Blog Archive
[ Older
Newer ]
|
|
 |
|
April 13, 2008 - Sunday
|
Patio furniture
I've been meaning to get a seat or something to put out on my balcony for a while now, but hadn't got around to it. I noticed this week however that Target had a fairly comfortable 2-seat glider loveseat on sale, so I picked one up on Saturday. The guys who wheeled it out from Target looked extremely dubious when I pulled up with my Prius, but it fit in with plenty of room - those things have a remarkable amount of space in the back once you put the rear seats down: it's almost a stationwagon. One of them remarked to the other, "who needs a SUV?"
I got it up from the car to the apartment in about 3 trips, but then had to run out to meet friends for dinner and didn't have time to put it together till today. This afternoon I assembled it (cleverly failing to find the instructions until after I finished -- in my defense, they were shrink-wrapped into the tools and parts package hidden behind the little bottle of "touch up paint", the one thing I didn't need to take out of the package).
Within 30 minutes of completing the loveseat however it became obvious that I had failed to calculate properly: a 2-person loveseat is clearly not going to be large enough for this 1 person to sit in very often:
On the bright side, I have two very happy and comfortable cats ...
7:55 PM
-
4 Comments - 8 Kudos
- Add Comment
|
|
|
|
March 22, 2008 - Saturday
|
Game Empire
I’ve started playing in a Call of Cthulhu campaign, old style pen and paper RPG. We’ve only played 2-3 times so far and I’d been borrowing dice from the others, but since I knew I would be driving past a gaming shop today I figured I’d stop in and buy a couple dice for myself. Game Empire is the name of the place, and people tell me it’s where to go for RPG type supplies in San Diego, but it’s a bit out of the way for where I live so I hadn’t made it down there yet.
I walked in, and it looked like a fairly typical store of the type. Board games around the entrance, RPG type games on shelves beyond that, figurines around the walls, and an area off to the side with tables and chairs and people playing various games.
I took a full tour around, checking out everything they had, before heading back to the front desk where the dice were kept. There were somewhere between 10-15 people in the store, counting both staff and customers; three of the staff were standing around the dice counter so I had to ask them to move so I could take a look.
Things that amused me:
- I was the only female in the entire store
- Three salesmen hovered around me at all times
- They took out an hourglass and timed how long it took me to pick out 3 dice
- They tried to make jokes about some of the more odd dice (trick dice, and 100-sided ones) - probably not intended to be condescending, though it did sound a little that way, just attempting humor I think
- They commented on my earrings (which happened to be slices of memory chip)
- They commented on my t-shirt (which was a work t-shirt that said "event staff" on the back)
While I’m sure there was no bad intent behind all this, and I’m sure it was all meant in good humour -- boy ... I can certainly understand why I was the only female present. I would have wandered around some more to look at Cthulhu books and stuff but I felt almost chased out of the place, and my exit felt more like an escape. I was very much reminded of my friend Lisa’s blog on the same subject. The managers of Game Empire could certainly benefit from reading her thoughts on the matter!
I do wonder though ... do men get the equivalent treatment, and feeling, when they walk into a store of more feminine theme? Women’s clothes, or lingerie, for example? Hmm.
10:41 PM
-
8 Comments - 2 Kudos
- Add Comment
|
|
|
|
January 23, 2008 - Wednesday
|
Nuits D’Amour en Paris
I've been thinking a lot about stories lately. Some people feel that stories are powerful, and that we shape our lives to fit into the patterns of stories. Others feel that we are compelled to tell stories of our lives in order to make sense of them. Sometimes we find ourselves caught between two stories, or caught between the story we should be in, and the reality that things are probably not going to work out happily ever after.
I'm still thinking over these ideas about stories, but they haven't quite crystallized into anything coherent yet, so in the mean time here is a story of my grandmother's. Like all of my grandmother's stories, the basic facts are most likely true, but some details may have been exaggerated or embellished in the telling. Certainly there's no doubt that she would have met the Archbishop of Canterbury and his wife on probably a number of occasions, so that much is not in question anyway. But I'm getting ahead of the story ...
