In my hometown

March 23rd, 2007

Have you ever searched for videos on Youtube using your hometown as the search term? It’s kind of like Googling an old boyfriend’s name. What you learn may alarm you, frighten you, or just make you glad that you dumped him before he took up an interest in 17th-century snuff pots.

My hometown is Arlington, Texas (Fun Central!tm), a place situated exactly between Dallas and Fort Worth, the tertiary, southernmost point in the sprawling, suburban, SUV-choked megalopolis that calls itself, rather uncreatively, The Metroplex.

Once a humble farm town, Arlington has become the biggest city in the US that refuses to invest in public transit, and has a long history of pimping itself for any entertainment monstrosity that will bring in the tourist bucks; Six Flags, the porntastically named Wet n’ Wild, Dubya’s boondoggle of a stadium for the Texas Rangers, and now, the new stadium for the Dallas Cowboys.

A-town is overrun with gridlock, potholed and falling apart in some places, beset with smog, and priding itself on a “lake” that is nothing but an oversized pond. Just down the road from Six Flags is a deserted mall, a place I remember shopping in with my mom, that could now be used in a zombie-movie remake with almost no changes whatsoever. Arlington is also home to the other UTA, a place where I held one of the worst jobs (and the lowest pay) of my professional life. The university buildings dominate what remains of downtown, and have all the charm of cracker boxes. They were built in the 60s and 70s and lovingly insulated with that wonder fiber, asbestos; insulated so well that the city fathers eventually decided removing it would be more dangerous than leaving it in. Which is why, if you work there, you have to get a hazmat permit to drill holes in the wall. (This is ABSOLUTELY true).

The GM plant has laid off most everyone, the jobs in Dallas and Fort Worth are getting fewer, and the traffic never improves. Arlington is a place you sleep and grocery shop, but…that’s about it. Culture, good music, entertainment that doesn’t cost you 50 bucks at the door is elsewhere.

It does have a lot of chain restaurants, though. And my childhood memories. So I’ll always like it, even if just a little bit.

But as Youtube is teaching me, there are a lot of aspects about it I never knew.

For one, it’s home to a very enthusiastic trainspotter, so much so that his (I assume it’s a he) videos are the most common results under a search for Arlington. If you ever want to know what the Amtrack 22 heading to Dallas via the Center St crossing of the UP Dallas Sub looks like, you’re all set.

There are also quite a few promotional videos for SitMeansSit, a local dog-obedience outfit. I wonder if they understand how very weird it is to name your business with a riff on an anti-rape slogan. I don’t really want to think about the implications of that.

There are many other attractions in Arlington. There’s Frosty Wooldridge, who fancies himself a 21st century Paul Revere..except he’s not warning us against the British coming in the dead of night, but the Mexicans coming to invade us…though we invaded them first…though…hmm. Basically, he’s a racist jerkoff.

Need a tattoo? We’ve got you covered. IN INK!

You can, if you like, enjoy watching toddlers Tae Kwan Do the crap out of each other.

If that makes you feel guilty, you can watch this video about Camp Impact summer camp for homeless/needy kids. About 2 minutes in, you see a lemur!

“But forget lemurs,” I hear you saying, “what about REPTILES?” Oh, we’ve got that covered too. Meet Tell Hicks, Reptile Artist.

Only one thing can top that, my friends: some footage of a half-dozen idiots getting their truck out of a muddy ditch accompanied by some highly appropriate music (I salute this video’s editor). It seems to sum up so much about the place and the people that shaped my growing up. The Mrs. Baird’s thrift store snack cakes; the rumors of Satanists that plagued our local parks; Nickel Beer Nite at the previous incarnation of Arlington Stadium.

Good times, except that they really weren’t; oh well. Maybe better ones might come along. In the meantime, we can all bask in the glow of our friendly neighborhood Elvis impersonators riding minibikes.

A lovely thing

March 19th, 2007

After all my ranting, I figured, let’s post something happy.

