to defend that platform to the people they engage, for better or worse.

The message the Democrats sent tonight was not just about their views or contentions on foreign policy or religion, though they are...interesting, I suspect, to many. In fact, I would say those revelations are subservient to a greater issue. 

No, the greater Voila! moment was the one where convention watchers across the country witnessed a political party's attitude toward the value of a vote.

Why can't I just watch Doctor Who?

This week, Wired posted a great column by Roberto Baldwin on why he's given up on pay TV.

Baldwin says he's watched his bundled basic cable + internet bill climb from $94/month to $153/month in two years. He rightly points out that most people only watch a fraction of the hundreds, even thousands of available channels and that their bills subsidize programming that they don't care about, don't know about, or straight up don't enjoy.

Considering all the online streaming alternatives and the technological advances that allow us to wirelessly beam computer screens to television screens, the (increasing) prices are really hard to justify.

A la carte programming is in our future. Not only does it have the potential to be the answer to cable inflation, it also addresses one of the draws to program piracy, which The Oatmeal perfectly highlighted here.

Do you like rock music and guitars and America and sometimes Liverpool?

This is definitely worth 6 minutes and 21 seconds in your day.

Prince, Tom Petty, a tribute to George Harrison, and the greatest guitar solo ever.

What fresh hell is this? The administrative subpoena.

Wired's Threat Level blog this week had a great article on the rise in the federal government's use of the administrative subpoena in prosecuting the wars on drugs and terror, two initiatives that have arguably expanded well beyond their initial mandate.

House rules.

An administrative subpoena is kind of like a search warrant-lite. It is an official demand that the recipient produce information, records, data, etc. It does not require a judge's review or approval or a showing of probable cause, and it is not executed by law enforcement. A subpoena is free from the meatier restrictions of the Fourth Amendment, but it is subject to that amorphous legal standard of "reasonableness," which, despite precedent guidelines like "narrowly tailored" and "relevant," means little more than what the judge reviewing the challenge wants it to mean that day.

I won't rehash the Wired article because I think David Kravets did a fine job of reporting and contextualizing the facts, which are sufficiently disturbing with their depiction of government's Stretch Armstrong-like creeping reach. But I cannot emphasize enough how corrosive these practices have become to our Fourth Amendment rights and to the bulwarks of checks and balances.

There seems to be a domino effect of administrative subpoenas that allow the executive branch to go on fishing expeditions, which have historically been detested by courts for their intrusiveness into private lives, even at the risk of not prosecuting a guilty person. But that's the beauty of our system: a man is innocent until proven guilty. And it's a hard thing to prove. It should be a hard thing to prove; not because we want criminals to get away, but because we don't want innocent people socially rebuked or incarcerated.

Instead, we're seeing an odd willingness from courts to abdicate sole responsibility of defending the Constitution to Congress and the executive. I'm not advocating a rash of "activist judges," and I realize that under today's very hostile political climate that it is a fine line for the judiciary to walk, but I do expect the courts to have the fortitude to call a spade a spade.

However, the legislature takes the attitude that its job ends after the laws have been signed on this matter. And now that both courts and Congress have washed their hands of the matter, requiring only the illusion of accountability, the executive administrative and law enforcement agencies are left with carte blanche power. I'm not so cynical as to believe that every bureaucrat or police officer sets out with mustache-twirling intent. But it's not just a platitude that absolute power breeds absolute corruption.

From the perspective of a law-abiding citizen who enjoys her civil rights, this is going to get much worse. Have you ever tried to put a cat back into a bag?

Best Halloween costume. EVER!

So, a velociraptor has been walking around Melbourne.

OK, not really, but this is such an incredible example of modern puppeteering. I really want to know if they're going to mass produce this suit. Wouldn't that be the greatest couples costume?

FOUND: Tatooine

Astronomers monitoring the Kepler telescope stumbled upon a multi-planet binary solar system that would yield a sunset much like the one George Lucas dreamed of for Tatooine.

Wookies and space geeks high-five!

I want to go there.