My grandfather was a religious man, and after the second world war ended, he became vicar of the University Church of St. Mary the Virgin, in Oxford. He and my grandmother lived in Oxford for many years and during the time my grandfather was vicar they took care of many students and entertained many visitors interested in the church and the university.
On one occasion, the Archbishop of Canterbury came to their home. My grandmother describes how she was somewhat awed to meet him. The Archbishop's wife was with him also, and while my grandfather and the Archbishop were talking shop, as it were, my grandmother took care of his wife and they exchanged news and conversation.
The man who was then Archbishop of Canterbury (Geoffrey Fisher) was the same who had presided over the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II when she took the throne. This was the first coronation to be broadcast on television, still a very new technology. An estimated 20 million viewers watched the coronation on the BBC, an unprecedented number for the time. And while my grandmother and the Archbishop's wife were talking, she told my grandmother this.
Because the BBC were filming the coronation, they had to spend extra attention to the lighting in the cathedral, which was much brighter than usual. Max Factor had been flown in to provide makeup services for the ceremony. Now, the Archbishop was a balding man, with a shiny bald head; and the BBC were concerned that his head would reflect the bright lights and look terrible on film. So the Archbishop also had to consent to having his head covered with makeup so that there wouldn't be any glare. He agreed, of course, and the makeup people carefully covered his bald pate with foundation makeup, and it all looked perfectly fine on film.
What his wife told my grandmother, in a conspiratorial whisper, was something that nobody had dared to confess to him at the time. According to his wife, the name of the makeup they covered the Archbishop of Canterbury with for the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II was "Nuits D'Amour en Paris" -- roughly translating to "nights of passion in Paris". Throughout all the preparations, and the filming, and through all the years afterwards, nobody had ever worked up the nerve to tell the Archbishop this. And as far as my grandmother is aware, nobody ever did, and he probably went to his grave never knowning what he'd worn.
And there you have one of our little family stories. Believe it or disbelieve it as you like!
10:52 PM
-
1 Comments - 2 Kudos
- Add Comment
|
|
|
|
December 19, 2007 - Wednesday
|
Home again
Coming home again after a long time away is always an odd mix of familiarity with strangeness. All the little things that are familiar, that you hadn't even realized you were missing; but also all the things that have changed, reminding you of how long you're been away.
Arriving in Canada after several years away felt like both a homecoming and a visit to an unfamiliar place. I could see the snow from the plane as we descended, and make out the piles of it lining the streets and parking lots. Roads in Canada slowly narrow as the winter continues; a 4-lane road becomes a 2-lane road by the end of the season as the snow piles build up on both sides and traffic gets pushed into the middle of the road. Apparently they had about a foot of snow on Sunday and so there were decently sized snowheaps all over.
I caught a bus from the airport that took me directly to my parents' home town, a trip of about 3 hours. As we drove along in the dark, all sorts of things reminded me that I was home again. The names of the stores: The Bay, Petro-Canada, Indigo Books, Zellers. The street signs, blue instead of the San Diego green, and with little crowns on them indicating the Queen's Highway. French translations on everything. The money - actually sensibly coloured, different notes distinguishable from each other! Even the accent of the bus driver, very polite and quiet with a pronounced "oo" on the "o"'s. I will have stopped noticing the accent after a day or two, but after getting used to the Californian accent, it was a noticeable change. The undemonstrativeness of Canadians was immediately obvious from the bus driver and the officials at the airport, definitely a contrast to the friendly enthusiasm of Californians. (My mother tells me that the local WalMart -- an American immigrant not very enthusiastically received here -- has finally given up trying to force Canadian staff to greet shoppers at the doors, per company policy. The Canadian staff were highly reluctant to do such an un-Canadian thing, and the Canadian shoppers tried to sneak in and scurry past without being greeted, and apparently the managers have finally given in to cultural reality.)