I’ve talked about wanting to become a midwife before, and about the possibilities I see for dignity and beauty and peacefulness in birth that most women in the U.S. never seem to have available to them.

But since pictures tell more than words, here‘s a lovely homebirth by a nice French Canadian couple. I especially like this video because it has less cheesy music and more of the actual labor…and better production values. Most homebirth movies (and yeah, I DO surf Youtube for those, so what?) tend to be just the finale (baby popping out), and underlit, and/or mixed together by someone with a fondness for Bryan Adams. Shudder.

This one has a nice pace without being too long, and it’s just exactly the kind of birth I think most women, deep down, would love to have. I like how the midwife is so chill, just letting the mom do her thing and not being all grabby and poke-y.

I guess I should warn you about nudity…but honestly, it’s a birthing video, and babies come out of vaginas, so, you know, don’t be shocked by that. There aren’t any close-up cooter shots, if that sort of thing bothers you.

Update: more midwifery goodness. A fascinating story about a black midwife in the 50s, and how her family found out she’d been featured iin a famous documentary. More about the 1953 film “All My Babies” here; it was inducted into the National Film Registry in 2002.

I so want to see that!

The birds and the bees and the 401k

March 16th, 2007

There’s a great article up at the Columbia Journalism Review right now. The author, bothered as I have often been by the strange persistence of high-profile articles about successful women who “opt out” of the workforce to become mothers (and love it!), decided to study these articles and where they come from.

The results were interesting. Basically? They’re a snow job. The number of women in the workforce keeps rising, driven by simple economics (everything has gotten more expensive) and the fact that more of them have higher education, and higher ambitions. But these articles ignore all that, treating women who work as some kind of hobbyists who are just doing it on a whim, and when the baby arrives, lose interest and happily stay home knitting booties.

The statistics show: there is no opt-out revolution. But there may very well be a more troubling reality that the happy cheery “opt-out” talk is meant to disguise; the fact that women (and though it’s not mentioned much, men) find it increasingly hard to have a life and a job at the same time.

I could quote the whole article, but this bit is especially good:

More than a third of the articles in Williams’s report cite “workplace inflexibility” as a reason mothers leave their jobs. Nearly half mention how lonely and depressed those women get when they’ve been downgraded to full-time nannies. Never do such articles cite decades of social science research showing that women are happier when occupying several roles; that homemakers’ well-being suffers compared to that of working women; or that young adults who grew up in dual-earner families would choose the same family model for their own kids. Rarely do such articles ask how husband and wife negotiated which one of them would sacrifice a career. Only by ignoring both the women’s own stories and the larger context can the moms-go-home articles keep chirping on about choice and about how such women now have “the best job in the world.”

Underlying all this is a genuinely new trend that the moms-go-home stories never mention: the all-or-nothing workplace. At every income level, Americans work longer hours today than fifty years ago. Mandatory overtime for blue- and pink-collar workers, and eighty-hour expectations for full-time professional workers, deprive everyone of a reasonable family life. Blue-collar and low-wage families increasingly work “tag-team” schedules so that someone’s always home with the kids. In surveys done by the Boston College Sloan Work and Families Research Network and by the New York-based Families and Work Institute, among others, women and men increasingly say that they’d like to have more time with their families, and would give up money and advancement to do it—if doing so didn’t mean sacrificing their careers entirely. Men, however, must face fierce cultural headwinds to choose such a path, while women are pushed in that direction at every turn.

And at the end of the article, the author asks the key questions: WHY is it like this?

By offering a steady diet of common myths and ignoring the relevant facts, newspapers have helped maintain the cultural temperature for what Williams calls “the most family-hostile public policy in the Western world.” On a variety of basic policies—including parental leave, family sick leave, early childhood education, national childcare standards, afterschool programs, and health care that’s not tied to a single all-consuming job—the U.S. lags behind almost every developed nation. How far behind? Out of 168 countries surveyed by Jody Heymann, who teaches at both the Harvard School of Public Health and McGill University, the U.S. is one of only five without mandatory paid maternity leave—along with Lesotho, Liberia, Papua New Guinea, and Swaziland.