Context...doesn't matter

Look, if you’ve been successful, you didn’t get there on your own. You didn’t get there on your own. I’m always struck by people who think, well, it must be because I was just so smart. There are a lot of smart people out there. It must be because I worked harder than everybody else. Let me tell you something—there are a whole bunch of hardworking people out there. If you were successful, somebody along the line gave you some help. There was a great teacher somewhere in your life. Somebody helped to create this unbelievable American system that we have that allowed you to thrive. Somebody invested in roads and bridges. If you’ve got a business—you didn’t build that.

Here's why the context of the "you didn't build that" comment doesn't help Pres. Obama.
If the "that" he was referring to was the business you've got -- a grammatically sound interpretation of the remark -- it shows, at best, economic ignorance and, at worst, hostility towards free market capitalism.

But let's give him the benefit of the doubt and concede that it was just a grammatical error; let's accept that he was referring to roads, infrastructure, the American system, etc. Under that interpretation, it shows that Pres. Obama believes that we the people don't own an investment in our own government. We didn't lay the asphalt, fire the steel, or teach the leaders of tomorrow (even though some of us actually DID do that), so we didn't build it. Government put it all in motion (except for those handful that actually DID those things); we just paid for it. 

When was the last time Pres. Obama, or any member of Congress, pulled out a wallet and said, "This school construction project? Yeah, that's on me," and then picked up a hardhat and went to work? The government doesn't do these things unless they can stick us with the bill. So, while maybe we didn't physically build it (except, again, for those people who had a direct hand in it), our financial contribution to it is reduced to nothing, and government gets all the credit.

Let's finally put all this equivocating aside. People have a right to be incensed with the president for saying, "you didn't build that," because no matter how you slice it, it's damned insulting.

Anastasia Steele and the Bondage of Bad Writing

I had heard about E.L. James' Fifty Shades of Grey, a New York Times bestseller and perhaps, also a cultural phenomenon. But proponents and detractors lost me immediately at the tagline “Twilight fan fiction,” and I never felt a desire to read it. Then a good friend of mine bought me all three books for my birthday with the plea that she wanted someone to talk about them with.

So, I read Fifty Shades of Grey and its two sequels, Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed. And I read them with an open mind, conscious of my friend’s desire to discuss them.

And I did not like them.

Perhaps it’s my own dark shadows from a past of emotional eating, but after I finished reading, I had the very same feeling of empty ickiness that always outweighs the fleeting satisfaction of pure consumption.

The writing and characters

For being main characters, you’d think 

the words "penis" and/or “vagina” would pop up 

at least once in any of the three books.

Nope.

The writing is bad. In fact, I would probably use terms like atrocious, cringe-worthy, and god-awful to describe it, which would be three synonyms more than the author could come up with than the words she used to describe Christian Grey’s personality.


E.L. James has woven her tale in a two-dimensional world in which her characters are “mercurial” and “infuriating” with smiles that “don’t reach [their] eyes” and pants that “hang on [their] hips” in a way that creates amazing sensations “…there.”  The descriptions are insipid, the dialogue is uninspired, and the prose is clunky. It all makes for very poor character creations.

Insisting your characters are intelligent and attractive is not the same as describing them thusly. Either the reader is lazy and just takes the author at her word, ignoring later events that might call that assertion into question, or the reader is continually frustrated by the inherent contradictions.

For example, we’re told that the female protagonist Anastasia Steele is self-assured, confident, and taking control of her sexual relationships, but her constant need for reassurance belies her complete insecurity about this sexual relationship and her value to her partner. You cannot paint your character as a duck and then set it to barking dismissing the contradiction as a merely “mercurial” trait. Contradiction alone does not make a character “complex” or “multi-faceted;” it makes the character malformed and exposes the writer as an amateur.

Also, I was left wondering if E.L. James has ever met a man. I say this only because it is painfully obvious that she cannot write men, and I often found myself picturing a bronze-haired butch lesbian when I was reading Christian's dialogue. Men and women do not inherently think alike or speak alike. Moreover, characters in a novel should each have a unique voice, so it was very distracting to re-read passages to determine who was speaking during those "emotional" discussions.

The relationship and the sex

Anastasia has a super-human ability to orgasm every time, 

on command, often after a jack-hammering. 

College would have been a lot more fun 

had I been blessed with her wünder-snatch.