I walked around the town a bit today, looking for some proper cold weather clothing, which I hadn't been able to get in San Diego. Many shops I used to know have moved or closed, but many others are still there as they have been since I was born. Initially I felt extremely cold (after all, I have not lived in Canada since 1995 and haven't had a "real" winter since then) but after an hour or so I started to adjust. It was only about -5 C after all (I think that's about 20 F), and as long as the wind didn't pick up, it wasn't really that cold. By the time I headed home I had ceased bothering to do up my jacket. My parents' cat, who is getting fairly old at 15 years, spends her winter days basking on the window sill right above the radiator. This is how to spend a winter:
There's not a lot to do here other than read books; I'll be catching up with a few friends over the holidays but most of them have moved away to places like Toronto. I am trying to upgrade my parents' computer so it will play Portal, which I think my father might be interested in. My mother has taken up baking homemade bread by hand, and playing bassoon in an amateur orchestra. My father has theoretically retired from work, but in fact is still carrying on with his research part time -- they say academics never really retire. All in all it feels as if time's standing still here, which is probably just what the doctor ordered after the mad rush of the last few months getting our expansion shipped!
4:04 PM
-
2 Comments - 4 Kudos
- Add Comment
|
|
|
|
December 16, 2007 - Sunday
|
The Fury that might have been
Anybody who keeps track of Massively may have noticed this note this weekend, stating Auran has gone into voluntary administration and the entire staff was let go.
While this isn't anything all that new in this industry, it's of particular interest to me because I actually interviewed at Auran prior to finally convincing SOE to hire me. (As I said to Scott, I was already working for him, and wasn't it time he started paying me?)
Auran had a game design position open, and after a preliminary phone interview, they flew me up to Brisbane for the day for an interview in person. The interview was slightly confusing, however, since they didn't actually tell me what position I was there to interview for; the phone interview had been for a writer position or possibly crafting developer, both of which seemed right up my alley. When I arrived at the office however, it turned out they had filled both those roles and were looking for more of a mechanics type developer, which I was less suited for. Anyway, to make a long story short, I wasn't particularly suited for the position and didn't get an offer, although I did discover during the interview that one of the existing dev team members was actually in the WoW branch of my EQ2 guild - small world. We have kept vaguely in touch; I sent him congrats when Fury launched, and he sent them back when Kunark shipped.
So it's particularly sad to read this update this weekend and know that he is most likely out of a job. And there, but for the grace of god (or at least Scott), might I have gone also.
9:40 PM
-
1 Comments - 0 Kudos
- Add Comment
|
|
|
The bimbo factor
I had the opportunity last week to watch a demo of an upcoming MMO that is still in development. The name of the game is irrelevant; what struck me the most vividly about the game, despite all that was said and demonstrated about the rest of it, was the character creation options for females.
Now, I admit that (like many women, and indeed quite a few men) I spend a lot of time at character creation. A new MMO character is something that I will be spending a lot of time with, and which will represent me to others. I try to choose something that will look slightly different from the common denominator, something visually appealing but not necessarily in a conventional sense. I do tend to play female characters simply because I roleplay a little and playing a female comes more naturally; male characters I have played in the past have ended up sounding rather effeminate at times.
Back to the topic: the game in question had three base body types for each gender, and we got to see a demo of the character creation screens. Males could choose from your basic "average guy", "bodybuilder", and "incredible hulk" body shapes. And sure, we're talking exaggerated stereotypes, it's a game, right? No problems so far. But then we switched over to the female character creation. The three female body shapes could be approximately described as "cheerleader", "barbie doll", and "hooker". Accompanied, of course, by skin tight revealing clothing and provocative emotes.
Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against being provocative or wearing skin tight clothing in the abstract, either inside or outside of a computer game. What I want, however, is the CHOICE of when to be provocative or revealing. By creating character models and clothing choices that force the player to look like a sex toy all the time, without any option to stop, the power of choice is taken away from the player. It turns the sex appeal of the character into a thing that is forced onto the player, instead of allowing it to be an optional expression that empowers the player.