Well, I have my theories. Let’s start with the birds and the bees.

You see, eventually all the people currently on the planet will die; within 100 years plus a few, if no more children were born, humanity would be gone.

Therefore, bearing and raising children is, as much or more than any other activity, absolutely vital to the functioning of human society. Society needs a constant supply of new people.

Now of course we can argue as to how many new people we should have, and who should have them, but those are extremely hairy discussions I won’t get into right now. Let’s just start from the premise that some women, somewhere, have to have children to keep humanity going.

In a logical system, we would recognize the parents who perform this function as people doing a vital service, like joining the National Guard. We would understand that the demands of creating and raising new people to be productive members of society is something that requires support and care of the parents and the children; healthcare, education, and time to do the crucial tasks of child raising, most of those demands coming at the beginning of the process. We would recognize that not all people would want to become parents, and maybe even encourage people not to rush into it, since overpopulation could become a problem. Just as not everyone should join the National Guard, or be made to feel guilty if they don’t want to.

But we don’t exist in a logical system, but a patriarchal one, so that until very recently, the vital task of creating and raising new people was forced onto women, who were deprived of the ability to refuse or control child bearing or to support themselves. As unpaid slaves, they performed a task that, although vital to the survival of humanity, was often considered to be the lowest form of work, and they were either given no support or grudging support or forced to barter their bodies and their reproductive capabilities for a man’s protection as his wife, or mistress, or prostitute. Not that under such a system there was much difference between the three.

But then things began to get better for women in the West; they demanded, and received, rights and a certain amount of autonomy and the ability to support themselves, even if it’s still only 80% of a man’s ability to do so. The workplace grudgingly opened to them, and they proved themselves capable of succeeding there.

But the workplace and much of the society itself had been built around the assumption that women, as slaves, would raise the children, for no wages and without any support except for what they could beg from men or family. Now the women were no longer slaves, but the children still needed to be raised. Stranger still, men started to mention that they would like to be part of this task, which they began to realize was a vital and rewarding one.

The society, which had been built upon the enslavement of women so far back in time that almost no one noticed it anymore, reacted schizophrenically.

Why should companies have to adjust to their workers and possibly endanger their profits?

Why should the government give this lowly slave-work any valuable tax dollars–people shouldn’t have children if they couldn’t afford them!

Only the rich, the white, should have children; those rich white women should quit their selfish jobs and start having babies to keep up with all the poor brown women!

At the bottom of all this was one long, savage, howl of outrage, directed at women and the men who were their allies: “How DARE you stop being our slave!” The eternal howl of the powerful and privileged when the less powerful start demanding equality for themselves. It’s at the root of all the furor over contraception, over women in the workplace, over daycare, over education, over unions. It’s the fear of an elite that can’t imagine how it will function without being able to coerce the less powerful into working for little or nothing, whether that work is picking vegetables or raising new members of society.

And maybe they’re right to be afraid. I don’t doubt that actually freeing women and men from the false choice between work and life has the potential to shake things up. But since I’m convinced our current model doesn’t work for most citizens, it doesn’t bother me to think about changing it. I think it’s quite likely that productivity, innovation, and societal stability would soar in a society that treats raising the next generation as a worthwhile endeavor. Not a cult, as with the Full Quiver types, and not a luxury reserved for the rich and worthy, but an investment in the future, in a healthy, educated, productive, stable citizenry.

I don’t really see a single radical thing in any of this; the idea that it’s ok to deny women opportunity because they bear the burden of procreation, and to punish all citizens who want to both work and take care of their loved ones, is quite simply, evil and short-sighted. It’s time for it to go. Time for us all to step off the plantation and see what kind of better society we can create.

One day, in America…

March 14th, 2007

Hey, we rape your women!

I hope all of your people die.

You’re probably going to kill us all.

Why do they let people like this in the country?