I’ll preface this by saying everyone has their kinks, and God bless ‘em. I have nothing against sexual relations between knowledgeable, consenting adults. I do internally wrestle with the psychology of what might be considered the harder side of BDSM – namely the sexual gratification got by inflicting serious pain or injury (e.g. semi-permanent to permanent marking, scarring and blood-letting) and subjugation based on embarrassment and humiliation – because I can’t seem to wrap my brain around how those acts stemming from purely negative emotion and motivation can be considered mentally or physically healthy. Aside: If you want to open a dialogue about this with me, I’m more than happy to listen and discuss. But, I’m not going to wag a finger at anyone for his or her selection of 31 flavours.

My revulsion to the relationship between Anastasia and Christian Grey is borne of the horror I have to Anastasia shrugging her shoulders at Christian’s darker side outside the bedroom, continually excusing his bad behaviour because she’d rather have a stalker now hoping he turns into a boyfriend later.

And lucky for her…oh yeah, he never really changes. At least, not in the way that would make this relationship an equal partnership in love. Christian is still very much the control freak, monitoring her comings and goings, her interactions with friends, and by the end of the third book, the reader is expected to relinquish their own autonomy along with the protagonist with a collective dreamy sigh of, “That’s my Fifty.”

More than anything, this is what made me stabby.

This is classic abused-woman syndrome, and it doesn’t touch any of the physical violence that happens in the playroom. The sexual sadism is gray, like the main character, and only goes truly black in one catalyzing moment. There, Anastasia accurately declares that it is “fucked up” and disappears from Christian’s life for a millisecond to rationalize his behaviour on her own before going back to him after he vaguely promises to “try” to give her “more.”

Thanks for that. Girl power fist pump.

The sex itself is not really that scandalous. It’s also not that titillating. The descriptions aim at artful, but land somewhere between technical and cheesy with the author’s limited vocabulary and her reliance on Shift+F7. There’s dominance, submission, bondage, spanking, flogging, and sensory deprivation, but they all get short shrift in way of detail. In fact, the reader either has to have an imagination already in high gear or must do a little Googling to build a fantasy around the sexual encounters, putting this book squarely into erotica-light, along with V.C. Andrews, according to my scale.

Bottom line

You want a quick and easy read heavily peppered with erections and panting? By all means, read Fifty Shades of Grey. If you want more from your summer reads – emotional power, rock-hard realism, whip-smart dialogue, intellectual tickling – find a new playroom.


Addendum: I just got a few texts from my friend that got me the books. I hope she knows I'm not angry about reading them. I like reading, and I love taking recommendations from friends, plowing through the pages even if I don't ultimately enjoy the story.

There is certainly a long list of reasons why Fifty Shades sucks as an attempt at literature, but I don't mean to convey that this trilogy is completely devoid of value. For some, this book can be a satisfying form of escapism: a non-threatening, imaginative foray into previously untested sexual waters; a conversation centerpiece for a greater discussion about sex and relationships; a quickie thrill.


It's not créme brulée. It's Jell-O. Jell-O can never be créme brulée. But sometimes you just want Jell-O. Ain't nothin' wrong with that.

The Power of Imagination

A 9-year old boy created an arcade entirely out of cardboard and old toys,

and he called it Caine's Arcade.

This kid is my hero.

No, better yet, this kid's dad is my hero.

With a public education system that is centered around standardized tests,

an entertainment industry that keeps churning out remakes and

cookie-cutter pop singers, and the bully culture that torments, manipulates,

and sometimes physically beats the "weird" out of kids,

it's so refreshing to see a story of a parent who encourages his kid

to take his wackiest ideas and turn them into reality.

Bravo!

No health insurance? No problem!

Living without health insurance is always a bit of an adventure. It's not pleasant, but I'm not on the bandwagon of demanding government-provided coverage because I am inherently mistrustful of the government and if this primary cycle has highlighted anything for me, it's that I definitely don't want my health (physical, mental, or sexual) being bandied about like a political football when only crazy people are playing the game.

The jokes just write themselves, folks.

But politics is not the point of my post.

No, I've been fighting an ailment that could quickly be cured by a $4 prescription if I had prescription coverage. But not having prescription coverage, I have to get more creative. More Asian.