And this is a not-very-subtle difference that somehow many game companies completely fail to grasp. It's the difference between forcing your girlfriend to dress up sexy whether she wants to or not, versus welcoming and appreciating it when she happens to choose to do so. In that real world analogy, the former would be abusive behaviour. Why does that fact seems to be lost when we translate into electronic images?
The second distasteful thing about this game's character customization options for females was simply the attitude that it demonstrated on the part of the group creating it. These customization options say, loud and clear: "we think men can be average, muscular, or exaggeratedly heroic. We think women are sex toys." Even further than that, though, since they are presumably designing for a general audience, they are also saying: "we think men might LIKE to be average, muscular, or exaggeratedly heroic. We think women have no interest in being anything that doesn't look like a hooker."
Is this the message that a game developer really wants to send to their potential purchasers? That's what comes across. And sure, if they added a "skinny, flat chested" and a "body builder" female body shape, most likely the large majority of people who made a female character would still pick the sexiest one. That's not a justification for offering no other options, however. Offering no other choice sends a very different message. Offering the choice puts the power of the choice in the player's hands, instead of forcing them. It asks them what they would like to be, instead of telling them what they are.
As an intelligent female interested in playing these games for the gameplay experience, not with the intention of picking up guys, I was immediately and deeply offended by the character customization choices this game displayed. I'm not even sure I can express how deeply offputting it was to watch this demo given with a straight face and no apparent realization of what message they were giving about their expectations of women. If I were a customer faced with the character creation options shown, I would take one of two choices: if I really felt the gameplay was compelling enough that I really had to try it, I would play a male character; and if I didn't have some compelling reason to particularly want to try out the gameplay, I simply wouldn't play.
Companies claim to puzzle over why more women don't play games, and rationalize over why certain games seem to appeal more to women than others. No doubt there are many reasons involved, and many factors that can affect a game's appeal to women. But here's a thought to start with. Character creation is pretty much the first bit of the game you see after you get past the cover art. If your character creation (not to mention cover art) is saying "hi! You're a hooker! Whether you like it or not!" then just maybe you need to start considering just how friendly a message you're sending out to that potential female market. Me, I'll be over here playing the games that treat me like an intelligent human being, worthy and capable of choosing how to express myself.
5:05 PM
-
1 Comments - 2 Kudos
- Add Comment
|
|
|
|
November 27, 2007 - Tuesday
|
Post Kunark
Somehow it seems to be almost December. You'd think an expansion happened or something. No point repeating myself, so links to my "Dev Diary" on Warcry can be found here:
It's all been a bit of a blur for the past month ...
As far as general ramblings about life, the universe, and everything ... tonight I ponder pumpkin pie. I like pumpkin pie, personally. And I associate it with the autumn season, Hallowe'en, Christmas, short days and cold weather.
What's struck me as interesting in my various travels is how North America has so remarkably failed to export pumpkin pie internationally. Considering North America seems to export just about every other aspect of its cuisine and culture this is actually pretty remarkable when you think about it.
Everywhere outside North America, a pumpkin is just a vegetable, a variety of squash, no more interesting than a parsnip or a pea. Only in North America has it somehow been turned into a rather tasty dessert. In Brazil, when I mentioned to my workmates that I was going to make pumpkin pie, they looked at me as if I'd completely lost the plot. It was the same reaction as if I'd said I was going to make string bean cake, or turnip pie. "Torte de abobora?" they said in tones of disbelief and distaste. "Torte de abobora?" they repeated incredulously, somehow convinced they'd misheard. Pumpkin is strictly a vegetable, possibly to be eaten cooked with the main course, but not something you'd voluntarily eat for dessert any more than brussel sprouts are. I eventually got a few of them to try it and they grudgingly admitted it wasn't all THAT bad, but they clearly still thought it was a very odd thing to do to pumpkin.