What would you have to do to have someone say such hateful things to you? In Hartford, Connecticut, all you have to do is come to school one day wearing a burqa.

Caitlin Dean was taking a Middle Eastern Studies class at her school, and volunteered to be one of several students who would wear traditional Muslim clothes to school for a day. Because a burqa covers your face, many fellow students didn’t know she wasn’t actually a Muslim or from the Middle East, and so they felt free let their hatred out. The comments in the article aren’t the worst she heard; others couldn’t be printed in the newspaper.

She only had to put up with it for a day, and ended up in tears. How many actual Muslim kids face it every day with no escape? How many are beaten up and threatened and worse?

Holy Mother of Crap

March 9th, 2007

themrs.jpg

Found at Godawful Wedding Crap, via Metafilter.

“Hey world! My husband owns my ass now–bought it with a big ol ring! And so I blinged it up with pride in my newly-purchased status! Look at my ass! But you cannot have it! HAHAHAHAHA!”

This found on a site that dares to call itself ClassyBride.com

I weep for humanity.

97th Percentile

March 3rd, 2007

nathanfeb07_3.jpg

Being too big brings problems, as my 6’4″ husband will attest, and Nathan is running into some of them now.

97th percentile: that’s where Nathan is; bigger and longer and heavier than 97% of all other kids his age in the US, according to the chart the doctor used at his 15 month checkup.

Which is actually a downsizing from a few months ago, where he was off the chart…statistically speaking, bigger and longer and heavier than EVERY other child his age in the US. So I guess we’re getting a breather of sorts; he does seem to be going through new sizes of pants and footwear at a slower pace.

The doctor mentioned that if he were that much heavier than other kids his age at 3, she might recommend a diet, and this was odd. Wouldn’t his weight have to be correlated with his height…so if he was also that much taller, still, then a diet wouldn’t make sense? I don’t know. I don’t think we’re headed for obesity town yet. He’s a vegan, except for milk–won’t even take cheese or ice cream, much less meat. He would probably live exclusively on apple bits and cheerios if we didn’t insist he eat a jar of baby food now and then. He is uninterested in potatoes, fried, mashed, or baked, so far. He never gets sugar or fast food. He eats healthier than most people you know, and gets more exercise.

He’s just a big kid, which has weird repercussions. In addition to being big, for example, he has a lot of teeth and hair (on his head) for a kid his age, so much so that he needs haircuts fairly often. Most kids his age don’t need haircuts yet, or very much of one; in addition, most kids his age are much smaller and weaker than he is. So today we once again had to hold him down (he was on Matt’s lap and I had to help keep his head still) while the stylist tried desperately to cut his hair. If he were older, he might be bribed or distracted. If he were smaller, he’d be easier to restrain.

As it was, he screamed bloody murder, thrashed, wailed, poured rivers of snot and tears down his face, and nearly got his ear cut off several times while the stylist danced desperately around trying to get a cut in here and there. Short of a tranquilizer dart or straight jacket, there is no scenario in which he will tolerate scissors around his head. We’ve thought about letting his hair grow for a year, but it would be down his back, and it’s not really attractive when long…let’s just say he’d make an ugly girl. Maybe we’re just too vain, but honestly, it is not a good look for him.

He looks dapper, if still a bit straggly, now, and we tipped the stylist well for all the screaming and the snot that flew around and got on her hands. It was the least we could do.

Kids who look taller and older than they are have another problem; they get treated as if they’re older, and may not get as much babying as they really need. One of the things I realized early on about Nathan is that he has an older child’s body, but his mind is exactly average for his age. Meaning, he’s still my little baby boy no matter how tall he is, and he gets scared, and needs directions and play time and to feel cuddled and cherished just as much as if he were tiny. So we do that, even if he overflows our laps and knocks things off of high counters and clocks us with a giant baby fist.

In his mind, he IS tiny, and the world is a huge and confusing place, and we are the people there to protect him. And so we do, even as our backs creak and our knees twinge while we pick him up. Because we want him to have that feeling of safety for as long as he needs it.