So I was walking in my neighbourhood this week when I fortuitously ran into a woman who is an herbalist. She's also Chinese. I suspect she raises mogwai to sing to her, too, because in my fantasy, everyone lives up to their 80s movie stereotypes.

After some pleasantries about life, I told her my predicament and asked if she had any suggestions or remedies. In fact, she did and she sent me on my way with a recipe and some herbs and roots to make a magical panacea! I practically skipped home. Who needs insurance when you have the healing powers of mogwai?

Can't you see the ancient healing wisdom in these eyes?

I'm sure you know that phrase, "The cure is worse than the disease." I'm no linguistics expert, but I'm pretty sure the birth of that saying came from someone who turned to gremlin medicine when they couldn't afford their co-pay.

I noticed that the root powder had a certain aroma to it, but the smell became Sex Panther-esque after the whole thing came together.

That is the smell of health and wellness, my dear.

The taste is just as awful. Upon first sip, I promptly spit the contents into the sink, guzzled 32oz. of water, and resolved never to do that again.

And then it hit me: it's either this...or certain death.

Mmmmmmaybe that's a little dramatic.

But being branded one of America's uninsured millions, all of whom according to the modern media are surely doomed to lose limbs, expire yards from the ER, or be crippled under the weight of enormous debt (HA! Jokes on you, health care industry, law school beat you to that one!), I began to weigh my options.

So, now I'm voluntarily water-boarding myself with putrid Chinese herb tea twice daily. I throw back my head, open my throat and pour, praying to ALLTHEDEITIES that nothing hits my taste buds. Then I shudder, let a primal scream escape, take a breath, and do it all over again until the concoction is gone.

I think I'm already feeling some relief. Score one for Eastern medicine, I suppose. But honestly, I wouldn't be shocked if my cure emerges as a product of sheer willpower at this point; the drive not to give in and scrape together an extra $100 for an urgent care visit and the overwhelming desire to put myself through this tea ceremony from hell as few times as possible.

I'm going to stick with the nasty for a few more days to see if it works.

Because it's either this...or certain death.

Big Game Job Safari

I just fired off an unsolicited email to a very important person* at a very important job* within a very important production company* that I totally love, hoping to inspire said person to take a closer look at my resume, call me for an interview, and oh, maybe even hire me.

OK, let me back up a bit.

I just Googled the crap out of said production company to figure out the name of this person and the company's email format, and then I put them together and fired off said unsolicited email.

And I'm TERRIFIED.

This is me right now.

I could have just completely iced myself out of the entire entertainment industry, or I could have just done the ballsy and admirable thing that will land me a dream job.

To my credit, I did try to reach out to a few of my level-headed friends for advice, but one quickly told me she'd call me back later and another sent me right to voicemail (you know who you are...not cool). But time is of the essence here, and I didn't want to lose what little courage I had.

Besides, no guts, no glory. Right?

* "Very important" is a relative term.

I think they're very important.

You probably think I'm nuts.

Boulevard of Broken Taco Shells

I was so excited recently when I came across this article that talked up

a new service available in the Bay Area and looking to expand;

one that you could order tacos from your Smartphone

and have them delivered to your location via drone helicopter.

WHUT!?!

Turns out, it was all a hoax.

Oh, interwebz! You promise me such wonderful things

and then you take them away!

I should have known better, though.

A tacocopter? That's too good to be true.

Too deliciously good.

But, I will say this. If we're going to have

drones buzzing through our urban centers,

I wouldn't mind if a few of those would be dedicated to bringing me

tasty noms a la the silver parachutes in The Hunger Games.

The NSA is probably reading this blog...over your shoulder

Photo from Wired.com.

James Bamford wrote a great article for Wired.com on

the NSA's new spy center being built in the Utah desert.

This wouldn't be so disconcerting except that the NSA, an agency

that historically was tasked with preventing another surprise attack

after Pearl Harbor (and clearly, has done a bang-up job since)

has turned its spies inward.

This new facility will be monitoring the

U.S. telecommunications networks and

storing all the data it collects.

I find this particularly troubling considering

I had to OK a new set of Google privacy terms

just to post this.