When I lived in Australia, I occasionally went to dinner with some relatives -- second cousins. Now and then I'd bring dessert or something like that, and on one occasion I brought home-made pumpkin pie. I presented it to the hostess and the whole family eyed it like some foreign thing and made polite enquiries which I eventually realized were designed to try and determine whether this strange object should be eaten on the side of the main course, as a vegetable, or whether it was actually intended to be some kind of dessert. Many months later they still mentioned occasionally the time I brought pumpkin pie, and admitted (in tones of surprise) that it was actually quite nice, albeit "a North American thing". Rather as if it was some bizarre foreign dish that they'd tried in the spirit of adventure and could now boast about having eaten.
Even my British relatives, who visited us often in Canada when we were younger and who are fairly acclimatized to the oddities of North American culture and understand that pumpkin pie is a dessert, even they would never actually voluntarily cook a pumpkin pie themselves. It just doesn't fit into an expected niche in their dietary patterns. They'll eat it happily enough if presented with one, but it would never occur to them to actually cook one. Pumpkin or squash in England is something eaten as a vegetable with the main course, often baked in wedges with a roast, not a dessert.
It's actually a bit challenging to even make pumpkin pie overseas; the brands of squash or pumpkin available are different from what's available in North America, and not nearly as easily available. It comes down to a bit of guess work trying to find a squash that looks as if it would have a similar taste and texture to what you'd normally make a pumpkin pie from. In North America I use a buttercup squash, if available, or a regular pumpkin. And here's the recipe:
Pumpkin Pie
Ingredients
1 1/2 cups cooked and mashed pumpkin or buttercup squash (the latter is tastier).
2 tbs. melted butter or margarine
1 tsp. each of ginger and cinnamon
1/4 tsp. each of mace and ground cloves
2 eggs
1/2 cup (4 oz.) brown sugar
1/2 cup (4 oz.) granulated sugar
2 tbs. plain flour (or slightly less if using squash)
1 cup milk
a generous pinch of salt
flaky pastry, enough to line a pie dish
Instructions
Cut up the squash or pumpkin in half or quarters, wrap in foil, and bake in a medium oven for about half an hour until soft, then it can be scraped out and mashed easily into a bowl.
Line a 9" pie dish with flaky pastry and place in fridge to chill. Preheat oven to 450 F. In a bowl stir together mashed pumpkin/squash, melted butter, and spices; in another bowl beat the eggs thoroughly with a whisk or fork, and stir in sugars, flour, salt, and milk. Fold the two mixtures together and pour into the pastry shell. Bake for 15 minutes, then turn temperature down to 350 F and leave for about 45 minutes more, until a knife comes out clean. Eat hot or cold.
9:58 PM
-
3 Comments - 3 Kudos
- Add Comment
|
|
|
|
October 27, 2007 - Saturday
|
Fahrenheit and the minds of men
In my second year of university I dated a Political Science major called Peter, who had many interesting quirks, but one of them was that he had a huge collection of colognes. He had some he liked more and wore more frequently than others of course, but he probably had most of the big names at the time -- Calvin Klein, Drakkar Noir, Fahrenheit, Joop, I don't even remember them all now, I just remember he had a whole shelf full of them.
I'd never dated anyone before who wore cologne (in fact, Peter was really only my second boyfriend ever) so this was quite interesting to me. I learned to identify several of them by smell, and pretty rapidly decided that Fahrenheit was by far my favorite. I've always loved the smell of sandalwood and spices; I used to have a carved sandalwood fan when I was a child, that some relative had brought me from somewhere. I used to take it out of the box just to smell the spicy wood. I remember once while at university I was walking down the road and found I was walking behind a guy who smelled absolutely deliciously of sandalwood, so much so that I'm afraid to say I followed him all the way down the block till he turned into a shop, just enjoying the scent.
Fahrenheit has a similar spicy smell which I definitely love. Not that many men wear cologne though, at least not the type of men I tend to find attractive, and after Peter and I parted ways it became fairly evident that the odds of finding a nice man who also liked wearing Fahrenheit were vanishingly small. Heck, finding a nice man is hard enough!
So, when I finished university and started working, I started to wear Fahrenheit myself. I've never been a fan of women's perfumes, the flowery ones are generally too strong and the watery smelling ones like "Escape" make me feel positively ill. There are some that are tolerable, but why wear something just tolerable? Fahrenheit is a nice scent, and so, if I wear anything, I wear that. None of the men I've dated since I started seem to find it objectionable, in fact I doubt they realize it's actually a men's scent.
The down side is, of course, that now if I meet someone who does wear it, I probably won't even notice, since I'm so used to the smell already.
The up side is something I like to remind myself of whenever a boyfriend and I part ways. I tell myself that some day, somewhere, perhaps years down the road, that ex boyfriend will be somewhere where he smells Fahrenheit again. A bus shelter perhaps, or in a bar, or in a meeting. Some big, burly, masculine man will stand beside him and a wave of Fahrenheit scent will drift, almost subliminally unnoticable, towards my ex. Scents are very evocative. They bypass your logical mind and go straight for your memories and emotions, I've found. And standing there, somewhere in the future, my ex will suddenly feel strangely and inexplicably attracted, for no reason he can imagine, to some strange man.
At least, that's what I like to imagine happening. Of course, I'll never know about it, if it does happen (or indeed has already happened). But still, it never fails to amuse me when I think about it. It's nice to think that in some small and yet strangely disturbing way, I will remain a subversive influence on their lives forever. 
11:15 AM
-
1 Comments - 2 Kudos
- Add Comment
|
|
|
|
October 18, 2007 - Thursday
|
Geek girl
Tonight I was going through some old files, and I came across backups of some of the files from my very first web page. Over ten years ago now! I feel old just thinking about that. Back then, around '96, I was in England studying molecular plant pathology at the University of East Anglia. Having nothing better to do that Valentine's Day, I spent it in the computer lab (all unix systems) learning how this HTML stuff worked. We had a small web space allocated to us as graduate students and so I made my first basic web page.
There wasn't much on it, but over the year I put up some random things, mainly links to other information, but along the way I decided to draw a webcomic. Hey, pretty revolutionary for 10+ years ago! The comic was simply called "Geek Girl" and the name I used on it was Blythe, one of my old BBS handles that I was still using at the time. I drew it using some generic paint program the Alphas in the computer lab had, and as both my artistic talent and my creativity are very limited, I only did about 20 comics over the year. Once I graduated and started work, I no longer had time to draw more, and so the comics have been sitting gathering electronic dust in a folder since then.
And now, newly unearthed and dusted off, and very dated, here they are again! They can also be found in one of my photo albums, which may be easier to browse.
Boy, do I feel old now.
At the very least, I guess it all goes to show that once a geek, always a geek. 
8:56 PM
-
1 Comments - 2 Kudos
- Add Comment
|
|
|
|
October 5, 2007 - Friday
|
Woman triumphs over bookcase
*cue music: Also Sprach Zarathustra*
The camera angle slowly moves around, and light catches and reflects the massive, towering monument-like structure. Slowly the camera pans back, until the viewer can see the structure is …
… a bookcase!?
Yep, the general intention when writing in this blog was to generally just use it as writing practice, and only post about long-ago stuff, not current stuff, so friends and co-workers can actually read it without fear.
However, I'm just so darn smug about the bookcase I had to post a picture.
This bookcase – a cheapo plywood-and-plastic thing from Ikea – was bought by my ex while I was out of the country in May, and assembled with the help of his parents in our spare room, as a surprise. We shared the front bedroom, and the spare back bedroom was going to be a guest room/TV room, when we ever got a TV and/or guests.
However, after we parted ways and he moved out, I decided to rearrange things. It felt odd sleeping alone in the room that had been ours, and I also decided I didn't like the way people walking up the front steps could look straight in to the bedroom. So I took possession of the back bedroom.
Since he'd already moved out and left the state, I managed all on my own to move the queen sized bed from the front room into the back room, and the spare day-bed from the back room into the front room. This was a good 2-3 hours of hard work and I was definitely exhausted and somewhat bruised by the time I was done, but it felt good to accomplish it on my own without having to ask for help.
The problem item was the bookcase. As you can see, it's quite large. Considerably taller than me, and although it's only plywood, plywood is quite heavy nonetheless. If I could have just dragged it, it would have been fine, but it was too big to fit through the doorway and so it had to be at least partially disassembled. I put it off for a week or two after moving everything else, but eventually decided I was going to do it, and do it alone.
The four thick outside edges came off easily enough, leaving the inside section small enough to fit through the door. The detached outsides were fairly easily relocated into the front room. However, the problem then arose that the middle section could not be dragged with the edges taken off, since it no longer had a smooth bottom. I eventually solved this by creating a sort of toboggan out of old cardboard box, allowing the middle section to be dragged on the cardboard as if on a sled.
Once everything was in the front room, its new location, reassembling the bookcase proved more difficult than anticipated. I had it laid flat on the floor, but the central section attached to the outer edges by lots of little dowels which had to fit into lots of little holes, which did not fit very well. My ex said they'd had to use a rubber mallet when they assembled it in the first place; I didn't have a rubber mallet and I also didn't have the three people they'd had. I was stumped for quite a while trying to get everything aligned and fitted into the holes, because as soon as I got one side sorted out and moved around to do the other side, the first side would slip out. This meant that the outside edges couldn't be all attached into place, and with that not done, it was impossible to lift the bookcase upright.
^^ Temporary defeat
Eventually, after leaving it there for a week while I contemplated strategies, I managed to use two walls of the room as a stand-in for a second person, and brace two sides of the bookcase into the corner while aligning the other two sides into place. This finally allowed me to screw the edge pieces firmly into place. Then I had to bench press the thing from flat to upright, also somewhat challenging as I am not a large or a strong person, and due to the lack of space in the room, there was no space to actually get behind the top edge of it since it was right up against the day bed. But once again I somehow managed! Woman triumphs over bookcase, I lifted it upright and got it in place and then set up the new TV and DVD player in it, all on my own.
A few people had offered to help, after hearing about my struggles. I'm not quite sure why I'm so reluctant to ask for help, or accept it when offered. I had kept the offers in mind as a last resort, but was much happer that I'd managed to do it alone in the end.
My ex frequently told me I am far too independent; other friends in the past have used somewhat less flattering terms such as "bloody-minded", "stubborn", or even "pig-headed". Fundamentally I suppose it comes down to a dislike of accepting there are limitations that can't be overcome by determination and intelligence. There are, of course; I know this really. But that doesn't mean I like to accept it.
I also detest the idea of being the type of woman who simply expects that men are there to do menial labour such as move bookcases and fix things around the house. Does a Y chromosome naturally make a person an expert on plumbing, electrical wiring, or hot water systems? No. Does it cause a person to gain inexplicable satisfaction from having to do distasteful jobs or hard labour? No, I don't believe it does. Expecting a male friend to happily do this kind of work whenever asked and for no recompense, strikes me as every bit as sexist and bigoted as him expecting a female to cook and clean for him or to have a natural desire to take care of small screaming babies. No thank you. Equality means accepting the responsibilities of an equal as well as the benefits. I don't want to go back to a world of the 1930s where I must have a husband to take care of me in all ways, like an incapable child. And if that means spending a few hours sweating and fighting with a bookcase or a bed now and then, or figuring out how to fix the toilet on my own … then so be it!
Bookcase is now in place, filled with books, DVDs, and TV; and Cat and Chris (who helped me buy the TV) have been duly invited over and forced to watch peculiar Australian movies about plumbing. Woman triumphs over bookcase!
7:47 PM
-
3 Comments - 6 Kudos
- Add Comment
|
|
|
